“Merlin Atkins, you get your sorry ass down here at once.”
His Algebra teacher, the Humpty Dumpty-looking Mr. Everett, had finally found it. The caricature showing him tottering on the edge of a purple wall.
“I didn’t do it, Mr. Everett. I promise!”
“If that’s so, who else in our Algebra class is capable of such artwork?”
Merlin looked around. Libby Larson could barely sign her name. “Perhaps Libby did it.”
Libby stuck out her tongue and narrowed her mean little eyes. “In your dreams, butthead.”
“Nice try, Master Aardvark. I shall write up a note for your aunt and send you to detention for three days. Now get back to your seat at once.”
Mr. Everett returned to the lesson of the day. “Class, can someone tell me the definition of a perfect square?”
He couldn’t resist it. He absolutely had to answer the question. There was no way, during the 1.5 seconds of silence that enveloped the shy room, Merlin wasn’t going to answer the question. It would mean an extra week of detention. But it would be worth it.
“Mr. Everett is a perfect square.”
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