Chapter 2 SAMANTHA LANE FERGUSON! THE BRAIN
I’m a genius. I’m not trying to be big headed or toot my own horn. I really am a genius.
In Kindergarten, I was obviously out of place when I started reading the newspaper the teacher left on her desk.
In the first grade, I was doing complex math, reading Shakespeare and writing Haikus.
That’s when the counselors at the school told my parents they should have me tested. My parents agreed to the tests and I was tested. I tested past five grade levels and instead of going into the second grade, I went into the seventh.
With “all them smarts” I ought to be able to think of something good to do.
Because I’m small for my grade, Marney has nicknamed me Squirt. I like it. At school, they just call me The Brain. I like that, too. It makes me feel like I’m going to take over the world.
Even though Marney’s my big sister, she treats me like I’m her kid. It’s kind of ironic, since I treat Mom and Dad like they’re family friends. I call them by their given names, Jane and Fred. They call me, Samantha Lane Ferguson! although I’m fairly certain my birth certificate doesn’t contain the exclamation point. I am thinking of adding it though.
Can I really help it? I’m in the seventh grade and my exceptionally large vocabulary has increased its catalog of four letter words. I remember the first time I said a magical four letter word in front of Fred and Jane.
“Samantha Lane Ferguson!” They screamed out in unison. Sometimes I could swear they were Siamese twins.
I didn’t say that four letter word again, in front of them, anyway.
In the seventh grade, kids say it a lot. I get the impression, they think it sounds cool. Being that I am the new kid in school and just happen to be five whole years younger, I sometimes feel the need to go with the flow. But Fred and Jane don’t seem to understand that. What they label as an opportunity, for the most part, I see as a nightmare.
The kids here are a full two feet taller than me. On my first day, some kid asked me if I was lost. Another just stared at me as I tried to open a locker, which was almost my same height.
When they realized I was actually a student, a few of them pretended to like me so they could copy my homework. I think that’s when I decided to stop doing it. Plus, sometimes it’s just so monotonous. I need some stimulation. Something exciting. I need basketball for the mind. I honestly don’t know why I have to do homework anyway. I do just fine on the tests.
But, some of the teachers, especially Mrs. Margott says, “That’s not the point. You need to do the work.”