“Blah, blah, mumble, mumble,” somebody was saying. “Mumble, mumble, blah, blah, blah . . .” It was first thing Monday morning in Mr. Wexler’s English class. I was feeling all bright and fresh after sleeping through the weekend.

Behind me sat my best-friend-for-life-even-though-she’s-a-girl: Francine—Frankie—Lang.

“Blah, blah,” the voice went on, which was making me sleepy all over again. To keep myself awake, I turned around.

“Hey, Frankie,” I whispered.

“Hey, Devin,” she whispered back.

I admire Frankie very much, and now she was proving why by doing two things at once. First, she was tugging on her hair. Second, she was staring at the ceiling.

“Wanna catch some tube time in the AV room between classes?” I asked.

She flicked her eyes down to me. “Sure, what’s on?”

“Does it matter?”

“No,” she chuckled. “Anything’s better than English class.”

I was just about to agree, when that distant talking suddenly got louder.

“Blah, blah, mumble, mumble . . . Devin and Frankie!”

I froze. Frankie froze. We were caught. Again.

“Stand up, you two!” Mr. Wexler said, storming down the aisle and screeching to a halt at our desks. When we stood up, he frowned deeply at us. As he frowned, his eyebrows, which were so close and so thick, turned into one long bushy hedge.

“You haven’t been listening to a single word I’ve been saying, have you?” he said, his voice all snarly. “You think this is playtime for you, don’t you? Do you think school is just one big joke? Why do you even come to class if you’re not going to listen? Have you ever tried to learn anything?”

“If this a quiz,” said Frankie, “I’m pretty sure I suddenly need to go to the nurse.”

I raised my hand. “The answers are: yes, no, sometimes, our parents make us, and once a long time ago but it didn’t work.”

Mr. Wexler’s nose was this little button just big enough to keep his glasses from falling into his teeth. Right now the nose was turning bright red.

“The sad thing is, you two don’t even bother to apply yourselves!” he said. “Neither of you is living up to your potential!”

“I’m due for a growth spurt soon,” said Frankie.

“Oh, yes!” Mr. Wexler said, oozing a fake smile. “So funny. The king and queen of the smart comeback.”

“Let me get this straight,” said Frankie. “You want us to come back when we’re smart?”

“And you think I’m a king?” I asked.

Mr. Wexler’s single bushy eyebrow wriggled.

“Please just take your seats and wait here!” He hustled back to his own desk.

Frankie turned to me. “Where are we supposed to take our seats if we have to wait here?”

I shrugged. “Teachers speak a different language.”

At least it seemed so to Frankie and me.

You see, we aren’t what you call the best students in the sixth grade at Palmdale Middle School. In fact, some people might say Frankie and I are nowhere near the best. We’re probably somewhere in the middle.

Maybe lower middle. Okay, middle lower.

Everybody says we don’t do great in school because we don’t read. But we do read! Lots. Okay, a little.

Fine, we don’t read. But it’s only because we have lots of our own stuff to do and it takes up every second of our time. People keep trying to wreck it, though. They make these big fat books just so that teachers like Mr. Wexler will have something to teach.

But for me and Frankie, it’s like—why read when there’s so much other stuff to do?

Anyway, more later. Here comes Mr. Wexler.

“Since you two are such classic cases of not applying yourselves,” Mr. Wexler said as he walked toward us, “here’s a real classic for you—”

Wham! Wham!

He dropped a thick book on each of our desks. “You don’t like paying attention in class? Okay, I’ve got some homework for you. You will read this big classic book and you will give an oral report—both of you—in front of the whole class—tomorrow! You’ll discuss plot, character, setting, and theme. And maybe, just maybe, I won’t call your parents! And remember—read the whole book! That means every word!”

At that moment, the bell rang and we bounced out into the bustling school hall with everyone else.

“Frankie, it’s bogus,” I said, trying to hold the big fat classic book in one hand as we tramped to our lockers.

“That thing hanging from your nose?” she said. “I think it’s pronounced booger.”

I rubbed it off. “No. It’s bogus that we have to read this superlong chubby book. Look at it. It’s full of pages from beginning to end. Not only that. There’s printing on every single one of them!”

“What’s the bad evil thing called?” she asked.

“D . . . R . . . A . . . Dracula?” I said. “That can’t be right. Dracula is a movie.”

“Some book. Doesn’t even know what it is.”

Frankie looked so glum her hair drooped. I hate that. I like when she’s just happy and fun. But Frankie is very sensitive to sad stuff and I try to notice it and make her feel better. Just then, an idea came to me.

“Hey, Frankie, how about you come over to my house after supper? Maybe if we work together there’s some kind of shortcut we can find. One head is better than two, right?”

“That’s what they say,” she said, finally smiling again. “You know, Devin, I never told you this, but sometimes, I like how you think. If that’s what it’s called.”

I slapped her five, and we agreed to meet at my house after supper for a mondo cram session at 6:30.

At 7:48 sharp she showed up.

Chapter 2:

“You’re late for our mondo cram session,” I said as Frankie stumbled in through the window of my little upstairs room. Frankie always climbs a tree to get in.

“I had to do stuff,” she said, a little yawn seeping out of the corner of her mouth.

“Like what?”

“Well, first I had to think about coming over here. Then, I had to, you know, actually come over here. So that’s two things. Stuff like that takes time to work out.”

I nodded. “I hear you. Life’s brutal that way.”

She dumped her copy of the chubby book on my floor and lay down next to it. “So, do we have to start working right away or can we take a break first?”

“I’m not into torture!” I said. I closed the door and stacked her book and mine squarely against it to keep it closed. “This is a long, thick, and heavily chubby book,” I said. “We have to work ourselves up to it. We have to prepare.”

Frankie cracked a grin. “Okay, let’s prepare!”

Here’s a list of the stuff we did to prepare.

1. I fluffed the pillows before I stretched out on my bed. They needed lots of fluffing. Fifteen minutes.

2. I shot hoops, using my dirty socks a