Задание
At the beginning of the text the main character describes himself asПрочитайте
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This is an extract adapted from a book about an
American teenage boy.
It feels
as honest as the day is crummy that I begin this tale of total
desperation and woe with me, my sister, Georgia, and Leonardo the Silent
sitting like rotting sardines in the Hills Village Middle School.
If you’ve
ever been a middle schooler, you understand already. If you’re not in middle
school yet, you’ll understand soon enough.
But let’s
face it: Understanding me—I mean, really understanding me and my
nutty life—isn’t so easy. That’s why it’s so hard for me to find people I can
trust. The truth is, I don’t know who I can trust. So mostly I don’t trust
anybody. Except my mom, Jules. (Most of the time, anyway.)
Getting
back to the story, though, I do trust one other person.
That would
actually be Leonardo.
Here are
some other people I don’t trust as far as I can throw a truckload of pianos.
There’s
Ms. Ruthless Donatello, but you can just call her the Dragon Lady. She teaches
English and also handles my favorite subject in sixth grade—after-school
detention.
Also
Georgia, my supernosy, super-obnoxious, super-brat
sister, whose only good quality is that she looks like Jules might have looked
when she was in fourth grade.
That was
my first day at school. As soon as I got to the class, I went straight for the
back row and sat as far from the teacher’s desk as possible. There was just one
problem with that plan, and his name was Miller. It’s impossible to stay off
this kid’s bad side, because it’s the only one he’s got.
But I
didn’t know any of that yet.
“Sitting
in the back, huh?” he said.
“Yeah,” I
told him.
“Are you
one of those troublemakers or something?” he said.
I just
shrugged. “I don’t know. Not really.”
“’Cause this is where all the juvies sit,” he said, and took
a step closer. “In fact, you’re in my seat.”
“I don’t
see your name on it,” I told him.
“Let’s try
that again,” he said. “This is my seat. Understand?”
I
understood, all right.
But then,
when I went to sit down again, Miller called over. “Uh-uh,” he said. “That
one’s mine too.”
Can you
see where this is going?
By the
time our teacher, Mr. Rourke, rolled in, I was just standing there wondering
what it might be like to spend the next nine months without sitting down.
Rourke
looked over the top of his glasses at me. “Excuse me, Mr.Khatch
. . . Khatch-a . . . Khatch-a-dor—”
“Khatchadorian,” I told him.
“Gesundheit!”
someone shouted, and the entire class started laughing.
“Quiet!”
Mr. Rourke said as he checked his attendance book for my name.
“And how
are you today, Rafe?” he said, smiling like there
were cookies on the way.
“Fine,
thanks,” I answered.
“Do you
find our seating uncomfortable?” he asked me.
“Not
exactly,” I said, because I couldn’t really go into details.
“Then sit
down!”
Since
nobody else was stupid enough to sit right in front of Miller, that was the
only seat left in the room.
self-conscious.
mistrustful.
unreliable.
caring.