Ray sat in the uncomfortable plastic chair outside the counselor’s office with the copy of ‘Death Be Not Proud’ in his lap. He sneered down at it, the most recent cause for him to be sent for “help”. Even the title bothered him, poor or antiquated grammar, whatever it was.
So, he didn’t like the book. What was so disturbing about that.? He just didn’t see the point, in 7th grade, of reading a book all about some kid with a brain tumor. There just seemed to him something wrong about celebrating a person just because they had bad luck and didn’t immediately commit suicide or lash out at the world. There was no logic to that, just silly emotion for which he had little respect.
Perhaps he shouldn’t have compared reading the book to wallowing in elephant excrement. That was probably going too far. There were other superlatives as well, though not worth mentioning.
“Hello again Ray,” Ms Reardon said with a sigh.
Ray hopped off the chair, “Hello again, mam.”
“Write another poem?”
“Nope, book report this time.”