Taylor Welch sits next to me in Biology. He's pretty smart, except when it comes to keeping a low profile.

Sometimes you can look at a teacher and tell just what kind of mood they are in. But unfortunately, Taylor loves to argue and he has the tendency to argue with people, teachers included, over things he doesn't even understand.

Today, for instance, he argues with the teacher about cell mutation. He says it is caused by human contamination. He's so adamant about his opinion, that the teacher finally announces we now have a project. The teacher says that we have to prove one of two theories about cell mutation. Either cell mutation is caused by human contamination or that it is evolution.

She splits us into groups of five. My group consists of Taylor, Alicia Dumbrowski, Cassie, Reid Willoughby, and me. In other words, a loud mouth, a snotty girl, a beauty queen, a mean kid, and me. There isn't a smart kid in the mix.

I feel like wringing Taylor's neck, but he doesn't have a clue he did anything wrong.

"Nice going, asshole," Reid mouths. He isn't a big kid, but the odds aren't in your favor if you piss him off.

"This'll be a piece of cake," Taylor says as he leans back in his seat, arms folded across his chest.

My dad says you can tell a lot about people if you pay attention to their body language. He calls it posturing.

For instance, when I put my hands in my pockets while he's ragging on me, he says he knows I'm guilty of the crime.

Taylor's body language tells me one thing- he doesn't think he's going to be doing much of the work.

"How about this? We meet at Willoughby's house Thursday night, do some research and knock this thing out," Taylor says.

"I don't want you people at my house," Reid says. He has this scowl on his face that lets me know he ain't sugar coating it.

"For God's sake, Willoughby, you have the biggest house. Ergo, there'll be enough room for us to split into sub groups," he says, eyeing Alicia coolly.

"Ergo, eat shit, Welch. You're not coming to my house."

I hold up my hand and look from one face to another. "Why not meet at the library. They have the books, computers, everything we need."

Everyone with the exception of Taylor seems satisfied with that. It would be perfect for our research, but with the way he's looking at Alicia, I don't think he's too concerned with the project.

Mrs. Wilton starts writing the requirements on the board and Cassie turns to look over her shoulder at me.

"And Rory French saves the day," she says, then tosses all that shiny hair onto my desk.

Man, I love Biology class.


My dad works all week at the lumber yard, and on Thursday nights, he does simple maintenance at the power plant. He loves the lumber yard, because he is outside most of the time. The power plant he hates. He says it's run by idiot monkeys but the pay is good.

I'm a lot like my dad. I have never been an inside kind of guy. I don't really enjoy video games and we don't even have a television. I know, people think I'm lying about that, but it's true.

He leaves for the power plant in an hour so I suggest we take the row boat out on the creek.

"You don't have time for fishing, do you?" I ask.

He grabs his jacket and shakes his head. "You go on and grab a jacket. It's chilly out on the water."

He lifts the old boat and starts to drag it down the bank to the water. "How's school?" he asks.

"Good. Taylor opened his big mouth and now we have to do a science report, but other than that, it's all good."

I see him struggle with the boat and quickly grab hold of the edge. "Let me carry it," I say.

He brushes the dirt off of his hands on the sides of his navy blue work pants.
"Fine with me."

We push off from the shore and pull up the oars. "How old is this boat, Dad?"

He squints. "I remember my Pap finishing it when I was eight or nine."

"How come you never bought a new one?"

"Now, why would I do that? There ain't nothing wrong with it."

I can't believe I have to point out the obvious. "It's old."

He laughs. "So's your grandma. Want to toss her out too?"

I hate when he tries to make me feel foolish. "Well, how come you won't, at least, paint it?"

The tell tale signs of impatience shows up on his face. "If you think it needs painting, Rory, then by all means have at it."

"Dang it, Dad. Grandma says you don't think anything needs painting or replacing. She said you got all pissy when she replaced the carpet in the house when I was a baby."

I was trying to be as gentle as I could while letting him know he has a problem with change.

"Your Grandma Carolyn talks too much. The sooner you learn that the better off you'll be."

We row out to where the creek opens up and I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He looks out at the water, his eyes taking in the shoreline beyond us. There's an early evening fog that hovers over the grasses and reeds that poke out of the shallows.

"If I won the lottery, I'd buy up all that land over there," he says, pointing at the overgrown landscape.

"Build yourself a big house?"

Dad shakes his head. "I wouldn't build a damn thing on it." He pauses and looks at me, a wicked grin on his lips. "I'd just buy a new rowboat and row out here to look at it."

"Wise investment," I mutter.

He winks at me and grabs an oar. "Come on, I gotta get to work."

I don't understand my dad sometimes. Why would he want to buy a weed lot, when there are so many things out there that could make him happy.