She eyed the clock in Mr. Bland’s classroom and then eyed Mr. Bland. It was the last day of the month, which meant it was Milo Bridgewater’s last day as electrician. Which meant that tomorrow—fingers crossed—could be her first. She had already asked Mr. Bland twice when he was going to draw names for classroom jobs. “I’ll let you know when I decide,” he had said. But Fiona couldn’t wait any longer. The day was almost over. She raised her hand again. When Mr. Bland looked the other way, she shook her hand at him. First, she shook it slowly, like a shivering apple. Then, when he still didn’t call on her, she shook it wildly, like a wet dog. “If you ask me one more time about classroom jobs, Fiona Finkelstein,” Mr. Bland said in a calm voice that had splinters in it, “I’m going to remove your name from the bucket.” Some of the splinters stuck. She dropped her hand and gave him a Doom Scowl, an invisible one so that he couldn’t see, with extra Doom. Fiona must have looked like she was about to say something else just then, because Cleo whispered her name and then moved her fingers across her lips like a zipper.
