Snot Girl and Booger Boy

Chapter 7: Which Right?

As students walked into Mr. Leslie’s classroom, he was busily writing words on the chalkboard.

“First graders on the right, second graders on the left,” he said without looking away from the board.

Some of the students had already taken their seats, while others stood, deciding where to sit and looking confused.

Jimmy Readly, a red-headed boy wearing a striped pullover and faded dungarees, looked around and said, “Um, Mr. Leslie?”

Mr. Leslie continued writing. “Yes?”

“Which right?” he said.

“My right,” said Mr. Leslie.

While some of the students began to take seats and others remained standing, Jimmy spoke again.

“But Mr. Leslie—” Mr. Leslie turned to the class.

“Yes?”

“Which right?”

“My right. First graders on the right, second graders on the left,” he said, turning back to the board.

Jimmy thought for a moment.

“Mr. Leslie?” Mr. Leslie slammed his chalk down and faced the class.

“You’re in first grade, right?” Mr. Leslie asked, his face flushing a bit.

“Right,” said Jimmy. “I’m Jimmy Readly.”

“Then you sit on the left—I mean right, my right!” Mr. Leslie put his hand over his face in exasperation.

By now, all 10 students — 5 first-graders and 5 second-graders — were confused.

Realizing his mistake, Mr. Leslie took a deep breath.

“First graders, please take seats to my right in front of the windows.” He motioned with his right hand, and the first graders chose desks there, with Jimmy Readly, Eleanor, and Theodor on the front row, and Abby Steamper (a slight blonde wearing glasses) and Tony Same (a brown-skinned boy in shorts and a T-shirt) taking desks on the second row.

Eleanor sat down but immediately spoke up.

“Mr. Leslie?” Deep, liquid snort.

Mr. Leslie sighed. Class had only just started, and Monday was already shaping up to be a…challenge.

Wiping her nose on her sleeve, Eleanor said, “I have allergies and sitting near the window—”

“The air is the same everywhere in this room. You’ll be fine right there.”

Eleanor sniffed (snot, not pique) and sat right there.

After a few moments, the first and second graders were all at their desks, and Mr. Leslie was just about to start class when someone knocked on the door.

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Because Crossroads School was so small, there were only three classrooms for six grades. Mr. Leslie taught first and second grades, Mrs. Leslie taught third and fourth grades, and Mrs. Perdlow taught fifth and sixth grades. In general, this setup worked well because the older kids helped the younger kids with their lessons, and the younger kids usually learned a little beyond their grade level. But sometimes a student, for one reason or another, didn’t perform well (or performed too well) in their current grade level and had to be placed in a higher or lower grade than their age indicated.

Norman Larfa, a mostly happy, very heavy, sometimes bully (because he was always bullied), sat uncomfortably in a desk on the third-grade side of Mrs. Leslie’s classroom as she wrote a note for him to take to Mr. Leslie. Mrs. Leslie had just finished grading the spelling and match quizzes she always gave on the first day of school, and Norman’s was bad. Very bad. It wasn’t Norman’s fault.

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Norman’s family had just moved from the South, and it was clear that Norman’s education there had not been as good as it should have been—he barely read at a first-grade level, wrote atrociously, and couldn’t count to 100. The worst part was that he should have been entering third grade. For his own good, Mrs. Leslie decided he needed to go back to first grade for remedial work. With any luck, and a lot of hard work on his part, Norman might be able to graduate to third grade next year.

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Norman stood at the door of Mr. Leslie’s classroom and handed the teacher the folded note Mrs. Leslie had given him.

When Mr. Leslie read it, he sighed, shook his head slightly, and beckoned Norman in.

“Take a seat.”

As Norman tried (unsuccessfully) to screw his overweight 10-year-old bulk into the comically small (for him) desk on the back row of the left side of the room and some in the class giggled, Mr. Leslie sighed again.

“Dwayne,” he said, motioning to a lanky second grader, “Could you please see if Mrs. Perdlow has a spare desk for Norman?”

Norman stood beside the desk he had tried to use, red-faced and embarrassed.

Mr. Leslie motioned to his own chair behind the teacher’s desk. “Norman, you can borrow my chair for now. Sit on the right side of the room.”

“Now,” said Mr. Leslie, addressing the entire class as he held up an apple, “Can anyone tell me what this is and how to spell it?”

© 2026, Brian G Parker