Everyone in my class was afraid of Mrs. Lane, my maths teacher. She knew everything, especially about you. She likes tidiness. After class, one of us would walk down the rows with the wastebasket and we would put in our waste paper.
Once as a classmate collected our waste paper, Dave suddenly threw a paper ball into the basket about 4 feet away. Soon other kids followed excitedly. I also put up a beautiful shot. But the minute it left my fingers, Mrs. Lane called my name. I felt so terrible.
"Nice shot! I'd like to see more," she said. Mrs. Lane took me to the door. "Ten more shots from here. Every time you don't score a goal, you have one hour with me after school." The class cheered when I scored and groaned (叹气) when I failed. Finally, I made three shots and missed seven. It meant seven hours of one-on-one with Mrs. Lane, with one every afternoon. I simply accepted the fact that I'd never be happy again.
Finally, I understood why Mrs. Lane did this: I was new here. And I made only a few friends. Here's what happened: Whether I hit the wastebasket or not, this brought my classmates' attention to me.
The first day came.
"Come in," Mrs. Lane said. "Pull up a chair."
I did. She passed a plate of cookies to me. "You're probably hungry," she said.
I was always hungry, so I took a cookie. "Thank you," I said.
There was a plate of cookies on her desk every afternoon for the next six afternoons. They were homemade, and they were delicious. We grew closer that week.
And on that eighth afternoon, I felt a little lost as I kicked my way through fallen leaves, all the way home.
