No Talking: Chapters 1–7

Dave and a partner had to prepare a report on India—not a long one, just some basic facts. Something about the history, something about the government, something about the land and the industry, something about the Indian people and their culture.

Would not talking make him...smarter? Would he finally understand fractions? If he had more order in his mind, would he be able to look at a sentence and see which word was an adverb—instead of just guessing?

But this lunchtime, all the other loudmouths were getting a chance to spout off.

...it was a great color for me, because my hair’s brown, and her hair’s that mousy blond color, but her mom was right there in the store, so she picked it up and took it over to her, and her mom bought it!

Of course, the fifth graders didn’t actually use the word “cooties” anymore—that would have sounded like baby talk. They used words like “dumb” or “gross” or “immature” or “annoying.”

Dave had zero tolerance for girls, and Lynsey had less-than-zero tolerance for boys.

It’s a shame to have to report this, but Dave actually believed what he was saying. And in his ignorant but creative young mind, an idea sparked to life.

Dave had an advantage here. He had just spent almost four hours without saying a word. At school. So he had some experience, and he felt like he knew what he was talking about.

Lynsey pressed her lips together and glared at Dave, her eyes narrowed to slits.

“What about contractions?” she asked.
“What about ’em?” Dave said.
“Does a contraction count as one word or two?”

Except...how do we keep track of all the mess-ups when you and your friends start gabbing at home?

“It’s revolting, but we have to shake on it—so you won’t try to back out.”

Everybody has to be with us on this. Tim Flanagan was absent in homeroom this morning. I’ll call him, in case he’s coming back tomorrow. And you all have to do that too, figure out who else isn't here. And if you don’t have a number, call me at home tonight, ’cause my mom has a school directory.

Because none of these kids really meant to be disrespectful or disobedient or discourteous. But none of them wanted to stop talking.

You call yourselves STUDENTS? You are a MISERABLE MOBl You are LOUD, UNdisciplined, and I WILL not tolerate your NOISE!

And when you come to MY lunchroom, it is NOT a free-for-all festival of flap-jawed jibber- jabber! Lunch is a time to SIT and be QUIET and EAT.

Under Mrs. Hiatt’s watchful eye, group after group of children had wandered into Laketon Elementary School as aimless little kindergartners and marched out six years later as perfectly disciplined young students.

At every fifth-grade lunch, she walked around the cafeteria with a big red plastic bullhorn, and when the noise became unbearable, she pulled the trigger and bellowed, “STUDENTS! YOU ARE TALKING TOO LOUD!”

She knew she was being very stern with them, but it was for their own good.

Mrs. Hiatt took her position at the center of the cafeteria and braced herself. She was ready for today's lunchroom battle, ready to change chaos into order, ready for anything these kids could dish out.