“I’m sorry, Jake,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “This special ed class will help you keep up with your work.” Jake slumped deeper into his chair. As he sat there, he repeated to himself the rap rhyme that he’d written with his Aunt Kiki. The words that had once made him laugh and calmed him down now haunted him.
“I’ve heard horror stories about that dumb class.
It’s the Prison of Doom
I’d rather eat glass.“