“Diz helped me limp to the nurse’s office. When I sat down in a green plastic chair, I remembered to groan a little. “I’ll go find the nurse,” said Ms. Diz. “Roscoe, you stay put.” While she was gone, I thought about what injuries I needed. They would have to be bad enough to get me out of the talent show. Not ambulance bad. But bad enough to get me a nice pair of crutches. It wouldn’t be easy. I knew Ms. Vasquez, the nurse. She’d been a nurse a long time. She could spot a faker a mile away. The... door opened. I closed my eyes. I groaned and grabbed my busted leg. I groaned so well that even I believed me. “Here’s the patient,” said Ms. Diz. “Roscoe, I’ll check on you in a while, sweetie.” I opened my eyes. Where was Ms. Vasquez? A man was standing there! He was tall and skinny, with one of the heart-hearing death-o-scopes around his neck. A doctor? This was bad news. Doctors had X-ray machines. They could look inside and tell when you were faking. Kind of like moms.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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