This video reads Chapter 3 of 'Pippa Park Raises Her Game' by Erin Yun, following Pippa Park as she navigates middle school challenges including academic pressure from her sister Mina who enrolled her in algebra tutoring after removing her from the basketball team due to poor math grades, while dealing with classroom stereotypes about Asian students being good at math and social dynamics with her friend Buddy Johnson.
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Living Out Loud- Book Club- Middle School LevelAñadido:
[music] [music] [music] [music] [music] [music] >> The Parker Girls are game.
This is the middle school level.
Um The Princess in Black, which is the elementary school level, is already on the channel.
Chapter 3.
And the high school level, Rules for Being a Girl, is coming soon.
When we last left Pippa, she had just found out that her sister Mina was not going to let her be on the basketball team anymore because of her math grade.
And that she was going to get a tutor, which she was not happy about. So, chapter 3, Pippa Park, Beaverford home.
On Tuesday, I trudged into math and took my usual seat next to my closest friend, Buddy Johnson.
"You look miserable," he observed.
I shot him a sour look. "Gee, thanks."
I met Buddy back in the third grade when he had moved to Victoria all the way from Alabama.
The day Maximan and Maximilian Graver, the class bully, class bully, had stolen Buddy's cookies from his lunch bag.
I shared my buttery waffle snacks with him and gave him hope for the future.
The look on his face, tears rolling down his pudgy cheeks even as he stuffed waffle after waffle into his mouth, had cemented our friendship.
He'd grown out of the pudgy cheeks, but we've been close ever since.
Close enough for him to get away with calling me miserable-looking even.
I scowled thinking about the reason behind my unhappiness.
My first tutoring session was today.
With a sigh, I crossed my legs, and a stickiness under my right sneaker captured my attention.
I'd stepped in chewed gum in the hallway again.
I peered at the underside of my shoe with disgust.
"Is that the second time or the third?"
Buddy's brown eyes sparkled with amusement. "Come on, Park, we've only been back for 2 weeks."
He stretched his gangly legs out in front of him and admired his battered basketball shoes.
Before I could reply, our teacher, Mr. Rascal, hurried through the door.
He was one of the tallest men I have ever seen, practically 7 ft.
He would have made a great basketball center, but he wasn't the type to enjoy team play.
Unfortunately for those of us in his class, Mr. Rascal seemed a lot more comfortable grading tests than interacting with actual humans.
"Settle down, everyone," he boomed as he always did.
"Everyone pass the homework up and let's flip to page 42 in the textbook."
I turned to the correct page and peered down at the string of letters and numbers, gnawing [snorts] the inside of my cheek as I tried to make sense of them.
Tried being the key word.
"Would anyone like to volunteer to answer this first question?" Mr. Rascal peered around the room.
Not me. Not me.
I stared down at my desk banking on the ridiculous notion that if I couldn't see him, he couldn't see me either.
"What about you, Ms. Park?"
At the sound of my name, I cringed. Did I look like I was volunteering?
Mr. Rascal pointed to the chalkboard where an equation loomed.
"If 7 + 2x = 3x - 1, then what is x?"
I swallowed.
Numbers alone were bad enough. What masochist had decided to throw the alphabet in as well?
Everyone waited. I stared at the board.
Everyone waited some more.
Behind me, someone hissed.
"Aren't Asians supposed to be good at math?"
A quiet snicker followed.
I scowled.
Stereotypes sucked.
But sometimes not being able to live up to the stereotype felt even worse.
I tugged nervously at my hair wishing I could hide behind it.
Buddy kicked my chair and I gave him a quick glance.
"Eight," he mouthed.
I dutifully repeated the number out loud.
"Thank you, Buddy," Mr. Rascal said making both of us flush.
With a long sigh, Mr. Rascal turned to Francine, the smartest kid in our grade hands down, for the next problem.
"Why don't you take number four, Ms. Stein?" he asked in a tone that implicitly added, "And restore my faith in humanity."
As Francine rattled off numbers, I kept my head low, but I knew the real danger was over.
Mr. Rascal only humiliated students once per class period, which meant I could spend the next 39 minutes pretending to follow along with relative ease.
When the 3:30 bell finally rang, Buddy and I headed for the exit walking side by side.
"Want to come to my house?" he asked.
"Mom just stocked up on goldfish. We could play video games or shoot some hoops."
"Wish I could," I sighed, "but Mina signed me up for algebra tutoring."
Buddy's eyebrows bobbed upward.
"With some kid from Lakeview," I added.
"She got a fake View kid to teach you?
Bet you $10 she shows up with Gucci glasses and her very own engraved protractor."
"Not an engraved protractor," I cringed in mock horror.
"Honestly, try not to miss me too much if I die of boredom."
"Why take the risk?" Buddy's brow furrowed. "You know," he said, "I could always tutor you."
I shrugged. "No offense, but Mina doesn't count A minuses as real A's."
Buddy ran his hand through his unruly brown hair looking disappointed.
We headed out the school's double doors into the bright, chilly day where students milled around the parking lot, some waiting for a ride home, others loitering and swapping gossip.
I spotted my former teammate, Cammie, talking with the new players who I'd never met.
We made our usual swish signal at each other and grinned, but she didn't step away from her conversation.
Buddy snorted diverting my attention.
I followed his gaze to one of the school's windows.
Jack Dover, a lunchmate of ours, stood inside a classroom with his entire face pressed against the smudged glass, his mouth stretched out in a goofy grimace.
He had written "Help me" in erasable, I hope, marker on the glass pane.
"Tell me he didn't get another detention today," I said.
"Two, actually. Probably three by now."
"Harsh," I groaned sympathetically.
"Jack's in detention so much he deserves visitation rights."
We continued toward our neighborhood.
The Lakeview tutor lived a mile past it in the ritzier part of town.
As we approached the Lucky Laundromat, Buddy slowed.
"Should we stop and say hi to your sister?" he asked.
I glanced inside.
A few people were feeding quarters into the machines or waiting on the benches while Mina bent over an ironing board smoothing out the wrinkles on a button-down shirt.
Her cell phone was trapped between her shoulder and the side of her head as she spoke to a customer.
"Not today," I said.
I hurried Buddy forward. After last night, I wasn't in the mood to be around Mina.
We passed the dingy corner store at the end of the street with its displays of Choco Pies, Nongshim Shin Ramyun, Hacks, and red bean-stuffed walnut cakes in the window.
I wish I had remembered the money that Young-Hwa had given me so I could buy a whole carton.
I only had two quarters on me.
Buddy waved goodbye as he turned onto the street and I watched him go.
I wanted to follow him back to his goldfish and graham cracker-stocked pantry. Instead, I trudged forward until I left my neighborhood and arrived downtown.
I glanced through the big windows of Duo's Diner, envious of the kids inside sharing fries and milkshakes. On any other day, on any other day, Buddy and I would have been lounging at a booth, too. It was our favorite snack spot.
Just pushing through the doors was like time traveling to an earlier era, one with vintage Coca-Cola signs on the wall, red leather booths, checkered flooring, and a working jukebox that played cheesy oldies.
It seemed a small tragedy to waste a gorgeous day like today cooped up in some stuffy rich kid's house with math textbooks and not here sharing a triple sundae with Buddy.
At least I still had some time to enjoy the fresh air.
Tutoring didn't start for another half an hour, so I headed to the park and watched a pick-up game for about 20 minutes.
Too soon, I divorced myself to move on.
I double-checked the tutor's address written on a slip of paper, in Mina's scratchy handwriting.
I had to assume the family was well-off, since they lived on the west side of Alderbridge, where the streets were lined with expensive houses, the big, posh ones with wide lawns and fancy gates.
As soon as I crossed the bridge, the grand homes loomed into sight.
I walked all the way to the end of Dallas Street to my destination, and that's when my jaw almost hit the ground.
My new tutor lived in one of the largest houses in all of Victoria.
I'd biked past I'd biked past it once or twice, but I never really stopped to marvel at the size.
In fact, calling it a house almost seemed insulting.
Mansion might have been a better word.
It was built of red brick in Victorian style, with a wrap-around porch, gigantic shuttered windows, a round tower, and iron bars fencing off the front garden.
Yet, despite its grand exterior, whoever was in charge of the gardening must have been on permanent vacation.
As I pushed open the heavy gates and headed up the stone path toward the front door, I noticed that weeds sprouted from every crack and crevice.
The shrubs by the fence were wildly overgrown.
Something thorny snagged my ankle, and I had to tug my jeans free.
At the front door, I used a heavy bronze knocker, shaped like a lion's head, to announce my arrival.
Minutes passed, but nobody answered.
Frowning, I tried to peer in the window, but the curtains were drawn and I couldn't see anything.
I was about to knock again when the door flew open.
I stepped back at the sight of a towering man in dark business pants with a crisp navy button-down shirt.
He was about 50, with salt-and-pepper hair, square black glasses, and cold blue eyes under heavy brows.
"No soliciting," the man practically shouted.
I gulped.
"Sorry.
Do I have the wrong place?
I'm supposed to be getting tutoring lessons with I checked Mina's note, someone named E.
Haverford?"
The man's bushy eyebrows pressed together. "E?"
Finally, he blinked. "Ah," he said, "E.
You must mean Elliot. My apologies. I'm Elliot's father."
Mr. Haverford turned around and headed into the house, clearly expecting me to follow.
After a moment of hesitation, I did, closing the solid oak door behind me.
So, apparently, my tutor wasn't going to be some nerdy girl with a personalized protractor.
It was a nerdy boy with a personalized protractor.
Hurrying forward to keep up with Mr. Haverford's long-legged pace, I couldn't help but gape at the huge entry hall, which was paneled in gloomy dark wood.
I tried not to stare as we passed the enormous living room, which was not at all I expected.
The furniture was all fancy carved wood and silk and velvet, but it was also extremely old, like it had been bought way back when the house was first built.
The silk was faded and threadbare, and the velvet looked dusty.
There was a giant painting over the mantelpiece, but it was covered with a piece of black cloth, so I couldn't see what it pictured.
What appeared to be a grand piano squatted at the far end of the room, also covered in a dusty cloth.
The stale air and the high ceilings made the place feel like a recently closed museum.
Not the sort of place where you could picture kids living.
Mr. Haverford turned the corner into the dining room, and I darted after him, before skidding to an abrupt stop, as I suddenly found myself gazing at the single most gorgeous boy I'd ever seen.
Chapter three.
Let's see what happens. I'm interested.
Stay tuned.
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