By Jerry Spinelli
A sleek vintage from Newbery medalist Jerry Spinelli.
"Readers will eat this funny glimpse of what jocks are made of." --School Library Journal, starred review
Cocky seventh-grade super-jock Crash Coogan acquired his nickname the day he used his first soccer helmet to knock his cousin Bridget flat on her bottom. And he has been operating over humans ever due to the fact, specifically Penn Webb, the dweeby, vegetarian Quaker child who lives down the block. during the eyes of Crash, readers get a unprecedented glimpse into the lifetime of a bully during this unforgettable and loved tale approximately stereotypes and the surprises existence can bring.
"Without being preachy, Spinelli packs a robust ethical wallop, leaving it to the pitch-perfect narration to force domestic his aspect" --Publishers Weekly
"Spinelli's writing kind is excellent for children during this age-group, fast paced and funny." --Booklist
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Extra resources for Crash
Today it read SMILE. ” Mike went instantly into his routine, meaning he acts like Webb is cool, or at least normal. He put on this huge grin and goes, “Yo, Webberoni. ” He held up his hand. Webb high-fived it. Then they medium-fived and low-fived and behind-the-back-fived and between-the-legs-fived. Then Mike ran Webb through the handshake. They looped and hooked and twirled every possible combination of fingers. Must have taken five minutes. All this time Mike kept his face straight and cool, so I did the same, which was killing me, I wanted to laugh so bad.
He dove under his bed and pulled something out. ” “A Conestoga wagon. It’s just like the one my great-great-great-grandfather Webb went out to North Dakota in. My great-grandfather made it for me. ” It was wood, not even painted, old-looking, about ready for the junk heap. He pulled it across the floor. “It wobbles,” I said. He just kept grinning at it, like it was going to stand up on its bind wheels and bark. ” “So,” I said, “what do you call him? ” I was too busy laughing at myself to hear his answer.
3 Next time I heard him he was calling, “Hey, John! ” He was running up the street. I was busy peeling bark off a tree in the yard. I glared at him. ” He came up to me, huffing, button going in and out. “Your sister. ” I didn’t know whether to be mad at him or her. ” “Yesterday. I was looking for you. I saw her out front here. ” “I was out on business,” I said. He never seemed to turn off the goofy grin. It was starting to bug me more than the button. ” Any other time, to any other person, I would have said yes.
Crash by Jerry Spinelli