All Faculty Excerpts

The Detention Club

Gotham teacher David Yoo has just seen the release of his middle grade novel The Detention Club, a worthy follow-up to his YA novels, Girls For Breakfast and Stop Me If You’ve Heard This One Before. The story is about Peter, who goes from being considered a somewhat cool kid in elementary school to be considered a total loser in middle school. But when Peter winds up in the detention room, he sees a way to turn things to his advantage. Publisher’s Weekly says, “Peter and Drew’s antics will keep readers laughing, as readers will be entertained by the boys’ hijinks and empathize with their desire to fit in.”

Here’s a peek at the book’s opening:
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Why is it that whenever a kid does something wrong their parents always tell them to think about what they did? As if the only reason (insert bad thing) happened was because the kid simply didn’t stop to consider the consequences before he/she did it. I guess it makes sense if your kid’s under the age of three, tops. For instance, say a toddler sees an outlet in the wall and immediately sticks a metal fork in it—in that scenario I can see how his parents would wrongly assume that the kid wasn’t thinking when he did that. But the truth is, even at age three, the little kid knows exactly what he’s doing when he sticks the fork in the outlet. I know this for a fact because ol’ Electro Boy was me, and I remember that I felt I had a decent reason for it, too (I was trying to make my fork come to life).

In my own parents’ defense, all semester I’ve kinda helped them believe that I don’t think whenever I do something stupid, because anytime they ask me why I did something that upset them, I always answer, “I don’t know.” We just got through another one of those Q&A sessions a minute ago. They really put me through the wringer this time, asking me questions about everything that happened this semester, and each time I just kinda looked up at them dumbly and repeated the same answer. Here’s a sampling of our deep conversation:

Mom: Why did you steal the poisonous chemicals from science class?

Me: I don’t know.

Dad: What about the Talent Show—why would you put your life in danger like that?

Me: I don’t know.

Mom: Why can’t you get your act together with your schoolwork?

Me: I don’t know.

Dad: Well then, how did Drew sprain his ankle?

Me: I don’t know.

Mom: Why did your sister-

Me: I don’t know.

Dad: At least tell us why you started that fire on school grounds?

Me: I don’t know.

But here’s a secret: I know the answer to all of these questions, but I had no choice but to play dumb. I know my parents, and the truth would just make them more mad or sad or confused, so I just play dumb in order to spare them the additional heartache. In that sense, it’s nice of me that I always pretend not to know why I do these things, isn’t it? It does make me look like an idiot, though, which technically makes me a martyr.

My parents tried every trick in the book to get me to answer their questions. They threatened that they’re going to have to send me to military school if I don’t shape up. Actually, the threat wasn’t even a trick—I might not have a choice, the way things are going. They got so desperate they even promised me at one point to take me out for ice cream if I just answered their questions. That was their best move, and I almost broke down because I’m really in the mood for ice cream right now. It would help wash out the flavor of my mom’s 90th horrible dinner in a row (I keep track), but I didn’t budge. Finally my dad shook his head and said what he always says in the end when they finally give up:

“Young man, I want you to sit here and think about what you did.”

He glared at me one last time before following my mom out of the room, shutting the door behind them. Then they marched straight into my sister Sunny’s bedroom next door and tried squeezing some answers out of her.

I gasped for air—apparently I’d been holding my breath this whole time. I crept over to the wall between our bedrooms and cupped my right ear against it. My parents’ low voices were muffled, but I could make out Sunny chirping, “I don’t know,” just like me, and despite everything that’s happened this fall, I couldn’t help but smile, because it was officially the first time in my sister’s life that she didn’t have an answer for everything.
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Reprinted from The Detention Club by permission of HarperCollins. For more information on David and his book, visit daveyoo.com.