Dale blinked,and thensmackedhimself on theforehead.His father leaned downthe table and put his bighand on top of Jess’shand. He gave his wife aquick, troubled look. Butshe just stood there, hereyes full of pain, sayingnothing.Panic shimmeredthroughhis body, tiny hammershitting glass. He couldshatter, he felt, in amoment, and hegulpedair, trying to calmhimself.I’m not staying here,that’s for sure.”Rob felt a familiarloneliness rise upanddrape its arm over hisshoulder.Tabby’s eyebrowsdisappeared up intothescrunchie of herponytail.-Tripping Over theLunchLady by Lee Wardlaw“Writing is not about magic.It is about hard work.”There was a silence in theroom. Papa looked at me.His eyes were very shiny.“You know,” said Papa, “Ithink you are smarter thanI am.”Free!Jess stole a look atLeslie. Her face,bentlow over the mathsheet, was red andfierce.“Look!” She waved herspelling test. “A goldstar!” She twirled ontippy-toe. “I didn’t miss aword!” She spun aroundand around like a littleballerina on a music box.The café hungbreathless, likeapendulum atthe top ofits swing.All of the kids staredather with open mouthsasif she had juststeppedoff a spaceship fromanother planet.March checkedthe time.He drummedhis fingerson his leg.My face goes brightred,I can feel it. Now sweatis pouring down frommyarmpits like somebodyturned on a faucet.March feltperspirationunder his collar.He kepthis restless handsin hispockets.Behind her turnedupglasses, Mrs.Myers’narrow eyes werefull oftears.I leap out of bed, thrustmy feet into mysneakers, and with myshoelaces flying, I’mracing through thekitchen toward thebackdoor.Wish I could do my work inthe early morning beforethe sun’s so fierce. But Idon’t complain. I take offmy shirt finally, wrap itaround my head to keepthe sweat out of my eyes,and I keep on.Rob stood andconsideredher words. He felt themon his skin, like shards ofbroken glass. He wasafraid to move. He wasafraid of how deep theymight go inside him.As Mitch whizzedpast,he kicked at Hobie’sknee. Pain shotthroughHobie’s leg. Hecrumpledin a heap.Dale blinked,and thensmackedhimself on theforehead.His father leaned downthe table and put his bighand on top of Jess’shand. He gave his wife aquick, troubled look. Butshe just stood there, hereyes full of pain, sayingnothing.Panic shimmeredthroughhis body, tiny hammershitting glass. He couldshatter, he felt, in amoment, and hegulpedair, trying to calmhimself.I’m not staying here,that’s for sure.”Rob felt a familiarloneliness rise upanddrape its arm over hisshoulder.Tabby’s eyebrowsdisappeared up intothescrunchie of herponytail.-Tripping Over theLunchLady by Lee Wardlaw“Writing is not about magic.It is about hard work.”There was a silence in theroom. Papa looked at me.His eyes were very shiny.“You know,” said Papa, “Ithink you are smarter thanI am.”Free!Jess stole a look atLeslie. Her face,bentlow over the mathsheet, was red andfierce.“Look!” She waved herspelling test. “A goldstar!” She twirled ontippy-toe. “I didn’t miss aword!” She spun aroundand around like a littleballerina on a music box.The café hungbreathless, likeapendulum atthe top ofits swing.All of the kids staredather with open mouthsasif she had juststeppedoff a spaceship fromanother planet.March checkedthe time.He drummedhis fingerson his leg.My face goes brightred,I can feel it. Now sweatis pouring down frommyarmpits like somebodyturned on a faucet.March feltperspirationunder his collar.He kepthis restless handsin hispockets.Behind her turnedupglasses, Mrs.Myers’narrow eyes werefull oftears.I leap out of bed, thrustmy feet into mysneakers, and with myshoelaces flying, I’mracing through thekitchen toward thebackdoor.Wish I could do my work inthe early morning beforethe sun’s so fierce. But Idon’t complain. I take offmy shirt finally, wrap itaround my head to keepthe sweat out of my eyes,and I keep on.Rob stood andconsideredher words. He felt themon his skin, like shards ofbroken glass. He wasafraid to move. He wasafraid of how deep theymight go inside him.As Mitch whizzedpast,he kicked at Hobie’sknee. Pain shotthroughHobie’s leg. Hecrumpledin a heap.

Show Don't Tell BINGO - Call List

(Print) Use this randomly generated list as your call list when playing the game. There is no need to say the BINGO column name. Place some kind of mark (like an X, a checkmark, a dot, tally mark, etc) on each cell as you announce it, to keep track. You can also cut out each item, place them in a bag and pull words from the bag.


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  1. Dale blinked, and then smacked himself on the forehead.
  2. His father leaned down the table and put his big hand on top of Jess’s hand. He gave his wife a quick, troubled look. But she just stood there, her eyes full of pain, saying nothing.
  3. Panic shimmered through his body, tiny hammers hitting glass. He could shatter, he felt, in a moment, and he gulped air, trying to calm himself.
  4. I’m not staying here, that’s for sure.” Rob felt a familiar loneliness rise up and drape its arm over his shoulder.
  5. Tabby’s eyebrows disappeared up into the scrunchie of her ponytail. -Tripping Over the Lunch Lady by Lee Wardlaw
  6. “Writing is not about magic. It is about hard work.” There was a silence in the room. Papa looked at me. His eyes were very shiny. “You know,” said Papa, “I think you are smarter than I am.”
  7. Free!
  8. Jess stole a look at Leslie. Her face, bent low over the math sheet, was red and fierce.
  9. “Look!” She waved her spelling test. “A gold star!” She twirled on tippy-toe. “I didn’t miss a word!” She spun around and around like a little ballerina on a music box.
  10. The café hung breathless, like a pendulum at the top of its swing.
  11. All of the kids stared at her with open mouths as if she had just stepped off a spaceship from another planet.
  12. March checked the time. He drummed his fingers on his leg.
  13. My face goes bright red, I can feel it. Now sweat is pouring down from my armpits like somebody turned on a faucet.
  14. March felt perspiration under his collar. He kept his restless hands in his pockets.
  15. Behind her turned up glasses, Mrs. Myers’ narrow eyes were full of tears.
  16. I leap out of bed, thrust my feet into my sneakers, and with my shoelaces flying, I’m racing through the kitchen toward the back door.
  17. Wish I could do my work in the early morning before the sun’s so fierce. But I don’t complain. I take off my shirt finally, wrap it around my head to keep the sweat out of my eyes, and I keep on.
  18. Rob stood and considered her words. He felt them on his skin, like shards of broken glass. He was afraid to move. He was afraid of how deep they might go inside him.
  19. As Mitch whizzed past, he kicked at Hobie’s knee. Pain shot through Hobie’s leg. He crumpled in a heap.