Brick: Hi, Mrs. Nethercott. Is there a problem?
Mrs. Nethercott: Is there a problem? You know, Brick, when you first came to this school, I was so excited to hear about a little boy who loved books as much as I do. It's what a librarian dreams of.
Brick: Thank you.
Mrs. Nethercott: Let me finish. For years I have watched as you've checked out book after book after book, and brought them back covered with syrup, and yogurt. [Brick sighs] That is if they even come back at all.
Brick: Look, we can play the blame game all day. The point is I love books.
Mrs. Nethercott: You say you love books. I don't think you do. I love the books in this room like they're my very own babies. You have 31 of them out. Thirty one of my babies. And I want them back, all of them. Or you're not going into third grade. That's right. No fractions for you. No cursive, no field trip to an Amish farm. You think you can make it out in the real world without cursive? You can't.
Brick: Look, you have to accept some responsibility here...
Mrs. Nethercott: Shh! You have until Walt Whitman's birthday. Good luck.