From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess (3 page)

So hard that I have to admit I spend a lot of time drawing kangaroos and cheetahs and our neighbor Mrs. Tucker's cats instead of practicing my perspective.

It's amazing how your whole life can change in one day. Like the day I won the art scholarship (even if I couldn't accept it). That was a really good day, a day I went from being average to not-so-average, in a good way, because someone thought I was good at art.

Not like today, which is a
horrible
day.

I guess I should have known this day was going to be horrible the minute Mr. Courtney handed out those “Who Am I?” genetic family history worksheets in Bio.

What am I supposed to put under Father's Eye Color
—
or Father's Mother's Eye Color? Obviously I can write to Dad to find out, but by the time I get the answers, the worksheet will be overdue, and it's worth 25 percent of our grade! (Although Mr. Courtney says it's okay to leave some things blank. The twins, Netta and Quetta, don't know the biological information for their dad, either.)

But I really hate not knowing things.

Especially things like why Annabelle Jenkins would want to beat me up.

It makes no sense.

No sense at all.

 

Wednesday, May 6
2:52 P.M.
Social Studies Class

None of the girls I sit with at lunch can figure out why Annabelle wants to beat me up, either. Well, except maybe my step-cousin, Sara. But I don't agree it's “because your nail polish doesn't match the color of your shoes.”

“No one would beat someone up over that, Sara,” I said.

“Annabelle might.” Sara calmly sipped her diet soda. “She's very fashion conscious.”

No one replied to this
—
mainly, I think, because we were all remembering how Sara used to eat lunch with Annabelle, until the day Sara made the mistake of wearing nail polish that didn't match her shoes, and Annabelle, mortally offended, banished her forever from the popular table.

Now Sara eats with us, the fun-but-not-always-fashionably-correct crowd.

Nishi said, “Well, I still think you should tell a teacher, Olivia. It's not as if you've ever gotten in trouble before. A teacher is more likely to believe you over her anyway.”

“But what about Annabelle's dad?” Beth Chandler asked.

“What about him?” Nishi asked.

“I've seen his ads on TV,” one of the twins
—
either Netta or Quetta, I can't tell them apart, although I pretend I can
—
said. “He's pretty famous.”

“For personal injury cases,” Nishi said. “Like, if you've been in a car crash or something. Not for suing schools.”

“I wouldn't go up against Annabelle,” the other twin said. “She rules this school.”

“Don't be dumb,” Nishi said. “No one can rule a school, especially a sixth grader.”

“Annabelle Jenkins can,” Sara said. Obviously, Sara would know. “She got invited to a seventh grader's party last weekend.”

I wanted to say, “Not helping!” sarcastically to Sara, but she has no sense of humor when it comes to Annabelle.

Beth Chandler said I should fake a stomachache and go to the nurse, then have the nurse call Aunt Catherine to come take me home before school ends.

But we all agreed I'd only be postponing the inevitable.

Finally one of the twins said, “Why don't you tell Justin? Then if Annabelle comes near you, he could defend you.”

This did not seem like a very good suggestion. I could see Justin sitting over with the other eighth-grade boys at a table by the cafeteria windows. They were playing with personal gaming devices, even though Dr. Bushy, the principal, has said if you are caught with one during school hours, it will be confiscated and you will lose a merit point.

I guess eighth graders don't care about losing merit points, though.

“Justin looks kind of busy,” I said.

“Whatever,” Nishi said. “He's
family
. He
has
to help you.”

I've tried to explain to Nishi many times that, while it's true that Sara and Justin are my family, it's only because their dad married my aunt. They aren't actually blood relations. They're Aunt Catherine's step-kids, which makes them only my step-cousins.

I know this shouldn't mean we're any less close than if we were genetically cousins. Families can be made up of all different kinds of people, many of whom aren't related at all. Sometimes they aren't even the same species. Our neighbor Mrs. Tucker considers her cats her children and likes to knit them tiny hats.

But the truth is, I get the feeling sometimes that the fact that I'm not related to them by blood
super
matters to the O'Tooles.

“Don't do it,” Sara warned me, over her PB and J rice cake sandwich (no one in the O'Toole household has celiac disease or a wheat allergy like Beth Chandler, who cannot eat gluten or her throat closes up and she has to go to the hospital. Aunt Catherine just thinks gluten makes people overweight, so she doesn't keep any bread, pasta, or cookies in the house). “Remember what Justin said the first day of school.”

How could I forget it? The first day of school, Justin gave me a lecture. The lecture was about how even though we'd be attending the same school, I wasn't supposed to talk to him, not even to ask for directions.

And I was most definitely
not
to mention to anyone the fact that at home, Justin likes to sing to Taylor Swift on our household karaoke machine, or that he had cried at the end of
both
of the movies based on Princess Mia of Genovia's life.

“Oh, Sara, don't be mean,” Beth Chandler said. “Justin will help her. Justin's so nice!”

Only someone who doesn't have to live in the same house with Justin would say this. Some of the girls think my step-cousin Justin is cute, but that is only because:

1.
They don't have to live with him, and so have never smelled his extremely gross, stinky socks, like I have.

2.
There are more girls than boys at Cranbrook Middle School, so some of the girls are ready to believe ANY boy is cute, even Justin.

“Uh,” I said. “It's okay.”

“No, it isn't!” Beth Chandler said. “Do it, Olivia.”

“Yes,” Nishi said. “You should do it, Olivia.”

“Don't do it, Olivia,” Sara warned.

“It's an
emergency,
” one of the twins reminded her.

But Sara just shook her head and sucked on her diet soda.

“She'll be sorry,” she said.

But Nishi and Beth Chandler and the twins urged me to go ask Justin.

I should have listened to Sara.

But what other choice did I have? No one was coming up with a better idea, least of all me.

So I summoned up all my courage and went over to the table where Justin was sitting.

He was the one holding the gaming device. All the other boys were crowded around him, looking down at the little screen. They were saying things like, “Go! Go!” and “Nuke him now.” It didn't actually seem like the best moment to interrupt, but, like Netta or Quetta had said, it was an emergency, after all.

“Um, Justin,” I said.

All the eighth-grade boys looked at me. All except Justin. He kept playing his game.

“Go away, Olivia,” he said.

“I'm really sorry to bother you,” I said. I was aware that Justin's friends had looked away, dismissing me as not worthy of their attention. Which was all right. There was only one person's attention I wanted anyway. “But, um, I was wondering if I could talk to you in private?”

“I already told you,” Justin said, still not looking up from the game. “Go away.”

“I know,” I said. “But this is an emergency. You see, there's this girl, Annabelle Jenkins? You know her dad is your dad's business partner, right?”

“Lawyer,” Justin said, not looking at me.

“Um, sorry, right. His lawyer. So, she says she's going to give me a beat-down after school, but I don't know why. So I was wondering, if she tries to, will you, uh, help me?”

Justin made some kind of mistake in the game, and all the boys at his table went, “Oh!” and a couple of them called him bad names. That's when Justin swung around to glare at me and said,
“GO AWAY or Annabelle won't be the only one giving you a beat-down, Olivia Grace!”

What Justin didn't know, though, was that Dr. Bushy (the principal) was right there, doing his turn as cafeteria monitor.

He heard Justin yell at me. Dr. Bushy doesn't like it when people yell in his cafeteria (or the hallways, where Justin and his friends frequently make fun of sixth graders like me and Nishi for no reason), so he came right over.

“What's this? What's this?” Dr. Bushy wanted to know. “If you two can't get along nicely with each other, maybe I should give you both a demerit. Would that help?”

I nearly died. A demerit! After going the whole year without one!

Justin turned bright red and said, “No, Dr. Bushy. That would not help.”

“Now, that's more like it,” Dr. Bushy said. “What about you, Olivia? Would you like a demerit?”

“No, sir,” I said, swallowing. I couldn't see Annabelle anywhere, but I was sure she was watching. “I wouldn't like one, either.”

“Good! Then go back to your seat!”

Then Dr. Bushy left to go yell at some kids who were stuffing leftover pizza in the recycling bin instead of the compost bin.

I fled to my seat, practically crying.

“Oh my gosh!” Nishi said. “Did Dr. Bushy just give you a demerit?”

“I don't know,” I moaned, burying my face in my hands. “I don't think so. But maybe!”

Netta and Quetta patted my back, murmuring soothing things, and Beth Chandler called Dr. Bushy a name under her breath. Sara just said, “Told you so,” about Justin. She sounded kind of smug about it.

Even though I wouldn't want one like Justin or Sara, sometimes I wish I had a sibling. I'm pretty sure if I did, he or she would have my back in an emergency. Like now, as three o'clock grows closer with every jab of the minute hand.