Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar

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Middle School: How I Survived Bullies, Broccoli and Snake Hill

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For Marguerite Belkin

—L.P.

I
t isn’t easy having a brother who’s famous in all the wrong ways. It also isn’t easy having a brother who’s a blabbermouth. I’m sure Rafe has told you all about me. Let’s see—what did he say? That I’m a tattletale? That I get on his nerves? That I always eat all the pudding cups?

Well, I have news for you: Lies. All lies.

Except the pudding-cup thing. That’s… well, okay, that’s accurate.

Let me make one thing perfectly clear: Rafe Khatchadorian is a big, fat liar. And just to prove I’m the kind of girl who tells the truth, I will now correct myself: Rafe is actually a skinny, normal-size liar. And his version of me is completely out of whack.

Here’s the
real
story: Rafe does crazy stuff all the time, and nobody ever gets on his case about it. He just gets yanked out of sixth grade and sent to art school.

But when
I
do something wrong?

So what is Georgia Khatchadorian really like? Well, I’m much smarter than Rafe. Just ask the people who write the State Intelligence Assessment Tests.

Also, I’m hilarious.

Actually, I’m usually pretty kind. (Rafe thinks
I
tattletale? You should hear the stuff I
haven’t
told!)

I have excellent fashion sense, which I choose not to express. This is because I’m always broke.

And I’m the innocent victim of my brother’s slander.

So I guess this story is about what happens when a smart, kind, creative girl tries to live down her brother’s bad reputation.

It’s really not my fault that it all blew up in my face.

F
ifty-five minutes until my first day at Hills Village Middle School, and I was stuck at the breakfast table with Captain Irritation.

“What is that? Rabbit poop?” Rafe asked, eyeing my cereal.

“It’s muesli,” I said.

“Moose pee?”