Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar (12 page)

Pretty hilarious, right?

And “clip-clop”? That’s the way the Princesses made fun of the sound my feet make when I walk. I’m a little uneven, I guess.

I actually got the joke the first time they said it. But I guess I didn’t feel like explaining it. You understand, don’t you? It’s not like I’m a liar.

(What? Rafe never mentioned my shoe either? Well, that’s… interesting.)

Nobody at my old school even noticed my limp. Well, if they noticed, at least they never really cared. I mean, sometimes, of course, it came up. Like, I always got picked last when we had relay races.

But that didn’t happen all that often. All in all, I really never thought about it much. Everyone was just used to me, and they accepted me.

But middle school was totally different. The more I tried to blend in, the more I stood out. It’s like I was some kind of free entertainment that people couldn’t help but stare at.
Free freak show! See the Limpy Chick in her natural habitat! Mock her hair! Judge her clothes! Remember her crazy brother?

So is it a surprise that I was locked in a
bathroom stall, crying? (I’m telling you, middle school is all glamour.) I blew my nose on a strip of toilet paper and took a shaky breath.

I wondered if I could just stay in this stall forever. With wireless Internet access, I might never have to face the world again.

A
RE YOU OKAY?”

Rhonda was standing in front of the row of sinks with a roll of toilet paper in her hand when I finally got the will to leave the bathroom stall. What a surprise.

I heaved a sigh, which came out as a hiccup. I couldn’t decide whether I was happy to see her or annoyed that she’d followed me into the bathroom. Both, I guess.

“I’m fine, thanks.” I took the roll of toilet paper and tore off a half dozen squares. My nose was really runny.

I checked myself out in the mirror as I splashed water on my face and patted it dry with a scratchy brown paper towel. I looked pretty hideous. Green hair, red and splotchy face… I looked like something out of a Muppets movie.

Rhonda patted me on the back as I headed toward the door. I appreciated the silent support. Unfortunately, the silence ended the minute we stepped into the hallway.

“I REALLY LOVE YOUR HAIR! WHAT MADE YOU DECIDE TO DYE IT GREEN?”

I snorted. “It was my brother’s idea.” It was funny how people—except the Princesses—seemed to like the green hair. Maybe Rafe wasn’t so crazy after all.

“ARE YOU GOING TO KEEP IT GREEN?” Rhonda asked. “YOU REALLY SHOULD! IT’S
AWESOME FOR A ROCK STAR! OR MAYBE YOU’LL TRY A FEW DIFFERENT COLORS? DO YOU THINK YOU MIGHT GO FOR PURPLE?”

It was kind of amazing how quickly Rhonda could think of new questions. She didn’t even need answers.

“IT’S SO GREAT THAT YOU AREN’T AFRAID TO HAVE GREEN HAIR,” Rhonda gushed. “YOU AND I ARE A LOT ALIKE—WE’RE NOT AFRAID TO BE DIFFERENT, RIGHT, GEORGIA?”

Rhonda was talking at an even higher volume than usual, and a few people stared as we made our way down the hall. “I’m not trying to be different,” I snapped.

“YOU’RE JUST BEING YOURSELF!” Rhonda crowed. “WE ARE WHO WE ARE!”

“Rhonda! We’re
not
alike, okay?” I snarled in a tone I usually save for Rafe. “So can you please just stop following me around?”

Rhonda froze up. Her eyes filled with tears.

I am the worst person ever
, I thought. Yelling at Rhonda is like yelling at a puppy that just can’t help itself. “I’m sorry, Rhonda—I’m just…”

Her face brightened. “YOU’RE JUST HAVING A BAD DAY!”

“Yeah,” I told her. “I am. I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“IT’S OKAY,” Rhonda said. “IT HAPPENS TO EVERYONE. DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO ME ONCE? I ACCIDENTALLY STUFFED MY SKIRT INTO MY UNDERPANTS AND…”

She kept talking all the way down the hall.

Like I said, she just can’t help herself.

A
miracle!

I sat in homeroom for fifteen minutes, and NOTHING horrible happened.

Mr. Grank didn’t even mention my hair, which made me wonder if he’s color-blind. It would definitely explain some of his outfits.

Then the bell rang for first period. It was about time for something horrible to happen, right? I was three steps from the door when Mini-Miller swiped my book right out from under my arm.

“That’s what you get for walking so slow, Peg Leg.” He grinned his dumb grin at me.

“Do you even read?”

Mini-Miller shrugged his enormous shoulders. “No.”

I planted my hands on my hips. “So, what are you going to do with a copy of
The Book Thief
?”

Mini-Miller snorted. “Duh,” he said. “Sell it on eBay.”

Great. Mini-Miller will probably be the next Internet millionaire, thanks to me.

I sighed and watched Mini-Miller lope down the hallway. I couldn’t believe my copy of
The Book Thief
was stolen by a real book thief. Could this day get any worse?

Yes, it could!

Because just at the moment Mini-Miller turned the corner, Mrs. Stricker swooped past him going in the other direction—toward
me
.

The minute she saw my hair, her face lit up. I could tell I’d just made her day. Not in a good way.

“Green hair, Rafe Khatchadorian’s SISTER?!” she screeched. “That’s a violation of our dress code! I’ll see you in detention!”

And she took off down the hallway, gleefully passing out a stack of brand-new
HVMS Code of Conduct
booklets.

W
ho wants to give the first oral book report?”

Before the question was out of Mr. Mahoney’s mouth, my hand shot into the air. Teachers are always impressed when you show enthusiasm—and I wanted to prove that I was no Rafe Khatchadorian! Mrs. Stricker might have just accused me of a genetic relationship, but none of my
real
teachers had called me Rafe in more than a week. By the time I finished my oral report, that name would be wiped from everyone’s memory—permanently.

“Does anyone
else
wish to go first?” Mr. Mahoney asked. “Anyone?”

I left my hand in the air and looked around. Nobody else was moving.

Mr. Mahoney let out a huge sigh. “All right, Ms. Khatchadorian,” he said. “You may proceed.”