Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar (19 page)

Next I tried the cafeteria, but there were just lunch ladies assembling huge trays of goop that looked like reheated goop from yesterday’s lunch. Blech.

The only other room in the direction Rhonda had run was the teachers’ lounge, and it didn’t seem very likely she’d go in there. I knew I didn’t want to, since it was a well-known fact that the lounge doubled as Mrs. Stricker’s harpy lair.

Rhonda was nowhere to be found.

Who could help me? If I called Mom, she’d just come to school and make a Parental Scene. My bandmates? They don’t really
get
Missy Trillin’s evil power, or why I don’t just throw down with the Princesses. Besides, they were in school too.

In the end, there was only one person I could think of to call.

I’ll always owe my brother, because that phone call cleared up everything.

The minute I hung up, I knew what I had to do.

M
y escape plan was simple yet flawless: I walked out the door. Nobody said anything or tried to stop me.

My heart thrashed like a beached fish, but I didn’t look back. I wondered if this was how Rafe felt when he broke a rule at HVMS: excited and a little scared and kind of proud of himself all at the same time.

It hadn’t been hard to look up Rhonda’s address. Her street was only a few blocks from school. The houses were mostly small and close to the curb, without any front yards at all—just driveways and trash bins. Rhonda’s house was as dingy as the rest of them, except her front door looked brand-new, with an oval of stained glass in the center.

As I clanged the huge knocker, I thought I saw the hideous flowered curtains move, just a little. Like someone was peeking out. But no one answered the door. I knocked again. And again.

Rhonda doesn’t know who she’s dealing with
, I thought as I kept knocking. Rafe could’ve told her—I don’t give up that easily.

“GO AWAY!” Rhonda shouted from the other side of the door.

“No!” I knocked again, then rang the doorbell three times in a row just to be annoying.

Rhonda opened the door a crack but left on the security chain, like I was a burglar or a church lady she wanted to avoid. “WE AREN’T EVEN FRIENDS,” she announced.

“Don’t be dumb. Of course we are.”

“WE ARE?” Rhonda looked so hopeful. Her whole face lit up.

“Of
course
you’re my friend.” I swallowed. “Rhonda… I’m sorry I said that to Missy. The truth is—you’re my best friend at HVMS.” I knew it was true the minute I said it. Rhonda was sort of weird, and sort of annoying, and—frankly—a style disaster. But she was also unique. And brave. And kind.

I thought about Missy and felt embarrassed. How could I ever have cared what she thought?

Rhonda blinked, and I could see the sparkle of tears on her upper lashes. She pulled off the security chain and opened the door, but she didn’t invite me inside. “WHY DID YOU TELL MISSY WE WEREN’T FRIENDS?”

“Because… I’m an idiot,” I confessed. “Rhonda, I’m really, really sorry.”

Rhonda didn’t say anything. She just pulled me into a hug.

I’d never been that close to Rhonda before, and I was surprised by her pretty fabric-softener smell and her strong, soft arms. “You’re squishing me,” I told her.

Then we pulled apart, and we both laughed like we were a little embarrassed. Rhonda swiped at her eyes, and I saw that the tears were gone. “BEST FRIENDS!” she said brightly.

“Okay, but—” I bit my lip. “Rhonda, maybe you could… try not to follow me around so much?”

“SURE, GEORGIA! NO FOLLOWING!” She thought that over for a moment. “BUT WE CAN STILL HANG OUT ALL THE TIME, RIGHT?”

I sighed. I guess it was too much to hope that Rhonda would suddenly turn normal. But that was okay.

Who’s normal?

Missy?

Right. I’d take Rhonda any day.

T
hat evening, I sat perched on my favorite stool at Swifty’s as Mom darted back and forth like a dragonfly behind me. The diner was jammed with the usual supper crowd, but the noise didn’t bother me. I was reading
The Invention of Hugo Cabret
and drinking a (
gasp!
) chocolate milk shake, which Mom let me have after someone sent it back, insisting that he’d meant to order strawberry. I should have been happy.

But how could I be? Missy and her family were in the corner booth again.

I tried to concentrate on my book, but I couldn’t. I kept thinking how much I wanted to grab Missy’s
glass of water and toss it in her face. She’d probably start melting like the Wicked Witch in
The Wizard of Oz
. And then I’d be all “Clip-clop—I mean,
ding-dong
—the witch is dead!”

Someone kissed my hair, and I looked up to see Mom smiling at me. “How’s it going?” She leaned against the stool beside mine. “Good shake?”

“The best.”

“Then why are you scowling?”

“I’m not,” I lied. “This is just my face.”

Mom folded her arms across her chest and glanced over at Missy’s table. “How are things going at school?” she asked. When her eyes met mine, I was suddenly sure Mom knew all about Missy and why I wanted to toss water on her.

“Is this, like, some psychic mom thing?” I asked her.

Mom shrugged. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Things are… not great,” I admitted. “HVMS is like Georgia Smackdown Central.”

Mom touched my hair gently. “You’ve always been good at standing up for yourself with Rafe.”

“He’s different,” I said.

“How?”

“Because he’s Rafe!” I stabbed a long spoon into my milk shake and stirred. “He isn’t the queen of anything. Missy is.”

Mom looked over at Missy’s table again. “I know it’s hard to stand up for yourself sometimes,” she said. “I wasn’t any good at it at your age either.” She bit her lip. “I still have trouble sometimes.”

“I guess it’s genetic, then,” I said.

Mom frowned for a minute, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Pearl buzzed by with a “Jules, honey, would you be a sweetheart and take care of table eight?”

“Sure,” Mom said to Pearl. Then she touched my shoulder. “We’ll talk later?”

“Okay,” I said, but my words only reached empty air. Mom had darted off again.

I glanced over at Missy and caught her watching me. I narrowed my eyes at her.