Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar (2 page)

My older brother is sooooo sophisticated. “Muesli is like granola,” I told him. “They eat it in Europe.”

“They also eat slugs in Europe,” Rafe pointed out.

“Snails,” I corrected. “Escargot.”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “That word even
sounds
like barf.”

I looked over at Mom. Her face was quivering, as if she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or frown. I love my mom, and I have no idea how she can find Rafe funny. It must be a gene I missed.

“So, are you two excited for your first day?” Mom asked.

Changing the subject. Nicely done, Mom.

“I can’t wait,” Rafe and I said together. Only his voice clearly meant “I
can
wait,” while my voice meant “I’m so excited that I’m about to explode!”

Rafe snorted. “You’re nuts.”

“Just because you didn’t like sixth grade doesn’t mean that I won’t.”

“Yeah, because you’re nuts.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “It’s like prison in there. You’ll get eaten alive, Little Miss Pink Backpack with a Pony on It,” he growled.

“Mom!” I screeched.

“That’s enough, Rafe,” Mom said, casting a worried glance my way. “Stop trying to scare Georgia.” I knew she was nervous about my first day. After all, Rafe had had a pretty rough sixth-grade year.

What? Did you just say I shouldn’t worry, because
my brother is a big, fat liar
?

Hey—watch it. I can talk all I want about my brother, but nobody else can say bad things about him. I have Rafe’s back. Mostly to throw stuff at, and for the occasional backstabbing.

The point is—his back is
mine
, not yours.

And even though my brother
is
a big, fat liar, I had a bad feeling he was telling the truth this time.

T
he good news is that nobody cared about my backpack. The bad news is that Rafe was right—HVMS
is
like prison. My crime? Mistaken identity.

It wasn’t bad at first. I didn’t really mind that the school bus smelled like an armpit. I didn’t even mind that all the kids seemed to know one another already.

Then I got to homeroom. I’d never had to change classes before, so I was nervously trying to memorize my schedule while the teacher, Mr. Grank, called roll. He suddenly said, “Georgia Khatchadorian? You’re Rafe Khatchadorian’s SISTER?!” Yup, he said it just like that, in all-capital letters, with an exclamation point at the end.

The class went silent. Then everyone started whispering to one another.

I felt myself blush. “Um… yeah?” I said, hesitating.

“You don’t
know
?” Mr. Grank growled.

“Well, sir… I was just hoping, maybe we could keep that
,
um, little piece of trivia just between me, you, and these four walls?”

I grinned nervously, but Mr. Grank was all “Don’t get smart with me, Ms. Khatchadorian.”

Someone in the class said, “Ooooh,
trivia
…” and I felt everyone looking at me, like I was showing off some big, fancy vocabulary word or something. Actually, it was more like they thought I was going to take off all my clothes and streak through the hallway. (Which Rafe actually did once.) So I slumped down in my chair until the bell rang.

Now, normally we would’ve gone to a Big School Assembly next to learn about the school rules and stuff. But for some reason—(ahem,
Rafe
)—there wasn’t one this year. The Code of Conduct was being “reworked.” So we went straight to our classes.

Anyone want to guess why—(cough, cough,
Rafe
)—the teacher gave me a “special welcome” in English? And math? And French? And gym?

For those of you who are confused right now because you don’t know much about Rafe, here’s the deal: He’s notorious around here because he tried to break every single rule in the student handbook. He almost did it too, but he got kicked out. (If you’re interested in knowing even more about it, just read
Middle School, The Worst Years of My Life
. Personally, I wouldn’t bother. But you might like it… if you’re crazy.)

And now everybody at HVMS seemed to think I was going to be the next crazy Khatchadorian.

Everywhere I went, I was following in my brother’s muddy, bloody footsteps. I was about as popular as toxic waste. Rafe wasn’t even here, and he’d already ruined everything.

But I’m not Rafe. I’m the kind of girl who gets straight A’s. I even won Most Outstanding Effort in the third grade. All these people have the wrong idea about me.

I decided that I’d just have to show them that I’m not Rafe Khatchadorian II: The Revenge. I’m more like Georgia Khatchadorian I: The Relatively Normal.

I thought that once I showed everyone the real me, things would get better.

Boy, was I wrong.