Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar (21 page)

But there was something in the Lizard King’s golden gaze that told me he wasn’t buying it. I bit my lip and smiled nervously. I wished he would ask me a question or something, just so I wouldn’t have to sit there in silence until one of us died.

At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Before the Lizard King could even shout, “Come in,” my defense attorney strolled in. Well, I guess he was supposed to be my defense attorney.

It was Rafe.

Y
ou’re pinning this on the wrong girl,” my brother said. Rafe plopped a briefcase on the Lizard King’s desk, and a pile of papers spilled out. Rafe picked one up. “Exhibit A.”

“What’s this?” The Lizard King frowned at the paper.

“Her report card from last year.” Rafe held out another paper. “Here’s the one from the year before that. And the one from the year before. As you can see, the grades are straight A’s.”

The Lizard King eyed the papers and suddenly let out a stream of fire from his mouth that turned
my report cards into ash. But Rafe just went on with his speech.

“Georgia also got 1s in effort, which—honestly—is a little obnoxious. I mean, who tries that hard in study hall?”

“If you’re trying to make a point, Mr. Khatchadorian, I suggest you do it soon,” the Lizard King told him. “I’m getting hungry.”

“Um… right. My point is,” Rafe said, “that Georgia was a model student until she came to Hills Village Middle School. And that’s my fault.”

“Rafe?” I was so surprised, I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

My brother turned to face me. “I’m sorry, Georgia,” he said. “I know everyone thinks you’re guilty because I pulled so many pranks here. But”—he turned back to face the Lizard King—“Georgia is not
me
. Not even close.”

There was a long stretch of silence like a curving road leading who knows where. I stared at the Lizard King. He stared back at me. “Do you have anything to add?” Principalzilla asked.

I blinked, and Rafe disappeared.

You knew he was never really there in the first place, right? I mean, why would he be at my school in the middle of the day?

Still… it was a cool thought.

W
hat makes you think I did it?” I asked.

The Lizard King opened a drawer and pulled out a toad. “We have witnesses, Ms. Khatchadorian,” he said, popping the toad into his mouth. I could see the bulge in his throat when he swallowed.

“Oh,” I said.

I should’ve known. Bethany and Brittany were in the bathroom too. I guess they had noticed me after all.

“You’ll serve a week of detention, of course,” the Lizard King said. “And I’m requiring a visit with Ms. Jordan.”

“The headshrinker?” I asked.

“The school psychologist, yes.” The Lizard King’s forked tongue flicked in and out. “She knows your family history.”

“Oh, good, maybe she can help me with my genealogy report,” I said. (Not really. I said that in my head. Would
you
get sarcastic with a giant lizard?)

The Lizard King leaned forward. His breath smelled like August garbage during a sanitation-worker strike. “The next time you visit my office, Ms. Khatchadorian, I won’t hesitate to expel you,” he snarled. “I’ve had it up to the gills with the Khatchadorians.”

Well, I’ve had it up to here with this school
, I wanted to shout back. But like I said, you don’t mess with a hungry giant lizard.

“You’ll be heading to Ms. Jordan now, Ms. Khatchadorian. And remember, next time I won’t let you off so easily.”

I stood shakily and fled from his lair, glad to be alive. But who knew what awaited me in the next den of despair?

T
he minute I sat down in the chair across from hers, the school shrink gave me a warm welcome.

“Please don’t say it like that,” I told her.

Ms. Jordan leaned back in her chair and studied me. “Don’t say it like what?” she asked.

“With all capital letters and an exclamation mark at the end.” I sat on my hands. “Rafe and I aren’t the same person. And besides, he’s not as bad as everyone around here thinks.”

I thought about how he’d helped out at the garage sale and defended me to the Lizard King—even though that hadn’t really happened—and I got a warm, fuzzy feeling.

“Hmm.” Ms. Jordan picked up a pencil and bounced it off the table a few times. “So—what brings you here, Georgia?”

Um, royal command of the Lizard King?

“It’s a long story.”

“I have a lot of time on my hands,” Ms. Jordan said.

I sighed. Clearly, I wasn’t going to escape until I’d delivered my autobiography.

I tried to give her the condensed version.

“I’m wondering if you can speed this story up a bit,” Ms. Jordan said.

“I spilled pudding on Missy Trillin’s head while she was taking a pee.”

“I see.” Ms. Jordan nodded. “Now I think we’re getting somewhere.”