Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar (22 page)

S
o, you spilled pudding on Missy’s head,” Ms. Jordan said. She poked her flabby cheek with the eraser end of her pencil. “How did that make you feel?”

“Horrible,” I said.

Ms. Jordan lifted her eyebrows.

“It was actually kind of great,” I admitted.

“I assume you had reasons for pouring pudding on Missy Trillin,” Ms. Jordan said. She tucked the pencil behind her ear.

“Good reasons,” I replied. “Missy’s a bully.”

Ms. Jordan pursed her lips as if she doubted my statement. “I’ve seen your permanent record. You’re a good student, Georgia. Or you were. Until you came to HVMS.”

I shrug.

“Are you at all worried about how your mother will react when she hears what happened?”

I flushed red and hot, like a giant pimple. I meant to say “no way,” but it came out in a whisper as “yes.”

“Hmm.” Ms. Jordan pulled the pencil out from behind her ear and scratched her scalp with it. “But your brother, Rafe, breaks rules all the time, doesn’t he?”

“So?”

The edge of her lip curled up. “So your mother should be used to it by now.”

“I told you, I’m not Rafe.”

“Mmm.” The school shrink leaned forward and stared at me like I was a frog she wanted to dissect. “Do you think, Georgia, that your physical
deformity fuels your need to act out?”

I felt like I’d just been punched in the face. I couldn’t think of anything to say… and then I thought of a
lot
of things to say. It involved a lot of words that would have to be bleeped out if I were telling this story on TV.

But I didn’t say anything. I just sat there, breathing deeply.

“I see I’ve struck a nerve,” Ms. Jordan said.

“I’m going to class now,” I announced. Then I stood up and walked out of her office, leaving the rest of the shrunken heads behind me.

A
fter school, I headed back to the cafeteria to help Mr. Adell wipe down filthy tables. The bacteria bucket didn’t seem as gross the second time around. I guess my standards had gone way down.

At least this time there were no Princesses watching my every move. Or so I thought.

“Georgia?” Jeanne tapped on the glass door.

I ignored her. Which wasn’t easy, by the way.

I yanked the door open. “What do you want?” I didn’t sound too friendly, I guess, but I didn’t care. I scanned her hands to make sure she wasn’t holding any revenge pudding.

“I, uh, I wanted to let you know that Missy, Bethany, and Brittany don’t want your band to play at the dance—”

“Whatever,” I said, but Jeanne kept talking.

“—but I told them to get lost.”

“You—what?” I was so surprised that I dropped my smelly sponge.

Jeanne looked over her shoulder, as if she were afraid someone might be spying on us. “I know Missy has… uh… personal reasons for not wanting you to perform. But she needs to get over it.”

“Yeah,” I said. I was a little unsure how to respond. Jeanne was doing me a favor, but it was a favor that I wasn’t sure I wanted. Still, it was nice of her. “Um, thanks?”

Jeanne nodded and turned away. She started for the door, then stopped and turned back. “Georgia, the other day, when I told you I liked your hair?”

“Yeah?” I narrowed my eyes.

“I just wanted you to know that I was serious,”
she said. “I can’t stand Missy,” Jeanne added. “I wish I’d had the guts to pour pudding on her head.” Then Jeanne pushed open the door and walked out.

I stood there for a moment, watching her walk away.

My opinion of Rafe had just shot up about ten
miles. Of course, it started out about fifteen miles below the surface of the earth, but still… maybe his taste in friends wasn’t so bad after all.

Maybe he was the only person who knew a real princess when he saw one.

A
fter detention, I hurried home for rehearsal. The dance was
tomorrow night
, so it was pretty much our last chance to really rock out before the Battle of the Bands. We even had an audience—Rafe, Rhonda, and Mom.

“Wow,” Rafe said after about a half hour. “That was amazing.”

“Really?” Patti asked.

“Yeah—” My brother’s eyes were wide, like he was dead serious. “You guys sounded exactly like a tractor falling off a cliff.”

“DON’T LISTEN TO HIM!” Rhonda said. “YOU GUYS SOUNDED GREAT!”

I glanced at my mom. “Yes,” she said slowly. “I think you girls are… improving.”

I groaned.
That was the best she could come up with
, I thought.
And she’s my
mom
! We must be really bad.

We Stink was going to sink like the
Titanic
.

Mari sighed. “Well, we’ll just have to get up there and do our best,” she said.

“I’m not worried,” Nanci said. She pulled a bag of chips out of her backpack and ripped it open. “It’s our first gig—it’s okay if we aren’t perfect.”

“It’s okay for you guys,” I grumbled. “It isn’t your school. Even if you embarrass yourselves, it won’t be in front of anyone you know.”

“WHAT’S EMBARRASSING ABOUT BEING AWESOME?” Rhonda wanted to know.

Nanci looked thoughtful as she crunched a chip.

“Do you want to back out?” Patti asked.