Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar (7 page)

Okay, that’s not really what I was wearing. But I couldn’t believe Rafe had figured out that my oh-so-casual outfit was really oh-so-desperate.
Am I that obvious?

“Yeah,” Rafe went on, “Georgia’s going to attempt to pass herself off as an earthling.”

I relaxed a little. Of course Rafe didn’t have me figured out. He can barely figure out how to work a toilet-paper roll.

But even though he didn’t know it, he was right. I’d gotten up early and put together an outfit that looked a little bit like what Brittany and Bethany had been wearing the day before—skirt, leggings, flats, and a tunic—with a messenger bag instead of a backpack. I was going to try to blend in.

Naturally, my plan worked flawlessly. Instant popularity was mine.

“Please tell me that you got dressed in the dark this morning,” Missy begged, and her friends giggled. “Nice try. I guess you’re just…”—she smiled smugly—“… super lame.”

“Super lame!” Brittany squealed, and she and Bethany high-fived.

Yeah, well, you’re just… uh… you’re a big… um—

I couldn’t think of a single witty comeback. So I trudged toward my locker, trying to ignore the other kids lining the hallways.

The trick is to stay out of Missy’s way
, I told myself as I spun my combination lock. Most kids scattered when they saw her coming down the hall. Seriously—it was like a Godzilla movie, only scarier. I was pretty sure that one day Missy would be the first dictator of the United States.

A
s the Princesses strutted past my locker, I watched the other students cowering before Missy and the B’s. It was like the Patrol had some kind of “loser radar”—from all the way down the hall, they could zero in on loners, nerds, and kids with less money than them. I even saw teachers duck into their classrooms to avoid the princessy sneers.

I closed the door to my locker and made my way toward class… and saw Rhonda come around the corner before Missy spotted her.

Missy was giggling at something Bethany had said, and she wasn’t watching where she was going. She slammed right into Rhonda, who went
down on her butt like a sack of Jell-O dressed in saddle shoes. Rhonda’s armful of books scattered everywhere. Her three-ring binder opened, and papers rained down like a ticker-tape parade.

“Watch it, Chubby!” Missy snapped.

The other girls laughed.

“Yeah, are you blind?” Brittany asked. “Oh, wait—I just noticed your clothes. I guess you are!” The Princesses kept on walking.

And what did I do?

I kept on walking too. Of course.

Hey, I’ve got enough problems already. I’ve got a bet to win! Besides, I’ll never make friends at this school if I go around helping people like Rhonda.

A
ctually, I didn’t do that.

I helped Rhonda pick up her books. Why, you ask? It’s simple.

I am an idiot.

I mean—that’s obvious, right? I’m supposed to be winning over the Princesses, not making friends with people they hate. I have a bet to win.

“WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” Rhonda asked me as I helped her to her feet. I will never, ever get used to that screechy voice of hers. Her clothes were even wackier than they had been yesterday. Every single
thing she was wearing had an
R
on it.

“I’m Georgia,” I told her as I collected her books. “Georgia Khatchadorian.”

“THAT’S BEAUTIFUL!” Rhonda shrieked.

“Um, thanks.” I gave her a quick smile and headed toward my class.

A moment later, I noticed the sound of heavy breathing behind me.

“SO, GEORGIA, DO YOU LIVE CLOSE TO HVMS?” Rhonda asked.

“Not that close,” I told her. “I have to take a bus.”

“I LOVE THE BUS! I HAVE TO TAKE ONE DOWNTOWN SOMETIMES FOR MY VOICE LESSONS.”

I wasn’t really listening. “It’s okay, I guess.”
Isn’t she supposed to be going the other way?

“DO YOU HAVE ANY BROTHERS OR SISTERS?”

Is she serious? She’s never heard of Rafe? Wow, this girl does not get out much.
“I’ve got a brother.” I picked up my pace a little, but Rhonda kept up with me. I wondered what would happen if I went into a bathroom. Or oncoming traffic.

“WHAT DO YOU DO FOR FUN, GEORGIA?”

OMG, is she my grandma or something?
I wondered. “Well, I’m in a band.”

“YOU’RE IN A
BAND
?!?!”

Rhonda said it the way everyone else said, “You’re Rafe Khatchadorian’s SISTER?!” She sounded shocked. Amazed. Maybe even terrified.

“Yeah. We really… rock.” I was going to say “stink,” but then I realized that Rhonda would never know the difference.

“OMIGOSH, I WOULD
DIE
TO BE IN A BAND!” Rhonda hugged her books so tightly, I thought they might explode against the ceiling. “I LOVE TO SING!”

I laughed, but then Rhonda looked hurt, and I realized she was serious. “You… sing? You?”

“WHY? DOES YOUR BAND NEED A SINGER?” She grabbed my arm and squeezed it hopefully. And painfully.

“No,” I said quickly. “Sorry.”

“OH.” She looked crestfallen. “BECAUSE I’M REALLY GOOD,” Rhonda added.

“Okay,” I told her. “Well, here’s my class. Gotta go!” And I finally escaped into social studies.

I could feel Rhonda watching me from the door as I sat at my desk. But I didn’t look at her. I just stared at the whiteboard until the bell rang and she disappeared.

I am
soooo
regretting being nice to her.

If I’m not careful, she could sink my whole year.