“Not Noelle! Noah!” I said very loudly.
“Norma?” he said. “I don’t think I know a Norma. Is Norma a nit? I think I saw one hatching on your head. You should check there.” Then he spat a huge glob of spit way out in front of him and turned to us with a big smile on his face.
I glared at him and walked away. Just when you think Matthew Sawyer can’t possibly get more annoying, he does.
“Oh, there’s Noah!” squeaked Cora. She pointed to the corner of the school yard, near the climbing wall. Sure enough, there was Noah. He was talking to that mystery boy in the orange hoodie again … and he did not look happy.
Chapter 4
The boy was patting the top of Noah’s head like Noah was a cutie patootie baby doll or something. He was laughing hard.
Noah wasn’t laughing at all. In fact, he was the opposite of laughing. His mouth was all puckered up like he’d just eaten a lemon.
I was wondering why Noah looked so upset. Then I heard what the boy said to Noah. He called him Shorty.
Noah is really short. He’s the shortest kid in the second grade.
Personally, I think there are a lot of great things about being short.
1. You can fit in the best hiding places, like under the sink or in a suitcase.
2. You can ride Great Danes, which are my second-favorite dog breed.
3. You are closer to the ground, so when you have to pick up stuff you’ve dropped, it’s easier.
But I don’t know any of that for sure, because I’m not short and I’m not tall. I’m just in between. What I do know for sure is that Noah really, really, really hates it when anyone mentions that he’s short. He’s sensitive about it, as my mom would say.
Noah got furious when the boy called him Shorty and patted his head. His eyebrows were all scrunched together, and his face was red.
“Awww, come on, Shorty! It’s just a joke!” said the boy.
“Cut it out!” I shouted as Cora and I ran over to them. “Leave Noah alone!”
Noah was surprised to see us. So was the other boy.
“Who are you?” the boy asked.
“I’m Cora and this is Veronica. Pleased to meet you!” squeaked Cora. She was acting like she was meeting the queen of England!
“This is no time for manners!” I whispered to Cora. Then I turned to J.J. and gave him my best Tough Guy Face. Dad taught it to me. He said that Nonno, who is his dad, taught it to him when he was a kid.
Here’s how you do it:
1. Grit your teeth.
2. Flare your nostrils.
3. Narrow your eyes and stare really hard.
I have a very good Tough Guy Face. Jude’s is terrible. His Tough Guy Face looks more like an On-the-Toilet Face.
So I put on my Tough Guy Face, and I asked the mystery boy, “Who are you?”
“I’m J.J. Taylor,” he said. “Are you any good at soccer? If you are, you can play with Shorty and me.”
“I’m not playing,” said Noah.
“Stop calling him Shorty!” I demanded.
I gave J.J. my best stare. And at that exact moment, Jude opened his big mouth and made a lot of trouble for me.
“RONNY!” Jude yelled from across the yard. “Cora’s mom wants me to tell you that you guys are leaving in five minutes!”
Ooooh, I was so angry at Jude! If I had been a beekeeper with a swarm of angry bees, I would have definitely let them loose on him.
Jude started calling me Ronny when I was born because he was a toddler and couldn’t talk properly. That part isn’t his fault. But I have told him and told him that I do not want to be called Ronny anymore! When I was a baby and I couldn’t say his name properly, I called him Doody, and you don’t see me calling him Doody anymore, do you?
“Your name’s Ronny?” J.J. asked me.
“No, it’s Veronica,” I said, but he just ignored me.
“Ronny’s my uncle’s name. My big, sweaty, hairy uncle.” The more he talked, the louder his voice got.
My blood started to boil. That’s really how it feels when I get furious: like I am inside a pot on the stove, getting all heated up.
“My uncle Ronny wears dirty jeans like yours, too,” said J.J., pointing at my legs. “You guys are twins!”
I was so shocked that I didn’t know what to say. That almost never happens to me. So I just gasped, and then Cora gasped, and then Noah gasped, too.
Then good old Cora piped up: “That’s not a very nice thing to say! Her jeans aren’t dirty!”
Here’s the thing: Cora was wrong. My jeans were dirty. My jeans are usually dirty, and the reason is, I wear them almost every day. And the reason for that is, they are the most comfy pants in the world.
You know how Goldilocks had to eat the burning-hot porridge and the gross cold porridge before she found the one that was absolutely perfect? Well, it is the same with my jeans. Other jeans are too tight or too loose, but these are juuuuust right.
When J.J. said that about my favorite jeans, at first, I was just so surprised. But then my cheeks got burning hot, and I felt super embarrassed. Like I was wearing a pair of grandpa underpants on my head.
I was so embarrassed, I took off running.
Chapter 5
I ran all the way across the yard until I got to the monkey bars, and I climbed up to the very top and sat there. I pulled my handy pack of cinnamon gum out of my jeans pocket.
I always keep some cinnamon gum in there because it cheers me up when I’m feeling down. If I could, I would keep a can of whipped cream in my pocket, but that’s too messy, so I bring gum instead.
After a minute, Noah climbed up and sat next to me. I handed him a stick of gum, and he popped it in his mouth.
“How do you know that awful J.J. Taylor?” I asked. “Is he in your class?”
“No, but he was on my soccer team last year,” said Noah, chomping on his gum. “He was pretty nice to me then. He told me a lot of stories about his big brother, who’s ten years older than him. He went to college in Florida.”
“So that’s why he’s wearing that orange hoodie,” I said. I smacked my gum. Mom says it’s a bad habit and very impolite, but how else can you get the flavor out of the gum, I ask you?
“I wish J.J. would go to Florida and stay there,” I grumbled.
“Yeah, me, too,” Noah said.
I remembered how Noah hadn’t waved at me at lunch, and I said, “Is he teasing you at lunch, too?”
“He was,” said Noah with a smile. “But I noticed he ate peanut butter every day, so I told Miss Tibbs I was allergic to peanut butter. She moved my seat so it’s far away from him.”
“Noah Rocha!” I said. “You are one crafty guy. You aren’t allergic to peanut butter!”
“No.” He smiled. “But I am allergic to J.J.”
Noah hooked his knees on the monkey bars and swung down so he was hanging upside down. I did it, too.
“He’s always making dumb jokes about how I’m short,” said Noah.
“Did you tell your mom or dad?” I asked. I’ve never met his parents, but I know his dad is kind of famous. He used to be a soccer star in Brazil. Now he has his own radio show called The Rafael Rocha Radio Hour. My dad listens to it sometimes, and once I listened with him. I thought Noah’s dad would do something interesting like sing songs or tell jokes or say stuff about Noah. But all he did was talk about soccer. It was pretty boring.
“I don’t want to tell my parents,” Noah said. “It’s embarrassing.”
“What about Ivy?”
He shook his head.
I grabbed the bar and pulled my legs off so I was standing right next to Noah, who was still upside down.
“Noah! You have to tell Ivy!”
“Tell me what?”
We had been so busy chatting, we didn’t notice Ivy walk over. She was wearing hoop earrings that were so big, they almost touched her shoulders!
Noah swung off the monkey bars.
“I have to tell you I’m re
ally hungry,” he said. “Can we get a slice of pizza?”
“Sure,” said Ivy.
“Ivy, have you ever gotten a guinea pig to jump through your earrings?” I asked. “They are the perfect size!”
I was being serious, but she just laughed. Then she and Noah left, and Cora came to tell me that we had to go, too.
Chapter 6
Cora lives one block away from the school, on top of a bakery. It’s not her family’s bakery, though, so she doesn’t get to eat as many free cupcakes as she wants, which is too bad. But it’s still nice that she lives there because her house always smells sweet, like chocolate-chip cookies fresh out of the oven.
As we walked from the school to Cora’s house, I asked her if I could borrow something to wear.
“I think I got mud on my pants,” I said.
She looked down at me and said, “No, you didn’t.”
Then her eyes got big. “You just want to change those pants because J.J. teased you!”
“That’s not why!” I exclaimed. Even though it really was. “I just feel like a change!”
Cora tilted her head and looked at me for a few seconds.
“Okay,” Cora agreed. Then she suddenly smiled really big and clapped her hands. “Oooooh! I can give you a MAKEOVER!”
“Oh no. Not another makeover,” groaned Camille, who was walking next to us. “She gave me one last week, and she tried to make my curls straight. Know how she did it?”
I shook my head.
“She tied rocks to the end of my hair,” said Camille. “My head was so heavy, I got a huge pain in my neck!”
All the Klein twins have the same super-curly red hair, which is something I have always wanted. Every year when I blow out my birthday candles, I wish my hair would turn curly. First of all, it would look sensational. Second of all, curly hair is so fluffy, it must be like walking around with a pillow attached to your head, which is very convenient.
“You’re bonkers!” I said to Cora. “Why would you ever want to make hair un-curly, for crying out loud?”
“I thought she would look more glamorous that way,” said Cora.
Camille just rolled her eyes. She is not the glamorous type. Her hair is always messy and has so many twigs and leaves in it, I wouldn’t be surprised if a bird made a nest in there one day. That would be the coolest thing ever. Then she could sneak a pet into school.
“Anyway, Veronica doesn’t need a makeover,” said Camille. “She shouldn’t change just ’cause some kid said something dumb.”
“But makeovers are so fun!!!” squealed Cora.
“If I were you, I’d run for my life,” said Camille. “Her makeovers are deadly.”
“Take over the makeover! Take over the makeover!” chanted Bo and Lou. They love battles and showdowns and surprise attacks.
We walked past the bakery, which smelled like cinnamon and apples, and into Cora’s apartment. Cora took me right into the bedroom she shares with Camille. She flung open the closet doors.
You could tell which clothes were Cora’s because they were all skirts and dresses, and they were full of polka dots. Everything was very clean, and her clothes hung neatly from the hangers.
Camille’s side of the closet looked more like my closet, with most of the clothes piled up in a big heap on the floor.
Cora looked at one dress and then another and then another, and she kept frowning and sighing and saying, “Hmmm.”
Then she squealed.
“This is it!” she said, pulling out a dress and holding it up high so I could get a good look.
Here is what the dress looked like:
1. Bright bubble gum pink. With black polka dots.
2. Poofy. The skirt part had all this crinkly scratchy stuff underneath to make it poof up like a princess ball gown.
3. With a black lacy collar and a shiny black belt. “It’s patent leather,” said Cora, even though I didn’t have any idea what that meant.
Here are three things I hate to have on my clothes:
1. Scratchy stuff.
2. Collars.
3. Belts.
It was my worst nightmare of a dress. I could almost hear horror movie music playing in my head when she showed it to me.
But Cora looked so happy. She was beaming.
So I put it on. It was worse than I thought it would be. The scratchy stuff felt like an army of spiders itching my legs. The collar felt like it was choking me. And the pink was so bright, I felt like I needed sunglasses to even look at it. I didn’t think it could get worse. Then Cora buckled the belt.
“This dress is trying to kill me,” I gasped.
Cora giggled. She spun me around so she could look at me.
“Oh, Veronica!” she whispered. “You look absolutely…”
“Ridiculous?” I said.
“Perfect!” she said. “You have to wear this to school tomorrow!”
Then, all of a sudden, we heard this enormous roar from above our heads. And sure enough, there on top of the bookshelf were Bo and Lou.
“TAKE OVER THE MAKEOVER!!!!!” they hollered.
Before we knew it, stuffed animals were flying at our heads.
“Ahhh!!” we screamed, and we ran out of the room.
Chapter 7
I brought Cora’s dress—or as I liked to call it, Monster Dress—home in my backpack. The next morning, instead of putting on my favorite jeans like I always did, I put it on.
When I walked into the kitchen for breakfast, Dad was so shocked, he spilled his coffee all over his shirt.
Then Mom came in. When she saw me, she made a surprised squeak that sounded just like Ezra’s guinea pig, Ziggy.
“Wow!” she said. Then she said it again. “Wow!”
Then Jude walked in, reading one of his spooky books. This one was called Revenge of the Zom-bunny.
Jude reads while he walks all the time, which he is not allowed to do, because it makes him bump into stuff. Once he was reading while walking through the supermarket and bumped into a huge pyramid of Granny Smith apples. It started an apple avalanche!
So he walked into the kitchen with his nose in the book, and, of course, he bumped into the refrigerator. That made him look up.
Guess what he did when he saw me in Monster Dress? What’s the meanest, worst thing a big brother could do? Yep, he burst out laughing.
“Is it Halloween?” he said.
“MOM!” I yelled.
“Jude,” she scolded.
“I was only joking!” he said.
“Well, it wasn’t funny!” I replied. “There’s plenty I could tease you about, you know. Like your eyeglasses. How would you like it if I called you Four-Eyes? Or a geek?”
“Geek is chic,” said Jude.
“Or I could make fun of your dumb books about mutant vegetables and vampire goldfish. They’re weird! You’re a weirdo!”
“Veronica,” Mom said, and she gave me her Cut it out look.
“It’s okay,” Jude said oh-so-calmly. “Thanks for the compliment.”
Nothing makes me more angry than when Jude doesn’t get angry when I am trying to bother him.
“Jude!” I yelled. “You’re driving me crazy!”
Dad laughed and said, “Jude has a great poker face, huh?”
“He does have a great face for poking,” I grumbled. “That’s what I’d like to do right now.”
“It means I don’t show how I’m feeling,” Jude the know-it-all said. “It’s what you’re supposed to do when you play poker so no one can guess what cards you have.”
“And it works like a charm when someone’s teasing you,” said Dad. “Drives ’em nuts.”
I scowled, which is the opposite of a poker face. Jude laughed but in a nice way.
“I’m sorry for teasing you, Ronny Bo-Bonny,” he said, calling me by the nickname that always makes me smile. “You just look different, that’s all.”
“Well, I think you look fabulous,” Mom said, “and besi
des, variety is the spice of life!” My mom is very cheerful. That’s kind of surprising because her job is to listen to people talk about their problems all day long. She is a therapist, and she has an office on the bottom floor of our building.
She has these machines plugged in down there that make a ton of noise, just so you can’t hear what people are saying through the door. But I can still hear when people yell and when they cry loudly. Sometimes I even hear people laughing, and then I have to scold Mom and tell her to stop goofing off at work.
“Want a fancy hairstyle to go with your fancy dress?” Mom asked. “French braids?”
I nodded.
Just then, I heard footsteps in the hall.
“PWETTY!” squealed a little voice from the kitchen doorway. And who should run in but Pearl!
Pearl’s the cutest two-year-old in the universe. Especially when she wakes up and her short blond hair sticks up in all directions like a cartoon character who got zapped by lightning.
In the morning, Pearl always has her two favorite things with her: Chooch and Ricardo. Chooch is her pacifier. I named it that because Nana and Nonno, who come from Italy, say that the Italian word for pacifier is ciuccio, which you say like this: “choo-cho.”
Ricardo is a big black rat. He’s stuffed, of course. Pearl absolutely loves rats. They are her favorite animal. Pearl has had Ricardo for so long and played with him so much that his tail fell off. So Dad stuck it back on with silver duct tape. Now Jude calls him Franken-Rat.
Pearl liked my Monster Dress so much, she wanted to wear her fancy party dress to day care. It was blue with little flowers all over the front and lace on the bottom. It was also too small for her, so when she put it on, you could see her diaper underneath.
Then she asked Mom to draw whiskers on her face so she would look like a rat. Mom used her black eyeliner and drew three straight whiskers on each cheek.
“Pwetty wat pwincess!” Pearl said when she looked in the mirror. You could tell she felt fabulous in her dress. Too bad I didn’t feel that way in mine.
The Fix-It Friends--Sticks and Stones Page 2
