“It’s really cool that you guys have started a band,” Rafe said. He looked at me. “I didn’t know you could play guitar.”
“We wouldn’t have a band without Georgia,” Mari said.
“Really?” Rafe smirked in my direction. He tipped back in his chair, and I wished that it would fall over backward, dumping him onto the floor. “So, what kind of music do you play?” he asked.
“Loud,” Nanci told him.
My brother grinned. “My favorite!”
Mari, Nanci, and Patti cracked up. They’re really friendly, which is a pain sometimes. Like when they’re being nice to my brother.
“One!” Mari called. “Two! One-two-three-four!”
We launched into our theme song again. I added a little guitar solo in the middle, but it wasn’t really on purpose. My fingers just got stuck in the strings. Hey, give me a break—I’ve never had a single lesson, okay? I’ve been teaching myself by watching music videos. I can jump, twirl, even crawl on my knees while playing. I just can’t really make the notes come out right.
When we finished our song, Nanci twirled a lock of blue hair nervously. She has black hair with turquoise streaks and likes to wear torn jeans, combat boots, and T-shirts with cartoon superheroes on them. “So—what did you think?” she asked my brother.
Luckily, Rafe didn’t have a chance to answer, because just then Grandma Dotty stuck her head through the door. “Did anyone else hear some awful crashing and wailing just a minute ago?” she asked. “Like part of the roof caved in on a howler monkey? Or a truck full of cats tipped over?”
“Um, no,” I said.
“I’d better call the ASPCA,” she said, and shut the door with a slam.
“Were we that bad?” Mari asked. She was looking at Rafe, as if his opinion counted for anything.
“No.” Rafe shook his head.
“Oh, good.” Nanci looked relieved.
“You were way worse,” Rafe added. The band looked horrified. “You guys should change your name to We Stink.”
I was afraid my friends might actually walk out the garage door and never come back. “YOU stink!” I shot back. “I can smell you from over here.”
“That’s your breath,” Rafe said.
I couldn’t think of a good reply, so I grabbed a roll of toilet paper and threw it at his head. Laughing, Rafe dodged and scooted through the door.
“Do we really stink?” Mari asked.
“Rafe would’ve said that no matter how good we sounded,” I pointed out.
“But we do need more practice,” Nanci admitted.
“Then let’s do it!” Mari agreed.
“Rock on!” Patti cheered.
I wasn’t so sure. But we launched back into our theme song, and this time it was even better than before. Now if I could just nail that guitar solo…
Home, Sweet Home
A pretty awesome band practice might cancel out a pretty horrible first day of school, but when you add them together, you still get complete exhaustion.
What I need is a hug from my mom, I thought, and to tell her all about my crazy day. Unfortunately, Mom wasn’t home, which meant no hug and no dinner either, unless I cooked it myself. Mom is a waitress, which means that she usually works all evening. So we kind of have to fend for ourselves.
I wished I had someone to talk to. But Mari, Patti, and Nanci went to Airbrook Arts, where I bet everybody (except my brother) was cool. They didn’t know what it was like to face the snobs of the Princess Patrol. I could talk to Grandma Dotty, I thought, but she would just tell me to be grateful that I didn’t have to walk five miles to school, the way she used to. And the only other person around was…
“Stinky!” Rafe announced as he strolled into the kitchen. “That’s the perfect word to describe your band, Georgia. Seriously, I actually think We Stink is a good name. It’s kind of got a rock edge.”
I just sighed. I didn’t have the energy to think of a comeback.
“What’s wrong? Had a bad day?”
For a second I thought maybe he cared. Then I noticed the big grin on his face.
“My day was horrible,” I snapped. “Thanks to you.”
“Me?” He batted his eyelashes. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He opened the fridge, pulled out a carton of orange juice, and chugged down, like, half of it. Gross.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” I replied. “That’s some path you’ve blazed for me at HVMS.”
“That’s because I was the only interesting person who ever went there,” Rafe replied. He chugged more juice.
“Yeah, I met your buddy Miller’s little brother. I think we’ll be hanging out a lot.” My voice was dripping with sarcasm.
“Did he bother you?” Rafe asked. He didn’t have a smirk on his face now.
“He’s nothing I can’t handle. Anyway, all my teachers are amazed that you’re still in school,” I told him, “instead of jail.”
Rafe shrugged. “I wouldn’t even call them teachers. More like wardens. Admit it—I was right and you were wrong.”
I wasn’t about to agree with him. “One day doesn’t mean anything,” I told him, walking to the cupboard to take out a box of pasta. “It’s going to get better.”
“Wrong.”
I whirled to face him. “I’m not you, Rafe. I know how to make friends. I know how to get good grades. I guarantee that in four weeks, I’ll have straight A’s, and I’ll be one of the most popular girls at school.”
The Princess Patrol will be begging me to hang out with them, I thought. My teachers will have forgotten Rafe ever existed.
“Wanna bet?” Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. “In four weeks, you’ll have zero friends, and you’ll be begging to get out of HVMS.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “Yeah. I do want to bet.” The wheels were already spinning in my mind.
My brother looked a little surprised. “What should we bet?”
“Loser does the winner’s chores for a month.”
Rafe looked around the kitchen at the unswept floor, the dishes piled in the sink, the crumbs on the counter. The rest of our house was more of the same: like the “before” picture on a home-makeover show. There were loads of chores to be done—and I would think up plenty more when I won.
Rafe grinned again. “Deal,” he said, and we shook on it. He seemed pretty confident.
I couldn’t wait to wipe the smile right off his face… and prove to everyone that the only problem I had at HVMS was having RAFE for a brother.
Sweet Home Georgiabama
Grandma Dotty wandered into the kitchen, singing at the top of her lungs. She was wearing a tracksuit and a pair of rainbow-striped leg warmers. “I read these are making a comeback!” Grandma crowed.
Maybe in the “let’s embarrass our grandkids as much as possible” universe, I thought.
I put a pot on the stove and lit the flame while Grandma Dotty belted out her rendition of “Sweet Home Alabama”… which slowly turned into a rendition of “Georgia on My Mind”… and then turned into a version of “Omaha Mall” by Justin Bieber.
Grandma’s not very good with places and names. Or fashion.
Once the water started to boil, I threw in some pasta, then reached for some wilted lettuce. Shouldn’t making dinner be a grown-up’s job? I thought as Rafe chugged more orange juice, finishing off the carton. He let out a huge belch loud enough to rattle the dishes in the sink. Dotty giggled.
Oh, yeah, I reminded myself. I’m the only grown-up here at the moment.
I washed the sagging lettuce leaves and topped them with cherry tomatoes (which I love) and green pepper slices (which Rafe hates) to brighten them up and hide their age.
“First course!” I sang as I brought the plates into the dining room.
Rafe frowned at the salad. “Yeah, that’s pretty appetizing—if you’re a rabbit.”
“I guess I was confused by your giant ears and twitchy nose,” I shot back.
“This l
ooks wonderful!” Dotty gushed. “So healthy.”
Rafe picked the peppers out of his salad and placed them on the side of his plate. He nibbled a leaf, then asked, “Where’s the real food?” Like I was his servant or something.
“Next course, coming right up,” I said as cheerfully as I could through gritted teeth.
Back in the kitchen, I strained the pasta and ladled on some sauce.
“Hey, Georgia, that actually doesn’t look horrible,” Rafe said when I placed the plate in front of him.
I smiled sweetly. “Be sure to eat it while it’s nice and hot.”
Rafe took a huge, greedy bite and hit the roof. Literally.
“Hot enough for you?” I asked, but Rafe didn’t answer. He was too busy fanning the flames burning his lips. Hmm. I guess he didn’t enjoy the entire bottle of hot sauce I emptied onto his pasta.
Good thing I didn’t put any on Grandma’s or mine.
Grandma took another bite. “This is delish, Carolina.”
Rafe sputtered and howled. He couldn’t really speak, but I knew what he was trying to say—and it involved revenge. I’d better escape while he’s busy dousing his tongue with a glass of water, I decided. I left my dishes in the sink and headed to the one place where I knew Rafe wouldn’t dare bother me.
My safe place.
My Mom Is My Best Friend
When I got to my safe place, I discovered it had been invaded by a carnivorous (but nicely dressed) beast.
You guessed it: Missy. Sitting there in a corner booth of Swifty’s Diner with her snooty-looking family. They were daintily eating apple pie.
I skulked over to the counter and slipped onto one of the red stools, holding my copy of The Book Thief in front of my face. Please don’t notice me, I begged silently.
“Your mom’ll be right over, Georgia honey!” Pearl hooted. Pearl is the other waitress, and she always does everything at top volume.
Cringing, I glanced at Missy. She was looking right at me with narrowed eyes and a tight little smile. I turned my back on her as the pasta in my stomach threatened to revolt. Great. If Missy comes over, maybe I can barf on her.
“Hi, sweetie,” Mom said as she leaned across the counter and landed a kiss on my forehead.
I felt like I’d just reached a desert oasis. Mom will know how to handle Missy, I realized. “I need to ask you—”
“I want to hear all about it. I’ll be back in a sec.” She hauled a huge tray piled with dinner plates to a table by the window. It was seven o’clock, and the diner was packed.
The diner burned to the ground last year, but Swifty had rebuilt it with the help of a big insurance check, and it’s way nicer now than it ever was before. And more crowded.
Swifty shouted, “Order up!” and Mom hustled over to the grill to pick up the dinners. She held up her index finger, giving me the “One minute!” signal.
Argh—I didn’t have “one minute”! My problems had followed me all the way to my safe place and were threatening to attack.
I cast a nervous glance toward Missy’s corner. Her family was getting up to leave. Please, please, please just go, I thought.
I hid behind my book. The librarian had tried to tell me that it would be too hard for me. She must’ve had me confused with Rafe. (Note to reader: Rafe has never read The Book Thief or any other book except the CliffsNotes for the Captain Underpants series. Okay, I’m exaggerating. He also sometimes reads the menu at McDonald’s.)
A moment later, Mom brought me a glass of chocolate milk. Chocolate removed.
“How was your first day of middle school?” she asked gently, crossing her arms on the counter. Finally—some time for just Mom and me.
“Oh, it was—” I looked toward the table in the corner. Missy was gone. Good, I thought. Now I can really tell Mom all about it. “It was okay, but—”
“Excuse me?” A bald man held up his coffee cup. “Refill?”
“Sure.” Mom scurried away to grab the carafe. The minute she refilled his cup, someone else was ready to order. Then another table’s food was ready, people were leaving, someone dropped a spoon…. Mom got caught in the chaos, and I couldn’t reach her.
I wished she could just take a night off and hang out watching movies on the couch with Rafe and me. But she works too much. Even when she’s around, it’s hard to get her attention—because Rafe hogs it all.
I really wanted to talk to Mom about Missy… but it looked like this wasn’t my lucky night. I’d just have to figure out what to do about the Princesses on my own.
I would have to fight fire with fire.
The Princess Dress Code
When I came downstairs the next morning, Rafe took one look at me and nearly blew a chunk of Cap’n Crunch out his nose. He had to take a sip of juice to keep from choking on his own laughter.
“Be quiet,” I told him as I slid into the chair across from his.
“You look very pretty, Virginia,” Grandma Dotty said.
“Thank you.”
“Something special happening at school today, honey?” Mom asked as she placed an empty bowl in front of me.
“She’s trying to fit in,” Rafe announced.
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.
Not My Problem
As 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.
This Is Probably a Ginormous
Mistake, But…
Actually, 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.
Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar Page 2
