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Authors: Carolyn Mackler
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offers.
“Exactly,” I say.
And don’t even get me started on those girls in my class. They make Ms. Linhart look as sweet as hot apple pie.
When we get home, Mom J and I haul our bags of apples into the kitchen. As Butterball sniffs the apples, Mom J takes a picture and texts it to Mom C. We must have picked fifteen pounds!
“Do you want to talk about Ms. Linhart?” Mom J asks. “It sounds like things aren’t going so well at—”
“What’s that?” I say, pointing to a padded envelope on the counter.
Changing the subject. Number two way of diverting Mom J from a cross-examination (number one is to say I feel feverish). The last thing I want to do is talk about school and how no one in my class likes me. I live it all day. No need to relive the misery at night.
“It’s from Leesa,” Mom J says. “It arrived this morning.”
I grab the envelope and tear it open. My cousin finally mailed me our ongoing collage. It took her forever ! Back in October, I couldn’t get my panda drawing just right. Instead, I ironed a fall leaf inside wax paper, glued it onto the tagboard, and sent the collage to her dorm at boarding school. (Yep, the rusty orange leaf is me being a geek about my first fall in the Northeast.)
As soon as I see what Leesa added to the collage, I can’t stop laughing. It was totally worth the wait.
The next day, my class is pin-drop quiet during math and we all show our work and we even finish our questions early. Ms. Linhart decides to be human and grace us with ten minutes of choice time before gym. Most people grab books or gather together at tables, talking and laughing. I go to my cubby and pull out the collage from Leesa. I’ve already decided I’m going to draw bubble letters saying The Good Vibes Cousins , slather it in glitter, and mail it back to her. If I can get the letters sketched out now, I’ll swing by the art room after school and use their assortment of glitter glue.
I pull the collage out of the envelope and start laughing all over again. I don’t know where Leesa found this, but she’s stuck on a photograph of a highway restaurant with a sign out front that says CHILDREN WITH GAS EAT FREE . Obviously it’s supposed to mean that if you fill your tank, your kids get a meal. But it sounds like farting children eat for free.
“Emme?” Gina asks.
I whip my head around. Gina is peering at me. Her eyes are so pale they look like they’ve been left to dry in the sun.
“What?” I ask hoarsely. My heart starts pounding in my chest.
Gina tips her head to one side. “Were you just, like, talking to yourself?”
“I was …” I quickly slide the collage back into the envelope. The last thing I want is for Gina to see my project with my cousin or to know anything about me. “I was laughing.”
“O.M.G., she was talking to herself,” Gina announces to Alexa and Haley, who rush over as soon as they see Gina with me.
Alexa flashes her tremendous teeth. “You’re kind of weird?”
I’m not sure if she’s asking a question or stating a fact. Either way, it’s not a compliment. My face flushes and I stare down at the floor.
“We’re just joking,” Gina says, touching my arm.
“O.M.G.,” Alexa says.
I want to pull away from Gina, but I’m stuck. Completely stuck.
“What’s in there anyway?” Gina asks. She lets go of me and snatches my padded envelope up off the table.
“No,” I plead. My throat is so tight it comes out like a whisper.
As Gina sticks her hand into the envelope, I reach out to grab it back from her, but it’s no use. She’s already yanked out the collage and she’s turning away from me, holding it out for Haley and Alexa to see.
“Oh my god!” Gina says to them. “A leaf in wax paper? Didn’t we do that in kindergarten? A peace sign? Drawings of shells?” Gina shoves the tagboard into Haley’s hands, like it’s so far beneath her she doesn’t even want to touch it. “Is this, like, a joke?”
“It’s just
“Exactly,” I say.
And don’t even get me started on those girls in my class. They make Ms. Linhart look as sweet as hot apple pie.
When we get home, Mom J and I haul our bags of apples into the kitchen. As Butterball sniffs the apples, Mom J takes a picture and texts it to Mom C. We must have picked fifteen pounds!
“Do you want to talk about Ms. Linhart?” Mom J asks. “It sounds like things aren’t going so well at—”
“What’s that?” I say, pointing to a padded envelope on the counter.
Changing the subject. Number two way of diverting Mom J from a cross-examination (number one is to say I feel feverish). The last thing I want to do is talk about school and how no one in my class likes me. I live it all day. No need to relive the misery at night.
“It’s from Leesa,” Mom J says. “It arrived this morning.”
I grab the envelope and tear it open. My cousin finally mailed me our ongoing collage. It took her forever ! Back in October, I couldn’t get my panda drawing just right. Instead, I ironed a fall leaf inside wax paper, glued it onto the tagboard, and sent the collage to her dorm at boarding school. (Yep, the rusty orange leaf is me being a geek about my first fall in the Northeast.)
As soon as I see what Leesa added to the collage, I can’t stop laughing. It was totally worth the wait.
The next day, my class is pin-drop quiet during math and we all show our work and we even finish our questions early. Ms. Linhart decides to be human and grace us with ten minutes of choice time before gym. Most people grab books or gather together at tables, talking and laughing. I go to my cubby and pull out the collage from Leesa. I’ve already decided I’m going to draw bubble letters saying The Good Vibes Cousins , slather it in glitter, and mail it back to her. If I can get the letters sketched out now, I’ll swing by the art room after school and use their assortment of glitter glue.
I pull the collage out of the envelope and start laughing all over again. I don’t know where Leesa found this, but she’s stuck on a photograph of a highway restaurant with a sign out front that says CHILDREN WITH GAS EAT FREE . Obviously it’s supposed to mean that if you fill your tank, your kids get a meal. But it sounds like farting children eat for free.
“Emme?” Gina asks.
I whip my head around. Gina is peering at me. Her eyes are so pale they look like they’ve been left to dry in the sun.
“What?” I ask hoarsely. My heart starts pounding in my chest.
Gina tips her head to one side. “Were you just, like, talking to yourself?”
“I was …” I quickly slide the collage back into the envelope. The last thing I want is for Gina to see my project with my cousin or to know anything about me. “I was laughing.”
“O.M.G., she was talking to herself,” Gina announces to Alexa and Haley, who rush over as soon as they see Gina with me.
Alexa flashes her tremendous teeth. “You’re kind of weird?”
I’m not sure if she’s asking a question or stating a fact. Either way, it’s not a compliment. My face flushes and I stare down at the floor.
“We’re just joking,” Gina says, touching my arm.
“O.M.G.,” Alexa says.
I want to pull away from Gina, but I’m stuck. Completely stuck.
“What’s in there anyway?” Gina asks. She lets go of me and snatches my padded envelope up off the table.
“No,” I plead. My throat is so tight it comes out like a whisper.
As Gina sticks her hand into the envelope, I reach out to grab it back from her, but it’s no use. She’s already yanked out the collage and she’s turning away from me, holding it out for Haley and Alexa to see.
“Oh my god!” Gina says to them. “A leaf in wax paper? Didn’t we do that in kindergarten? A peace sign? Drawings of shells?” Gina shoves the tagboard into Haley’s hands, like it’s so far beneath her she doesn’t even want to touch it. “Is this, like, a joke?”
“It’s just
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