Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar Read online

  “What do you want?” Missy demanded.

  “I’m supposed to wipe down your table,” I said, holding up my bucket.

  “Ew,” Missy said. “What’s that—your shampoo?” Brittany and Bethany howled as if that was the best joke in the history of humankind. Even Jeanne laughed.

  She laughed! Where’s your angel now, Rafe? I thought. I should have known he had rotten taste in girls.

  “I like your green hair,” Jeanne said.

  Missy smiled smugly. “Yeah, it’s very eco-friendly.”

  “The alien look is totally in,” Brittany agreed.

  “Beam me up, Georgia,” Bethany added. Missy gave her a high five.

  Great. Now there were four princesses instead of three. Even more witty remarks to ruin my life! “Can I just clean this table?” I snapped.

  “We’ll move,” Jeanne said, gathering her things. “Let’s sit over there,” she said, pointing to a table by the window. “The only thing left to plan is the Battle of the Bands.”

  The itty-bitty dance committee looked at one another, then gathered their things to follow. I guess even Missy wasn’t going to mess with Jeanne.

  Is there a new queen at HVMS? I wondered.

  I turned my back on them as I wiped down my last table. Why did Rafe ever like Jeanne, anyway? She’s just like the rest of them—underneath that bouncy hair, she has a mean streak a mile wide.

  General Rafe Torture

  I couldn’t let the green-hair thing go. I needed revenge.

  I know what you’re thinking: “Sheesh, Georgia’s been a little harsh on Rafe, hasn’t she?” Yeah. I have. But you need to understand something: He ruined my life. I had always loved school. I’d always been good at it. And now it was horrible, and it was all Rafe’s fault.

  He was my brother, and I was stuck with him… but he was stuck with me too. And I would make him pay. I rubbed my hands together like an evil mad scientist. (Hey, I already had the hair to match.)

  When I came into the kitchen, Rafe was there, chugging milk straight from the plastic jug. Seriously. Again with the chugging!

  I bit back a comment about backwash and picked an apple out of the fruit bowl. “Hey, you got a phone call earlier,” I said, like the thought had just occurred to me.

  Rafe looked stumped, as if I had just told him a riddle. “Who?”

  “Oh… wait… I can’t remember her name.” I took a bite of the apple, pretending to rack my brain.

  Rafe’s eyes bugged out when I said “her.” “Someone from Airbrook?”

  “No… it was someone from HVMS,” I said. “Someone who used to know you.”

  “Jeanne Galletta?”

  I snapped my fingers. “That’s it. Sorry I didn’t write it down. She said you had the number?”

  Rafe looked thrilled, as if I’d just told him Santa Claus was real and he was coming over for dinner.

  Rafe grabbed the phone from the wall and started to punch in the numbers. He has her number memorized? I don’t think he even realized how huge his smile was. Rafe was happier than I’d seen him in weeks.

  And that was when I knew that this was really mean. Too mean. Meaner than turning someone’s hair green.

  “Wait—” I said. I didn’t want to be an evil mad scientist.

  “Hey, Jeanne?” Rafe grinned. “Hey, it’s Rafe!” There was a pause. “Yeah, that Rafe.” Another pause. His smile faltered a bit. “Well… I called because I heard you left a message earlier….” My brother looked at me, clearly confused. “Oh. Oh, yeah. Of course not. It, uh, must have been Jeanne from my new school….” He gave a fake little laugh, but his face was so red I thought it might melt off.

  He glared in my direction. Yikes. I wanted to tell him I was sorry, but he was still on the phone with Jeanne.

  “Oh, yeah, I really like Airbrook Arts,” Rafe said cheerfully into the receiver. Watch out, he mouthed at me, eyes narrowed. “How’s HVMS? What are you up to?” Then he turned his back on me and started toward the stairs. I heard him slam the door to his bedroom.

  I looked down at my apple. I’d only taken one bite, but I didn’t want it anymore.

  It ain’t easy being mean.

  Rafe’s Revenge

  GEORGIA! GEORGIA, CONGRATULATIONS!” Rhonda screeched as I walked into HVMS five days later.

  It wasn’t even first period, and I already had no idea what was going on. “What are you congratulating me for?”

  “THE LIST FOR BATTLE OF THE BANDS IS UP—AND YOUR BAND IS ON IT!” She grabbed my arms and shook me. “YOU’RE GOING TO PERFORM AT THE DANCE!”

  “WHAT?” I shrieked. For once, my voice was as loud as Rhonda’s. “Are you sure?”

  Rhonda pointed, and I dashed over to the display case in the school lobby. Here’s what I saw:

  “We can’t play the dance!” I wailed. “How did this happen?” And then, like lightning striking, I realized two things:

  Only one person calls my band We Stink.

  That person was recently on the phone with Jeanne Galletta, head of the dance committee.

  He got me. Rafe got me in my own school. He was going to make sure I humiliated myself in front of everyone.

  “YOU’RE GOING TO BE AMAZING!” Rhonda gushed.

  This doesn’t even have anything to do with you! I wanted to shout. But I didn’t. Instead, I sat down right there, in the middle of the floor.

  “ARE YOU OKAY?” Rhonda plopped down next to me.

  “Rhonda—we can’t play the dance! We really do stink. We’re not ready!” I buried my head in my arms. “What am I going to tell the band?”

  Rhonda sat there for a long time, not saying anything. That was so unusual that I actually peeked out from behind my arms, just to make sure she was still breathing.

  She was. In fact, she was watching me and smiling. Sometime while I had my head in my arms, she had already managed to make a sign that read WE STINK RULES! She put a gentle hand on my shoulder.

  “YOU CAN TELL THE BAND,” she said seriously, “TO GET READY TO ROCK.”

  Playing War

  Mom and Rafe were playing cards in the living room when I got home from school. Rafe looked up from his hand and narrowed his eyes at me. “What’s new, Georgia?” he asked.

  I snorted. “You already know what’s new, Rafe.” I nearly tripped over the pile of mail in the front hall. Am I the only one who picks things up around here? I thought as I gathered up the mess and sorted through it.

  Mom slapped down a card, then Rafe did the same. “Ha!” Rafe said, greedily snapping up the pair and kissing it with a gross, wet smack. I thought I saw the jack of clubs get a little green in the face.

  Mom laughed. “How was your day, sweetheart?” she asked as I hung my coat on a peg in the hall and walked over to the couch.

  “Fine,” I said sweetly. I held up a treasure I’d just found in the pile of mail. “Look, Rafe! It’s from Airbrook Arts! Did you get progress reports already?” I smile at him. “I wonder how you did!”

  “Give me that!” Rafe snarled, reaching for the envelope.

  I yanked it away. “I bet you can’t wait to open it up and see!”

  Mom stood up. “I’ll take that, Georgia,” she said, and I handed it to her.

  Rafe glowered at me as Mom tore off the end of the envelope and pulled out the report. Her eyes went wide. “Rafe!” she shouted. “You did great!” Mom wrapped Rafe in a huge hug. “Look at this! An A in art! And all the rest are B’s!”

  Rafe looked down at the paper, as if he could hardly believe it himself. “I’m getting a C in math,” he pointed out.

  “A C-plus,” Mom corrected. “You’ll pull it up—I know you will! Oh, Rafe!” She squeezed him tight. “I’m so proud of you!” Mom dabbed at her eyes a little bit. Seriously, I hadn’t seen her this happy since the time she found a ten-dollar bill at the playground.

  “I’m making pie to celebrate,” Mom announced, and started for the kitchen.

  “Apple?” Rafe asked, padding after he
r.

  I watched them go. Well, that backfired big-time. Rafe was actually doing well in school, while I’m working on a D in English.

  Welcome to my alternate universe.

  Shoo Pie, Don’t Bother Me

  I stomped to my bedroom, flopped onto my bed, and recapped everything that had gone wrong in the past few days. Green hair and detention were just two of the highlights. And now… Rafe revenge reversal. Mom is baking him a pie! I still couldn’t believe it.

  There was a soft knock at my door. Rafe, I thought. He’s come to gloat. “Go away.”

  “What did you say, Carolina?” Grandma Dotty asked as she opened the door. “ ‘Slow decay’?”

  “No, I—never mind. Come on in.”

  Grandma Dotty sat down at the foot of my bed and rubbed my back for a minute. Mom used to do that when I was little. I forgot how nice it could feel. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Hmm. Then why are you lying facedown on your bed?”

  Sighing, I sat up. “It’s just—Rafe got his progress report today. He got one lousy A, and Mom is acting like he just got into college. He even got a C! Do you know what would happen if I got a C?”

  Dotty clapped. “An A is marvelous!”

  “But I get straight A’s all the time!” I wailed. “And Mom never made me a pie!”

  Grandma Dotty looked thoughtful. “She never made me a pie for my report card either.”

  What? Mom wasn’t even alive when Grandma got her report card. Well, maybe that’s Dotty’s point—that life isn’t fair.

  “I want pie too,” I grumbled.

  “Well, maybe Rafe will let you have some.” Dotty smiled and took my hand in her wrinkly old one. I knew she was trying to help, but she wasn’t really getting my point. “It’s good that your brother is doing well in art school,” Dotty went on. “He’s never been the greatest student, you know.”

  “Tell me about it.” I rolled my eyes.

  “He’s like your mother in that way. They’re both born artists. They aren’t much good at regular school. They’re a lot alike, in good ways and bad.” Grandma Dotty smiled, and her brown eyes twinkled.

  “Am I like my mom?” I asked. “Like she used to be?” I was hoping Dotty would say that both Mom and I were smart. Or musical. Or kind, maybe.

  Dotty shrugged. “How should I know?” she asked. “I don’t know what your mother was like when she was your age.”

  What? She doesn’t know my mom?

  I wanted to say it out loud, but I thought it might be kinda cruel. I mean, Dotty’s memory is kind of Swiss cheesy. There are holes. There’s nothing she can do about it. Why make her feel worse?

  Let’s face it: That’s what makes Grandma Dotty a little… dotty. Or more like completely dotty. And we all love her anyway.

  Completely Insane

  I have to tell them, I thought as my fingers plucked the strings of my electric guitar. I have to tell them. I’ll tell them right after this song.

  The song ended. I didn’t tell them.

  Mari, Nanci, and Patti still had no idea that Rafe had signed us up for the Battle of the Bands yesterday. I wished I could put off telling them forever, but I knew I couldn’t. For one thing, Rhonda was watching our rehearsal, and she was dying to tell my friends about our upcoming “gig.”

  More like a gag.

  If I didn’t say anything, I knew Rhonda would. And that wouldn’t be pretty.

  Okay, I couldn’t let that happen.

  “I’m beat,” Mari announced when the next song ended.

  “Yeah, I have to get home,” Patti added, wrapping a scarf around her neck. “Mom needs me to mow the lawn.”

  “So, we’ll rehearse again next week?” Nanci asked. She shoved her drumsticks into her back pocket and dug her hand into a bag of chips. “Same time, same place?”

  Rhonda gaped at me. TELL THEM! she mouthed.

  “Wait,” I said. My friends turned to look at me.

  “What’s up, Georgia?” Mari asked.

  “Um…” The only way to say it was to spew it. “Rafe signed us up for the Battle of the Bands which is in eight days so we have to practice because we’ll be performing in front of the whole school and our names are already on the program so it’s kind of too late to back out but I probably could if we really wanted to so it’s up to you guys.” I squeezed my eyes shut.

  “What?” Nanci asked. She crunched a chip.

  “We’re signed up to do the Battle of the Bands?” Patti asked. She made it sound like You volunteered us to jump off a bridge?

  Nanci and Mari looked at each other. It was a look of horror.

  “Our names are on the program?” Mari asked.

  “Rafe did it,” I said.

  Dead silence.

  I wish I could just dig a hole and live in it, I thought. Maybe Mom could bring me a sandwich now and then.

  “COME ON, YOU GUYS!” Rhonda screeched. “THIS IS GOING TO BE AWESOME!”

  “Rhonda, we’re not ready,” Mari pointed out.

  “YOU ARE READY! YOU’RE AMAZING, AND THE DANCE WILL BE PATHETIC WITHOUT YOU!” She waved her arms in the air. “YOU OWE IT TO GEORGIA TO PERFORM! YOU CAN’T BACK OUT ON HER IN FRONT OF HER FRIENDS.”

  I put up my hands. “Wait! This doesn’t really have anything to do with me—”

  “YOU GUYS WILL REGRET IT FOREVER IF YOU BACK OUT NOW,” Rhonda insisted. “HOW WILL YOU PERFORM NEXT YEAR IF YOU BAIL ON THIS YEAR’S BATTLE?”

  Mari turned to Patti. “Rhonda has a point.”

  She does?

  “SO WHAT IF YOU’RE NOT PERFECT?” Rhonda was clearly in the zone. She wasn’t about to stop screeching now. “ROCK IS NEVER PERFECT!”

  “She’s right!” Nanci twirled a drumstick. “Let’s rock!”

  “Yeah, let’s go for it!” Patti agreed.

  Mari turned to me. “What do you think, Georgia?”

  I looked over at Rhonda’s beaming face. She really, really thinks we’re good, I realized. It was kind of inspiring.

  “Let’s do it,” I said.

  Rhonda let out a shriek that might have been a cheer. I clapped my hands over my ears but smiled. Rhonda was our biggest fan, and I didn’t want to let her down.

  Of course, she might just be completely insane.

  But I didn’t want to let her down anyway.

  Grandma’s Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown

  I was almost home from school when I saw him:

  Rafe.

  We had managed to avoid each other in the morning. Airbrook Arts starts forty-five minutes later than HVMS, so I ate a piece of pie for breakfast and snuck out early. But I couldn’t avoid him forever.

  Rafe had paused midstride too. For a moment, we both stood stock-still, like mirror images. I guess we were both waiting for the other to make the first move.

  I knew the same question was on both of our minds: Who’s going to pull the next prank?

  True, I had pulled the last one. And yet that prank was an epic fail for me, and a big, fat win for Rafe. So whose turn was it? Would the next victim be Rafe? Or me?

  “What are you planning?” Rafe demanded.

  “Nothing,” I said. “You?”

  “Nothing.”

  His hands were empty, so I decided to trust him. I guess Rafe made the same decision about me, because he nodded, and we started up the walk to our house. We walked up the steps. Rafe opened the door….

  Wait—is this the right house?

  “Surprise!” Grandma Dotty cried. She was sitting on a hideous flowered couch. “I got my things out of storage and decided to freshen up the decor around here.”

  It wasn’t that our apartment looked awful…. It was just that it looked exactly like Dotty’s old house. I looked at Rafe. Rafe looked at me.

  “This is bad,” Rafe whispered.

  “Wait till you see what I’ve done with the other rooms!” Dotty chuckled.

  “Other rooms?” Rafe repeated, but I was already racing
up the stairs. I threw open the door to my personal space.

  “What’s this?” I shrieked. “Where’s my stuff?” My room now had a couch, a plant, and an empty birdcage. I yanked open the closet. Nothing. “Where’s Mr. Bananas?” My stuffed monkey had disappeared, along with my Most Outstanding Effort medal, my favorite blanket, and my bed.

  I heard Rafe howl next door and raced to see the destruction there.

  “This looks way better than it used to,” I told him.

  “It’s horrible!” Rafe cried. “I can’t find anything! Where’s my favorite drawing pen? Where’s the painting Mom made for me? Where’s last Thursday’s leftover pizza? This room is about as fun as… a prison cell.”

  “This is a disaster!” Rafe wailed. “That pizza was my science project!”

  “We have to tell Grandma to put everything back where it was,” I said.

  “She probably has no clue how to do that,” Rafe pointed out. “And she might not want to. She’s kind of…” His voice trailed off.

  “Dotty?” I suggested.

  “Exactly.”

  We needed to come up with a way to make Dotty want to give us back our stuff. Suddenly, it came to me.

  “Listen, Rafe,” I said, taking him by the shoulder. “I have a plan. But I’m going to need your help.”

  Rafe looked suspicious. “What’s the plan?”

  “We have to convince Grandma to get all our old stuff out from wherever she put it,” I said. “Let’s tell her we’ll have a garage sale. Then she’ll put everything out, and we’ll sort through it and keep what we really want before we sell anything.”

  “Grandma Dotty goes to garage sales every Sunday,” Rafe said. “She can’t resist them.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, Georgia,” he said finally, “you can count on me.”

  “We Stink” Up the Garage Sale