Blob by Frieda Wishinsky Page A

around with a Blob, Sarah. Trust me. See you later.

“A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked.”
    â€”Bernard Meltzer
    chapter two
    I know Zoe wrote the note. Zoe and I never hung around together in middle school, but we weren’t enemies—at least not till today. Why is she treating me like this?
    â€œHi, Sarah,” I mutter.
    â€œHi, Eve,” Sarah answers, but she doesn’t look up from her book. I know she wonders if I read the note.
    Our homeroom teacher, Ms. Roberts, talks about rules, schedules and clubs, but all I can think about is that note in Sarah’s book. All I can hear is the word blob ringing in my ear.
    I remember Annie Lucas in middle school. Annie was tall and fat. Kids called her Porky, Blubber, Beach Ball, Elephant Girl. They came up with a new nasty name every day. Annie never said a word. She hardly spoke to anyone. She sat alone at lunch, munching the same sandwich day after day—egg salad with gobs of mayonnaise. I used to feel sorry for her, but I never tried to be her friend. I never said anything more than hello to her. I wasn’t mean or anything, but I ignored her.
    Sarah pokes me in the side. I look up.
    â€œEve Richards, are you here?” asks Ms. Roberts.
    â€œYes,” I answer.
    â€œI’ve called your name twice already. Please pay attention.”
    â€œSorry,” I mutter.
    I see Zoe roll her eyes at Sarah. She mouths the words “stupid blob.” A blond girl sitting beside Zoe laughs. Zoe puffs her cheeks and laughs too.
    â€œWhat’s going on?” Ms. Roberts snaps at Zoe.
    â€œNothing,” says Zoe with a straight face.
    â€œThen let’s continue,” says Ms. Roberts.
    When the bell rings, I check my schedule. I have English with Mr. London after homeroom. “What’s your first class?” I ask Sarah.
    â€œMath.” Sarah sticks her schedule into her backpack and stands up. “See you.”
    â€œGreat. See you at lunch.”
    â€œI don’t know if we have the same lunch hour,” she says.
    â€œWhen’s yours?” I ask.
    â€œTwelve.”
    â€œMine too.”
    â€œOh,” says Sarah. “I guess I’ll see you then. I’d better hurry. Math is on the second floor.”
    Sarah gives me a half wave and hurries out of the room. Zoe and the blond girl walk out too. I hear Zoe call, “Hey, Sarah. Wait up.”
    Why does Sarah want to be friends with Zoe? Why is Sarah unfriendly to me? I’m still the same person I was last year. Why is everything different now? Is it because I gained weight?
    Thoughts whip around my head like a cyclone.
    I want to stop thinking about this, but I can’t. I don’t want to go to my next class. I want to go home.
    I take a deep breath. I tell myself I don’t care that Sarah doesn’t want to be friends. If that’s the way she’s going to act, she’s not worth it. But no matter what I tell myself, I still feel like I’ve been socked in the stomach.
    I pick up my backpack and head for room twelve. I walk slowly. Each step feels like a mile.
    I can barely swallow. My saliva tastes like sour milk. I rummage in my backpack for a mint. I pop it into my mouth, but it doesn’t help. Oh great! Now I probably have bad breath too! I am fat and sweaty, and I have bad breath. I’m a mess.
    What if I’m Annie Lucas this year? What if I sit alone at lunch every day? What if I have no one to talk to, and Zoe keeps calling me names?
    No! No! I can’t be Annie Lucas. I have to do something.
    I imagine punching Zoe in the face and knocking her teeth out. A toothless Zoe would have trouble calling me names. I smile at the thought. I know I could never do that, even if she deserves it. I’ve never hit anyone, except Robbie Peters in kindergarten. He had stomped on my toe to grab a racing car before I did. I had to sit in the