Mission (Un)Popular by Anna Humphrey Page A

admit it out loud.
    â€œIn the words of the great American poet Robert Frost”—Mrs. Collins pointed to the board, where she’d written a quote in perfectly rounded letters—“‘Poetry makes you remember what you didn’t know you knew.’ If you’re not sure what that means, that’s okay. Just keep it mind as we move through the unit.” She started handing photocopies down the rows. “I’ve divided you into groups of five. I want you to read the poem on the handout and look up the circled vocabulary word within it that corresponds to your group’s number. Define the word, then take turns using it in a sentence. When we’re done, you’ll do a short presentation about its meaning in the poem.” She read off her list. “Group one: Emily, Sarah, George, Simon, and Margot.”
    It figured. Of course, on the day when I looked like a human poodle and I was wearing the same pants for the second day in a row, I’d end up having to do group work and a presentation with Gorgeous George and Sarah J. Why didn’t Mrs. Collins just rent a JumboTron TV, put it in the gym, project my picture onto it, and call a schoolwide assembly so everybody could see a giant close-up of my ugliness?
    I took a deep breath and gathered my courage as we pushed our desks together.
    â€œHi, Em,” I said.
    She smiled at me. A good start.
    â€œHi, George. I like your shirt,” I tried.
    â€œOh. Thanks,” he said, then stared out the window, probably looking for interesting shoes.
    â€œSo, Simon,” I said, “how was your summer?”
    Simon, a skinny, mostly quiet kid, looked up from his binder in surprise.
    â€œOh my God, Margot,” Sarah said pointedly as she pulled her chair out and sat down.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œEveryone knows he has a lisp,” she whispered loudly, “but that doesn’t mean you have to throw it in his face.” She shook her head sadly, like I was too hopeless for words. “There’s a thing called manners. You might want to learn some.”
    Even George was giving me a disapproving look.
    â€œI—” I started, confused, but a second later I figured it out. So, Simon, how was your summer? Could I have put any more S’s in that sentence? “I didn’t mean it like that! I was just asking if he had a good summer.”
    â€œRight,” Sarah said. By now Simon’s face had gone completely red.
    â€œI’m so sorry, Simon.” I clapped my hand over my mouth, realizing I’d done it again. Sarah J. sighed. “I honestly didn’t mean it like that.”
    He nodded once and went back to looking down at his desk like he just wanted the whole thing to be over with.
    Sarah took an aquamarine zipper-closure binder out of her bag, then squinted at me. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but did something happen to your face?”
    â€œNo,” I said, reading the poem Mrs. Collins had handed out so I wouldn’t have to look at her. It was called “Away, Melancholy,” and our vocabulary word was right at the top. MELANCHOLY .
    â€œDid you burn your eyebrows off or something?”
    I didn’t answer.
    â€œNo offense, but whatever you did, it doesn’t look that good.” She wrinkled her nose and kept staring at me. “Are you sure you didn’t burn them?” I felt my cheeks getting hot.
    â€œOf course she didn’t burn them,” Em spoke up. “She tweezed them.” I shot her a quick, pleading look. She was only going to make it worse. “Everyone does it. And actually,” Em continued, “your brows are looking a bit bushy. You might want to think about getting them shaped.”
    The smile fell from Sarah J.’s lips. “Shut up,” she retorted.
    Em just shrugged. “Okay, be like that. I was just making an observation.”
    Sarah scowled. “Oh, and I guess you know everything about eyebrows,