outside our classroom door. He is saying hello and shaking hands with everyone. I start to walk up to him, but Jenna and another fourth-grade girl, Brooke Morgan, shove past me.
"Excuse us, I-
duh,
" Jenna says.
Brooke looks back at me and giggles.
Even though we have a new teacher and a new classroom, it doesn't take me long to figure out that some things haven't changed. Brooke Morgan, for instance. She is still the prettiest girl in our class. She has been the prettiest girl around for the past nine years. I know because ever since she was a baby she has gotten her picture in
The Purdee Press
sitting on Santa's lap. Every December a hundred kids line up in itchy red dresses or green clip-on ties, waiting for a turn to sit on the big guy's lap. But only one kid's picture gets on the front page, and it's always Brooke Morgan's. Even last year, when she was way too old for it. My dad says she has the kind of smile that could sell a million boxes of cereal.
I do not have a cereal-box smile. My smile is scrunched because my teeth are scrunched. My dad's an orthodontist, and he says I can have braces when all my baby teeth fall out, but based on the number of baby teeth I still have, I think I can pretty much count on having scrunched teeth at least until high school.
When I get inside the classroom, I realize that Mr. Crow does not believe in straight lines. That's because our desks are arranged in four clusters. Apparently, Mr. Crow doesn't believe in alphabetizing either, because Rusty Smith's desk is right next to mine. Tom Sanders's desk is in my cluster, too, and so is Randi Peterson's. Randi Peterson is a girl, even though her name sounds like a boy's. She also acts like a boy, which means I have a lot of burping and ear picking to look forward to. But at least I don't have to sit with Jenna Drews.
Jenna probably thinks everyone wants to sit with her, but really everyone is afraid of her because she's so mean. In first grade, when our teacher showed us how to make minitornadoes by shaking up water, dish soap, food coloring, and vegetable oil in old pop bottles, Jenna made poor Tom Sanders
drink
his. Then she spun him around until his stomach must have felt like a tornado, because Tom turned as green as the food coloring we used.
In second grade, Jenna threatened to tell on Joey Carpenter for cheating on a math test unless he knocked a loose brick out of a school wall so it would collapse and we'd all get a long vacation while they built it again. Joey had to sneak a hammer and chisel to school. But it didn't work. Well,
it sort of worked. He got caught, and when he told Ms. Stevens, our principal, it was all Jenna's idea, she got suspended for three days, which was sort of like a vacation for me.
Then, last year, Jenna made up new names for me and Elizabeth. I think she was jealous because we were best friends. She started calling us I
-duh
and Eliza
butt.
When you have a best friend, stuff like that doesn't bother you as much.
I sit down at my desk and glance over at Rusty. He doesn't seem to realize I'm there. Neither does Randi, who is busy shooting a crumpled paper ball at a hoop Rusty is making with his long, skinny fingers. Randi loves basketball. She even brings her own ball to shoot hoops at recess.
"Betcha can't make a three-point shot," Rusty says to Randi.
"Betcha I can," Randi answers and slides out of her desk. She takes a few steps back, narrows her eyes, and studies Rusty's freckled fingers. Then she lets the paper ball fly. Unfortunately, Tom Sanders arrives just as she shoots. The ball bounces off Tom's head and hits me in the nose.
Randi and Rusty crack up.
"What's a nose shot worth?" Randi asks Rusty.
"Four points!" Rusty says between laughs.
Randi turns her shaggy head to me. "Hey, Ida, let's go for
eight!
" she says, crumpling up a new paper ball.
Even though this is the first time Randi has ever invited me to join a game, I just say, "Um ... no thanks," and turn my nose away.
As I
"Excuse us, I-
duh,
" Jenna says.
Brooke looks back at me and giggles.
Even though we have a new teacher and a new classroom, it doesn't take me long to figure out that some things haven't changed. Brooke Morgan, for instance. She is still the prettiest girl in our class. She has been the prettiest girl around for the past nine years. I know because ever since she was a baby she has gotten her picture in
The Purdee Press
sitting on Santa's lap. Every December a hundred kids line up in itchy red dresses or green clip-on ties, waiting for a turn to sit on the big guy's lap. But only one kid's picture gets on the front page, and it's always Brooke Morgan's. Even last year, when she was way too old for it. My dad says she has the kind of smile that could sell a million boxes of cereal.
I do not have a cereal-box smile. My smile is scrunched because my teeth are scrunched. My dad's an orthodontist, and he says I can have braces when all my baby teeth fall out, but based on the number of baby teeth I still have, I think I can pretty much count on having scrunched teeth at least until high school.
When I get inside the classroom, I realize that Mr. Crow does not believe in straight lines. That's because our desks are arranged in four clusters. Apparently, Mr. Crow doesn't believe in alphabetizing either, because Rusty Smith's desk is right next to mine. Tom Sanders's desk is in my cluster, too, and so is Randi Peterson's. Randi Peterson is a girl, even though her name sounds like a boy's. She also acts like a boy, which means I have a lot of burping and ear picking to look forward to. But at least I don't have to sit with Jenna Drews.
Jenna probably thinks everyone wants to sit with her, but really everyone is afraid of her because she's so mean. In first grade, when our teacher showed us how to make minitornadoes by shaking up water, dish soap, food coloring, and vegetable oil in old pop bottles, Jenna made poor Tom Sanders
drink
his. Then she spun him around until his stomach must have felt like a tornado, because Tom turned as green as the food coloring we used.
In second grade, Jenna threatened to tell on Joey Carpenter for cheating on a math test unless he knocked a loose brick out of a school wall so it would collapse and we'd all get a long vacation while they built it again. Joey had to sneak a hammer and chisel to school. But it didn't work. Well,
it sort of worked. He got caught, and when he told Ms. Stevens, our principal, it was all Jenna's idea, she got suspended for three days, which was sort of like a vacation for me.
Then, last year, Jenna made up new names for me and Elizabeth. I think she was jealous because we were best friends. She started calling us I
-duh
and Eliza
butt.
When you have a best friend, stuff like that doesn't bother you as much.
I sit down at my desk and glance over at Rusty. He doesn't seem to realize I'm there. Neither does Randi, who is busy shooting a crumpled paper ball at a hoop Rusty is making with his long, skinny fingers. Randi loves basketball. She even brings her own ball to shoot hoops at recess.
"Betcha can't make a three-point shot," Rusty says to Randi.
"Betcha I can," Randi answers and slides out of her desk. She takes a few steps back, narrows her eyes, and studies Rusty's freckled fingers. Then she lets the paper ball fly. Unfortunately, Tom Sanders arrives just as she shoots. The ball bounces off Tom's head and hits me in the nose.
Randi and Rusty crack up.
"What's a nose shot worth?" Randi asks Rusty.
"Four points!" Rusty says between laughs.
Randi turns her shaggy head to me. "Hey, Ida, let's go for
eight!
" she says, crumpling up a new paper ball.
Even though this is the first time Randi has ever invited me to join a game, I just say, "Um ... no thanks," and turn my nose away.
As I
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