Queen of the Toilet Bowl by Frieda Wishinsky

chapter one
    Why was I worried? Liz and I hung around together at school but going to her house made everything different. Going to her house made us real friends.
    â€œSit down,” said Liz. “That is if you can find a place.”
    I looked around Liz’s room. There were mounds of clothes on her bed, a pile of shoes on her floor and books piled on her desk.
    â€œWhere?” I asked.
    Liz shoved some clothes off her bed. “Here,” she said.
    I plunked myself down on her pink and red flowered quilt. “Great quilt,” I said.
    Liz pushed another pile of clothes off her bed and flopped down beside me. “My aunt made it when I was ten.” Liz patted her quilt like an old friend. “It has a couple of holes and a mustard stain near the top, but I love it.”
    â€œIt’s beautiful,” I said.
    â€œIf you could see it,” said Liz laughing. “I always plan to clean my room, but things get in the way. It drives my mom crazy. She’s a neat freak.”
    It was true. The rest of Liz’s house looked like a movie set. There were sparkling mahogany antique tables, glass lamps and a marble coffee table with four perfectly lined-up glossy magazines on top. It looked like no one ever sat on or touched anything.
    â€œI bet your room is neat,” said Liz. “You’re so organized.”
    My tiny bedroom was more like a closet than a room. Liz’s bedroom was as big as our living room and kitchen put together. She had space to sprawl out. She had room to be messy, but even the smallest pile of clutter would make my room crowded.
    â€œI’m not that neat,” I said.
    I didn’t want Liz to think I was a neat freak too. Liz and I had known each other for four years, but we’d only become friends since we’d both started grade nine at High Road High. I didn’t want anything to spoil that.
    â€œLet’s listen to music,” said Liz, pulling a CD player out from under her bed.
    She popped in a CD and soon she was singing along with the music. She was also laughing and apologizing. “I know my voice stinks,” she said. “I can’t keep a tune to save my life.”
    â€œIt’s not so bad,” I said.
    â€œYou don’t have to be nice,” said Liz. “I don’t care if I have a lousy voice. I love to sing.”
    I used to love to sing too, but I hadn’t sung in a long time. To my surprise, I belted out a song like Judy Garland singing “Over the Rainbow.” Liz stopped singing and stared at me. “I didn’t know you could sing,” she said.
    â€œI don’t usually,” I told her.
    â€œBut you should. Your voice is amazing. You should try out for the school play.”
    â€œI couldn’t sing in front of a whole room full of kids and teachers.”
    â€œYes you could. Try,” said Liz.
    But I couldn’t. I didn’t want anyone pointing at me, noticing me, talking about me. It was hard enough being from Brazil in a school where almost no one else came from a foreign country. I wanted to be invisible.
    I used to sing all the time in Sao Paolo, where I lived until I was nine. But here it was different. I couldn’t sing in public here.
    â€œLiz,” called her mom. “I have to go out for an hour. Who was that singing on the radio?”
    â€œThat wasn’t the radio. It was Renata,” said Liz. “Isn’t her voice amazing?”
    â€œIt’s beautiful, Renata,” said Liz’s mom, standing at the door. Liz’s mom smiled warmly at me. She had a small, round face like Liz and short brown hair. Her black pants and white shirt didn’t have a single crease or wrinkle.
    â€œI wish you’d clean this room up,” she told Liz. “I don’t know how you can stand all this clutter.”
    â€œIt’s not clutter,” insisted Liz. “Everything in here is special. I’m a collector, Mom. I can’t get