Romance of the Snob Squad by Julie Anne Peters Page B

had left in me, I hauled my you-know-what up to retrieve the note. It said,
Lydia called. She asked you to meet with everyone tomorrow at noon for a farewell to Harley. You’d know where.
Dad added underneath,
Who’s Harley? And where’s he going?
    “Wouldn’t you like to know?” I fumed. Don’t ask me why I was mad at Dad. It wasn’t his fault Harley was dead—or that I was fat.
    Well, maybe it was. Maybe they were his defective genes making me the baby blimp of the family.
    The knock sounded again. “Geez!” I muttered into my mangled sheets. Can’t anyone sulk in silence around here?
    It was Mom this time. “Jenny, you have a phone call.”
    Cripes. “Tell Lydia I’m asleep,” I called. Better yet. “Tell her I’m a slug.” Lydia could be such a pest.
    “You may want to take this call. It sounds… important.”
    “I can’t come to the phone right now, Mom,” I told her. “I’m, I’m writing in my food diary, okay?”
    “Writing what?” she asked. “You skipped dinner. Are you hoarding food in your room again?”
    “Yes,” I said. Go away, I prayed.
    She sighed heavily. Finally her footsteps faded.
    Poor Mom. She didn’t understand. How could she? She wasn’t a trained professional. She wasn’t even a registered dietician. She was just a mom. Or a dad. Whichever role she played, I bet she wished she’d gotten a better cast of kids. I mean, look at us. Both losers. Especially the fat one.
    Right, Jenny. Blame everyone but yourself.
    “Who was that?” I said aloud, sitting up.
    Eyes met eyes in the mirror. “Oh, it’s you again.”
    Yeah, it’s me again. How come it’s everybody else’s fault that you’re so miserable?
    “Shut up,” I said, glaring. “Just shut up.”
    She glared back.
    “Okay, so maybe it is my fault. Maybe I am a big fat ugly pig all by myself.”
    She rolled her eyes. You must be a pig, she said. ’Cause you sure know how to wallow in it.
    “Shut up,” I said again. I looked away. She kept staring; I could feel her beady eyes on the back of my head. Finally I couldn’t stand it. “What?” I yelled at her. “What do you want me to do?”
    She narrowed her eyes.
    “What?”
    You know what.
    “All right!” I threw my pillow at her. It missed, but cleared my dresser with a crash. I cringed, waiting for Mom and Dad to ax down the door with the rescue squad in tow. Nothing. I was saved.
    From everyone but myself.
    I sighed. It was a long, painful sigh. Then I got up and rummaged around in my backpack. “Where’s that stupid food diary? Guess it’s now or never.”
    There it was, in the bottom, under a half-empty box of Milk Duds. “So long, old pals. Parting is such sweet sorrow.” Who said that? Shakespeare? What a turd. I tossed the Milk Duds in the trash.
    I retrieved the diary and carried it to my bed. The notebook seemed heavier than I remembered, especially since there was next to nothing written in it. Wait. Something was stuck to the back.
    My eyes widened when I unstuck it.
    Uh-oh. It was Lydia’s science notebook. Melded to my food diary with sticky puffy paint.
    Great, I thought. Tomorrow was going to be a double funeral. Harley’s and mine. Because Lydia would kill me when she found out it was my fault she’d had to redo the science notebook. And everyone else would assist in the assassination since I’d spoiled our science project. So long, Harley. Good riddance, Jenny.

Chapter 21
    “T his is where I found him.” Max stood beside the carcass of an old motorcycle and pointed to the ground. “This is where we’ll bury him.”
    She handed Harley’s shoe box coffin to Lydia while I handed Max the shovel. As Max dug, Prairie pulled out a miniature tape recorder from her book bag and said, “I brought some of my S-Sunday school music to play.” She slid in a tape and hit the button. A rock version of “Jesus Loves Me” jolted us from our reverie.
    The music was nice, even though it made my tears well up again. Church music always