Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar

by James Patterson

  My stomach finally stumbled, then fell with a splat. I wanted to say something, but I was too stunned.

  “Missy, why don’t you go take a flying leap off a gondola?” Sam said, taking my hand. He led me toward the dance floor, but I hesitated at the edge.

  “What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

  I bit my lip. “Sam—Missy is…”

  “A moron?” Sam guessed.

  “Well… but maybe she’s right.” I glanced down at my feet. My skin felt cold and clammy, as if my embarrassment had just lowered the temperature in the room. I felt a little sick and wondered if maybe I was coming down with something.

  Sam touched my shoulder gently. “You don’t have to dance if you don’t want to, Georgia,” he said.

  His eyes were so blue. They reminded me of these pretty glass mineral-water bottles that Grandma Dotty likes to buy at garage sales. I imagined light shining through his eyes, the way they shine through the bottles when Grandma puts them on the windowsill. Suddenly, the cold that had settled over me dropped away.

  It felt good to know that Sam would understand if I didn’t want to embarrass myself out on the dance floor. But there was only one problem….

  “I do want to dance,” I said. I really, really did.

  I mean, this was my moment!

  I was at my first middle-school dance!

  A sweet, cute boy wanted to dance with me!

  It’s not like this was happening every weekend.

  Sam smiled. “Good. Because you already promised you would dance with me.”

  We stepped out onto the floor just as the music stopped. A slow song started.

  Sam put his arms at my waist, and I thought for sure that I might faint. Instead, I rested my head on his shoulder. Dancing wasn’t hard at all—I just shuffled back and forth. Maybe it was just the scent of Missy’s shampoo mixed with the disco ball lighting that affected my brain, but I felt like I was in a happy, beautiful dream.

  I never wanted it to end.

  But, of course, three minutes later it did.

  Band Gone Weird

  Don’t make me go,” I begged Sam. I just wanted to stay on the dance floor, shuffling around with him forever.

  “I can’t wait for you guys to perform,” Sam said. “It’ll be great!”

  “Great?” I repeated. “Yeah, great for Missy.”

  “You aren’t worried about her, are you?” Sam asked. “What could she possibly do to you?”

  Oh, probably nothing too serious. Force all the other kids to boo us? Bombard my head with tomatoes? Send Fabio to pee on my leg?

  Sam must have seen the horror on my face, because he said, “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “Just don’t let her use a hook on me.”

  “You mean like Captain Hook?”

  That was a really scary thought. “Any kind of hook.”

  Sam promised and then walked me over to the stage. Nanci, Mari, and Patti were there, listening as the first band—or should I say bland—lulled everyone to sleep.

  Rhonda rushed up to us. “LET’S BUST SOME EARDRUMS!” she Rhonda-whispered.

  “Um, guys, I told Rhonda she could sing a song with us,” I said. Then I kind of scrunched up my face. I’m not sure what I was expecting. Gasps of horror? Shouting?

  “Okay,” Nanci said.

  Mari nodded. “Sounds good.”

  “Welcome to We Stink,” Patti told Rhonda, who lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “Well, okay, then,” I said. I mean, why shouldn’t Rhonda perform with us? It’s not like we can be much worse than we are.

  The band before ours finished up, and Missy announced us. “Okay, everyone. I’ve heard this next band, and let me say this: It really lives up to its name. So put in your earplugs—and maybe put on a blindfold too. Let’s hear it for They Stink!”

  A few halfhearted claps. Someone whistled. Probably Sam.

  But Rhonda just stomped right up to the microphone. “ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?”

  “Yeah!” Sam shouted. His voice echoed through the silent gym.

  “I CAN’T HEAR YOU, HVMS! I SAID—ARE YOU READY TO ROCK?!”

  “Yeah!” A few more people chimed in this time.

  “LET’S SHAKE THIS HOUSE!” Rhonda turned to us. “ONE, TWO, ONE-TWO-THREE-FOUR!”

  We let it rip. Rhonda grabbed the microphone and shredded it!

  Let me say this: Rhonda was AMAZING.

  Yes, I’m serious.

  No, really.

  Really!

  We Stink sounded awesome! All that time struggling with our instruments had finally paid off. My fingers found the chords, and I didn’t even drop my pick.

  Nanci was drumming instead of eating pie. Mari’s bass had all of the strings, and Patti had even remembered to plug in her keyboard.

  And Rhonda’s crazy, screechy voice actually sounded perfect with our crazy, screechy instruments. We were a slamming heavy-metal band!

  The crowd danced madly, punching their fists in the air. But I really knew we were good the minute I glanced over at Missy. She looked like she was about to throttle someone.

  I grinned.

  And the band played on.

  Princess Gone Wild

  When we finished, the crowd went wild. People were screaming. I felt their voices vibrate through my chest.

  I had been so worried that I would embarrass myself that I had never even thought about how good it might feel to be onstage. But the crowd’s approval roared up to me, and I felt like a volcano, ready to explode with happiness.

  HVMS kept shouting. Someone threw a pair of boxer shorts onstage.

  Rhonda beamed at me. “I TOLD YOU WE WOULD ROCK!”

  The crowd was chanting, “MORE! MORE! MORE!”

  This is usually the place where I would say something like And then I woke up.

  But this was real.

  “Let’s do another one!” I shouted over the noise of the crowd. But Missy Trillin was already storming onto the stage. She grabbed the microphone and yanked it out of Rhonda’s hands. Then she hit the crowd with her Death Glare.

  The room was as silent as a grave. My grave.

  “Well,” Missy said finally. The microphone made her voice boom off the walls. “That was surprising. Especially since everyone knows Georgia’s so… lame.” She smirked.

  For a moment, nobody spoke. My throat burned like I’d swallowed some hot lava. Everything got blurry. Run! my brain shouted. Don’t let her get the hook!

  But before I could turn and rush away, someone shouted, “Boo!” Then someone else joined in. “Boo, Missy!”

  I heard Sam’s voice. “We want an encore!”

  “En-core! En-core! En-core!” the crowd chanted. I couldn’t believe it. They were standing up to Missy. Was her power starting to crumble?

  “I’m sorry, we don’t have time,” Missy said into the microphone. “The next band is—”

  “En-CORE! En-CORE!”

  The shouts washed down on me like cold rain. I blinked, and my tears cleared away. I watched Missy speaking into the microphone, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. The crowd was too loud. They wanted another song.

  And—right at that moment—I realized something important: I wanted to give them one.

  “Be quiet!” Missy hollered, but nobody heard her. Or maybe they did, but they just didn’t care.

  “Get off the stage, Missy,” I snapped, reaching for the microphone.

  Missy stuck out her foot and I stumbled forward, windmilling my arms. I tried to regain my balance, and I reached out—

  A couple of kids in the front row caught me. I wasn’t hurt. I looked up just in time to see Missy gaping down at her missing skirt in horror. Then she stared out at everyone—laughing at her.

  Rhonda offered Missy a tambourine to hold in front of her underpants, but Missy just batted it away. Then she let out a shriek and ran off the stage.

  Rhonda looked down at me. “SHOULD WE DO ANOTHER SONG?” she asked.

  “
Definitely!”

  Rhonda held out a hand and hauled me up onstage. I strapped on my electric guitar as the crowd let out a huge cheer. We tore up the next song, and two more after that. Then we had to bow for, like, five full minutes. Rhonda was eating it up—blowing kisses to the crowd and winking at the cutest boys.

  As we headed offstage, I gave Rhonda a high five. Nanci, Mari, and Patti were squealing with excitement.

  “I can’t wait for us to play at Airbrook Arts!” Mari said.

  Oh, boy. I wasn’t sure what Rafe would think of that. He’d probably spend the whole performance in the bathroom, barfing, with his hands over his ears.

  “WE WERE GREAT! RIGHT, GEORGIA?” Rhonda asked.

  “You were fantastic, Rhonda,” I told her. Then I gave her a hug as she blushed and smiled.

  “Georgia?” asked a soft voice behind me. I don’t know how I heard it over the cheers of the crowd, but I did.

  “Um, Georgia, I just wanted to say that I thought you were really good. I’m sorry Missy was so mean out there.”

  “Thanks, Bethany,” I said.

  “I’m Brittany.”

  “Oh. Okay. Well, anyway, thanks.”

  “She’s really awful, isn’t she?” Brittany asked. She looked like she was about to cry.

  I felt sort of bad. It must have been hard to have Missy as a friend. I squeezed her shoulder. “Yeah, she’s horrible.”

  Brittany burst into tears.

  Just then Sam shouted, “Georgia!” I saw him waving, hurrying over to join me. My performance was over. My band had rocked. The best part? Now I could spend the rest of the evening dancing with Sam.

  I grinned and waved back.

  Best.

  Dance.

  Ever!

  My Mom Is… My Mom

  How was it?” Mom asked when I climbed into the car later that night.

  My mind was whirling with all the things I wanted to tell her about.

  “We won the Battle of the Bands!” I said. “And I danced with Sam! It was, like, the best night of my life!”

  “I’m so glad! You and your band worked very hard.” Mom smiled warmly. “You deserved it, Georgia.”

  Suddenly, I felt like a heel. Mom had bought me this great dress and encouraged me to perform… and I hadn’t even told her the truth about my detention. If I’d told her, she probably would’ve grounded me, and the best night of my life never would’ve happened….

  I felt ill, like I’d accidentally stolen something.

  Mom deserved to know the truth.

  I took a deep breath. “Mom, I poured pudding on Missy Trillin’s head and I got a week of detention plus I had to talk to the school psychologist but I swear that’s it and I’ll never do anything bad again and I’m reallyreallyreallyreally sorry.”

  “Oh, Georgia,” Mom said. She shook her head.

  “I know.”

  “I wish you had told me.”

  “I know. I meant to tell you before the dance, but—”

  “No, Georgia,” Mom shook her head and reached for my hand. “I wish you had told me you were having so much trouble with Missy. I could’ve helped you.”

  I sighed. “I kind of think it’s solved now.”

  “That’s good. And Georgia—about being adopted. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you earlier. I guess… I guess I hoped it wouldn’t matter.”

  We sat there in the dark parking lot for a while. Did being adopted matter? In some ways, it did. Somewhere out in the world, I had a biological mother and father. We shared genes. That was important.

  But right here, in this dark car, I had a mother who’d raised me.

  We shared love. And, honestly, that’s the most important thing of all.

  “I’m sorry I’ve been kind of a lousy daughter lately,” I said after a moment.

  Mom turned in her seat to look me in the face. “Georgia,” she said, “I wish you hadn’t gotten into trouble at school. But you’re not a lousy daughter. You’re wonderful. And even if you were lousy—I’d still love you.” She reached out and pulled me close. She smelled of apple pie from the diner, and coffee, and a million other things that made her smell like Mom. “We’re a family, Georgia. Family is forever.”

  We hugged for a long time. After a while, Mom let out a little squeak. Her body shook.

  “What?” I asked, pulling away.

  Mom squeaked again, and I realized she was laughing. “Pudding,” she said.

  That made me chuckle too. “Yeah.”

  “You really are Rafe’s sister, aren’t you?” Mom’s eyes sparkled, and I could tell that—in a weird way—she was proud of us.

  Am I like Rafe? I thought about my last few weeks at HVMS. They certainly were filled with… mayhem.

  “Yeah,” I said at last. “I guess I am.”

  One Other Thing

  Since it was True Confessions time, I told Mom about my grades.

  “My teachers won’t give me a chance,” I said.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Mom said, and I knew she would. When Mom went in to talk to teachers, she was like a lioness protecting her cubs. I almost felt bad for the Lizard King and Mr. Grank.

  Almost.

  “You should have told me about this earlier too,” Mom said.

  “I thought you’d be disappointed,” I admitted.

  “Georgia, I care about your grades, but only because I know you like school.” Mom started the car and backed out of our parking spot. “You’re good at it. You like to work hard, and you enjoy getting the grades you deserve. And I’m going to do everything I can to make sure your teachers understand that you aren’t Rafe.”

  I’m not Rafe, my drowsy mind whispered. An image of myself onstage, with Rhonda, floated through my head. I saw Missy’s surprised face when I yanked off her skirt, Brittany’s tears as she realized how awful her friend was, and Sam’s sweet, dimpled smile as he asked me to dance. I remembered Mini-Miller’s shock as I kicked him in the shin. I saw Jeanne’s expression when she told me she really did like my green hair. I’m not Rafe, I thought. I’m Georgia. I’m me.

  And for the first time in weeks, I was positive that middle school was going to be okay.

  Cease-Fire Between Rafe and Me (This Is Real. Honest.)

  I was just about to fall asleep when someone knocked on my door.

  “It’s Rafe—can I come in?”

  I was immediately suspicious. Usually, Rafe doesn’t knock—he just barges right in.

  “Okay,” I said, sitting up in bed.

  “How did the band do?” He sat down on the edge of my bed.

  “Rhonda sang. It was amazing,” I told him.

  “I knew you guys would be good.”

  “What?” I kicked him a little with my blanketed foot. “You think we stink!”

  Rafe shrugged. “You don’t really stink that bad,” he admitted.

  “I’m glad you made me go to the dance,” I said.

  Rafe shrugged. “I didn’t make you.”

  “Still. I wouldn’t have gone if it weren’t for you. So…” I bit my lip. “Thanks.” Wow. I just said “thank you” to my brother. This night was definitely one for the record books.

  Rafe looked down at my old quilt. He traced the pattern with his finger. “Listen, uh… maybe a brother and sister shouldn’t fight so much.”

  “Are you talking about a specific brother and sister?” I asked.

  Rafe rolled his eyes and then looked into my face. “Me and you,” he said.

  “Well, it’s not my fault, Rafe.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh,” I said. “So—are you saying it’s your fault?”

  “I’m saying we could both do a better job. I mean, what are we fighting about, anyway? It’s almost like it’s just a habit. It’s not like we hate each other. Right?”

  Then I waited for him to say something sarcastic. I waited quite a while. “You have a point,” I said at last. “Maybe we even like each other,” I went on bravely. “I mean, sometimes.
”

  “Yeah.” Rafe nodded. “Good.” Then he stood up and walked out of my room.

  Wow. That was unexpected.

  I guess I’d finally worn him down, like a bar of soap.

  Cease-Fire Over, War Resumes

  Well, it was nice while it lasted.

  “Rafe!” I screeched as I dug a spoon into my muesli the next morning. “There’s a snail in my cereal!”

  “I thought you liked escargot,” Rafe shot back. “It’s French.”

  Oooooh, I’m going to GET him for this! I thought, and the thought actually made me kind of… happy.

  It had only been a few hours, but I’d missed the sneak attacks. The tactics. The squealing. The repartee. (Look it up. Merriam-Webster has an online dictionary.)

  Hey, it’s nice when Rafe is being sweet. But it’s more fun when he’s being Rafe.

  And… I Lost the Bet

  Surprised?

  I wasn’t.

  I didn’t get straight A’s—I got a B+ in English—and the Princesses did NOT get personality transplants and suddenly become my friends.

  Then again, Rafe didn’t win the bet either.

  I DO have friends, and I’m NOT begging to leave HVMS. So I guess it’s what you call a draw.

  Speaking of drawing, I showed my artwork to Rafe, and he helped a little.

  This much:

  So I guess it isn’t so bad being Rafe Khatchadorian’s SISTER.

  It’s much worse.

  (Gotcha, Rafe! It’s so easy.)

  JAMES PATTERSON was selected by kids across America as the Children’s Choice Book Awards Author of the Year in 2010. He is the internationally bestselling author of the highly praised Middle School books, as well as I Funny, Confessions of a Murder Suspect, and the Maximum Ride, Witch & Wizard, Daniel X, and Alex Cross series. His books have sold more than 260 million copies worldwide, making him one of the bestselling authors of all time. He lives in Florida.