Brett McCarthy by Maria Padian Read Free Book Online Page B

everyone on her Way Popular Buddy List.
    Okay, maybe not. But even paranoids have enemies. And as I headed into the building that morning, things looked bad.
    For starters, no one was at The Junior. This was unprecedented.
    Unprecedented:
new, having no example.
    We always waited by The Junior for each other, even if the bell had rung. For the first time, I walked into school alone.
    That’s when I saw it: the looks and nudges kids gave one another in the hall as I trudged in. I heard it in the whispers behind my back as I fumbled with my locker. And I felt it, like a kick to my gut, when I walked into first period and saw Diane seated near Jeanne Anne, their heads close together, talking.
    When Jeanne Anne saw me, she straightened up, signaling Diane to be quiet. Not good.
    “Hey, how’s it goin’?” I said, plunking into the seat alongside Diane. She smiled. She looked like her normal, gorgeous self. Not like someone who had stayed up all night staring at the ceiling. Jeanne Anne, seated in front of us, looked straight ahead at the blackboard.
    “Great,” Diane said.
    “I didn’t see you out front,” I continued.
    Diane raised her eyebrows. “Well, I hear
you
were out back.”
    “Gee, I wonder where you heard
that.
” I raised my voice just a bit. Jeanne Anne, back rigid, didn’t turn.
    “Some people are so boring, the only thing they can talk about is…other people,” I continued. Jeanne Anne still faced forward.
    “And some people are so
desperate,
” I went on, “they’ll even walk to school with losers, gossiping the whole time.” That did it. She spun around.
    “
Look
who’s talking!” she practically shouted. “The overweight human sweatshirt! Who has nothing better to do than hang out with her garbage-collecting grandmother and math-team weirdos!”
    The “overweight” alone didn’t justify what followed, especially since I know it’s not true. The fact is I’m big-boned, and fairly muscular for an eighth-grade girl. And the “math-team weirdo” bit? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time Michael had taken heat for being Gifted and Talented. But “garbage-collecting?” My Nonna?
    “You ugly cow,” I said as my fist connected with her nose. Blood spurted.
    Unprecedented. In the annals of Brett McCarthy screwups, a collection that seemed to be rapidly growing, this was a first. And in the history of Mescataqua Junior High, a fistfight between two girls was also unprecedented. Although it wasn’t much of a fistfight. Jeanne Anne never hit back. She screamed for tissues while her nose bled all over Diane’s language arts binder and the rest of the class chanted, “Cat fight! Cat fight!” Language arts teacher, who suddenly materialized from nowhere, thrust a box of Kleenex into some girl’s hands, and ordered her to take Jeanne Anne to the nurse’s office.
    “You,” he said, pointing a stubby index finger in my face. “Gather up your things. Let’s go.”
    Our destination was the principal’s office, where, following a long lecture about the Mescataqua Junior High School Zero Tolerance Policy on Violence, I was formally suspended. Three days starting today, no school. Which also meant no soccer, and we had two big games that week. As I waited for Dad to pick me up, my soccer coach, Mrs. LaVoie, came in and sat down beside me. Like I said, bad news travels fast.
    “Brett, I want to say I’m surprised, but I’m not,” she said gently. “I’m shocked. Dumbfounded. This is completely uncharacteristic. Is there something going on that you want to talk about?”
    In addition to coaching soccer, Mrs. LaVoie teaches language arts at our school. She was my sixth-grade L.A. teacher, and she and I are each other’s biggest fans. Not only are we really into soccer, but she gets my word thing and speaks to me like I’m an intelligent human being. Mom and Dad love her because she called a special meeting with them to discuss my “talent with language.” She always asks me if