Girls Acting Catty by Leslie Margolis Page A

you?” asked Rachel.
    â€œI don’t,” I replied quickly.
    Claire must have noticed my concern because she explained that it’s okay to wear jeans twice in one week, especially if you wear them on a Monday and then again later in the week— like on Thursday or Friday. But wearing the same jeans three times in one week is overkill, especially if on two of those days you pair the jeans with the same exact top. Which is what Taylor did all the time.
    Taylor’s crowd—I mean Terrible T and the Three Terrors— sits just two tables over from ours and they have to pass us on their way to the trash can.
    The next time Taylor walked by our table, Rachel said all sweetly, “I love those jeans.”
    Taylor seemed wary at first but still mumbled an unenthusiastic thanks, at which point Rachel said, “At least that’s what I thought when you wore them all last week.”
    â€œWhatever,” said Taylor, which everyone knows is the weakest comeback out there.
    We were pretty happy, for about five minutes.
    Then Nikki walked up to Rachel, handed her a napkin, and said, “You have something on your face.”
    â€œWhat?” asked a confused Rachel.
    Nikki squinted at her. “It looks like spaghetti sauce,” she said, and then gasped and pretended to be embarrassed. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. That’s just your skin!”
    Before Rachel could respond, she hurried back to her table, where her crowd sat, laughing at us.
    It was way harsh. Unfair too, since Rachel’s skin had cleared up this week. I was going to tell her so, but Rachel got all quiet and serious and stared down at her turkey sandwich, like she wanted to be left alone.
    Then lunch ended before we even got the chance to retaliate.
    At least Taylor didn’t bug me during PE. She was too busy painting her nails. Yeah, only Taylor would polish her nails in class. And she didn’t even flinch when our teacher, Ms. Chang, took away the bottle.
    â€œNo biggie,” she’d said with a shrug. “I’m getting sick of that shade, anyway.”
    If she wasn’t so terrible, I might’ve been impressed.
    I wore a sweatshirt to dinner that night, so if my bra strap slipped off my shoulder, no one would see. But I don’t think anyone would’ve noticed, anyway. My mom and Dweeble were too busy arguing about the wedding. Tonight’s topic: food.
    â€œEveryone likes passed hors d’oeuvres,” said Dweeble.
    â€œBut a cheese and cracker table makes much more sense,” Mom said.
    Jason grinned at me and rolled his eyes.
    I smiled back and wondered why my insides felt warm and melty.
    â€œMaybe we should choose the caterer first,” said Dweeble. “What about Sammys Second Helpings?”
    â€œThe punctuation is all wrong in their sign.” My mom crossed her arms and leaned back. “ Sammy’s should have an apostrophe.”
    â€œYou’re going to rule them out because of shoddy grammar?” asked Dweeble. “Can’t you stop being an English teacher for five minutes?”
    â€œOh, I don’t know, Dad,” said Jason. “I think she has a good point. It’s an attention to detail kind of thing.”
    â€œFine, then what about Famous Dave’s?” asked Dweeble.
    â€œIf he’s so famous, how come I’ve never heard of him?” asked my mom.
    â€œNow you’re just being difficult,” said Dweeble.
    â€œWhy don’t you guys just order a bunch of pizzas and call it a day?” asked Jason.
    I laughed—right as I was taking a sip of water— and sprayed it all over the table.
    Everyone looked at me.
    â€œSorry,” I said, wiping my mouth. “Can I please be excused?” I stood up, cleared my plate, and got out of there as fast as I could— all the time wondering if I could be more of a spaz.
    Back in my room, I decided to take another look at Pepper’s puppy-training