The Sister Solution by Trudi Trueit Page B

kale juice. I thought kale was some kind of fish until Jorgianna clued me in that it’s similar to cabbage, but with super wrinkly leaves. Who knew?
    Jorgianna.
    I glance at the clock above the door. My sister ought to be in her first period class now too. I wonder if she is nearby. I hope she’ll make some friends. Her off-the-charts IQ has a tendency to scare other kids. And teachers. And pretty much everyone. I hope someone gives her a chance.
    I giggle. What was with those khaki pants Jorgianna was wearing? And nobody wears tassels on their flats anymore. Where did she get those shoes? Banana, probably. I know she was trying to tone her style down for me, but that outfit was sad. I guess it wouldn’t kill me to give her a break. Everybody in her life—Mom, Dad, Mrs. Kondracki, Mrs. Vanderslice—has been pushingher pretty hard. I am the only one who doesn’t pressure her to work harder, do better, and go further. I will talk to her tonight. I’ll make popcorn and we’ll have a good long chat about how to survive the middle school universe.
    Charlie Twitchell slides into the desk behind me. He cuts a hand through thick wheat-blond hair. “I never thought I’d miss that didgeridoo.”
    â€œOnly two minutes until the bell.”
    â€œHurry up, bell,” he says, taking a pack of cinnamon gum out of his pocket.
    Miss Fleischmann lets us chew gum in class, as long as we don’t chomp like cows and none of the gum ends up on the desks, floor, walls, or somebody else. Charlie offers a stick to me.
    â€œThanks.” I take one.
    Charlie pushes a stick of gum into his mouth, then flattens out the shiny silver wrapper on his desk. Charlie has an origami habit. He’s always turning gum and candy wrappers into miniature airplanes and cars.
    I ask him, “How’s your fairy tale coming along?”
    â€œSlowly. I’m about half done. Yours?”
    â€œI’m stuck on the ending.” I take out my three-ringlanguage arts binder. “I’m writing about a girl who becomes a sea horse to save humanity.”
    â€œA sea horse? That’s cool.”
    â€œIt’s my favorite animal. I go to the Point Defiance Aquarium whenever I can to take pictures. They have a new sea horse exhibit. It has magnified windows so you can find the sea horses in the grasses.”
    â€œMagnified, huh? They must be really tiny.” Charlie’s nose is an inch from the desk as he carefully folds in one corner of the rectangular wrapper.
    â€œThey are. Some are barely half an inch long. I like the way they grip the grass with their tails. Did you know a seahorse has no stomach?”
    He shakes his head.
    â€œThey have to eat constantly to stay alive,” I say.
    â€œI guess that’s one thing we have in common. My mom says I eat constantly too,” says Charlie, shifting his eyebrows.
    Grinning, I hand him my gum wrapper so he can fold it into something interesting. Swiveling to face the front of the class, I rest my chin in my hands. I realize I am chewing my gum in rhythm to Miss Fleischmann’s tings and tongs . The noise isn’t so bad once you get used to it. Still, it’sa relief when the bell rings.
    â€œWhat were you talking about with Charlie?” asks Eden.
    â€œHe thinks he’s a sea horse.”
    She gives me an odd look but doesn’t press it.
    After she takes roll, Miss Fleischmann announces, “I’ve got your creative writing journals to hand back.”
    As a tie-dyed sleeve reaches for a stack of notebooks, I chomp my gum harder. I’ve gotten Bs on every single writing assignment this semester. Sometimes a B-plus, sometimes a B-minus, but always a B.
    B for blah.
    Our last assignment was to develop a fictional character. I came up with a long list of things my character likes—favorite foods, music, songs. I wrote about the kinds of clothes she likes to wear and even what she carries in her purse. I