Things Are Gonna Get Ugly by Hillary Homzie Page B

is that?
    Dribble fans his pink detention-slip pad. “Easy-peasy pie. Yay, team.”
    â€œAnd how did you do this?” I blurt. “Who are you?”
    â€œWho are you ?” he asks.
    I stare at him. Infuriated comes to mind.
    Lunch
    After stressing through math and English, I get in line, tray up my veggie surprise, and trudge out into the middle of the cafeteria. Kids crowd into long tables strewn with sporks, backpacks, and lunch bags. The constant chatter sounds like a dull roar. I’m not picking up a word anyone is saying. My eyes check out the lunch tables. I think of the time that Maggie the Mushroom showed me her color-coded map of the cafeteria.
    Suddenly, the lunchroom becomes a rainbow of color.
    Without thinking, I head to The Girls’ table by the food cart. The Purples with their laughing,long hair, baby tees, whatever’s cool. But then I remember.
    I am still Ernestine.
    My legs press against the back of Caylin’s chair, and I know I must get away from here.
    â€œLooking for your friends?” asks Petra. She points to a table near the bathroom. “Over there, Ernie.”
    The red wonks: poet wench Olivia and Girl Scout activist Ninai. They see me and wave me toward them.
    I start to head over to Girl Geek Central, but a part of my brain screams, Run! Get away. Once you’ve attached yourself to them in any way, you’ll be associated forever.
    Out of the corner of my eye I see Olivia, with a dramatic intake of breath, uncap her calligraphy pen.
    Instead, I head over to an empty table and sit down. I can see Ninai give Olivia a quizzical look. Sorry, but I don’t have time for this, for them. There is nothing that can get me to sit with those losers.
    A Sour Note
    Apparently, during fifth-period elective, I’m in orchestra.
    Ninai’s now opening the double doors and, before I know it, I am swept into the music room along with all of the other orchestra dorks.
    â€œYou don’t need to be nervous about your solo coming up,” Ninai babbles. “You’ll do fine in the concert.” Students pluck violins, violas, and cellos as they tune their instruments.
    Concert? What concert? That means I have to play an instrument I know nothing about in front of actual, live human beings. A couple of violinists play something very complicated as their fingers dance up and down the strings. I have to do that? I don’t know the difference between Mozart and Beethoven. It all sounds the same to me, like the soundtrack of a movie about someone dying or a National Geographic special about penguins. There’s just no way!
    â€œErnestine, are you okay?” asks Ninai.
    â€œUm, not great. Feeling sort of sick, actually. Tell Mr.—” I point to a dude in a Beatles-like haircut.
    â€œMr. Takashama,” finishes Ninai.
    â€œYeah, that guy. Tell him I’m at the nurse’s office.”
    With that I hold my stomach and bolt out of the double doors and into the hallway, where the only sounds are the fluorescent lights buzzing.
    I spend fifth period in the girls’ bathroom.
    Look at Me!
    At the beginning of the fifteen-minute break before sixth period, I sprint to the library, figuring that’s where a geek of Winslow’s magnitude would be hanging out. Olivia sits at the front desk, stamping magazines that look very important and celebrity-free. I can’t believe she actually takes library skills for her elective AND does that Book Worm club after school. I edge away from her and duck by a rack of paperbacks, but she’s spotted me anyway.
    â€œErnestine, is that you?” I’m crouching and somehow my head hits the books, knocking down a copy of Holes .
    Olivia leans over the counter. “We missed you at lunch. Are you okay?”
    â€œFine,” I say, standing up and sliding the book back onto the rack.
    â€œWhat were you talking about in Mr. Drabner’s class? What’s going on? Did he write you