matchstick jeans and a soft-looking pink sweater that almost came to her knees.
And
had extralong sleeves with thumbholes. My fingers seemed to have a mind of their own and were practically reaching out to touch it to see if it was cashmere. Ifolded my hands under my armpits so I wouldn’t be tempted.
She leaned in, scowling. “So you think my cousin is a Bridezilla, huh?”
I quickly turned away so she couldn’t see my guilty expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, busying myself in my locker. My stomach was tight with worry.
Ashley tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned around again she had a big smile on her face. “Oh, I think you do,” she said. Then she sauntered off with her handmaidens, and they stopped to whisper in front of a nearby bank of lockers. Rachel leaned against one of the lockers. It belonged to Maria Gonzalez, who at the moment needed to get her trumpet out for band practice. But of course Ashley and her friends didn’t notice. I rolled my eyes and turned back to my locker.
Suddenly I heard an annoyingly familiar boy’s voice behind me.
“What kind of name is that, anyway?” the boy snorted. “It’s just … weird.”
I nearly mis-shelved my Spanish textbook. Ashley wasbad enough to deal with, but now here was Bob, the bully from gym class.
Bob was the torturer of anyone who could somehow be considered different. This included the bespectacled, the too short or too tall, the kids with braces, the kids who didn’t wear “normal” clothes, and as I was well aware, the oddly named. I automatically assumed he was talking to me.
I spoke into my locker as my hands clenched and unclenched. “I thought I told you I was named after …” I started to say.
“Well, Bob,” said another voice. “I’m named after Alexander Hamilton, one of the Founding Fathers of the United States of America. Heard of him?”
I spun around. It was Hamilton!
Hamilton wasn’t getting annoyed and flustered like I did when Bob bothered me. He wasn’t throwing his milk carton at him and getting detention like the unfortunately named Dilbert Pickles. No. Hamilton was just standing there, hands in his pockets, casually talking to Bob like he wasn’t the dumbest bully in middle school history.
“Um, yeah, I’ve heard of him,” Bob said uncertainly. (With
his
history grades, I seriously doubted that one.)“But at least I’m not named after him,” he added. He looked around for support. Surely, we all agreed Hamilton must be humiliated for allowing his parents to name him something so silly!
Matt, one of Bob’s buddies, spoke up. “Is your nickname, um, Ham Sandwich?” he asked Hamilton.
I winced. Talk about dumb and dumber!
“Um … no,” replied Hamilton. He looked like he was trying hard not to smile.
Bob thought that was hilarious. “Yeah, Ham Sandwich!” he said. “That’s your new nickname!”
Hamilton just shrugged, which made Bob even madder. “What, are we boring you, Ham Sandwich?” he asked, getting red in the face.
Suddenly, I found myself walking right up to Bob and Matt. “Excuse me,” I said. “Are you guys
always
this unfunny, or is today a special occasion?”
“Shut up, Delfingerprints,” Bob muttered.
“And who are you to make fun of people’s names?” I went on, pointing my finger in Bob’s face. He backed away from me. “I mean, how unoriginal. If you say your name backward, it’s still … Bob.”
Bob scowled. He couldn’t argue with that one.
“Good one, Del!” shouted Mike Hurley from where he stood at his locker across the hallway.
“Ham Sandwich!” Mike’s best friend, Carmine Rizzo, added with a snort. “That was totally lame!”
“Yeah, completely lame!” Penelope Peterson chimed in. Carmine, who had a huge crush on her, looked pleased.
Bob and Matt looked at me, furious that the tables had been turned. “Well, your names
are
dumb!” Bob finally said, backing down the hall.
“Yeah, walk away!” Mike
And
had extralong sleeves with thumbholes. My fingers seemed to have a mind of their own and were practically reaching out to touch it to see if it was cashmere. Ifolded my hands under my armpits so I wouldn’t be tempted.
She leaned in, scowling. “So you think my cousin is a Bridezilla, huh?”
I quickly turned away so she couldn’t see my guilty expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, busying myself in my locker. My stomach was tight with worry.
Ashley tapped me on the shoulder. When I turned around again she had a big smile on her face. “Oh, I think you do,” she said. Then she sauntered off with her handmaidens, and they stopped to whisper in front of a nearby bank of lockers. Rachel leaned against one of the lockers. It belonged to Maria Gonzalez, who at the moment needed to get her trumpet out for band practice. But of course Ashley and her friends didn’t notice. I rolled my eyes and turned back to my locker.
Suddenly I heard an annoyingly familiar boy’s voice behind me.
“What kind of name is that, anyway?” the boy snorted. “It’s just … weird.”
I nearly mis-shelved my Spanish textbook. Ashley wasbad enough to deal with, but now here was Bob, the bully from gym class.
Bob was the torturer of anyone who could somehow be considered different. This included the bespectacled, the too short or too tall, the kids with braces, the kids who didn’t wear “normal” clothes, and as I was well aware, the oddly named. I automatically assumed he was talking to me.
I spoke into my locker as my hands clenched and unclenched. “I thought I told you I was named after …” I started to say.
“Well, Bob,” said another voice. “I’m named after Alexander Hamilton, one of the Founding Fathers of the United States of America. Heard of him?”
I spun around. It was Hamilton!
Hamilton wasn’t getting annoyed and flustered like I did when Bob bothered me. He wasn’t throwing his milk carton at him and getting detention like the unfortunately named Dilbert Pickles. No. Hamilton was just standing there, hands in his pockets, casually talking to Bob like he wasn’t the dumbest bully in middle school history.
“Um, yeah, I’ve heard of him,” Bob said uncertainly. (With
his
history grades, I seriously doubted that one.)“But at least I’m not named after him,” he added. He looked around for support. Surely, we all agreed Hamilton must be humiliated for allowing his parents to name him something so silly!
Matt, one of Bob’s buddies, spoke up. “Is your nickname, um, Ham Sandwich?” he asked Hamilton.
I winced. Talk about dumb and dumber!
“Um … no,” replied Hamilton. He looked like he was trying hard not to smile.
Bob thought that was hilarious. “Yeah, Ham Sandwich!” he said. “That’s your new nickname!”
Hamilton just shrugged, which made Bob even madder. “What, are we boring you, Ham Sandwich?” he asked, getting red in the face.
Suddenly, I found myself walking right up to Bob and Matt. “Excuse me,” I said. “Are you guys
always
this unfunny, or is today a special occasion?”
“Shut up, Delfingerprints,” Bob muttered.
“And who are you to make fun of people’s names?” I went on, pointing my finger in Bob’s face. He backed away from me. “I mean, how unoriginal. If you say your name backward, it’s still … Bob.”
Bob scowled. He couldn’t argue with that one.
“Good one, Del!” shouted Mike Hurley from where he stood at his locker across the hallway.
“Ham Sandwich!” Mike’s best friend, Carmine Rizzo, added with a snort. “That was totally lame!”
“Yeah, completely lame!” Penelope Peterson chimed in. Carmine, who had a huge crush on her, looked pleased.
Bob and Matt looked at me, furious that the tables had been turned. “Well, your names
are
dumb!” Bob finally said, backing down the hall.
“Yeah, walk away!” Mike
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