From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess Read Free

perspective (which is the art of drawing objects so that they appear multidimensional). Ms. Dakota showed me how to create a vanishing point in the center of the page, then make sure all the lines in my drawing met there. It’s super hard.

    So hard that I have to admit I spend a lot of time drawing kangaroos and cheetahs and our neighbor Mrs. Tucker’s cats instead of practicing my perspective.
    It’s amazing how your whole life can change in one day. Like the day I won the art scholarship (even if I couldn’t accept it). That was a really good day, a day I went from being average to not-so-average, in a good way, because someone thought I was good at art.
    Not like today, which is a horrible day.

    I guess I should have known this day was going to be horrible the minute Mr. Courtney handed out those “Who Am I?” genetic family history worksheets in Bio.

    What am I supposed to put under Father’s Eye Color — or Father’s Mother’s Eye Color? Obviously I can write to Dad to find out, but by the time I get the answers, the worksheet will be overdue, and it’s worth 25 percent of our grade! (Although Mr. Courtney says it’s okay to leave some things blank. The twins, Netta and Quetta, don’t know the biological information for their dad, either.)
    But I really hate not knowing things.

    Especially things like why Annabelle Jenkins would want to beat me up.
    It makes no sense.
    No sense at all.

 
    Wednesday, May 6
2:52 P.M.
Social Studies Class
    None of the girls I sit with at lunch can figure out why Annabelle wants to beat me up, either. Well, except maybe my step-cousin, Sara. But I don’t agree it’s “because your nail polish doesn’t match the color of your shoes.”
    â€œNo one would beat someone up over that, Sara,” I said.
    â€œAnnabelle might.” Sara calmly sipped her diet soda. “She’s very fashion conscious.”
    No one replied to this — mainly, I think, because we were all remembering how Sara used to eat lunch with Annabelle, until the day Sara made the mistake of wearing nail polish that didn’t match her shoes, and Annabelle, mortally offended, banished her forever from the popular table.
    Now Sara eats with us, the fun-but-not-always-fashionably-correct crowd.
    Nishi said, “Well, I still think you should tell a teacher, Olivia. It’s not as if you’ve ever gotten in trouble before. A teacher is more likely to believe you over her anyway.”
    â€œBut what about Annabelle’s dad?” Beth Chandler asked.
    â€œWhat about him?” Nishi asked.
    â€œI’ve seen his ads on TV,” one of the twins — either Netta or Quetta, I can’t tell them apart, although I pretend I can — said. “He’s pretty famous.”
    â€œFor personal injury cases,” Nishi said. “Like, if you’ve been in a car crash or something. Not for suing schools.”
    â€œI wouldn’t go up against Annabelle,” the other twin said. “She rules this school.”
    â€œDon’t be dumb,” Nishi said. “No one can rule a school, especially a sixth grader.”
    â€œAnnabelle Jenkins can,” Sara said. Obviously, Sara would know. “She got invited to a seventh grader’s party last weekend.”
    I wanted to say, “Not helping!” sarcastically to Sara, but she has no sense of humor when it comes to Annabelle.
    Beth Chandler said I should fake a stomachache and go to the nurse, then have the nurse call Aunt Catherine to come take me home before school ends.
    But we all agreed I’d only be postponing the inevitable.
    Finally one of the twins said, “Why don’t you tell Justin? Then if Annabelle comes near you, he could defend you.”
    This did not seem like a very good suggestion. I could see Justin sitting over with the other eighth-grade boys at a table by the cafeteria windows. They were playing with personal