Queen of the Toilet Bowl Read Free

with bite. Then Karin wouldn’t bother me. She wouldn’t dare. I’d bite her head off. I laughed as I thought of the words, “bite her head off.” What a crazy expression that was!
    I wrote a sentence down for my assignment on the reasons for the French Revolution. I knew how the French people felt.
    â€œThe French people felt oppressed by the wealthy who cared only for themselves,” I wrote.
    The French aristocrats were like Karin — confident, only thinking of themselves and looking down on the poor. Maybe they didn’t deserve to be guillotined, but they deserved something. After all, poor people were just as important as rich people.
    Yes! I decided. I am going to try out for the play. I’ll show Karin that I’m just as important as she is.

chapter four
    The day started with a thud. I heard it. Then I felt it.
    Pain ripped through my head like a hot iron. For an instant I felt dizzy, stunned.
    â€œAre you stupid or something?” a voice shot out. “Don’t you look where you’re going?”
    It was Karin, rubbing her head.
    I hadn‘t been paying attention. I was so absorbed in my thoughts about the tryouts that I hadn’t looked where I was going. And now we’d collided.
    â€œSorry,” I muttered.
    â€œMy head is killing me. You probably gave me a concussion and all you can say is sorry. You’re just a ... a ...” Karin snarled. I almost apologized again, but I caught myself just in time.
    No, I wasn’t going to apologize again. I said I was sorry. I hadn’t killed her.
    â€œDo you believe her?” I heard Karin tell Darleen as I walked down the hall. “And she thinks she’s going to get a part in our school play. No one would cast a loser like her.”
    I didn’t turn. I walked on. No.
Don’t let her bother you
, I repeated over and over like a Buddhist mantra.
    â€œHey Renata,” called Liz as I neared my history class. “Are you ready for the tryouts?”
    â€œI don’t know if I’m ready,” I said, “but I’m going to try.”
    â€œYou’ll knock their socks off,” said Liz.
    â€œI hope so,” I said. For a minute I pictured a roomful of people with falling socks as I belted out my song. Then I pictured Karin’s socks flying right off her skinny legs and circling the earth.
    â€œMeet you after art,”called Liz as she ran to her math class and I walked into history. I sat down, prepared to hear Mr. Brewster talk about Revolution.
    Mr. Brewster loved revolution. It didn’t matter whose revolution. The American, the French, the Russian. Mr. Brewster rattled off revolutionary facts, especially the gory facts, like an almanac. He knew how many aristocrats died in the French Revolution. He knew how many people starved at Valley Forge with George Washington in the American Revolution. He knew all the theories of what might have happened to the Czar’s family during the Russian Revolution. And none of his theories were pretty.
    â€œMankind needs revolution to cleanse itself of injustices,” he began as soon as class started, “but each revolution has a price, often paid by the innocent.”
    As he spoke, I pictured Karin rattling along in a cart on her way to the guillotine. I could almost hear the rumble of drums, the clip clop of the horse, the leers and cheers of the mob.
    â€œCome back! Come Back, Renata,” said Mr. Brewster. “I asked you to read the opening lines from Dickens’
A Tale of Two Cities
and you haven’t even opened your book.”
    â€œI’m sorry,” I muttered. I was apologizing again! This whole day was turning into one big fat apology.
    I opened the book and took a deep breath.
    â€œIt was the best of times. It was the worst of time. It was ...”
    Dickens understood how I felt. It would be the best of times if I got a good part in the play and the worst of times if Karin got the lead