The Miraculous Makeover of Lizard Flanagan Read Free

Elementary.
    They’d already started through The Change.

2
    The first day of school is always hectic and crazy, but the first day of middle school was downright nuts.
    Truman is big compared to Washington Elementary. It has three floors that all look the same: lockers line the halls in between classroom doors. I wondered how I’d remember what floor I was on, especially between classes when all the kids were rushing in every direction.
    Kids were talking a lot in the hall as I made my way to homeroom.
    â€œIf you get Larson for social studies, don’t be late. I heard he yells at you in front of the whole class.”
    â€œI hope I don’t have math before P.E. I can’t go from the third floor way down to the gym in five minutes’ passing time!”
    â€œDon’t let Mr. Brown hear you call him ‘baldy.’ He threw a kid out of class last year for that. He’s real sensitive.”
    There was a lot to learn starting middle school. I hoped I could remember it all.
    In homeroom everybody was assigned lockers. Our homeroom teacher, Ms. Embers, led us to our locker section along the wall on the second floor. We practiced opening them with the combination locks. The assignments were alphabetical, so I shared a locker with a girl named Ginger Flush. Turned out she was the squealer who’d asked me Zach’s name before school.
    I’m usually good at mechanical stuff, but my lock had me stumped. Of course, it didn’t help that Ginger stood there flapping her mouth the whole time I was trying to figure it out.
    â€œDo you know him?” she asked, pointing to a dark-haired kid tossing some of the stuff from his sports bag into a locker.
    â€œJeff Neidermeyer,” I said. “He’s a great football player. Quarterback.”
    Ginger twisted strands of her curly, brown hair between two fingers. “He’s gorgeous.”
    I stared at the paper with the three numbers on it. “I don’t get it. I’m following the directions for this combination, but it still won’t open.”
    I was getting pretty frustrated because most of the rest of the kids had their lockers open already. I felt sweat bloom on my forehead.
    Ginger poked my arm. “Is that cutie in the blue shirt over there from your old school?”
    I looked up. “Hunh-uh,” I said. “He went to Jefferson. Mark McKey. He played third base for my metro baseball team.”
    â€œHow about that guy standing next to the water fountain?” she said.
    â€œMatt Ryerson,” I said impatiently. “Ginger, I’m trying to get this locker open, okay?”
    â€œGee,” she said, “this is great. You must know every cute boy in this school.”
    â€œI played on the metro baseball and football teams,” I said. “Just let me work on this lock now, okay?”
    â€œSo you’re a jock!” she exclaimed. “What a super way to meet boys!”
    I looked up at her. Ginger was some piece of work.
    I tried the combination one more time.
    She poked me in the back. “How about that boy with the reddish-blond hair over there?” she said.
    I jerked around angrily and looked. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s my brother, Sam.”
    Her eyes practically bugged out of her head. “Your brother? Oh, wow, that’s fantastic! He’s a hottie!”
    â€œYou’ve got to be kidding,” I said.
    â€œHey,” she said, “I wouldn’t kid you about a cute boy. Put in a good word for me, okay?”
    I stared at her. “I don’t even know you.”
    â€œSo?” she said. “We’re locker partners!”
    â€œGinger,” I said, “we were thrown together because of the first two letters of our last names. I’ve known you for two minutes.”
    â€œNo, it’s fate! Don’t you see?” she said, beaming. “When we were born into our families—people whose names began with FL