The Miraculous Makeover of Lizard Flanagan Read Free Page A

—we were destined to be put together. We’re supposed to be friends. Isn’t that great?”
    What could I say to that? “Just great.”
    I went back to the combination.
    Ms. Embers strolled by. She had big glasses and very long legs. She stood about twelve feet tall.
    â€œMs. Embers,” I called out over the noise of lockers slamming and kids talking. “I can’t get this locker open.”
    She strode over to me in two gigantic steps. “Go ahead and try it again,” she said.
    I did and, like magic, it opened.
    I felt my face heat up. Boy, did I feel dumb.
    â€œSee? No problem,” said Ms. Embers. She strolled away.
    The rest of the day wasn’t much better. Most of the sixth-grade girls hung around in groups from their old schools, staring at and talking about kids from the other elementary schools. The boys hung around together, too, but they were quieter.
    My classes, except for phys. ed., looked as if they were going to be pretty boring, even science, which is one of my better subjects. Language arts is my worst subject—all that reading and writing—but my teacher, Ms. Yeck (that’s really her name; I wouldn’t kid you) seemed kind of entertaining. Mary Ann said that her older sister told her that Ms. Yeck’s name is Pearl, and the kids call her Squirrely Pearly, but not to her face. The word was that she was a fun teacher but you didn’t learn a whole lot.
    Anyway, Squirrely Pearly had each of us go up to the board and write our name. She said that you can learn a lot about people from the way they write their signatures. After she’d said that, all the girls tried to write in their most flowery handwriting. Heather Parks had the most rounded letters you ever saw, and Bonnie Wilson dotted her i ’s with little hearts. I almost laughed out loud at that.
    The guys wrote in messy scrawls on purpose. Even Adam Matthews, whose handwriting usually looks like an electric typewriter, scratched his name in an unreadable scribble. I printed, as usual—I hate writing in cursive—and, as usual, you could read it, but you had to look close.
    Ed Mechtensteimer, who sat two seats away from me, grinned as I walked back to my seat and gave me a thumbs-up sign. “Says a lot about your character,” he said.
    â€œOh, yeah? What does it say?” I asked him.
    â€œThat you’re almost as smart as I am.”
    I grinned and rolled my eyes. “You wish, Mechtenstupid.”
    Nathan Morgan, sitting between us, cracked up at that. “If I have to look at someone’s paper during a test,” he said, “I’m looking at Lizard’s.”
    â€œI heard that, Nathan,” Squirrely Pearly said. “We move our desks around the room during a test. You’ll be right next to me.”
    Everybody laughed, even Nathan, who got a red face.
    It was kind of hard to sit there in class and breathe normally. Chris Mulray, a fun girl who had started a great food fight in the cafeteria last year, was sitting next to me. Chris was wearing even more perfume than my aunt Amanda, and you can tell that my aunt’s been in a room a day after she’s gone home.
    Anyway, when Chris got up and walked to the blackboard, she stirred up the air as she walked by, and I nearly passed out. I looked at Ed, grabbed my throat, and stuck out my tongue. He and Nathan grinned and started coughing loudly.
    I looked at the raised window next to the pencil sharpener and put up my hand.
    â€œYes, Elizabeth?” said Squirrely Pearly.
    Ed stopped coughing, looked at me and snickered.
    â€œCan I sharpen my pencil?” I asked.
    â€œYou won’t be needing your pencil today,” Squirrely said.
    â€œThen can I stick my head out the window? I need some fresh air.”
    Some of the kids laughed, and Chris turned around from the blackboard. She’d just written Christine in big, loopy letters.
    Squirrel Pearly tried not to smile.