Chapter 2

HOW TO SURVIVE HOMEROOM (AND THE REST OF THE DAY)

I’m sitting in homeroom scribbling and surviving.

I was reading Pride and Prejudice a minute ago, and I’m really into the book. I just love that Janie Austen.

Now I’m imagining myself meeting a boy in my personal version of Pride and Prejudice. His name is Laurence Darcy, and he’s the younger brother of Fitzwilliam Darcy, better known as Mr. Darcy, and he is just so charming and British and Jane Austen-y that it’s like I’m in homeroom heaven!

We start chatting at a society ball at Netherfield Park.

Laurence Darcy is pretty dreamy. I’m just loving all those great nineteenth-century manners!

Hmm. I may be in love. Stay tuned.

Laurence Darcy gets me through the rest of homeroom and, let’s face it, the rest of my classes, until lunchtime.

Hold your fire, Teachers, Barbies, and all Haters, I think as I walk through the cafeteria doors. I’m immediately hit in the face with the greasy, smelly reminder that the caf offers almost nothing that hasn’t taken a long and luxurious bath in the FryDaddy. It’s sick. The Activists are lobbying for a salad bar, and I say, “Dare to dream, Activists!” I really love their hopeful energy and vision for a brighter tomorrow!

Today I take my brown bag over to the Freakshow Corner. That’s the table where my biffles and I sit every day. It has a good view of the parking lot.

When I get there, I see a Hater—Marty Bloom—trying to shove something into Zitsy’s face. Zitsy’s trying to get away, but his head is pulled way back, and I’m worried that his neck might snap like a rubber band.

“Come on! You freaks usually can’t keep your pieholes shut!” Marty says.

“Get away from him, Marty,” I say. Zitsy has been pushed around so much that he doesn’t even fight back anymore. He says he’s used to it, but I’m not. I really hate it. “Leave him alone!”

Marty backs off, surprise curving his straight black eyebrows. “I was just fooling around.” He punches Zitsy in the arm. Maybe he means it to be playful, but Zitsy winces. “What’s the big deal, Maggie?”

“I’m Cuckoo, remember?” I tell him. “And Zitsy’s my friend. Don’t touch.”

“Compassion and respect, people!” Eggy pipes up as she walks up behind me.

“What she said,” I agree.

“That’s what Jesus would do,” Tebow puts in, which is a little over the top, but not completely wrong, either. He sits down next to Zitsy so Marty won’t try anything again.

Marty narrows his eyes. “That right there is what makes people want to mash pie in your face,” he snaps, and walks off. “You owe me three bucks for the food,” he calls back over his shoulder to Zitsy, then cracks up.

Zitsy looks down at the plate that’s sitting on the table in front of him. “I hate pie,” he says quietly. Eggy hands him a pile of napkins, and he starts wiping gooey peach from his face.

Flatso has joined us now, and she wraps her thick arms around Zitsy. Then Eggy does, then Tebow, then me.

“Is everything okay?” Brainzilla asks as she walks over to join us. “Why are we all hugging?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. She just puts down her tray and joins in.

And that is why I love my friends. Because they aren’t afraid to create a Human Hug-Blob in the middle of the cafeteria, even if it means getting stared at.