Mrs. Stricker swooped toward me. For a moment, I was terrified. Then I remembered something: I had cookies.
“Would you like a cookie, Mrs. Stricker?” I asked in my sweetest voice. “It has M&M’s in it.” I picked the fattest one from the plate and held it out.
Mrs. Stricker stopped short. She smiled. “You’re Georgia Khatchadorian, aren’t you?” she asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.
I pointed to him. “This boy has just told me that I’m not supposed to be out in the courtyard. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I apologize for breaking the rule.”
Mrs. Stricker laughed. “Oh, Georgia, don’t be silly. I just came out here to welcome you to Hills Village Middle School.”
“Whoa,” the blond guy whispered. He stared at me with huge eyes. “Is this, like, some Jedi mind trick thing?”
“It’s the cookie,” I whispered back.
“I’ve seen your permanent record, Georgia,” Mrs. Stricker went on. “And I know you’re a good student. You even won Most Outstanding Effort in third grade. I think you’ve earned the right to eat where you please.”
I had to admit it—I was shocked. Rafe had always made Mrs. Stricker sound like a witch on wheels.
“I notice you have two more cookies there.” Mrs. Stricker nodded at the plate on the bench beside me. “Were you expecting someone else to join you, Georgia?”
“Oh, no,” I lied. “I just… like to give out cookies.” I handed another one to the blond boy.
“Hmm.” Mrs. Stricker squinted at the cafeteria window, where Missy and the B’s were cowering under a table. “I understand what you’re going through, dear,” she said. “If there’s anything I can do, Georgia—anything—please just come and see me in my office.” She leaned in close and whispered, “I like to give out cookies too.” And then she winked.