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Rafe’s Revenge

GEORGIA! GEORGIA, CONGRATULATIONS!” Rhonda screeched as I walked into HVMS five days later.

It wasn’t even first period, and I already had no idea what was going on. “What are you congratulating me for?”

“THE LIST FOR BATTLE OF THE BANDS IS UP—AND YOUR BAND IS ON IT!” She grabbed my arms and shook me. “YOU’RE GOING TO PERFORM AT THE DANCE!”

“WHAT?” I shrieked. For once, my voice was as loud as Rhonda’s. “Are you sure?”

Rhonda pointed, and I dashed over to the display case in the school lobby. Here’s what I saw:

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“We can’t play the dance!” I wailed. “How did this happen?” And then, like lightning striking, I realized two things:

  1. Only one person calls my band We Stink.
  2. That person was recently on the phone with Jeanne Galletta, head of the dance committee.

He got me. Rafe got me in my own school. He was going to make sure I humiliated myself in front of everyone.

“YOU’RE GOING TO BE AMAZING!” Rhonda gushed.

This doesn’t even have anything to do with you! I wanted to shout. But I didn’t. Instead, I sat down right there, in the middle of the floor.

“ARE YOU OKAY?” Rhonda plopped down next to me.

“Rhonda—we can’t play the dance! We really do stink. We’re not ready!” I buried my head in my arms. “What am I going to tell the band?”

Rhonda sat there for a long time, not saying anything. That was so unusual that I actually peeked out from behind my arms, just to make sure she was still breathing.

She was. In fact, she was watching me and smiling. Sometime while I had my head in my arms, she had already managed to make a sign that read WE STINK RULES! She put a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“YOU CAN TELL THE BAND,” she said seriously, “TO GET READY TO ROCK.”