We Stink finished our fifth and final song, and the crowd went wild. And by wild, I mean that Mr. Stanley finally took off the earmuffs he had been trying on for the past four songs, and Mrs. Bloomgarden managed to coax Wilson out of the file cabinet, where he had been hiding. She sniffed at me as she carried Wilson away, cooing to him, “Don’t worry, poopsie! The big scary noise is all over now.”
But at least a couple of people were clapping. “WE STINK RULES!” Rhonda screeched.
Sam stuck his fingers in his mouth and let out a deafening whistle. Yes, that’s right—Sam Marks showed up at my garage sale. I guess Rhonda must have told him about it.
I managed to smile at Sam, but I was feeling kind of seasick. After all, here I was, playing lousy guitar at a garage sale. So humiliating.
Clap. Clap. Clap. The sound of sarcastic applause. I looked around to find out who could be that rude, but I should have been able to guess.
Missy Trillin, standing by a stack of sweaters. Gah! What’s she doing here? My stomach shriveled in fear.
“Wow, I really liked your performance, Georgia,” Missy said with a sneer. “I really liked when it stopped.”
“Who’s that?” Nanci asked as she snuck another cookie from the table.
“Nobody,” I told her. Please go away, I begged silently. But Missy didn’t move, except to pick up my old Christmas sweater between her thumb and index finger and grimace at the reindeer on it.
“She seems to think she’s somebody.” Mari frowned and folded her arms across her chest as she watched Missy pick over my family’s castoff items. I cringed. Missy was acting like she was searching through a Dumpster in a sketchy neighborhood. All of a sudden, my old, well-loved games, books, and clothes looked like embarrassing trash to me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Missy left and came back wearing a diamond-covered hazmat suit to look through everything else.
Don’t look at her, I told myself. Fighting the blush I felt creeping up my neck, I turned to my friends. “Patti, Mari, and Nanci, this is Sam,” I said.
My bandmates said hi, and Sam said, “You guys were great.”
But Missy couldn’t just disappear, of course. She gasped. “Don’t tell me you’re selling this!” She mockingly held up an old, half-bald troll doll. “And only fifty cents?”
I wondered if there was room for me to hide in the file cabinet, now that Wilson had moved on.
“Why is Missy even here?” Sam wanted to know.
“To torture me,” I explained.
Rhonda turned her back on Missy. “ANYONE WANT ORANGEADE?” My bandmates said yes.
“Rhonda’s got a lot of… energy,” Sam said as we watched her pass around the plate of cookies. She let Nanci take only two.
I wasn’t sure what Sam meant by that, so I just said, “She can’t help herself.” I glanced around the tables, where the items were thinning out. A lot of our stuff had already sold. Grandma Dotty was demonstrating how an exercise bike could also be used as a coatrack. Rafe was trying to convince an older couple that they needed an extra toilet.
“What’s up?” Sam asked as I bit my lip. “You look worried.”
“It’s just—well, I’m a little worried about… Mr. Bananas.” I could feel my face redden.
“Stuffed animal?” Sam guessed.
“Yeah. I just don’t want him to get sold.” I shrugged. “Life isn’t the same without a stuffed monkey on your bed, you know?”
Sam smiled. “Yeah.”
“Oh, that’s soooo sweet!” I heard a sugary voice behind me. “Little baby wants her toy monkey back!” Missy rolled her eyes.
I felt my head turn hot down to the tips of my hair. I glanced at Sam. Does he think I’m an idiot? I wondered. It was hard to tell. He was too nice to say so.
Missy looked over at the snack table. “Hey, Georgia, why don’t you get your best friend, Rhonda, to help you look for your dolly?”
“She’s not my best friend,” I muttered. I knew it was awful. I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Rhonda was still blissfully handing out orangeade to thirsty bargain hunters. If she’d heard me, she wasn’t showing it.
But Missy had heard every word. She smirked.
And suddenly I wished I could smack that smirk right off her face. Who the heck does Missy think she is, anyway? Rhonda’s worth ten of her. No, a hundred.
I was starting to accept that I was going to lose my bet with Rafe. I’d never be popular at HVMS, because I’d never be friends with Missy. And that was just fine with me.
