That evening, I sat perched on my favorite stool at Swifty’s as Mom darted back and forth like a dragonfly behind me. The diner was jammed with the usual supper crowd, but the noise didn’t bother me. I was reading The Invention of Hugo Cabret and drinking a (gasp!) chocolate milk shake, which Mom let me have after someone sent it back, insisting that he’d meant to order strawberry. I should have been happy.
But how could I be? Missy and her family were in the corner booth again.
I tried to concentrate on my book, but I couldn’t. I kept thinking how much I wanted to grab Missy’s glass of water and toss it in her face. She’d probably start melting like the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz. And then I’d be all “Clip-clop—I mean, ding-dong—the witch is dead!”
Someone kissed my hair, and I looked up to see Mom smiling at me. “How’s it going?” She leaned against the stool beside mine. “Good shake?”
“The best.”
“Then why are you scowling?”
“I’m not,” I lied. “This is just my face.”
Mom folded her arms across her chest and glanced over at Missy’s table. “How are things going at school?” she asked. When her eyes met mine, I was suddenly sure Mom knew all about Missy and why I wanted to toss water on her.
“Is this, like, some psychic mom thing?” I asked her.
Mom shrugged. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Things are… not great,” I admitted. “HVMS is like Georgia Smackdown Central.”