So, you spilled pudding on Missy’s head,” Ms. Jordan said. She poked her flabby cheek with the eraser end of her pencil. “How did that make you feel?”
“Horrible,” I said.
Ms. Jordan lifted her eyebrows.
“It was actually kind of great,” I admitted.
“I assume you had reasons for pouring pudding on Missy Trillin,” Ms. Jordan said. She tucked the pencil behind her ear.
“Good reasons,” I replied. “Missy’s a bully.”
Ms. Jordan pursed her lips as if she doubted my statement. “I’ve seen your permanent record. You’re a good student, Georgia. Or you were. Until you came to HVMS.”
I shrug.
“Are you at all worried about how your mother will react when she hears what happened?”
I flushed red and hot, like a giant pimple. I meant to say “no way,” but it came out in a whisper as “yes.”
“Hmm.” Ms. Jordan pulled the pencil out from behind her ear and scratched her scalp with it. “But your brother, Rafe, breaks rules all the time, doesn’t he?”
“So?”
The edge of her lip curled up. “So your mother should be used to it by now.”
“I told you, I’m not Rafe.”
“Mmm.” The school shrink leaned forward and stared at me like I was a frog she wanted to dissect. “Do you think, Georgia, that your physical deformity fuels your need to act out?”
I felt like I’d just been punched in the face. I couldn’t think of anything to say… and then I thought of a lot of things to say. It involved a lot of words that would have to be bleeped out if I were telling this story on TV.
But I didn’t say anything. I just sat there, breathing deeply.
“I see I’ve struck a nerve,” Ms. Jordan said.
“I’m going to class now,” I announced. Then I stood up and walked out of her office, leaving the rest of the shrunken heads behind me.
