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When we got home, Grandma Dotty was making a big batch of Dotty’s Meatballs for dinner. My grandmother and my mom can both cook like crazy, which is great because I can usually eat like crazy.

But not today. For once in my life, I wasn’t hungry, even if the whole house did smell like one giant, delicious meatball.

“How did it go, kiddo?” Dotty asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said.

“Why?” my sister, Georgia, asked. “What happened?”

Anytime Georgia gets a whiff of bad news that has anything to do with me, it’s like she turns into a bloodhound. She won’t stop until she’s hunted it down.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” I told her. “Especially not to you.”

“Me? What did I do?” she said, but I was already heading for my room.

Still, Georgia wouldn’t quit.

“What happened?” I heard her asking Mom. “Is Rafe in trouble? Why is he so mad? What did Mrs. Stricker say?”

And that’s when I exploded.

“SHUT UP!” I yelled all the way down the hall. “FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, JUST SHUT YOUR STUPID NOSY MOUTH!”

Mom didn’t even make me come back and apologize. The last thing I heard before I slammed my door was Georgia saying, “Nosy mouth? That doesn’t even make sense.”

Mom just said, “Let him cool off for a while. It looks like Rafe’s had a hard day.”

The truth is, my little sister was the last person I wanted to talk to about this. Georgia isn’t that far behind me in middle school, and she’s a total brain. So what would happen if she skipped a grade? Or if I kept blowing it the way I’d been blowing it?

It was actually possible that Georgia could wind up in the same grade as me! Or worse… MUCH WORSE… what if my little sister got out of middle school before I did???

So no, I did not feel like explaining to Georgia what had happened at HVMS.

And I didn’t feel like eating.

And I definitely didn’t feel like starting school that Monday.

Not only was I “special” now, but I was right back where I started with Miller too. It wouldn’t be long before he found out about me being in the Learning Skills class. And I couldn’t even think about what might happen then.

Mom’s always telling me “Normal is boring,” and that I’m an artist, and that I have all my own special talents, and blah-blah-blah. But none of that had gotten me anywhere except the reject pile with a bunch of other kids like me.

Whatever that meant.

The more I thought about it, the madder I got. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to break something. I wanted to go all rock star on my room and trash the whole place.

But I didn’t. I just stayed put and did the one thing that makes me feel better when I’m stressed out. The one thing I’m halfway decent at.

I picked up my sketchbook and started to draw.