A Brand-New Me! Read Online Free PDF

my lips and tongue had taken over my body.
    â€œZip it, Zip,” Frankie whispered to me. “If you know what’s good for you.”
    â€œI’m trying,” I whispered back.
    â€œHenry,” Ms. Adolf said. “I suggest you remove yourself from my room before I am forced to give you even more detention than you have already.”
    I started to leave the room, with a bounce in my step and a tip in my toe, until I heard her parting words.
    â€œIt will be my pleasure to have your makeup math test waiting for you at lunch today.”
    Wow, couldn’t that woman ever lighten up? I mean, I was on my way to the principal’s office to discuss my entire future. That was no time to be thinking about decimal points.
    As I walked downstairs to the office, I was suddenly struck with a bolt of panic. What if Ms. Adolf followed me to middle school like she did from fourth grade to fifth grade? Wait a minute. What if she follows me to high school? What if she’s at my wedding? What if she’s my bride? When the vision of her standing there in her gray wedding dress popped into my brain, I knew it was time to go to the water fountain and splash my face.
    I was drying my face off with my shirt sleeve as I entered the outer office where Mrs. Crock, the school secretary, sits at her computer and usually has a plastic bowl of soggy salad. I checked out her desk. Yup, there it was. From the smell of it, I could tell it was her red onion day. Those were the days you liked to talk to her from a good distance if you wanted to stay out of her toxic breath zone. Once, when I got too close to her on red onion day, I walked into the office wearing a long-sleeved shirt and left with a short-sleeved shirt.
    My parents were already sitting on the blue plastic chairs in the office, waiting for me. That was no surprise. They tend to be prompt for meetings in the principal’s office.
    But what was a surprise were the people Principal Love was escorting out of his office. None other than Nick the Tick McKelty and his dad. McKelty’s dad must have made him comb his hair for the occasion. Instead of it looking like a rat’s nest, it looked like he had used a can of axel grease to hold it down. With his hair slicked back, you could see his whole face, which took up most of the room. His cheeks were so large, you could play tennis on them.
    â€œHey, Zipperbutt,” McKelty said under his breath. “What’s a loser like you doing here?”
    â€œSame thing as a loser like you,” I whispered back to him.
    â€œNo way,” he spit back.
    I ducked to avoid a wad of saliva that flew out of his mouth. McKelty is a projectile speaker, which means you always have to watch very carefully because you never know what’s going to come spewing out of his mouth when he talks. You can bet it’s never going to be anything good, though, unless you happen to like getting six-month-old crusted mac ’n’ cheese pellets plastered on your face.
    â€œMy dad and the principal just made a phone call about my future,” he went on. “Looks like I’m going to a special studies program right inside the White House. The president himself is begging for me.”
    There it was. The McKelty Factor . . . truth times one hundred. Except this time, it was more like truth times a million.
    â€œMcKelty, if you go anywhere near the White House, they would arrest you for being the national creep you are.”
    â€œI know you are, but what am I?” he said.
    â€œNice comeback, as always,” I said. “You certainly are on top of your game.”
    My dad, who noticed us talking, smiled and put a hand on my shoulder.
    â€œIt’s nice to see you boys are such good friends,” he said. “Our family has certainly enjoyed many hours of bowling at your family’s bowling alley, Nick.”
    â€œDon’t I know that!” Mr. McKelty said. “Randi, your dad still holds