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“Just a guess.”
    They both nodded and smiled, waiting for me to say more, like JT would have if he were here instead of me. Maybe quote from some famous mathematician or make a reference to Syria.
    â€œCool,” I said. I ate some more pasta. They waited patiently. “This is delicious,” I said.
    â€œOh, good,” Mom said.
    â€œWhat else is going on in school?” Dad asked, like he knew something was up, something was going wrong. Maybe they send home an e-mail or something if you get a bad mark and this was their way of interrogating me.
    â€œNothing,” I said. Tough. Too bad. So they didn’t win the lottery twice. Great. I’m stupid. Fine. What? I’m not JT? Right. I’m not.
    Sorry.
    Nothing I can do. Ask me directly or leave me alone. A 78 is not the world’s worst tragedy. Isn’t something worse happening in Syria?
    I yanked the hood up on my sweatshirt and just sat there, waiting for them to finish saying stuff to me.

TRULY
    WHEN I CAME out of the bathroom, my older brother Henry said, “The awesome one in pigtails.”
    â€œWhat?” I asked. I mean, yeah, I had pigtails in, trying it out, not sure if maybe it looked babyish. It was the
awesome
part that seemed very un-Henry to say.
    â€œIn the
Odyssey,
Book 7, Athena disguises herself as a young girl. Homer describes her as ‘the awesome one in pigtails.’”
    â€œOh,” I said.
    â€œAs in ‘the awesome one in pigtails led Odysseus through the city.’ Remember that part?”
    â€œHenry, I didn’t read the whole—”
    â€œYes, you did.”
    â€œWell, that was last year, I don’t—”
    â€œRemember? And she was leading him through the—”
    â€œCool, Henry. I got it. Athena. That’s not what I’m—”
    â€œYour eyes
are
gray, like hers. Who are you helping escape?”
    â€œNobody,” I told him. “But, Henry, do you think they look awesome? On me?”
    â€œYour eyes?”
    â€œThe hair! The pigtails.” I gave my head a little shake. “Or is it babyish? Come on, Henry. Tell me.”
    He shrugged and went back to whatever he was reading. I took the ponytail holders out. I didn’t feel so awesome in them. Every time I try something more interesting with my hair than just wearing it flopped down around my face, it feels like I’m in some sort of costume. Like I’m a little kid again wearing Mom’s nightgown, pretending to strut the red carpet in a gown at the Oscars.
    â€œWho are you wearing?” Natasha would ask when we played red carpet.
    â€œRonzoni,” I’d answer. “You?”
    â€œFig Newtons,” she’d say, or something like that, both of us talking in whispery voices, pouting our lips toward wooden spoon–microphones while we watched ourselves in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door.
    It’s different in eighth grade, obviously. It’s great, of course, especially now that I’m hanging around more with the Populars. Great but a little confusing. Natasha is so sweet, but then sometimes in a flash she’s a little, well, kind of mean to me. But maybe I am being oversensitive. Hazel thinks I’m oversensitive and spoiled, even though she won’t talk to me now and explain what she meant by that. Spoiled? What does that have to do with anything? How am I
spoiled
?
    Mom said she thinks Hazel is just mad and jealous that I’m hanging around sometimes now with Natasha, and that’s reasonable. The thought crossed my mind of saying
thank you, Captain Obvious
but of course I would never actually say that to anybody, especially Mom. I do think it’s a pretty hilarious put-down, even though I felt kind of terrible when Natasha used it on me. But then she said it to Evangeline one time later this afternoon and Evangeline cracked up so I decided it’s just a thing they all say to one another and I should not