Free Middle School: My Brother Is a Big, Fat Liar by James Patterson

with Rafe.”
    “He’s different,” I said.
    “How?”
    “Because he’s Rafe!” I stabbed a long spoon into my milk shake and stirred. “He isn’t the queen of anything. Missy is.”
    Mom looked over at Missy’s table again. “I know it’s hard to stand up for yourself sometimes,” she said. “I wasn’t any good at it at your age either.” She bit her lip. “I still have trouble sometimes.”
    “I guess it’s genetic, then,” I said.
    Mom frowned for a minute, and she opened her mouth to say something, but Pearl buzzed by with a “Jules, honey, would you be a sweetheart and take care of table eight?”
    “Sure,” Mom said to Pearl. Then she touched my shoulder. “We’ll talk later?”
    “Okay,” I said, but my words only reached empty air. Mom had darted off again.
    I glanced over at Missy and caught her watching me. I narrowed my eyes at her.
    Just you wait, Missy Trillin
, I thought.
Your queendom is about to get trashed.

When You Seek Revenge, Dig Two Graves
    I ’m taking her down, even if I go down with her.

    That was the thought that whispered itself over and over in my mind as I lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling. I wasn’t angry. I was perfectly calm. Okay, maybe a little excited.
    Missy had insulted, humiliated, and betrayed me. I’d lost my bet with Rafe. I’d gotten detention—twice. There really wasn’t anything she could do to me that she hadn’t already done.
    So I was free.
    Free to get revenge.
    An image of Mini-Miller flashed in my mind—how he looked as he limped away from me. I solved that problem pretty fast. All it took was a couple of kicks to the shin.
    Remembering that made me realize that Mom was right. I
am
good at sticking up for myself. And Missy really isn’t any different from Mini-Miller except that her clothes are nicer.
    But was kicking her shins the best way to teach Missy a lesson? Probably not.
    There were almost too many good alternatives.



Revenge Served Lukewarm
    G eorgia, it’s seven AM. What on earth are you cooking?” Mom asked when she walked into the kitchen two days later. She blinked blearily at the large pot on the stove.
    “Just desserts,” I told her. I stirred the thick mass of rice pudding in the pot on the stove.
    “Desserts? At seven o’clock on a Thursday morning?”
    “I’m bringing the snack today,” I said. “Once a week, someone brings in a snack for homeroom.” Yes, I felt guilty about lying to my mom. Guilty and a little proud too, because it turned out I was good at it.
    “What?” Mom shuffled over to the coffeepot. “Rafe never did that.”
    “Oh,
Rafe
,” I said, shrugging in my most
Rafe-doesn’t-ever-participate-in-class-activities
way.
    Mom is never really awake before her morning coffee. It isn’t hard to fool her.

    She just nodded and then suggested that I add a little more nutmeg to the pudding. So I did. Then she offered me a ride to school, since it would be hard to carry the huge plastic tub on the bus.
    Perfect!
    I got to school early and hid in a stall in the girls’ room near the gym. The Princesses occupied it every morning for the ten minutes before homeroom. They needed that time to slather on makeup and figure out ways to insult perfectly nice people, I guess.
    “Can you believe what Ashley Parker is wearing today?” I heard Brittany ask as the Princesses waltzed in.
    Right on time
, I thought gleefully.
    “She looks like a cup of cottage cheese,” Missy said, and the other Princesses cracked up.
    Wait
, I told myself.
Wait until the time is right.
    I watched through a crack in the door as Missy smeared on some lip gloss, then pursed her lips in the mirror. “Who’s going to tell Madison that she’s got broccoli caught in her teeth?” she asked.
    “I will,” Bethany volunteered. “Who eats broccoli for breakfast, anyway?”
    Missy fluffed up her hair. And then she headed into the other bathroom stall.
    I counted to five, then climbed up onto the toilet seat, hauled up