Free How to Survive Middle School by Donna Gephart

look back and see Elliott and Tommy walking away from school. Together. Tommy’s way taller,and Elliott hangs back a little, like he doesn’t quite belong beside Tommy. I’m just glad to be in this car and driving away from them.
    “My gosh. It’s like a zoo,” Ms. Meyers says. “I came an hour early to avoid this kind of thing.”
    “An hour early?” Sophie says.
    “Well, I thought …” Her mother doesn’t finish.
    I shrug, like I can’t believe her mother would do something so lame, but inside I feel a pang, because Sophie’s mom not only picked her up from school but cared enough to be the first car in line.
    “So, David,” Ms. Meyers says, looking in the rearview mirror, “where do you live? And what is this science project, anyway?”
    “It’s cool, Mom,” Sophie says. “We can make a picture book or whatever about a scientist. And we picked Albert Einstein.”
    “But we’re going to make a video,” I say before giving Ms. Meyers directions to our house.
    Ms. Meyers pulls into the driveway behind Dad’s car. “I’ll just come in for a minute.” She glances into the review mirror. “To meet your mom.”
    Why do people always assume?
    “Or does she work? Because I don’t allow Sophie to go over to someone’s home without parental supervision.”
    “I’m sure my dad’s home, Ms. Meyers. He works from home.”
    “Oh. What does he do?”
    Sophie rolls her eyes. “Mom.”
    “I’m just curious, honey.”
    “He’s a newspaper writer.” I’m not allowed to say he’s Alan of“Alan’s Answers” or, Dad says, it would destroy his anonymity. Whatever the heck that means.
    “Oh, that’s interesting,” Ms. Meyers says.
    Not really. He sits in his office and stares at his computer most of the time
.
    “I read the
Bucks County Courier Times
cover to cover every day.”
    “Mom!”
    “It’s true, Sophie. That’s what I do after you leave for school. And my favorite column is that ‘Alan’s Answers.’ I love how he tells it like it is.”
    Sweat breaks out on my upper lip, and since there are no mustache hairs there to catch it, salty droplets drip into my mouth. Sweat erupts from my bacteria-laden armpits, too.
If I don’t get out of this car soon, I’ll drown in my own sweat!
    “Mom!” Sophie screams, and opens her car door.
    The cool air instantly dries my sweat.
    “We have a project to do. Come on, David.” Sophie yanks me out of the car and pulls me toward my house.
    Ms. Meyers follows.

“Dad, we’re home,” I yell, hoping he doesn’t come out of his office dressed in penguin boxer shorts or something else totally embarrassing.
    “Be right there,” he calls from his office.
    Ms. Meyers stands in our foyer and wrings her hands, as if she’s about to meet someone important, like Jon Stewart.
It’s just my dad
, I want to say.
    “Who do we have here?” Dad asks, walking toward us, wearing jeans and a T-shirt. He looks at Sophie. “You’re definitely not Elliott.”
    Sophie tilts her head. “Uh, no. I’m Sophie,” she says, thrusting her hand toward Dad.
    “Hi, Sophie.” Dad shakes her hand.
    “And I’m Ms. Meyers.”
    “Glad to meet you,” Dad says.
    “Your son says you write.”
    Dad shoots me a stern look.
    “Yup, I told her you write articles for the paper.”
    “Ah, yes,” Dad says. “Articles. Come in.”
    Sophie pulls on my pinky finger.
    “Well, we need to go up and work on our science project,” I say.
    “Okay,” Dad says as Sophie and I charge upstairs.
    I hear Dad offer Ms. Meyers a cup of coffee.
    She stammers. “I—I’d … love to, but don’t want to keep you from your work.”
    “I’m done for the day,” Dad says.
    Atop the stairs, Sophie says, “Is she annoying or what?”
    I shrug, thinking about how Mom used to read Elliott’s aura or talk about his energy field when he came over. Elliott and I would laugh about it later, but it was embarrassing, especially the time Mom told him he was Julius Caesar’s bodyguard in a