Free How to Outrun a Crocodile When Your Shoes Are Untied by Jess Keating

watched me intently.
    I wasn’t sure if I had a plan yet. But I knew that my seventh-grade true self was surrounded by a bunch of creatures, so I figured I’d start with that. I drew until my eyes were heavy, and drifted off to sleep with charcoal stains on my fingertips.

    All math, all the time. That’s what my life should be.
    At least, that’s what Mr. Vince said.
    When I failed yet another attempt at a mock exam (I think the name “mock exam” makes sense, seeing how the only point of them is to mock how stupid you are), Mr. Vince officially assigned Kevin to tutor me after school. Until I memorized the textbook, I was on a strict diet of integers and fractions. Those were Mr. Vince’s words, not mine. To put it his way, if my life were a pie chart, a huge chunk of it was spent wishing math hadn’t been invented. The other little sliver was spent wanting to pelt whomever did invent it with cat litter. What a waste of pie.
    When Kevin found me after the exam on Friday, I was beyond annoyed. Everyone else was enjoying the warm weather and the start of the weekend, and there I was doodling and waiting around my locker for a chance to look at even more math.
    â€œDid you want to go to the library? Or maybe the cafeteria?” Kevin’s voice interrupted my little fantasy about putting a skunk in Mr. Vince’s briefcase.
    â€œWhat? Oh,” I said, jerking my head back to my locker search. My math binder was jammed somewhere behind my tower of emergency Handi Wipes (don’t ask—I live with disgusting animals), so when I went to reach for it, a whole stack of papers and cardboard flopped to the ground.
    I can’t even look cool in front of the nerdy guy, can I?
    I huffed and knelt down to snatch up my stuff, embarrassed that Kevin was doing the same. He didn’t even crack a joke, and I was thankful that the Sneerers had all gone home to their Barbie mansions. When I had finally stuffed most of the mess back into my locker, he was looking at me like he was trying to solve an equation.
    â€œAre you okay?” He squinted at me as we plunked our books down at a library table. The place was empty, with nothing but the low hum of the air-conditioning to fill the quiet. “I know things must be crazy with your grandpa visiting…” he whispered.
    Here’s the thing about Kevin: he’s a really nice guy. He never makes fun of me when I come to school smelling like snake after Daz hides Oscar in my bed, and even helped get rid of the crickets after that awful English lesson. He’s also pretty much the smartest guy in our school. But he’s so… weird. And okay, I will admit that he’s even good-looking, with nice hair and very nice hands, which are always holding a pencil to work out some engineering/math/genius problem. But it’s hard to not think of him as my brother’s best friend. Especially when there are guys like Zack wandering around looking like jean models every day. Anyone who would voluntarily hang out with Daz has to be certifiably insane, right?
    â€œShh!” I darted a look around to make sure nobody had heard him. “I don’t want anybody to know,” I said. “He’s staying at a hotel, so I’ve kept it quiet so far.”
    â€œWhy don’t you want anyone to know?” Kevin asked. “I think it’s cool that you’re related to someone famous.” He unpacked his bag and set his textbook on the table.
    I looked down at my messy notes. “Because everyone will expect me to be as awesome,” I said. “Like he’s some big celebrity, and Mom’s always doing great presentations at the zoo, and it’s really…hard to live up to that.”
    There, I said it.
    Kevin just stared at me with that classic “say what?” look that guys always have.
    I winced, waiting for him to tell me that, A) I was a total weirdo for not wanting people to know about