Free My Senior Year of Awesome by Jennifer DiGiovanni Page A

aisle and nearly smack right into Andy and his family.
    The Super Ks, as I like to think of them, all spit and polished to perfection. Andy, the oldest child, is shadowed by his middle-school-aged twin brothers, impossible to tell apart, and his younger sister, lagging a few steps behind the bigger boys, chattering nonstop.
    Watching the Super K men all shifting their long limbs back and forth awkwardly, obviously out of place in the busy supermarket, I can’t prevent a smile from breaking out on my unwashed, oil slick of a face. How Andy gets away with being such a mess is a mystery, because his younger brothers’ blond crew cuts remind me of newly shorn sheep. Even the baby sister’s shiny blond hair is arranged in tightly braided pigtails.
    Hoping to escape notice, I dart behind a tower of crated oranges.
    I’m an instant too late.
    “Hey, Sadie,” Andy calls. I freeze mid-step and glance back to find him looking relieved. Apparently, I’m a welcome diversion to his family outing.
    “Uh, hey, Andy.”
    “Can this be little Sadie Matthews?” I feel Andy’s mom looking me up and down.
    I paste a smile on my face and turn to greet her. “Hi, Mrs. Kosolowski.”
    She pats the side of her blond hair, pulled into a tight bun and sprayed to the consistency of a stone monument. I pry my fingers from the handle of my shopping basket and shake her hand. It feels like the polite thing to do.
    “Your mother showed me your graduation picture when I stopped in the office last week,” Mrs. Kosolowski says. “I told her you’ve grown into a beautiful young woman. Gorgeous.”
    Heat creeps into my face. Gorgeous is not an adjective anyone uses to describe me. Jana is the gorgeous one. I’m her cute but boring sidekick. Too embarrassed to meet Andy’s gaze, I pick up a Granny Smith apple and toss it into my basket. He must also be mortified by the way his mother’s fawning over me. I hope she doesn’t know about our attempted arranged marriage, courtesy of the senior class.
    “Sweetheart, have you eaten breakfast?” she continues.
    “No, actually, I haven’t,” I admit, and then experience the awful realization that this was not the answer I should have provided.
    “Then, please, stop by our house on your way home.”
    “Mom makes waffles on Sundays if we don’t get thrown out of church,” one of the little short-haired Andy clones says, his voice dripping with fake excitement. The other twin rolls his eyes at the blatant bribery.
    “Has that happened?” I ask, amazed.
    “Only once. But Andy saw the dead mouse first. He told me to pick it up, so you wanna guess who got in trouble when Mrs. Dalton fainted?” twin one says.
    “I said get rid of it. Instead, you dangled a dead rodent in the ninety-year-old woman’s face,” Andy says.
    “Andrew never gets blamed for anything,” says twin two.
    Twin one snorts. “Yeah, Mom won’t turn her head to look at him because she’s afraid Monsignor would catch her not paying attention.”
    In the midst of their family squabble, my stomach sends a loud and clear message, deciding to accept the breakfast invitation without consulting my brain.
    “Um …” I look to Andy for help. He grins, knowing full well how easily food entices me.
    “Mom’s waffles are the best in town,” he says, with a touch of pride.
    “Oh. Well. If you don’t mind an extra person.” I’ve never eaten an actual homemade waffle. My mother and I are Eggo connoisseurs.
    “The more, the merrier,” Dr. Kosolowski says. Behind his bifocals, his blue eyes crinkle when he grins, exactly like Andy’s. I convince myself I’m suffering the effects of low blood sugar.
    “I’m not really dressed,” I say, still hesitating.
    “Don’t worry, Thadie. I’m ditching this dreth as thoon as I get home,” little Andyette chirps, her voice whistling through the gap in her mouth where two front teeth are missing. Everyone laughs.
    “Okay, then. Uh, sure. I’ll come. Who can resist