Free You’re Invited Too by Jen Malone and Gail Nall Page A

a weird combination of green and blushing red that’s making her skin look like an art project gone bad. When I try to tug her arm again, she resists.
    â€œCan’t. Leave. Now.” She forces out the words between deep breaths of air through her mouth. Poor Vi. She’s positively miserable. But I get what she’s doing. She doesn’t want to leave her dad alone in Linney’s clutches. Even if it means he might be stuck cleaning up Vi’s puke after he’s done with Hunter’s.
    Half the seventh grade has gathered around the circle of vomit on the floor. The girls are squealing in disgust and the boys are pretending to push each other into it. It’s only a matter of seconds before someone is going slip-sliding on Hunter’s stomach juices.
    Super-duper gross.
    I hear Mr. Husky (Vi’s dad and I are on a strict nickname basis) coming: his voice booms through the hallway. “Step aside, please.” He rolls a mop and bucket up to the scene of the crime, but goes right past it and over to Hunter, who’s still hunched against the wall. He puts his hand on Hunter’s shoulder and whispers to him. Hunter nods and turns in the direction of the nurse’s office. Mr. Husky grabs a bag from beside his bucket and sprinkles something on top of the vomit that smells suspiciously like kitty litter. Combined with the lingering puke smell, it means I might as well go home for the eyelash curler at lunch because it’s not like I’ll be eating anytime soon!
    Once Vi’s dad gets to work, most of the kids lose interest and start returning to their lockers. Not Linney, though.
    Vi starts edging closer to her father as Linney’s voice carries the whole length of the hallway.
    â€œWow, Mr. Alberhasky, it’s like you’ve been doing this forever! Was Violet a sickly baby?”
    And then . . .
    â€œYou know, Mr. Alberhasky, I was just thinking. My mom bought extra car fresheners last year when the sixth grade did that candle-company fund raiser. I’m just guessing that between all the stinky stuff your job entails plus Violet’s soccer sweat, your car can’t smell so great on your drive home in the afternoons. I’m sure my mom would be happy to donate some to you. I’ll ask her tonight.”
    I curl my fingers into fists in my palm. Then I uncurl them just in case I have to hold Vi back. Mr. Husky gives Linney nothing more than a polite smile and gets back to the important business of kitty-littering boy puke off the floor.
    Vi bites her lip. I know for a fact that her uncurled eyelashes did not have mascara on them before, but they kind of look like they do now from the way the tiny tears she’s blinking back are making them glisten. I’m thisclose to finding something truly backstabby to say to Linney when I hear, “Linney, you should go by zee cafeteria on your way to class. Someone has put a cartoon bubble of you talking on zee pelican pirate, er, comment dit-on , er, ‘logo’?”
    â€œMascot,” Mr. Husky states, not taking his eyes off his cleanup.
    Philippe nods. “Ah, oui . Same as French, zen. We say mascotte .”
    Mr. Husky understands French? More importantly, Linney speaks Pirate Pelican? Her mouth opens and closes like the king mackerel I didn’t fish for on Founder’s Day, and her mini heels click-clack on the tiles as she races in the direction of the cafeteria.
    â€œIs that true?” I ask Philippe.
    He shrugs. “Not unless someone added eet in zee last five minutes since I was there. But eet got her to leave, n’est-ce pas ?”
    Oh. My. God.
    Philippe is adorable-looking, AND has an accent, AND is nice. Not just nice. Heroic. My hero.
    Well, not mine, since technically it was Vi he helped out there, but . . . ahhhhhhhhh. Dumb boys. Why do they have to be so sweet? And cute? And accented?
    I will not like Philippe. I will not like Philippe. I WILL NOT like