How to Survive Middle School (17 page)

“I’m sorry,” I barely peep.

“What?”

I look into my sister’s eyes. My sister, who held my hand when Mom and Dad were screaming in the living room that night with the tuba. My sister, who let me sleep in her room for two weeks after Mom left. My sister, who I totally humiliated and embarrassed on my videos. “Lindsay,” I say, “I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“I think you really mean it.”

I nod and walk out of her room.
How could I have done that to her?

In my room, I go online to delete all the videos with footage of Lindsay, but when I pull up the Magazine Cover Jon Stewart video, there are 151,430 views and eighty-six comments.

I can’t believe it.

And I can’t delete it, either.

I spend much of the weekend answering messages about my videos, four of which are from fans in Australia, London, Belize and Singapore. But my heart really isn’t in it. I check Tommy’s lame video of me obsessively. By Sunday night, there are twenty-six more views, but I think most of them are from me.

No one, thank goodness, has commented.

As I walk to school Monday, I feel like I’m loaded down with rocks. I’m sure the minute I enter the courtyard, everyone will point and laugh.

But no one pays attention to me. They talk in groups and laugh and shove each other, but not one person even nods to acknowledge my existence. It’s strange that people in Australia, London, Belize and Singapore make a fuss over me online but at my own school, I’m sort of invisible.

In the hall outside math class, Tommy stops me with a hand on my shoulder. “Did you like my video, Lameberg?”

“What video?” I say, feeling proud of myself for coming up with that.

“Look, Lameberg,” he says, shoving my shoulder into the wall, “don’t act stupid with me. I’m still going to get you. I owe you for making me get that week of detentions. Remember?”

I gulp, nod and slip into the classroom.

Sophie smiles at me, but I’m too shaken to smile back. I open my math book and pretend to study.

In the lunchroom, I see Elliott sitting at the Neanderthals’ table. When he turns his head in my direction, I look down at my so-called food.

I thought it would get easier not hanging out with Elliott, but it actually gets harder. It’s not like I have a thousand friends lined up to hang out with me. It was always me and Elliott. And now it’s just me and my online fans, but they can’t keep me company in the lunchroom or walk to school with me or make new
TalkTime
s with me.

The moment the buzzer signals the end of the day, I find a different door to exit from, avoid the courtyard and race home.

In my room, there’s an envelope on my bed.

I see the Xs and Os over Mom’s return address and inhale, expecting a whiff of her vanilla scent, but it smells like paper. Without opening the envelope, I take it to Lindsay’s room.

“Enter,” she yells when I knock.

Lindsay’s on her bed, reading
Animal, Vegetable, Miracle
.

I wonder if she’s still mad at me. I don’t blame her if she is.

“Hey, David. What’s up?”

She doesn’t sound mad.

I dangle my envelope. “You get one, too?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Open it yet?”

“Nope,” Lindsay says.

“Are you going to?”

“Nope.”

“But, Linds, Mom wrote that she wishes—”

“Nope!” My sister puts her book in front of her cream-covered face again. “David, did you want something?” she asks from behind the book.

I squeeze my envelope. “Nope.” And I walk out.
Why does Lindsay have to be like that? Mom can’t help that she has some “issues,” as Dad calls them. I mean, it’s not like Mom disappeared completely from our lives, like Elliott’s dad did. At least she writes to us
.

In my room, I pet Hammy and change his water. I’m dying to know what Mom wrote, but her letters don’t come every day, so I savor them. I brush my teeth, check the hair under my armpits—two new hairs!—and work my Rubik’s Cube for a few frustrating minutes before tearing open the envelope.

“Nope,” I say to the letter.

“Nope.”

I think of Ms. Lovely and shake my head. “Nope.”

My heart leaps. I rush back into Lindsay’s room, waving the letter. “She’s going to call.”

Lindsay slams her book closed. “No, David, she’s not. And don’t come in without knocking.”

“She is,” I say, and run back to my room to finish reading her letter.

I write back immediately.

I cut it out, fold it and slip it into an envelope.

I take a deep breath and write the next part.

As I’m sealing the envelope, the phone rings.

“Hello?” I say, amazed I got to it before Lindsay picked up the other line.

There’s breathing on the other end, then a familiar voice. “Watch out, Lameberg. You can hide from me, but I’m going to get you.”

Click
.

I pet Hammy for nearly ten minutes but can’t get my heart to calm down. I hear Tommy’s scary voice in my head and imagine him hoisting me over the railing at school, and me landing on the floor below, my skull cracking.

I do something I know will make me feel better. I set up fake New York to make another
TalkTime
, but I really wish Elliott were here to help me. If he were here, I’d definitely feel better.

I take a deep breath, turn on the camera, sit on my bed, scribble on some paper and look up, scribble some more, then do my best Jon Stewart grin. “Welcome to
TalkTime
with David Greenberg and Hammy.” I’ll insert footage of Hammy later, when I’m editing. “Today, in our series about surviving middle school, we’ll talk about the dreaded detention. Now, on to our Top Six and a Half list.”

During lunch today, I wrote and memorized my list. It wasn’t like there was anything else to do.

“The Top Six and a Half Ways to Get a Detention:

“One: Dress-code violation.” Later I’ll insert a shot of me wearing Lindsay’s purple dress.

“Two: Show up late for class.

“Three: Class? What class?

“Four: Ask for one. They’re free.

“Five: Tell your teacher your hamster ate your homework.” Hammy will get screen time here, munching on a tiny piece of lettuce that I hope will look like paper.

“Six: Tell your teacher your sister ate your homework.” I’ll insert a shot here of Lindsay eating, but this time I will get her permission first!

“And the best way to get a detention …

“Six and one-half: Bring your hamster to school!” Here I’ll insert a picture of Hammy and use Photoshop to add a teacher standing on a chair while Hammy sits at a desk, holding a book—
Hammy Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone
.

Then I interview Ms. Tough Tomatoes, who is actually me wearing one of Mom’s old wigs and a nasty scowl. And she—um, I talk about how she gives detentions for everything, including breathing too loudly or blinking too often. In the interview, Ms. Tough Tomatoes mentions the day she was so late for class that she gave
herself
a detention.

I smell Bubbe’s chicken soup downstairs, so I go right into “And now, your moment of Hammy.” Later, with the miracle of Photoshop, I’ll insert a picture of Hammy wearing Lindsay’s purple dress.

After dinner—chicken soup, baked stuffed potatoes and string beans—I edit the video, then upload it to YouTube. Five minutes after it’s up—five minutes!—I have twenty-four views and two comments. JJJDAWG wrote
Funniest vid EVER!!!
and TheaterGeek wrote
You should have your own TV show! I’m posting link on
Daily Show
forum. You’re freakin hilarious!

I keep checking the stats as I put the finishing touches on the science project that’s due tomorrow. When I turn off the computer for the night, I tell Hammy, “A hundred and twenty-six views and nine positive comments. We’re totally famous, little dude!”

In bed, before I fall asleep, I remember the Neanderthals’ table in the lunchroom today. When I walked past, every guy at the table cleared his throat and said, “Lameberg,” except for one person, who sat quietly with his shoulders hunched—Elliott. He didn’t say anything to me, throw anything or do anything. In fact, he looked like he didn’t want to be there.

The more I think about it, the more I realize there might be a glimmer of hope that Elliott is tired of Tommy and sick of sitting at the Neanderthals’ table. Maybe he even wants to be friends with me again.