“Would you like a cookie, Mrs. Stricker?” I asked in my sweetest voice. “It has M&M’s in it.” I picked the fattest one from the plate and held it out.

Mrs. Stricker stopped short. She smiled. “You’re Georgia Khatchadorian, aren’t you?” she asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

I pointed to him. “This boy has just told me that I’m not supposed to be out in the courtyard. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I apologize for breaking the rule.”

Mrs. Stricker laughed. “Oh, Georgia, don’t be silly. I just came out here to welcome you to Hills Village Middle School.”

“Whoa,” the blond guy whispered. He stared at me with huge eyes. “Is this, like, some Jedi mind trick thing?”

“It’s the cookie,” I whispered back.

“I’ve seen your permanent record, Georgia,” Mrs. Stricker went on. “And I know you’re a good student. You even won Most Outstanding Effort in third grade. I think you’ve earned the right to eat where you please.”

I had to admit it—I was shocked. Rafe had always made Mrs. Stricker sound like a witch on wheels.

“I notice you have two more cookies there.” Mrs. Stricker nodded at the plate on the bench beside me. “Were you expecting someone else to join you, Georgia?”

“Oh, no,” I lied. “I just… like to give out cookies.” I handed another one to the blond boy.

“Hmm.” Mrs. Stricker squinted at the cafeteria window, where Missy and the B’s were cowering under a table. “I understand what you’re going through, dear,” she said. “If there’s anything I can do, Georgia—anything—please just come and see me in my office.” She leaned in close and whispered, “I like to give out cookies too.” And then she winked.

Mrs. Stricker Loves Me Not…

Did you buy all that? Yeah, probably not. As soon as I came out of that little daydream, I discovered once again—to my horror—that Rafe was right.

Let me just clear up one thing: Mrs. Stricker is not as sweet as an M&M cookie. She’s about as sweet as a flaming turd.

Here’s the gist of what really happened:

I was still recovering from my humiliation when Mrs. Stricker blazed out to the courtyard. “You aren’t supposed to be outside!” she screeched.

“Would you like a cookie?” I asked.

“How dare you try to bribe a school official!” I was hoping she would hop on her broomstick and fly away, but instead she snarled, “I know who you are, Rafe Khatchadorian’s SISTER! You’re breaking a rule—AUTOMATIC DETENTION!”

“Excuse me,” the blond boy piped up, “but she didn’t know—”

Mrs. Stricker wheeled on him. “Automatic detention for you too, Blond Kid! Nobody covers for a Khatchadorian on my watch!”