The class went silent. Then everyone started whispering to one another.

I felt myself blush. “Um… yeah?” I said, hesitating.

“You don’t know?” Mr. Grank growled.

“Well, sir… I was just hoping, maybe we could keep that, um, little piece of trivia just between me, you, and these four walls?”

I grinned nervously, but Mr. Grank was all “Don’t get smart with me, Ms. Khatchadorian.”

Someone in the class said, “Ooooh, trivia…” and I felt everyone looking at me, like I was showing off some big, fancy vocabulary word or something. Actually, it was more like they thought I was going to take off all my clothes and streak through the hallway. (Which Rafe actually did once.) So I slumped down in my chair until the bell rang.

Now, normally we would’ve gone to a Big School Assembly next to learn about the school rules and stuff. But for some reason—(ahem, Rafe)—there wasn’t one this year. The Code of Conduct was being “reworked.” So we went straight to our classes.

Anyone want to guess why—(cough, cough, Rafe)—the teacher gave me a “special welcome” in English? And math? And French? And gym?

For those of you who are confused right now because you don’t know much about Rafe, here’s the deal: He’s notorious around here because he tried to break every single rule in the student handbook. He almost did it too, but he got kicked out. (If you’re interested in knowing even more about it, just read Middle School, The Worst Years of My Life. Personally, I wouldn’t bother. But you might like it… if you’re crazy.)

And now everybody at HVMS seemed to think I was going to be the next crazy Khatchadorian.

Everywhere I went, I was following in my brother’s muddy, bloody footsteps. I was about as popular as toxic waste. Rafe wasn’t even here, and he’d already ruined everything.

But I’m not Rafe. I’m the kind of girl who gets straight A’s. I even won Most Outstanding Effort in the third grade. All these people have the wrong idea about me.

I decided that I’d just have to show them that I’m not Rafe Khatchadorian II: The Revenge. I’m more like Georgia Khatchadorian I: The Relatively Normal.

I thought that once I showed everyone the real me, things would get better.

Boy, was I wrong.

Miller the (Mini) Killer

And then there was lunch. Students everywhere, and not a friend in sight.

Oh, but there was a fiend in sight. It seems that my brother’s old buddy, Miller the Killer, has a little brother. And by little, I mean enormous. I’d seen Miller—and Mini-Miller looks just like him. Only bigger and uglier.