Ms. Jordan leaned back in her chair and studied me. “Don’t say it like what?” she asked.

“With all capital letters and an exclamation mark at the end.” I sat on my hands. “Rafe and I aren’t the same person. And besides, he’s not as bad as everyone around here thinks.”

I thought about how he’d helped out at the garage sale and defended me to the Lizard King—even though that hadn’t really happened—and I got a warm, fuzzy feeling.

“Hmm.” Ms. Jordan picked up a pencil and bounced it off the table a few times. “So—what brings you here, Georgia?”

Um, royal command of the Lizard King?

“It’s a long story.”

“I have a lot of time on my hands,” Ms. Jordan said.

I sighed. Clearly, I wasn’t going to escape until I’d delivered my autobiography.

I tried to give her the condensed version.

“I’m wondering if you can speed this story up a bit,” Ms. Jordan said.

“I spilled pudding on Missy Trillin’s head while she was taking a pee.”

“I see.” Ms. Jordan nodded. “Now I think we’re getting somewhere.”

More Shrinkology

So, you spilled pudding on Missy’s head,” Ms. Jordan said. She poked her flabby cheek with the eraser end of her pencil. “How did that make you feel?”

“Horrible,” I said.

Ms. Jordan lifted her eyebrows.

“It was actually kind of great,” I admitted.

“I assume you had reasons for pouring pudding on Missy Trillin,” Ms. Jordan said. She tucked the pencil behind her ear.

“Good reasons,” I replied. “Missy’s a bully.”

Ms. Jordan pursed her lips as if she doubted my statement. “I’ve seen your permanent record. You’re a good student, Georgia. Or you were. Until you came to HVMS.”

I shrug.

“Are you at all worried about how your mother will react when she hears what happened?”

I flushed red and hot, like a giant pimple. I meant to say “no way,” but it came out in a whisper as “yes.”

“Hmm.” Ms. Jordan pulled the pencil out from behind her ear and scratched her scalp with it. “But your brother, Rafe, breaks rules all the time, doesn’t he?”

“So?”

The edge of her lip curled up. “So your mother should be used to it by now.”

“I told you, I’m not Rafe.”

“Mmm.” The school shrink leaned forward and stared at me like I was a frog she wanted to dissect. “Do you think, Georgia, that your physical deformity fuels your need to act out?”

I felt like I’d just been punched in the face. I couldn’t think of anything to say… and then I thought of a lot of things to say. It involved a lot of words that would have to be bleeped out if I were telling this story on TV.