How to Outrun a Crocodile When Your Shoes Are Untied (8 page)

“A few milligrams of venom from the Belcher's sea snake can kill over one thousand people.”

—Animal Wisdom

I huffed at the mirror as I tried to fluff my hair up a little from its normal state of blandness.

How did Sugar get hers to look so bouncy? I tried twirling it with my fingers and even spritzed some of Mom's hairspray, but the whole thing made me sneeze and look like a bad before makeover photo. I gave up, shoving the mess into a ponytail.

“Ready for your last week of grade seven, sweetie?” Mom asked, sliding her sunglasses into her hair. I grunted in response. After spending the rest of the weekend hiding away like a meerkat from cameras, I didn't feel up to the onslaught of school on Monday.

“You'd better hurry up—you're late. I can drive you to school, but we're giving a couple camels a ride too. Daz went on ahead with Kevin.”

I gaped outside the window at the trailer that was hooked up behind my mom's work truck. Sure enough, there were two camel butts sticking out the back.

Wonderful.

“Do you really think I want to be seen with camel butts, Mom?” I asked, sliding my backpack over my shoulder.

She rolled her eyes, holding the door open for me. “Don't worry. You get to sit up front with me. I won't make you sit in the trailer with them.” She flashed her smile and hopped down to the car. “Let's get a move on!”

Music was playing loudly from iPod speakers on the grass as we pulled up to the school. Everybody seemed to be outside trying to get a tan, like lizards basking on rocks, while Principal Miller was already trying to round them up with his usual British mannerisms. This included a lot of head bobbing while yelling “hip hip.” Nobody listened though, maybe because we weren't British and “hip hip” didn't sound nearly as threatening as he wanted.

I had a crick in my neck from trying to hide in the seat, squishing the cover of my sketchbook into my hair as a shield. Is there anything more mortifying than showing up in a truck with hairy camel bottoms hanging out from the back? I grabbed my art project from the backseat and tried to bolt from the truck before anyone would notice the traveling petting zoo, or worse, saw my mother. She was decked out in full safari uniform again, but this time she wore a set of aviator glasses that looked a lot like Tom Cruise's from that movie where he's a hotshot.

Jumping out, I slammed the truck door shut.

“Later, Mom,” I mumbled through the open window. The sooner she got out of here, the better.

I tried to ignore the feeling that everyone was staring.
Camels
and
Crocs: The Silent Torture of Ana Wright.
Already my life sounded like a really bad made-for-TV movie. I was almost in the clear at the door when I noticed a huge gasp from the crowd, followed by a peal of laughter. I wheeled around, wondering if Mom had gotten out of the truck.

Oh. My. God.

A camel—a
traitorous
camel
—had taken a…well, you know. It was all over the road, this huge, steaming pile of…

Principal Miller was coming up to the truck. The vein in his forehead was throbbing at first, but as soon as he saw my mom, he broke into a grin.

No…no, please.

She was getting out of the truck, patting him on the back and flashing her wide smile. She pointed up at me and waved. The crowd of students had gone silent. A few students snickered, and I hid my face. Among the faces of the growing crowd was my brother, laughing with Kevin. What? Was he missing the embarrassment gene or something? How could he find it
funny
to be part of the school's biggest weirdo family?!

I had to get out of there.
Sorry, Mom—you're on your own for this one.
Shouldering the door open, I ran into someone wearing a bright yellow polo shirt that fit in all the right places.

“Someone said there's a crazy lady with some cam—whoa there!” the voice said.

“Zack!”

My open bag dropped to the floor as he reached up to rub his forehead, which was dotted with blood. Did I smash him with the door? Mort-i-fy-ing.

“Oh! Your head!” My voice sounded like one of the lady mice from
Cinderella
.

“Hey, is that your
mom
out there?” He pointed and winced as he raised his eyebrows. She was still out there, smiling with her hands on her hips as Mr. Miller was shoveling the mess into the trailer. How did she get him to do that? Some of the students had their cell phones out and were taking pictures. Gah! One of them was Ashley.
Please
don't let this turn up on the Internet.

I tried to think of what Liv would tell me. Be flirtatious but not needy. Bat your eyelashes but not so much that you look like a crazy person. I tried, I really did, but for the record, it is impossible to be cute and flirty whenever large mammal excrement is present. When I tried to reply to Zack, two things happened. One: I said, “Unngh.”

Seriously. Why couldn't I have one-
tenth
of my mother's charm?!

And two: I shook my head so hard (trying to knock out the memory of smashing him with the door no doubt) that I lost my balance and toppled back into the door.

Zack stood there, giving me the strangest look I'd ever seen.

“Do you need some help?” He scanned the floor and dropped to a knee to pick up the rest of my books.

Yes. I definitely needed help. Full psychiatric evaluation, please.

Deep breath. I had to redeem myself. “Thanks you. Er…thank you,” I said finally, feeling my face flush. Were my ears red? They sure were burning.

Looking at his blue eyes, I had to remind myself that he was the crush of my sworn enemy. He
was
pretty adorable though, standing there looking all tanned with his hair messed up like that. Only Zack could look good after getting attacked by a door.

No!
I reminded myself, the mental vision of Ashley's piercing glare shooting through me.

“Sure, you're welcome. So I hear your grandpa is Shep Foster.” He kept looking back and forth between me and the camels past the glass door. You know things are bad when you play second fiddle to a camel derriere. He looked down at me and smirked.

“Where did you hear that?” My hands balled into fists as I thought about what I would do if Daz had told anybody.

“Oh. You haven't seen yet.” He stifled a laugh, and I could feel the blood rush to my chest. Was he laughing at me?

“Okay…? Sorry about your head.” I handed him a tissue from my pocket for him to dab the blood. Hopefully it was free of crickets.

“Gotta go. See you around, Annie.” He nodded, handing me my books.

Annie.

Hearing him say my name (sort of) sent a chill to my toes, and I instantly forgot about his smirk.

He's so pretty.

I was about to make a clean getaway when my mother's face appeared at the door. “You forgot your keys!” she said, handing them over. Before I could cut her off, she gave me a conspiratorial smile and said
far
too loudly, “Ooh, was that Zack?!”

Might as well face it: my life was officially over.

What I Should Have Said to Zack

1.
“Actually, no. That isn't my mother. My mother is a wealthy entrepreneur in Italy. She would never be caught dead in a safari hat. Say, do you like tennis?”

2.
“Of course I'm not related to Shep Foster. Can't you tell by my complete inability to string together a sentence in public?”

3.
Anything. Coherent.

I had assumed that the camel poop/Zack smashing would be the worst part of my day.

Sometimes I can be so stupid.

As I walked alone to my locker, the first thing I noticed was all the stares. Everybody was gawking at me. A few girls giggled and then quickly looked away as I made my way closer to them.

Please
tell
me
that
Daz
didn't tell everybody. Why would he do that? Doesn't he have a soul?

“Hey, Ana—nice shorts!” a random voice boomed out, making me flinch. I jerked my head down at my shorts; there was nothing wrong with them…no random bits of animal fur or anything.

Brooke, who was somehow without her fellow Sneerers, peeked out from her locker as I walked by, with her mouth open like she wanted to say something but stopped herself. There was a distinct look of pity in her eyes.

Anger, I could take. Hostility? Sure.

But pity coming from Brooke was entirely new and it crawled over me like a scorpion.
And
it scared the you-know-what out of me. I forced one foot in front of the other, trying to ignore the dull throb in my head as I reached my bank of lockers.

A familiar tall shadow jogged up beside me in the hall. “Hey, Ana…” Kevin seemed out of breath. “I was wondering if you could help me? Um, outside. Let's go outside. It's really nice out this morning, and we could go over some more math before class…”

I stopped, trying to shove the lump in my throat back to my stomach. People were still staring, but Kevin was blocking most of them with his sheer height in front of me. He wasn't slouching like he normally did; instead his shoulders were squared.

I gritted my teeth. “What is it, Kev? Did Daz tell everybody about Grandpa? Because he totally promised he wouldn't—he can't do this to me all the time,” I sputtered. I could feel the back of my throat begin to ache.

Kevin shook his head. “No, it's not that. He didn't say anything. I promise. It's only…” He peeked behind him, and it was only then that I noticed something on the walls. A poster.

My jaw dropped as the crowd around me began to laugh. I shoved Kevin out of the way, despite his protests not to go to my locker. I didn't need to: every locker within fifty feet of mine was plastered with a photocopied poster.

Of
my
butt.

I gripped my backpack straps hard as I felt the tips of my fingers tingle. It wasn't just my butt. It was Sugar and I, standing at the front desk of that fancy hotel. I wouldn't stand a chance next to Sugar at the best of times, but this was so much worse. There was a huge, revolting stain on the back of my shorts. My breath squeezed out of me as I inspected the picture. Whoever had done the photocopying had the courtesy to circle my rear with a thick, black Sharpie. I knew that stain was nothing but dirt from the zoo, but in the picture it looked ridiculously terrible.

Underneath was the caption “Shep Foster's granddaughter bonds with his supermodel-actress girlfriend.” Above the picture, someone had scrawled in huge block letters “LOOKS LIKE SCALES HAD AN ACCIDENT.”

A weak cry escaped my throat, but I couldn't form any words.

Kevin reached over to steady me. “I was trying to get them all down before you came in. This was the last bank of lockers…” he mumbled. I noticed his back pocket was stuffed full of crumpled-up posters.

I wanted to kick every locker I could see. The edges of my vision actually began to blur red, like I was some sort of vampire on a rampage. If only I had that kind of strength, I could freak every last one of them out.

“There were
more
of them?!” I seethed.

Kevin sighed but gave a nod, pulling the stack from his back pocket. “Only a few.”

I didn't even have to pretend to think about who had done this. The Sneerers plastered my butt with its
totally
understandable
stain
all over school.

I shouldn't be surprised, really. But that didn't make the burning in my chest go away.

I needed Liv. She would have the perfect retaliation for them. She would smirk and wave her magic Liv wand and act like none of this mattered, and we'd laugh the whole thing off over a plate of curly fries.

But she was gone, exploring her new
home
. Grandpa had been in town for less than a week and already I was literally the poster child for being a loser. And I had no one.