Frazzled Read online

  Amy Becks overheard us talking and she really wanted those pretzels . . . so much so that she was willing to give up a whole bag of cheese puffs! That seemed crazy to me because I thought cheese puffs were delicious, but Amy said she thought it was gross that they turned her fingers and tongue orange.

  It got me thinking. A little organized switching and we could each get exactly what we wanted.

  THAT was how it all began.

  At first, it was just a couple of us swapping snacks in the back of the classroom. Our study hall trailer was pretty small, though, and before long, more people wanted in.

  Then things started getting tricky.

  Eventually, Ms. Skelter took notice and asked what we were doing. I blurted out,

  One look at the spread of lunch leftovers on the table and her eyes narrowed. I thought for SURE we were caught.

  Then, out of nowhere, Alexis Bunker popped up behind us and said matter-of-factly—

  I almost fell out of my seat—I couldn’t believe it!

  I wasn’t the only one either. Edgar Ortiz’s jaw looked like it was about to detach from the rest of his face and Ellen Smith’s eyes were just about ready to pop out of her head.

  This was Alexis Bunker. If you looked up “teacher’s pet” in a dictionary, she’d be right there at the very top.

  She was one of those people who joined study hall because she legitimately wanted to study. I had never seen her talk in class without raising her hand, and I had DEFINITELY never seen her lie to a teacher. Maybe that’s why they all trusted her.

  Ms. Skelter totally bought it. I guess even Alexis Bunker knew that we were in this together now. Later on, she dropped a package of rice cakes on the table and asked if I could help her get something in exchange.

  It was a tough sell, but eventually, I made a deal and traded the rice cakes for Fritos. Alexis was SO happy.

  I have NEVER seen someone eat a whole bag of chips that quickly. I guess it makes sense, though. I mean, seriously, what kind of parent packs their kid rice cakes for lunch?

  I didn’t know it at the time, but that was only the beginning.

  After school, I went to the playground with Logan and Maxine, only we weren’t supposed to call it “the playground.”

  Once you’re in middle school, you can’t “play” anymore—you have to “hang out.”

  Anyway, that’s when I told them everything!

  They couldn’t believe it—

  Especially the part about swapping snacks right under Skeletor’s nose!

  Logan gave me a high five and Maxine said:

  “Sounds like you’re the one in charge of study hall now! You’re like their leader!”

  I hadn’t thought about it that way.

  Did I somehow become the leader of our small, unofficial cafeteria rebellion?

  “Cool. You’re kind of like . . . the Godfather of snacks.”

  “You’re queen of the lunch swap!”

  Maybe that was a bit much, but I didn’t completely hate the way it sounded.

  After all, I was NEVER the mastermind.

  Logan was the smart one and Maxine had all the creativity, which usually just left me somewhere in the middle. I didn’t mind most of the time, but once in a while, it was nice to be the one with the good idea.

  We spent the rest of the day imagining all the things I could do if I was REALLY queen.

  The thought of our enemies as court jesters and pig farmers and onion peelers made us laugh so hard I thought our stomachs would explode!

  Pointdexter Middle School was not a monarchy, and even if it was, I definitely wasn’t its queen . . . but at the same time, I knew what the people wanted.

  When it came to lunch, we ALL wanted something different than what we had. That’s when it hit me—

  Things at school weren’t going to change anytime soon. Eighth graders had the cafeteria ladies under their control, and that didn’t leave the rest of us with many options.

  What if we came up with something that no one at this school had ever thought of before?

  It sounded a little crazy, but it was EXACTLY what we needed.

  Who knew?

  This could be a Thing.

  Then it wouldn’t matter that the Spencer sisters stopped us from using the eighth-grade-only line. It wouldn’t matter that there was an eighth-grade-only line at all!

  The cafeteria ladies might still be mean and our parents might still be clueless about snacks, but maybe if we worked together, everyone could get what they wanted.

  Now that I had my team assembled, our first step was to figure out a plan, and for that, we needed . . .

  Actually, we needed to THINK, but the two were sort of related.

  We decided to meet at Antonia’s Bake Shop after school every day that week. It became our official headquarters.

  Istvan let us stay as long as we needed to—or at least until closing time.

  Plus, he had this magical ability of knowing exactly what we wanted without even having to ask.

  We did our best work at Antonia’s.

  To pull off something this big, we would need more help. Luckily, everyone was pretty sick of the cafeteria rules.

  First order of business: Recruit Lana Alvarez, Pointdexter gossip queen, to spread the word.

  By fourth period, not only did everyone know that something was going on, they all wanted to be a part of it!

  Meanwhile, Logan put all the kids in his coding class to work on mapping out a digital tracking system of delivery and exchange sites.

  I didn’t fully understand what they were doing. Something about programming a virtual layout of the school into everyone’s phone. It sounded complicated, but if anyone could get it to work it was Logan.

  I could always count on him to figure out the confusing stuff.

  Maxine was a “people person,” so she got her friends on Student Council to sneak hidden messages into the flyers around school and used her texting expertise to create an elaborate communication system made up of only emojis.

  Within a week or so, our little lunch exchange had spread beyond just study hall and made its way across the entire school campus.

  Pointdexter Middle School was changing, and we weren’t just a part of that change—we were the ones changing it.

  After a while, the teachers and lunch ladies started to notice a major drop in the regular cafeteria line, but no one knew why.

  Except US, of course.

  Things were changing for me too. I didn’t know if the Middles were getting easier or if I was just getting used to them, but I wasn’t about to question it.

  Everyone was talking about the lunch exchange.

  They were right too. Everything WAS different.

  Not too long ago, the only seats we could get were at the sad, defective lunch table on the far end of the quad.

  The tabletop was faded and crusty from old bits of food. The bench was covered in a sticky, permanent layer of leftover juice or soda. We had to sit on sheets of notebook paper just so our pants wouldn’t get stained!

  Finding a table at lunch used to be impossible, but now we ALWAYS had one.

  It was like we FINALLY made it.

  Now people actually knew who we were—who I was!

  I was more than just Peter’s sister or the unexceptional middle Wu. Without even fully realizing it, I had become the center of this whole lunch revolution.

  It was my THING.

  The bigger the lunch exchange got, the more it became something beyond just us. Someone started calling it

  and the name just stuck. News of it had even reached the high school!

  I tagged along with Peter to the movies one night, and while we were waiting for the movie to begin, his friends started talking about OUR lunch exchange. They even asked me if I knew about it!

  I shrugged and pretended like I didn’t know ANYTHING.

  Even though I found my Thing, I still felt off about it. How could I be so UNSURE of something I was so SURE
about? Maybe there was something wrong with me, something I wasn’t doing right. When you found your Thing, nothing could go wrong . . .

  That was how it worked.

  So why did I still have this feeling that I was on the brink of disaster? Maxine and Logan kept saying there was nothing to worry about, but I couldn’t help thinking that things were coming to an end.

  Turns out, I was RIGHT. It had been a perfectly normal day until a huge, dark cloud started hovering over the classroom trailer.

  When I walked into study hall, things were definitely off.

  Everyone was huddled in the back of the room around Alexis Bunker, who was completely

  When she saw me, she made this wailing noise and started mumbling hysterically—

  I should have known what was coming next.

  It was one of those moments where you’re watching things happen, but you never fully realize it is happening to YOU until it’s too late.

  It was like I was in a movie theater watching my own personal middle school drama play out before me onscreen. . . .

  FADE IN.

  Suddenly there are heavy footsteps outside the classroom and a knock on the door.

  Enter a snooty-faced office aide. She hands Ms. Skelter a bright-pink note.

  They both glance up and look straight at ME . . .

  [cue dramatic music]

  “Take your bags” meant you weren’t just visiting the office. “Take your bags” wasn’t just a little bit of trouble. “Take your bags” was the nail in the coffin. “Take your bags” was the worst-case, end-of-the-line, doomsday scenario.

  The journey across the school felt a million times longer than it normally did. I could feel a million eyes following my walk of shame all the way up to the front office.

  They all knew what I knew—what I had known since before I even started middle school. I was a GONER.

  The vice principal called me into her office and looked disapprovingly at me from behind her desk. I had never been in Mrs. Kline’s office before. It smelled a lot like dust and burnt toast.

  I had never talked to Mrs. Kline either, and to be honest, I had never wanted to. She seemed like she meant business—especially now. After all, she started out by calling me:

  Maxine has a theory that whenever an adult calls you by your last name, it means you are in serious trouble—that or they can’t remember your first name.

  This was probably the first time in my entire life that I actually WANTED someone to forget my name, but by the look on Mrs. Kline’s face, I knew that wasn’t it.

  After a while, it started to hit me. Sweaty palms, shaky knees, the undeniable urge to bite my fingernails—all surefire signs that I was about to crack under pressure.

  Mrs. Kline must’ve been a CIA interrogator in her past life.

  I tried to channel Clara, who always had a knack for getting out of trouble. I clearly didn’t share my little sister’s acting talents. Despite my best attempts to look simultaneously innocent and clueless, it didn’t seem to work.

  Then a voice came in through the intercom:

  MRS. BUNKER—just hearing the name gave me chills.

  Alexis Bunker’s mother was notoriously scary.

  Mrs. Bunker was one of the parent chaperones on our first-grade class field trip to the zoo. She made her group hold hands the ENTIRE time and wouldn’t give them their snack packs until they recited at least five CORRECT animal facts.

  Even worse, she made Alexis wear a harness. I’m not even sure it was a kid harness—it looked more like an old dog leash to me.

  Mrs. Bunker HAD to be in control. If she somehow found out about our secret lunch exchange, there would be SERIOUS consequences.

  Apparently the trouble started when she found cheese stains on Alexis’s homework packet. The dietary regimen in the Bunker house is very strict and does NOT include cheese puffs.

  And I thought MY mom was tough because she wouldn’t let us have cereal with marshmallows for breakfast! If I was a Bunker, I would definitely starve.

  I think Mrs. Bunker trained their family dog to sniff out artificial flavoring, which is probably how she found the empty bag of cheese puffs crumpled at the bottom of Alexis’s backpack.

  Alexis was caught red-handed . . . or whatever the cheese puff equivalent of that would be.

  Her mom threatened to send her to boarding school in Switzerland if she didn’t confess everything. Most parents just said that without meaning it, but Mrs. Bunker never made empty threats.

  So Alexis told her mom and her mom told the school and that was it—our whole operation brought down by cheese puffs!

  Maybe this was what people meant when they said junk food was bad for you.

  When Mrs. Kline asked me to wait outside her office while she talked to Mrs. Bunker, I knew it was REALLY bad for me.

  I hated getting in trouble, but I hated WAITING to get in trouble even more. Next to the Middles, waiting was the WORST.

  You were stuck in between something that had already happened and something that was going to happen—right in the middle where NOTHING was happening.

  Waiting for water to boil,

  waiting for the dentist,

  waiting for the bathroom.

  I was pretty sure this was all part of their plan. Making me wait was just the beginning. Who knew what Vice Principal Kline and Mrs. Bunker had in store for me! I could just imagine it:

  Not to mention what this meant for my

  When something goes on your permanent record, it is with you for LIFE. Hence the word

  Bold, all caps, TRIPLE underlined. Not only that, everyone would know. My CHILDREN would know. And my children’s children. And my children’s children’s children! What would they think of me?

  All I wanted was to eat a good lunch and figure out my Thing, and now my life was OVER—well, it would be as soon as Mrs. Kline opened the door.

  Waiting outside her office felt like sinking in quicksand. I knew I was doomed—it was just a matter of waiting (and waiting and waiting . . .) for it to happen.

  The longer I waited, the more time I had to think of all the ways this would RUIN my life.

  I braced myself for the worst, but then the strangest thing happened. . . .

  She brought me back into her office, sighed, and said—

  I’m letting you go with a

  There will be NO MORE organized food swaps or snack trades.

  We have school lunch rules for a reason. You can’t just decide to change the rules.

  I nodded because it seemed like the thing I was supposed to do. Then she let me go.

  I walked to my next class in a complete and total daze, thinking this must be what it felt like to narrowly escape death.

  The next morning, Mrs. Kline gave a school-wide warning during homeroom announcements:

  That’s when it hit me. It was official—our lunch revolution was OVER.

  Okay, so it could have been worse. I wasn’t in (much) trouble and my life wasn’t in shambles the way I thought it would be, but this was the end of our lunch exchange and that was pretty sad if you asked me.

  For a while, it seemed like things were going well and I was starting to find my place in the Middles. People knew who I was—not for being Peter’s sister or for being Maxine and Logan’s other friend, but for something I started, something that was MINE.

  I should have known it was too good to be true!

  At first, everyone seemed just as upset as I was—UNTIL Lana Alvarez spotted a shiny new diamond ring on Miss Myers’s finger.

  Within a matter of hours, the entire school was buzzing.

  When would the wedding be?

  Was Miss Myers going to change her name??

  Which of us would be invited???

  Soon our disbanded lunch exchange was old news.

  Even Maxine and Logan started moving on.

  Our whole operation was ruined. Everything we had been working toward was irrelevant now. It didn’t matter. No one even cared. Worst o
f all, I was still stuck in the Middles and would be for what seemed like FOREVER.

  Just thinking about the miserable state of things made me sink into a major funk. It was worse than any other funk I had ever been in—including the time my favorite Saturday-morning cartoon show was canceled.

  I wore all black every Saturday for WEEKS.

  No, this funk was different. It might’ve even been contagious, because I noticed Peter started acting weird too.

  I thought for a second that maybe my REAL brother had been abducted by aliens or replaced by a cyborg clone or switched with an evil twin. Anything was possible.

  Then the weirdest thing happened.

  He came to pick me up after school, which made no sense because Peter never EVER picked me up after school. He didn’t explain why he was there—all he said was: