Mission (Un)Popular by Anna Humphrey Page A

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    Everyone looked at her a second time. Even I did. I’d never met anyone from New York before. Come to think of it, it explained why she had such good hair and cool clothes. It’s a commonly known fact that people from New York have better fashion sense than people from Canada. They’re just born with it.
    I glanced across the room at Sarah J., who was looking directly at Em, mouth open wide like she was trying to put the pieces together. If Em was from New York, maybe she was a model. I mean, she could be. And if she was, maybe—as unlikely as it seemed—Sarah J. might believe I was one too. It was a long shot, but it was my only hope.
    Mrs. Collins spent the rest of the period doing a classroom orientation and going over how to make a book-cover protector using a brown paper bag. When she asked if anyone had questions, I raised my hand. “Why don’t we just plasticize the book covers so kids don’t need to do this every year?”
    She didn’t even take a second to seriously think about my very practical suggestion.
    â€œWell, Margot,” she said. “If you’d like to find a plasticizing machine and personally plasticize everyone’s book cover, you’re certainly welcome to do so.”
    â€œAwesome idea, Button,” Ken snickered from the other side of the room. I glared back at him, but he didn’t seem to notice. I left at the end of the period thinking three things:
Maybe I will find a plasticizing machine and plasticize every single book cover for every single person.
I hate Mrs. Collins.
Bad things always happen when I open my mouth. If I have any hope of being more normal, my first step will have to be an oath of complete silence until the end of the year.
    Next we had math class with Mr. Tannen, which included a second fascinating lecture about how to cover textbooks with paper bags. Then, as we were getting our stuff from our lockers before lunch, things took another turn for the worse. I heard The Group girls around the corner near the water fountain.
    â€œShe doesn’t look like a model,” I heard Sarah whisper.
    â€œI know, right?” Maggie agreed. “She’s not even very tall.”
    â€œOr very thin,” Joyce added.
    â€œShe could be one of those fat models that are supposed to look like real people,” Maggie suggested. “But I hate her hair,” she added when that didn’t seem to go over very well.
    â€œYeah…her roots are grown out, like, this much,” agreed Joyce.
    Em, who was putting her books away three lockers over, either had really bad hearing or really thick skin. She bent down and tied one of her shoelaces without even glancing in the direction their voices were coming from, then stood up and walked away.
    Part of me wanted to run after her to tell her not to worry…that if she kept out of their way and didn’t draw attention to herself, they’d probably get bored and start leaving her alone in a few days. But another, bigger, part of me was still mad at her for the weird modeling convention lie. Plus, I didn’t have time. I had a 12:00 detention with my new favorite teacher, Mrs. Collins.
    I stuffed my lunch into my bag. “Well, at least she looks more like a model than Hamburglar does,” I heard Sarah J. say, and they all snickered. I couldn’t help it. I stared hard at the floor as tears welled up in my eyes.
    I had to give the new girl credit: sure, she might tell lies, and yeah, her roots were growing out…but I wished my hearing was half as bad as hers. I glanced at the hallway clock. Still three hours and twenty minutes to go. Besides finding a rock to hide under, the only thing on earth that would make me feel better would be hearing Erika’s voice. Which was why, when the bell rang at 3:20, I was so relieved I didn’t even care that I was about to face two and a half hours of babysitting. I practically ran the six blocks home. It