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As far as twelve-year-old girls go, I hope I'm pretty funny, but that wasn't why my friends were laughing and taking pictures. It was because I was wearing a mustache. Yep. I'm a short, sandy-blonde girl with a mustache. And it was beautiful, bushy, and pink.
I also had a thick green mustache and a curly brown one, but they were still in my pocket. I collected mustaches for one major reason: they're hilarious. Everything is funnier with a mustache. For example, think of a pig. They're cute and funny with their piggy snouts and curly pink tails. Now imagine one with a mustache. Yep. Funnier. Or think of a woman in a fancy dress singing opera. Now imagine a woman with a mustache in a fancy dress singing opera. Think of your baby brother . . . with a mustache.
He-he-he. Hilarious.
Three of the girls liked my mustache, but I still wanted to win one more over. The hardest to impress.
Cassie turned to find out why everyone was laughing and taking pictures. She had been talking to Sarah at the front of the group. Cassie is like the queen of the sixth grade. Well, the queen, the president, the fashionista, winner of the People's Choice Award-pretty much everything important. It isn't official or anything, but everyone knows it.
She wore her blonde hair long and flowy, with a few fancy braids, the kind moms have to learn how to do by going to beauty school or by watching a lot of videos on the Internet. She also wore a glittery red sweater. Super cute, but we wouldn't expect anything less.
"Maddie! So funny," Cassie said, showing her brilliantly white teeth. "Weird, but funny."
The queen thought I was funny! Maybe I could work my way up to becoming the jester of the sixth grade. That would be awesome. My risky risk was paying off. Hopefully, she would let me hang out with her today.
I jogged to catch up to the other girls. All of them were taller than I was, and they seemed to walk faster too. We opened the big black doors and walked out of Acord Elementary, glad to have at least a few minutes of freedom.
We had only walked a few more feet before Cassie turned again, this time walking completely backwards, looking at the bunch of us following her. She could even walk backward sassy. "Okay," she said, with her big bright smile, "I need to talk with Sailor and Hannah."
She looked over her shoulder to make sure she was following the walking path around the school. Every recess Cassie picked who got to walk around with her. Sometimes she chose me and we talked about movies and makeup and funny jokes and boys. Well, I didn't usually do much of the talking, but it was still fun.
Some recesses I didn't get picked. Cassie didn't like it if I tried to hang out with a different group, so if I didn't get picked, I usually chilled by the door and made up jokes to myself or invented some crazy story. Once I made up one about a cyclops who had to go on a treacherous journey to get the only contact lens big enough for his monster eye. It was pretty awesome. Well, as awesome as telling a story to yourself can be.
"And Yasmin," Cassie said.
I really liked Yasmin and was glad Cassie picked her. And not just because she took a picture of me with her phone. Yasmin and I walk most of the way home together. She lives a street over. She has really dark straight hair and dark skin. She once told me to guess where she was from. I guessed India. I was so wrong. It was Ohio. But her grandparents were from Malaysia. That's somewhere way across the ocean. I could point it out on a map, maybe.
"And . . ." Cassie said.
This was it.
Please. Please.
I really hoped my mustache sealed it. "Definitely Maddie." Phew! I almost danced for real. Not only was I in, but I got a definitely. Behold the power of the mustache. "Even though she's holding her arm weird again," Cassie added.
For the love of potatoes! I had forgotten about my arm. I stretched it out quick. For some reason my arm liked to rest in a funny position sometimes. Cassie had pointed it out twice now. My fist would tuck in close to my chest and my elbow would stick out behind it. It was probably because I was growing. Bodies do weird things when they grow. At least that's what they told us in that really awkward presentation at school. You know, that one your parents have to sign the permission slip for you to go to and where they talk about deodorant and your body changing. The permission slip probably asked, "Is it okay for your son or daughter to sit through the most awkward presentation of their lives?" And all the parents signed it.
Or maybe I held my arm weird because of the ninja training I was doing after school in the invisible dojo in my basement. That was probably it. I was almost a titanium belt. That's like twenty levels above black, and it's when you learn to break cars with your pinky finger and bust through freeways with your head. Yeah. That kind of training is intense.
Okay, I made up the ninja stuff, but it sounded pretty cool.
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