Finally I saw what was making her so mad. On the cover of the booklet, someone had covered up the r in “Friend” with white tape.
MARGARET! the title read, above Margaret’s smiling school picture. FIEND OF THE WEEK!
Mitchell made an innocent face and clapped his hands to his chest, like he was heart-crushed that she could accuse him of doing something like that.
But I could see him telling his mouth not to laugh, and I could see his mouth fighting back.
“What makes you think it was me?” he asked, when he had won the fight with his mouth.
Margaret pointed to the baseball bat sticking out from under Mitchell’s pillow. The handle was wrapped in tape that used to be white.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I should have used Mom’s nail polish or something.” Margaret stormed out of the room without saying a word and stomped back to her own bedroom.
Her cat, Mascara, shot off the pillow and scrambled under the bed, because cats know when someone’s mood is B-A-D, bad.
Mascara and I waited while Margaret sat in the exact center of her rug and smoothed out all of the fringe, which is how she calms herself down.
“He is such a baby-head!” she hissed after a while.
“The cover’s not important, Margaret,” I tried. “Here, give it to me. I’ll take the tape off.” Margaret clutched the booklet to her chest.
