Mission (Un)Popular Read Online Free

princess. And like in The Little Mermaid (which the triplets would watch endlessly if my mother let them), using just my pretty brown eyes, I spoke volumes to him about my undying love. He reached out and ran his fingers through my hair (which, in fantasies, is always magically straight and tangle-free). Then he cupped his hand gently around my cheek and leaned in to kiss me while Sarah J. stood watching, her mouth hanging open in outrage.…
    â€œMargot.” The sound of my name snatched me ever-socruelly out of my fantasy. The whole group was looking at me. “Won’t you begin?” Oh great, I thought, but I didn’t panic. My mind is always wandering, so this kind of thing happens to me a lot. I figured out a long time ago that, instead of guessing what’s going on, you’re better off acting like you know, then asking a question that makes it sound like you care. For example: “I’d love to, but first, can you give me a better idea of what you’re looking for?”
    â€œCertainly, Margot,” the teacher said. “Let me clarify that.” See? Works every time! “What I’d really like to know, when you introduce yourself to the group, is who do you think you are ?”
    Who do I think I am? Easy. “Okay,” I said. “Hi. My name is Margot Button.”
    â€œAnd?” she said softly, waiting for more.
    â€œAnd, I’m almost thirteen years old.”
    â€œAnd?” she said. “Start again, Margot.”
    â€œHi,” I tried. “My name is Margot Button, and I’m almost thirteen, and I live on Gormon Avenue. I’ll be starting seventh grade next week?”
    â€œWho are you , Margot?” She leaned forward in her chair.
    This was obviously some kind of a trick question.
    â€œI’m a person…named Margot Button. I hate goldfish and processed cheese,” I continued, saying whatever popped into my head, even though I knew it probably wasn’t what she was hoping for. “Processed cheese because it barely tastes like cheese.” Nobody said anything, so I just kept talking. “And goldfish because of the way they grow to the size of whatever you put them in. Say, if you put them in a bowl, they stay tiny, and if you put them in a pond, they grow giant and, I’m sorry, that’s not normal.”
    Mrs. Carlyle just smiled politely. “That’s all interesting, Margot, but I wonder if you could tell us anything about who you are inside ?”
    Oh. My. God.
    â€œInside? Fine.” I smiled back. “My name is Margot Button, and I’m almost thirteen—like I said. Inside , I am very annoyed to be here talking about self-esteem on my last day of summer vacation.”
    There was total silence in the room. Mrs. Carlyle bit her lip like she was trying not to cry. I instantly felt really, really bad—even though she’d kind of forced me to lose my patience. Still, I was seriously planning to work on that as part of my School Year’s resolution to Be More Normal. Starting with the first day of seventh grade, I solemnly swore I would install some kind of filter between my brain and my mouth.
    To her credit, Mrs. Carlyle recovered quickly. She gave an uncomfortable, neighing kind of laugh (do goats neigh?) and seemed to put it behind her.
    â€œThat’s very honest, Margot. But I wonder if, instead of defining yourself with momentary characteristics or emotions, you could tell us what it is that makes you you ?”
    I took a deep breath. “I’d really like to think about it some more,” I said. “Could you come back to me?”
    She smiled and nodded like it was the best idea ever. “Maybe you could write up your answer,” she suggested. “Share it with us after break.” Then she moved on to the next girl, the Goody Two-shoes with red hair. “Gabriella, would you like to introduce yourself to the group?”
    â€œSure,” Gabriella