Page 7 - My FlipBook

“It’s George,” I snapped back instead. Now I can’t

stop wondering where people go when others stop
believing in them. My fourth-grade teacher once
tried to tell me the Loch Ness Monster wasn’t real,
but I’ve seen the pictures. Nessie lives in Scotland.
That fairy from Peter Pan almost died when people
stopped believing in her, though! So, does that mean
that George is trapped somewhere between Scot-
land, Neverland, and death?
With my next bite, cheese grease dribbles down

my chin. I quickly swipe my face with the back
of my hand and coolly grin, hoping that nobody’s
noticed.
Jason smirks. “You . . . uh . . . got something.”
He points to his teeth. Morgan and her friend cackle.
I wiggle my tongue around to get it out. I have
a big space in the middle of my front teeth, like

George. He’s half-walrus, complete with tan, bumpy
skin, the biggest mustache I’ve ever seen, and enor-
mous gap-teeth tusks. I have no excuse. I usually
don’t mind having less teeth-space to brush, but I’m
mortified as a tiny chunk of olive pops out of my
dental food trap onto the table.
“That’s disgusting, Jack!” Mom scolds. “Use a
napkin.”

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