Read The Total Tragedy of a Girl Named Hamlet for Free Online

those responses were good ones.
    “Although I cannot fully comprehend the necessity of compromising myself for the sake of assimilating to the group, I trust your experience in the matter.
    “I am ready for my lessons,” she said. “Teach away.”
     
    We moved upstairs into my bedroom, where, for the next hour and a half, I taught Dezzie everything I could possibly think of regarding the social rules and regulations of HoHo Junior High. Some of the highlights:
    ✳ Unlike at home, slang, “commoner’s speech,” and contractions are a communication necessity
    ✳ “Huzzah!” and other Elizabethan terms are not effective communication tools
    ✳ Blending in is the ultimate goal
    ✳ Smart kids do not blend in. Answering too many questions in class, raising your hand too often, and being too friendly with the teachers will classify you as a “nerd” or “geek,” which is highly undesirable.
    I mentioned that one specifically because Dezzie would “blend in” around HoHo about as easily as a squash blends in with motorcycles—without answering every question that she heard walking through the halls.
    As I listed the rules, her eyes sparkled. She was getting her “intellectually engaged” look: furrowed brow, lips in a smirk, eyebrow cocked—an expression that I’d seen more often on teachers and my parents and their friends than anyone under the age of forty . . . except Dezzie.
    “What are the consequences to behaving outside of the norm?” she asked.
    I tried to find an answer that was better than the “I don’t know” I’d given her earlier. “People might tease you, or you might not have someone to sit with at lunch or during activities. Sometimes, depending on what you do, people can be mean,” I tried. Hearing it out loud made it sound a lot lamer than it was in real life, and it did nothing to capture the feeling of being ignored, or the coldness that could creep around your heart when you realized that you were being shut out.
    “It’s the preadolescent sociological phenomenon at work, isn’t it? Queen bees on the playground?” she asked. “Fascinating. I’ve read about it, of course, but to experience it firsthand will be a treat.”
    I had no idea what she was talking about, but she was probably right . . . although I’m not sure I would classify experiencing junior high as “a treat.” But her excitement helped me feel a little less guilty about what I was doing: asking her to hide everything that made Dezzie, Dezzie.
    Then we got practical: open classroom seating situations, how to carry a backpack without looking like a dork ( never clip the waist belt), and never mentioning “immersion projects” or outside HoHo academics.
    Through it all, Dezzie took notes and nodded in the right places. Just before nine, I suggested that we wrap it up. Mom would be home soon, and I didn’t want to have to answer any uncomfortable questions. Dezzie nodded, but her brow was knitted as tightly as one of Mom’s loom sweaters.
    “Do you think I can do it, Ham?” she asked, gray eyes searching mine. “There are a lot of things to remember.”
    A funny pulling sensation happened around my heart. I pushed it away. I was doing what was best for her, wasn’t I?
    “Of course I do. You’re the best student ever.” I gave her a big fake smile.
    Her eyebrows relaxed. “Not ever, but close to it,” she said. “This is a different kind of learning, though.” She shrugged. “I’ve gotta take my bath . . . How did that sound?”
    For a minute, I didn’t understand what she meant. Then I got it.
    “Rockin’,” I said, then grinned.
    She tucked her notes under one arm and slipped out of my room, clicking the door closed. I flopped back on my bed, hoping it would work, hoping Dezzie would become part of the HoHo fabric, hoping that eighth grade would be okay.
    I turned my computer on. The IM tone blinged right away.
    tyboardr11: Wee genius back @ HoHo
2morrow?
greeneggs22: yup.
tyboardr11: