Ferguson Fartworthy

“Amy Bellini and Sasha Tibbles traipsed down the aisle and wriggled into the back seat, Amy right next to me. Her damp brown hair flicked in my face as she turned to make herself more comfortable. I didn’t mind. I wouldn’t admit this to ANYONE, but I think she’s not quite as weird as the rest of the girls.”

“Like some huge, mutant chicken–I sat there hatching a gas-egg the size of a planet.”

“Principal Totty was one of those people who frown while they’re speaking, and then smile at the end of each sentence. It was weird. It was like there were two different people inside her brain.”

“Mr Warty’s face swelled up like a puffer fish—all his whiskers standing straight out like poison spikes.”

“I knew that one of my sharpest memories of sixth grade was forever doomed to be that moment—sitting there with the overwhelming odor of rotten eggs, spaghetti, manure, dead dog, wet schoolbags, smelly socks, and the girly perfume of Amy Bellini’s shampoo … all filling my nostrils.”

“It was massive. A blurting, busting, backfire! A flabbergasting, fire-breathing, flub-explosion! A propelling, paint-stripping, prison-break!”