Dorothy’s Derby Chronicles: Rise of the Undead Redhead

Author:Meghan Dougherty & Alece Birnbach
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2014-05-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

At the end of the day, Dorothy reported to Mr. Macarini’s classroom. Sunshine filtered into the spacious art room through a wall of windows, but Dorothy’s mood was dark. She was serving time for a food fight she hadn’t started, and her bad luck was spreading. Dinah, Ruth, Lizzy, and Juana were already sitting at desks. Chunks of lettuce and deli meat still clung to the back of Ruth’s and Lizzy’s hair.

Dorothy chose a desk at the back of the room and sat down quietly, but the chair’s feet squeaked loudly on the concrete floor.

Everyone turned to look at her. To Dorothy’s surprise, no one looked angry or disappointed. In fact, the girls were smiling.

“Detention is so cool,” Dinah said. “Do you think we’ll get to do crafts?”

“I’m sorry I got you all into this,” Dorothy said.

“You shoulds not be sorry,” Juana said, sweeping a strand of dark hair out of her eyes. “You had bravery, no?”

Me? Brave? Dorothy wondered. She had talked back to Ms. Nailer, but that seemed more stupid than brave now that everyone was in trouble.

Lizzy gave Dorothy a big, bracey smile. “Personally, I don’t care if they lock me in the brig with Dracknesian Glibnofs, I’d do it all again in a nanosecond. Those Pompoms have tormented me for years. Did you see the looks on their faces when I growled at their table?”

Ruth giggled and gave Lizzy a high five. “And when I tipped it over?”

“Okay, girls. Party’s over.” It was Mr. Macarini entering the room. He was followed closely by the refrigerator from gym class.

Dorothy gulped. Dee.

Mr. Macarini ordered Dee into a chair and then sat down behind his desk. The art teacher was a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache and long, curly hair. Dorothy had only known him for a couple days, but he was definitely her favorite teacher at J. Elway—funny and nice. But by the disappointed look on his face, Dorothy guessed that was all about to change.

“Miss Moore, front of the room, please.”

Dorothy’s head drooped and she walked obediently to Mr. Macarini’s desk. She could feel everyone’s eyes on her back.

Mr. Macarini spoke to Dorothy in a low voice. “Listen, Dorothy. I’m not a big fan of the Pompoms, either, but violence is never the answer. You should know that.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Dorothy mumbled.

Mr. Macarini sighed and rubbed the edge of his mustache with a thumb. “Actually, I believe you.”

“You do?” Dorothy said, relief washing over her body.

“But,” the teacher said, “you’re still in trouble. Your friends ruined the Pompoms’ lunches and destroyed that table. And you didn’t stop them. It was a miracle no one was hurt.”

Dorothy folded her arms across her chest. This is so unfair! “Come on, Mr. Macarini. I didn’t tell them what to do. It’s not like I’m their leader or anything. I’m just…nobody.”

The teacher raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?” He nodded to the classroom.

Dorothy turned and was shocked by what she saw. With the exception of Dee (now scratching her initials into the table with a thumbnail), everyone was staring at her.

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