True Girl Fiction Series by Dannah Gresh

Author:Dannah Gresh [Gresh, Dannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Moody Publishers
Published: 2008-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 2

An Angry Ostrich

“Two thousand forty-two ostriches. Two thousand forty-three ostriches. Two thousand forty-four ostriches …”

This is how I stayed awake Sunday night. I figured that if counting sheep helps a person fall asleep, then maybe counting something else might help me stay awake. I chose ostriches.

If you stay awake for most of the night, it seems to slow down the coming of the next day—which was good for me. But it also gives you a lot of time to think—which was bad for me. By the time my mom came in to wake me up this miserable Monday morning, my head felt like it would explode and my eyeballs were on fire. I lay there, slowly rolling my eyes around. Ow. Burny.

Mom came into my room to see if I was awake, and could immediately tell I had not slept well.

“Uzoma, you look so tired. Are you still worried about school today?” Mom asked.

I squinted back at her like the room was smoky.

“I’m worried because of how Thursday and Friday went. What if the school still has my classes all mixed up? I hate having to constantly switch classes and teachers!” I said, hoping she’d feel sorry for me and let me stay home for the rest of my life.

“Everything about your classes will be worked out. You’ll see. It’ll be fine.” She hugged me. “Now, go get ready.”

She was speaking to me in Ibo, which totally calms me down—normally. But nothing seemed to be breaking through the fuzz around my brain this morning.

As I was brushing my teeth, the knot in my stomach tightened. I tried to ignore it, but my thoughts were in a knot, too.

My mom wasn’t right about me liking this town. What if she’s not right about making friends? What if I don’t ever make any friends?

What if they think I dress funny? Of course, according to the corncob costume I wore on Friday, I do dress funny. I spit into the sink.

Maybe I don’t feel well, I thought, staring into the mirror. In old cartoons, people always check their tongues for spots when they’re sick. I stuck my tongue out really far. No spots. Not a one.

As I stepped into the shower, my six-year-old sister, Peace, opened the bathroom door and came in. She’s Ike’s twin, older by ninety seconds. And she doesn’t let him forget it.

“Peace! I’ve told you like a zillion times … you need to knock!” I said, really annoyed.

“Sorry,” she chirped.

Peace looked like a blurry blob through the shower curtain, but I could totally tell she was excited about school. Oh, to be six again …

“Striped one or the purple one?” she asked.

“What?” I asked. I hadn’t been listening. Besides, with the shower running and her mouth full of toothpaste foam, it was hard to understand what she was saying. Peace started to repeat herself.

“Spit out first. I can’t understand you,” I said.

She spit. “My skirt. Should I wear the striped one or the purple?”

“What top?” I asked.

“My orange shirt with the sparkly fish on the front,” she said.

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