I have a secret. I know things. Lots of things. About people. Like I know that my math teacher, Mr. Bugg, is going to pick his nose and wipe a boogie on the back of his yellow smiley face tie when he turns around to write on the board. And I know that Lacey, who sits next to me, is hoping that Jon, who sits behind me, asks her to our eighth-grade school dance. And that she really, really, really hopes that the pimple she popped and powdered before class doesn’t look like a giant apple on the tip of her nose. And that Jon doesn’t see said giant apple pimple when she accidentally-on-purpose bumps into him while leaving class.
See what I mean? I know tons of things. Freaky Frank. That’s me, all right.
Excerpt from Freaky Frank, latest middle-grade manuscript
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