Page 21 of Mixing Drinks For Tipsy Weasels

"I really didn't. I felt awful for weeks, and then you started acting funny towards me. I thought it was because we were getting to puberty and you thought it was weird that I was a girl."

"What? No. That was never weird."

I shrug. "What else was I supposed to think?"

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "It sounds so dumb when I say it now. I was just mad about the bouncy ball, and then it kept escalating. You were annoyed about the time I ruined your painting..."

"Ah, so youwerethe one responsible. I always knew it but could never prove it."

He grimaces. "Yes. It was an accident, and I would have come clean if it hadn't been yours, but I didn't want you to know that because I thought you'd believe I'd done it on purpose."

"I probably would have at the time." I pull my slushie towards me and take a sip. "I still blamed you."

"I know. And then I blamed you for the time I got caught with Missy behind the lockers."

I snort. "That wasn't me. Missy? Really? You know that she used to go around pulling little kids' pigtails, right?"

"I did not."

"You could have better taste in who you're making out with behind the lockers."

"I don't do it any more," he says quickly. "It was just that one time."

I raise an eyebrow.

"All right, it was more than one time."

"And you seriously blamed me for getting caught?" I ask. "Everyone knew about that spot, including the teachers. It was probably just chance that they spotted you."

"I know that now. I'm guessing it wasn't your fault that my cricket whites ended up pink either?"

"Definitely not, though that's hilarious."

"It wouldn't come out at all," he says. "I had to take them to the dry cleaner down from school. Do you remember the one?"

"Oh, it was run by that witch who insisted that pointy hats were going to come back into fashion?"

"That's the one. She said someone had used a spell to turn them pink. She had to do some kind of counter-curse on it to get them white again. Cost me almost as much as just buying new ones would have done."

"And you thought I did that? That's a real failure in logic considering I can't do spells. Unless you thought it was some kind of least weasel trickery."

He gives me an apologetic smile. "I think it was more that I thought you had a witch friend put the spell on for you."

"Ah, I suppose that would make sense. But no, I didn't do that. However, it was me who put a whoopee cushion under your seat in band."

To my surprise, he laughs. "So you're the reason I got nicknamed thefarting tromboneby our music teacher?"

"That's very unprofessional of him."

"Well, yes, I can see that now, but at the time, I was mostly just annoyed that's what I was called."

I grimace. "Sorry about that."

He shrugs. "It's not like I never did anything to you. Painting aside because that one genuinely was an accident. But I cut your hair that time."

"Oh, yes, I remember that. You were sitting behind me and then I heard thesnip. I always knew that one was you though, you didn't hide it very well." I take a deep breath. "Okay, so I have another question."

"That's two in a row, are you sure?" he teases.

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