Miss Matched (8 page)

“They aren't the worst thing,” said Fiona. “You get used to them. Sort of.”

• • •

When Fiona got to her classroom,
she started on a new Thinking Pencil, an orange one. She kept her eye on the door for Harold.

Just when she began to think he wasn't coming to school today, there he was. Whatever Fiona imagined his hair to look like, this was gobs worse. Harold was wearing a hat, an old lady's straw hat with a ribbon around it. Fiona and Cleo looked at each other and then back at Harold.

Kids started laughing as soon as they saw him, until Mr. Bland gave them one of his scary teacher looks. Fiona followed that up with a Doom Scowl, with maximum doom.

“Harold,” Mr. Bland said. “Your grandmother called this morning and said you would have a note for me?”

Harold reached into his pocket and handed Mr. Bland a folded paper. As Mr. Bland read the note to himself, Harold looked around the room. When his eyes stopped on hers, Fiona smiled. But Harold just pushed his hat down over his eyes.

“Just curious,” Mr. Bland said. “A regular knit hat wouldn't work?”

Harold shook his head. “Too scratchy.”

“Of course.”

When Harold got to his desk, Fiona whispered, “Is it really that bad?”

“Would I be wearing this if it wasn't?” said Harold.

Good point.

“Mr. Bland,” said Leila Rad, “why does he get to wear that, but you wouldn't let me wear my beret last month?”

“This is a special circumstance,” explained Mr. Bland.

“What kind of—” said Leila Rad.

“If Harold wants to tell you what happened, he can do that on his own time,” said Mr. Bland. “But I'm done discussing it. Take out your history books and let's get going.”

“Is that from your makeover?” Cleo whispered, pointing to Harold.

Fiona nodded.

Cleo shook her head. “And I thought
I
had it bad.”

Just then Fiona felt something hit her in the side of the head. “Ooof!” It landed on her desk, a paper football with her name in scribbled letters.

She opened it slowly and read.

Florida,

Meet me at recess by the seesaws.

Minnesota

Fiona quickly looked over at Milo, but he was busy writing something in a notebook. What did he want? She had never gotten hit in the head with a note from a boy before. She hoped he had heard her say that she didn't
like
-like him.

Finally, when recess came, Fiona left Cleo by the jungle gym and headed for the seesaws. “Any sign of trouble,” said Cleo, making fists, “and I'll take care of him.”

Milo waited with arms folded across his chest. Fiona crossed her own arms and said, “I wasn't trying to hug you at the basketball court.”

“I know,” he said.

“Okay, good,” said Fiona. “I just wanted to make sure.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Fiona tapped her foot. “What do you want?”

Milo uncrossed his arms and shoved his hands
into his pockets. “You can be president of my meteorology club if you want.”

“Whaagh?” This was the last thing that Fiona expected to hear. “Why would you go and say a thing like that?”

“I need your help,” he said.

This boy was a surprise box. “
My
help?”

“I know you have this matchmaking club,” said Milo. “But I need your help with match
breaking
.”

“Match
breaking
?”

“Yeah,” said Milo. “We need to break up my brother and his girlfriend. She's your babysitter.”

“Watcher,” said Fiona. “I don't have a babysitter. I'm nine.” Then what he was saying sank in. “Wait a second, you mean Loretta Gormley?” Milo nodded. “And your brother is named Jeremy?” Milo nodded again.

“But why?”

“Because.”

“I'm no breaker-upper,” said Fiona. “You're barking at the wrong door.”

“It can't be that hard,” he said. “It's just like matchmaking but in reverse.”

“I don't know how to matchmake,” said Fiona. “Besides, even if I did, I wouldn't help you. I like Loretta. And she
like
-likes your brother. So.”

“But I've been thinking about this, and Loretta and my brother are a terrible match. You should see Jeremy. He's always in a bad mood and doesn't want to hang out with me like he used to.”

Fiona shook her head.

“Look,” said Milo. “If you help me with this, I'll . . . I'll join your matchmaking club and tell everybody how awesome it is. Even though it's not.” He grinned.

Fiona rolled her eyes at that. “Nope.”

“Why not?”

“I told you a gazillion times already. I stink at matchmaking. Just ask Harold.”

“Huh?”

“Harold wanted to be popular, that was his match. So I gave him a makeover. And now he looks like his granny.”

Milo looked around the playground. “Harold wanted to be popular?”

“Yep.”

Milo grinned so wide Fiona could see teeth. “Then you
can
matchmake. Look.” Milo pointed past the swings.

Fiona looked across the kickball field and could not believe what she saw. Harold, with his hat off and patches of bald spots all over his head, was surrounded by gobs of kids. At first she thought that they must be trying to beat him up. But then, after she looked closer, she saw that he was smiling and laughing. “Oh, Boise Idaho,” said Fiona. “How did that happen?

“Look, you have to,” Milo said. “I've never seen Jeremy so . . .” He stuck out his tongue and crossed
his eyes. “Like that. I bet Loretta is the same way.”

“I've never seen Loretta look like
that
before.” Still, Fiona had to admit, Loretta didn't seem very happy. She was always looking at her cell phone and wondering why Jeremy hasn't called. “Maybe,” she said.

“Jeremy and Loretta are like . . . like . . . I don't know what they're like.”

“Ice cream and soy sauce?” suggested Fiona.

“Huh?”

“Lemon juice and milk? Cotton candy and ketchup?” She was on a roll. “Cauliflower and everything?

“You're weird.”

Fiona shrugged.

“Deal?” Milo stuck out his hand. “But no hugs.”

Fiona rolled her eyes and shook his hand. “We need a name.”

“I know, I've already got one,” he said. “The Duo Of Ordinary Matchbreakers.”

Fiona repeated the name to herself and then said, “D.O.O.M.?”

F
iona waited for
Milo at Button's Family Restaurant. Cleo's mom and dad owned the place, and sometimes Fiona helped Cleo fill the salt and pepper shakers and sugar jars after school. She ordered a strawberry milkshake extra thick and sat in a booth.

“Why do you want to be president of Milo's club when you could be president of your own club?” asked Cleo, sliding in beside her.

Fiona stirred her shake with her straw. “Because a president of a club with lots of people in it is
a gazillion times better than a president of a club with zero people.”

“I'm not a zero people,” said Cleo, cracking her knuckles.

“I know that.”

“Then why didn't you start a meteorology club when Principal Sterling asked you to?” said Cleo. “You could have had lots of people in it.”

“I don't think so.”

“What do you mean?” said Cleo. “Look at all the people in Milo's club!” She started to name them all.

“I'm not a Milo.” Fiona turned her shake upside down and not a drop spilled.

“No, you're a Fiona.” Cleo shook her head. “I have to fill the salt and pepper shakers.”

Fiona worked on her milkshake and had three brain freezes before Milo got there. “Here,” said Milo, holding out a plastic bubble like the kind you get in the prize machine at Foodland. “If we're
a duo of D.O.O.M., I thought we'd need these.”

Fiona popped open the bubble and held up the skull-and-crossbones ring that was inside.

“Cool, huh?” said Milo, holding up his hand and showing off the same ring on his finger. “Like the Dynamic Duo, except we're the Duo of D.O.O.M.”

Fiona shook her head and put it on. “Boys are so weird,” she said. “No wonder matchmaking is impossible.”

Milo made a face and then said, “What's the plan?”

“I don't know,” said Fiona. “I told you, I've never matchbreaked before. Or is it matchbroke?”

“Just do the opposite of what you did for matchmaking,” said Milo. “Like what you did for Harold.”

“I put glue and goop in his hair.”

“Oh.” Milo played with his skull ring. “I don't think that would work.”

“No.”

For a long time nobody said anything. Fiona got out her Thinking Pencil.

“Is there somebody we could ask for help?” said Milo.

“Like who? Somebody who has been broken up before?” she said.

“Exactly!” said Milo. “Now we're thinking!”

“Who in the world would that be?”

“Well, it would have to be a grown-up,” said Milo.

“Then you'll have to do the asking,” said Fiona. “I made a declaration of independence that I'm not asking grown-ups for advice on account of the fact that their advice stinks. Besides, I don't know anybody who's been broken up.”

Milo tapped his fingers on the table while Fiona started chewing on her Thinking Pencil. “What about your mom?” asked Milo. “Doesn't she live in California?”

“How did you know that?”

“Harold told me,” said Milo.

“I don't know what Harold told you, but my mom and dad aren't broken up,” said Fiona. “My mom's a TV actress, and California is just where she works. That's all.”

“I just meant that a TV actress would know about breakups.”

“Oh. Maybe.” The character her mom played, Scarlet von Tussle, had been married four or five times already. So she did know at least something
about breaking up. “But what about my declaration of independence declaration?”

“What if the advice she gives you is for me, not for you?” said Milo. “Then you could still keep your declaration.”

“Okay, fine.” Fiona pulled her cell phone from her backpack and called California.

“You caught me on the way home from rehearsal,” said Mom. “What's up?”

“I was wondering,” said Fiona, “how do you break up people?”

“What? I'm having a hard time hearing you.” Fiona heard a loud whirring of machines in the background. “There's a lot of construction on the highway. You want to know how to do what?”

“Break up people,” said Fiona, louder.

“Oh, you want to break up people?”

“Right,” said Fiona.

“What's this about? Who do you want to break up?”

“Loretta and Jeremy,” said Fiona. “You don't know them.”