Queen of Likes (13 page)

“So it's like a big historical online social network.”

“Exactly. So in addition to the obviously not-from-around-here pile, you're going to make other ones too. You'll have a pile for family portraits. Farms. Businesses. Landscapes. Basically, you're going to spread everything out on this table.” She points to a large table on the other side of Anna's desk. “And if you see something interesting, put it in a separate pile.”

“So I do all of this? By myself?”

Neda folds her arms and nods. “Yes. You.”

Suddenly I feel sort of important, like I'm deciding history. I'm deciding what gets remembered, what stays and what goes, and suddenly it feels like a big responsibility, but maybe one I can handle.

I start sorting the photos. The street scenes are easy, but the family portraits are slower going. Not because it's hard to figure out, but because I like studying them. In one there's a girl my age with a big bonnet and a mysterious smile. She looks like someone I'd want to be friends with. Plus, she has a little brother with flipped-up hair and a smudge on his face, like he tried to get his hair to stay down but couldn't. He reminds me of Toby. These are the ultimate Throwback Thursday pics.

Dorina puts on a pair of gloves and inspects my piles. “You like those, don't you.”

“Yes,” I say. “I really do. I even signed up for that photography class!”

She tilts her head and her feather earrings swing. “You did? Why, that's wonderful, sweetie.”

Someone hurries up the stairs. It's Neda. She clicks up to us in her high heels. “What's wonderful?”

Dorina neatens a stack of photos. “Oh, Karma signed up for a photography class.”

“Aha, that's why she was photographing everyone downstairs getting ready for the rummage sale.”

I feel my ears warm. “Yes,” I admit.

Neda folds her arms in front of her neatly pressed suit. She peers up at the clock. “It's almost five. I can't believe how fast time flies around here.” Pivoting to face me, she smiles. Actually smiles. No trout pucker. “So, Karma, how was your first official day?”

“Good.”  Then I stand up. “Wait? Did you say official?”

Neda clasps her hands together and makes a steeple with her fingers. “Normally, as I mentioned, we don't like to take in very young students. But when they are mature, we're happy to make an exception.”

Then she clicks away.

I turn to Dorina. “I think I'm in.”

“Of course you are, dear.” She pats my shoulder. “Of course you are.”

My Stats:

4 mops left at the historical society

Gazillions of old photos

1 pair of gloves worn to look at the photos

1 volunteer named Dorina who loves purple

1 girl who's a little nervous about all of this responsibility

Mood: Mostly superhappy that I'm now an official person

I suddenly feel a little guilty. All week I've been spending so much time at the historical society and reading books on cameras and learning about my camera and taking photos that I don't have too much time to think about Spirit Week stuff, like the seventh-grade Snappypic page. During lunch today and yesterday, I spent time in the library getting more photography books.

Ella and the Bees have been giving me worried looks.

But I can tell most kids are getting excited about Spirit Week. The different grade committees are plastering the school with posters. Kids are jabbering away about who they are going to be twins with on Twin Day and how crazy they're going to make their hair on Crazy Hair Day.

What's really crazy is that I'm looking forward to working at the historical society again next week. Also, Dorina asked me if I wanted to help work at the annual rummage sale this weekend. She's expecting a ton of people to show up since the newspaper listed it in their events section. I said yes immediately. Even crazier? I haven't really thought about Floyd.

I'm over at the taco bar, reaching for the shredded cheese. Lunch started about ten minutes ago, and over at our table, Bailey, Megan, Ella, and Janel huddle together, laughing hysterically about a joke that I don't get. It's one of those you-had-to-be-there moments.

And the problem was, I wasn't there. Yesterday after volunteering at the historical society, I forgot to go to the meeting at Bailey's house. Again. It definitely looks bad. I just got caught up in what I was doing.

I feel terrible about it, but at least Ella posted the whole Spirit Week schedule to all of the seventh-grade followers and designed some new Crazy Hair posters, which she has since put up.

Mr. Chase's walkie-talkie crackles as he parades around the perimeter of the lunchroom.

As I edge around the taco bar, Milton P. trudges up to me with his shoe box. His glasses are smudged, but that doesn't stop him from locking eyes with me. He points over to his table, where Owen Matthews is chewing with his mouth open. “You can sit with us.”

“Oh.” I reposition my backpack. “Uh, thanks. I'm sitting over there.” I point to the Quick Cart. “I was just doing . . . something else.” I pat my camera bag.

Milton P.'s lips pull into a real smile. “Too bad. We could have talked about what to do with irregular pieces and parts.”

“Parts?” I drop my backpack carefully on the ground.

“I've got lots of LEGO pieces that are one of a kind,” says Milton P. Kids weave around us as they head toward the double doors.

“Oh, LEGOs.” Toby would actually love to talk to Milton P. Dad always helps Toby with his complicated LEGO sets. Now that Milton P.'s dad is gone, I wonder who helps him. I get a hollow feeling thinking about it. But really, Milton P. probably doesn't need help with LEGOs anymore. From across the cafeteria, Ella glances over at me. Her eyebrows arch as if she's trying to figure something out. She's probably thinking,
Karma disappeared for most of lunch taking photos, only to spend her time talking to Milton P.?

“Okay, good-bye,” says Milton P. “You can sit with us. Any time. It is a very nice table.”

“Got it.” I hike my bags back onto my shoulders and trudge to our table. But as I do, Bailey and the Bees get up to leave and wander over to another table. Ella is still sitting down. “Where did they all go?” I ask.

“They're reminding people about Spirit Week,” Ella explains.

I swallow hard. That should have been my job.

“Karma, lunch is almost over,” Ella says. “What happened to you?”

“I was taking photos. You know, for my class.” I slump into my seat and pull my sandwich out of my bag.

“Must have been lots of them.” Ella glances up at the clock on the opposite wall. “You better eat. The bell's going to ring soon.”

“Ow.” I tap my shoulder blades. “My back hurts.”

“Probably from carrying too many books in your backpack,” says Ella.

“They're on photography. I need them right now. So how's the seventh-grade Snappypic going?”

“Pretty good. I started posting a ton. I just reminded people that Crazy Hair Day is on Monday.”

“Sorry,” I say. “That was my job. I've just been so busy.”

“It's okay,” says Ella. “I got it done.”

As Bailey and the Bees sit back down at our table, they are deep in conversation. “Some people are just flakes,” Bailey is saying. Are they talking about me? The girls immediately stop talking when they see me. The back of my neck heats up.

Janel balls up her napkin. “I heard Auggie's posting a ukulele song on YouTube this afternoon,” says Janel. “It's an eighth-grade Spirit Week song.”

“It'll probably be silly.” I wipe my mouth with my napkin.

“But funny.” Megan frowns as she pushes breadcrumbs into a tiny pile on her tray.

“Megan and I started a Crazy Hair Day video. Karma, could you post that?” Janel asks.

“Maybe,” I say, “but I'm not so sure I can get onto Snappypic this weekend.”

Bailey glances at her Spirit Week clipboard. “On Monday, Karma, could you at least take pictures of everyone's crazy hair?”

“Sure,” I say, thumping my camera case. “Now that's something I can definitely do.”

I stand by the front office waiting for Mom to pick me up for my orthodontist appointment. With my camera, I'm focusing in on the seventh-grade tower of cans. Okay, it's more like a stack.
Click. Click.
I snap a couple of shots. Mom should be here any second. Putting down my camera, I can't help staring at the giant tower of cans that the eighth grade collected.

Okay, relax, Karma.

Seriously. Let it go.

My Stats:

1 more Spirit Week meeting missed

5 weird looks that Ella gave me

1 small stack of seventh-grade cans

1 medium stack of sixth-grade cans

1 giant tower of eighth-grade cans

1 backpack full of books and my camera

Mood: Can't wait until Monday. Spirit Week! Or am I kind of losing interest???

This time I get to my photography class fifteen minutes early and do not leave my seat. Already it's been a photography sort of day. This morning I went to the historical society and helped out with the rummage sale. It was drizzling but the sun peeked out, so it was a warm rain. A dozen volunteers laid everything for the sale under blue tents in the parking lot. My family came by for a bit but I was too busy to really chat with them. My job was to ask potential customers if they needed help finding anything, but mostly I snapped photos. I ended up shooting more than a hundred images of things and people. To compose the pictures, I moved around, trying different positions and camera angles. I got some really fun candids of Dorina and Karen, the other volunteers, and even a few customers. I even got one of Neda smiling broadly as she sold a stack of musty and ripped-up books. It's amazing how much people will pay for old stuff.

Waiting for Ren to start, I glance around, making sure that the desk-stealer is not eyeing my chair. I'm sitting next to the purple-haired girl in the front row again. Nothing embarrassing will happen to me this time.

Ren hops up from behind his desk. Today he's wearing cowboy boots and they thump on the floor as he shuffles to the podium. I guess he thinks he's a British cowboy.

Everyone in the class gets quiet.

“Today, as promised,” he says in his clipped accent, “we'll be discussing the history of photography.” I give the purple-haired girl a look. Her name is Veena. The whole time? History? I get a lot of that at the historical society.

Ren pulls down a screen that whizzes over the whiteboard.

“Can't we get to the taking photos part?” I whisper, and Veena nods. What is it with history? Why is everyone obsessed with the past? Back then everyone made mistakes.

Behind me, the desk-stealer calls out, “Hey, you in the pink hoodie. I know you.”

Heads turn to stare at me.

“Yeah, I know her too,” says Photo Lens Boy.

Ren's voice cuts in. “Save the chitchat for later.”

I feel the tips of my ears redden. Not sure what they are thinking but these boys definitely don't know me. What's their problem?

“Okay, then. Let's begin.” Ren grips the podium as if he's afraid it's about to topple over any second. “Some people think that photography started in the 1800s.” He leans forward, checking to see if we are those sort of people.

Um, not me. To be honest, I never really thought about it. Seems like cameras have always been around, like bread or milk or orange juice.

“Any guesses on when photography actually started?” He drums his fingers. Ren explains how it started in fifth-century China and something about refracting light. I'm not sure I'm totally following. He also explains that a camera is just a box with a little hole.