Queen of Likes (17 page)

Well, I know what I'm going to focus on right now—rebuilding Milton's LEGO ship. Unfortunately, rebuilding my friendship with Ella won't be as easy.

For my Milton P. project, I already have the LEGOs. Bins and bins of them. Toby said I could have as many as I wanted. I realize that I can't put these LEGOs together in a way that will look like Milton P.'s Millennium Falcon, but I can make something spaceship-ish. Something cool.

Toby says to me, “It's six eighty-six. We get to eat a snack.”

“There's no such time as six eighty-six.”

Toby breaks out laughing. “What's worse, having no time or too much time?”

That's something I don't really know.

I go upstairs to start practicing Hebrew. I'm going to try to be good. I lower my voice and go over a prayer before I read the
haftarah
, a reading following my Torah portion about Moses. Somehow when I chant it, with the rain softly pattering outside, everything falls into place. I don't stumble. I lick my lips and chant it again, only this time a little more loudly and a little more confidently.

Later when I go downstairs to see if I can help with dinner, Mom says, “I could hear you up there, Karma. You're sounding good.”

Dad stands in the kitchen slicing up some potatoes. Toby works next to him and is placing the already cut-up potatoes onto a tray.

Mom is pulling some chicken breasts out of the fridge. “You were up there for a long time,” she says, smiling.

“Can I help?” I ask.

“Sure,” says Mom. “You can clear the table later and load the dishwasher.”

“All right.” Not my favorite jobs. But I'm not going to complain.

“Keep up the good work with your Hebrew,” says Dad as he sets the cutting board into the sink.

I grab my camera and step outside, even though it's just started to lightly rain again and there's not much light out. I can't wait to see what I'll find.

It's right before bedtime, and Toby curls next to me on my bed. “What finger is bigger?” Toby shoves his hand into my face and points to his ring and index fingers.

It's weird but they're the same.

“Are they supposed to be the same?” he asks in a worried voice.

I look at my own hand. My pointer finger is longer. “I don't think it matters.”

I grab the camera and take a close-up of Toby's strange but cool same-size fingers. “It's okay to be different,” I say.

Actually, that was my second post after the gopher incident. I had used it to match an image of a bunny with misshapen ears. I chose it to go with the photo because it was cute. Because I thought I could get a lot of followers. But now I'm saying it only for Toby, and I get to see a real honest-to-goodness face afterward with a big smile.

My Stats:

400 pieces of LEGOs spread in my own family room

1 awesome little brother who shows me how to build

2 hands that made my first major LEGO project

Mood: Pretty ok! But missing my best friend still . . .

“I've gotten three hundred new followers this week,” Auggie brags as I pass him in the hallway. I'm on my way to the cafeteria. I'm happy about being out of the school jail but I'm not happy about probably eating by myself.

“You can check it out,” says Auggie. Today is Wear Your School Colors Day, and Auggie, like almost everyone else, is dressed in blue and orange. “Did you hear me?” he asks.

“Uh-huh,” I say, scoping out a table.

“And I've just won an Olympic medal in dog sledding.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And I just turned into a zombie.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You don't care,” he says. “Is something wrong?” he asks, although he knows. Everyone knows.

“No,” I say. “Nothing is wrong.” I'm much too good at lying. I'm going to have to do something about this.

I stroll into the cafeteria and see Ella, Bailey, Megan, and Janel. They're all clustered together, laughing hysterically. After my outburst, I can't sit with them. I gaze around. Milton P. eats with his friends. He's wearing his thick belt and bending down to sip a straw without holding it.

I stride across the lunchroom with a surprise gift in my hands. Some kids turn around to look at me. Bailey glances over at me. Her eyebrows scrunch together like she's trying to figure something out. The rest of the kids in the caf are holding a collective breath as I look over at Milton P. and say the craziest thing I've ever said: “I built this LEGO for you, to look like your dad's.”

Milton P. blinks at it. “It's really terrible.”

“I know, but I tried, really.” I take a step backward.

“Don't be sorry.” He swallows. “It was a nice thing to do.” Then Milton P. pats the empty chair next to him. “You can sit with us.”

“Okay,” I say.

During lunch, I take out my dad's camera. Well, my camera now. Mostly Milton P. ignores me. He eats his food and fiddles with the LEGO I made him. His friends barely grunt. But that's okay. Using the telephoto lens, I take photos of things around the cafeteria. The tacos, the wilted chopped lettuce. And people, too, like Milton P., in an unguarded, real moment as he examines his new LEGO.

A photo of Bailey singing a scale.

Janel dancing in a chair.

Lia Clark swinging her clarinet case and eating a muffin.

Ella drawing.

Megan going over stuff with volunteers for the Spirit Week dance tomorrow. And it's so cool. Just to watch. Just to wait. Just to snap what I like.

In the hallway during second break, Milton P. shuffles up to me and shows me a small spacecraft. “You like it, right?” He points at me. His finger is so close it's practically in my nostril. I'm laughing and nodding even though I have no idea what he is talking about.

“I call it the TI-300,” says Milton P. “It doesn't appear to have enough power. But you see, I did it again. I have a hidden energy source in the cockpit.” He's all red and beaming and proud of himself as he holds out the little LEGO spaceship, the one I made him. He may look odd, but I notice he smells nice, like chocolate and rain.

“Do you want to take a photo of it?” He points to the LEGO. “You know, with your camera?”

I smile. “One step ahead of you, Milton P. Already did.”

“Cool,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say. “Cool.”

After school, using a shallow depth of field, I take photos of old crayons with peeling labels that are spread out on the desk in my room. I look up and gaze out my bay window. The trees sway and bow in the wind. The clouds hang low, puffy and gray. Pointing my camera upward, I shoot just the edges where the soggy sky touches the bright green of the pine trees.

By now, I've snapped more than five hundred pictures in just over two weeks. Give me a few months and I'll take thousands!

It's so fun playing with focal length. I take a bunch of photos of a tortilla chip, so close that you can see the bubbles and hills and spice, but not the edges of the chip itself. I wish I could post it on Snappypic and write,
Guess what
? But for now it's my private treasure.

I go upstairs to the family computer and look at all of the historical society photos I've taken. I upload them onto a slideshow site that I like. After a quick snack, I bike over to the historical society as it softly drizzles outside.

I can't believe it's my last day there. I sure hope they like my images. I want to share them right away but decide to wait. After two hours quickly pass, I'm finishing up sorting photos of old farms and stuff when Dorina, Karen, and Anna walk up to me. I gaze up at the clock on the wall above the bulletin board. It's time to go.

“I can't believe how time has flown,” murmurs Dorina. “It feels like you just started your community service project, and now you're done.” She shakes her head. I think her bouffant hairdo looks especially beautiful right now in the muted late afternoon light.

“We have a surprise for you,” says Anna.

“Oh? What?” I sit up straighter, wondering what it could be.

“Well,” Anna glances backs at the stairs. “We have to wait for Neda. She's still on the phone.”

“Okay,” I say. “While we wait, I have something to show you.” I gesture to Anna's desk, which like always is filled with stacks of file folders. “Can I use your computer?”

Her eyes curious, Anna smiles. “Of course.”

Everyone gathers round, and I get to the slideshow site where I've uploaded all of the photos. “Okay, ta-da!” I announce. The images of all the volunteers flash onscreen, as well as all kinds of shots inside the building. The close-up of the gleaming white gloves. The labels with beautiful calligraphy on the ephemera boxes. And tons of shots of the staff and volunteers. Karen trying on her fluffy pink boa. There're
ohh
s and
ahh
s.

“Hey, that's me,” says Dorina, pointing to the one of her pulling out the photo books. “When did you sneak in that shot?”

“I have my ways,” I say mysteriously.

Someone clicks up to us in high heels from the stairs. I twist around to look. It's Neda, of course. She leans over Anna's shoulder to look. “Wow. Those are really good, Karma.” I glance back. Her owlish eyes grow even bigger behind her black oval frames. “You know that slideshow we have downstairs in the lobby sitting area?” she asks.

I nod.

“Well, it's been running forever. I think we could show this in the lobby.”

“That's a great idea,” says Anna. Both Dorina and Karen nod in agreement.

“Really?” I say.

Neda pushes up her glasses. “Yes. Definitely.”

I peer over at Dorina, Karen, and Anna. “So was that the surprise, then?”

Anna shakes her head. “No, that would be impossible. We didn't know you had a slideshow for us. Those photos were your surprise.”

“I guess that was my thank-you. You know, for letting me volunteer here.” I gaze at everyone crowding around the computer. “And showing me stuff. It's been really . . . cool.”

“Maybe you're a future librarian in the making,” suggests Karen.

“Maybe,” I say.

“You've done a good job with the sorting.” Anna glances at the stacks of photos that I've made.

“And I appreciate the care you've exercised in handling the photos,” says Neda. Her eyebrows rise in a question. “What if it wasn't your last day with us?”

“Really? I could keep on coming in?” I bounce in the chair.

Neda, Anna, Dorina, and Karen all say yes at the same time.

Neda steeples her fingers. “Great! I have a special assignment for you, then.” She looks at me expectedly. “We've gotten a grant to do an oral history of the synagogue. It was constructed in 1956 and we're interviewing the founders. Eight of the twelve are still living, so it's important to do this.” She pauses. “We'd like for you to take the photos.”

“Me? A kid?”

Dorina folds her arms. “There's nothing you can't do if you put your mind to it.” Everyone's nodding.

“We were hoping you'd want to stay on, and we'd talked about a possible project,” says Anna.

“So this is the surprise? This is what you all were talking about?”

Anna spreads her arms in a flourish. “Yes!”

Everyone wears big smiles.

“That's awesome,” I gush. “I'd love to photograph all of the founders.”

“We thought you could start with the Steinbergs since both of them were presidents of the temple in the early years,” explains Neda.

“Hey, wait a minute! I know them!” I say excitedly. “I just spoke with Mrs. Steinberg at Milton P.'s bar mitzvah.”

“Yes, I was there too,” says Neda, as if I need reminding. For a minute, I think she's mad, but she's still smiling. “We'd like you to find an adult mentor who could give you some guidance. I can make a recommendation.” She gives Dorina a meaningful look.

Dorina taps her sweater-vest. “Me.”

“Wow.” I smile. “I'd really like that.”

When I get home, I tell my family all about the oral history project, and how I'm going to continue volunteering at the historical society. My mom and dad are so excited that they call my grandparents in New Jersey to tell them about it. Toby asks me if I will give him my autograph, which is pretty funny.

“Hysterical,” I say.

“You will be historical,” says Dad.

Then Mom asks me why I don't invite Ella over to celebrate. She wants to take everyone out for smoothies. But I tell her that's okay.

She studies my face. “Is everything all right between the two of you? I haven't seen her around.”