Queen of Likes (8 page)

Mood: Mad that I have to try out to volunteer!

In advisory, I realize that I have forgotten to give Ella back her phone. I had borrowed it right before school when I was complaining to her about the historical society. Oh well, might as well take full advantage of having it. Suddenly, an announcement from Principal Wallace comes over the PA about Spirit Week:

“Merton Dolphins, get ready for some Spirit Week fun. Monday, March 19 will be Crazy Hair Day! Don't forget to bring a can of food for people in need! Tuesday, March 20 will be the hot dog–eating contest! Wednesday, March 21 will be Twin Day! The last day for the canned food drive will be Thursday, March 22. And Friday, March 23 will be School Color Day and the Spirit Rally. The Spirit Week dance will be after school that day at 6:30 p.m. in the gym. Go, Dolphins!”

Oh, that gives me an idea. Ella and I should definitely post a lot of reminders about this to the seventh-grade Spirit Week followers. I peek at Auggie's eighth-grade Spirit page by propping up my math book as a shield from Mr. Chase's eyes. My heart beats quickly as the rain hammers on the roof of the school. Mr. Chase strides down the aisle toward me. I close my book shut. He stands against the back wall of the classroom where he shifts around some stacks of books on a shelf. Does he suspect something?

No, Mr. Chase is striding past my seat again, back to his desk. He would have said something. I prop up my book and glance at my phone. Unfortunately, Auggie just told his Snappypic followers to follow his new eighth-grade Spirit Week page.

His Spirit Week page now has 602 followers. I let out an “eep” and my math book clunks onto the floor.

From behind his desk, Mr. Chase shoots me a stern look, and not because of the book falling.

He has seen the phone. He slaps his big hands against the desktop. A paper drifts down onto the floor.

Uh-oh.

Mr. Chase waves a yellow pencil, which appears small in his massive, clumpy hands. “This is a warning, Karma Cooper. I don't want to see you with your phone out
ever
again, even if you do have hundreds of followers.”

Huge relief. Just a warning and not a detention. He glares at me, clears his throat, and then addresses the entire advisory. “Apparently, some people think the rules don't apply to them. Some people need to hear the rules regarding cell phone usage at school. Again.”

Then Mr. Chase stands up to his full height and reads all the rules. Again. The one that he reads the loudest is this: There's a new policy that if you get caught with a phone in class, they lock it up in the office like it's in prison.

Mr. Chase thumps on his desk to get our attention. “So people, cell phones are not to be seen or heard. And if you're carrying one, do yourself a favor and put it on silent. And do not pull it out in my presence.” He locks eyes with me. “Got it, Miss Cooper?”

“Got it.”

Why did I forget to give Ella her phone? If I had remembered, this never would have happened. Now he's onto me.

During lunch, Ella sits down next to me eating her couscous salad, and I'm crunching on my chicken taco. When I give her the phone back, I don't tell her about almost getting caught by Mr. Chase.

We're eating with Bailey and the Bees again. Bailey sits across from me eating a tuna sandwich. She's flirting with a bunch of cute boys who drift by the table to annoy us. Half the cafeteria keeps on glancing our way. Ella and I can't stop grinning at each other. After the boys leave, some girls swarm over to say hi to the Bees.

They throw out compliments like “love your shirt.” Or “Did you do something to your hair?” But the crazy thing is, they are also doing it to Ella.

I wink at her.

And she winks back. It's like we've finally arrived at this tropical resort vacation we've only just dreamed about and now we're surfing the biggest and best wave ever.

Then Bailey reminds us about the Spirit Week meeting after school at her house at 4:30 p.m. tomorrow. “Don't worry,” I say. “There's no way I'll forget.”

Then suddenly, Milton P. shuffles over toward the table. He's holding his shoe box under his left arm, and in his right hand he grips a blue lunch sack. Ella's mouth falls open. Her breath catches in her throat.

“Oh my gosh,” says Janel as she opens her drink and takes a sip.

Megan taps Bailey on the shoulder. Both of them scrunch their eyebrows in confusion.

I can't blame them.

My first instinct is to duck. Milton P. is waving at us as he gets closer, like we're his long-lost sisters.

I don't want to be mean, so I wave back and so does Ella, but she hisses under her breath, “You told him I thought he was cute!”

“No. Promise.”

“I'm going to kill you, Karma Cooper.”

“I seriously didn't say a thing!”

The entire caf is looking at him looking at all of us. But then this little thought comes to me. Somehow Milton P. Daniels must have special abilities. He claims to build spaceships. What if he has real powers of some kind? What if he can read minds? And then another thought zaps me. Back in elementary school, both Milton P.  and I were teased. Even though we didn't hang out, we knew we were the same. Outsiders. And not well liked.

As Milton P. steps toward our table, I squint and try to figure out how Ella can see his cuteness. A thick brown belt holds up his too-baggy jeans. The busy checked pattern on his shirt makes me dizzy. But I almost glimpse it for a second, if you take away the shoe box clutched under his arm, his strange robotic shuffle, and his bangs plastered against his forehead. Maybe, possibly.

“I swear I didn't say anything,” I whisper to Ella. “You have to believe me.”

“Why is he coming toward us, then?”

But he doesn't stop in front of Ella.

Here's the weird thing. Milton P. Daniels stops in front of me, Karma Cooper.

And he smiles at me with his outer-space eyes while his mouth stretches in a little line, expressionless. And then, as he clutches his shoe box in the middle of the cafeteria, with everyone's ears turned our way, he says in his robot-y voice, “Karma Cooper, I always knew you'd appreciate red aircraft fuselage curved aft section six by ten bottom with fire logo pattern on both sides.”

“Huh?” I say as everyone stares.

Because it's Milton P. and he's talking to me. And nobody has any idea what he just said.

I choke back a laugh. “Sure,” I say. “Whatever.”

“See you later.” Milton P.'s neck pivots down, as if there's a rod inside of it, as if he's really made of steel and not flesh. A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. Then he tucks his shoe box under his left arm and plods away.

Ella sits next to me, blinking in surprise.  As Milton P. marches across the cafeteria, there are snorts of laughter as someone calls out, “What do you got in there, Snollygoster? Someone's head?”

“His box is from outer space. He's communicating with his mother ship!” cracks a kid sitting behind me in a hockey shirt. I think it's Brian Feeker.

There's a burst of laughter. But Milton P. doesn't react. My throat feels dry. I can't help feeling badly. I stare outside the window, where a steady rain beats down.

Milton P. plods across the cafeteria as if his legs don't have joints, then sits down to eat his lunch.

“Um, people, what was that about?” asks Bailey, pressing her lips together.

I shrug. “No clue.”

And it's true.

I don't have a clue.

And I don't want to know.

My Stats:

No new followers on the seventh-grade Spirit Week page

602 followers on Auggie's eighth-grade Spirit Week page—argh!

1 warning by Mr. Chase—but not a detention! YAY!

1 mysterious utterance by Milton P. Daniels. No idea why he decided to speak to me after all this time.

Mood: Baffled and hopeful that Milton P. lunchroom encounter is an isolated incident

After I get home from Hebrew tutoring, I fling my backpack and soccer bag into the front hallway. Lucky noses into me and I scratch him behind his ears. His tail swishes back and forth.

Dad pokes his head into the hall. “How was Hebrew?”

“Fine.” I rub under Lucky's chin.

“Hey, Lucky, you're such a cutie,” says Dad. “Yes, you are. You're
so
cute.”

Lucky's golden-brown tail swishes faster. It looks like a flame. I could take such a cool photo. I'd get so many
LIKES
with that. People love dog shots. “I want to take a photo so badly, but I can't.”

Dad puts his arm on my shoulder. “Look, I'm not giving you back your phone, but I have idea.” He strolls over to the cabinet in the den. “I got this five years ago.” He pulls out a digital camera. “It's just sitting here gathering dust. It's a good one. Why don't you use it?”

I peer at the camera. I have no idea how to work it. There are so many buttons. “Maybe,” I say.

“Yay! Karma's home!” Suddenly Toby is pounding halfway down the stairs. “Want to see what I built?”

Closing my eyes, I think about the science lab report I have to write up and the social studies questions and math I have to do, even though I'm beat from doing all of that Hebrew. Oh, and I have to do a summary of a short story for language arts. Summaries are so stupid. I mean, it's a short story. That's why it's short, so you can read it quickly. I always, always have Floyd next to me when I do my homework.

Ugh.

I glance up as Toby thumps partway down the stairs. “Want to see what I made?” he asks again.

“Can you answer your brother?” Dad strolls all the way into the hallway, sits on the bench beside the shoe basket, and scoops out his loafers.

“Can't. I've got homework in four subjects. Oh yeah, and studying for Hebrew too.”

I pull out my folder with my Hebrew in it. It's
Shemot
, the first book of
Exodus
. That's the part I'm going to read and discuss for my bat mitzvah. It's when Moses flees Egypt and goes to Midian. He's in trouble and has to leave everything behind. He basically says he's a stranger in a strange land. No friends. No family. No more prince of Egypt. My eyes gaze at the Hebrew letters. I know how to pronounce them, but I don't know what more I could say about Moses in front of hundreds of people.

Sometimes I feel that, in general, I know how to say things but I have no idea what anything means.

After dinner Mom has a work meeting, so Dad bikes with Toby and me to Salt & Straw, our favorite ice cream shop, which has really awesome and wild flavors. I get strawberry with cilantro lime cheesecake. Toby picks sea salt ice cream with a caramel ribbon, and Dad chooses goat cheese marionberry habenero. We're sitting down at a little wooden table and Dad takes a photo of us holding our cones. He starts to send it to Mom when his phone rings.

“It's your mother.” Dad glances down at the screen. “How do I not lose what I have and answer the call?”

Toby leans across the table. “I'll show you.” He grabs the phone and starts talking to Mom.

Dad throws up his hands, laughing. “Okay, guess I'm officially clueless. My second grader knows more than me.”

I nudge Dad with my elbow. “Toby does know more.”

Suddenly Dad gets a sly look on his face. “So tell me about this boy.”

“A boy?”

“Yes, I've heard you talking about him.”

“What boy? What are you talking about?”

“On the phone with Ella. I've heard you many times. Discussing a crush.”

“Do you mean Auggie? Puh-lease. Because he's more like my archenemy.”

Dad shakes his head. “Nope. His name start with an
F
.” He snaps his fingers. “Floyd. That's it. When I picked you up from school, I overheard you say how much you like him, and miss him, and . . .”

Then my brother and I start laughing so hard we practically hyperventilate.

Dad shrugs. “What? I know I'm clueless, but you've got to tell me what's so funny.”

“Floyd is Karma's phone,” says Toby, who's clutching his stomach because he's laughing so hard.

My Stats:

? followers on the seventh-grade Spirit Week page. Don't know cause I can't check.

? followers on Auggie's eighth-grade Spirit Week page. Ditto.

1 awesome ice cream cone devoured

1 almost-boyfriend named Floyd