Queen of Likes (5 page)

“The bell's about to ring,” says Ella.

“It's okay. Half the class rushes in as the bell rings anyway.”

“Hurry.” Ella glances over her shoulder through the doorway into the classroom. Most of the kids are sitting down at their desks and getting textbooks out of their backpacks. Bailey gives me a significant look as my social studies teacher, Mrs. Kirkland, sits at her desk talking to two students.

“The seventh-grade page is done,” I say. “Why don't you change the banner? Make it more artsy or something?”

“Sure. I can do that,” says Ella.

“I know you can.” I smile and we both duck into class just as the bell rings.

Mrs. Grayson stands by the door directing kids into her classroom. Even though her name is Mrs. Grayson, she is not gray. She has bright eyes and reddish brown hair, and she's almost young, probably in her late twenties. She points to seats as Ella and I stroll through the open doorway. Around twenty students have already arrived, and they stand around in clusters, talking.

“Okay, sixth graders off to the left,” Mrs. Grayson says. “Seventh graders in the middle and eighth graders over here. Council members sit in front.” The desks have been pushed into a
U
formation.

“Hey, Karma. Hey, Ella!” Bailey waves at us as if we've been friends forever.

Ella grins and I wave back. The Bees point to seats behind them and we sit down. Mrs. Grayson glances at the clock. It's 3:40. School's been out for ten minutes.

“We're starting in five minutes,” explains Mrs. Grayson as more students arrive. “That should give everyone enough time to get here.” She confers with an eighth grader with a trendy haircut as tons of popular-looking kids filter in from the hallway to attend the Spirit Week meeting.

I glance behind me. Auggie, Graeme, and Justin swagger into the classroom. There are probably close to forty kids now, and more are trickling in. They fling their backpacks onto the ground and sit at desks or stand, gabbing with friends. Some sit on the back counter.

Mrs. Grayson leans over her desk to talk with a student but glances up. “There are a couple seats toward the front,” she calls. “Don't sit on the desk. Sit on the seat.” A boy with a Portland Trailblazers T-shirt trips over a backpack in an aisle. “I know it's getting crowded. Put your belongings under your desks.”

A group of eighth-grade girls break into laughter as Graeme smooshes onto Auggie's lap. And then Auggie starts going “Ho ho ho” like he's Santa Claus. It's hard not to laugh at him.

Mrs. Grayson grabs a coffee mug and takes a sip. “Thanks for waiting a few minutes. I wanted to make sure everyone got here.” She points to the schedule on the whiteboard:

March 5–9: Meet with your grade-level Spirit Week team

March 12-16: Your Spirit Week team publicity blitz

March 19-March 23: Spirit Week!!!!

March 23: Spirit Week dance from 6:30-8:30 p.m. Seventh grade sponsors!

“Spirit Week starts two weeks from today,” says Mrs. Grayson. “So you all are going to be
very
busy. It's up to you to get the maximum participation.” She goes on to explain how each grade gets points for the percentage of students participating in events like the hot dog–eating contest or Crazy Hair Day.

“Hey!” A girl with pigtails in the sixth-grade section beside us springs up from her chair. “Instead of Crazy Hair, can we dress up like cartoon characters?” A bunch of eighth graders laugh and shake their heads. Kids are whispering and nudging their friends. The Bees roll their eyes, and Ella and I give each other a look.

“I don't think that's in the plans. But maybe another year,” says Mrs. Grayson. “For each grade level, there will be a team with various chairs overseeing Spirit Week and one leader.”

Mrs. Grayson leans on the edge of her desk. “The Spirit team leaders will coordinate everything. Could my leaders please stand up as I call out your names?” She gestures to the same eighth-grade girl with the trendy haircut she had talked to earlier. “This is Lily Pommard, leader of the eighth-grade Spirit Week team.”

Hopping up, Lily waves her clipboard. I notice she has some kind of spreadsheet.

As Lily sits back down, Mrs. Grayson says, “Let's hear it for Bailey Jenners, leader of the seventh-grade Spirit Week team.” We all clap. Bailey gives a big smile and smoothes her scarf.

“Next we have Gina Refrio, the sixth-grade leader,” announces Mrs. Grayson. The short girl with pigtails who just asked about whether we could dress up as cartoon characters bounces up and down, waving and throwing kisses as if she's on a float at a parade. Her fellow sixth graders cheer, a few jumping up. I realize that Gina is the same pigtailed girl who I had seen in the bathroom earlier in the day. She hardly looks old enough to be in middle school, let alone the boss of something.

“Each grade will have chairs with various tasks like publicity and decoration,” continues Mrs. Grayson. “After this orientation, your team leaders will tell you when and where they'll meet.” She points to grade-level sections in the classroom. “We're going to break into groups in a minute, so you can let your team leader know what you're interested in signing up for. The team leaders will take it from there. Any questions?” She leans back against her desk and smiles. “Okay, so what's happening in fourteen days?”

“Spirit Week,” some kids mumble. Others bounce out of their seats and scream it.

“Did you hear what I said?” She pauses for a reaction. “If you're leading Spirit Week, then Merton Middle School expects a little bit of . . .”

“Spirit,” finishes Bailey. “A little woo-hoo action, people!”

“Woot!” students shout.

“Let's go, Dolphins!” someone hollers. And there's more whooping and hollering.

Mrs. Grayson's eyebrows go up as she raises her arms into the air. “So who's excited about Spirit Week?”

There's a deafening chorus of “We are!” Feet stomp. Ella and I clap our hands and glance at each other as the classroom trembles with all the whoops and cheers.

Mrs. Grayson throws back her head. A big grin breaks out on her face. “Much better. I was worried. You're leading the school, so you need to be examples for the rest of Merton. So now the big question is . . . who will win the Spirit Stick this year.” She pauses dramatically. “Will it be sixth, seventh, or eighth grade?”

Kids point to themselves and clap. But the sixth graders go nuts, hopping up and down, waving their arms like a bunch of chickens. They also throw M&M's into the air and catch them with their mouths.

Auggie gets out his ukulele and starts strumming and singing, “The eighth grade 'cause we are the best. Gonna pass that Spirit Stick test. La la la la!” Some eighth graders dance to the beat.

I roll my eyes at Ella. And she rolls her eyes at me.

Even Bailey turns around and says to the Bees and us, “If they think they're going to win, they're sadly mistaken. Because we have”—she pauses as her eyes rest on me, but she says—“you guys.”

Ella smiles. My heart beats extra fast. Because I know that I am the secret weapon of the entire seventh grade. I peer across the room at Auggie. I feel important, like somehow the center of the universe was happening right here in Merton Middle School because of me, Karma Cooper.

When I get home from school, I sling down my backpack so it thuds on the floor. There's a note from Mom asking me to take the chicken out of the freezer, saying that she'll be home later than usual since she's got to pick up Toby from his friend Micah's house. Dad's out for a bike ride. Except for Lucky, who's sleeping in the family room on his dog bed, I'm all alone.

Wait a minute. I am. All. Alone. This means I can search the house for Floyd! Dashing out of the room, I dig through Mom's dresser. Dad's dresser. And their closets and the hall closet. I even swipe through the bathroom toiletries.

Nothing.

I paw through the linen closet. For years, Mom used to hide our Hanukkah presents under the quilts.

Nope.

Floyd is locked away somewhere in this house, but I have no idea where. I flop down on the couch and sigh. So close and yet so far away! Suddenly I wonder if my name is some kind of curse. Like everything I've ever done wrong is getting back at me.

But no, my name isn't bad. At least I hope not.

For a moment my eyes rest on a photo of my parents before I was born. And then a few arty portraits of Mom by Dad. My parents gave me my name because Mom getting pregnant with me was such a good thing. She and Dad had been working in San Jose in California for software companies doing sales and marketing. Then one day, Mom found out about this organic farm and yoga retreat in Oregon. If you worked there, you could live for free. So my parents sold everything and moved there. A year later, they had me. They've lived in Oregon ever since, but now in the Portland suburbs.

Karma, I guess, means “what comes around goes around,” so that means my phone and hopefully my Snappypic should be coming around soon.

My Stats:

1 corny song sung on a uke by Auggie, or rather Ugh-ie

1 Spirit Stick that the seventh graders need to win

2 parents who still won't give me a break

0 idea of how many are following my new seventh-grade Spirit Week Snappypic account

Mood: Frustrated—how will I make it through this Spirit Week campaign if I can't get onto Snappypic whenever I want?

I don't see Ella at our usual meeting spot this morning, so I decide to dump books into my locker. We have half-size ones, which means you either have the bottom locker, so you're crouching, or you have the top locker and you're banging your backpack onto someone's head.

I'm the bottom locker.

Some upper-locker people are cool about being upper locker people.

Some upper-locker people have manners.

But not Auggie Elson, who has the upper locker one over from mine, which is weird. Usually the eighth graders have lockers in a separate section but somehow, for some reason, not Auggie.

It's part of Merton Middle School's policy to remind us that life is not fair.

Anyhow, Auggie Elson, of all people, now stands right over me. How did he get there so fast? He might know some secret passageway in the school or maybe he's actually an elf. His pointy ears jut out like little radar devices.

So right now I'm looking up at his ears and his annoying black-and-white checked scarf dangles into my face. He's wearing a bright aqua wool beanie. The orange ukulele slung over his shoulder has a sticker on it that reads
THIS OBJECT DOES NOT EXIST
.

“Is my scarf bothering you?” he asks in a surprisingly polite voice. A surprisingly nice voice for someone who had dubbed me Bad Karma. Auggie swings his scarf so it brushes back and forth against the top of my face on purpose. “Hola, Bad Karma? Are you awake?”

“No, Ugh-ie, and thanks for the scarf in my nose.”

“Kewl,” says Auggie, as if I'm completely serious. As if I actually like a scratchy wool scarf itching my nose. He's pulling his ukulele off his shoulder. He plucks at the strings for minute and then tucks it under his arm. I want to stand up to my full height and overpower him. But this year, Auggie is almost as tall as me, so it won't work.

Glancing at his phone, he murmurs, “Niiiiiiiice,” and starts to dance. His hips sway, his shoulders tilt, and his arms pivot back. Which means his ukulele clonks me on the head. “I got three hundred and nine
LIKES
in five minutes,” he chants.

Three hundred and nine
LIKES
in five minutes? Really?
Really?

Auggie just takes crazy random photos. He doesn't even care about what other people think. Or what filters are the most popular. He doesn't use inspiring quotes. He writes silly things such as
I like to blow bubbles in my chocolate milk
.

I shove a book aside in my locker and put some more away, getting what I need for my first few classes. At least Auggie hasn't started an eighth-grade Spirit Week Snappypic account. At least not one that I know about.

As I close my locker, Auggie spins on his heels, tilting his head the way my dog does when he's trying to understand something. “Bye, Karm.”

Karm? Only my closest friends call me Karm. Auggie's locker may be close to mine, but he is definitely not a friend.

During break after second period, Ella and I meet up by my locker. I ask her where she was earlier in the morning.

“At the orthodontist.” She points to her mouth. “They went on a tightening rampage. I'm going to be so sore.”

I pull out my flip phone and stare at it. “Flippie is so lame. Can I borrow yours for a second?”