Miss Communication

by Jennifer L. Holm

  “Okay,” she said. “That will be twelve seventy-five.”

  “Wow, that seems like a lot,” I replied, surprised.

  “It’s an extra dollar fifty for every flavor shot, and you got ALL the flavors, so…twelve seventy-five.”

  I searched through my wallet, wondering if I would have enough. Then I remembered that Mom had given me a twenty-dollar bill to use in case of emergencies. This definitely counted as an emergency.

  After I paid, I went to wait on the other side of the counter. A bunch of people from school were already there, including Georgie.

  “Hey, Babymouse,” he said. “What’s up?”

  “Hi, Georgie,” I said, looking around. “This place is exciting!”

  “Kid-size hot chocolate for Tara!” Barista yelled. A young goat took the steaming cup off the counter.

  “Petite black coffee for Georgie!” Barista yelled. Georgie took his drink.

  “What did you get?” he asked.

  “That one’s mine,” I told Georgie.

  The XL was huge! And piping hot, too!

  “You can use a sleeve,” suggested Barista.

  That was a good idea! I pulled my shirtsleeve down so I didn’t have to burn my hand. That helped a little.

  “No, I mean a coffee sleeve,” she said, pointing to a bunch of cardboard cutouts nearby. Georgie opened one and slipped it onto my drink for me.

  “Thanks!” I said with a laugh.

  In the time it took to make my extra-special latte, the place had become packed. There didn’t seem to be any seats left! Then I noticed a small table next to the front door. The spot wasn’t great, but it was something. Georgie and I plopped our stuff down. I did my best to shield myself from the wind that came gusting in with each new customer…and from their enormous bags.

  The gusting air actually helped cool my drink pretty quickly, so finally I was ready to take a sip and soak up all the cool.

  BLECH!

  I looked up to see Felicia and her friends laughing at me from a nearby table.

  “Leave the latte drinking to the adults, Babymoose.” Felicia snickered. I was mortified. Luckily, my phone buzzed just then with a text.

  “It’s probably a wrong number.” Melinda laughed.

  “Or her MOM,” Belinda added.

  I felt my face flush hot as I looked down at my phone.

  Le sigh.

  “Don’t listen to them, Babymouse,” Georgie said. “They’re just being mean because they think they’re better than everyone else.”

  “Thanks, Georgie,” I said. “I do have to run, though. When Penny gets here, can you tell her I had to deal with a family thing?”

  “Yeah, of course,” he said, giving me a thumbs-up.

  I was halfway home when my phone buzzed. It was Penny.

  It was then that I realized there was a whole world of abbreviations I knew nothing about. Think of all the time I could save if only I used fewer words and letters! I needed to look up some text-speak resources ASAP! (As soon as possible—that one I knew.)

  The next day after school, armed with tons of new abbreviations, I headed back to the Coffee Shoppe.

  Ping!

  My cell phone buzzed to alert me I had a new text. I expected it to be Penny, but instead it was “unidentified.”

  I looked around. The street was completely empty aside from a couple of squirrels. Who was this person texting me? Should I ignore it? I knew that #5 on the list of rules posted on the fridge was “Do not talk to strangers.” But (1) texting wasn’t TECHNICALLY talking, and (2) I didn’t know FOR SURE that the person was a stranger. What if it was one of my friends?

  Or maybe a famous director who had seen Au Revoir, My Locker* and wanted to offer me a multimillion-dollar blockbuster deal?

  I decided to text back to see if I could figure out who it was. After all, millions of dollars may have been at stake!

  I was really angry that I had cracked my phone again, but that didn’t stop me from going back to the Coffee Shoppe. This time, I made a couple of strategic changes:

  When I got there, I put my stuff down right away to reserve a good table.

  Realizing “Barista” was a job title, not a name, I started calling her India. (According to my receipt, that was her name.)

  To avoid confusion, I S-P-E-L-L-E-D my name out when they asked me for it.

  I was smart enough to order a single flavor, pumpkin…and…

  Only a small size (“petite”)—to see if I even liked it!

  Penny, Georgie, Wilson, and I sat down at the table I had reserved. Felicia and her friends were loudly gossiping in the corner again, but I was too absorbed in hearing Wilson talk about the latest movie he’d seen to even notice them.

  Things were looking up! Maybe, just maybe, I was getting the hang of this middle-school thing after all.

  * See Lights, Camera, Middle School!

  It was a day later, and there I was: waiting on the never-ending lunch line in the cafeteria (srsly, why couldn’t they just hire more staff?). Felicia and her friends were up ahead, loudly talking about how many followers they had on something called the SoFamous app.

  I wasn’t surprised that I had never heard of SoFamous—I was pretty much out of the loop on EVERYTHING—but I was surprised that they weren’t freaked out by being “followed,” especially since we’d just had that school assembly about “stranger danger.”

  I decided to look up SoFamous on my phone. It turned out to be a social network that tracked your popularity based on how many people followed you. Back to the present again, I heard Felicia scream dramatically.

  “I can’t believe it! I just hit ten thousand followers!” she exclaimed.

  “No way! You’re so famous, Felicia!” replied Melinda.

  “World-famous!” said Belinda.

  “Galaxy-famous!” Berry added.

  Galaxy-famous…Wow, I thought.

  That would be a dream come true. I could already picture it….

  I downloaded the app immediately. When I got to the front of the line, I asked the lunch lady if she wanted to follow me. But she was pretty confused, so I just paid and walked away with my head down, trying not to make a scene.

  * * *

  Finally, the last bell of the day rang. I was free to focus on what was important: how to become popular.

  On the bus ride home, Felicia plopped down in the seat in back of me.

  “How many followers do you have on SoFamous, Babymouse?” she asked.

  I looked at my phone. After the reaction from the lunch lady, I hadn’t tried to get anyone else to follow me.

  “Uh…” I pulled up the app, praying that I had miraculously increased in popularity in the last three hours.

  Felicia looked over my shoulder.

  “You have NO followers?” she laughed. “That’s like you don’t even exist, Babymouse!”

  But Felicia was wrong. I existed on the Internet! I knew I did!

  So I searched myself.

  * * *

  Then again, maybe not.

  Le sigh.

  I was determined to get more followers on SoFamous. I started by friending Gramps—only to find out he had over 400 followers! I sent him a message to see what his secret was.

  Well, that was depressing—but still not as depressing as my social status! (Or lack thereof.) There must be a trick to getting followers. I needed to figure it out ASAP.

  I texted Wilson.

  After school, I followed every cool person I could find. Though my definition of “cool” started to get a little looser after the first hour or so.

  All that following became super tedious. After an hour, I only had ten followers! So I decided to bring in reinforcements.
r />   “Hello, favorite brother of mine,” I said, with my voice as sweet as a cupcake.

  “Only brother of yours,” Squeak corrected. “What do you want?”

  I cut to the chase.

  “I want you to get me as many followers on SoFamous as possible by tomorrow morning,” I told him.

  Squeak mulled it over. “What’s in it for me?” he asked.

  “A whole dollar!” I said enthusiastically.

  “Five dollars and I’m in,” he replied. Talk about supply and demand.

  “Fine. But you get half now, and the other half tomorrow morning when I see my spike in popularity,” I said, and dug ten quarters out of my change jar.

  He nodded and pocketed the coins.

  “And no funny business,” I warned.

  “Funny business,” he giggled to himself, in a way that made me a little nervous. He took my phone and disappeared into his room.

  The rest of the night, I kicked back and enjoyed myself.

  The next morning, I rolled out of bed, sure I had risen to stardom overnight. I practiced a few morning selfie faces in the mirror.

  Then I knocked on Squeak’s door.

  “Do you have it?” I whispered.

  “Payment first,” he replied. I handed him the rest of the quarters, and he gave me the phone.

  I couldn’t believe it! I had 9,000 followers! I didn’t even know 9,000 people! I couldn’t wait to see all my amazing new friends, but I was running late, so I pocketed my phone and rushed out of the house.

  At the bus stop, I couldn’t contain my happiness. As soon as I saw Felicia, I shouted out the good news.

  “Felicia! Guess what?” I cried. “I got nine thousand followers overnight!”

  “Let’s see,” said Felicia.

  I couldn’t believe it. How embarrassing. I was starting to feel like a clown myself. Did anybody like me? Was I destined to be uncool forever? (Also, I didn’t know if I wanted all those creepy clowns following me.)

  Wilson sat down next to me at the lunch table.

  “Is everything okay, Babymouse?” he asked. “I feel like you haven’t been yourself lately.”

  I wanted to tell him I’d been so busy worrying about my social status that I wasn’t doing much real-life socializing, but instead I just said, “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

  “Just know I’m here if you wanna talk or something.”

  “Thanks, Wilson,” I said.

  I guess I should have asked him how everything was going on his end, but I was too busy listening to what was going on at the table next to us. Felicia and her crew were talking about having a professional photo shoot(!) over the weekend so they could get fabulous new profile pics.

  This was news to me. People actually got professionals to do personal photo shoots? I had just taken a screenshot of my fifth-grade school picture from the picture company’s website. Sure, it had a “Do Not Copy” watermark, but you could still see my face. (Kinda.)

  “I don’t know why everyone cares so much about being popular,” Wilson said, glancing at Felicia’s table. “Isn’t it better to just be yourself?”

  “Ugh, Wilson. Why would I want to be my actual self when I can be a cooler, more popular version of myself?”

  “Why, indeed,” he said, shaking his head.

  Just then, Penny plopped her tray down next to me.

  “Did you guys hear that Felicia and her friends hired a professional photographer to do new profile pics this weekend?”

  Wilson did a fake facepalm, then got up to empty his tray. “I’m out.”

  “Yeah, we were just talking about it!” I replied. “I’m so jealous. I wish I could hire someone to do my picture.”

  “I can take your picture,” Penny offered. “I’m really good at whiskers and makeup, and I know all the good filters to use.”

  “You’re the best, Penny! Can we do it this weekend?” I asked.

  “Sure thing!” she said.

  The night before our shoot, I was so excited I could barely sleep. But I had to get my beauty sleep if I wanted to look great the next day. I wondered if Felicia was feeling the same way. She probably was. Maybe she needed someone to talk to, also. Would it be crazy of me to call her? Maybe she would even invite me over for HER photo shoot. I would have to ditch Penny, but she would understand, right? That was what friends were for!

  BUT…

  What if Felicia didn’t pick up? Or what if she did pick up and just laughed at me for an hour straight? What if Melinda, Belinda, and Berry were all there for a sleepover, and they all laughed at me for an hour straight? And then what if my parents got mad at me for using all their minutes?!

  I couldn’t take it anymore! I had to face my fears. I decided to call Felicia.

  Her phone rang, and after what seemed like an eternity, someone picked up.

  “Hello?” a girl’s voice asked.

  “Hi! How are you?”

  “Good. How can I help you?”

  “Well, I’m having trouble falling asleep, so I just wanted to see what you were up to….”

  “What I’m up to?” she asked. “I’m working! Is this pickup or delivery?”

  “Huh?”

  “For the pizzas. Is this pickup or delivery?”

  My heart sank.

  “Oh, uh, I think I have the wrong number.” I immediately hung up.

  I couldn’t believe it. Felicia had given me a fake number! Srsly????

  * * *

  The next morning, I was still bummed, but I’d gotten some sleep and felt better than the night before. The photo shoot would be fun, no matter what.

  When I got to Penny’s front door, she was already waiting for me.

  “Ready for your close-up, dahling?” she asked with a silly accent.

  I nodded. I couldn’t wait!

  “Now, I need to know what kind of image you want to project.”

  “Image?” I asked.

  “You know. Your look. Do you want it to be fun? Nature-y? Sporty? Prom queeny?”

  “How about something a little more European?” I said.

  “European,” mused Penny. “Like wearing lederhosen?”

  “No, no. I was thinking French!” I explained.

  “Mais oui. So, first things first,” Penny began. “We need to do your makeup.”

  “I usually just do a little lip gloss and whiskerliner, but if you think—”

  “You need to put on a LOT of makeup if you want it to show up in your photos.”

  I shrugged. “If you say so.”

  It was hard not to giggle as she began brushing my face with every kind of makeup known to mousekind: foundation, powder, blush, eyeliner, eye shadow, false eyelashes, mascara, lip liner, lipstick, lip gloss, and eyebrow pencil.

  By the end of it, I wasn’t even sure any of my “real” face was actually showing. But Penny was a master—and had 4,682 followers to prove it—so I decided to let go and trust her on this one. Besides, it would all wash off, right? Right?

  Next came whiskers. Mine obviously needed to be straightened. Penny suggested we use her trusty straightening iron. I hoped it worked better than that straightening cream I used that made my whiskers fall off!

  “Now, it’s essential that you DO NOT MOVE at all once I start the straightening process,” she warned me, moving the setting on the dial to HIGH. “The iron gets VERY hot and can easily burn you if you’re not careful.”

  I nodded, closing my eyes as she did the first side. I didn’t dare move.

  “One…two…three,” she said, releasing the clamp. “Voilà!”

  I looked in the mirror. Wow, my left whiskers really looked great!

  Is this what it feels like to be Felicia? I wondered.

  Suddenly, Penny’s phone ra
ng.

  “I have to get that,” she said. “Do the right side in the meantime so we can get started on the photos.”

  I looked in the mirror. If the whiskers had come out this great on the HIGH setting, just think how great they would come out on the SCORCHING setting! I turned the dial all the way up, and slowly began straightening the other side of my whiskers. My eyes teared up as the steam came off the iron, and I could smell something yucky like burning rubber. I released the clamp immediately.

  “AHHHH!!!” I screamed.

  Penny came running back into the room with phone in hand. “What?! Are you okay?” she asked. “Did you burn yourself?!”

  “No,” I said. “But my whiskers burned right off!”

  Penny’s face changed from worried to amused. Then she started cracking up.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, turning off the straightener and unplugging it. “We can use my computer program to add them back in.”

  Now for the most important part of all: wardrobe!

  Penny and I raided her closet, trying on all different dresses, shirts, skirts, and pants until we arrived at the Frenchiest outfit of all: a black skirt with a striped Parisian boatneck top, a cute little beret, and a fashion scarf around my neck.

  “Ooh la la, Babymouse!” Penny said. “You look magnifique!”