For Andy, my match
• Chapter 1 •
Fiona Finkelstein had a bad feeling.
It was the kind of feeling she got when she just knew that Mrs. Miltenberger packed a corned beef sandwich in her lunchbox, even though she’s told her a gazillion times that she HATES corned beef more than she HATES anything else. Especially after learning that there was actually no corn in it. If there was one thing Fiona flat-out could not stand, it was food that lies.
Fiona didn’t know exactly why she was having this feeling today. Maybe because today was the day Mr. Bland, her fourth-grade teacher, was going to draw names for new classroom jobs. For months, Fiona wanted to be picked for electrician. But no matter how tightly she crossed her fingers, Mr. Bland always pulled somebody else’s name out of the bucket.
She tapped her green Thinking Pencil on her desk and looked at her best friend, Cleo Button, and Harold Chutney next to her. “I’ve decided if I don’t get to be electrician this time, I’m going to stop taking baths.”
“What will that do?” asked Cleo.
“I’ll have so much stink on me that Mr. Bland will have to give me the job next time,” said Fiona. “I’ll tell him that he’ll be smelling my stink until he pulls my name out of that bucket.”
“Good idea,” said Cleo, cracking her knuckles. “I hope I get to be line leader.”
Harold pulled his finger out of his nose. “I want to be gardener.”
“Gardener?” said Fiona and Cleo at the same time.
“Oh, Boise Idaho. What?” said Harold.
“That’s the worst job there is,” said Fiona. “There’s only one plant that you get to water, and it’s a cactus.”
Harold shrugged. “What’s so great about being electrician?”
Fiona shook her head. “It’s only the best job ever. You get to plug in the TV and overhead projector. And work the DVD player.”
“And turn off the lights,” said Cleo, who was electrician the time before last.
“So?” said Harold, wiping his finger under his desk.
Fiona sighed. Besides being a nose-picker, Harold was the only kid she knew who said things like “Oh, Boise Idaho” and who didn’t like cool things like plugs. Sometimes Fiona thought about the possibility that Harold was really an old lady disguised in a boy suit.
The bell rang just then. “Everybody quiet down,” said Mr. Bland. “Before we get started, Principal Sterling is here with an important announcement.”
“Good morning, everyone,” said Principal Sterling. Her high heels clicked as she walked to the front of the classroom. A boy trailed close behind. He was tall and had spiky hair that made him even taller. “I’d like to introduce a new student who is joining your class.” She put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “This is Milo Bridgewater, and he’s just moved here to Maryland all the way from Minnesota.”
The new boy, Milo, stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked down at his feet. Fiona was trying to remember where Minnesota was because there were lots of M-states and she got them all mixed up. It occurred to her then that Milo also starts with M and wasn’t that funny. Fiona wondered why there weren’t any states that started with F and wasn’t that unfair. And then she thought of one. “Florida!” she shouted in excitement.
Everyone looked at her. And then they cracked up. Except for Mr. Bland and Principal Sterling. And Minnesota Milo.
Fiona looked around. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Apparently,” said Mr. Bland, clearing his throat. “Is there something you wanted to say about Florida?”
“I was just thinking how Florida begins with F like Fiona,” she explained, “the same way that Minnesota begins with an M like, you know, Milo?” Fiona’s voice got softer as she got to the end of her explanation and realized how dumb she sounded. Why was it that the thoughts in her head seemed really smart until she said them out loud?
Everybody laughed again. Except for Mr. Bland and Principal Sterling. And Milo. They just stared at her.
Mr. Bland took a deep breath and sighed. Then he shook Milo’s hand and said, “Welcome to Ordinary Elementary.” He pointed to the empty desk next to Fiona’s. “You can take your seat there.”
As Milo reached his desk, he looked at Fiona and scowled. Fiona didn’t know what she had done to deserve such a look from somebody she hadn’t even talked to yet. But since she was not the kind of girl to let a scowl go unanswered, she shot back with an over-the-shoulder Doom Scowl, with medium doom.
“We’re finishing up a lesson on measurements, and I’m afraid we won’t have your books until later this week,” Mr. Bland said to Milo. “But in the meantime, why don’t you share with your neighbor?”
Milo looked at Fiona. He shook his head and then turned around to Harold Chutney at the desk behind him.
“Oh, Boise Idaho,” said Harold, rubbing his nose, “you want to share with me?”
“I guess,” said Milo.
“Cool beans,” said Harold. “I like your hairdo. How do you get it to stand up—”
“Milo,” said Mr. Bland, “you won’t be able to see the chalkboard if you’re turned around like that. Share with Fiona.”
“Ugh,” said Milo.
They grow them rotten in Minnesota, Fiona thought.
Milo moved his chair slowly toward Fiona. She moved her math book exactly one-half inch in Milo’s direction. That was as far as she was going to go.
All during math, Milo turned the pages of Fiona’s book before she was ready. And each time she turned them back, he mumbled something under his breath. Something that Fiona couldn’t quite make out. Which made her grit her teeth.
The second math was over, Fiona pulled her book away, slammed it shut, and shoved it into her desk. Then she raised her hand. She couldn’t wait any longer. “When are you going to draw names for classroom jobs?” she asked when Mr. Bland called on her.
Mr. Bland sighed. “Fiona, whatever would I do without you?” Only he didn’t say it in a cursive-letters-on-a-greeting-card kind of way. He said it in a way that made her think Mr. Bland knew exactly what he would do without her.
“And so I don’t have to hear you ask a fourth time today,” he said, “let’s go ahead and draw the names now. But first we need to let Milo put his name in a bucket.”
“Oh,” said Fiona. She wasn’t counting on that.
“Milo,” said Mr. Bland, “there are several jobs available in this classroom. Courier, gardener, accountant, and so on. If you see a job you’d like to do, put your name on a piece of paper and drop it into that bucket. Each month we draw a new name.”
Milo went over to the Job Center. Fiona chewed on her Thinking Pencil as she watched Milo read the duties listed under each job. He took a gazillion years. Finally, he wrote his name on a slip of paper and dropped it into the bucket marked ELECTRICIAN.
Rotten.
“And now for the big moment,” said Mr. Bland, reaching into the first bucket marked COURIER. Fiona was busy crossing each of her fingers while Mr. Bland read off the names in each bucket. Only one bucket mattered to her.
“And lastly, classroom electrician,” said Mr. Bland.
“Wait!” Fiona said, as her pinkie slipped off her ring finger. She quickly recrossed them. “Okay, now I’m ready.” She watched Mr. Bland pull out a piece of paper and unfold it. As she watched, the corned beef feeling got so strong she could almost smell it.
Mr. Bland held up the paper. “Our new electrician is . . .” Fiona squeezed her crossed fingers tighter and whispered her own name. “. . . Milo Bridgewater.”
• Chapter 2 •
That does it,” Fiona said to Cleo as they headed toward the bus circle after school. “Bring on the stink.”
“Don’t count on coming over to my ho
use, then,” said Cleo. “My mom keeps telling me that I need to wear air freshener. In my armpits.”
Fiona stuck her nose up close and sniffed. “They don’t smell bad to me.”
“That’s what I keep telling her.”
Fiona took in a deep breath and let it out in a huff. “The worst thing isn’t that I didn’t get picked to be electrician. The worst thing is that Milo Bridgewater did. I’ve waited forever. And he gets picked on his first day!”
“No fair,” said Cleo, pinching Fiona’s arm. “But at least I get to be line leader.”
She pinched Cleo’s arm back. “Yeah, that’s good at least.”
“And Harold gets to be gardener.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t worry, Fiona,” said Cleo, cracking her knuckles, one finger at a time. “I’ll make sure Milo doesn’t jump the lunch line.”
Fiona half-smiled. Then she spotted an orange minivan in the parking lot. “There’s the Bingo Bus. Bye.”
As Fiona got closer to the minivan, she saw Mrs. Miltenberger waving at her from the driver’s seat. Mrs. Miltenberger, an honorary grandmother to Fiona and her little brother, Max, was a part-time owner of the Bingo Bus.
As Fiona climbed onto the bus, the other part-time owners in the backseat—Mrs. Lordeau, Mrs. Huff, and Mrs. O’Brien—were talking over top of one another. They called themselves the Bingo Broads. Mostly because they loved playing bingo at the American Legion. They even had matching sweatshirts that said so in sparkles across the chest: BINGO RULES!
“That’s when I decided it was time to get back in the dating game,” Mrs. Lordeau was saying. “And that’s how I met my Sandy.”
“Good for you,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “You’ve got to just get out there and meet people.”
“That’s what I keep telling Violet,” said Mrs. Huff. “But does she hear me?”
“Oh, I hear you all right,” said Mrs. Miltenberger. She winked at Fiona in the rearview mirror as Fiona settled into her middle-row seat. “How was your day?”
“Fine,” Fiona said with a shrug.
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “That doesn’t sound good.”
Fiona turned around in her seat to face them.
“No, it doesn’t,” added Mrs. Lordeau, cleaning her eyeglasses with her shirtsleeve. “Not good at all.”
“What is it, sugar?” said Mrs. Huff. “Teacher problems? Homework problems?” Then she cleared her throat and said in a low voice, “Boy problems?”
Mrs. Lordeau slid her glasses back on her nose and leaned in close. “You can spill the beans to us, honey.”
“Easy, girls,” called Mrs. Miltenberger from the driver’s seat. “Fiona, you don’t have to put up with them for long. We’ve got only a few blocks to go to pick up Max from swim practice and then I’m dropping them all off at the Legion.”
“You just watch the road, Violet,” Mrs. O’Brien answered back, winking at Fiona. “We’ve got this handled.”
Fiona wasn’t used to telling the Bingo Broads her problems. But with her dad at the TV station a lot, where he was the chief meteorologist, and her mom living in California where she worked as an actress on the soap opera Heartaches and Diamonds, Fiona was glad to have grown-ups in arm’s reach who were interested in hearing her troubles. “Well, I guess kind of boy problems,” she said. “Sort of. I mean, there’s one boy. And he’s got problems.”
“I knew it,” said Mrs. Huff. “What did I tell you!”
Mrs. O’Brien nudged Mrs. Huff with her shoulder. “You’re a genius, Betty. Now let her talk,” she said. “Go on, Fiona.”
Fiona told them about Milo Bridgewater, spiky hair and all, and how he scowled at her for no good reason and that just because he’s a new kid from Minnesota, he can do anything he wants. Including being electrician.
Fiona paused to catch her breath and watched the Bingo Broads exchange sideways looks.
“I see,” said Mrs. O’Brien. Mrs. Huff and Mrs. Lordeau nodded and said that they, too, saw.
“What do you see?” asked Fiona.
“Stepping on your toes a bit, is he?” said Mrs. O’Brien.
Fiona looked at her feet.
“This is the case of a boy just trying to fit in,” explained Mrs. Huff.
“What you need to do,” said Mrs. Lordeau, “is kick him with kindness. The sweeter you are, the sweeter he’ll be.”
“Gross. No way,” declared Fiona. The kicking part wouldn’t be a problem, but the kindness was not going to happen.
“She’s right-o,” added Mrs. O’Brien. “It’s called the art of flattery. You can attract more flies with sugar than you can with vinegar.”
“But I don’t—” began Fiona, shaking her head.
Mrs. Huff interrupted. “It’s honey, not sugar.”
“What is?” asked Mrs. O’Brien.
“You said that you can attract more flies with sugar. But the saying goes, ‘You can attract more flies with honey.’ Honey. Not sugar.”
“But . . .” Fiona tried again.
“You’re both wrong,” said Mrs. Lordeau. “It’s bees. Not flies. ‘You can attract more bees with honey.’ ”
“Why on earth would you want to attract bees?” said Mrs. O’Brien.
“Well, who wants a bunch of flies?” answered Mrs. Lordeau.
Fiona’s brain felt like melted Velveeta. “I don’t want to attract flies or bees,” she said, louder than she should have. “I just wanted to be the one to plug in the TV, not Milo.”
“I still say, kick him with kindness,” said Mrs. Huff, pulling at the mole hair under her chin.
“I don’t see how that would work,” said Fiona.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “Let’s try it on Max. What do you say, girls?”
• • •
When they got to the YMCA, Max was waiting on the front steps. Fiona watched him from the window of the bus as he adjusted his goggles and hopped down the steps on the heels of his orange flippers. The towel that was tied around his neck like a cape swung to the side. Captain Seahorse.
He opened the door of the bus and announced, “Superhero on board, ladies!” He climbed in beside Fiona, who was still shaking her head.
“Afternoon, Captain,” said Mrs. Miltenberger.
“Afternoon,” he said. He grabbed the door handle with both hands and pulled on it to slide the door closed. But the door didn’t budge.
“I’ve been meaning to grease that door,” said Mrs. Huff. “It’s been sticking something awful.”
Fiona leaned over to help. “I can do it!” shouted Max, pushing her away.
Fiona looked at the Broads, who were nodding and encouraging her with their eyes. She went over what they had told her in her head, and wasn’t sure she could do it. In her head, the words were so sugary they made her lips pucker. But somehow, she forced them out. “Captain Seahorse,” she said, swallowing hard, “your superhero muscles are probably tired from all of that swimming. I can help you.” She swallowed again. “If you want.”
The Bingo Broads nodded and smiled in approval.
Fiona felt sick. She truly almost gagged.
For a long moment, Max stared at her through his goggles. Then he said, “What’s wrong with you? Why are you being so nice?” Which Fiona thought was a rude thing to say because, of all the big sisters she knew, she considered herself to be a pretty nice one. After all, she didn’t tattle on him every day and only once in a while broke his crayons on purpose.
But then Max did something unexpected. He let go of the door handle and sat back in his seat. Fiona couldn’t believe she had gotten her way. Without a fight or anything. She smiled to herself as she leaned over him and pulled the door closed.
• Chapter 3 •
Calling all snow angels,” said Dad, knocking on the door to the dressing room at WORD-TV news station.
“Here I am,” Fiona answered, opening the door. She pulled out her tutu as she followed him down the hallway and into his office. Fiona h
ad been known as the station’s snow angel ever since she gave her first weather report during one of Ordinary’s biggest snowstorms. And now she reported on the weather a couple times a week.
Dad sat down at his desk and looked at the computer screen.
“Any snow on the way?” Fiona asked. She tugged at her costume’s skirt to get it facing the right way and then started untwisting her shoulder straps. The tutu seemed to get smaller every time she put it on.
“Not this week, Dancing Bean,” he said. He rolled over to her on his desk chair, which Fiona and Max named Turner, and helped her untwist.
“Is it ever going to snow again?” Fiona asked. She looked over at the computer screens on her dad’s desk and frowned at the green blobs moving across the map.
Dad let go of her straps and patted her shoulders. “There you are. Right as rain.” Then he rolled Turner back over to his keyboard, pressed a few keys, and pointed to the screen. “See this low-pressure system? It’s moving in from the south and bringing up some warm air.”
“Warm air?” complained Fiona. “But it’s January. It’s supposed to be cold. And snowy.”
“This is winter in Maryland,” said Dad.
“Ordinary,” said Fiona with a sigh. Then for some reason Milo Bridgewater’s scowly face flashed in her head. “I bet the weather in Minnesota is the same, though, right?”
“Minnesota?”
“Yeah,” said Fiona. “I mean, the weather isn’t any better there.”
“Well, it depends what you mean by better,” said Dad. He clicked some keys and brought up a map of the United States. He pointed to an area on the screen that was covered in pink. “This is Minnesota. And look at the size of the snowstorm they are having right now.”
“No way!” said Fiona. “They have pink snow in Minnesota?”
Dad gave her a look.
“Just kidding,” she said. Only, she was just half-kidding. Part of her believed that if Milo could be picked as electrician on his first day in a new school, he just might be lucky enough to be from a place that snowed pink snowflakes.
Miss Matched Page 1