“I’ll call my dad,” I say in a hopeful voice. “He’s home and only a few houses away. He’ll come with the car.” I take Ella’s phone, since I left Flippie at home, and call.
“Sorry,” says Ella, even as she winces.
“For what?”
“For not . . .being there.”
“It’s okay, I get it.”
I really, really, really want to ask Ella about what happened earlier. Why she was so upset in the bathroom, but it isn’t the right moment.
So I call my dad and he immediately answers. “Dad,” I say. “It’s Karma.”
“What’s wrong?” asks Dad.
“I’m in the park. Ella fell. She might have broken her ankle or something. She was on her bike and her parents aren’t home. . . .”
Dad tells me he’ll be right over, and that Mom’s home and will stay with Toby.
“He’ll be here in three minutes,” I say as I collect the wet decorations and dump them in a nearby trash can.
“I knew already,” Ella whispers.
“What? That my dad could come?”
She shakes her head. “The only reason I’m cochair was because of you.”
“What are you talking about? That’s not true.”
“What you said on Monday. It was all true. You’re the one they wanted. They knew you could get everyone involved. I’m just good with colored pencils.”
“You’re not just good. You’re amazing. You’re the best. You’re professional,” I argue. “What’s crazy is thinking that Bailey and the Bees wouldn’t get right away how awesome you are. You didn’t even need me as cochair. I probably just made everything worse.”
“That’s not completely true. Okay, maybe, kind of.” Smiling weakly, Ella stands up and limps toward her bike. “Ow,” she groans.
“Don’t try to move, Ella. You could do some serious damage.”
Ella wipes her eyes. “I hate being mad at you. Really, really hate it.”
“And I wish I had borrowed someone else’s phone, like Auggie’s. So his would have been locked up, not yours, and we wouldn’t have this fight,” I reply.
“Speaking of which, he’s been driving me crazy asking about you, Karma.”
“Why? Because he wants to hear the details of my lock-up?”
Ella shakes her head. “It’s more like he’s obsessed with you. Have you noticed he can’t stop looking at you?”
“Me?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s just an insensitive, annoying, hyper ukulele-playing pest. He’s waiting to figure out when he can photo bomb me next.”
“Hello.” Ella waves her hand in my face. “Are you dumb? Auggie likes you.”
“What? He hates me.”
“Then why did he ask me when the invitations to your bat mitzvah are coming? Huh? And whether he’s invited and whether there’s going to be a party?” A huge grin spreads across Ella’s face. “And if you were coming to the Spirit Dance tonight?” Nobody asks people to dances at Merton, but if someone asks about you, then it usually means that they will ask you to dance a slow dance.
“Really? REALLY?” I close my eyes and imagine Auggie as someone who would want to dance with me. And as someone danceable. And I kind of almost see it. Maybe the same way that Ella can see the cuteness in Milton P. “So I guess there are some things I don’t get.”
Ella’s smile gets even bigger, if that’s possible. “Me too,” she agrees.
“Like Milton P. is not a spy. He’s just a boy.”
“Yeah, a strange but cute boy,” says Ella. “So you know that Auggie posted a video called ‘The Girl with Leopard Hair’? It’s got that photo of you and he’s strumming his ukulele.”
“What?” It’s like I’ve been living on another planet—my own life. “Do I want to know?”
Ella picks up her phone, thumbs through it, and hands it to me. The song is about a girl who wakes up with spots all over her hair, and how it’s school picture day. I’m popping my hand over my open mouth because I can’t believe he’s done it.
And it’s really catchy, actually, and kind of sweet.
That cute girl with spots and dots all over town!
Ella gazes down. “Three hundred and thirty-three LIKES.”
I stare at the video of Auggie in his brown-and-white spotted beanie playing his orange ukulele and singing about a gutsy girl with leopard-striped hair. And suddenly I’m realizing what this means.
This is all weird for me. Ella and I are giggling like mad, and that’s when Dad comes up with his car.
“I thought someone was hurt,” says Dad.
“She is,” I say, nodding at Ella.
Dad shakes his head. “Hurt, huh? Sounds like an awful lot of not-hurt-anymore is going on.”
Fast and There
“Let me see that ankle.” Dad examines it a moment, to Ella’s ows.
It’s swollen and eggplant purple. “At least it’s your favorite color,” I joke to Ella.
He scoops her up in his arms like a firefighter and carries her into the car. “We’d better get to the ER. I’ll call your parents on the way.”
As we drive to the hospital, Dad calls the exercise place and tells them to find Ella’s mom. In fifteen minutes, all of us meet up in the ER waiting room, and Mrs. Fuentes is thanking my dad and me. Then the nurse calls Ella and her mom back to the emergency room, where you have to be family of the patient.
“Can’t I pretend we’re sisters?” I ask.
“We don’t need to pretend,” says Ella. “And as your sister, can I ask you a favor? Can you go to the gym and help decorate?” She hands me her phone. “All the decorations I made are on Google Drive. You can print them out again and hang them up. Well, except for the streamers.”
I look at Dad. “Is this okay?”
“It’s fine,” Dad agrees.
“Sure, then.”
“Thank you,” says Ella. “I mean it.”
“Feel better. I want to write on your cast, if you get one!” The doors swish close and Ella, even though she’s hobbling down the hall and wincing, blows me a kiss, and mouths, “I-L-Y!”
And I mouth, “I-L-Y!” back.
Dad glances at me. “I’m proud of you, Karma. You did the right thing. You called. That was a very good decision. You used good judgment.”
“See, Dad. Phones aren’t evil.”
“No, they aren’t,” he says. “They have a purpose. Many, actually. So you need to be dropped off at the gym?”
“Yes.”
Did I really say that? That I was going to help decorate the gym with a bunch of girls who probably hate my guts?
Yes, I did. For Ella, I’d do anything.
“One last thing.” As Dad pulls up to the school, I say, “I have some advice for you. If you’re cycling and you see these cute little white, stuffed animal–looking dogs that are about twelve inches high, go in the exact opposite direction. Otherwise they could ruin your ride.”
Dad grins. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
My Stats:
2 crazy dogs in the park who think they’re vampire wolves or something
1 phone—Ella’s, not mine
1 injured ankle—Ella’s, not mine
6 muddified streamers
1 awesome dad
1 best friend who’s the best best friend in the world
Mood: Not bad but a little nervous
25
FRIDAY, MARCH 23: DAY 20 UNLIKED BUT LIKING MYSELF!
Storming the Gym
My dirt-speckled sneakers splash in the puddles outside school. Bailey, of course, will be wearing a pair of new flats. I take a deep breath and peek into the gym. I’m in jeans and a regular T-shirt. Nothing special. I feel a little plain, a little dumb, but I try not to think about it.
Megan sweeps the floor while Janel drags tables around the perimeter. A bunch of girls who I don’t know so well are flitting around setting chips and pretzels out on a big, long table. There are little tables where people ca
n sit in groups around the edge of the gym. The DJ is setting up on the stage. Kids are pulling out the legs on long tables. Others carry other tables and line them up along the wall. More volunteers set out paper cups and a lemonade dispenser. Teacher chaperones help kids bring in bags of ice and snacks from the cars.
Meanwhile, Bailey stands in the center hunching her shoulders. She wears new white tennis shoes but the rest of her looks tired. Her eyes aren’t sparkly. There are rings under them. Maybe you can’t always sleep if you want to be perfect.
Bailey glances at her phone and then at Megan. “Where is Ella? She’s supposed to be here with the decorations.” Bailey’s voice rises in panic. “I know she’s late, but people, this is ridiculous!”
“She can’t come.” I move out of the doorway and head toward Bailey.
Both Bailey and Megan whirl around. Bailey stares at me, blinking. Janel puts down her table and eyes me suspiciously
“I’m here,” I say in a louder voice. “Because Ella is in the hospital.”
The expression on Bailey’s face completely changes. “Oh my gosh. Is she okay?”
“I think so. But she fell off her bike and hurt her ankle.” I take a deep breath. “So she asked me to help.” For a moment I expected Bailey to shout “YOU? YOU are going to help?”
But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything at all.
Until
Bailey smiles and says, “Wow, Karma. Thanks for coming. So you have Ella’s decorations?”
“That’s the thing. When she fell, all of the streamers and stars and moons fell into a puddle and got—”
“Muddified?” finishes Janel.
“Exactly,” I say.
Bailey pulls on her chin and stares at dozens of pieces of strings dangling from the ceiling. “We’ve spent hours hanging those.” She glances up at a clock in the gym. “The dance is starting in forty minutes. And without the moons and stars, it’s going to look so dumb.”
“It’s all right. I’ve got Ella’s phone.”
“Okaaaaay.” Bailey’s eyebrows rise up into a question.
“She has all of the stars and moons on Google Drive.”
“Awesome,” says Bailey.
“Yeah.” I pull out Ella’s phone. “We can look at them now.”
Bailey pops her hand over her mouth. “Her phone’s all cracked.”
Megan leans forward. “If it’s all wet, you’re supposed to put it in a bag of rice.”
“Yeah, but I just used it.” I press the on button.
Nothing happens.
It’s time for me to beg. “C’mon. C’mon, please.”
Megan clucks her tongue. “Seriously. Rice works. I thought you’d know, of all people.”
I try again, even shake it. “Wake up!” More nothing. “Nooooo!”
Behind me the kids hanging lights turn to gape. Even some chaperones hauling a carton of bottled water stop to stare.
Bailey closes her eyes. “Really, Karma? Everything you touch gets messed up.”
My heart sinks. “Not everything. We can still get those moons and stars printed out.”
“The school computer lab,” says Bailey.
“Perfect!” I twist my hair into a bun and rub the back of my sweaty neck.
Bailey clutches her clipboard. “Okay, I’ll go with Karma and . . .” She looks at Megan and Janel.
“I’ll check on the volunteers,” says Megan.
“I’ll look after the food,” says Janel.
“Excellent.” Bailey hands them her clipboard. “Just check things off the master list. Mrs. Grayson’s in the parking lot unloading water bottles from her car.” Mr. Brindle, the head custodian, examines the electrical cords for the DJ station.
“Anything else, Bail?” asks Megan as Bailey takes a few steps toward the door. I trail behind.
“Mrs. Grayson said to check the floor for screws, nails, anything sharp. Sometimes kids take off their shoes when they dance, and we don’t want anyone getting hurt. Maybe you could grab a few volunteers and do a quick sweep with the push brooms before we go?”
“Sure thing,” says Megan.
As I take in all of the scurrying volunteers and adults transforming our gym into a magical dance hall, I start to think that Bailey really could run something big when she gets older, like a hotel, or maybe a country.
Sealed
We trudge over to the main hallway and pull open the door. But it doesn’t open. Bailey tugs and the handle rattles, but the door’s locked. A sheen of sweat shines on Bailey’s face and smeared eye shadow. And for the first time, her hair doesn’t look so neat. It’s kind off-center. It makes me happy to know that sometimes, maybe once a century, Bailey isn’t so perfect.
“Unless we get those stars and moons up quick, we’re themeless,” Bailey says frantically.
“Custodian,” I say, snapping my fingers. We race back to the gym and skid into the room. I flag down Mr. Brindle, who’s holding an extension cord. “Can you help us?” I ask.
Bailey says, “We need to get into the computer lab. It’s an emergency.”
Mr. Brindle plugs in the extension cord. “Always something,” he grumbles.
I look at Bailey in panic.
“No worries.” Mr. Brindle smiles. “Come with me.”
The Plan
The second Mr. Brindle lets us into the lab, I fly to a computer and get onto Google Drive. I stare at Ella’s stars and moons. Most of them are regular-looking, but she also has the funky ones with swirling colors and big eyes wearing sunglasses and wings. These are the stars and moons she made before I told her to make the regular kind. They really are cool, though. Sometimes it’s good to save things, and that makes me think about the historical society. On an impulse, I print them out along with the regular ones.
Bailey smiles at the goofy ones. “These are fun,” she says, glancing at the computer screen.
“I agree.”
She points to something else on Google Drive. “What’s that?”
I shrug and click past it. “Nothing.”
“It says photo collage. It’s not nothing. I want to see.”
I open it up. It’s the photo collage I made. The ones showing Bailey singing, Janel dancing, Ella drawing, Milton P. doing LEGOs, and even Auggie playing ukulele.
“These are awesome,” says Bailey. “I always knew you were a great photographer.”
I can’t help smiling.
“Print them all out,” says Bailey. “It goes with our theme—Shoot for the moon. We can put them up.”
“Really?” I look up at the clock on the wall. “The dance starts in thirty-five minutes.”
“We’ll make it in time.”
So I print out the photos, too.
We sprint back into the gym and pass Mrs. Grayson and some volunteers hauling water. “Oh, you got the decorations,” she says. “Perfect.”
“Of course,” says Bailey.
Mrs. Grayson heads over to the refreshments table, and Bailey hands out stars and moons to volunteers to hang on the strings. Soon we are admiring how great everything looks. The lights dim. The disco ball is up and spinning. Dots of light swim around the gym. A steady beat pounds out of the speakers. The dance starts in thirty minutes. And everything does look awesome.
Suddenly I see someone I’m not expecting to see. It’s Ella, on crutches, hobbling into the gym. She wears a supercute crop top over skinny jeans, but she looks pale. I rush over.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She nods and I run to get her a chair to settle down in. Bailey pushes a table in front of us and sets down a cup of water. Immediately Janel and Megan rush over.
“Oh my gosh,” says Bailey. “Is your leg broken?”
Ella shakes her head. “My ankle’s just sprained.” I think about giving back her broken phone, but I want to wait for the right moment. If there is such a thing.
“Does it hurt?” asks Janel.
“Just a little.” Ella brushes her long dark hair off her shoulde
rs. “No dancing. Just watching.”
“I’m superglad it’s not broken,” says Megan.
Megan glances at the stars and moons as volunteers continue to tape them onto the strings. “Hey, you printed out all of them.”
“Yes,” I say.
“They all look so good, especially the stars with sunglasses.”
Ella smiles, and that’s when I start to push the messed-up phone out of my pocket, but Ella stares at something else. The stack of papers in my left hand. “What are those?” she asks.
“Just some photos I took,” I mumble.
She bends over to peer at them. “Portraits, Karma. These are really good.”
I push her phone back into my pocket as Ella shuffles through the photos. “This one of Janel is awesome,” she says. “Her jeans are sparkling with light. How did you do that?”
“I’m not so sure.” Other girls are coming over and poring over the photos, oohing and ahhing. And suddenly I’m thinking about the portraits I’m going to do of the founders of the synagogue. That’s going to be so cool.
In the gym, Bailey smiles at my portraits. “They’re amazing. Put them up, people. Tape them up to the walls.”
“On any bare strings,” adds Megan.
Bailey surveys the room. “Much better than crepe paper and store-bought decorations. I-L-Y!”
“I-L-Y!” says Megan.
“I-L-Y,” says Janel.
“I-L-Y,” says Ella, which is best of all.
Not Really Shattered
The gym looks truly transformed. My photos decorate the paper-lined walls. Ella’s moons and stars spin around on strings. Tiny, sparkly blue-and-white lights weave around the tables and along walls. The DJ plays upbeat, danceable tunes. It’s 6:15. The dance starts in fifteen minutes. The volunteers have mostly stopped working since everything is about done. Mrs. Grayson collects a few boxes from the pizzas that were eaten earlier and unstacks folding chairs. A few other kids flit around, excitedly chatting, taking a break before the dance officially starts.
Queen of Likes Page 14