That means everything being said carries down to the first floor, including the downstairs area where Toby sits, finishing up his snack. He’s as silent as a mouse, listening.
“I don’t care if you were advertising Crazy Hair Day,” Dad booms. “I don’t think the principal saw it that way. I don’t think they’d have a policy of confiscating a phone if there wasn’t a problem!”
“But I was helping. I promise.” I gaze at Mom pleadingly, but she turns away from me and gets all interested in straightening the magazines on the side table. “Please,” I plead. “Please. Didn’t you teach me to help others? It’s part of having a bat mitzvah. You know—doing good deeds and stuff.”
“Are you telling me it was just today?” asks Mom.
That’s not a question I want to answer, exactly. “I might have borrowed Ella’s phone a few times, ” I admit, “but it was only to help her. She’s the cochair of publicity and—”
“Maybe Ella doesn’t need your help,” Mom points out. “Have you thought about that?”
“That’s because . . .” I’m going to tell them about how I don’t have time to help Ella because I have so many things to do, but I don’t think my parents will understand. “Oh, forget it.” Tears tickle my cheeks and I wipe them away furiously.
Dad grabs a pencil off the desk and waves it me. “You didn’t listen to our rules, Karma. It was simple. We gave you the pay-as-you go phone and said that if you had good behavior, you could get your real phone back. But sorry, that’s not happening.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re going to use the flip phone for the rest of the year,” says Mom.
“Unless Karma changes her attitude,” says Dad.
“She’s not going to change.” Mom sighs.
“What? That’s not fair,” I say. I throw up my hands. “You guys act like I’m evil.”
“Not evil,” says Mom. “Just out of line.”
My Stats:
1 lecture by an angry principal
1 lecture by very angry parents
1 in-school suspension
1 best friend’s phone that is also locked up
2 parents who think I’m Bad Karma
Mood: Beyond dismal; cataclysmic
20
TUESDAY, MARCH 20: DAY 17 UNLIKED
Doomsday Begins
When I get to school, I go to meet Ella at our usual meet-up spot by the water fountain, but she’s not there.
Kids with purple and pink hair pass me. Others wear crazy orange wigs with hair that rustles. Oh, Crazy Hair Day. Great. My hair is completely normal when everyone else’s is wacked out. I can’t win.
On the other side of the quad, Auggie is singing a song he made up about Crazy Hair Day. Justin and Graeme also strum their ukuleles. A small crowd stands in front of them, clapping their hands. I try not to listen.
I glance around the halls looking for Ella. Where is she? She probably double-extra hates me.
And that’s when I see Bailey and the Bees standing by the water fountain. There is still no Ella in sight.
Bailey’s straight chin-length hair is so jelled it appears wet. Snakelike blue braids stick straight up on Janel’s head, and Megan’s hair has sprayed-on rainbow colors. They make their way over to me.
Bailey lowers her voice as she pats her crunchy hair. “I still can’t believe you got caught by the principal. That was so bad.”
“I know,” I say.
“It’s such a bummer you got the in-school suspension. I mean, really. That was super”—Bailey clears her throat as she adjusts her scarf—“harsh.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah.” I had called Ella last night but she didn’t pick up. I’m sure every kid in the school now knows what happened.
“It’s probably not the best thing for you to be publicity cochair of the Spirit Week committee. Since you’re going to be”—Bailey flinches—“suspended.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Wouldn’t look good, I guess.” My heart sinks to my feet. I have just been fired from my first job, and probably from my new group of friends.
“My parents would kill me if I got sent to Mr. Morley,” says Megan. “So you’re just lucky you’re not dead or something.” She smiles as if this is the best news ever.
Janel elbows Megan. “Like that’s going to make Karma feel better.”
“Well, she got caught,” says Megan as she opens up a package of gum. She offers it to everyone except me. “And lots of people got in trouble, right?”
My stomach shifts uncomfortably since she, along with Ella and five others, had her phone locked up in the office because of me.
“Ella’s super upset with you, Karma,” she adds. “She has to get her mom to sign a note to get her phone back.”
“I know,” I say with a sigh. “But I was trying to help.”
“That’s exactly what you said to me when you put that chunky peanut butter into my hair,” says Bailey.
I wince. “You still remember that?”
She touches her bangs. “My hair only smelled like Jiffy for weeks.”
“I put it in to get out the gum.”
“Which it didn’t do.”
“Well, it was supposed to. That was just—”
“Bad luck. Not your fault. I know,” says Bailey, and she singsongs I know like she knows way too much about me.
That’s when Ella brushes past a knot of kids and makes her way over to us. She’s got purple sprayed in her hair that’s so neon bright I have to blink. But she hasn’t changed into her skinny jeans or put on her lip gloss or any mascara. Actually, she’s wearing the oversize jeans that she hates. But worst of all, she doesn’t say good morning in her usual quiet but warm way. Her lips are pressed together in a frown.
My stomach tightens as if there’s belt around it.
“Sorry again about your phone,” I squeak. “And getting caught.” I can tell she’s very, very mad.
Ella blinks hard and flees into the bathroom. “What’s the matter?” I ask, my voice rising. “Did something else happen?”
“You’ve done enough,” says Bailey. The Bees glare at me. I pivot around and go into the bathroom too.
Ella stands in front of the sink, dabbing at her eyes with a balled-up piece of bathroom tissue. Her face is as white as milk. Tears streak down her cheeks.
“Let me make it up to you,” I beg.
She glares at me and whispers, “Go away, Karma!”
She thinks she’s whispering, but she yells it so loudly that my ears ring.
“What? What else did I do? Whatever it is, I’m sorry!”
Ella shakes her head and waves her hands like she’s pushing me away.
So I leave the bathroom and race around the corner to my first in-school suspension.
In-School Suspension
There are only two other people imprisoned with me, two eighth-grade boys who I’ve never seen before because they rarely come to school when the weather is nice. Mr. Morley, the official jail keeper, scowls at me.
The boy with longer hair yawns every ten seconds.
The one with shorter long hair yawns every five seconds.
This will be my day.
No gym. Or morning break. Or time to chat by the water fountains.
Nothing to do except schoolwork.
Or read a book.
My Hebrew, which I brought with me to school, seems more exciting. I can imagine the singsong chant in my head from that girl on YouTube.
Long Hair is in the bathroom and Longer Hair is going next. The bathroom is attached to the classroom so we don’t need to leave.
I want to go to the bathroom in the outside world, and Mr. Morley lets me. Maybe because he feels sorry for me, since he says, “You’re not the kind who’s usually in my jail.” He actually calls it jail.
But he lets me go, and for the first time in a long time, I’m excited about something.
Being excited about going to the bathroom. Really, if you think about it, that’s pathetic.
&nb
sp; And cursed. Because inside the bathroom is . . . Ella.
Ella
This school has around seven hundred kids. What are the chances that Ella is in the bathroom again? This is my chance.
“Ella,” I say as she sprays on more purple hair dye. “I get why you’re mad, but it was an accident. Please. And if there’s something else going on, I want to know.”
The spray can fills the room with an ammonia smell and I try not to cough. Ella takes a deep breath and opens her mouth as if she’s about to speak. Two sixth graders rush into the bathroom. Ella clamps her mouth shut.
“Ella, I’m worried that your parents went crazy. Tell me what happened.”
“I can’t,” she says as she tucks her bottle of hair dye into her backpack. It’s weird but she still she hasn’t put on any mascara or lip gloss.
“Please!”
She shakes her head and races out the door.
I stare after her, confused and upset. I slowly walk back to Mr. Morley’s room, wondering if I lost my best friend for good.
At Home
I’m back from volunteering at the historical society. At least nobody over there thinks I’m Bad Karma. Anna said I did a great job sorting more photos. It’s hard to believe that this Thursday will be my last day volunteering.
I’m sitting on the couch in the family room and Toby’s squatting on the floor next to me. He’s still got crumbs on his mouth from the donut he ate an hour ago. Dad biked with him to Voodoo Donuts and let him get their most awesome donut, the raspberry jelly–filled one shaped like a little screaming guy and covered with chocolate frosting and a pretzel pin.
I feel the donut voodoo doll’s pain. It’s almost dinnertime, but I’m not hungry. I think about how the hot dog–eating contest and Crazy Hair Day happened, and I wasn’t a part of it. I don’t even know who won the Craziest Hair contest or which grade participated the most.
I text in my mind to the patter of the rain hitting the roof: I know nothing.
“What are you doing?” asks Toby. He has his box of LEGOs with him. He has all kinds of new pieces because one of mom’s friends whose kid graduated college gave away his LEGOs and Toby got all of them. Lots of little yellow pieces that are shaped like little cannons sit in a pile by his feet.
“What are you doing?” asks Toby again.
“I have no idea anymore.” My hands flop into my lap, where they look pale and lifeless and useless and silent.
That night I don’t get much sleep. My best friend won’t speak to me. I have no followers or friends. Maybe someone has made a voodoo doll of me. And that is why everything bad is sticking just like the pretzel in that donut.
My Stats:
1 best friend who UNLIKES me
1 Voodoo donut eaten
1 girl who has no idea how to fix this
Mood: Still beyond dismal
21
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 21: DAY 18 UNLIKED
Locked Away
Before school starts, before I’m locked away for my last day, I see Bailey getting out of her car by the drop-off circle. The Bees and Ella huddle around Bailey but none of them will look directly at me. They are all dressed in identical white scoop-neck T-shirts and skinny jeans.
I consider saying, It isn’t Quadruplet Day, but I don’t say anything at all.
It’s before advisory and I’m standing over by Ella’s locker, hoping that she’ll speak to me.
So far it’s been silence. Ella slams her locker shut. She glares at me. That’s just great. Bailey and the Bees approach and circle her like a fence. One of the banners that Ella made is posted next to them. SEVENTH GRADE STAMPS OUT HUNGER. Right now all I want to stamp out is the past two weeks.
Ella whirls around and actually speaks to me. “I’ll tell you this much, Karma. You can’t be trusted.”
Bailey and the Bees nod.
“You spent all of your time worrying about how many followers we had on our Spirit page. Was that really going to help us win the Spirit Stick? And you were constantly borrowing my phone. That was so annoying. You posted comments for me. You LIKED stuff. I know what I like: not you.”
“But I was—”
“Helping me?” She shakes her head. “If you haven’t noticed, I pretty much ran publicity without you. And made posters, plus decorations. I don’t need your help, Karma.”
Janel nudges Megan, and Megan nudges Bailey. Nobody has ever seen Ella this mad, including me.
“None of your so-called followers helped,” Ella sputters. “We’re tied with eighth grade for points for Crazy Hair Day.” Then she points down the hallway, near the office where the canned food is stacked. “The eighth grade is way ahead on canned food and the sixth grade is catching up. Today’s the final count. You were supposed to tell everybody about the Great Canned Food Sneak Attack, but that didn’t happen.”
“But I did,” I protest. “I let all of our seventh-grade followers know.”
“Yeah, but did you ever check to see who followed the page?” asks Bailey. “Lots of those kids don’t go to Merton. They just followed it because it was you.”
“The sixth graders don’t even have Snappypic,” says Megan. “Their tower is higher than ours because they passed out fliers on actual paper and because they actually told people in person. You know, word of mouth.”
I shrug, even though deep inside I’m feeling more than a little bad. “So old school,” I say.
Ella shakes her head. “Well, it worked.”
I feel like a creepy statue at a haunted house. Like my body is frozen permanently in a position of humiliating horror. “They picked me because of my followers. Because I’m great at Snappypic. I told them”—I look at the Bees—“I wouldn’t do it without you. I made them take you, Ella. They didn’t even want you.”
Bailey’s face turns a shade of red deeper than a fire truck.
Janel blinks in surprise. Megan is still trying to smile.
I tap my chest. “That’s why they picked me. Without me,” I say, and the words fall out of my mouth like sharp rocks, “you’d be nothing.”
Ella stares at me in shock. Her mouth is moving but no words are coming out.
I have gone too far. I know it right away, but I couldn’t help it. I was doing all of this for her, in a way. And she didn’t even know it. Instead she’s making me feel bad. For trying. Trying to do what? To borrow her phone to reach out to people, to be LIKED. And to get her LIKED too.
Ella’s eyes water and my stomach turns.
I whisper, “I’m sorry,” but it’s too late.
She whirls around and flees into the crowded hallway, away from me.
Alone
As I stand there, alone in the crowded hallway, I’m disgusted with myself.
I am not copublicity chair of Spirit Week.
I am not on Snappypic.
I am not LIKED.
I am not really Ella’s best friend. Not anymore.
When I was little, I remember thinking on the very last day of first grade in Mrs. Fitch’s class, I am not a first grader.
But then during the summer I wasn’t quite a second grader yet, either.
So then I thought—I am not a second grader.
The summer was the time in between being something.
But this isn’t summer. It’s March, and yet I feel like I’m in between being one thing and something else. For a moment I think about my bat mitzvah reading. Moses left the palace but he had something else better to do.
I just don’t know what that something else is yet.
I’ve got to be in the suspension room in five minutes. The bell is about to ring and my jail is located in a completely different wing of the school. Right now I’m at school with everyone else but I’m completely alone.
No Snappypic.
No followers.
No friends. Actual friends.
And this is when Milton P. decides to march up to me.
Bad Timing
“Hell-o, Karma,” Milton P. says in h
is slightly robot-y voice. “I agree with you about the Millennium Falcon. Do you want to discuss this?”
I throw up my hands, screaming, “I do not want to discuss LEGOs, Milton P. I do not like LEGOs. Go away!” I swing my hand toward him, and his shoe box goes flying.
We all watch in horror as it launches into the air like a real spaceship, only a real spaceship lands; it has landing gear and falls safely into the ocean.
But what falls out of the shoe box has no landing gear. And actually, it is a spaceship. A LEGO spaceship, a complicated one like the ones Toby makes, falls out of the box and splinters into what seems like a thousand pieces.
That’s what’s inside the mysterious shoe box? I feel like screaming to Ella, “Come look!” But of course I can’t do that.
Milton P. looks so astonished, not in a spy way, but in a real-person way—a regular kid who has lost something special to him. I know that feeling.
Bug, one of Milton P.’s semifriends, lunges over, screaming, “Dude, what did you do to him?! Dude, that was given to him by his dad!”
Milton P. is sitting, crying, his nose running, curled up over his LEGO pieces.
Oh. Wow. I feel. Extra. Hugely. Terrible.
I’ve done a lot of bad things.
But this may be the worst.
As Milton P. looks at his LEGOs spread across the floor of the Merton Middle School hallway, he opens his mouth and bellows.
Never
Milton P. will never speak to me again, and I will probably never speak to Auggie or Ella or Bailey or Megan or Janel ever again. And Milton P., even though I told him that I’d fix the Millennium Falcon model. Even though I told him I’d buy him a thousand model spaceships.
Queen of Likes Page 11
