Queen of Likes

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Authors: Hillary Homzie
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“You told him I thought he was cute!”
    â€œNo. Promise.”
    â€œI’m going to kill you, Karma Cooper.”
    â€œI seriously didn’t say a thing!”
    The entire caf is looking at him looking at all of us. But then this little thought comes to me. Somehow Milton P. Daniels must have special abilities. He claims to build spaceships. What if he has real powers of some kind? What if he can read minds? And then another thought zaps me. Back in elementary school, both Milton P.  and I were teased. Even though we didn’t hang out, we knew we were the same. Outsiders. And not well liked.
    As Milton P. steps toward our table, I squint and try to figure out how Ella can see his cuteness. A thick brown belt holds up his too-baggy jeans. The busy checked pattern on his shirt makes me dizzy. But I almost glimpse it for a second, if you take away the shoe box clutched under his arm, his strange robotic shuffle, and his bangs plastered against his forehead. Maybe, possibly.
    â€œI swear I didn’t say anything,” I whisper to Ella. “You have to believe me.”
    â€œWhy is he coming toward us, then?”
    But he doesn’t stop in front of Ella.
    Are You Kidding Me?
    Here’s the weird thing. Milton P. Daniels stops in front of me, Karma Cooper.
    And he smiles at me with his outer-space eyes while his mouth stretches in a little line, expressionless. And then, as he clutches his shoe box in the middle of the cafeteria, with everyone’s ears turned our way, he says in his robot-y voice, “Karma Cooper, I always knew you’d appreciate red aircraft fuselage curved aft section six by ten bottom with fire logo pattern on both sides.”
    â€œHuh?” I say as everyone stares.
    Because it’s Milton P. and he’s talking to me. And nobody has any idea what he just said.
    I choke back a laugh. “Sure,” I say. “Whatever.”
    â€œSee you later.” Milton P.’s neck pivots down, as if there’s a rod inside of it, as if he’s really made of steel and not flesh. A hint of a smile tugs at his lips. Then he tucks his shoe box under his left arm and plods away.
    Ella sits next to me, blinking in surprise.  As Milton P. marches across the cafeteria, there are snorts of laughter as someone calls out, “What do you got in there, Snollygoster? Someone’s head?”
    â€œHis box is from outer space. He’s communicating with his mother ship!” cracks a kid sitting behind me in a hockey shirt. I think it’s Brian Feeker.
    There’s a burst of laughter. But Milton P. doesn’t react. My throat feels dry. I can’t help feeling badly. I stare outside the window, where a steady rain beats down.
    Milton P. plods across the cafeteria as if his legs don’t have joints, then sits down to eat his lunch.
    â€œUm, people, what was that about?” asks Bailey, pressing her lips together.
    I shrug. “No clue.”
    And it’s true.
    I don’t have a clue.
    And I don’t want to know.
    My Stats:
    No new followers on the seventh-grade Spirit Week page
    602 followers on Auggie’s eighth-grade Spirit Week page—argh!
    1 warning by Mr. Chase—but not a detention! YAY!
    1 mysterious utterance by Milton P. Daniels. No idea why he decided to speak to me after all this time.

    Mood: Baffled and hopeful that Milton P. lunchroom encounter is an isolated incident

10
    WEDNESDAY, MARCH 7: DAY 4 WITHOUT LIKES
    Wag More
    After I get home from Hebrew tutoring, I fling my backpack and soccer bag into the front hallway. Lucky noses into me and I scratch him behind his ears. His tail swishes back and forth.
    Dad pokes his head into the hall. “How was Hebrew?”
    â€œFine.” I rub under Lucky’s chin.
    â€œHey, Lucky, you’re such a cutie,” says Dad. “Yes, you are. You’re so cute.”
    Lucky’s golden-brown tail swishes faster. It looks like a flame. I could take

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