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“Can’t you see it?”
    Fiona couldn’t see it. Not at all. She put both hands on Harold’s head and pressed until his hair was flat again.

    â€œOw!” said Harold.
    â€œMilo. Milo. Milo!” she yelled. “Who flat-out cares about Milo Bridgewater?” Then she opened the front door and marched inside.
    â€œJeez Louise, Fiona,” said Harold, following her. He put his finger up his nose. “You didn’t have to yell.”
    When the words came out of her mouth, Fiona felt better and worse at the same time. Mostly worse. “Sorry, Harold.” She led him into the kitchen and pulled down a jar of peanut butter from the cupboard. She stuck her finger into the jar, pulled out a glob of peanut butter, and put it in her mouth. Right away the peanut butter wrapped up her troubles in a tiny box and mailed it to the moon.
    Harold reached his finger toward the jar.
    Fiona held the jar out to him and then pulled it away. “Wait,” she said, staring at his finger. “You need a spoon.”
    â€œYou look different today,” said Harold.
    Fiona looked at herself. “I do?”
    â€œAnd you smell a little different too.”
    Fiona sniffed her armpits. “Awesome!” Shecouldn’t wait to see what Mr. Bland had to say about her stink.
    She let Harold have the last spoonful to make up for the Nasties. “How do you know all that stuff about Milo?”
    Harold licked the spoon like a lollipop. “Are you going to yell at me again?”
    â€œNo, Harold. Jeez.”
    â€œHe told me at recess.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œMaybe we can be in Milo’s club.” Harold handed her the spoon and she laid it on the countertop.
    â€œI’m not sure I’m an explorer kind of girl,” said Fiona.
    â€œOh, he’s not starting an explorer’s club,” said Harold.
    â€œBut you said—”
    â€œThat was in Minnesota,” said Harold. “Milo said he was going to start a different kind of club here.”
    â€œWhat kind?” asked Fiona.
    â€œA meteorology club.”
    â€œA what?” Fiona could not believe her ears. “But I’m the . . . but that’s my . . . he can’t . . .”
    The phone rang then.
    â€œHello, Fiona sweetheart,” said Mom. “I was wondering if I’d get to talk to you. I thought you might be at ballet.”
    Fiona was still thinking about what Harold just told her. Electricity wasn’t enough for Milo, now he was going to take the weather away from her too? Mrs. O’Brien was right. Milo Bridgewater was stepping on her toes. Except that he wasn’t just stepping. He was flat-out dancing on them.
    â€œFiona?” said Mom. “Are you there?”
    â€œGah” was all that came out of Fiona’s mouth.
    â€œI was saying that I thought you might be at ballet.”
    â€œBallet is over until it starts back up again, remember?” Having a mom who lived all the way in California meant she forgot the things that happened all the way on this side of the country.
    â€œOh, that’s right. I think you mentioned that,” she said. “So what’s new, wonderful, and exciting in Ordinary?”
    â€œNothing,” said Fiona. “Except for a new boy at school who is taking over everything. And he hates my guts. And my tutu.”
    â€œI’m sure he doesn’t,” said Mom. “How could anyone hate you? You are lovely.” Which is what moms have to say because it is the law. Fiona knew it wasn’t always the truth. After all, Fiona had heard the nice things her mom said about Max.
    â€œYou know what my mother always told me,” Mom said.
    â€œWhat?” asked Fiona.
    â€œBoys only pick on girls they like.”
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    â€œWhy would someone be mean to some -one they liked?” Fiona asked Mrs. Miltenberger, as she watched her slide a pan of lasagna into