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the oven.
    â€œThat’s the million-dollar question,” said Mrs.Miltenberger. She closed the oven door and flung a tea towel across her shoulder. “Harold, honey, your grandma’s stuck at work, so you’re staying for dinner.”
    Harold gave her the okay sign and said, “What’s the million-dollar answer?”
    â€œIf I knew that, I’d have a house in Tahiti.” Mrs. Miltenberger picked up the empty jar of peanut butter from the counter. “Rough day?”
    Fiona nodded.
    Mrs. Miltenberger looked her over. “When is the last time you had a bath, young lady?”
    â€œFour days ago,” said Fiona. “I’m done with baths until Mr. Bland picks me to be electrician.”
    â€œI don’t know what that means,” said Mrs. Miltenberger, “but you’ve got a date with the tub tonight. There will be no dirty girls or boys in this house. No, sir.”
    Fiona huffed. Why were grown-ups always getting in the way of her plans?
    â€œCan I have a glass of milk?” yelled Max from the living room.
    â€œIf you come in here and get it,” answered Mrs. Miltenberger.
    Max waddled into the kitchen on the heels of his flippers. “Milk me,” he said in his Captain Seahorse voice.
    â€œI thought you were Captain Seahorse, not Captain Seacow,” said Fiona, and Harold snorted.
    Max cocked his head. “I don’t get it.” He took the glass from Mrs. Miltenberger with both hands and gulped it down.
    â€œSo,” said Mrs. Miltenberger. She sat down at the kitchen table across from Fiona and Harold. “Where were we?”
    â€œA question that costs a million big ones,” said Harold.
    â€œRight,” said Mrs. Miltenberger. “A long time ago, when I was a sweet young thing—and don’t look so surprised because as I said, it was a long time ago.”
    Fiona and Harold looked at each other. Fiona forced her eyebrows to lower, and Mrs. Miltenberger continued. “Anyway, when I first met Mr. Miltenberger, rest his soul, I wouldn’t give him the time of day. I’m not exaggerating. He would ask me for the time, and even though I always wore the Timex that my mother and father had given me for a high school graduation present, I wouldn’t tell him.” She smiled and then tapped her chin with her finger. “I wonder whatever happened to that watch.”
    â€œWhy wouldn’t you tell him what time it was?” Fiona asked. “Didn’t you like him?”
    â€œDid I like him?” repeated Mrs. Miltenberger. “He was the only boy that could make strudel as good as my mother’s and knew how to do his own laundry.”
    â€œMy grandma showed me how to make strudel,” said Harold.
    â€œAnd you’re a catch,” said Mrs. Miltenberger, with a wink.
    â€œThen why were you mean to him?” asked Fiona. “To Mr. Miltenberger, I mean.”
    â€œWhat are you all talking about?” asked Max, wiping away his milk mustache with his bare arm.
    â€œ Amore, ” said Mrs. Miltenberger.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œLove,” she said.
    â€œI’m out of here,” said Max, handing the empty glass to Mrs. Miltenberger and waddling away.
    â€œWait a second,” said Fiona. “Love? Gross! I’m in fourth grade. Nobody is talking about . . . I can’t even say it. L-O-V-E. Yuck.”

• Chapter 5 •

    F iona had to stand on her head and sing “On Top of Spaghetti” twice all the way through to get Mrs. Miltenberger’s gross-out L-O-V-E talk out of her brain. Bleck. And she had to stay in the bathtub for a gazillion years until she passed Mrs. Miltenberger’s stink test.
    Fiona hoped that Harold had gotten it all wrong about Milo’s club. After all, Harold got confused about things almost as much as Fiona did. Like the one time when he thought that dust bunnies were a real kind of rabbit that lived under the