“Bite his ear!” Olivia shrieks.
“Omigosh, omigosh, omigosh,” Yasaman repeats.
Katie-Rose takes off after Elena, Elena’s dad, and Porkchop, and in her flurry of hero-fantasies, she sees herself jumping onto Porkchop’s broad back and bringing him down. She will bite his ear, if that’s what it takes.
“Out of the way,” Chance says.
“Yeah, let a real man take care of this,” Preston says, sticking his foot out to trip her.
Katie-Rose flies forward and lands hard on the carpet. Tears spring to her eyes.
Yasaman dashes over and kneels beside her. “Are you okay?”
“Everyone, sit down!” Elena’s dad commands, so loudly and sternly that the kids who weren’t sitting already do so now, with the exception of Chance and Preston, who keep chasing Porkchop like the wild boys they are.
“Don’t make me get the ax, Porky!” yells Chance.
“You’re scaring him!” Elena wails. “Daddy! Make them stop!”
Porkchop makes a rooting movement with his head and gallops in circles. Kids squeal. And Yasaman . . . Where is Yasaman? She was there, right beside Katie-Rose, and now she’s not. Where did she go?
“I’m calling animal control,” Ms. Westerfeld says faintly.
Elena’s dad squats and slaps his thighs. “Porkchop. Here, boy.”
Porkchop pauses. The whole room holds its breath. Even Chance and Preston stumble to a halt, and just like that, Mr. Emerson is behind them, his expression foreboding. With his one hand, he grabs both boys by their collars.
“Ow,” Preston says.
“I think you two are done here,” Mr. Emerson says grimly. He glances over their heads at Elena’s dad, who slaps his thighs a second time.
“Come on, boy,” he says to Porkchop. “You’re okay.”
The room is quieter now. Porkchop lets out a funny sound, like a cross between a sigh and a snort, and trots to his master. Elena’s dad picks up the end of the leash and wraps it around his hand. Everyone cheers.
“Kids,” Elena’s dad says, holding out his free hand like a police officer. “A little quieter, ’kay?”
“Yaaaaaay,” everyone whispers.
Mr. Emerson guides Chance and Preston toward the wall and tells them to sit right there and not move a muscle until he returns. He walks Elena and her dad out of the building, and everything must be okay, because Katie-Rose can hear Elena’s dad laugh at whatever Mr. Emerson says to him.
“Everyone, out to the playground,” Ms. Westerfeld says.
Kids scramble up and head for the doors that lead outside, chatting in loud, excited voices.
Katie-Rose gets to her feet, too. She shares a wide-eyed look with Milla and Violet, because is that it? Just “out to the playground,” and the whole Snack Attack is over?
“Where’s Yasaman?” she says.
“No clue,” Violet replies. She laughs shakily. “Omigosh. Can y’all believe that just happened?”
“Why did Olivia say to bite his ear?” Milla asks.
Yasaman appears from the hall where Ms. Perez’s room is. She’s breathless, and she’s got two spray bottles in her hands. Katie-Rose squints. They’re . . . perfume bottles. What is Yasaman doing with perfume bottles at a time like this?
She’s glad when Violet says, “What’s with the perfume?”
Yasaman doesn’t get the chance to answer. Ms. Westerfeld strides over to the four of them, and Yasaman hides the bottles behind her back.
“You four, in my office, now,” Ms. Westerfeld barks.
The girls jump at her tone, and Ms. Westerfeld closes her eyes. She keeps them closed for quite a while. The flower friends glance at one another.
When at last Ms. Westerfeld opens her eyes, she says, “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I need some alone time. So, girls, I want the four of you to sit back down and think about what you’ve done while I go to my office.” She pins each one of them with her gaze. “I’ll call you when I’m ready for you.”
She goes to her office. She closes the door. The girls sit back down on the floor and try to be appropriately solemn. They succeed for five whole seconds before breaking into nervous giggles.
“We are so expelled,” Katie-Rose says.
“Don’t even say that!” Milla says.
“She’s not going to expel us,” Violet says. “She’s going to give us a lecture, a long one. And we might, like, have to clean toilets or something.”
Yasaman wrinkles her nose. “She’d make us clean toilets?”
Violet indicates Chance and Preston, who are sitting against the opposite wall playing paper football. “Betcha they get in worse trouble than we do.”
“Unlikely,” Katie-Rose says bitterly. She’s sick of the way they’ve been treating her, sick of her own inability to turn it around and give them a taste of their own medicine. “They never get what they deserve.”
Yasaman’s eyes widen, like she’s just remembered something. She gets to her feet and pulls up Katie-Rose. She hands her one of the perfume spritzers and says, “Come on.”
Katie-Rose gets a sweaty feeling. “What? Why?”
Yasaman drags her over to the boys. She aims the Enchanted Orchid bottle at Preston and sprays.
“Aaaaah!” Preston yells. He recoils. “What is that?”
“Dude, you stink!” Chance says.
Yasaman lifts her eyebrows at Katie-Rose. Katie-Rose’s pulse is racing, but she spritzes Chance anyway. She spritzes him and spritzes him, squeezing the lever repeatedly.
“What the . . . ? I smell all girly!” he cries, trying to wipe the smell off.
“Yasaman, stop!” Preston cries, and Yasaman sprays him again.
“Will you stop being mean to Katie-Rose?” Yasaman demands.
“Yeah, will you?” Katie-Rose says. Exhilarated, she pushes the nozzle of her spray bottle, and another cloud of Blushing Cherry Blossom envelops Chance. “And stop pretending you’re scared of me?”
He coughs and violently waves his hands in front of his face. “But I am scared of you!” He turns to Yasaman, his expression communicating utter shock. “And you, Yasaman. Who are you?”
She glances at Katie-Rose. “Katie-Rose’s best friend,” she declares.
“Yeah!” Katie-Rose says. She’s so happy, she squirts Chance again.
“Truce!” Chance says. “I beg of you!”
Katie-Rose looks at Yasaman. “What do you think, bestie?”
Yasaman grins. “Oh, why not?”
Together, they address the boys: “Truce.”
doesn’t even suspend them or make them clean toilets. She does tell them they’re going to have to stay inside during recess for the entire next week and, as Violet suspected, she gives them a long talk about school safety and appropriateness and the difference between standing up for something you believe in and staging a protest for the fun of it.
“But . . . we do believe in it,” Milla says. Violet and Yasaman look at her in surprise. Katie-Rose, however, gives her a small smile. She squeezes Milla’s knee without letting Ms. Westerfeld see, and this gives Milla the courage to continue. “We’re sorry things got out of hand—”
“So sorry,” Yasaman interjects.
“So so so sorry,” Katie-Rose says.
“But Happy Healthy Farms hurts animals,” Milla finishes. “And that’s bad.”
“The food they make hurts humans, too,” Yasaman says tentatively.
“Because of the trans fats,” Violet says. She glances at Yasaman, then back at Ms. Westerfeld. “Did you know that the Cheezy D’lites we have every day for snack don’t have a single bit of cheese in them? Not one bit?”
Ms. Westerfeld wrinkles her brow. “Well, that’s rather disgusting.”
Milla nods. “It is. You should really stop buying them.”
Ms. Westerfeld sighs. “It’s more complicated than that,” she says, and off she goes on a grown-up blah blah blah speech about budgets and feasibility and the challenge of finding healthy
snacks for 250 students a day. The bottom line is that she’s not getting rid of the Cheezy D’lites.
Yasaman slumps, and Milla can sense that Katie-Rose and Violet are sinking as well. When grown-ups get like this, it’s easy for a ten-year-old to feel she has no power. Milla knows that’s not true, though. She’s seen her friends in action. She knows how powerful all three of them are.
Ms. Westerfeld eventually winds down. “So you understand, then, girls?”
Yasaman looks down. Violet folds her arms over her chest and stares away. Katie-Rose opens her mouth, then decides, apparently, that she’s gotten into enough trouble for today and closes it without saying anything.
“Good,” Ms. Westerfeld says. She takes in their disillusionment and frowns. “It’s not a situation I’m thrilled about, either, girls. I hope you know that.”
Milla inches her hand up.
“Milla?” Ms. Westerfeld says. “Do you have something else to add?”
“I know everything can’t always be perfect, and sometimes we can’t change things.” Like Stewy, she thinks.
“That’s right,” Ms. Westerfeld says. She sneaks a peek at her watch.
“But sometimes, maybe, we just think we can’t change something, and so we don’t even try?”
“Hmm,” Ms. Westerfeld says, and it frustrates Milla, because what that hmm means is, And you are just a child, and children don’t know the ways of the world. Except that’s just not true. Multiple thoughts go through Milla’s mind in a quick progression: Jelly-Yums, Cyril being poked, Natalia’s shiny buttons. Yasaman’s sister, Nigar. Violet’s mom.
Kids know way more about the world than grownups think they do.
“My mom knows a woman whose husband works at an organic food store,” she says. “It’s called Yummy Tummy.”
Ms. Westerfeld raises her eyebrows.
“They make cheese nips, too,” Milla goes on. “Only they’re called Quacker Smackers. They’re shaped like ducks.”
“Aw. Cute,” Yasaman says.
“Do they have trans fats in them?” Katie-Rose asks.
Milla shakes her head.
“Do they have cheese in them?” Violet asks.
“They do. Last night I looked them up online, because I was sick of everything being bad. And, well, Quacker Smackers are good.”
“Hmm,” Ms. Westerfeld says, but it’s a very different hmm this time around. This time it’s her purposeful principal hmm. “Can you get me the name of your mom’s friend, Milla?”
Milla nods eagerly.
Ms. Westerfeld presses her hands on her desk and stands up. “All right. I’m not promising anything, but I’ll look into it. And now it’s time for you girls to go back to class, don’t you think?”
She escorts them to the door and watches to make sure they really do head to class.
“Yay!” Yasaman whispers as they walk. She lightly claps her hands. “Milla, you’re amazing!”
She smiles.
“You really are,” Katie-Rose says. She glances over her shoulder. “We’ll talk more at recess—Ms. Westerfeld’s still watching us.”
Katie-Rose and Yasaman veer off to Ms. Perez’s room, and Milla and Violet continue to their own class. When they get there, Milla reaches for the doorknob.
Violet stops her. “Hold on,” she says.
“Huh?”
“Just, there’s something you need to do, and it’s sort of like what I needed to do. With my mom.”
“Huh?”
A wrinkle forms between Violet’s eyebrows. “I don’t know if I can explain it. But, like, this is your life, you know? And you can’t shut yourself off, or hate yourself, or hate anyone else. Not that you do! That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Then what are you saying?” Milla says, the tiny hairs on her arms standing up.
“I don’t know,” Violet says. “Um, just trust me, okay? And stay right there.”
Violet slips into the room and pulls the door shut behind her, leaving Milla by herself. Her spine tingles, because she might know—maybe—what Violet is hinting around about. And suddenly she’s terrified, because she can’t—she cannot—possibly do what Violet wants her to, even if she herself wants to.
She’s got to get inside the classroom before Violet sets in motion whatever it is she has in mind. She opens the door to go in, but as she does, someone else comes out, and they collide.
“Ow,” Milla says, because the person steps right on her foot. And, of course, she’s wearing delicate beaded ballet slippers, because she hasn’t dared wear more sturdy shoes since the day she went to Max’s, and her toe hurts so much that it takes her a couple of seconds to realize the person in front of her, who stepped on her foot, is Max himself, looking upset.
“Sorry,” he says.
“No, I’m sorry,” she babbles, hopping on her uninjured foot and cradling her possibly broken one. “Except, omigosh . . . ow!”
Max gives her a small laugh. “Owwie ow ow.”
“Definitely.” She stops hopping and lowers her owwie foot, doing her best not to put weight on her hurt toe. She looks at Max, and it’s the first time she’s truly done so since the day at his house. She drinks him in. First, his “I Read Banned Books” shirt, then his unruly brownish-blond hair, and finally his sweet, adorable, Colgate-y smile.
“Max,” she says.
“Milla,” he says.
There’s an awkward silence. It goes on for a long time—too long—and at the same time, they blurt, “I just wanted to say—”
“You first,” Milla says.
“No, you,” says Max.
“No, really, you,” Milla insists.
“Oh good Lord in heaven,” Violet interjects, making Milla jump. She’s got the door to Mr. Emerson’s room open just a crack, and she’s sticking her head into the hall and eyeballing both of them.
“I told Mr. Emerson you have some private business to dicuss, but you’ve only got five minutes.”
Milla is mortified. “Violet!”
“What?” Violet pulls Milla close and says, right into her ear, “Just tell him you’re sorry and hug him!”
Milla begins to hyperventilate. “I can’t!” she whispers, panicked.
“Yes, you can,” Violet says. She raises her voice. “Max, is it okay if Milla hugs you and tells you she’s sorry about Stewy?”
Max’s ears turn bright red. “Um. I already know she is.”
“See?” Violet says. “Now good-bye.” She gives Milla a hard look, as if to suggest that though her work is done, Milla’s is not. She disappears into the room and shuts the door.
Max directs his attention to Milla, who can meet his eyes, but just barely. “Milla, I know you didn’t mean to.”
“You do?” Milla says.
“Of course. Who would step on someone’s hamster on purpose?”
Feeling slightly better, Milla lets her shoulders un-hunch from up by her ears. “A deranged Girl Scout?”
Max laughs.
Violet pops out again—good grief, does she have her ear pressed against the door?—and gives Milla a hefty shove. “And now, hug time.”
Milla flies forward, and Max catches her. He feels solid. He is solid.
“You okay?” he asks, helping her right herself.
“Other than being totally humiliated?” she says, aware of how hot her face is.
“Other than that, yeah.”
“Um, I guess.”
“Good,” he says. He smiles goofily.
She giggles. He is adorable, and his hair is poofy, and his breath smells like—oh, joy—Colgate. The Great Regular Flavor.
Yasaman are back together again, and there are two—count ’em, two!—snack-size bags of Doritos in Katie-Rose’s lunchbox.
“Hey!” she exclaims, pulling them out and displaying them. “My mom must have given me Sam’s Doritos by mistake.” She hugs both bags to her chest. “Mine, mine, all mine! Mwahaha!”
“But Katie-Rose, they have trans fats,” Yasaman says.
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“They do? How do you know?”
“Because it says so on the label,” Yasaman says, turning one of the bags over to show her. “The only chips that don’t are SunChips, Fritos, and Lay’s Potato Chips. I learned that when I learned about Cheezy D’lites.”
Milla, Katie-Rose, and Violet let this information settle over them.
“Wow,” Violet says. “Somewhat impressive, somewhat scary.”
“But I don’t have SunChips or Fritos,” Katie-Rose explains. “What I have is Doritos. And I love Doritos.” She pauses. “Do the Doritos people support factory farms?”
“I don’t know,” Yasaman says. “Milla, do you?”
Milla shakes her head. “I can find out tonight, though.”
“Terrific,” Katie-Rose says. “In the meantime, since we don’t know, and since they’re already here in my lunch, I’ll just go on and eat them.”
She opens the first bag of Doritos and shakes some into her mouth. With her head tilted back, she happens to see the table behind her, where Natalia is sitting with Ava and Olivia. Only to say “sitting with” is an overstatement, as it’s more like Ava and Olivia are their own duo, and Natalia is just . . . there. Nibbling on her sandwich. Sipping her . . .
OMIGOSH, COKE! She’s sipping a Coke! Right there in front of God and the world and everyone! Katie-Rose grabs Yasaman’s arm and shakes her so energetically that Yasaman’s grape flies out of her fingers and hits Milla’s forehead.
“Ow!” Milla says.
“Natalia. Is. Drinking. A Coke!!!!” Katie-Rose cries. She stands and does a butter-churning, booty-shaking dance right there in the lunchroom. “Liar, liar, pants on fire! Natalia is a big fat liar!”
“Katie-Rose, sit down,” Yasaman says, jerking her back into her seat. “Hush.”
“But—”
“No,” Yasaman says. “You have to stop being mean to Natalia. In fact, you have to do more than that. Katie-Rose? You have to be nice to Natalia.”
“But—”
“She doesn’t have to be your best friend. She doesn’t have to be my best friend.” She pauses. “She’s not a flower, after all.”
Katie-Rose glomps on to that like a bee to honey. “That’s right, she’s not. So why do I have to be nice to her?”