Miss Matched (6 page)

F
iona trailed behind
the grocery cart at Foodland while Mrs. Miltenberger fought with Max over a bag of Choco P. Nutters. Fiona stayed out of it. She knew better than to get involved in a battle with Max in the candy aisle, and besides, she had some battles of her own to figure out.

Like her war with Milo Bridgewater. Fiona wasn't giving up. She wasn't that kind of girl. And she wasn't giving in, either. Milo was right about one thing. It didn't make sense to have a club just
about snow days. Not when winter was almost over anyway. She would just have to start another club. But what kind of club exactly?

Besides ballet, Fiona didn't know what she was good at. She liked giving weather reports okay, because it made her feel like sprinkles on plain ice cream: something special. But now that Milo was Mr. Weather Boy, she felt like a corner of mold on a slice of cheese: gross and green. And ordinary. What she really wanted, she knew, was to be
extraordinary
at something.

By the time they got to the end of the aisle and were turning the corner toward the canned vegetables, the bag of Choco P. Nutters was in the cart next to Max. “Okay, mister,” said Mrs. Miltenberger, shaking a finger at Max. “For every junk thing your sticky fingers grab off the shelves, I'm putting in two very large amounts of vegetables for your dinner.” Then she grabbed two cans off the shelf, giant-size ones, and handed
them to Fiona. “These ought to do it.” And she grinned as she said the word: “Succotash.”

Max pulled his cape over his head.

“
I
don't have to eat this, do I?” asked Fiona. She could barely hold the cans with both hands, they were so heavy with bad-tasting vegetables.

“Nope,” said Mrs. Miltenberger. “They're both for Max.”

Before they even got past the canned peas, Max gave up. “Here,” he said, holding out the bag to Mrs. Miltenberger.

“Wise decision,” she said. “Fiona, you can put those back.”

“What is succotash, anyway?” Fiona asked.

“Lima beans and corn.”

“Huh?” said Fiona. “Lima beans and corn are already vegetables on their own. When you eat them together, why are they called something else?”

“I'm not sure,” said Mrs. Miltenberger. “I guess they like each other's company.” Mrs. Miltenberger's
cell phone rang just then and Max hummed along to “Wouldn't It Be Loverly” while she dug through her pocketbook to find it. She pulled it out, looked at it and said, “Uck, the Broads.” Then she dumped the phone back into her bag and pushed the cart onward.

“Why aren't you talking to them?” Fiona asked.

“It's going to be quite a while before I forgive them for last night's fix-up,” she said. “A
mix-up
is more like it. It was quite possibly—and I'm not exaggerating here—the
worst
date on record.”

“Did he have food stuck in his mustache?” asked Fiona. That's what always seemed to happen in bad dates on TV.

“Unfortunately nothing as interesting as that,” said Mrs. Miltenberger. “Let's just say that the best part of the whole evening was when he nodded off at the restaurant and I paid the bill.”

“Yikes.”

“You're telling me,” said Mrs. Miltenberger,
picking up a can of asparagus. “But don't you worry, I've learned my lesson. Despite their claims to the contrary, the Broads are no matchmakers. Too bad.” She sighed. “Max, hold on, we're turning a corner.”

Fiona wondered how people got together at all. She had never given it much thought before. She knew her mom and dad had been partnered up at Ordinary's Annual Square Dancing Jamboree a long time ago, so she figured everybody ended up together that way. Or something like it. A couple of
swing your partner and dos-i-dos!
and that would be it.

But if it didn't work that way for everybody, then how did people get matched up? As Fiona looked over the shelves of peanut butter jars and jellies, an idea began to grow in her brain. “How did peanut butter and jelly get together?”

“What?” said Mrs. Miltenberger.

“Did peanut butter always go with jelly?” said Fiona. “I mean, how did they meet?”

“Why on earth do you want to know that?”

Fiona shrugged.

“Well, let's see. This one I think I know. I'm pretty sure it happened in the 1940s, during World War Two,” said Mrs. Miltenberger. “The soldiers thought they'd be good together.”

“Huh,” said Fiona. “So a soldier took a look at peanut butter and then took a look at jelly, and then he matched them up.”

Mrs. Miltenberger raised her eyebrows at Fiona. “I guess you could put it that way. A match made in sandwich heaven.”

“What do you get when you match these two?” asked Max, holding up a bottle of soy sauce and a tub of ice cream.

“Indigestion,” answered Mrs. Miltenberger.

Up and down the grocery aisles, Fiona thought about things that went together. Then she knew what her new club was going to be.

• • •

“Yes, Fiona?” said Mr. Bland, rubbing
his forehead.

“Can I make an announcement?”

“Another one?”

“It has to do with my club,” said Fiona.

“Quickly,” he said. “We've got a lot to cover today.”

Fiona stood at her desk. “I wanted to tell you that I'm starting a new club.” She saw Cleo's mouth fall open, and Fiona could tell that she had everyone's attention. Including Milo's. “It's a club that meets when winter is over, or is about to be over. Basically, when everybody's tired of snow. Sort of like now. Anyway, the name of the club is the After-Winter Society of Ordinary Matchmakers. Otherwise known as A.W.S.O.M.M.”

F
iona unwrapped her
sandwich at lunch and pulled apart the bread. “Peanut butter and jelly!” she said. “Extraordinary!”

“Have you been snatched by little green people from outer space and had your brain switched over?” said Cleo.

“I don't think so,” said Fiona. “But my brain has been a little itchy.”

“First you tell Milo Bridgewater, in front of everybody, that you think he
like
-likes you. Then
you start a S.N.O.W. club without telling anybody, not even me. And now you've changed it into a club about matchmaking? It sounds a little outer spacey to me.”

Ever since Milo got here, Fiona thought things did seem a little outer spacey.

“I think I'm going to try to eat with Milo at his table,” said Harold, holding his tray of food.

“How come?” said Fiona. “I'll give you my carrot sticks.”

“I've got a pork chop,” said Cleo.

“No, thanks.”

Fiona and Cleo watched Harold walk over to Milo's table. He walked around the table once and then turned around and came back.

“What happened?” asked Fiona.

Harold sat his tray down beside Fiona. “Nothing. I'll try another time. Can I still have that pork chop?”

Cleo gave it to him.

“I've been thinking,” said Fiona, putting her bag of carrot sticks on Harold's tray.

“Here we go,” said Cleo, shaking her head.

“To get people to join my matchmaking club,” she said, “we need to show that I'm a good matchmaker.”

“How do we do that?” asked Harold with a mouthful of chewed chop.

“Yeah,” said Cleo. “Don't even think about matching me up.”

“We aren't going to match just
people
,” said Fiona.

Harold picked at his nose. “I don't get it.”

“Think of something you want,” said Fiona. “Something to be matched up with.”

Harold reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“What's that?” asked Fiona.

“My toy list.”

Cleo and Fiona looked at each other.

“Every time I see a toy I want, I write it on the list,” said Harold. “That way I won't forget. Don't you keep one?”

Fiona and Cleo shook their heads. Fiona had to admit, it wasn't such a bad idea. “Toys aren't matches,” she said. “I mean, think of something you want that isn't a toy.”

“I want a little brother or sister,” said Cleo.

“You do? Why?” More than once, Fiona wanted to give Max away. Or sell him.

“I want to be popular like Milo,” said Harold, finger in his nose.

Fiona tapped her finger to her chin. “Okay, fine,” she said. “As president of A.W.S.O.M.M., I declare you Cleo Button, and you, Harold Chutney, are about to be matched.”

• • •

“Up here!” called Fiona from her
room.
When Cleo and Harold appeared at her door, she
pointed to her beanbag chair. She grabbed a handful of confetti from her party drawer and shoved it in her pocket. “Harold, sit. I will be right back.” She found Max in his room and dragged him down the hall.

“Hey, let go,” Max said. “Fiona!”

Fiona brought him to her room and said, “Do you want to play Squidman?”

“Is this a trick?”

“No trick,” said Fiona, smiling.

Max looked at Fiona and then at Harold and Cleo behind her. “Okay.”

“Okay, good,” said Fiona. She took Cleo's hand and then put it into Max's.

“Huh?” said Cleo.

“You said you wanted a little brother or sister,” said Fiona. She reached into her pocket and threw the confetti into the air. “Congratulations. It's a boy!”

“Fiona!” yelled Cleo.

“What's going on?” said Max.

“Number one match made,” she said smiling.
“Max, Cleo is your big sister for today. I thought you wanted to play Squidman.”

“All right, let's go,” said Max, pulling Cleo down the hall.

Cleo's face turned red but she didn't say a word. It felt good to make other people so happy.

“Now, on to number two match,” said Fiona.

“I'm scared,” Harold said.

“Don't be silly.” Fiona grabbed a towel from the bathroom. She draped it over his shoulders.

“What's that?”

“What?” said Fiona.

“That!” Harold pointed to the bottle in Fiona's hand.

“Hair goop.”

“Oh, Boise Idaho.”

“You want to be like Milo, right?” Fiona poured the goop in her hands. She rubbed them together and wiped them on Harold's head.

“Burrito supreme,” said Harold, “it feels cold.”

Fiona's hands gathered and twisted Harold's hair into spiky points. But the points didn't stay spiky. Or pointy. “Hmmm.”

“What's the matter?” asked Harold. “Can I see?”

“Not yet.” Fiona squeezed. “How do you think he gets it to stand up like that?”

“Oh, Boise Idaho.”

“Some big sister,” said Max, appearing in the doorway. “Hey, why are you doing that to his hair?”

“Never mind,” said Fiona. “Where's Cleo?”