Free The Thing About Leftovers by C.C. Payne Page A

him—but when Miyoko sniffed, he closed it again.
    We both looked at Miyoko, who hung her head and sniffed again.
    â€œOh . . . no . . . don’t . . . uh—” Coach Bryant stammered. Then he looked at me like,
Help.
    â€œMaybe she just needs some fresh air,” I suggested.
    â€œYeah,” Coach Bryant immediately agreed. “Come on outside with us and get some fresh air at least.”
    Now, Coach Bryant couldn’t very well take “Meryoko” outside and send “Fissy” to the library, could he? I mean, that wouldn’t be fair.
    Miyoko and I were headed for our candy-apple tree when Buffy started snickering with her friends and I heard Christine say, “Miyoko.”
    I was going to ignore them but Miyoko stopped immediately and turned to face the girls.
    They all stopped what they were doing, too, and looked at her like,
What?
    Suddenly, Miyoko’s hands chopped through the air. “Hiiiiyaaaah!” she shouted. Then she did a little kicky thing.
    My eyes practically popped out of my head. I could hardly believe what they were telling me. Was pretty little Miyoko Hoshi about to hurt somebody? I could tell that Buffy and her followers were wondering the same thing. They all went completely silent and still—except for their shifty, nervous eyes and a couple of gulps.
    Miyoko turned away from them and walked toward me.
    When we reached the tree, I whispered, “Do you know karate or something?”
    â€œNo,” Miyoko said, “but I know how to
pretend
I know karate.”
    I burst out laughing. Then Miyoko did, too. We both fell all over ourselves laughing.
    When we began to settle, I said, “Maybe you could teach me some pretend-karate.” I had lots of uses for pretend-karate: at school, at home . . . well, okay, it would only work once at home, because Mom would tell Keene that I didn’t actually know any karate . . . unless I
did
. Maybe I could take real karate lessons!

Chapter 11
    Aunt Liz and I were the ones running late on Thursday evening. It turned out that making individual cheese soufflés— a possibility for the Party Starters category of the cook-off—was a little more time-consuming, complicated, and difficult than we’d thought. We’d stirred and whipped and beaten our hearts out. We’d even made little tinfoil collars for our soufflés, to keep their heads from spilling over and running down the sides of their cups. And when we finally put them in the oven, we’d kept a close watch. They’d risen to form perfect little golden peaks. So we pulled them out of the oven. Right away, the peaks sank back down into the cups, even as I commanded them, “No, no, no, no, no—don’t do that!”
    Aunt Liz gave me a sympathetic look.
    â€œCan we put them back in the oven?” I asked her.
    â€œAfraid not. They’re done for. We’ll have to start over tomorrow.”
    My heart sank soufflé style as a car horn honked twice—
beep! beep!
—outside.
    For once, I was glad that Mom had been running late, too—because she doesn’t like to hang around Aunt Liz’s house waiting for me. We went straight to school.
    I left Mom at my homeroom door and headed for the gym, where all the students were gathering. I skittered past our music teacher, Mrs. Gita, before she could see me—and place me—and placed myself next to Miyoko on one of the three risers.
    Miyoko smiled and said, “She’s not going to let you stay here—you’re too tall.”
    â€œWe’ll see,” I said. Then I scanned faces, looking for Zach. He wasn’t there yet.
    Zach was the last student Mrs. Gita placed on the risers. When she stepped back to look, I bent my knees to make myself the same height at Miyoko.
    It worked. Soon the gym was filled with singing. Once, Zach caught me staring at him, but I looked away—quick.