Free Queen of Likes by Hillary Homzie Page A

seventh-grade Spirit Week page. Don’t know cause I can’t check.
    ? followers on Auggie’s eighth-grade Spirit Week page. Ditto.
    1 awesome ice cream cone devoured
    1 almost-boyfriend named Floyd

    Mood: Kind of silly

11
    THURSDAY, MARCH 8: DAY 5 UNLIKED
    Retainer Kind of Day
    Naturally, I pass by Auggie Elson in the corridor right next to the bulletin board with the “How to Help a Choking Victim” poster.
    Auggie sings my name. “Hey, Karma Karma Karma. How’s the canned food drive coming?”
    I reply,  “Good,” only I just mouth the word because I don’t want Auggie to stop and actually talk to me when I still have my retainer in my mouth. I forgot to take it out before I went to school. I only have to wear my retainer at night. I need to spit it out ASAP!
    Wait a minute. It’s weird to care what I look like since it’s Auggie. But still, other people might see. I whip around to face the wall, yank out my retainer, and stuff it into the front pocket of my backpack.
    â€œNice retainer!” calls out Auggie as he struts down the hall backward. My face is blow-dryer hot now.
    In my mind, I text, I wish I had a hoodie on right now so I could block Auggie from view.
    If I had my Snappypic, I’d make sure to make a sarcastic comment on one of his photo bombs. But I don’t. I have a slimy retainer in my backpack.
    Why
    The last bell rings and Ella and I file out of the library. Mr. Schlesinger, our science teacher, brought our class there to do research for our reports on cell development. We reach the double doors of the cafeteria in two minutes.
    â€œShould we go in?” asks Ella. She glances at a clock on the wall. “It’s so early.”
    I shrug. “Let’s do it.” We’ve never gone immediately from third period before. Normally we’d go to our lockers, but they’re way across school. The minute we go through the double doors, I know it’s a mistake. Less than a dozen kids mill around inside. Most of the round tables sit empty, and there’s only one person on the hot lunch line. Bailey and the Bees are not yet at their table by the Quick Cart. Of course nobody— nobody —at Merton will sit at that spot. Even though there’s not a RESERVED sign there, there might as well be.
    â€œShould we sit down at their table?” asks Ella, as we stand alone near the front entrance.
    â€œYeah, sure. Why not?”
    â€œBut it’d be weird. Right?” She peeps at the table.
    â€œNo, we’ve been eating with them for a while.” I try to sound convincing. So we sit at Bailey’s table.
    Some boys call out to their friends by the entrance and I turn to look. Bailey and the Bees are strolling in now.
    They’re here.
    I nudge Ella’s side. “It’s them.”
    She stares ahead with huge eyes, like Lucky does when he’s caught with people food in his mouth.
    â€œDon’t stare,” I hiss.
    â€œI’m not. I’m checking out my nail polish.”
    â€œYeah right.” The Bees are all dressed in skinny jeans, bright tops, and cute flats. Megan has her honey-blond hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, while Bailey and Janel wear their hair down.
    Bailey waves at us as she nears the table. “Sorry we’re late,” she says. And that’s it. Not “What are you doing sitting here?” This is my reality. Remember it. Like a snapshot.
    The Table of Tables
    We go to sit down with Bailey and the Bees, and I’m smiling so big. They sit at a round table with six seats. “Ella, I like that color top,” says Janel. “Lemon-yellow looks awesome on you.”
    Bailey glances at my homemade gluten-free pizza. “Wow, does your mom have a cooking show? What’s on your pizza?”
    â€œSliced olives and morel mushrooms,” I say as I dig in.
    Ella opens her chicken salad sandwich. “Her mom makes her all this creative