Spirit Week Showdown by Crystal Allen Page B

look?” asks Connie.
    I cross my arms. “You look like that lady on the card.”
    â€œGood. Thanks a bunch, Mrs. Tibbs.” She strolls to the door. “Let’s go before we’re late.”
    We’re waiting on the crossing guard to stop traffic for us when Nugget nudges me. “Another meeting. I’m going to the park. See you later,” he says.
    â€œSolo’s a bozo,” I say.
    Connie’s got a serious look on her face. I think she’s about to call Solo something worse than a bozo, but instead, she warns me. “You hate thenickname Mya Tibbs Fibs, but you call other people names? I don’t like Solo, either, and your brother shouldn’t hang around him, but it’s not cool to call people names.”
    Nugget rolls his eyes. “Like I should listen to a couple of cards. Here comes Fish. I’d like to avoid anything confrontational this morning. I’ll see you at lunch,” says Nugget.
    Fish’s hair is dyed black, and most of the curl is gone because it’s been combed backward and has a bunch of mousse in it. His costume—a white jacket with white fringe hanging from the arms, and white pants with white shoes—is a big giveaway of who he’s supposed to be, but the sunglasses and the guitar strapped to his back make it official.
    â€œIt’s the king of rock and roll! Your costume is boo-yang awesome, Elvis,” I say.
    â€œThank ya, thank ya very much,” says Fish in his best Elvis voice.
    Fish, Connie, and I watch Solo throw Nugget a basketball, but he misses it and has to chase it down. Fish waves, and Nugget waves back. I give Fish a little nudge.
    â€œWhat’s on the weird calendar for today?” I ask.
    Fish grins. “Happy Toilet Paper Day!” he says.
    I nod. “Happy Toilet Paper Day.”
    â€œHappy what Day?” asks Connie.
    I explain Fish’s weird calendar to her, but she just stares at him.
    Fish checks out our outfits. “The king and queen of hearts! Very creative.”
    Connie keeps staring. Fish stares back. I wish someone would say something.
    â€œWell, I’m going to find my Spirit Week partner. See you at lunch,” says Fish.
    When he’s gone, I say to Connie, “He was just trying to be nice.”
    â€œI’ve heard him call me Mean Connie,” she says. “I’ve heard you call me that, too. It doesn’t matter, though. All I care about right now are those VIP tickets.”
    We walk in silence. Those tickets are important to me, too, but I’m trying to help Naomi win, not her. Even though Mean Connie hasn’t been scary to me, I still don’t trust her. At any moment her bully brain could turn red and she could beat me up so badly that I’d look more like the joker than the king of hearts. Mrs. Davis was wrong about Connie and me. The only friendship I want is my old one with Naomi. And I’m wearing my lucky boots to make sure that happens.

Chapter Eleven
    T here is a long piece of red carpet leading up to the school door. How perfect. That’s what I tried to do for Naomi at my house with my red bathroom rug. Mr. Winky stands by the door, dressed in an Egyptian black-and-gold hat, with lots of eye shadow and mascara. If I didn’t know who he was, I’d call the police and scream stranger danger.
    â€œGood morning, King Tut,” I say.
    â€œHappy Spirit Week to the king and queen of hearts! Well played, ladies! Well played, indeed! You’re going to have a super royal day today at Y.E.S.! Yes, yes, yes you are.”
    Inside our school, there are kings and queens everywhere, but none of them are dressed like Connie and me. Kids point and laugh at us as we walk down the hall toward our classroom. I don’t know if they’re laughing at our outfits or if they’re laughing because we’re partners. Just as I enter the Cave and open my cabinet door, Naomi shows up.
    â€œI got Lisa Lotta-Germs to