Maybe he just likes you, p.1
Maybe He Just Likes You, page 1
Praise for
Maybe He Just Likes You
“Mila is a finely drawn, sympathetic character dealing with a problem all too common in middle school. Readers will be cheering when she takes control! An important topic addressed in an age-appropriate way.”
—Kimberly Brubaker Bradley, author of Newbery Honor Book The War That Saved My Life
“In Maybe He Just Likes You, Barbara Dee sensitively breaks down the nuances of a situation all too common in our culture—a girl not only being harassed, but not being listened to as she tries to ask for help. This well-crafted story validates Mila’s anger, confusion, and fear, but also illuminates a pathway towards speaking up and speaking out. A vital read for both girls and boys.”
—Veera Hiranandani, author of Newbery Honor Book The Night Diary
“Mila’s journey will resonate with many readers, exploring a formative and common experience of early adolescence that has too often been ignored. Important and empowering.”
—Ashley Herring Blake, author of Stonewall Children’s & Young Adult Honor Book Ivy Aberdeen’s Letter to the World
“Maybe He Just Likes You is an important, timeless story with funny, believable characters. Mila’s situation is one that many readers will connect with. This book is sure to spark many productive conversations.”
—Dusti Bowling, author of Insignificant Events in the Life of a Cactus
“In this masterful, relatable, and wholly unique story, Dee shows how one girl named Mila finds empowerment, strength, and courage within. I loved this book.”
—Elly Swartz, author of Smart Cookie and Give and Take
“Maybe He Just Likes You is the perfect way to jump-start dialogue between boy and girl readers about respect and boundaries. This book is so good. So needed! I loved it!”
—Paula Chase, author of So Done and Dough Boys
Praise for
Everything I Know About You
“[Tally’s] passionate impulse to protect her friends is immediately sympathetic, as is her growing understanding of both herself and her classmates.… A poignant and often hilarious slice of middle-grade life.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“Dee (Star-Crossed) sensitively portrays Tally’s fears about being left behind as friends change, as well as the signs and impact of the anorexia Ava is hiding. Readers will root for big-hearted Tally, whose willingness to speak her truth makes for honest and engaging narration.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Ava’s struggle with anorexia is portrayed with care and makes an important subject accessible for a younger audience.… The author succeeds in weaving together threads of self-acceptance, individuality, what it means to be a friend, and even responsible Internet use. A strong addition to library collections.”
—SLJ
“Tally’s transformation and insights in her first-person narrative ring true, as does the rest of the novel: she’s surrounded with complex, interesting characters in a realistic plot that nicely captures middle-school experiences and friendships.”
—Booklist
Praise for
Halfway Normal
“Readers will feel with her as Norah struggles with how, when, and to whom she should tell her story—if at all. The moment that really sings is when Norah realizes that there are some life experiences that change you forever, and that’s not always a bad thing. Dee, whose acknowledgments hint at family experience with childhood cancer, does an exceptional job accurately depicting Norah’s struggles in a way that is translatable to those with varied understanding of illness.… A powerful story not only about illness, but about accepting yourself for who you are—no matter the experiences that shaped you.”
—Kirkus Reviews, starred review
“A powerful story about surviving and thriving after serious illness.”
—SLJ, starred review
“The authenticity of Norah’s story can be credited to the author’s own experiences as the mother of a cancer patient. But this is not a book about cancer; rather, it’s about the process of moving forward in its wake. Readers who appreciate well-wrought portrayals of transformative middle-school experiences, such as Rebecca Stead’s Goodbye Stranger (2015), will find a story in a similar spirit here.”
—Booklist
“In writing this remarkable novel, Barbara Dee has performed an amazing feat. She has traveled to places you hope you will never have to go and then drawn a lovely, heartbreaking, warm, funny, and ultimately hopeful map of the way back home.”
—Jordan Sonnenblick, author of Drums, Girls, and Dangerous Pie
“Barbara Dee has an unfailing sense of the dynamics of middle school social life. Spot-on portrayals of friends and family relationships frame a powerful main character who’s determined to find her way back. Halfway Normal has a brave, kind heart—as tender and triumphant as the main character herself.”
—Karen Romano Young, author of Hundred Percent
“Dee realistically explores the varied emotions of maturing middle-school students, as well as the way Norah feels singled out and patronized by classmates and adults alike.”
—Publishers Weekly
Praise for
Star-Crossed
“A sweet story of young love amid middle school theatrics… Readers cannot help but root for Mattie as she discovers bravery she never gave herself credit for, both onstage and in life.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“A sweet coming-out story for junior high readers. The clever Shakespeare content is a bonus.… Verdict: A fine choice for middle school libraries in need of accessible LGBTQ stories, and a great option for students reading or performing Romeo and Juliet.”
—SLJ
“In this welcome addition to the middle grade LGBTQ bookshelf… Dee (Truth or Dare) thoughtfully dramatizes the intricate social performance of middle school, with its secret crushes and fierce rivalries.”
—Publishers Weekly
For my son Josh
Proud of you in every way
PEBBLES
Every day that September, the four of us escaped outdoors. The weather was warm (a little too warm for fall, if you thought about it), and the cafeteria smelled gross, like melted cheddar cheese and disinfectant. So when the bell rang for lunch, we each grabbed something fast—a container of yogurt, a bag of chips, an apple—and ran out to the blacktop, where you could play basketball or run around, or just talk with your friends and breathe actual oxygen for thirty minutes.
Today was Omi’s twelfth birthday, and we’d planned a surprise. While Max distracted her inside the cafeteria, Zara and I would run out to the blacktop and make a giant O out of pebbles. The O was my idea: her actual name was Naomi-Jacinta Duarte Chavez, but we called her Omi for short.
And the thing about Omi was that she collected things from nature—seashells, bird feathers, stones in weird shapes and colors. So first we’d give Omi a birthday hug inside the O, and then we’d give her a little red pouch of chocolate pebbles—basically M&M’s, but each one a different pebbly shape and color. It wouldn’t be some generic babyish birthday celebration, with cupcakes for the whole class, like you did in elementary school. Just something personal and private, for our friends.
But what happened was, the exact second Zara and I stepped outside, Ms. Wardak, the lunch aide, blocked us. Usually she ignored us, and we ignored her back. Although not today, for some reason.
“Why are you girls out here?” she demanded. “You’re supposed to go get lunch first.”
“We know, but it’s our friend’s birthday,” Zara said. “And we wanted to make her name out of pebbles.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Ms. Wardak’s whistle bounced on her chest.
“Just her first initial,” I said.
“Out of pebbles?” Ms. Wardak asked. “That’s a birthday present?”
Suddenly I was feeling a little sticky inside my fuzzy green sweater. We didn’t have time for this conversation. And we definitely didn’t have time to explain seventh graders, if Ms. Wardak didn’t understand things.
“It’s not the whole present,” I said quickly. “Just one little thing we wanted to do. And please, we really do need to hurry. Because our friend is coming out here any second, so.”
Ms. Wardak sighed, like she didn’t have the energy to argue that normal humans liked their presents pebble-free, and in boxes. “Fine. Just be sure you clean up the mess afterward, girls. I don’t want any basketball players to trip.”
“Oh, we won’t be anywhere near the basketball hoop,” Zara promised. “That’s kind of the opposite of where we’ll be. We’re usually over where it’s more private—”
I tugged her sleeve. Sometimes Zara didn’t keep track of time very well. And anyway, I couldn’t see a reason to share our lunchtime habits with Ms. Wardak.
We ran over to the far edge of the blacktop, where a strip of pebbles divided the ground into School and Not-School. Often during lunch my friends and I hung out here and just talked. Or sang (mostly that was Zara, who world-premiered her own compositions). Or pebble-hunted (mostly that was Omi, although sometimes me, too). One time Max and I joined a game called untag on the blacktop—not elementary school tag, but a whole different version, with crazy-complicated rules. Although usually we hung out just the four of us, because I had band right after lunch, and we wouldn’t be together the rest of the afternoon.
“Hey, Mila, look at this one—it’s literally purple!” Zara shouted at me as she crouched over the pebbles. “A nd ooh, this one sort of looks like an arrowhead! Or Oklahoma!”
“We don’t have time to pick individually.” I scooped up a handful of pebbles and started laying them out on the blacktop. “Come on, Zara, just help make the O.”
“All right, all right,” she pretend-grumbled. “How big?”
“I don’t know, big enough for the four of us to stand in, so it’s like an O for Omi. And also a Circle of Friendship.” I’d thought of that just now; although I couldn’t decide if it was cute or stupid.
Zara loved it. “Circle of Friendship! Oooh, that’s perfect, Mila!” She began singing. “Cir-cle of Friennndshhhii—”
“Eek, hurry! I see them coming!”
Max and Omi were scurrying toward us, dodging a basketball. I hadn’t seen it happen, but somehow, over the past minute, a game had started on the other end of the blacktop. The usual boys—Callum, Leo, Dante, and Tobias—crashing into each other. Banging the ball against the blacktop: thwump, thwump. Shouting, laughing, cheering, arguing.
“Over here!” I could hear Callum shouting at the others. His voice was always the one that reached my ears. “Here! Throw it to me!”
We finished the O just as our friends arrived.
“HAPPPYYY BIIIRRTHDAAAY!” Zara shouted, opening her arms wide. “Look, Omi, we made you an O! For your initial, and also a literal Circle of Friendship! Which was Mila’s idea,” she added, catching my eye.
Omi clapped her hands and laughed. “I love it, you guys—it’s beautiful! Thank you! I’ll treasure it always!”
“Well, maybe not always,” I said, grinning. “It’s just a temporary work of art.”
“Yeah, you know, like a sand sculpture,” Max said. His big blue eyes were shining. “Or have you ever seen a Buddhist sand mandala? They use these different colors of sand—it’s incredibly cool—and then they destroy it. On purpose.” Max’s mom was a Buddhist, so he knew all sorts of things like that.
“Huh,” Zara said. “Fascinating, Max, but a little off topic.” She pulled Omi inside the O. “Birthday hug! Everyone in!”
The four of us crowded into the O and threw our arms around each other. Because I was shorter than everyone else, I found myself in the middle of the hug, staring straight into Zara’s collarbone. I’d never noticed it before, but she had a tiny snail-shaped freckle on her neck, two shades darker than her light brown skin.
“Okay, this is great, but promise you won’t sing ‘Happy Birthday’!” Omi was giggling.
“Sorry, Omi, it’s required by headquarters,” Zara replied.
She began singing in her strong, clear alto. Still hugging, Max and I joined in, a bit off-key, but so what. We were just up to “Happy birthday, dear Oooo-mi” when something brushed my shoulders. A hand.
Suddenly we were surrounded by the basketball boys—Callum, Leo, Dante, and Tobias. They’d locked arms around us and were singing along. Well, sort of singing.
“Happy birthday to yooouuu,” Callum shouted into my hair. His breath on my neck made me shiver.
Now the song was over, but the hug was still happening, Callum’s hand clamping the fuzz of my green sweater. The basketball boys smelled like boy sweat and pizza. I told myself to breathe slowly, through my teeth.
“What are you doing, Leo?” Zara laughed, a bit too loudly. Or maybe it just felt loud because she was so close. “Who said you could join the hug?”
“Don’t be nasty—we just wanted to say happy birthday,” Leo said. “Not to you, Zara. To Omi.”
Zara flinched. It was a quick-enough flinch that maybe I was the only one who noticed. But then, I knew all about Zara’s giant crush on Leo, who had wavy, sandy-colored hair, greenish eyes, and just a few freckles. He was cute, but in a Hey, don’t you think I’m cute? sort of way.
I wriggled my shoulder, but Callum’s hand was squeezing. And not leaving.
Now I could feel my armpits getting damp.
“Well, thanks, but I’m kind of getting smooshed here,” Omi called out. “So if you guys wouldn’t mind—”
“Okay, sorry!” Leo said. “Happy birthday, Omi! Bye!”
All at once, like a flock of birds, they took off for the basketball court.
Immediately my friends and I pulled apart, and I could breathe normally again.
“Okay, that was weird,” I said, brushing boy molecules off the fuzz of my sweater.
“Oh, Mila, don’t be such a baby,” Zara said. “They were just being friendly.”
I snorted. “You think getting smooshed like that is friendly?”
“Yeah, Zara,” Max said. “You’re only saying that because you like Leo.”
Zara gave a short laugh. “All right, Max, I agree, the whole thing was incredibly awkward, but I thought it was kind of sweet. Didn’t you, Omi?”
“I don’t know, I guess,” Omi said. “Maybe.” She shrugged, but she was smiling. Also blushing.
Max’s long hair was in his face, so I couldn’t see his eyes. “Well, they wrecked the O,” he muttered.
He was right: the pebbles were scattered everywhere. No more Circle of Friendship, or O for Omi.
“Dang,” I said. “Well, we did promise Ms. Wardak we’d clear off the pebbles. So we should put them back now anyway.”
“Who’s Ms. Wardak?” Omi asked.
“You know. The lunch aide.” I started kicking the pebbles over to the edge of the asphalt, and so did Max.
“Oh, who cares about her, Mila,” Zara said impatiently. “She’s not even a teacher, and she doesn’t pay attention.” She grabbed Omi’s hand. “We have another present for you, and it’s so much better! Look!”
Zara reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out the little red sack of chocolate pebbles.
Omi screamed. “Omigod, you guys, I love these! How did you know?”
“Because we’re your best friends and we do pay attention,” Zara replied, beaming.
I almost added that they were my idea. But I decided that wouldn’t be best-friendly.
SWISH
Aside from lunch, when I could be with my friends, my best time at school was definitely band. I could be having a boring or awful or just not very fun day, and then as soon as I started playing my trumpet, it felt like the skies were opening up. And I had this feeling of endless space, no people or clouds or even buildings anywhere. Just big wide fields of grass and a blank blue sky. Sometimes when I was playing, I even saw the color blue.
I don’t mean I literally saw the color blue. I mean it felt like the color blue. Calm and open, like it could go on forever.
Also, it just felt good to get really loud. Because all day long, teachers were telling us to be quiet. No talking, no laughing, no whispering. Sometimes our math teacher even complained about “loud sighing.” So band was the one time of the day when you could let it out. Should let it out, the louder the better.
And after that weirdness today at lunch, I needed band.
But as soon as I took my chair in the trumpet section, I could tell something was up. People were standing around, chatting, laughing nervously, instead of warming up their instruments.
“What’s going on?” I asked the kid to my right, Rowan Crawley.
“Section leaders getting announced,” he muttered. “And that means Callum, of course.”
“Dude,” Dante agreed. He shoved Callum playfully.
Callum grinned.
I couldn’t even look at him. Instead I took my trumpet out of its case, wiping it slowly and carefully with a little gray cloth. Wipe, wipe, wipe.
Ms. Fender tapped her music stand with her baton.
“Okay, people, here we go,” she said. “I’m ready to announce this year’s seventh grade band leaders.”
Everyone stopped talking. Have you ever seen a tree full of chirping birds when a hawk or a fox appears? All of a sudden there isn’t a peep. Just a sort of loud quiet. It was almost like that in the band room, except for chairs squeaking.
So it was weird that my heart was thumping. I mean, I knew I played trumpet really well, and I’d even taken some private lessons over the summer with this cool high school girl named Emerson. But I didn’t really think Ms. Fender would pick me for section leader. She was the kind of teacher who had special pets—people like Samira Spurlock on clarinet, and Annabel Cho on saxophone. Who I thought of as Pets Number One and Two.
