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with me. There are another couple of boxes at home. I can bring you some tomorrow—as long as the Fireside Scouts don't find out."
    "Can't wait that long. I'm hungry now. Where do you live?"
    "Eastside," I say.
    "Duh, Goober. Everybody on this bus lives in Eastside."
    "Zsa Zsa," I remind him. "I live on Grouse Avenue, right by Warbler." Lots of the streets in Eastside are named after Michigan's native birds.
    "Close enough," says Wheeler.
    And when the bus gets to my stop, Wheeler Diggs gets off and follows me home.

Who Is This Kid?
    Wheeler Diggs follows me all the way into my house.
    My dad is in the kitchen, baking and listening to Miss Person's CD. He is singing along to something from
Hits of the Seventies.
"Oh my dar-lin'..."
    "Dad, this is Wheeler Diggs," I say.
    Dad stops singing. He stares at me. Then he stares at Wheeler. Then he stares at me again.
    "You bake a fine cookie, sir," says Wheeler.
    Sir? Wheeler Diggs said sir?
    Dad still doesn't say anything.
    "Especially the Lemon Melvins. Top drawer."
    Top drawer? What is he talking about? Who is this kid?
    Dad swallows. "Thank you," he says. "Would you like another?"
    And just like that, Wheeler Diggs is sitting at our kitchen table talking cookies with my dad. Dad is explaining the difference between baking soda and baking powder and why you have to beat the eggs before you put them in cookie dough and just how important

it is to preheat an oven. And Wheeler is eating it all up. The cookies. And the cookie talk.
    This is what Dad and I do. We talk about his Living Room University classes. He gives me cookies. How can he share all this with some kid who just shows up at the house one day?
    "It's pretty simple," Dad is saying. "Here, you want to try?"
    I watch Wheeler Diggs put on an apron and crack eggs. In my house. With my dad.
    "Dad," I say. "I have to make a decision about my Perform-O-Rama song."
    "That's okay, Zoe. You go ahead. This young man and I won't bother you. What's your name again?"
    Wheeler tells him and Dad repeats it: "Wheeler." And then Dad asks Wheeler if he'd like to take his jacket off and Wheeler says no, because he never takes his jacket off, and Dad says okay and then Wheeler and Dad start making cookies together and I take the CD player into the living room, because if I don't I'll look like a dork for making such a big deal about picking my song.
    I set the CD player for the next song on my list.
Miss Person is playing the song with a samba beat. There it is, in the
Hits of the Sixties
songbook. It's by some guy named Roy Orbison. It's called "Only the Lonely."

Gimme a Beat
    All week long, I listen to the twenty-two songs on Miss Person's CD.
    They all sound alike.
    You ever go in a store and hear a song and think you know it, but you can't think of the title because there are no voices singing and instead of guitars there are harps and trumpets and violins, and the rhythm is too slow or too fast, and really, this song that you think you know, that you think might be one of your favorite songs if you heard it the right way, sounds like Wheeler Diggs punched it in the stomach?
    That's what all the songs on Miss Person's CD sound like. Like punched-in-the-stomach versions of themselves.
    Not that I've heard half these songs before, anyway. Most of them are from before I was born. "Seasons in the Sun." "Smells Like Teen Spirit." "Who Put the Bomp (In the Bomp-Bomp-Bomp)." "The Theme from
Family Ties."
    "So, what's it going to be?" asks Mabelline Person.
    "'Forever in Blue Jeans,' by Neil Diamond," I say.
I like that name, Diamond. If I can't wear a diamond tiara at Carnegie Hall, I can at least play a Diamond song at the Perform-O-Rama.
    "Fine. Let's get cracking." Miss Person flips a rhythm switch. "Ultimately, you'll be playing this with Rock Beat number three, but for now—"
    Metronome.

What's Weird
    Wheeler Diggs keeps following me home.

What's Really Weird
    Wheeler Diggs and my dad are doing his latest Living Room University