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was dead.
    So Gabby was wearing that bra for sure, her hair in a ponytail, and green eye shadow.
    I pulled my jacket closed over my sequin dress and acted like I didn’t care.
    Then two of Gabby’s halter-top friends, Sadie Andreason and Heidi Baker, came in.
    Next was Jud Jackson and Paul Lohner and Carl Armstrong. Then Laura Thomas and Jillie Brown.
    And then, as if things couldn’t get any worse, the hugest jerk of all of them, Tony Shurtz.
    When Tony Shurtz walked in, I wanted to die. I couldn’t deal with him today. Not today.
    I sank in my seat even lower.
    Skeeter looked at me. “What are you doing?”
    I was so far down on the pew, I couldn’t see Mr. Au. In fact, my head was cranked into my chest.
    â€œWhat are you doing?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œNothing?”
    â€œNothing,” I said.
    Mr. Au got out a ukulele and started singing.
    By the time he was done with his song about birds, ten more people in our grade had walked in.
    I sat up. What is going on?
    Finally, after one more song, this one about dogs, Au put his mouth on the mic. “That was a song I know Carla liked.” He wiped his forehead, because singing songs with a ukulele can get sweaty and said, “We don’t have anything else planned for the funeral, right?”
    He looked at the mortuary guys. They looked at each other.
    Who was in charge? Where was Ms. Homeyer’s family? Where were her friends?
    Au said, “I thought we could have an open microphone. Anyone who feels compelled to should come up here and express their feelings.”
    An open mic? At a funeral?
    For no reason, my heart started to thump.
    He kept talking, “I see that some of my homeroom students are here. They were a half hour late and that was my fault. I told them the wrong time.”
    Tony Shurtz fake laughed, loud and obnoxious, and I thought I would throw up. I was sure I would throw up.
    Au kept talking, “You only get tardy makeup points if you come say something about Ms. Homeyer. Aloha.”
    And then he sat down.
    Mr. Au was giving out tardy makeup points for talking at Ms. Dead Homeyer’s funeral?
    Perfect.
    I looked back at Tony, and he winked at me.
    After Mr. Au opened the funeral up, everyone sat there.
    The lady knitting in the corner sneezed so loud the light flickered.
    She had really, really yellow hair.
    And then it was silent again.
    Au turned around and looked at all of us.
    â€œGo up there,” he said. His voice boomed, almost shaking the pews.
    Someone giggled.
    I thought you shouldn’t yell at people during a funeral, but obviously I didn’t know anything.
    I looked over at Gabby.
    When she saw me looking at her, I looked away.
    â€œDo you want to leave?” Skeeter whispered.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I said. I didn’t want to walk out in front of everyone, have them all watch me.
    But the room was closing in. Everything was getting tighter and smaller. I felt dizzy, so I focused on watching the muumuu lady’s hair in the light. The dust particles in the air moving in and out of the bleached strands.
    Au turned around again. “Tony,” he said. “You need some points. Get up there.”
    Why Tony? Why was this happening?
    Tony said, “Me? Me?” in a loud voice that echoed off the walls.
    â€œYeah, Tony. Come on,” Au said.
    Tony stood up, his Knicks jersey and all. His friends patting him on the back. “Go, Tony,” one of them said.
    I hated this. This was a funeral.
    A funeral.
    He sauntered up to the front and stood at the podium.
    He stood there for a while saying nothing, and people were whispering-giggling. He looked over at me and winked. I felt like I’d been kicked.
    Finally he said in a fake crying voice, “I’ve been really struggling with Ms. Homeyer’s death. She was like a mother to me.”
    They giggled. Giggle giggle.
    Skeeter stared at him.
    Tony kept talking. “Carla, she always