“I think someone’s *flirting* with youuu.”
“Just ignore him,” Felicia Mae Appletree replied to her mother, thinking: Multiface is the craziest guy/gal in the whole of middle school. He’s the kind that gives “the middle” a bad name. She suspects he may be a Southerner at heart.
“Aww, you’re breaking his itty bitty heart by not paying attention to him. Go ahead; turn around. He’s *soo* adorable!” Mrs. Appletree, the geography/art/social disease teacher at Felicia’s (and Preston’s) school, then blows him a little kiss herself — which he, of course, takes the wrong way. He was on her in a creepily short span of time and space.
“Oh,” stated the daughter flatly, trying not to look at the spectacle. “Should have known, pheh.”
“Should’ve known, pheh,” the cockroach dining below echoes in her tiny voice.