by Brian Tacang
“How frightening!” exclaimed the female passenger.
“Are you and your friends okay?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Anne replied, “but you should turn around.”
“Right. We don’t want a brush with a bear, do we?” the man asked her friend, who shook her head worriedly. “I’m sorry we can’t offer all of you a ride into town,” he added, indicating with a bob of his head that his auto could accommodate only two people.
“We’ll be fine,” Anne said, patting the hood of his car.
Felicity was about to ask if the driver could at least take Clay and Cleon with them when the man made a Y-turn and rolled back toward town.
Twenty-four
On her way to Lulu Davinsky’s Diamond Theater, Millicent came to an intersection near the edge of town where she saw what she first thought was the makings of a strange parade coming toward her. Running down the street was a cowboy in jeans, a plaid shirt, and a ten-gallon hat. Behind him was a tall, slender, studious-looking woman in a periwinkle-blue floral-print dress. Following close was a man in a suit, holding a briefcase close to his chest. Next came a woman in a gray uniform, holding the hands of two boys—twins it seemed. But the most bizarre members of the troupe trailed farther behind. A man in a pink leather suit, wincing and whining, was carrying a very old bride, in an orange parka, on his back.
Millicent sat, dumbfounded, watching as they tramped toward her. One by one they passed and waved. Millicent waved back.
“Whoa,” said the old bride as the pink leather man approached Millicent’s car.
“Okay,” said the pink leather man, slowing to a walking pace. “Aaaawwww gaaawwwwd. Big ugly pain!”
Millicent saw that the man wore a rubber pig nose on his face and advertisements for breakfast meats on his outfit.
“Excuse me, miss,” said the old bride. “Can you tell me if the police department is still located in the town square?”
“Well, y-y-yes,” stammered Millicent. “Yes, it is.”
Millicent thought there was something very familiar about the old bride—as if she’d seen her in a picture somewhere.
“Very good. Thank you,” replied the woman. “Onward, Boris,” she said to the pink leather man.
He trotted off, crying, “Aaaawwww, gaaaawwwwd. Terrible bayonets of affliction stabbing my back!”
Slightly stunned, Millicent turned to watch them hasten toward the town square. “If that isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen, I don’t know what is,” she said to herself.
By the time Millicent pulled up to the theater, people were gathered outside, waiting for the doors to open. She parked her car on the sidewalk and scanned the crowd for Tonisha, Pollock, and Juanita.
Lulu Davinsky’s Diamond Theater was one of the oldest masonry buildings in Masonville. For the Masonville Young Talent Extravaganza, it had been decorated with yards and yards of streamers, printed to look like bricks. Masonville, after all, took pride in its reputation as Home of the Really Big Brick. Almost every special town event required some sort of reference to bricks. The Big Brick itself sat in front of the Diamond Theater in a circular brick planter frothing over with chrysanthemums, on a plinth made of bricks. The Extravaganza Committee had embellished the Big Brick with cardboard letters that read, “Extrava” on one side and “Ganza,” on the other—because, while the brick was big, it wasn’t quite big enough.
Millicent got out of her car and patted her sweatshirt pocket to make sure she had the Hooky Spray. Relieved to find that it hadn’t fallen out, she plunged into the crowd to scout for her friends and the bullies, whom she figured would be close by. A few minutes of searching produced no results so she made her way around the corner to the stage door.
Leaning against the building, close to the stage door, were three bikes, sporting signs that read JUST MARRIED. Attached to the rear of each bike were strings with tin cans tied to them.
“Ugh,” Millicent grunted. But now, she finally had her opportunity to search the bikes for evidence they were from the Mega-Stupenda Mart. She got closer to the bicycles to examine them. It took only a second to find the signature red and yellow Mega-Stupenda Mart price stickers. “Aha,” she said. “Just as I thought. Leave it to the three of them to forget to take the tags off their stolen goods.” Millicent steeled herself. Now, she not only had to stop the bullies from ruining the extravaganza for her friends, she also had to find a way to bring them to justice.
The stage door was propped open. Near it, a girl in a sequined leotard practiced twirling her flaming baton while roller-skating backward in circles. “Excuse me,” Millicent said, darting into the theater.
The lights were dimmed backstage. Most of the contestants must have been already seated out front. Millicent could make out the shapes of some props set up in the wings. She heard voices coming from behind the heavy red velvet drapes. “If you want them back,” she heard Nina say, “you’ll have to marry us.”
Want what back? Millicent snuck around the puddle of curtains, making certain she remained in the shadows.
Nina, Fletch, and Pollywog stood with their backs to the closed curtains, right in the center of the stage where the drapes would part. Nina gripped Pollock’s portfolio with both of her spidery hands. Fletch held Tonisha’s poetry notebook, and Pollywog hugged Juanita’s violin case, smooching its neck.
“You give those back, now!” Pollock demanded.
Nina removed a painting from Pollock’s portfolio and a key from her pocket. She pointed the key at the canvas as if it were a knife.
“No,” Pollock said.
“No? Is that your answer to my proposal?” Nina asked, pressing the key into the canvas.
“Stop it, Nina,” Tonisha said. “Fletchie, why don’t you do something about this?”
“I’ve proposed, too,” Fletch said, “and you haven’t answered.” He opened her book of poetry and threatened to rip a page out, grasping it between his thumb and forefinger.
“Me, too,” Pollywog said, removing Juanita’s violin from its case. Juanita squealed in horror.
Millicent bit her lower lip. The extravaganza would be starting in less than three minutes. If the bullies destroyed her friends’ most prized possessions, Juanita, Tonisha, and Pollock would be disqualified from the competition and they’d surely never speak to her again. But what could she do? How could she get close enough to the bullies to squirt them with Hooky Spray?
“If you so much as call for help,” Nina said, “the violin, the book, and the paintings are goners. So what’s it gonna be? Marriage or…” She pressed the key into Pollock’s painting until it dimpled. Fletch tore an inch into a page of Tonisha’s poetry, and Pollywog pulled on a string on Juanita’s violin.
Suddenly a voice boomed over the sound system. “Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the Masonville Young Talent Extravaganza.” Millicent could hear applause from the other side of the curtain.
“You can still compete,” Nina said. “All we need is a yes.”
“We can be joined in holy mattress money,” Pollywog said to Juanita.
“It’s matrimony, dummy,” Juanita said. “And give me my violin.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this, Fletch,” Tonisha said, her eyes tearing up.
“When this is over,” Millicent whispered to herself, “I’m giving up inventing for good.”
She rushed onstage into the bright lights. Millicent had never been on a stage before or in front of a large audience. The shock of it winded her for a second—all those faces staring at her.
“Seems it’s our first act in the vocal division,” the emcee said, looking at his list of performers.
“Vocal?” Millicent asked.
“Miss Iva Asimova singing ‘Let Me Call You Sweetheart,’” the emcee continued, “in her native Czech.”
“Czech?” Millicent shrieked, shooting the emcee a glare.
The audience applauded warmly.
Millicent approached the microphone stand and tappe
d the mic—thump, thump, thump. “Oh. Microphone is on,” she said in her best and only Czech accent. “Is good.” She put one hand in her sweatshirt pocket and grabbed the microphone with the other. “Um. In my homeland, love is, how you say, like new bread from oven.” She inched backward toward the curtain. “Is warm and smells good.” She backed up a little more. Suddenly, the orchestra struck the first note of the song. “Oh. But if you eat too soon, is hot like…how you say…oven coils. Will burn your lips on good-smelling bread.” The orchestra went into the song. “Oh. Song is coming.” She backed all the way into the curtain. The orchestra got to the part where she was supposed to start singing, holding the note, waiting for her to join in. “Is my cue,” she said. “Vet-ne-vall-nu-schveeeee-naaaaacht!” she sang as she took the bottle of Hooky Spray from her pocket. Reaching behind her, she stuck her arm in the separation between the curtain panels and sprayed, not once but several squirts, up and down and around and around.
Someone in the audience booed. “She’s awful,” someone else shouted. “Get her off the stage!”
Several huge sneezes exploded from backstage, bringing the orchestra to an abrupt halt.
Unsure of what to do next, Millicent nervously scanned the audience until her gaze landed on Officer Romero Alonso, Juanita’s father. In a flash, a plan came to her. She looked to her right at a stagehand who stood gripping the curtain cord. “Please to open curtains for big finale,” she said. “Then please to turn off footlights.” The stagehand did as instructed, pulling on the cord until the red velvet drapes skidded apart. Then he went to the light board and turned off the footlights.
Backlit only by the spotlights upstage, Nina’s, Fletch’s, and Pollywog’s silhouettes—long-armed, tall, and round—looked like black construction-paper cutouts on a white sheet.
Pollock, Tonisha, and Juanita grabbed their things from the bullies and ran offstage.
Juanita’s father, Officer Romero Alonso, leaped from his seat. “The Mega-Stupenda Mart bike bandits!” he shouted and was out of his chair, bounding toward the stage, handcuffs at the ready.
“You’re a hero, Millicent,” said Officer Romero Alonso, as his partner, Herb, escorted Nina, Fletch, and Pollywog into their squad car. “You single-handedly captured the notorious Mega-Stupenda Mart bike bandits. And incognito, to boot, posing as a contestant. Iva Asimova. That’s a good one. How did you ever devise that scheme? That was clever.”
“Believe me,” she answered, “there was no cleverness involved.”
“But you must be clever. You’re the inventor of the spray that incapacitated the thieves, aren’t you?” he asked.
“I was the inventor,” she said, examining her fingernails. “I’m not so great at it, so I’m thinking of taking up something else.”
Officer Romero Alonso bent over until his eyes met Millicent’s. “I wasn’t such a fantastic policeman when I joined the force. Time made me better. It’ll make you better, too.”
“Maybe,” Millicent said.
Officer Romero Alonso shrugged, then he turned to Herb, motioned with a nod at the bullies, and said, “Let’s get these three over to the station.”
“Before you do, may I have a word with them?” Millicent asked.
“Sure,” Officer Romero Alonso said. “Make it quick, though. You can still catch Juanita’s performance. I’m sorry I’ll be missing it. Duty calls.”
Millicent went over to the bullies, who were arguing with one another.
“I knew this was a stupid idea,” Fletch grumbled and sniffled.
“Does this—ah-choo—mean we don’t get to keep the bikes?” asked Pollywog.
Nina saw Millicent and sneezed. “Boy, are you gonna get it, Madding,” she snarled. Looking away, she added, “as soon as I get out of juvenile detention.”
Millicent studied Nina’s scowling face. The bully seemed scared under her grim expression. Suddenly, Millicent wondered why she’d ever been frightened of Nina.
“What’re you staring at?” Nina said.
“Nothing,” Millicent said. “Absolutely nothing.” She turned and walked back into the theater.
Twenty-five
Millicent found a seat in the rear of the theater just as the emcee announced the final performer of the afternoon, Juanita Romero Alonso. Millicent applauded as Juanita took to the stage. From the moment her bow hit the strings of her violin, Juanita had the audience so mesmerized they didn’t even notice she was sniffling throughout the entire performance. During the crescendo, she ah-ah-ahed, but didn’t actually sneeze. On her final note, though, she let out a sneeze so boisterous it shattered her otherwise ladylike image. She curtsied, trying to hide her nose.
Millicent gave Juanita a standing ovation, clapping so hard her palms turned red.
Millicent was sorry she’d missed Tonisha’s poetry reading, and sorrier she hadn’t seen Pollock’s art on display in the theater lobby. She crossed her fingers for them, nonetheless.
After a few minutes of waiting while the judges conferred, the emcee approached the mic with a sheet of paper in his hand. He cleared his throat. “My,” he said, “it’s been something of an afternoon, hasn’t it? We’ve had an imposter and three arrests.” The audience murmured in response, and Millicent blushed. “But, now, for the part of the contest you came to see—the winners of this eventful competition.”
“In the vocal competition,” the emcee said. “The winner is—the real Iva Asimova for her rendition of ‘Let Me Call You Sweetheart’…in real Czech.” The audience voiced its approval as Iva accepted her award.
Millicent slumped in her seat, hoping no one would notice her.
The emcee announced the first runner-up in the spoken word category. Millicent clenched her fists as the contestant thanked the audience. “And the winner is—Tonisha Fontaine for her poem entitled, ‘Fletchie.’”
A glowing Tonisha accepted her award, bowing so low that her headwrap pointed at the audience like a finger.
Millicent applauded crazily.
“Next, in the visual arts category, the first runner-up is—Everett Wong, whose work just barely made it to the lobby, where it is now on display.”
Pollock went onstage, received his plaque, and took the microphone from the emcee. “It’s Pollock,” he said in a stuffy voice, “Pollock Wong. Thank you.”
“For her fashion illustrations, the winner of the visual arts category is Fiona Dimmet of Pretty Liddy’s Junior Fashion Academy,” the emcee announced.
Pollock scrunched his nose as Fiona accepted her award.
The emcee revealed the first runner-up in the music category, a seven-year-old pianist. “Finally, the winner of the instrumental performance category is,” the emcee said, “Juanita Romero Alonso, for her moving violin solo.”
Juanita bounced onstage, accepted her plaque with a smile, and curtsied.
“Let’s have a hand for all of our talented contestants!” the emcee said.
The audience gave a hearty round of applause. Millicent stood, clapping hard. One by one, the rest of the audience stood, while the winners joined hands and bowed.
The crowd eventually thinned to a small cluster of people congratulating Pollock, Tonisha, Juanita, and the other winners. Millicent hovered a few yards away, fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt. She wanted to congratulate her friends, too, but kept her distance. They walked out to the front steps and sat down. Millicent followed them.
A hand rested on her shoulder. She spun around to see who it was.
“Leon! You’re better!” she said.
“Pretty much,” he said. “I caught your performance. Honestly, it was pretty bad. It kept me awake, though.” He folded his arms. “Have you told them the truth, like I suggested?” He bobbed his head toward Pollock, Juanita, and Tonisha.
“Not really,” Millicent answered. “In fact, I kind of made things worse.”
Leon took her by the hand and tugged her. “But it’s all over now, isn’t it? You may as well come clean.”
M
illicent resisted slightly, then let Leon drag her toward her friends.
“Hi,” she said, after a few seconds.
Pollock, Juanita, and Tonisha looked over their shoulders at her. “Hi,” they said coolly. “Hi, Leon. Glad you’re feeling better.”
“Congratulations,” Millicent said. “I’m proud of you guys.”
“Thanks,” Tonisha said.
“And?” Leon prompted.
Millicent sat next to her friends. She apologized immediately for all the trouble Bully-Be-Gone had caused. “I need to explain what happened,” she said.
“Mmm-hmm,” said Pollock, completely uninterested.
Juanita absentmindedly reached for her violin.
“Girl, all I can say is this had better be good.” Tonisha was the only one to look directly at Millicent.
Although they were tight-lipped, on the verge of bursting into rages, they listened quietly as she explained what had happened. She sighed and told them the reason the bullies had stolen their things and wanted to marry them was not because they really liked them. Bully-Be-Gone was too effective.
“We knew that,” said Pollock.
“That’s why we told you we believed something was wrong with it,” said Juanita, wiping her nose with a tissue. “We knew.”
“So what was that stuff you sprayed on them—on us?” Pollock asked.
“Hooky Spray. I invented it to clog their noses so they wouldn’t be affected by Bully-Be-Gone,” Millicent said. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t see behind the curtain to aim properly. Sorry.”
Tonisha seemed lost in thought. “I didn’t know it was because of Bully-Be-Gone that Fletch—” she said quietly. “I thought he—”
Millicent glanced sidelong at Tonisha.
“I’m sorry, Tonisha,” said Millicent. “Really, really sorry.”
Tonisha pursed her lips and stared at the sidewalk. “He wouldn’t have been half bad if he didn’t have a criminal record,” she said. She slapped Millicent playfully on the arm. “Just don’t invent anything like that again.”