by Barrie Summy
So when Josh’s head inclines the teeniest bit to the side, I know his lips are headed for mine. Then it’s like I’m on autopilot, like we’re just programmed to be excellent kissers. My head does a complementary dip.
And we do kiss.
And it is great.
But somehow even in the awesome moment of it, my mind is wandering.
chapter
seventeen
It’s Monday at lunch and I’m cranky.
Cool people are not in their right minds. At least not the cool people at my school who insist on sitting at the outside lunch tables. Why? We have a perfectly good cafeteria inside where it’s air-conditioned and, uh, cool. But, no, they choose to eat out here in a climate similar to that of Mercury. Which, for some strange reason, I happen to know has temperatures of around six hundred degrees Fahrenheit. Cool people must spend all their allowance on deodorant.
Kyle, whom I’m supposed to be spying on, hasn’t shown up. Junie, who’s supposed to be spying with me, hasn’t shown up either.
I’m squished at the table next to where Kyle and his gang chill, trying desperately to hang on to space for me and Junie. This is not as easy as it sounds, because, apparently, I’m invisible to eighth-grade girls, who keep edging me out. Hello, people! I’m here. I exist. I’m just one year younger.
On top of my territory troubles, I’ve got Ghostlympic worries. Today’s the preliminaries. Mom has to make it through this round or Real Time is out the window. And now that I know about Real Time, my intestines are all tight and braided up because I want those five minutes with her more than anything else in the world.
There’s a lentil-sized legume of guilt niggling me about Real Time and Sam. He doesn’t even get to connect with Mom the way I do for the mystery solving. He doesn’t get to connect with her at all. But every time I think of giving him the Real Time, if Mom even wins it, I realize how bad I want to see her.
“Could ya give me some room here?” says an eighth-grade girl with hoop earrings the size of Frisbees.
I slide a fraction of an inch.
Earring Girl squeezes in, barely, between me and an eighth-grade girl with long brown hair and a thick, flowery hair band. I’m surrounded by squealing, yakking cool girls and their lunch trays. Because they all bought. Because, as everyone knows, buying is the cool thing to do.
From a brown paper bag, I pull out a tuna sandwich on whole wheat. Tuna mixed with some of The Ruler’s newly canned relish. Which, surprisingly, is actually very delish. I’m even getting used to the grainy bread.
Every few sentences, the girls toss me a what-are-you-doing-here? look. I just ignore them. Seriously, this is a public middle school.
“Troy Garcia asked me out,” Hair Band Girl says.
Three girls scream.
“To Rollerblade World,” she continues. “But I’m so bummed. I totally need a new top. But I’m so broke.”
I can relate to that.
“Sucks.” Earring Girl unwraps a sandwich on blindingly white bread. She obviously has no sense of dietary fiber.
“You wanna borrow something from my closet?” asks a blonde dressed in shades of pink.
Hair Band Girl frowns. “But our colors are so different.”
Once again, I can relate. You try being BFF with a redhead like Junie. It totally nixes clothes trading. Plus, she’s a bigger size than me.
Speaking of which, where is that girl? I pull out my cell and text.
Me: where r u?
Junie: robotics emergency.
Me: ur supposed to be spying on kyle with me.
Junie: robotics emergency.
Me: wut abt the mystery?
Junie: gotta go. robotics emergency.
“How much money do you have?” asks a girl who’s breaking the school dress code by wearing a tank top.
Hair Band Girl sighs out a depressingly low number.
And I’m relating again. Because living fashionably on my allowance takes skill and talent. And a lot of sales.
“That sucks,” Earring Girl says.
They all take bites of their matching spongy white-bread sandwiches. Hair Band Girl looks miserable.
I have no idea why I leap into the conversation. “Have you checked out the clothes at the Rack?”
The girls turn and stare at me with their shadowed, outlined, mascaraed beautiful eyes.
“Who are you?” Pink Girl says.
“Sherry Baldwin.”
“She’s a seventh grader.” Earring Girl returns to her nibbling.
“Aren’t you Josh Morton’s girlfriend?” Hair Band Girl says.
I tear open a package of low-sodium, low-fat baked fake-o Cheetos. “Yeah.”
And their hostility evaporates into the stifling, make-your-face-shiny Phoenix air. Which, quite frankly, is überbogus. Because I’m still a seventh grader.
“What’s the Rack?” Hair Band Girl says. “I’ve never heard of it.”
The others shake their heads.
“The Rack? It’s next to the Nut ’n’ Nut? The health food store downtown?” I tweezer out a fake-o Cheeto. “It’s this smallish store that pretty much always has a sale rack going. Anyway, they have incredible prices.”
They all stop chewing.
“Right now, they have this great sale on tops. Thirty percent off the sale price and buy one, get one free.” I gnaw on the Cheeto. “I’m not entirely sure how you figure out the final price,” I say to Hair Band Girl, “but I’m guessing you’ve got enough.”
“You get that top there?” She points to my turquoise + sea green baby-doll.
I smooth it out. “As a matter of fact,” I say proudly.
And when I tell them the price, there’s a group jaw drop. This is followed by a group silence while they all mull over how much money they have in their cool, eighth-grade purses.
“Wow. Thanks, Josh’s Girlfriend.” Hair Band Girl’s got a big grin going.
“The name’s Sherry.”
“Then thanks, Sherry.”
And while I’m taking a slug of fluoridated bottled water, she leans over and plucks a pretend Cheeto from my bag.
“Try not to think of it as a Cheeto,” I say. “More as a paper substitute.”
She gently scoots it under her napkin.
“Hey, do you guys happen to know where Kyle is?” I say.
“You’re interested in him now too?” Earring Girl asks. “Aren’t there any decent guys in your grade?”
“I’m not interested in him that way.” I toss the bag of fake-o Cheetos in the nearby trash. “I have a few questions.”
Hair Band Girl laughs. “If you’ve been toilet-papered, it was Kyle.”
“Kyle is so wild and crazy.” Pink Girl gives a little shake, like she’s shivering.
“Kyle’s done with wild and crazy for a while,” Earring Girl says. “He has in-school suspension for all this week. And his dad grounded him last week. No sports, no friends, no TV. Until he raises his grades.”
“I heard his math tutor picks him up from school and takes him directly home,” Hair Band Girl says.
“And the math tutor leaves when the Spanish tutor arrives. Kyle won’t see the sun for weeks.” Earring Girl shakes her head so hard in sympathy that her hoops smack against her cheeks. “His stepmom plays bunco with my mom, so I get all the Kyle scoop.”
Certainly doesn’t sound like Kyle did the tire slashing. He’s too heavily guarded by tutors. Another dead-end lead.
I sure hope Mom or Grandpa discovers something. Like when Mom’s at the district board meeting today. Maybe a crazed math teacher wants the department head job big-time bad, and he’s freaking The Ruler so she’ll drop out of the running. Or maybe when Grandpa’s shadowing Kyle’s dad, he’ll dig up something concrete.
“You know who I feel really sorry for?” Earring Girl says, not looking sorry at all. “Kyle’s math teacher.”
“Why?” My elbows on the table, I lean in close.
“He’s got some major evil plan
ned for her once he’s off restriction.”
chapter
eighteen
“Wow! Mom, that’s fantastic!” It’s after school, and I’m with Mom and Grandpa on our back porch. The Ruler’s still at school, having a last-minute robotics meeting before tonight’s practice competition. Junie’s there too, of course. Sam’s at Little League. Mom is spilling all the cool details about the Ghostlympics.
“What’d you have to get them to do?” I ask.
“Pick up small objects, like buttons and Legos.” Mom’s voice is giddy with pride. “And there were animals I’d never experimented with before: a veiled chameleon, a hamster. …”
“Your mom was magnifico.” Grandpa lifts a spindly leg to his beak and blows a kiss Hollywood-style. “Truly magnifico.”
I actually understood him. At least I’m pretty sure I did. “Yay, Mom!”
“Sherry, what if I manage to pull this off? What if I win Real Time for us? I was thinking maybe we could get a soft pretzel together. We used to love that.”
I imagine the two of us side by side on a bench at the mall, chewing and talking, warm pretzels in our hands. “Yeah, yeah, that’d be so great! What happens next at the Ghostlympics?”
“Tougher tasks. In the semifinals we have to get animals with bigger brains to move larger objects.” The cushion on the garden chair where my mom’s sitting gives a little shake. “It’s much more complicated.”
Sounds very robotics-ish. “When are the semifinals?”
“They start tonight at six. And they’ll last for hours.”
I freeze. “But tonight’s the robotics practice competition.” I start twirling my hair. “Can Grandpa come with me?”
“No,” he squawks.
“Your grandfather’s a runner again at the Ghostlympics,” Mom says. “Besides, no one’s going to let a bird fly around inside at a robotics meet.”
“Wait a sec. I might not even have to go to the practice competition, right?” I untangle my finger. “What’d you find out at the district school board meeting, Mom?”
She sighs heavily. “Nothing of interest. A handful of math teachers applied for the department head position at Saguaro. Most of them have more experience than Paula, so she’s not really a contender.”
“Oh.” I’m twirling my hair again. “What about you, Grandpa? Did you find out anything about Kyle’s dad? Did he slash the tires?”
Grandpa shakes his little bird head. “Alibi.”
I’m twirling my hair faster and faster, like it’s a race. “Yeah, but he could’ve paid someone else to slash them.”
He shakes his head again. “Doubtful.”
“What about Kyle?” Mom asks.
“That’s a big fat zero.” I give them the details. “Although he does plan to give our house his deluxe TP treatment, which involves a ninety-six pack of toilet paper plus plastic forks stuck in the ground all over the front yard plus Saran Wrap around The Ruler’s car.”
“Sherry, you have to go to the robotics competition,” Mom says softly. “To follow up on this lead and keep an eye on Paula. As best you can.”
I bury my head in my hands. “The Donner team will be there wanting me to spy on my school. My school team will be there wanting me to be supportive. And if those fanatical Donner weirdos figure out not only do I go to Saguaro, but The Ruler is my stepmother …” I massage my head. “But no way I want you to quit the Ghostlympics and go with me.”
Total and complete silence. Like the world has stopped spinning. Even Grandpa doesn’t croak out anything.
I do not want my mom to ditch the Ghostlympics. Not in a million years. I want her to go to the semifinals, and ace them. I want her to advance to the finals where she blows everyone out of the water and wins Real Time. I’m not exactly sure what we’ll use the five minutes on. But I know one thing—I’m getting a hug.
Which means I will be on my own at Emerson Middle School this evening. I suck in a deep detective breath. I will be on my sneakiest, sleuthiest, stealthiest behavior. I won’t get caught by Donner. I won’t get caught by Saguaro.
Because getting caught would be überbad.
After Mom and Grandpa take off, I sprawl out in the garden chair on the porch, trying to chill. From my head to my toes, I’m basically a bundle of anxious, jumpy nerves. The chilling business? It’s not working.
My cell rings. “You’re the Best” by the Boyfriends! Josh’s song! I flip it open. “Hi, Josh.”
“Hi, Sherry. What’re you doing?”
“Chillin’.”
“Guess what? I’ve got some great news.”
Okay. Can I just say how much I love it when Josh gets all bubbly like a little kid at Chuck E. Cheese’s? “What?”
“I scored us free movie tickets. From a customer at my mom’s shop.”
“Josh, you rock!”
“And that’s not even the best part.”
He is so beyond cute in his excitement. “What’s the best part?”
“They’re for Janus.”
I squeal. Janus. Supposedly the chick flick to end all chick flicks. And my fine boyfriend will go with me.
“And that’s not even the best part.”
“What is the best part?”
“The tickets include popcorn and soda.”
“Yay!”
“And that’s not even the best part.”
While it’s definitely adorable when he’s all bubbly and excited, it also gets old. “Seriously. What is the best part?”
“The tickets are for opening night.”
“Isn’t that tonight?” Which means the “best part” is rapidly morphing into the “worst part” for me.
“At six.”
Does everything of consequence in Phoenix start tonight at six o’clock? “I’m really, really sorry, but I can’t go. I promised I’d go to this robotics thing.”
“Bummer.” He sounds like I popped his birthday balloon. “I don’t want to just waste the tickets.”
“Your mom?”
“Nah, she’s already got tickets.”
“Eric?” Even as the name leaves my lips, I know it’s not going to work.
Josh snorts. “Eric’s not into chick flicks. There’d have to be explosives and chase scenes.”
And then a name pops into my mind. The name of someone who is into chick flicks. The name of someone who would Superwoman-vault over tall buildings in a single bound. Or break a chunky leg trying if it meant a chance to go out with Josh.
I hold my breath and just hope “Candy” doesn’t leap from my mind over to Josh’s.
After I get off the phone, I can’t even sit still, I’m so antsy and full of worries. A horrible thought keeps replaying in my troubled mind. Josh and Candy will end up at Janus together.
Finally, I decide I can’t take the torture for one more second.
I dig Polly’s business card out of my purse.
“Hi, Polly,” I say when she picks up.
“Hi, Sherry. What’s up?”
“Remember that guy you said is really into me? The one with messy hair? Any chance he goes to the movies with the glittery girl you saw talking to him? You know, during my reading.”
“I couldn’t say,” Polly answers. “Maybe if I did a reading for one of them, I’d see something about a movie. But I might not. I sort of just see what I see. Why?”
“He has Janus tickets for tonight.”
“Very cool.”
“He asked me and all, but I can’t go. So I was wondering if he asks her.”
“It’s just like I told you, Sherry, he really likes you. Even if he ends up going to Janus with the other girl, you don’t need to worry.”
Easy for her to say.
“What happened with the slashed tires?” Polly asks.
“The police think it was maybe teens or an unhappy student. My stepmom’s a teacher.”
“I had some scary vibes about her. Did you tell her to be way careful?”
“Uh, not yet.”
&nb
sp; “You should.” Polly pauses. “You got a science test coming up?”
“Uh, yeah. As a matter of fact, I do. Worth half my grade.”
“You better study.”
You don’t need to be a psychic to tell me that.
chapter
nineteen
I’m standing outside the door of Emerson’s gym, looking in. Nervously. My eye is twitching like a camera shutter set on sports speed.
There are a gazillion middle-school students, parents, teachers, judges. Stick me in there and it’ll be a gazillion and one. That’s a lot of bodies. One body can hide and eavesdrop in the middle of a lot of bodies. I might actually be able to pull off this undercover operation. My eye twitch slows down.
I step in. It’s noisy. Just as you would expect with all those bodies. It’s hot. Just as you would expect with all those bodies.
There’s a big box of safety glasses with a sign: SAFETY GOGGLES MUST BE WORN IN THE PIT. I strap on a pair. It’s a disguise of sorts. This mission is doable. My eye twitch disappears.
The gym is divided in half. One half is a big rectangle with a two-foot-high Plexiglas fence around it. The field where the bots compete. The other half is divided into three rows. Each row is made up of about twelve team booths, six on each side of the row. The booths are constructed of plastic pipes and decorated with team banners and homemade posters. Inside most booths is a bunch of people with screwdrivers and drills, poking and prodding their robot. At the front of each booth, there’s a basket of free team buttons.
Head ducked, I lurk at the end of each row, peering through the crowds to find the Donner booth. I need to sneak into the back of their stall before anyone from my school sees and identifies me. I figure I’ll hide there for the evening, listening for any plans about The Ruler.
“Mary, finally, you’re here.”
With a scream, I jump.
“We’ve been looking for you.” Claire’s right in my face. With her shiny black hair totally straightened, the long side looks longer and the short side looks shorter. Add in a white and turquoise tie-dye T-shirt with a blazing fireball on the back and DONNER DYNAMOS in black letters across the front. Claire’s got a real robotic-warrior thing going. “Where’s your team shirt, Mary?”