Mutant Mantis Lunch Ladies

by Bruce Hale

  Tenacity’s fists landed on her hips. “Who you calling losers?”

  “Yeah!” cried my little sister. “You’re the losers!”

  “Shut up, short stuff!” snapped a big black-haired girl.

  I wanted to defend my sister, but didn’t want to call attention to myself. Still, I couldn’t help saying, “You shouldn’t have said that.”

  Sure enough, Veronica hissed and surged at the other girl. Tina held her back.

  “Double doody-head!” shrieked Veronica, snapping her jaws.

  How about that? I thought. They’re fighting over who gets to feed us to the monsters.

  “Aren’t we the popular ones,” said Benny.

  “I’d settle for being alive and ignored, if it’s all the same,” I said.

  As we watched, words escalated into blows. Tenacity shoved Mean Red. Red took a swing at Tenacity, tugging out some of my hair along the way.

  Next thing you know, the two groups of girls closed in on each other, pushing, punching, and pulling hair. Tenacity’s group was smaller, but they made up for it in ferocity. I saw Tina karate-kick a sixth grader in the gut, and my own sister bit the black-haired girl’s leg like a rabid terrier.

  Apparently, you can turn someone into a predator, but you can’t control what they prey on. These budding slayers had turned on each other.

  Forgotten, Benny and I stepped away from the free-for-all. He was about to blast for the door, but I caught his sleeve.

  “Wait,” I said.

  “Are you totally whacked? Let’s bounce before they remember who they were fighting over.”

  I shook my head. “Look.”

  The three mantises had found a cache of bugs hiding beneath a fallen tablecloth. As we watched, they shoveled the last of the roaches into their greedy maws, crunching away. But they couldn’t see what we could.

  The monsters’ swollen bodies were pulsating, expanding and contracting like a bellows. With each throb, their bodies grew bigger and bigger, like hideously warped balloons—until, just like an overinflated balloon…

  They popped.

  But that doesn’t really do it justice.

  To be more accurate, the mantises exploded, they went supernova, they burst like a bargain-basement piñata. One second, they were just three fatty-fat insects, and the next…pow! Bits of greenish meat, cartilage, guts, and half-digested cockroaches sprayed the room like someone had set off a bug bomb made entirely of bugs.

  I had just enough time to say, “Look ou—!” when Benny and I were hit by a tidal wave of goop. The nasty, sour-smelling stuff struck us with the power of a football tackle. Down we went, right into the nearest table.

  The battling girls caught the full force of the blast. It knocked them over like bowling pins, blowing them into a tangle of arms and legs and greenish glop.

  For a long, long moment, all was silent, except for a wet, dripping noise. Then a voice that sounded like my sister said, “Eeww, my hair!”

  I had to laugh. But as it turned out, that wasn’t such a hot idea, since I got a mouthful of mantis guts. Did it taste bad? Let me put it this way: combine spoiled cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, and escamole (a Mexican dish made from ant larvae—really!) with rancid Limburger cheese, and you’re just starting to get in the ballpark.

  “Ack-ick-uck!” I hocked, and spat, and wiped my face with an arm.

  Painted with green glop, Benny took one look at me and burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you ate bug goop!”

  Trust a friend to comfort you in your hour of distress.

  Then his face puckered like a drawstring purse as Benny got his own taste of buggy flavor. “Eeewww! Gross! This stuff is nasty!”

  And we weren’t the only ones who found the bug guts disgusting. Rising to her knees, a goop-covered Gabi grabbed her belly and clapped a hand over her mouth. Her body hunched once, twice, and then…

  “Blaarrrgh!” She ralphed all over Tina.

  Revolted, Karate Girl sprang to her feet, gave a full-body shudder, and horked up the contents of her stomach onto Mean Red’s head.

  From there on, it was basically Barf City. The urge to upchuck spread among the mutant wannabes like head lice in a preschool. Before long, all the girls who’d wanted to rip our heads off were helplessly losing their lunch all over each other and the cafeteria floor.

  “I love a happy ending,” sighed Benny.

  It felt good to laugh again, this time with mouth closed. I found some dry napkins and swabbed my face. I even risked a bite of brownie to help mask the aftertaste.

  Struggling to our feet, Benny and I surveyed the scene. It looked like a deeply sick giant had blown his nose all over this end of the cafeteria, and then sprinkled in some cockroach bits. And it smelled as bad as it tasted. The slime coated everything—the walls, the tables, the treats, and the queasy girls who were beginning to sit up.

  “The—the makers!” cried one of them, finally noticing the mantises’ remains. “They’re…disgusting.”

  “And gone!” wailed another.

  “What do we do?” asked Gabi. “They always knew what to do.”

  One glop-covered head swiveled in my direction, and two brown eyes glared at Benny and me. “You! You’re responsible!” snarled Tenacity weakly.

  “Hey, we didn’t make them overeat,” said Benny. “It’s like that commercial—know when to say when.”

  But the girls weren’t buying it. Their leaders were gone, and they wanted someone to blame.

  Us.

  The gunk-ified girls lurched to their feet with murder in their eyes. Even worse, they stood between us and the exit.

  I’m not sure exactly where this would’ve ended, but just then, a familiar lanky figure stepped into the doorway behind them with a hose in his hands.

  “Always the same story,” said Mr. Boo. “The kids make the mess; the janitor cleans it up.”

  “Huh?” said Tenacity, turning.

  “In the words of the immortal Bob Dylan, Spray, Mr. Tambourine Man!” said the custodian.

  And with that, he worked the hose lever, blasting high-pressure water onto me, Benny, and all the wannabe mantis girls.

  I NEVER THOUGHT I’d say this, but sometimes, having responsible adults around really comes in handy. By the time the custodian had finished hosing off the slime, Mrs. Johnson arrived, backed by some teachers and a few PTA parents. The girls still wanted to beat us up, but they knew the principal would never allow it. They sulked and glowered instead.

  Mrs. Johnson strode over to us, being careful not to step in any puddles with her fancy kangaroo-skin boots. She wore a cranberry-colored pantsuit and a wary expression.

  “Boys,” she said.

  “Mrs. Johnson,” we replied.

  She surveyed us. “You look like you’ve been chewed up, spit out, and stepped on.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” we said.

  The principal stroked her chin. “I assume there’s some kind of logical explanation for what I witnessed here today?”

  Logical? Benny and I exchanged a glance. “Not really,” said Benny.

  “But we’ll try,” I added.

  We told her about the army experiments, about the mutant mantises imitating the lunch staff, and about what we thought they were planning at our school.

  Mrs. Johnson arched an eyebrow. “Mutant mantis lunch ladies?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” we said.

  She shook her head. “This ain’t my first rodeo, but giant bugs? That’s a whole ’nother thing.” Glancing over at the girls, Mrs. Johnson asked, “Are they in any danger?”

  As the PTA and Mr. Boo continued their cleanup, Benny and I explained that the girls had had almost a week of brainwashing and some weird food that was supposed to help turn them all mantis-y. “No telling what was in it,” I said. “Bug bits? Broccoli? Some kind of mantis juice? Luckily, these girls puked it all up.”

  Mrs. Johnson winced. “Dang. I guess that means we’ve got to give the rest of them an emetic.”

&
nbsp; “Emetic?” said Benny.

  “Something to make them throw up,” she said.

  I made a face. “Every girl in the school?”

  One side of her mouth curled. “You can’t get lard unless you boil the hog.” In answer to our blank expressions, she said, “That means, it’s disgusting, but it’s gotta be done.”

  Benny blew out some air. “Man, I’d hate to be Mr. Boo—er, Decker after they finish.”

  “We won’t give them emetics in the hallways,” said Mrs. Johnson. “What kind of school do you think this is?”

  Benny was saved from answering that straight line by the appearance of Mr. Boo himself. “Hey, I drilled through the lock on the pantry,” he said, “and guess what I found?”

  “Pasta and canned vegetables,” said Mrs. Johnson.

  The lanky custodian shook his head. “Nope. Well, a few cans, maybe. No, dude, I found these three.”

  He gestured, and Veronica’s friend Justin tottered forward, followed by our missing classmate AJ, and another kid who must have been Nathan. All three looked shakier than a tot on a ten-speed bike, and really, really glad to be free.

  With a cry of relief, Mrs. Johnson rushed over and gave them all a hug. Little Justin clung to her like a baby koala to its mother.

  “I—I—I thought they were g-gonna e-eat us,” he stuttered, burying his face in her belly.

  “Oh, sweet pea,” she said. “You poor li’l thing.”

  Nathan’s teacher hurried up to claim him. Benny and I greeted AJ, who solemnly shook our hands and thanked us. Despite their captivity, all three boys looked healthy. They might have even put on a pound or two.

  “What did they do to you?” asked Benny.

  “You don’t wanna know,” said AJ.

  “Actually, we do,” I said.

  Our classmate shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “They kept feeding us sweets and junk food.”

  “Yum,” said Benny. “Lucky you!”

  AJ shot him a dirty look. “And they were always experimenting on us with different foods and pinching us.”

  “Pinching you?” I said.

  “To see if we were fat enough yet.” AJ seemed queasy. “Mrs. McCoy—er…”

  “The thing that looked like Mrs. McCoy?” I said.

  “Yeah. She said they were going to serve me up in a nice cream sauce tonight.” He looked a little green.

  Benny clapped his shoulder. “Cheer up. At least it wasn’t garlic sauce.”

  “You’re safe now,” I added.

  “So”—AJ looked around—“they’re really gone?”

  “As gone as last year’s leftovers,” I said.

  He gave a shaky chuckle. “Thanks for proving I wasn’t crazy. And for putting a stop to those…things.” He looked from one of us to the other. “I guess you guys really are heroes.”

  A warm feeling started somewhere down in my belly and made its way up to my face. I ducked my head.

  “Aw, shucks,” said Benny.

  “Really stinky heroes,” said AJ, fanning the air. “Seriously, you both need a shower. And shirts.”

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  “Yeah, well, don’t think your flattery gets you out of paying us,” said Benny. “We still expect a week’s allowance and a plate of your dad’s cookies.”

  “I think I’ll make that two plates,” said AJ.

  Veronica didn’t much care for her vomiting session. But it did seem to calm her down some. At least she wasn’t talking about ripping off my head anymore. By the time Mom came to pick us up from school, my little sister was on the road back to being her usual self.

  Still a diva, yes. But at least not a cannibal diva.

  After the experience, Tina seemed sullen and a bit embarrassed. Still, it was good to have my friend back. She joined us at the curb to wait for her own ride, scuffing the concrete with the toe of her sneaker.

  “You feeling okay?” I asked.

  Tina squinted out at the road. “I feel bad for the real cafeteria ladies, the ones who got…you know, eaten.”

  I was about to correct her and say “inhabited,” the word that Dr. Sincere had used. But he’d turned out to be a big fat liar. I stared down at my hands. “Yeah. They didn’t deserve that.”

  “Nobody does,” said Benny.

  The four of us were quiet for a moment, remembering the three kind, goodhearted women.

  Tina broke the silence. “You know, they weren’t all wrong, the mutant mantis lunch ladies.”

  I eyed her. “You mean, aside from the whole ‘let’s eat the boys and turn the girls into giant bugs’ thing?”

  “Right,” said Tina. “Aside from that.”

  “Really?”

  Her face tightened. “Things aren’t fair for girls today. We have limits. We have expectations to deal with.”

  “Like boys don’t?” said Benny, wringing water from his wet T-shirt.

  Tina glowered. “Zip it, Brackman. It’s not the same for girls, and you know it.”

  “Yeah,” Veronica seconded.

  Benny pulled a skeptical face, but he wisely said nothing. I guess being chased by a horde of bloodthirsty girls could teach even Benny a thing or two.

  “So maybe things will be different around here,” I said, “now that everyone’s had a taste of how the other half lives.”

  “Maybe,” said Tina. But she seemed doubtful.

  “One thing will be different, anyway,” said Benny.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  He grimaced. “Lunch will never be the same again.”

  I nodded. “Because of the memories?”

  “Because of the food.” Benny’s face looked as mournful as a dog dragged away from roadkill. “We’ll never find another set of lunch ladies that serves up so much junk food.”

  “Unbelievable,” said Tina.

  Benny grinned. “Thanks. I try.”

  I wagged my head. “As a wise person once said: ‘Zip it, Brackman.’”

  THAT WEEKEND, our Saturday-night meal ended up being kind of a special occasion. It was Veronica’s farewell dinner. Her hiatus had ended, and the next day she and Mom would head back to LA to resume Veronica’s work on the TV series.

  Plus, there was the whole not-getting-eaten-or-turned-into-a-mutant thing to celebrate.

  Abuelita went all out for the occasion. We had squash blossom sauté, pork carnitas, frijoles, polenta, and more side dishes than you can count. And this time, she even let Mom help her in the kitchen.

  During our first attack on this amazing spread, everyone stayed pretty quiet. (Except my dog, Zeppo, who whined for some pork and slobbered on my lap.) My dad was scooping polenta when he shook his head and half chuckled.

  “I still can’t believe it,” he said. “Giant bugs serving lunches at Monterrosa Elementary. Sounds like a National Enquirer headline. Who knew the army was conducting those weird experiments just down the coast?”

  “Who knew?” said Abuelita, with a secret smile.

  Right after our big showdown with the mutant mantises, the army had tried to convince people that there were no mutant mantises—that everyone had actually hallucinated due to a gas leak.

  Yeah, right.

  But not much hard evidence of our bug battle remained. The goo had been cleaned up, and Dr. Sincere had removed the jars of mantis juice that he assumed the lunch ladies had been serving to girls “for further study.”

  And speaking of the slimy scientist, he was currently on the run, whereabouts unknown. Someone (I suspect Abuelita) had placed an anonymous phone call to the army’s Criminal Investigation Command, and he bugged out (so to speak) just before their team arrived. It was only a matter of time until they caught him.

  Although I’m not a vengeful guy, I hoped they would lock up Dr. Sincere for good in the most roach-infested cell they could find.

  When the news vans appeared at our school after the Bugpocalypse, they had nothing to film. The mutant mantises were gone, and no one on staff would give an inte
rview. Mrs. Johnson’s orders. I guess she was afraid of the school getting sued or something. So the news died out pretty quickly.

  “From what your principal said, you and Benny were very helpful in getting rid of those creatures,” said my mom.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “But there’s something that confuses me—”

  “Why is everyone making such a big deal over Carlos?” my sister cut in, pouting.

  Mom sent her a “hush up” look. “If you and Benny were such a help, Carlos, then why is Mrs. Johnson giving you a week’s worth of detention? She should be giving you a medal.”

  Forking some pork into my mouth, I said, “It’s complicated.”

  Sometimes even heroes can’t get away with releasing bagfuls of cockroaches in the school cafeteria.

  My mom patted my hand. “Well, I imagine it’ll be good to get back to normal.” She glanced over at Veronica. “Good for both of you. Tell me, mijo, are you going to miss having your sister around?”

  I considered Veronica, across the table. She wore not the crazed expression of a monster-in-training, but the bratty look of a little girl who wants to be fussed over. Despite all we had been through the past few days, despite her nearly munching me, she was still my sister.

  “A little,” I said. “It wasn’t totally awful having her back.”

  Veronica squirmed in her seat. “And it wasn’t totally awful being home with my big brother.”

  We exchanged a nod and went back to eating our meal in peace.

  And sometimes, between a brother and a sister, that’s the best you can hope for.

  THE ONLY THING more dangerous than a dare is a double-dog dare. Most kids I know are powerless to resist one, and Benny Brackman and I were no exceptions. That’s why nighttime found us creeping around the school’s mechanical room searching for a ghost—despite common sense, good judgment, and the risk of missing my favorite TV show.

  “Darn Tyler Spork,” said Benny. He shone his black-light flashlight into a shadowy corner behind one of the massive boilers.

  “We didn’t have to take his dare,” I said.

  Benny gave me The Look. It could mean different things at different times, but just then it meant Stop being a total doofus, Carlos.