Electric Boogerloo

by Mark Maciejewski

  I take a deep breath to keep my voice from shaking. “That was an accident. Mr. Mayer knew that.”

  “Mr. Mayer had things on his mind other than doing paperwork for the school. Bringing disciplinary action against a student would have invited a lot of unwelcome attention. Thankfully, I have no such . . . preoccupation.” She flips over the stapled bundle that must be the arson case.

  I flick my eyes to the stupid little mug she loves to show off. I want to say, What about your boyfriend?

  She peruses the next packet, and then flips through several more of them, scanning the headlines. “Stealing a mascot, attempting to poison the track team . . . what haven’t you two gotten into?”

  Nothing comes to mind immediately. My face is hot and tight like an overcooked kielbasa. This isn’t fair.

  “So, as you can see, I have all the evidence I need.”

  “None of those things happened this year,” I blurt out.

  “Perhaps not, but a fire alarm was pulled yesterday. If someone—oh, say, the principal—had witnessed that—”

  The Arch shifts forward in his seat. “You weren’t even here when—”

  My hand flies to my forehead, but I disguise the move by using it to rub my brow instead. Realizing how stupid his outburst was, the Arch slumps in his chair.

  She gives him an amused look, and then her eyes narrow. “All you need to remember is that unless the . . . item is returned in one piece, it will be the words of a pair of arsonists against one of the most respected educators in this or any other state.” The word “educator” comes out sounding like Professor Snape.

  She reassembles our file and replaces the rubber band. With a heave, she drops it back in the desk drawer. When she looks up again she seems surprised we are still there.

  “That is all. I will see you both on Monday.”

  • • •

  The end-of-lunch bell rings just as we leave the office, so we quickly plan to meet after school. I’m going to need a couple of hours of uninterrupted thinking time to figure out what we are going to do. Thankfully, I have language arts next, then algebra.

  In language arts we’re making the outlines for stories that we will be writing later in the quarter. I wasn’t listening when Mrs. Sigurdson explained how to do an outline, so hopefully one looks something like the matrix I sketch out in my notebook of all the facts in the case. By the end of class all I have are the names of everyone I can imagine having the nerve to take the stupid thing. I draw a line through the one name I know for sure didn’t do it, my own.

  The final bell rings at the end of algebra. Normally getting out on Friday of the first week of school would be one of the best feelings a kid can experience (my dad would say “a job well done” is right up there). But today it’s the starting gun in a race against my own destruction. Lockhart is right; if she decides to throw us out, I should just consider myself thrown. Nobody would take Archer’s and my word over hers, least of all my parents. Maybe it’s an immigrant thing, but they think anyone in a position of authority walks on water. If Jarek is right about my dad itching for a reason to move back to Poland, Lockhart is about to hand him one.

  After a summer of tai chi and self-reflection, I’d come back to school less than five days ago determined to stay away from the type of trouble I’d always sought out in the past. How could things have gone so wrong, so fast?

  After the final bell I avoid the halls by going one flight up to the library, then out the secret door and down the abandoned staircase. It’s raining when I open the door from the basement into the parking lot. Apparently even the sky has decided to dump on me today. I move close to the building to avoid a complete soaking, and when none of the kids waiting for the bus are looking, I slip through the gap between the Dumpsters. The McQueens, Shelby, Megumi, and Moby are already there. The Arch slips in a few seconds after me.

  One of the McQueens pulls out a hat and puts it on. When it’s adjusted to the proper angle, he nods approvingly. “Decided to poke the dragon, eh? The McQueens approve.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The bit with the snotty toy. Brilliant!”

  Before I can reply Megumi jumps in. “It wasn’t them. Lockhart smelled rubber cement in the hall during fifth period. She searched Danny Moles’s locker and found half a jar.”

  The McQueens trade a knowing look. “Probable cause,” the hatted one says.

  Moby raises his hand and the Arch scoffs. Moby puts his hand down. “Who’s Danny Moles?”

  “He’s the one who named the Boogerloo. Remember, at the assembly?” Megumi says.

  Actually I made up the name. Danny was just the one dumb enough to say it loud enough so Lockhart could hear. Realization hits like someone dumped a cup of ice water down my back. Of course, Danny Moles!

  I shoot a glance at the Arch. His eyes widen when he puts it together. “Danny Moles, duh.” He runs a hand through his hair and laughs. “We’re off the hook.”

  Shelby clears her throat. “Ahem, there are two small problems with your theory.” She looks around to make sure she has everyone’s attention. “One, Danny is an idiot. There’s no way he planned and executed a heist of that sophistication. It’s simply impossible.”

  She’s right. Danny is the kid who missed a couple of days last year after eating a jar of habañero peppers in an attempt to give himself a fever to get out of standardized testing.

  Moby goes to raise his hand again, then stuffs it in his pocket instead. “Maybe he’s only pretending to be an idiot.”

  The Arch slowly turns and gives Moby a sideways look.

  Shelby clears her throat again. “Which brings me to my second point. Remember the assembly where he yelled out and got in trouble?”

  We all nod.

  Shelby looks at us like she can’t believe she has to spell it out. “Don’t you see? It couldn’t have been Danny. He was in detention when the Boogerloo was stolen. He’s literally the only one who has an alibi.”

  For a moment no one speaks, then the McQueen pipes up. “So what’s the play, Chub?”

  Everyone is looking at me, and I have absolutely no idea what to tell them. I’m learning new things about having a Cadre all the time. For example, having one makes it really easy to disappoint everyone you care about all at the same time when you’re in way over your head and have no clue what to do next.

  “I need some time to think about this.”

  “Dude!” the Arch says. “Were you not listening to Lockhart? We don’t have time.”

  Megumi flattens her eyebrows in concern. “What does that mean?”

  I look at the Arch, who makes an ushering motion with his hands. “It means if the Boogerloo isn’t returned by Monday, we’re toast.”

  Shelby’s hands go to her mouth and she gasps. The McQueens shake their heads. Moby looks like he wants to disappear.

  Megumi just looks mad. “But you didn’t take it. She can’t do that.”

  The Arch looks like he did when Moby took him out at the poker tournament last year.

  Megumi sees him sulking and pats his arm. Seeing her comforting him makes my scalp burn. But it cools down a few degrees when I remember that I’ll be the one going with her to Emerald Con tomorrow. At least I’ll get to do something cool before my life comes to an end Monday. I suppose if I was granted a last wish, it’d probably involve Emerald Con and reading Ronin Girl anyway.

  “She saw me go into the school right before it disappeared. She can blame whoever she wants for the fire alarm. It’s her word against ours,” I say.

  Shelby wrings her hands. “We have to find it. That’s all there is to it.”

  I throw up my hands. “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “I . . . you’re the mastermind.”

  Right now I don’t feel like the master of anything. “Just stay as close to the phone as you can. I’ll think of something.” Everyone nods, then picks up their bags to head home in the rain.

  I reach down and heave my bag on
to my shoulder. When I turn to go Shelby is blocking my way. For a split second I think I’m about to get the soul-stare, but she has a totally different look in her eyes.

  “What will happen if you get kicked out of Alanmoore?”

  This time I avoid her gaze for a different reason. I don’t want her to see how scared I am. “I’ll think of something,” I say.

  I hope I’m right.

  One by one everyone slips out of the alcove and disappears. After Shelby leaves, Megumi is next. Before she goes she turns and does the pinky-thumb-telephone sign that she’ll call me later to plan our trip to Emerald Con in the morning.

  Finally, it’s just me, Moby, and the Arch. The Arch kicks a pebble with his shoe and watches it ping off the recycling Dumpster. “Last weekend of freedom, huh?”

  “I hope not.”

  The Arch laughs. He looks at Moby, then at me. “Listen, Chub. I just want you to know . . .” He doesn’t finish.

  But I think I know what he was going to say, because I feel the same way. Even though the circumstances suck, in a weird way it’s been kinda fun getting in trouble together again.

  Moby lets out his breath in a whoosh. “What? What do you want him to know?”

  The Arch shakes his head. “Never mind. I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”

  I almost correct him and tell him that I have plans tomorrow, but I don’t want to have to explain that I’m going with Megumi, so I just nod. Quick as a rabbit, he turns and disappears through the gap.

  CHAPTER 21

  The last thing I need right now is to get drafted into dry cleaning service by my parents, so we head to Moby’s house. The rain turns Moby’s linen shirt see-through, and he spends half the walk dropping his backpack because he’s trying to use his arms to hide his nipples.

  I don’t mind the rain. When it’s raining, nobody can tell if you’re sweating.

  We’re greeted by the smell of pizza rolls when we get there. We drop our wet things in the entryway and head to the kitchen. The Colonel is just sliding what looks like an entire box of the little bundles of pizza-flavored goodness onto a platter. He’s wearing an apron that says NO, YOU CAN’T HAVE IT “WELL DONE.”

  He licks his fingers. “Men.”

  “Colonel.”

  “You boys are good soldiers. Did you manage to keep your powder dry?”

  Moby shrugs. “I don’t use powder anymore, Grandpa.” He turns to me and whispers louder than a freight train, “Gave me a rash in my armpits.” He flaps his arms like a penguin to make sure I get it. “Plus—”

  The Colonel holds up a hand to stop him. “Uh-uh! What’s the number one rule between two men who share a bathroom?”

  Moby recites rule one. “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

  “Atta kid.” He offers us the platter, and we both grab handfuls. Then the Colonel whisks away the tray and heads upstairs. Moby and I wait until we hear him flop into one of the chairs in the theater room before taking our snacks up to his room. He makes me wait in the hall while he changes out of his wet shirt.

  When he lets me in, we get to work on our snack. For a few minutes the only sound in the room is Moby’s chewing. He shakes me out of my thoughts when he says, “What will your parents do if you get kicked out of Alanmoore?”

  “I don’t know. I guess we’ll have to move.”

  “Man, that sucks.”

  That’s the understatement of the year. “I’m a survivor, Moby. I’ll be fine.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “I wasn’t talking about you! What am I supposed to do if you have to go to a different school?”

  “I don’t know. The same thing you always do, I guess.”

  Desperation crosses his face. “Chub, I hang around with you. That’s what I do.”

  I guess I never considered it from his point of view. He’s right; he will be lost at Alanmoore without me. The thought of him wandering the halls alone makes my stomach feel like it’s falling through a trapdoor out my butt.

  But what can I do? I’ve played every angle I have, and none of them has led me any closer to catching whoever stole the stupid thing. I’d love to tell him that I’ve got a plan to get me—I mean us—out of this, but I don’t want to lie. I can’t even look him in the eye. I bet no one has ever looked so sad while eating pizza rolls before. I pop one of the little lava pillows in my mouth and choke it down, along with the realization that I am letting down not only Moby, but the rest of the Cadre too.

  My parents are gone when I get home. There’s a note on the fridge from my mom telling me that they’ll be late at the shop getting ready for tomorrow, and there’s dinner in the fridge for me when I get hungry. I’m still pretty stuffed with pizza rolls, but I could eat again, if properly tempted. There’s a plastic wrap–covered plate in the fridge. Dinner consists of three pieces of fried Spam (delicacy), some green beans out of a can, and a puddle of pudding. I think my mom plans meals by doing Internet searches for pictures of TV dinners.

  I take the Spam, bite one bean in half, spit it into the sink, and leave the bitten piece on the plate along with a smear of pudding, then I shove the rest down the disposal so my mom isn’t insulted when she gets home.

  After that I grab the phone and call Megumi.

  “You ready for tomorrow?” she says as soon as she answers.

  “I think so.”

  “You don’t sound very excited.”

  I picture Moby earlier, sadly chewing his pizza roll. “I have a lot on my mind.” She doesn’t reply. “So what’s the plan?” I go over to the desk in the corner of the kitchen and fire up the Compusaurus, what I call our ancient computer, to browse the schedule for Emerald Con while we talk.

  “Do you remember where I live?”

  How could I forget? “I remember.”

  “Well, why don’t you come here in the morning and we can walk together?”

  Most of the Emerald Con page has loaded. Nothing in particular catches my eye, but just as I’m about to give up, a name pops into view.

  Tatsuo Kobayashi will be making a rare personal appearance. And the better news is that he’ll be signing autographs.

  “Okay!” I say a little too enthusiastically.

  “Great. Because I have a surprise for you.”

  Part of me wants to tell her that I already know her dad will be signing Ronin Girl, but she’s excited to tell me herself, so I don’t let on that I already know.

  When I hear my dad’s car bounce and scrape into the driveway, I quickly say good-bye, switch off the Compusaurus, and fly upstairs. I don’t want to get cornered, in case he changed his mind about not having me work tomorrow. As always, I have a backup story prepared about a surprise project I have due Monday, just in case.

  The next morning, I shoot out of bed, wide awake before my feet hit the floor. I put on the button-down shirt I wear when I help Jarek at the theater, but I have my League of Honor shirt underneath. I wait until it sounds like my parents are finishing their morning coffee before I make my appearance in the kitchen.

  My mother makes me a two-minute egg with little strips of toast to dip in it. Just as I’m dunking my first piece into the yolk she kisses me on the head.

  “Good-bye, rodzynek. Have a good day.”

  “Work hard,” my father says, downing the last of his coffee.

  The second the car’s bumper scrapes the driveway, I dump the rest of my breakfast and fly out the door to meet Megumi.

  All the walls around Maplehurst look exactly the same. At first I think I might be searching the wrong one, but after a few minutes I find the hole behind the leaves.

  I can’t explain it, but I feel weird walking right up to those giant doors and ringing the bell. Maybe it’s because the only other building I’ve ever been in that has doors that tall is our church.

  Megumi opens the door, all smiles. Her shirt has a picture of a cartoon mouse lying in a field of daisies with a pink samurai sword stuck in his chest.

  She notices me looking and glances down. “It’s a
statement. Do you get it?”

  I do not. “Yep.”

  She bops my arm playfully. “Too good, right?”

  “Almost.”

  She laughs, then picks up the backpack propped against the wall and heaves it onto her shoulders. “Let’s roll.”

  Emerald Con is at the convention center downtown. It isn’t far, and thankfully, the entire walk there is downhill. Even if Kobayashi isn’t the best father, I don’t want to be all sweaty when I meet him.

  We spend the first couple of minutes of the walk talking about comics and movies. I thought I knew a lot about rare comics, but Megumi knows about ones I’ve never even heard of. I commit as many of the names to memory as possible so I can look them up later on the Compusaurus.

  When the convention center comes into view, Megumi is quiet.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I . . . thanks for coming with me today,” she says.

  Why is she thanking me? “No problem.”

  She laughs, and it makes me feel like I’m missing something obvious. “I mean, thanks for everything.” My confusion must show on my face because she says, “You know, letting me be a member of your Cadre and everything. I never had friends like that at my other schools.”

  Joining the Cadre this week was about as lucky as getting the last ticket on the Titanic.

  “I’m the one who should be thanking you. I would’ve never been able to go to this if you hadn’t invited me.” She shrugs it off like it’s no big deal. “Seriously, I have an appointment with the executioner Monday. I’m pretty much looking at this as my last request before the axe drops.”

  She laughs and playfully swats my arm. “Wow. Dramatic. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” But her eyes tell me she doesn’t believe what she’s saying.

  When we get to the convention center, I step into the line of people waiting to walk through security. Megumi veers away and signals me to follow her.

  I weave my way down the sidewalk after her. There’s a big sculpture on the corner that looks like a soup bowl with gigantic blades of grass growing out of it. When I emerge from the crowd on the sidewalk, she’s sitting on the rim of the bowl. “I found your Wahoolie,” she says.