Sunny Sweet is So Dead Meat

by Jennifer Ann Mann

“She exploded the bottle? Did she mean to do it?”

  “Of course she meant to do it!” I shouted. “And don’t tell me to calm down, please, Alice. It will kill me.”

  I heard her giggling.

  “You can’t laugh either.”

  “Okay, you can’t tell me that you’re sitting covered in ketchup at some random school with your little sister up in a tree and tell me not to laugh,” she said. “Why did she do it? Is she covered in ketchup too?”

  “No! Of course she isn’t covered in ketchup! She’s high and dry and looking completely normal, or rather as normal as she can look. She did it so that I don’t look normal. I was supposed to be her science project at the science fair today. She thought she could cover me in red ketchup dye and follow me around the science fair taking notes while people laughed at me!”

  “What kind of experiment is that?”

  “I don’t know. Sunny said something about not following the rules and being different,” I mumbled.

  “I’m googling it,” she said.

  I watched the clouds slide across the sky as the sun warmed my face. But after a few minutes of listening to Alice breathing into the phone while she researched, I got bored. I rolled onto my side and began collecting tiny little pebbles from the edge of the parking lot and lining them up in the shape of hearts. I could hear Alice laugh or snort every now and then as she read up on the mess I was in. I had made four pebble hearts and was working on the fifth when Alice finally finished with her research.

  “Your sister is nuts,” she said, laughing.

  “Thanks, I know.”

  “It looks like she wants you to act weird so she can record how people react to your weirdness.”

  “Ugh,” I growled. “Why didn’t she just walk around and take notes on herself then?”

  “Maybe the only way to get Sunny back is by acting normal,” Alice said.

  “I am acting normal!”

  “You chased her up a tree.”

  I thought about Sunny’s rain boot on the roof of the building. I didn’t mention it to Alice. It wouldn’t help my case. “If you were stranded at some school with red dye exploded all over you, you would have popped a wheelie in that chair of yours and chased her right up a tree too!”

  Alice’s legs didn’t work so she had to be in a wheelchair.

  “I can’t pop a wheelie, Masha Sweet.”

  “You just haven’t tried,” I said.

  “I love being your friend,” she laughed.

  “I love being your friend too. But right now all I want is to get home. Will you help me?”

  “Of course. So, let’s think. Why would someone normally be covered in red dye?”

  “What?”

  “You know, if Sunny wants you to look and behave like an insane person, you have to act like a sane person. What kind of sane person is covered in red dye?”

  “You’re a genius, Alice. Okay, how about it’s blood and I’m a doctor.”

  “Surgeons don’t walk out of surgery covered in their patients’ blood and then take the bus home.”

  “Good point.”

  “How about you’re an artist?” she said. “The red can be paint and you just got done with an art project.”

  “Yes! Great, Alice! Okay, I’m a painter.” I stood up and wiped the pebbles and dust off my T-shirt and jeans and checked myself out. “Too bad I didn’t wear my overalls today.”

  “You have overalls?”

  “Yes. Don’t you?”

  “No. No one wears overalls.”

  “Painters wear overalls.”

  “You’re an artist, not a painter. A painter paints a house, and you’re only eleven years old. No one is going to think you are painting a house. So, artist, all you need are some paintbrushes and maybe a can of paint. Go into the school and find the art department. You can stick a couple of brushes in your pocket and carry the paint. That way, when you get on the bus to get home, no one will even think twice. Voilà, you’re normal!”

  “I love the way you think, Alice Rottersdam!”

  She giggled. “Oh, I wish I could see you right now.”

  “Hold on,” I told her. I held the phone as far away from myself as I could and snapped a picture and texted it over. I heard her honking laughter without even putting the phone to my ear.

  “It’s not that funny,” I told her.

  “It’s hilarious!” she screeched. “Come to the hospital before you go home. Pleeease,” she begged.

  “No stinkin’ way! I’m going to find me a paintbrush and some paint, and then I’m going to drag my little sister onto a bus and go directly home!”

  “Remember, Sunny wants you to behave like a crazy person. So whatever you do, be normal.”

  “I hope I can do it,” I said, breathing in deep. “It isn’t going to be easy.”

  “Text me when you get home.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Here I go.”

  “Be normal!” she shouted as I ended the call.

  The Modern Artist or an Artist Who Paints Otters

  I began to walk slowly toward the front doors of the school. This was normal. People walked toward doors. My heart thumped, and I tried to take a couple of breaths to slow it down. Heart thumping as you approach a door is not normal.

  I took a quick look around. It was pretty quiet. Everyone was inside the school for the fair, and so far my normal walk to the front doors was uneventful. But then I tripped, and my heart started back up again, banging even harder. “Tripping is normal,” I explained to my stupid heart. “I trip all the time.” It quieted down.

  Passing “the tree,” I had this urge to pick up a rock and pitch it at the dark blob scribbling away in its notebook, but throwing rocks at your little sister in hopes of knocking her out of a tree was not normal.

  “Hi, Masha,” Sunny said as I walked under her. She was still wearing the rain hat.

  “Hi, Sunny,” I answered in a highly normal way.

  “Are you feeling better after your initial breakdown?” she asked.

  My fingers itched for the rock, but I kept walking.

  Once I got inside the school I moved to the shadows and leaned next to a fire extinguisher. I could hear the faint rumble of a crowd. Then I remembered something great … My friend Junchao was part of that crowd! I pulled out my cell phone and texted her that I was in the school and needed her help. Then I slid to the floor and waited for her to come save me. Junchao and I would find the art department and I’d “borrow” some art supplies and then I’d be on my way home!

  I waited … and waited. My phone buzzed. I jumped a little, clicking it on. It was a text from Sunny.

  Where are you?

  Stay in your tree, I texted back.

  I called Junchao. The phone rang and rang. Then it went to voice mail. Where was she? I guess I’ll have to find my own paint can and paintbrushes. Now if I were an art department, where would I be? I decided to take the hallway leading away from the crowd sounds.

  The hall was empty except for some paper scraps and that nose-stinging cleaning smell that school hallways always have. I peeked in every door as I went, but they were all just regular classrooms, not art rooms. I passed a girls’ bathroom and thought about trying to wash this junk off. But then I remembered Sunny’s words, It’s not going to come off. It’s a special red dye I invented. And I knew that it wouldn’t work. So I kept going.

  My phone buzzed with another text. Junchao! But it wasn’t. It was my mom.

  In my class. How is the fair?

  Great, I typed. But then I erased it. Too happy. She’d suspect that something was wrong. Very science-y, I texted back instead. She sent me a smiley face.

  I started back down the hall. I was almost to the end of it when I heard the squeaking of running sneakers. I swung around in a circle searching for a place to hide. It was too late. Two little kids ran down the hall chasing each other. The first one ran right past me without even glancing my way. I think he was wearing a cape. The second one w
as definitely wearing a cape and a mask. When the second one got five feet past me, he stopped like a car throwing on its brakes at a red light.

  “Is that blood?” he asked. “Are you in trouble? BATMAN!” He hollered down the hall so loudly that it almost knocked my hat right off my head.

  He was wearing a red T-shirt with the letter R drawn on the front with a black Magic Marker. Around his neck was a yellow bath towel held together under his chin by a rubber band. His cheeks were bright red underneath his black mask from running around.

  “No, I’m not in trouble,” I said. “I’m an artist. It’s paint.”

  The other little kid made it all the way down the hall before he realized he was no longer being followed. He ran back toward us and stopped by sliding into us, nearly knocking us over. He was wearing a gray T-shirt with a black bat drawn on it and a black Halloween-costume cape around his shoulders. He had on a winter mask/hat with two triangle felt ears glued to the top of it. They were obviously supposed to be Batman and Robin.

  “Cool, blood!” he said.

  “It’s paint,” Robin explained. “She’s an artist.”

  Batman looked disappointed. “Why is there paint all over you?” he asked.

  “I’m a modern artist,” I told them.

  “You’re an otter artist?” asked Robin. “I love otters.”

  “A modern artist … modern,” I said slowly. “Modern art just means you get to throw paint around.”

  “I love to throw stuff,” whispered Batman from behind his mask. Lips always look so funny when they’re under a mask, like they’re bigger than they should be, and too important. Whether they thought I painted otters or threw stuff around, I could tell that I just became very interesting to them. Maybe this meant that they would help me. “Do you guys know where the art department is here? I’m new.”

  “Are you lost?” asked Robin, stepping so close that he was on my foot.

  “We can help,” cried Batman, pumping his fist in the air.

  “Um,” I said.

  “Come on,” said Batman, and he took off, cape flying. Robin followed. And because I had no better way of finding my props … so did I.

  We ran through a few darkish hallways. I could hear the science fair off in the distance, but we didn’t pass anyone, and we didn’t get close to it.

  We finally stopped at a big door at the end of a hall. “Is this it?” I asked, huffing.

  “Yep,” answered Robin. “Our dad is the math teacher here, so I know where everything is.”

  “My dad is …,” I started. But then I stopped. My dad was the principal of my old school. I used to know where everything was once too. Sometimes I forgot that I didn’t live in Pennsylvania anymore and that we didn’t live with my dad anymore.

  “Our dad’s not the math teacher!” Batman said. “Our dad and mom got killed by bad guys.” Then he shoved the other half of the Dynamic Duo. “Right, Robin?”

  “Don’t push me,” Robin whined.

  “And,” Batman added, stepping in front of Robin, “we know where everything is in this school because we’re superheroes.”

  Robin gave Batman a shove.

  Batman turned around and whacked Robin in the head.

  “Cut it out, you two,” I said. “Someone will come. Let’s go.” I tried the door and then let out a long sigh. It was locked. Alice’s simple idea of looking normal wasn’t feeling so simple right now. I pulled out my phone to see if Junchao had gotten back to me. She hadn’t. I knew she was supposed to be here today. She was presenting some experiment on outer space or something. Why wasn’t she answering me?

  “Why do you care if someone comes, anyway? Is a bad guy after you?” asked Batman.

  “Maybe she’s the bad guy!” said Robin, his eyes filling up the tiny holes in his mask.

  “I’m not a bad guy,” I said.

  “You look like a bad guy,” said Robin.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Do too. Good guys aren’t splashed with red stuff,” said Robin. “Only bad guys are. You look like the Joker.”

  “I look like …” I looked down at myself, but I couldn’t come up with anybody that looked like me. So I repeated my only defense. “I’m not a bad guy.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re a bad guy!” Robin put up both his fists in front of his face, getting ready to box me or something.

  “Wait a minute. I’m the one who knows who the bad guys are, not you,” Batman said, crossing his arms.

  “I know who the bad guys are too,” said Robin. “Not just you.” And he kicked Batman in the shin and then danced out of Batman’s reach.

  Batman lunged at Robin, and I caught him by the cape.

  “Cut it out,” I said. I didn’t want the janitor to hear us scuffling around. “You can get in a lot of trouble for fighting in school.”

  “Not if you’re superheroes,” said Robin.

  “Yeah, superheroes are allowed to fight,” agreed Batman.

  They grinned at each other under their masks.

  “Let’s go,” said Batman.

  “Yeah,” said Robin. “Let’s go find some real crime.”

  “Wait,” I said. It’s not like I loved hanging out with these two, but I really needed the paint and paintbrushes, and it didn’t look like I was going to get any help from Junchao. “Listen, a bad guy stole my paint and paintbrushes and put them in there, and I have to get them back. Won’t you help me?”

  My plea for help worked like a charm. My superheroes were totally into me again. “Which bad guy is he? Is he the guy who broke your arm?” Batman asked.

  “Um, he has a big belly and he jingles when he walks,” I started.

  “Santa Claus?” asked Robin in a sad voice.

  “Not Santa Claus, Robin,” said Batman. “The janitor.”

  “Ohhhh,” breathed Robin.

  I shook my head yes.

  “We’ve been after him for years!” cried Batman. “Let’s go. I bet we can get in through the pottery room.” He took off running down the hall, turning for just a second to stick his tongue out at his partner in crime-fighting. “I told you I know more about this place than you do.”

  That got Robin moving. He chased after Batman, his yellow bath towel flapping behind him.

  Why do little kids always have to run everywhere? These two looked around Sunny’s age, but Sunny never ran—unless she was running from me! I thought about Sunny stuck up in the tree with one boot, and I smiled. I hope she has tree branches digging into her bony butt right now. Then I took off after my superheroes.

  We crossed a tiny enclosed hallway over a gully with shrubs growing underneath it. This school was kind of interesting. We climbed up a back staircase and into a big room with giant round steel machines and tons of white bowls and stuff on shelves. Obviously, it was the pottery room. I kind of liked the way it smelled. As I scurried to keep up with the kids, I swiped a handful of white pottery dust from one of the wooden tables and smeared it on my T-shirt and jeans. Probably artists always had plaster or clay dust on them.

  The Caped Crusaders opened a back door, and we were inside the art room. The locked door that we had first tried was across the room.

  “So where’s your stuff?” asked Batman.

  “Yeah, where’s your artist stuff?” repeated Robin.

  “Stop repeating me,” said Batman.

  “I didn’t repeat you exactly,” said Robin.

  “You did too,” said Batman.

  “Did not,” said Robin.

  A key clicked in the door. The three of us dashed behind a display case. The janitor swung open the door and pushed a rolling cart into the room. His keys jangled at his waist, and he whistled as he walked. I turned to Batman and Robin and held my finger to my lips to shush them. I followed it with a smile that said “Everything is okay” and “Isn’t this fun” at the same time. Batman and Robin giggled silently, falling into each other. I forgot that their dad was the math teacher here. I knew exactly how they were feeling. Back a
t my old school, I could have hidden in any room I wanted. In fact, because my dad was the principal, I had been allowed to roam free throughout the entire school all the time. Sunny too. Mostly we hung out in the gym or in the auditorium.

  Sunny and I used to play hide-and-seek in the auditorium, where we’d turn out all the lights. It was pitch black. You couldn’t even see your hand right in front of your face. If you weren’t “it,” you’d have to listen for the other person knocking around the chairs and stay away from the sounds. If you were “it,” you’d have to walk around quietly trying to hear the other person breathing. We would always end up with a ton of bruises on our shins from stumbling into the rows of chairs or the stage or from falling on the stairs. Sunny was such a creepy little thing in the dark. I used to freak out when I heard her getting close to me. It was the most fun in the world.

  Hiding out behind a dusty display case in the art room when your dad isn’t in charge of the school wasn’t so much fun. This janitor was sure to recognize me from the window incident. He’d think I was sneaking around again, which I guess I was. I signaled the giggly masked heroes to stay quiet. The janitor was still bumping around by the door. I wanted to peek out and check on him. We were pretty far from the back door to the pottery room. I motioned for the boys to stay put. Their eyes glowed back at me through their masks. I put my finger back to my lips and opened up my eyes wide to make sure they understood to be quiet, and then I crawled over to the edge of the display case.

  When I got to the end of the case I saw them—paintbrushes, lots of them. I silently pulled a bunch of the brushes from the shelf. I looked behind me to Batman and Robin with an “Aha, I found my stuff!” face, and then I slipped them into my pocket.

  QUACK … QUACK, QUACK, QUACK.

  The three of us stared at one another with our mouths hanging open. I was so shocked that I didn’t even shut my phone off, and the second ring sounded even louder than the first.

  QUACK … QUACK, QUACK, QUACK.

  “What the—” I heard the janitor say.

  On the third ring—QUACK … QUACK, QUACK, QUACK—Batman and Robin flew out from behind the display case, jumping into the air and landing in front of the janitor with their capes flapping and their hands on their hips.