Everybody Bugs Out

by Leslie Margolis

  Annabelle

  To Rachel: So glad we get to walk to school together every day and that we’re always so early! Happy Valentine’s Day! You were my first real friend in Westlake. That is cool.

  Annabelle

  To Yumi: This is not as good as a card from your darling Nathan, but since he doesn’t go to school here, you’ll have to settle for second best! Here’s to a winning season for my favorite pitcher! And if you do go to Hawaii this summer, do you think I might fit in your suitcase?

  Annabelle

  To Claire: Happy Valentine’s Day to my most fashion-forward friend. Thanks for being so stylish.

  Annabelle

  After signing the last card, I went back to the table. “Is today really the last day?” I asked as I handed her the notes.

  The eighth grader nodded. “Yup.”

  “Does that mean you’re here after school, too? Or just through lunch?”

  “Look,” she said impatiently, “if you want to send another gram, you should do it now because we’re almost out.” She pointed to a small stack of blank cards.

  “That’s all that’s left?” I asked.

  “Yup.”

  I stared at the pile. This was my last chance. Do I send one to Oliver or would that be wrong? No. Yes. No. No. Yes. No. Wait a minute. Does no mean it wouldn’t be wrong so it would actually be okay? Or does no mean no gram? Of course, since they’re no-Candygrams maybe the double negative cancels out my negative answer, which means that yes, I should definitely buy him one.

  I pulled the dollar out of my pocket and slammed it down on the counter. “I need one more, please.”

  “Here you go.” The girl pushed a blank card my way.

  I clicked open my pen and hovered over the card, wanting to change my mind but knowing it was too late. The eighth grader was staring and I’d already acted too wishy-washy. This was getting embarrassing!

  But what was I supposed to write? I mean, besides the obvious Dear Oliver.

  Since the grams were being delivered on February 14, I quickly scrawled Happy Valentine’s Day!

  But then I couldn’t think of anything else to say so I just signed the note Sincerely, Annabelle Stevens.

  As soon as I finished I realized my message sounded kind of dumb, not to mention generic and boring. And why did I use my last name? There’s no other Annabelle in school. Not one who spells her name like me, anyway, and not one who is friends with Oliver, as far as I know.

  I couldn’t write, Hey, Oliver. I’ve got a massive crush on you so how about you ditch Claire, one of my very best friends, who’s extra kind to animals and people, too, and beautiful (but lousy at bowling), and go to the dance with me instead? Love (in a friendly, not-totally-obsessed-with-you way because I’m only a smidgen obsessed), Annabelle.

  No, that might scare him. It scared me a little.

  Yet the message I did write was so boring, I got sleepy just rereading it. No way could I send it. I turned back to the eighth grader. “Um, I messed up. Think I can have another?”

  “Sure. For another dollar,” she replied.

  “But I don’t have any more money,” I cried.

  “Okay, fine. Here you go.” She pushed over another blank card and I crumpled the one I’d already written. Then I uncrumpled it and tore it into a bunch of little pieces instead. And shoved them into the bottom of my backpack because it seemed safer to dispose of them at home. If lighting matches didn’t make me nervous I’d burn them, but maybe that was too extreme, anyway.

  I stood there trying to come up with a better message and wishing I’d written something ahead of time, but I hadn’t. And nothing new came to me, so I just wrote the same boring thing all over again, minus my last name.

  As I handed it over, I glanced around just to make sure none of my friends were nearby. And that’s when I got this funny feeling in my stomach. Not quite regret—just a twinge of strangeness, like I was being sneaky.

  I didn’t want anyone to know I’d sent Oliver a gram, and it felt weird keeping it a secret. But I justified it to myself. No one said I had to share my every move with my friends. True, they’d been talking about the no-Candygrams all week, and I knew exactly who was sending grams to whom, but I certainly wasn’t required to share this information.

  Anyway, it’s not like I kept it from them on purpose. No one asked if I was sending a no-Candygram to Oliver. If they had, I’d have fessed up. Probably.

  Well, maybe.

  Okay, no, but that didn’t matter because no one asked and no one ever would. My friends would never find out, and even if they did, there’s nothing wrong with sending Oliver a no-Candygram.

  Which is why I didn’t understand the weird feeling I had in the pit of my stomach. Because it felt like I was doing something wrong. Something very, very wrong …

  Once I handed over the gram, I spun around to leave and ran right into Hannah. Literally.

  “Are you okay?” I bent down to help her pick up the books I’d knocked out of her arms.

  “Fine,” she sniffed. “Great.” She marched past me to the no-Candygram table and asked, “Is it too late to get one of my grams back?”

  “We don’t offer refunds,” the girl replied.

  “I don’t need my money back. All I need is the gram.”

  The eighth grader rolled her eyes and said, “You sixth graders and all your drama! Who’s the card to?”

  Hannah sniffed again. “Erik Wilson,” she said.

  The eighth grader began riffling through her box of already-filled-in grams.

  Meanwhile, I hung around—partly out of curiosity but mostly to make sure Hannah was all right.

  After she got back her gram—and tore it up—I asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Fine,” she sniffed. “Great now.”

  “Um, was that gram for Erik your boyfriend?” I asked.

  “Nope,” said Hannah. “It was for Erik my ex.”

  chapter eighteen

  snickers packs a punch

  I didn’t know whether or not to tell Rachel about Hannah’s news because I didn’t want to seem gossipy, and I knew it was wrong to talk about people behind their backs, but luckily (for me, anyway) the information spread fast. The big Hannah-and-Erik breakup was all anyone could talk about at lunch the next day. And strangely no one seemed more upset than Rachel.

  “Wait, isn’t this good news?” I asked.

  “It’s great news that they broke up,” said Rachel. “And rotten news that I already have a date for the dance.”

  “But last week you said Caleb was cute,” said Claire. “And that you might be interested.”

  “Maybe is what I said,” Rachel clarified. “But now that Erik is single I know for sure. I’d much rather go with him. You guys don’t think I could cancel on Caleb?”

  “No way,” Yumi said, looking up from her phone. “The dance is this Saturday. You can’t ditch him for someone else. That would be cruel.”

  “And anyway, what if Erik says no?” asked Claire.

  “Good point,” said Rachel. “I’d have to ask him before I dumped Caleb.”

  “That’s wrong,” I told her. “Caleb’s a good guy. You said so yourself.”

  “I know, I know,” said Rachel. “Caleb would be perfect if it weren’t for Erik. But you can’t help who you like.”

  Tell me about it!

  I didn’t realize I was staring at Claire until she turned to me and asked, “Is everything okay, Annabelle? Because you’re acting weird, again.”

  “Again?” I asked.

  And before Claire had a chance to tell me what she was talking about, Emma hurried over and sat down next to me. “Sorry I’m late,” she said, “but you’ll never guess what happened.”

  “Erik and Hannah?” asked Rachel. “We already know.”

  “No, I’m talking about Phil. His hamster died!”

  “Oh no!” said Rachel.

  “That’s terrible!” cried Yumi. “What happened?”

  Emma blinked
back tears as she explained. “Einstein broke into his food supply—you know, all the junk food that Phil had been feeding him for his science experiment. And he ate it all and it was just too much for his tiny tummy. So basically, he gorged himself to death.”

  “Wait, you mean his stomach exploded?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Emma cried. “And I feel so bad. I mean, it’s sad enough to lose your favorite pet, but poor Phil feels like it’s all his fault, and now he doesn’t even have a science project and he doesn’t know what to do.”

  “Bummer,” said Rachel.

  “Unless we let him join our team,” Emma added quickly.

  “Wait, what?” Rachel put down her sandwich. “We can’t be partners with Phil. Not after you asked him to work with you ages ago and he said no. It’s not fair. We’ve already worked so hard! And we’re almost done.”

  Emma bit her bottom lip.

  “Tell me you didn’t offer,” said Rachel.

  “I didn’t have to because he asked,” said Emma.

  “Tell me you didn’t say yes.”

  “Of course not,” said Emma. “The science fair is only three days away and we’re mostly done. But when I explained that to him, he accused me of being a lousy girlfriend. And also? He said that as a future great scientist of America, I should learn how to cooperate better with other people.”

  “He seemed to think differently a few weeks ago,” said Rachel. “When he was so excited about beating us.”

  “That’s exactly what I told him, but it didn’t go over so well. He thinks I’m too competitive.”

  “He’s the competitive one,” said Rachel.

  “Are you guys still together?” asked Yumi.

  “And are you still going to the dance?” Claire asked.

  “Yes and yes,” Emma replied, although she didn’t sound excited about either prospect.

  She unpacked her lunch and lined it up in front of her—apple juice, peanut butter crackers, turkey avocado wrap, and vanilla wafer cookies all in a row. “I told Phil he should enter anyway. He’s got Einstein on video and he could still bring in the maze. Even without the live demonstration it’s still very impressive. And everyone knows you’re supposed to show your entire methodology—even big mistakes. That’s what real scientists do. But Phil is convinced that he’s not going to win first prize with a failed experiment, so he’s going to start from scratch.”

  “Poor Einstein,” I said.

  “Death by Snickers.” Rachel shuddered.

  “If it weren’t so sad it would almost be funny,” Yumi said.

  “Almost,” Emma replied, “but not quite.”

  chapter nineteen

  check out the competition

  Two days later Oliver, Tobias, and I put the final touches on our Backyard Bugs project. We’d discovered that certain bugs, like ants and roly-polies, don’t seem to care about colors, while others, like bumblebees and ladybugs, prefer blue. However, once we added sugar water to the mix, everything went out the window. Sugar water attracted bugs from everywhere, regardless of the color paper we used or even if we used paper at all. This we figured out after Tobias tripped and spilled a whole glass of our solution in the grass in between the yellow and blue pages. Everything swarmed.

  He wanted to pretend it never happened, but I felt like it was important to include the mistake. And since it was my job to write out all of our conclusions, I won.

  By the time we finished putting everything together, our project was way too big and bulky to transport on foot, so my mom gave us a ride back to school on Thursday evening.

  “Do you want me to come in with you?” she asked as she pulled into the parking lot.

  I’d already made her promise not to embarrass me on the ride over, so really it was the first thing she’d said besides, “Hello, Oliver and Tobias—it’s very nice to meet you both.” (Just like we’d practiced.)

  “Just wait for us here,” I said, adding, “please.”

  She smiled at me. “No problem. Good luck.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Stevens,” Oliver and Tobias both said as they scooted out of the car.

  Luckily, we got a great table in the front corner of the room. Once we finished setting everything up, we stood back and admired our work. And I know it seems braggy to admit this, but I’m going to do it anyway. Our display was awesome.

  All of our steps were written out, neatly, and the lines on our color-coded graph were perfectly straight. But what really made our project amazing were Oliver’s drawings—complete with each bugs’ proper scientific name. And as a bonus, we’d listed a bunch of random bug facts, too.

  Here are some of my favorites:

  Insects have been on this earth for 300 million years.

  Lightning bugs and fireflies are actually beetles.

  Ants can lift fifty times their weight.

  After being decapitated, a cockroach head might stay alive for up to twelve hours.

  Actually, Tobias made us include that last one, but we refused to let him test out the theory.

  “This rocks,” said Oliver.

  “Duh!” Tobias replied.

  “Let’s check out the competition,” I said, heading to the table next to us.

  Monique and Lani had created their own paper out of recycled pizza boxes. They’d also figured out that if Birchwood Middle School canceled its required reading program, they could save five trees a year. It was an interesting idea, but their paper looked pretty lumpy and it also had grease stains. Plus, they only used two poster boards to describe their project (we’d used five). They didn’t have any bonus material, either. Not to be overly critical.

  The next three projects we passed were also on recycling.

  “I told you all that environmental stuff was way too trendy,” Tobias whispered as we stood in front of a pile of tin cans that had been turned into a sculpture of the Eiffel Tower.

  Oliver leaned in close and whispered, “Is that even science?”

  Neither Tobias nor I had an answer, and I doubted the judges would, either.

  So far so good! On the other side of the gym, Emma and Rachel proved that half the food in our cafeteria is as fattening and as void of nutrients as a typical Happy Meal from McDonald’s. Go Birchwood! Their whole project looked so impressive, I got nervous. But then I realized that if I couldn’t win, I certainly wanted my friends to.

  “Are you sure this is all true?” asked Tobias, pointing to their calorie graph.

  “Positive,” said Emma. “I quadruple-checked every single calculation.”

  “But how can a salad have the same amount of calories as a hamburger?” he asked.

  “Cheese and bacon bits and ranch dressing,” Rachel replied.

  “Yum!” said Tobias as we moved onto the next project.

  Jonathan had built an electric car with a remote control.

  Jesse and Taylor made a clock out of a potato, which they’d decked out with pink Barbie heels and a little blond wig. I’m not sure why.

  When we passed the fourth model volcano, Oliver punched Tobias in the arm and said, “Told you that was a dumb idea.”

  “There are some great projects here,” I said. “But I think we still have a—”

  Before I had a chance to say “chance,” I saw the craziest, most elaborate and impressive science fair project in the entire gym. Night Vision in Birds of Prey read the fancy calligraphy sign. And it had everything—charts and graphs and complicated-looking equations and illustrations, plus five scary-looking birds, all carved out of soapstone and hand painted with such meticulous detail, they looked ready to take flight. Oh, and special glasses that allowed you to see like an eagle.

  “I think you spoke too soon,” Tobias whispered.

  Oliver stared at the hawk and shivered. “That thing totally creeps me out.”

  I hopped to the right and left of the bird. “Its eyes follow you wherever you move.”

  “Intense,” said Oliver.

  The entire project seemed not just per
fect but perfectly brilliant.

  “Whoever did this is gonna win,” said Tobias.

  “I’ll be sure to send you a postcard from Space Camp,” someone said from behind us. “Or not.”

  I turned around to find myself face-to-face with Emma’s boyfriend, Phil.

  “This is yours?” I asked.

  Phil nodded. “Yup.”

  “It’s awesome,” said Tobias, giving him a high five.

  “Thanks,” said Phil. “It took forever, carving and painting all those statues.”

  “You used oil paints, right?” asked Oliver. “Never mind, dumb question.” He moved closer to the birds. “It’s obviously oil work, but I can’t tell if you used brushes or paint markers.”

  Phil hesitated.

  “So which is it?” Oliver asked.

  “Oh. Um, I don’t remember,” Phil answered.

  Oliver looked at him like he was crazy. “What do you mean, you don’t remember?”

  “Kidding,” said Phil—although none of us (including him) laughed. “Markers.”

  “Whenever I use paint markers, I can’t get that kind of tiny detail just right—but this looks amazing,” said Oliver. “What kind are they?”

  “My mom bought them. So, uh, I don’t really know,” Phil told us. “Any more questions, or are you done giving me the third degree?”

  “Sorry, dude!” Oliver backed away with his hands up. “Didn’t mean to grill you. Best of luck. We’d better get going. Annabelle’s mom is waiting in the car.”

  Oliver took off and Tobias followed him, but I hung back because something nagged at me.

  Staring at Phil’s project, knowing it was Phil’s, well, something didn’t seem right. I had this weird feeling, like maybe he wasn’t being completely honest.

  Not about the markers—which seemed suspicious enough—but about his whole entire project.

  According to Emma, he’d only just started working on it a few days ago. Yet everything in front of me was so, well, perfect. It didn’t seem possible that anyone could accomplish so much in so short a time. Not even someone as brainy and driven as Phil.