“You’re getting warm,” Chris puffed. She stopped doing push-ups and plopped down on the floor, sitting cross-legged. “Susan, after giving the Marshmallow Masquerade a lot of thought, I’ve come to a decision. A major decision. One I hope you’ll back me up on.”
Susan was immediately filled with doubt. She had no idea what was coming, but she had seen that look in her twin sister’s eyes before, and she knew what it meant. “I’m not about to make any promises, Chris....”
“Sooz, I’ve decided that there’s only one thing to do.” She paused dramatically. “Charlie Pratt has got to fight Eddie McKay this Friday.”
Susan’s mouth dropped open. “Chris, you’ve got to be kidding! I mean, you don’t really expect—”
“Listen to me. Just for a minute. Please.” With great difficulty, Chris pulled herself up off the floor. She staggered over to her bed and sprawled across it. Still huffing and puffing, still flushed beet red, she lay there for a few seconds, totally limp.
Someone’s going to ache all over tomorrow, Susan thought sympathetically.
“When you and I agreed to go ahead with the Marshmallow Masquerade,” Chris began once she’d caught her breath, “we intended to do it right. One hundred percent. The plan was that I would pretend to be a teenage boy so that we could find out what it was really like to be a teenage boy. Remember?”
“Yes, but—”
“Well, I’ve learned quite a bit in the past two days. More than I ever expected, in fact. And one of the things I’ve learned is that boys are expected to be tough. To fight. It stinks, I’ll admit, and I certainly don’t approve of it. But it’s a fact.”
“Yes, I know. Even so, Chris—”
“If I really were Charlie Pratt—which, for all intents and purposes, I am—I wouldn’t be able to run away or hide, the way I could if I were Chris Pratt just pretending to be a boy. I have to do everything that Charlie would do; otherwise, the entire Marshmallow Masquerade is nothing but a ... a ... big game.
“Either we’re going to take it seriously or we might as well call the whole thing off. Just end it right now and consider it a failure. Something that the Pratt twins just weren’t up to carrying through.”
Susan was about to protest one more time. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Finally, she said, “I hate to admit it, Chris, but you’ve got a point. If you’re going to be Charlie Pratt, you’ve got to be him one hundred percent. Not only as far as it’s fun or convenient ... or safe.”
Suddenly she slapped herself on the forehead. “For goodness’ sake! What am I saying? Surely you don’t expect me to say, ‘Gee, Chris, you’re right. Go ahead and have it out with Eddie after school on Friday.’ Do you?”
Chris sat up, now back to her usual energetic self. “Susan, given the situation, I don’t see how you could possibly say anything but that!”
“Hey, wait a minute. This doesn’t happen to have anything to do with Scott Stevens, does it? Did something happen while you were at his house?”
Chris thought for a few seconds. “Well ... yes and no. Let’s just say that I’m more determined than ever to make the Marshmallow Masquerade work. And not only to learn about what it’s like to be a teenage boy, either. I also want to prove—to myself, at least—that I can do anything that a teenage boy can do! And if that means I have to fight the school bully, well, then, I’ll just have to go ahead and fight the school bully!”
Susan sighed and shook her head slowly. “Look, I understand the point you’re trying to make. And I’m with you completely. At least in theory. But you’re not talking about learning what it’s like to be a boy. You’re talking about black eyes and ... and bloody noses. Maybe even broken noses! Just think, Chris. If you got your nose broken, you and I wouldn’t be identical twins anymore!”
“We’re not identical now, Sooz. Not since I got my hair cut!”
“Christine Pratt, that’s the very least of it, and you know it. For heaven’s sake, you could get a broken arm or a fractured jaw, or ...”
With great seriousness, Chris replied, “Apparently all that is part of being a boy.”
“But not every boy has to have a fight with the school bully!”
“No, not every boy. But this boy does. Charlie Pratt has gotten into a situation where he has to fight. It’s expected of him, and there’s no way out.”
Slowly Chris climbed off the bed. She picked up two ten-pound dumbbells, one in each hand, and rhythmically began to lift them. Up, down, up, down.
Susan just looked on, totally at a loss as to what to say to her twin.
I know Chris is stubborn, she was thinking, or at least that once she’s committed to something, she carries it through all the way. And there’s no reason why the Marshmallow Masquerade should be any different ...
Even so, the mere thought of her twin sister having a fist fight with Eddie McKay filled her with fear. Why, not only was he the school bully; he probably weighed at least one-and-a-half times what Chris weighed! Not to mention the fact that he was considerably stronger than she was, simply because he was a boy.
No, she couldn’t let this happen. She would have to come up with some idea, think of some way to talk Chris out of this brand-new resolution of hers. The whole thing was crazy, totally impossible.
Why, then, Susan wondered as she stood in the doorway of her sister’s room, watching her pant and strain as she lifted her dumbbells one more time, was she actually feeling proud of her twin sister?
The next morning, Chris was still determined to follow through on her commitment to playing the role of Charlie Pratt by taking on Eddie McKay. But the upcoming fight wasn’t until Friday. Today was only Wednesday, and so she stashed it away at the back of her mind. For the moment, she had other things to concentrate on—like day three of the Marshmallow Masquerade.
“What’s on for today, Chris—oops, I mean, Charlie?” Mr. Pratt teased over breakfast. “Funny, it’s hard for me to get used to the idea of having a young man in the house after seventeen years of being the father of twin daughters!”
Chris laughed. “Well, don’t get too used to it. Charlie’s only going to be in town until Saturday. As for your question about what’s on for today, well, things should be relatively calm.”
Her mother’s eyebrows shot up. “‘Calm’? Since when can going around school pretending to be a boy be described as calm?”
“I guess I’m getting used to it,” Chris said with a chuckle. “I’m actually beginning to feel comfortable as Charlie. But when I said today would be calm, what I meant was, there’s no gym class, no visit to Scott Stevens’s house. No, today should be fairly routine. The only thing that’s new for Charlie today is study hall.”
Her twin glanced at the kitchen clock. “Well, Chris or Charlie or whoever you are, we’d better get moving or we’ll be late for school.”
“Okay, Sooz. In a second. First I want to clear the table and put away the milk and the butter.”
The other three Pratts stared at Chris in disbelief.
“Why, Chris!” Mrs. Pratt exclaimed. “You’re always the first one to leave the table! You go shooting out of here every morning, suddenly realizing that if you don’t hurry, you’ll never make it to school on time.”
“I know. But I want to start carrying my weight around here. It’s not fair for Mom to get stuck doing everything, you know!”
“Well, I can’t say I understand it,” Mr. Pratt remarked, “but it seems to me that the Marshmallow Masquerade is teaching our Chris about a lot of things!”
“I don’t understand it either,” said Mrs. Pratt. “But I’m certain of one thing: I like it!”
* * * *
Just as Chris had predicted, day three started out uneventfully. With the exception of Eddie McKay and his friends, who once again went out of their way to be menacing during homeroom, the students of Whittington High had by now simply accepted Charlie Pratt, paying him no more and no less attention than they did anyone else. Chris drifted through the
day, positively smug about how smoothly things were going.
That is, until fourth-period study hall.
It was the last place in the world that Chris would have expected to run into trouble. As a matter of fact, she had actually been looking forward to it. Certainly, she would get a chance to concentrate on getting part of her homework done. But she would also have some time to relax. Despite her increasing confidence about the Marshmallow Masquerade, it was still a bit tiring, constantly having to remember to use a deeper voice, to sit and walk and move differently, to avoid entirely some expressions and some topics of conversation.
Chris immediately headed for a seat in the back of the large room in which study halls were held, hoping for some peace and quiet so she could tackle the essay on poetry that had just been assigned that morning in English class. Of course, she would pretend that the ailing and bedridden Chris had actually written it, that Charlie had merely told her about the assignment.
Too bad Charlie isn’t real, she thought with a sigh as she stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of her, trying to think of a topic. Maybe he’d be able to give me some help with this essay, since I haven’t got a single idea.
It was then that she noticed the two girls who were sitting in front of her. Jane Waters and Lisa Green were giggling and whispering and passing notes—all three of which were not allowed during study hall. Chris was just about to ask them to keep it down so she could concentrate on her homework when the teacher who was conducting study hall that day, Ms. Simmons, scolded them, “There is not talking during study hall! Please keep it down back there!”
Jane and Lisa looked at each other and smirked, and Chris turned back to her essay. But before she had even had the chance to write down the title “The Poems of Emily Dickinson,” she heard the talking and laughing start up again.
“Excuse me!” called out Ms. Simmons, sounding even more annoyed. “Just because you’re sitting at the back of the room doesn’t mean I can’t hear you! I suggest you get busy with some schoolwork before I start sending some of you down to the principal’s office!”
Dramatically, Lisa rolled her eyes upward. Jane acted as if that were the funniest tiling she had ever seen in her life. With her hands clapped over her mouth, she stifled another giggle.
Chris just shook her head slowly and went back to her essay. But as she started to write the first sentence, she suddenly felt something graze her cheek. Surprised, she glanced up and saw a paper airplane land on the floor next to her desk. She was about to say something to Lisa and Jane ... but when she looked over at them, they both had their noses buried in their textbooks, looking so innocent and so involved in what they were doing that no one would have ever guessed that they were the ones who were responsible for all the commotion.
No one, including Ms. Simmons. She was hurrying down the aisle, toward the back of the room. But she bypassed Lisa and Jane completely. Instead, it was in front of Charlie Pratt’s desk that she stopped.
“Young man, what do you think you’re doing, disrupting this entire study hall?”
At first, Chris was too astonished to speak. “But ... I ...”she sputtered.
“Didn’t you hear me ask you to stop talking and passing notes? Didn’t you?”
“Well, yes, but it wasn’t me—”
“You teenage boys are such troublemakers! You all think that school is some kind of joke. Well, Mr. Know-It-All, I’m going to show you once and for all that you boys can’t get away with such shenanigans. You, young man, are going right down to the principal’s office!”
Chris’s heart sank. She had never been sent to the principal’s office in her life! And now not only was she in real trouble; it was for something she hadn’t even done! Even though two girls who were sitting in the back of the room were the ones disobeying the rules, Ms. Simmons just assumed that one of the boys was responsible.
And then she realized that being sent to the principal’s office was going to be even more difficult because she wasn’t really a boy! What if he started asking questions about who Charlie was . . . or, worse yet, tried to get in touch with Charlie Pratt’s high school in Chicago?
Chris was in a panic. She didn’t know what to do. She had to get out of this some way, but she couldn’t decide upon the best way to handle it.
And then, all of a sudden, she heard someone beside her say, “It wasn’t Charlie here who was responsible, Ms. Simmons. It was somebody else. And I’d be willing to go along to the principal’s office to tell my side of the story, if you don’t believe me.”
Even before she turned to look, Chris knew whose voice that was.
“Thanks, Peter,” she said softly. “Peter is right, Ms. Simmons. It wasn’t me.”
“Hmph,” said Ms. Simmons indignantly. But with Peter Blake as a witness, she could no longer accuse Charlie Pratt of doing something he hadn’t done. She looked around, her eyes lighting for a split second on Jane and Lisa, who were still pretending to be absorbed in their reading. “Well, let me just warn all of you that I’m serious. I insist upon silence in this study hall!” With that, she stomped back up to the front of the room.
It wasn’t until the end of fourth period that Chris had a chance to go over to Peter and thank him.
“Wow, I really appreciate the way you went out on a limb for me,” she said sincerely. “If you hadn’t spoken up, I would have had to go to the principal’s office!”
Peter shrugged. “I was just doing the right thing, Charlie. I would have done it for anybody. Although,” he added teasingly, “the fact that you’re Chris Pratt’s cousin may have had something to do with it. Maybe I can get you to put in a good word for me now!”
“Hey, Peter, want to have lunch together?” called Dennis Barker, Peter Blake’s best friend—and, Chris had always thought, just another “nerd.”
“Sure, Dennis. Wait up.” Peter turned back to Charlie. “How about you, Charlie? Do you have lunch fifth period?”
“Yes ...”
“Great! Want to sit with us?”
Chris hesitated. Her first reaction was “Oh, no! Eating lunch with two nerds?” But then she remembered that Peter had just bailed her out of what could have become a very unpleasant situation. And that just the day before, he had gone out of his way to befriend “the new boy” in gym class—and to defend him when Scott Stevens and some of the others were making fun of him. Peter Blake wasn’t a “nerd”; he was a friendly, caring person.
And I never would have found that out if it weren’t for the Marshmallow Masquerade, thought Chris.
“Peter,” Chris-as-Charlie said, patting him on the back, “I would be honored to have lunch with you and Dennis!”
And she really meant it.
The three of them bought their lunches and sat down together. Chris was surprised that when Scott Stevens came into the cafeteria, he simply glanced in their direction, then looked away, pretending he hadn’t noticed Charlie and his new friends.
Fortunately, Peter and Dennis didn’t notice. They were too busy trying to make Charlie Pratt feel at home.
“So, Charlie,” Peter said in a friendly manner, “have you seen very much of Whittington?”
“Not really,” Chris-as-Charlie returned. “I’ve been so busy filling in for Chris at school and all that I haven’t really had much of a chance. What is there to see?”
“Well, there’s a terrific monument in our town park that was just put up last summer. And then there’s the town itself. If you like books, you should check out Peterson’s bookstore. And if you like ice cream, you should definitely try Fozzy’s!”
Chris chuckled. “Fozzy’s is a place I’m already very familiar with.”
“Well, here’s something I bet you never heard of,” Dennis went on. “You should go see the Peter Blake Zoo.”
Peter looked up from the peanut butter sandwich he was eating and blushed. “Aw, come on, Dennis.”
“No, I’m serious. You see, Peter here has a real knack with animals. Taking care
of them, I mean. He’s always finding dogs and cats and birds that are sick or hurt and fixing them up so that they’re good as new. The only trouble is,” he added with a teasing grin, “he gets so attached to them that he can’t bear the thought of giving them away. So instead, he keeps them all as pets!”
“Well, it’s not as if we didn’t have a big yard,” Peter explained. “Besides, both my folks love animals almost as much as I do.” Even though he was still beet red, it was apparent that he was flattered by his friend’s enthusiastic report.
“That’s really something, Peter,” Chris said. “You mean you can actually cure sick animals?”
Dennis answered for him. “Oh, sure,” he boasted. “He’s really amazing. Peter’s got this dog he found a few months ago. She was half starved, and covered with bruises. No one thought she was going to make it. But boy, you should see Ginger now! She’s as rambunctious as any dog you’ll ever meet! Then there’s Cleopatra, this really beautiful cat, who had gotten hit by a car. Peter made a little splint and set her broken leg ... and now she chases Ginger around the house as if she owned the place!”
Chris looked over at Peter with new admiration. “That’s really something, Peter. Have you ever thought of becoming an animal doctor?”
“As a matter of fact, I have,” he replied bashfully. “That’s been my dream ever since I was a little kid. I’ve always planned to be a veterinarian one day.”
“Well, you’ll be a great vet, Peter,” said Dennis. “You just have to get used to the idea that once you’ve finished taking care of all your patients, you’ve got to let them go back home with their owners!” He chuckled. “But seriously, Charlie, you should go over to Peter’s house and see all the animals he’s got. Rabbits, guinea pigs ... even a raccoon.”
“That sounds like some menagerie,” said Chris. “And I’m amazed that you’ve taken such good care of them. I can’t wait to see the ‘Peter Blake Zoo.’ ”
“Really? You mean it?” Peter was flattered—not to mention surprised—that this “new boy,” Christine Pratt’s cousin, was actually interested in seeing his animals and hearing about how he’d brought so many of them back to good health.
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