Chadwick's Epic Revenge

by Lisa Doan

  I tried to think of something else to talk about. I couldn’t use any of my Mission Almost Impossible conversations because I wasn’t supposed to be watching it. I couldn’t use the recent “unbelievable parents” conversation, because one of the unbelievable parents was in the car.

  The queasy feeling started to come back. My mom was probably wondering why I wasn’t talking to my date. How could I be so nervous? It wasn’t a real date, it just looked like one. Then it occurred to me that if just looking like a date made me feel sick, how I would stop myself from projectile vomiting on a real one?

  I searched my mind for any topic, any topic at all. Finally, I said, “Rory still doesn’t know if Susie Townsend is going to hang out with him at the dance. She’s waiting until the very last minute for other offers.”

  “How’s he supposed to know what she decided?” Suvi asked.

  “She’ll find him at the dance and wink. The right eye means yes and the left eye means no. If she says yes, he’ll decide if he can handle it. So they’ll either be hanging out, or else he’ll tell Susie she smells like shampoo and walk away.”

  “Oh.”

  And … hello, silence.

  I willed my mom to go faster. Stop hitting the brakes every time you see a yellow light! A yellow light means caution, so just cautiously keep going! My nerves are cracking under the pressure of your slowness!

  “Suvi,” my mom said, “Chadwick hasn’t told me a thing. How did he ask you to the dance? How long have you two been an item?”

  Did she just say that out loud? An item? I didn’t dare look at Suvi. I stared straight ahead and tried to burn the back of my mom’s head with a death stare.

  “Well…” Suvi said, playing for time, “I can’t remember exactly what he said.”

  “You look cute together,” my mom said.

  Apparently, Mrs. Musselman was immune to the effects of my death stare.

  “And just wait until next year,” she went on, like she was a kamikaze pilot determined to destroy the enemy target with a hail of embarrassment gunfire, “his brother shot up like a rocket in seventh grade.”

  “Oh,” Suvi said, “I guess that’s something to look forward to.”

  Now I really couldn’t talk. I couldn’t think of anything to say, and even if I did there was the danger that my mom might decide to join the conversation. Before I knew it, we’d be talking about how I only stopped wetting the bed because I wanted to go to kindergarten.

  Finally, we got to the school. My mom reminded us she would be back at ten o’clock. Three times. I had to point out that she was starting to hold up a line of cars before she agreed to pull away. She was crying when she left. My mom gets emotional about what she calls the magical moments of childhood, so I supposed she thought this was one of them. I wondered what she would think if she knew I was practically sick in the car from just seeming like I was on a date and having to live through all her “you look cute together” talk.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The gym had been transformed. Lights were strung on plastic blow-up palm trees and somebody had painted a mural of the sun setting over a beach that looked like an actual sunset. Four television screens were set up, one on each wall. Toward the far side of the gym, two long tables were covered in white tablecloths. One had bowls of Chex Mix lined up from end to end and the other had buckets with bottles of water floating in melting ice.

  Somehow, I had not thought it would look so officially like a dance. It was the first one I had ever been to. I could have gone to the one last year, but Rory and I had decided that it sounded stupid, stayed at my house, and watched a movie. At least, that’s why we said we didn’t want to go. Privately, I had looked upon the whole thing as a fright-night sort of experience. There were just too many unknowns and I had never asked a girl to dance. At that point, I had never really asked a girl anything. At that point, I had not even noticed Jana.

  Things had really changed since then. I’d spent the past summer lurking my way into Jana’s overlap group, gotten to know her, and then realized I didn’t like her as much as I thought. Or at all, really. Now I was at a dance with Suvi, who just months ago I would have sworn I would never willingly talk to because of her extreme smartness.

  I looked at Suvi surveying the crowd with her huge beach bag over her arm. She really did look great. If I were on a real date with somebody like her I’d probably have to excuse myself and go hyperventilate in the bathroom.

  Suvi said, “Objective number one, exit via the boys’ locker room and ensure our asset on the outside is in position. Return to the girls’ locker room door. I’ll have it propped open. Then we launch the communication.”

  “Wait,” I said, “what’s the asset?”

  “Rory.”

  “Oh,” I said, beginning to understand Suvi’s military lingo. “And the communication is the phone call?”

  “Roger,” she said.

  “Who’s Roger?” I asked.

  “It means yes.”

  “Got it,” I said. I probably should have looked up this stuff ahead of time. I should have known that Suvi would be überprepared. She had probably interviewed a member of the military while Rory and I were lounging around eating Ring Dings.

  Suvi headed toward the girls’ locker room and I ran through the boys’. The door said “Exit Only” but it didn’t have an alarm on it. I flew out to the back of the school.

  I ran around the building and along the trees that lined the drive leading to the front of the gym. “Rory!” I called. “Rory!”

  “I’m over here,” I heard from a clump of bushes next to an old oak tree that had a good view of the drive.

  I jogged over to the sound of his voice. Rory switched on a flashlight. He sat on the grass, surrounded by snack-sized bags of Cheetos and a pile of empty Butterfinger wrappers.

  He saw me staring at them and said, “I didn’t know how long I would be stuck out here. I told my dad we were all supposed to bring something to the dance and he swung by the Wawa. He’s been avoiding convenience stores ever since Mission Save Ourselves went down in flames. He says it’s better to just avoid the temptation. I think he’s right—he lost his mind in there and now he’s driving around eating a family-sized bag of Funyuns. Anyway, I have plenty—you want some?”

  “No,” I said, “I’m too nervous to eat.”

  “Really? That has never, ever happened to me.”

  “You have your walkie-talkie?”

  Rory rummaged around his bags. “Here it is,” he said, holding it up.

  “Good. Now, when you see Mr. Vance’s van, radio in to us—the eagle has landed.”

  “I got it,” Rory said. “You’ve made me practice it a hundred times. I see the van with ‘Vance Auto Repair’ on the side, I hit talk and say the eagle has landed.”

  “Great,” I said. “I think we’re ready.”

  “I hope so,” Rory said. “Susie Townsend is probably looking for me. I can’t stay out here all night.”

  “Oh,” I said, surprised, “so you decided to hang out with her?”

  “I think so,” Rory said, shoving a handful of Cheetos in his mouth. “I’ll know definitely when I see her.”

  “Did you bring breath mints?” I asked.

  “No!” Rory cried, slapping his forehead and leaving a trail of orange crumbs on it. “Why do I always forget something! What am I going to do?”

  “I’ll find you some later,” I said, “just stay focused.”

  I ran to the back of the gym and found the door to the girls’ locker room propped open. I slipped in and looked around in the dim light. I had never been in the girls’ locker room before. It was the exact same setup as the boys’, except it didn’t smell the same. It smelled cleaner. Like not so many socks had been in it.

  I found Suvi lurking in the shadows. “Our asset is in place,” I whispered. “Launch the communication.”

  Suvi nodded and pulled out her phone. The day before, we had logged on to her carrier and changed her name
to Principal so it would come up as that name on Mr. Vance’s phone. She speed-dialed Mr. Vance.

  We stood there in the darkness. It was so quiet I could hear it ring. Then a gruff voice. “Hello?”

  Suvi took a deep breath. “Mr. Vance? So sorry to trouble you. This is Pamela Grimeldi, your son’s principal at Wayne Elementary.”

  “Whatever it is, I’ll have to see proof,” Mr. Vance said.

  “Oh no, Mr. Vance, Terry is not in trouble,” Suvi said. “I am calling to inform you that we believe Terry is having some sort of allergic reaction. The nurse is with him now, as she was helping us chaperone the dance, but we fear we may have to call an ambulance. Would you please come down?”

  “What did he eat?” Mr. Vance asked. “He’s never been allergic to anything. The kid ate an oil filter a couple years back and he was fine.”

  “Um,” Suvi said, “I can’t be sure about the particular culprit. There appear to be some unusual ingredients in the Chex Mix.”

  I covered my mouth to hold back a snort of laughter.

  Mr. Vance said, “Crap. On my way,” and hung up the phone.

  I leaned against the lockers. It was all happening. We were doing it.

  Suvi dug through her beach bag, pulled out a walkie-talkie, and handed it to me. I held it up and pressed talk. “The eagle has taken flight. I repeat, the eagle has taken flight.”

  I took my finger off the talk button for the answer. I heard crunching, then a mumbled, “Got it.”

  “Let’s get the slingshot in place,” I said. We had decided to use a leg on either end of the table that held Jana’s Chex Mix to anchor the rubber bands. The tablecloth would hide it for us and it was the perfect angle to aim for the center of the gym. We’d tuck the slingshot underneath until we were ready, then grab it, dump the bloody fingers into the pouch, pull it back, and fire.

  We slipped out of the locker room and headed toward the tables. We got behind them and Suvi dropped her beach bag, but just then Principal Grimeldi appeared. “I had quite forgotten you two were on the dance committee,” she said. She looked over the tables. “Everything seems in good order, no need to work all night.”

  Suvi pushed the beach bag underneath the table with her foot.

  “Go ahead now,” the principal said, smiling.

  “Go where?” I asked, my teeth chattering as I spoke.

  “Out there, to the dance floor,” she said.

  I noticed droplets of sweat running down the sides of my shirt. Principal Grimeldi had nearly caught us and now Suvi was leading me to the dance floor. Dancing had not been in the plan! Dancing to a Bruno Mars song with a lot of random changes in beats was really not in the plan!

  I remembered seeing the music video and did my best to do what Bruno did. I snapped my fingers over my head and swiveled my hips. At least, I hoped it was a swivel. I swung my arms around. Suvi leapt out of the way and almost fell down. Somehow my arms had transformed into lethal weapons, and I’d come pretty close to hitting her in the face. I put them straight down against my sides where they couldn’t kill anybody. My feet were doing their best to keep up with Bruno Mars, but he seemed to be always one step ahead of me. Suvi looked at me like I was having some kind of seizure. I wasn’t that surprised, since it felt like I was having some kind of seizure.

  I did a twirl so I could see where Principal Grimeldi was. She had moved away from the table and had made her way up to the stage. I turned to Suvi and snapped my fingers while pointing to the table to signal that the coast was clear.

  The nominees for queen and king were heading up to the stage. Principal Grimeldi held a silver platter with the crowns on it. The music suddenly shut off and she turned on the microphone. “Good evening, everybody. We have come to the moment where we crown our queen and our king.”

  Suvi and I had backed off the dance floor and into the relative darkness next to the snack table. Nobody was looking at us; they were too busy admiring the nominees for queen and king of the dance.

  Principal Grimeldi unfolded one of the cards in her hand and said, “This year’s queen is Jana Sedgewick!”

  The crowd clapped. Suvi rolled her eyes and said, “Really? I voted for Tomiko. Who did you vote for?”

  “Um … I’m pretty sure Tomiko too,” I said.

  Jana proudly wore her crown while the other nominees for queen shuffled off the stage. Somebody in the crowd shouted, “Robbed!” I assumed it was Bethany.

  “And our king of the dance is Terry Vance!” Principal Grimeldi said from the stage.

  The crowd clapped as the crown was placed on Terry’s head. He smiled and led Jana out onto the floor for the queen and king dance.

  “I can’t believe he is king of the dance. Look at him—he thinks he’s won. Wait until everybody finds out they voted for a fraud,” I whispered as we sidled in front of the slingshot at our feet.

  “Stay on the mission,” Suvi said, looking as determined as a lion tracking a wounded gazelle.

  “Right,” I said.

  Suvi and I slowly sank down until we were on our knees. Suvi pulled the slingshot out of her beach bag and I lifted up the leg of the table, which was way heavier than I thought it would be, and put the leg inside the loop of rubber. Suvi did the same on her end. We pushed the pouch underneath so it was hidden by the tablecloth. Slingshot in place.

  “The video is next,” Suvi said.

  “Right.”

  I knew from dance-committee meetings that the screens set up all over the gym would be hooked up to wifi, ready to play hula music from YouTube when it was time for the hula dance off. All I had to do was plug in my drive to the main monitor and grab the remote control. When we were ready, I’d switch the input.

  One of the screens was bigger than the others. I motioned to Suvi and we turned our backs on the dancers. Sure enough, there was a remote control sitting on the bleachers right next to it.

  I grabbed the flash drive from my pocket and plugged it into the monitor.

  Suvi high-fived me. Everything was in place. All we were waiting for was Rory’s signal that Mr. Vance was on his way up the drive.

  I waited impatiently. It would be perfect timing if Mr. Vance would show up now—while the crocodile was dancing with his queen. Fortunately, they were dancing to the school song, a dreary slow song that went on forever about school spirit and honor and hard work and I didn’t know what else.

  I could just see Jana’s red hair bobbing over the heads of the onlookers. It looked like a fireball under the spotlights.

  My walkie-talkie sprang to life and crackled. “The eagle has landed,” Rory said. “Can I come in now?”

  “Roger that,” I said.

  “It’s Rory,” Rory radioed back. “Who’s Roger?”

  “Nobody,” I answered. “Just come on in.” I turned to Suvi. “This is it.”

  We bent down, grabbed the slingshot, and stared at the door.

  The minutes seemed to tick on forever. Where was Mr. Vance? The school song was coming to an end.

  “There he is,” Suvi said.

  Mr. Vance had just pushed open the double doors.

  I hit the input on the remote control. Suvi dumped the fake fingers out of her beach bag and into the giant pouch while I held it open. We grabbed the pouch on either side and ran backward to stretch the rubber bands as far as we could.

  “One, two, three, FIRE!” I shouted.

  The school song was drowned out by the Jaws music. Jeeps and bloody fingers spun on the video screens. Sixty-four fake fingers launched out of the slingshot and peppered the dancers.

  It was the most magical moment of my life.

  With one shot, Chadwick Musselman had pulled off an epic revenge.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Girls screamed. In the dim light of the gym, the bloody fingers flying everywhere looked totally real. Marilee Marksley pulled one out of her hair. Carmen Rodriguez brushed one off her shoulder like it was a live spider. One had landed perfectly and sat upright on Terry’s crown. />
  Principal Grimeldi stood on the stage calling for order and shouting for somebody to turn off the video. I put the remote control in Jana’s Chex Mix and swaggered into the chaos.

  Mr. Vance kicked some fingers out of the way and marched toward his son. He tapped Terry on the shoulder just as my video came to its amazing conclusion—a picture of a crocodile with its jaws duct-taped shut.

  The sudden end of the video made the silence deafening.

  “Well,” Mr. Vance said to his son, “you look fine to me.”

  “What?” Terry said. “Why are you here?” he asked his dad.

  “Because your principal said you were having an allergic attack and she was thinking about calling an ambulance.”

  All eyes turned to Principal Grimeldi. She said, “I certainly did not make such a call, Mr. Vance.”

  Mr. Vance eyed Ms. Grimeldi. He picked the fake finger from the top of Terry’s crown. “What kind of operation are you running here anyway?”

  “I can assure you I don’t know what has happened,” the principal said, “but this is certainly not part of the evening’s programming.”

  “Mr. Vance?” I said, loudly. “Mr. Vance! It’s a miracle! You grew back all your fingers!”

  Mr. Vance looked at me like I was nuts.

  The chattering began immediately.

  “He does have all his fingers.”

  “Didn’t Terry say his dad lost eight of them in a Jeep accident?”

  “How could he get them back?”

  “I bet he never lost them in the first place!”

  “I can see his fingers,” Marilee Marksley shouted, “with My Own Eyes.”

  I watched Terry’s face. First he looked confused. Then he looked at the video of the duct-taped crocodile. Then he looked at the fake bloody fingers at his feet.

  Then he looked at me. He knew I had done it. He knew I had meant it when I’d said the tables had turned. I had finally gotten my revenge.

  Then I noticed that he wasn’t looking at me like he had looked the last time I’d played a prank on him. That time, when I’d pulled out his chair, I’d worried that I might find him standing over my bed with a hatchet in the middle of the night. This time I started to wonder if I would wake up in the middle of the night and find him standing over me with an already-bloody hatchet and my legs and arms located elsewhere in the room.