“Today,” said Beanpole.
“Today?” I replied.
“After school,” said Beanpole.
“After school?” I repeated.
“At four fifteen,” said Beanpole.
“At four fifteen?!” I exclaimed.
I paused and tried to figure it all out.
“Holy moly, gimme a slurp of that,” I said, grabbing Q’s scuba tank. I tried to do a Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh of my own but couldn’t figure out how to operate the dumb thing. Suddenly I looked up and realized that both Beanpole and Q were staring at me in horror.
Genuine horror.
Beanpole looked about as white as a mayonnaise sandwich, and Q looked like she was about to go into super-hyperventilate mode at any second. Like it or not, I had become the unofficial leader of this group of dorkasauruses, and they were counting on me to do something or say something or realize something that would let them know that everything was going to be okay.
What they wanted me to do, I had no idea, but I did realize that I had to come up with something, and something quick, or one of them might go into nerdiac arrest.
I straightened my spine, raised my chin, and proudly puffed out my chest. They waited eagerly.
“I have to pee,” I said, and raced to the bathroom, abandoning them in the hallway.
A dress rehearsal? I thought. We’re toast!
After I took two pees—’cause the news of this mandatory dress rehearsal was way too big of a nuclear bomb to just take one—we made plans to meet by the Fountain before the dress rehearsal began to get our act together.
The Fountain at Grover Park Middle School was like this really important traditional thing in front of the performing arts center. Basically, it was this big Italian-style fountain with this half-naked guy in it who spit water out of his mouth. It was built something like sixty years ago, when the school first opened, and each year the tradition was for the graduating eighth graders to jump in and take a swim once they had earned their certificates of graduation. However, the Fountain was only like two feet deep, so a person couldn’t really swim in it; they could just sort of get totally wet, but whatever, it was tradition, right?
Anyway, that was our plan, to meet by the Fountain at 4:05 and re-gather ourselves. After all, we were already nervous about performing on Saturday night, and now they wanted us to perform on Friday afternoon, too, just to make sure that the show went smoothly? It was enough to make Q buy a second scuba tank.
I rushed home, explained to Marty about the dress rehearsal, and picked up Poochy.
“She’s all ready to go,” he said, handing me the mutt. “Tiptop shape.”
“Like really ready?” I asked.
“Like really ready.”
“Like totally ready?” I said.
“Like totally ready.”
“Like one hundred percent, nothing will go wrong, more ready than any other robotic dog that has ever heeled or barked or played dead on the face of this planet ready?” I said. My heart was beating a hundred miles an hour.
“Relax, you dweeb,” Marty said. “Poochy is ready, and if you don’t get a grip on yourself, it’s you who is going to screw things up, not him.”
I let out a sigh.
“It’s okay to be nervous, Boo,” said my mom. “But the key is not to let the fear kill all the fun and excitement. Go enjoy yourselves, have a good time, and things will work out great.”
“They will?” I said, wanting to believe her.
“They will,” she replied. “Remember, if you think positive, positive things happen.”
There she went again, more mumbo-jumbo stuff. I just hoped she was right.
I put Poochy in my backpack, took three deep breaths, and went to my room to get changed. Five minutes later I dashed out the front door wearing the pink-and-black outfit Department Store Mom had made for us.
“Bye,” I said.
“Good luck, Boo,” answered my mom.
“We’ll need it,” I replied.
“You look cute,” said Ashley. I stopped and stared at her. She wasn’t being sarcastic.
“Really,” she said. “You do. And I’m going to bring the whole gymnastic team tomorrow night to support you.”
“Your whole team.”
“The whole team,” she said. “They’re really strong and can cheer really loud.”
I shook my head. I didn’t have time to deal with normalcy from my sister. It was way too bonkers.
“Well,” I said, “ready or not, here we come,” and I closed the door behind me.
I was off to school.
When I finally got to the Fountain, my Nerd Girl partners were waiting for me. Q was sucking on the scuba tank more than she was breathing regular air, and Beanpole had grown so pale she looked like a zombie from Planet String Bean. They were in terrible shape.
Then I realized something. Ashley was right; I did look good. I mean, I hadn’t made a stop at the Paradise Palace in quite some time, and to tell the truth, I didn’t miss it at all.
Not at all.
I looked more closely at Beanpole and Q. Heck, it wasn’t just me who looked good; we all looked good. We Nerd Girls looked totally sharp in our custom-made outfits. For some reason, it was a thought that calmed me down.
“How ya feelin’?” I asked as I walked up.
“Nervous. Freaking out. Scared I am going to die without ever having had the chance to drive a car, French kiss a boy, or ride an elephant backward in Thailand.”
“Ride an elephant backward in Thailand?” I said.
“Hey, we all have dreams, right?” Beanpole answered. “Besides, I haven’t walked into any walls or bumped my head once this afternoon, so something is definitely wrong with me. I mean, I never go more than a few hours without some sort of painful injury.”
“And you, Q?” I asked. “How you doin’?”
“I’m kinda feeling like I might need to go for a walk,” she answered. “To Hawaii.”
I smiled. “Your mom did a nice job with the tank tops,” I said to Beanpole. “I mean, I can’t see Q’s scar at all.”
I pointed to where the black tank top covered Q’s craggy wound.
“You can’t?” said Q, a bit self-conscious that I had even mentioned her old injury.
“Nope,” I answered. “And the colors look good on you, Beanpole. They make that shade of white you are turning look really hot.”
She laughed.
“Face it…” I said. “We look kind of fresh.”
We took a moment to gaze at one another, to check out the way we were dressed. Soon, Beanpole and Q realized I was right.
We did look fresh. I could see the tension starting to melt off their faces.
“Did you bring Poochy?” asked Beanpole, showing signs of life.
“Of course,” I answered. “Got him right here.”
I pulled out the dog and set him on the ground. It was amazing how his outfit matched ours so perfectly. Department Store Mom had really nailed it.
“And he works?” asked Q in a steadier voice.
“Works perfect,” I answered. “Marty says we’re all set.”
I could tell they wanted to believe me, but still sorta didn’t.
“You know, it’s okay to be scared,” I said. “But we don’t want the fear to kill all the fun, do we?”
Oh my goodness, who was I, my mom? However, they both looked at me like I was making sense, so I continued.
“Let’s just go have a good time, huh?” I said. “After all, when you think positive, positive things happen.”
Now I was really turning into my mom. Scary.
“Besides, we’ve practiced this a hundred times,” I reasoned.
Had motherly aliens taken over my body? HELP!
“Two hundred,” said Beanpole.
Goodness, it was working.
“And just think about how great it’s going to be to squash the ThreePees like a package of chocolate pudding,” I added.
; Now, that sounded more like me. Q took a suck off the scuba tank.
“Yeah,”—Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh—“crush ’em like a pack of chocolate pudding.”
Then I saw it, the thing I was hoping for, the look of the Wild West gunfighter in Q’s eyes.
“Let’s go get them witches,” she said. Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh. “Let’s go get ’em good.”
“Look, we know our steps, we look hot, and Poochy is ready to rock,” I said. “I mean, we are about as ready as we’re ever going to be, right?”
“Right!” they said.
“Come on, Nerd Girls,” I said, picking up Poochy and heading into the auditorium. “It’s SHOWTIME!”
And with that I led my friends into the auditorium. It was a glorious moment filled with energy, excitement, and enthusiasm.
Unfortunately, it was a moment that only lasted about eleven seconds, because as soon as we got backstage, we wished we could go hide under a rock.
“Ha-ha, nice outfits, doof-o-ramas.”
We turned when we heard Kiki’s voice. The realization hit us at the same time.
The ThreePees were still dressed in their regular school clothes.
Huh?
“I guess you dork-balls didn’t realize that dress rehearsal doesn’t mean you actually have to dress,” said Kiki with a cackle.
We looked around. No one was else dressed in their special clothes for tomorrow night’s show either. Not Puking Patty. Not Johnny the Jerk-O Jaspers. Not even Loser Lloyd Weinersnorter, the kid with the worst last name in school history. We were the only ones.
“But you look soooo cute,” said Brittany-Brattany with a sarcastic bite. “Just ah-door-ah-billl!”
“Yeah,” said Sofes. “Ah-door-ah-billl!”
Click! Brattany took our picture to document our stupidness.
The ThreePees enjoyed a huge laugh and then they encouraged some other kids to laugh at us too.
“Nice sparkles,” said Puking Patty. “Did your mommy make those for you?”
“Yeah, did your mommy make those for you?” added Weinersnorter. With a kid named Weinersnorter ridiculing us, we knew we had sunk to a pretty low level. Me and Beanpole and Q had just become the center of attention for exactly the wrong reason, and everyone was staring at us.
Everyone.
“What a buncha dinkus heads,” laughed Kiki.
“Yeah, dinkus heads,” said Sofes. “With extra mustard on top.”
I felt like we were wearing tuxedoes in a restaurant where all the other people were wearing shorts and T-shirts. It was uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. In the blink of an eye we had gone from feeling really good and confident and positive about ourselves to feeling awkward and dorky and doofy all over again. Our confidence had vanished.
“Everybody, please make sure to check the sheet to see the order in which you will be appearing,” announced Mr. Piddles, the lead judge of the show. “And be sure to be ready when it’s your turn to come onstage.”
At least that was a sliver of good news. Though I am not sure how she did it, Q’s connection in the nurse’s office had done us a favor and rigged the appearance order for talent show so that we, the Nerd Girls, would get to perform last. That meant we were going to be the grand finale, and as everyone knows, if you really want to win a talent show, the best place to appear is last, because if you do a really great job, the judges will remember it the most and you have the best chance of winning.
But Q and Beanpole didn’t find all that much comfort in seeing that we were going to be last. They were still flipping out about our being the only ones in performance clothes.
“I mean, no one told us that dress rehearsal didn’t mean we had to dress,” said Beanpole, completely puzzled by the whole thing. “I just assumed that…”
Q started to hyperventilate. Kiki came over to try and make our lives even more miserable.
“By the way,” she said, turning her attention directly toward Q, “I hope your little mechanical mutt doesn’t get stage fright. I mean, you do know there’s going to be A LOT of people watching tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, a whole lot,” said Brittany-Brattany, speaking almost directly to Q.
“Like, even more than a whole lot,” added Sofes. “I whole lotta lot.”
The ThreePees were playing head games with us—especially with Q. I think they knew, based on how shy she was about speaking up in class, that stage fright was something that might really get to her.
Especially if they got her to spend the next twenty-four hours thinking about it. Anxiety is one of those things that always builds upon itself.
It was a mean, nasty, low-down strategy. But worst of all—as I could see by the color of green Q was turning—it was working.
“Good luck out there, Nerd Girls,” said Kiki, turning away now that her mission was accomplished. “And remember, only about a thousand people will be watching you tomorrow night.”
“Yeah, a thousand people,” said Brattany.
“That’s two thousand eyeballs,” said Kiki.
“Yeah, two thousand eyeballs,” said Brattany.
“And four thousand nostrils,” added Sofes.
Everyone stopped and turned. Sofes paused.
“I mean two thousand nostrils,” she said. “Wait, how many eyeballs is it?”
Kiki didn’t even bother to answer.
“Just remember, whatever you do, don’t panic, allergy girl,” said Kiki. “I mean, it’s not like anybody is going to be filming this or anything.”
Just then Brittany-Brattany reached into her purse and flashed her video camera.
“Can you say YouTube, disease freak?” added Kiki. The three of them screeched like happy little witches as they walked away.
“What do nostrils have to do with watching anybody, Sofes?” asked Brittany-Brattany.
“I was just trying to scare them,” Sofes said. “I mean, lots of people are afraid of nostrils ’cause, like, that’s where boogers hide.”
I swear the girl was hopeless.
The ThreePees drifted over to the other side of the auditorium, their work done.
“I need to go for a walk,” said Q.
“You don’t need to go for a walk,” I answered.
“No, I need to go for a walk,” she said. “Now.”
“Listen to me, Q,” I insisted, grabbing her arm and stopping her. “You don’t need to go for a walk. Now is the time to be strong. To be brave. To not give in to these jerks. All my life they have tortured me, and ever since you came to this school, they have tortured you too. Now’s the time to stand up to them, to put them in their place, to make them lick our boots. Can you do that for me, Q? Can you be strong for just three minutes?”
Q raised her eyes.
“Just three minutes? That’s all I am asking.”
She looked at me with sad, puppy dog eyes. Slowly, she turned to look at Beanpole. There wasn’t a shred of strength to be found in Q. Quietly, thoughtfully, she lifted the scuba tank and took a deep, slow slurp.
Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh.
“I can,” she said. “I can.”
A flash of strength crossed through her eyes, and Beanpole smiled. I smiled too. However, Q didn’t smile. She didn’t show any teeth at all. Instead she just gazed off into the distance like a Wild West gunfighter getting ready for her big shoot-out.
“Places, everyone,” announced Mr. Piddles. “Take your places, please.”
Ready or not, here we come.
I can’t even begin to describe all the loser performances we had to sit through before it was our turn. People singing off-key, people juggling and dropping plates, people playing musical instruments in a way that made me want to smash their flutes. We must have been the most talentless middle school in the United States of America.
“I swear,” I said to Q and Beanpole after watching some goober try to turn Shakespeare into hip-hop but forgetting, like, every other line, “if they gave awards for this stuff, our
school would come in first place in the category of Most Moronic Putzo-ramas Ever Assembled In One Building. I mean, why is Pepperoni Paulie trying to ride a unicycle when he is so fat he needs to turn sideways to enter a classroom? Really, how hard was it to figure out that he was going to crash?”
“It’s like we always thought,” said Q. “There’s only one group that’s going to present any real competition.”
“And here they come,” said Beanpole. “Here they come.”
Finally, after all those losers, it was the ThreePees’s turn. They’d been scheduled to go right before us. Kiki, Brattany, and Sofes took the stage, and suddenly it was like the whole mood in the auditorium changed, even though the performing arts center was pretty much empty aside from a few teachers sitting in the front row. No, they didn’t have their fireworks set up yet, and no, they didn’t have their balloons yet. They didn’t even have their dance uniforms on, but still, once the ThreePees stood center stage and got ready to do their thing, there was no doubt about it—they had an energy that was electric.
And their routine was smoking! Great music, excellent dance moves, just a ton of awesomeness. Beanpole and Q and I watched from the sidelines in awe. There was no doubt that, as much as we had practiced, as much as we had tried, as much as we had made up a fun show with a cute little robotic dog, the ThreePees were like some sort of professional force of nature. Clearly, we were amateurs next to them, and the longer they performed, the more I realized how much better they were.
We had no chance. No chance at all to beat them. At least that’s what I thought, until…
Until Sofes O’Reilly messed up the turn.
Yep, Sofes screwed up the turn. She went left when she was supposed to go right, and since the move that followed was some kind of synchronized jump that ended in a split, their whole routine was thrown off.
Worse, however, was that Sofes had stopped dancing after she’d messed up, while Kiki had kept going and Brittany-Brattany sort of half danced and half waited to see what they were going to do next.
Confusion took over. The ThreePees, suddenly lost and disorganized, had gone in a split-second’s time from NFL cheerleaders to out-of-sync middle school kids totally unsure of which way to go, how to proceed, or what to do next. They bumbled to a stop.
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