“It’s okay, girls,” said Mr. Piddles. “I’m sure you’ll get it right tomorrow.”
“No, let’s do it again,” said Kiki, taking her starting position.
“There’s no need, Miss Masters,” replied Mr. Piddles. “This rehearsal is just for timing. Tomorrow night’s the real deal. Next group, please,” he called out.
“But I want to do it again,” said Kiki in a forceful voice. “So we get it right.” Deep rage flashed in her eyes. “Come on, line up!” she ordered. “Let’s take it from the top.”
“I said there was no need,” said Mr. Piddles. “Your group will go tomorrow.”
“But we need to do it again. Right now!” answered Kiki, defying the teacher. “Now, I said ‘Line up,’” she said to Sofes and Brittany-Brattany.
The two girls stared.
“No, do not line up,” replied Mr. Piddles in a sharp tone. “It’s getting late, we all want to get home, and there’s only one more group to go, so please leave the stage. As I said, you’ll have your chance tomorrow.”
Brittany-Brattany and Sofes stood there like two lost little donkeys waiting for Kiki to let them know what to do. But Kiki didn’t budge. The tension grew.
“I said,” Mr. Piddles added, “please leave the—”
“But Mr. Piddles, you don’t understand,” interrupted Kiki. “We need to get this right in order to—”
“No, Miss Masters, you don’t understand,” interrupted Mr. Piddles. “I am asking you to please leave the stage before I take serious action.”
Kiki didn’t move. “Mr. Piddles, you don’t seem to get that in order for us to—”
“Action such as disqualification,” said Mr. Piddles, rising from his seat.
Kiki stayed put. The top of Mr. Piddles’s bald head started to turn red. However, Kiki still stood there defiantly. A terrified look came over the faces of Sofes and Brittany-Brattany. Everyone in the theater froze. Kiki looked like she was about to have a major-league temper tantrum, some kind of full-blown meltdown aimed directly at Mr. Piddles.
And Mr. Piddles looked like a man who was in no mood whatsoever to endure a temper tantrum/meltdown from a spoiled little blond-haired, middle school brat.
Just then I felt bad for Kiki. Really bad. I mean, it was, like, so obvious that she was under this huge amount of pressure to win. And she was crumbling from it. Cracking apart. Being the youngest sister in a family full of ThreePees who had already won the contest year after year after year must have made her feel as if the weight of the world was on her to win first place as well.
Buncha freaks.
But if she lost, she’d be the biggest disappointment in the history of her family. Didn’t her mom or sisters see how much stress this was putting on “Keeks”? She looked thin and tired and drawn. There were even dark circles under her eyes. For an eighth grader, that’s not good. Really, the signs were like, so obvious. The stress of this thing was turning her into a monster.
Everyone waited. Was Kiki about to have a major-league meltdown? Totally explode? Was she about to get her team disqualified by flipping out and completely self-destructing the day before the show? My shoulders got tense waiting to see what was going to happen.
Suddenly, and I don’t know what it was, but suddenly, Kiki’s brain started to function again, and she realized that Mr. Piddles was not a man to be messed with, so she zipped her lip, stormed off the stage, and shot about ten zillion daggers in the direction of Sofes O’Reilly.
Not a peep came from anyone for an awkwardly long time.
“Okay, Nerd Girls, you’re up,” said Mr. Piddles, taking his seat once again. “Please take the stage.”
Our hearts jumped in our chests. With all the drama between Mr. Piddles and Kiki, I had forgotten that we still needed to perform.
We stood, gulped, and slowly took our positions. I set down Poochy and turned on the power switch.
“Just like at Beanpole’s house,” I said quietly. “Just like at Beanpole’s. Think positive and let’s rock this thing.”
Beanpole smiled. I smiled. Poochy smiled. But not Q: she didn’t smile at all. Instead, she suddenly began walking off the stage, just seconds before we were about to begin.
Oh no, I thought. Oh no.
However, before I could panic, Q set down her scuba tank, turned around, and returned to join us.
Then she smiled.
And we rocked it!
Absolutely nailed it! Did the best we had ever done. We made all our marks, hit all our steps, and had smiles on our faces the whole time. That really counts for something, too, when you’re performing. Basically, we just laughed and danced and enjoyed ourselves.
And Poochy was, of course, a total star. He worked perfectly.
Then, we got to the final moment, and Poochy took his pee on the fire hydrant in the center of the stage. I turned and saw Mr. Piddles laughing so hard I thought he might end up peeing his pants. He loved it!
“Outstanding, Nerd Girls. Outstanding,” he said at the end of our performance, clapping his hands together. “Tomorrow night should be a lot of fun.”
He stood and grabbed his papers.
“Okay, everyone, that’s a wrap. See you at the show.”
I turned and looked off to the side of the stage. Kiki Masters was staring at me with rage in her eyes. I mean genuine hate.
I smiled back and gave her a little wave.
Like a package of chocolate pudding, I thought.
The three of us gathered our stuff and went out to the Fountain, where we let out an explosion of energy. We were so jazzed up it was like electrical currents were running through our veins.
“That was incredible!” said Beanpole, jumping up and down. “I can’t believe how much fun that was.”
“We did great,” said Q. “Great!”
“We were awesome!” I said. “The Nerd Girls rocked it!”
“At first I was nervous but then it was fun,” said Q. “Really fun.”
I’d never seen Beanpole this perky. “I mean, when I did that one move, and then turned to bend down like this, and…OUCH!”
She smashed her head into the edge of the Fountain so hard, I was surprised that she hadn’t knocked herself unconscious.
“Don’t worry, don’t worry, I’m okay,” she said, barely fazed by the impact.
I looked at her forehead. She had a bump the size of Texas.
“Well, I guess things are back to normal,” I said with a laugh.
Beanpole and Q smiled.
“Oh, I wouldn’t get too excited yet, dork squad,” came a mean and nasty voice from behind us. We turned and saw Kiki and her donkeys approaching. They looked fierce.
“One lucky practice round doesn’t mean squat.”
“Well, at least we finished our ‘lucky’ practice round,” I answered. “But that was a great half-performance you guys gave. Really tremendous.”
Everyone looked at Sofes. She lowered her eyes.
“Just don’t forget, Nerd Girls,” said Kiki, focusing her attention back on us, “that when the lights come up tomorrow, and the auditorium is full, there will be almost a thousand people in the audience.”
“Yeah, a thousand people,” repeated Brattany.
“The whole theater is going to be full, and let me tell you, it’s a whole lot different than a little dress rehearsal, when the place is empty.” Kiki’s laugh had an evil tone in it. “And when the curtain comes up and the lights go down, all of these people will be watching.”
Kiki pointed to Q.
“Watching you!”
“Yeah, watching you,” said Brittany-Brattany, also pointing at Q.
I shook my head.
“What, are we back to the intimidation games again?” I said. Geesh, didn’t we just prove to the ThreePees that their strategy of messing with our minds wasn’t going to work?
“Hey, allergy freak, have you ever been onstage in front of one thousand people and had the lights go out in the middle of your performance?” a
sked Kiki.
Q’s forehead started to wrinkle.
“Or had one of those HUGE spotlights shine directly in your eyes with such brightness that you couldn’t see a stupid thing?” said Brattany.
Q slightly gulped.
“Or maybe,” added Kiki, “you slipped on a part of the stage that had mysteriously become extra waxy just before you started your routine and fell so hard on your butt that the entire auditorium laughed and laughed and laughed at you?”
Q’s eyes grew big and fearful. Clearly Kiki was getting to her.
“You know, all kinds of weird things can happen at show-time,” said Kiki. “All kinds of weird, embarrassing, give-aperson-stage-fright, no-one-knows-how-they-happened type of things.”
“Don’t listen to her, Alice,” said Beanpole. “We’re going to be right there with you, and nothing’s going to happen.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Nothing other than the fact that we are going to win.”
“Of course,” said Kiki in a sarcastic tone. “What could happen? I mean, it’s not like the people who will be operating the lights are being paid by my mother or anything.”
I paused.
“Didn’t think about that, did you, chunky butt?” said Kiki.
“Yeah, and it’s not like the fireworks people don’t occasionally accept tips to do a little favor for clients who are extra generous with their money,” said Brattany.
The two of them smiled like devils.
“No,” said Kiki. “No reason to be nervous at all,” she said in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “If I were you, I’d expect everything to go just fine tomorrow night. Just totally fine.”
I stared at Kiki. She stared back, then turned her attention to Q.
“Just remember, disease-o,” said Kiki. “Your worst fear might happen to you on stage tomorrow night, and we’re all going to be there with cameras to make sure you never, ever, ever live it down.”
“Yeah,” said Brittany-Brattany. “If I were you, I wouldn’t even show up.”
“BOO!” said Kiki as she jumped at Q, scaring her half to death. Q practically popped out of her shoes. Kiki laughed.
“See ya tomorrow, Nerd Girls,” cackled Kiki, and then the ThreePees walked back inside the Performing Arts Center. “We’re just gonna go make a few extra preparations for the show,” she said as they disappeared inside the auditorium in a secret, no-one-knows-we-are-in-here type of way.
A moment later, they were gone. Vanished. The three of us sat silent for a minute.
“They’re gonna get us,” said Q.
“They’re not going to get us,” I said.
“I just know it. They’re gonna get us,” Q replied.
“Calm down,” I said. “They’re all talk. They’re not going to get us.”
“Yes they are,” said Q, growing more and more nervous. “They always do. They’re gonna get us, and they are going to embarrass me, and they are going to make me feel like a loser in front of all these people who are going to laugh, and then it’ll be just like it always is whenever I try to do something right, and the world hates me and I end up being put into situations I can’t handle, and then the screams are going to start and the blood and the fire and all the metal and glass flying and—”
“Whoa, whoa, calm down, Q. Calm down,” I said. “You’re rambling. Take a deep breath and relax.”
Q took a few slurps off the scuba tank, but she had that faraway look in her eyes again, the one that came from that weirdo place inside of her.
Just then, we heard a car horn.
“Ugh, the picture?” said Beanpole.
“What picture?” I said.
I looked out at the parking lot. It was Beanpole’s parents coming to pick her up.
“My dad,” she replied. “He’s taking us to go get our family picture taken by that professional photographer today. I totally forgot.”
She turned and called out to her parents. “One minute,” She turned to Q. “You all right?”
Q didn’t respond.
“Alice, you all right?” Beanpole asked again. “I mean, I can stay or give you a ride home or something.”
“No, I…” Q paused. “I’d rather walk.”
“You sure?” asked Beanpole. “I mean, are you gonna be okay?”
“She’s gonna be fine,” I said, thinking that if I encouraged her enough, Q would turn into that Wild West gunfighter once again. All I needed was a few minutes of applying some positive talk and she’d be just ready to go. I was sure of it.
“She’ll be fine,” I repeated. “’Cause there’s nothing to worry about. The ThreePees aren’t going to be able to hurt us. Come on, think about it. Mr. Piddles wouldn’t allow it.”
“How do you know?” said Q.
“Because,” I said, “it wouldn’t be…” I paused. “Just.”
Q and Beanpole looked at me with wrinkled foreheads.
“It wouldn’t be just,” I repeated.
Talk about a good time to come up with a good answer. I don’t know how it happened, but I seemed to get really lucky with that one, because suddenly, both Q and Beanpole realized I was probably right, and the tension started to disappear on Q’s face.
“They might be mean and nasty, but the ThreePees don’t own the school,” I said. “They don’t get to control everything.”
The car horn honked again. Department Store Dad pointed to his watch.
“One minute,” Beanpole yelled. “One minute.”
“I mean, come on, they’re not going to be able to put extra wax on the floor or make paint cans fall on our heads or anything like that,” I said. “Think about it. It’s stupid. The only reason they’re trying to scare us is because they’re scared.”
“They are, aren’t they?” said Q.
“Of course they are,” I answered. “And they should be. I mean, Sofes is in eighth grade and she still doesn’t know her left from her right. That might be a Guinness World Record or something.”
Beanpole and Q laughed. The car horn honked for a third time.
“G’head, Beanpole,” I said. “Go take your picture, and we’ll all meet at Q’s tomorrow and drive on over in the Nerd Mobile. I’ll stay with the basket case here till her mom comes.”
“You sure?” said Beanpole. “’Cause I can wait.”
“It’s okay, go,” I said. “I wouldn’t want your dad’s sweater to start bunching up on him.”
“Well…” said Beanpole, thinking about it, “okay. But be nice to her,” she said to me.
“I’m always nice, ya doof-brain string bean! Now go,” I said.
“Okay, see you tomorrow,” said Beanpole, giving Q a big hug.
Then she hugged me too.
“Um ... yeah ... okay ... awkward,” I said. I kinda weirdly half hugged her back.
“See you guys,” said Beanpole, grabbing her backpack. “Tomorrow at your house, Alice.”
“Bye,” said Q.
“See ya, Beanpole,” I called out. “And watch out for the—”
“Ouch!”
“Bicycle racks.”
“Don’t worry, I’m okay. I’m okay,” said Beanpole as she picked herself up off the pavement and got into the car. A minute later the Department Store Family drove off. I turned to Q.
“You okay?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said. “Better.”
“Okay, then wait here. I gotta pee.”
“Hydrating?” Q smiled.
“Like you don’t even know,” I answered. “But when I come back, we’ll talk about how stupid the ThreePees are and how we are going to smash them like a package of chocolate pudding, okay?”
Q sat down on the ledge of the fountain. “Okay,” she said, looking more calm.
“And if you want,” I said, coming up with a great idea, “talk to Poochy. I’ll leave him right here.” I took off my backpack and set it down at Q’s feet. “He’s not just a good dancer, ya know, he’s a good listener, too. Tell him all your weirdo problems, and I am sure he
’ll give you great advice.”
Q looked up at me. “Thanks, Maureen.” There was a tear in her eye. “I mean, well…thanks.”
“For what?” I said.
“For, well, I hope you know that…I just don’t want to let you down.”
“Let me down?”
“Yeah, let you down,” she said. “I mean, I know I am a loser and people are going to pick on me for the rest of my life, but you, well, you could be”—she struggled to find the right word—“accepted.”
“Accepted?” I said. “Are you sure you don’t need a hit off the scuba tank or something? I don’t think enough of those inhibitors are getting to your brain.”
“Yeah,” she said in a serious tone. “You could be accepted. I mean, I know I’ll never be, but you, well…I just don’t want to let you down.”
“Look, you’re not letting me down, you itchy-lipped, rash-faced freak-a-zoid.” I hopped on one foot because wow did I really have to pee. “And don’t go getting all emotional on me either. I mean, first Beanpole hugs me, and now you cry; next thing you know we’ll be singing stupid songs together and writing dumb messages in one another’s yearbooks.”
Q took a slurp off the scuba tank. Wheeesh-whooosh. Wheeesh-whooosh. “You’re funny.”
“I’m not trying to be funny,” I said. “Now, just stay here and stay strong for like five minutes, okay?” I added. “I’ll be right back. I just really need to pee.”
“Okay, go,” Q answered. “I’ll wait.”
It’d been about two and a half hours since I last peed, probably the longest stretch of time since I’d started this dumb watchwhat-I-eat, exercise, and-drink-a-lot-of-water thing. Actually, I shouldn’t call it dumb because the truth was all this cuckoo health stuff was working. Though I didn’t want to weigh myself because I always felt bad whenever I got on a scale, I knew I had lost some weight. I mean, all my pants were looser, my jeans didn’t squeak so much when I walked through the halls, and I had to admit, I did feel a lot better about my body.
Not wanting to use the bathroom in the Performing Arts Center in case I ran into the ThreePees, I scooted back to the main part of campus and found a restroom by the science corridor, where I took a pee, washed my hands, and looked in the mirror.
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