Luv Ya Bunches
Page 14
• • • •
2:10: By the looks of it, Ms. Perez is giving Quin a stern talking-to. Ha ha, thinks Milla when she glances over. Serves you right for making fun of her underwear.
She deftly rotates her body to keep Modessa from seeing what’s going on. “Told you she was going to disappear,” she says.
Natalia Totenburg, who’s behind them, butts into their conversation. “Who dithappeared?” she asks.
“Quin,” Milla replies. “She finally had enough of Modessa.”
• • • •
2:11: Yasaman catches Milla’s eye and gives her a thumbs-up, which means that Katie-Rose has given the same signal to Yasaman. Which tells Milla that yes, Ms. Perez has done her job, and Quin is on her way to the time-out bench.
Milla feels a thrill at the base of her spine. She says to Modessa, “I understand why Quin ditched you. Why’d she take your ice cream, though?”
“Thee took your ithe cream?” Natalia echoes.
Modessa drops her gaze to the table. She sees that her ice cream is indeed gone, and she makes an indignant sound. The cherry balanced on her spoon tips and falls.
• • • •
2:12–2:14: Yasaman joins Milla at the ice cream table.
“There you are,” Yasaman says breathlessly. “I saw Quin on the other side of the playground, and thought—”
“You saw Quin?” Modessa demands. “Where?”
Yasaman widens her eyes. The goal is to make Modessa think she just wanted to talk to Milla, and that in her hurry she didn’t notice Modessa was here, too. “Um . . . um . . .”
“Where is Quin, Spazaman? Tell me!”
Yasaman honestly looks nervous. She’s a much better actor than Katie-Rose . . . or maybe she’s not acting. She turns to Milla and says, with perfect confusion, “So . . . you’re not part of what’s going on?”
“What is going on?” Modessa says.
“Yeah, Yathaman,” Natalia says. “What’th going on?”
“Well, I saw Quin . . .” Yasaman’s gaze darts to Modessa, then back to Milla. Milla encourages her with a nod. “And, um, she’s got someone’s ice cream—”
“What do you mean, she’s got someone’s ice cream?” Modessa snaps.
“Modessa, don’t kill the messenger,” Milla says. “Sheesh.” She puts her hand on Yasaman’s arm. “It’s okay, Yasaman.”
“Yeah,” Natalia says. “You can tell uhth.”
Yasaman is distracted for a second by Natalia. She shakes her head and refocuses.
“It’s just that I remembered what you told me, about how Quin put mud in your milkshake that one time. And I thought . . . maybe . . .” She gulps. “Never mind. I’m sure I’m wrong.”
“Quin has a behavior disorder,” Milla says. “At least this time she doesn’t have my ice cream.” She puts her hands on her hips. “By the way, Modessa. Did you tell Quin to do that? To put mud in my milkshake that day? ‘Cause that was really uncool.”
Natalia is appalled. “You put mud in Milla’th milk-thake? Tho uncool.”
Yasaman squints deliberately at the time-out bench. The other girls’ gazes follow hers. “Whose ice cream did she put mud in this time?”
Milla shakes her head. “Like I said, it’s not mine.”
Modessa’s face is grim. “It’s mine,” she says, storming toward the bench.
• • • •
2:15: Milla and Yasaman share a quick look of delight (plus a squinch of horror that their plan is actually working) and race after Modessa.
“Hey, where are you guyth going?” Natalia calls.
“Nowhere!” Milla shouts over her shoulder.
Katie-Rose and Violet join Milla and Yasaman just as Modessa reaches the bench.
“You stole my ice cream!” Modessa says angrily to Quin.
Quin, who’s not a happy camper, lifts her head. “What?”
“Don’t lie. It’s right there.” Modessa juts her chin at the bowl of ice cream next to Quin. In addition to its hoggish portion of mini M&M’s, Modessa’s sundae now has noticeably more chocolate syrup on it than it originally did. “I have eyes, you know.”
Quin frowns at the ice cream. “That’s yours? It was here when I sat down!”
“Oh, please.”
“Modessa”—she’s starting to freak—“I don’t know anything about that ice cream. I swear!”
Modessa makes an ugly sound. “Just like you don’t know anything about the mud you put on it? You are so lame, Quin.”
Milla feels a hand squeezing hers. She squeezes back. Quin spots Milla and her posse and grows more flustered.
“Come on, I would never do something like that!” she protests.
“Yeah, uh-huh. And that’s why there’s so much more ‘chocolate syrup’”—she makes air quotes—“on it now?” She picks up the bowl. “Since you like mud so much, you eat it.”
• • • •
2:16: Modessa shoves the bowl at Quin’s face. Quin blocks Modessa’s thrust with her forearm. The bowl of ice cream flies up . . . it’s moving in slow motion, arching gracefully through the air . . . flipping upside-down . . . and then, zwoop. Time kicks back in, and so does gravity.
Milla draws her hands to her mouth, inhaling sharply at the amount of damage one bowl of ice cream can do. Sploopy goo lands in Quin’s hair. Chocolate sauce splatters Modessa’s white shrug and Quin’s white shirt. Miniature M&M’s fleck both of them like multicolored chicken pox.
It is a moment made of awesome.
“Ewww!” Modessa wails, extending her arms away from her torso. “I’m all gross!”
“I’m grosser!” Quin whines. A glop of ice cream slides from her hair to her collarbone and slips down her shirt. She squeals.
Violet laughs first. That gets Katie-Rose going. And once she’s going, there’s no stopping her. Yasaman presses her knuckles to her mouth, but there’s a smile under there, Milla can tell. As for Milla herself . . .
Well, she doesn’t feel scared anymore. She feels free. Full of joy, like a radiant white balloon. No, a sparkly green balloon.
Understanding dawns in Modessa’s eyes.
“You did this,” she says dangerously. She approaches them, and they yelp and clutch each other.
“We didn’t do anything,” Katie-Rose says, her voice high. She twists her head over her shoulder. “Ms. Perez! Ms. Perez, help!”
Ms. Perez is there in a nanosecond. She looks Quin and Modessa up and down and says, “Girls, what is going on? Quin, you’re supposed to be taking a break. Why are you covered in ice cream?”
Modessa points a sticky finger at Milla, Katie-Rose, Yasaman, and Violet. “They put mud in my ice cream and made me think Quin did it!”
“We did not!” Milla says passionately.
Ms. Perez presses her lips together. She focuses on the most trustworthy girl in the group. “Yasaman?”
Yasaman’s dark eyes convey dismay. “No, Ms. Perez. We would never put mud in someone’s ice cream.”
Modessa squats, grabs the ice cream bowl, and thrusts it at Yasaman. Modessa and Quin are wearing most of its contents, but a small amount of ice cream and chocolate sauce remain.
“Prove it,” she says. “Ms. Perez, make her taste it.”
Yasaman shakes her head. “Um, I’d rather not.” She appeals to Ms. Perez. “What if she put mud in it herself? She’s done it before.”
Ms. Perez presses her fingertips to her brow. She briefly closes her eyes. “Girls,” she says, “did any of you put mud in this ice cream?”
“No way,” Violet says. Milla, Katie-Rose, and Yasaman shake their heads.
“I didn’t!” Modessa says indignantly.
Ms. Perez turns to Quin. “Quin?”
“I don’t even know how it got here!” Quin says.
Modessa makes her oh please grunt before remembering that she switched stories and now thinks Quin has been framed.
Just like Katie-Rose was framed, thinks Milla, experiencing a moment of guilt.
&
nbsp; There’s a difference, however. Modessa came right out and said, “Katie-Rose stole Camilla’s turtle!” Milla and the others just set up the ice cream situation . . . and then let Modessa assume what she chose. And since Modessa has a small, petty heart, she assumed the worse—even of her supposed bestie.
Ms. Perez holds out her hand. All six girls glance at each other in confusion.
She wiggles her fingers. “The bowl, please?”
Warily, Modessa surrenders it.
Ms. Perez dips her finger into the chocolate sauce and puts it in her mouth. Katie-Rose’s eyes pop. Ms. Perez’s finger is clean when she pulls it out, and she says, “No mud. Just Hershey’s Syrup.” She eyes them one by one to convey her exasperation. “Do I need to send you girls to see Mrs. Westerfeld?”
Mrs. Westerfeld is Rivendell’s principal. She’s nice, but can be frightening when required.
“No, ma’am,” Yasaman says. Milla, Violet, and Katie-Rose follow suit.
Ms. Perez turns to Quin and Modessa.
“No, ma’am,” Modessa mumbles. She flicks Quin’s hip.
“Ow,” Quin says. Sullenly, she meets Ms. Perez’s eyes and shakes her head.
“Then Quin and Modessa, why don’t you stop acting like children and go clean yourselves up.” She shifts her attention to Milla and the others. “The rest of you, just . . . do something peaceful for the rest of the hour. Can you manage that?”
There’s head-nodding and yes, ma’aming, and Ms. Perez leaves.
“Good Lord, I need a new job,” they hear her mutter.
Milla faces Modessa and Quin. Modessa steps forward, and Milla squares up against her. She senses Violet, Yasaman, and Katie-Rose move closer in.
“You’re dead,” Modessa says.
“No, I’m alive, actually,” Milla says. She’s amazed at how steady her voice is. “Better go clean yourselves up, don’t you think?” She doesn’t add “children” to the end of her sentence. She doesn’t need to.
Modessa glares bullets, then makes a drama-queen ummph and flounces off. Quin’s flounce is less graceful, but flouncy just the same. A dreadlock of ice-cream-y hair hangs lankily down her back.
“Bye, Medusa and her evil harpy Quin,” Violet singsongs.
Modessa’s spine stiffens, but she doesn’t turn around.
“Eeee!” Katie-Rose squeals, no longer able to contain her glee. All four girls are giddy and exhilarated and stunned, and their laughter crescendos until Yasaman says “shhh” and uses a head-tilt to indicate Ms. Perez, who’s glancing at them in warning.
So they form a circle. Their faces are bright.
“Omigosh,” Milla marvels. “We did it!”
“We are brill-i-ant-ay,” Katie-Rose says.
“Why yes, we are,” Violet says. She adopts a silly radio announcer’s voice. “That’s right, folks. You heard it here first: Medusa and her evil harpy Quin are trumped by a bunch of flowers.”
“A lovely bunch of flowers,” Milla says, flinging her arms wide and doing a spin, “which is loved bunches and bunches by me.”
“Love you bunches!” Katie-Rose repeats. She bounces on her heels. “Omigosh! Love you bunches!”
She looks at Yasaman, who grins. Yes-ness passes between them.
“What?” Milla says. “You guys are thinking something. Tell us!”
Violet tilts her head. “I think I know,” she says. “Needs a teeny bit of tweaking, though. Like, l-u-v love, and maybe ‘luv ya’ instead of ‘luv you’?”
“LuvYaBunches.com,” Yasaman says blissfully. “It’s perfect.”
From my home turf: Moran and Maysie, who gave me DIRT. Rachel, who taught me that a “camilla” is a flower. Al and Quinn, who taught me about the elusive reverse domino effect. Kazim, for talking to me about Islam and Turkey—though anything I got wrong came from me and not him! Chelsea Alles, for being a sweetie pie. Julia Meier, who rains love on me and mine and helps us lift our happy faces toward the sun.
From the turf universal: Bob, who makes the best fertilizer on the planet. Sarah Mlynowski, who read an early draft and told me how to make it better. All my buddies from the cookie jar and from peacelovebabyducks.ning.com, who answer my silly girly questions at the drop of a hat chocolate chip cookie. My big ol’ honking family, always and forever.
From the land of books, where everyone is hipper than I: the entire Abrams sales team, for caring. Christine Norrie for bringing Violet, Katie-Rose, Milla, and Yasaman to full-color adorableness. Chad Beckerman and Maria Middleton, for embracing pinkness and turtles and v’s shaped like hearts. Scott Auerbach, for caring whether there are many Cyclopes or just one. Jason Wells, for being the kind of cool dude who says “YES!” to cupcakes with flowers on them. Michael Jacobs, for two-fisting it with me at fancy book events, and for supporting books in general, so that we can attend fancy book events. Barry Goldblatt for not being afraid of girls without noses. And—oh, I swoon—a special bouquet of aromatic thanks to the wonderful, amazing, brilliant, and clever Susan Van Metre, my editor, who wore her bewitching girdle every day while slaving over this baby (and thank goodness, for it made all the difference). I U, Susan!!!!!
And from the loamy depths of my soul: Mirabelle, Jamie, Al, and Jack, for existing in this beautiful world. Without you, I would wilt, but with you, I am a dandelion bursting with joy. You are the flowers of my heart!