Romance of the Snob Squad, Page 2

  “This morning I asked Kevin to ask Hugh to fill it out,” Lydia said. “I told him it was for a social studies project and that I needed it back right away.”

  My jaw unhinged. Lydia amazed me. She’d been busy. All I’d done last night was watch Dawson’s Creek, devour a bag of barbecued potato chips while my parents were out cowboy boogying, and go to bed. “One question,” I said. “Since when is Kevin on Hugh’s science team? I thought he was on the tornado team.”

  Lydia clucked. “Where have you been? There were too many people on the tornado team, so Mr. Biekmund made them split up. Since Kevin’s into computers, he asked him if he’d mind working with Hugh. Naturally Melanie went over with Kevin. She’s sooo obvious.” Lydia rolled her eyes.

  “Tell me about it,” I muttered.

  “Ashley couldn’t be left behind without her groupie, so she followed Melanie. Don’t you remember the little snit she had? How she wanted to be in charge? How she hated Hugh’s idea and wanted to do something else? You were there.”

  “Guess I was busy.” Guess I was sleeping.

  “Anyway,” Lydia went on, “look at the last question.”

  I scanned down the survey and read aloud, “ ‘Have you asked anyone to the spring fling?’ ” My eyes widened. “Lydia!”

  She smiled. “He answered no.”

  “Kevin did?”

  “No, Hugh.” She gave me a funny look.

  Hastily I hustled toward class. Lydia followed on my flopping heels. “So, did Kevin fill out a survey, too?” I said nonchalantly.

  “I didn’t ask him to,” Lydia replied.

  Rats. I’d give a month of Milk Duds to know his answer to the last question. To any of the questions. “Didn’t Kevin wonder why you wanted Hugh to fill out the survey and not him?” My fingers curled around the door handle.

  “Yeah, he wondered.” As she passed by me on her way in, she smiled over her shoulder. “Let him wonder.”

  Oh, boy, was Lydia coy. About as coy as the brick wall she smacked into.

  Eight. Brown. Anchovies. I wrote the words in my reading journal. I reread them. They sounded like the start of a poem.

  Eight brown anchovies

  On a pizza pie.

  I took one bite

  And thought that I would die.

  Mrs. Jonas paused at my desk. She had her grade book open and, in her left hand, jiggled a red Flair pen. “Jenny, you have a spelling test to make up from last week and the daily oral language sentences to redo. Unless you want me to record the D plus.” When I didn’t reply right away, she arched both eyebrows.

  “I’m thinking.”

  She pursed her lips. You know the look: That wasn’t really a choice. Her wristwatch beeped, postponing my indecision. “Time for science,” Mrs. Jonas announced to the class. “Mr. Biekmund asked me to remind you that your science fair project plans are due today.”

  Uh-oh, I thought. That’s what we forgot to talk about yesterday in the Peacemobile. I knew there was a reason we’d gotten together, other than delving into our deepest, darkest secrets.

  Like a lumbering herd of buffalo, our class transferred to the science room. On the way Lydia had to say it: “We didn’t talk about the project, Jenny.”

  “No duh,” I said.

  “What are we going to tell Mr. Biekmund?”

  Max and Prairie looked at me, too. Sometimes being the leader is a major burden. “Leave it to me,” I said. “I’ll think of something.”

  Mr. Biekmund was his usual sniffly self. The Beak Man, we called him, because he had a nose like a garden hose. Terminal postnasal drip. He was always snuffling and blowing his snot out into a wadded-up handkerchief, too. Disgusting. You try to listen to a flat trombone for an hour every day—after an hour and a half of clarinet. No wonder I hated band instruments.

  As soon as the dust settled, the Beak Man began picking up science fair plans. He couldn’t wait until the end of class, could he? I mean, what’s the rush? He hovered over our table, sniffing. “Ladies, do you have your project plans for the science fair?” he asked.

  “Huh?” I said.

  “Your science fair plans,” he repeated.

  I gave him my most shocked expression. “You mean now?”

  “They’re due today.” His expression didn’t change.

  He was good, I had to give him that. “Um, well, to tell you the truth, Mr. Biekmund, my new puppy sort of had an accident on the plans.”

  “You have a new puppy?” Lydia piped up. “You didn’t tell us. What’s his name?”

  I pummeled her with eye pellets. Max groaned.

  “I’ll have to give you all F’s,” the Beak Man said flatly. He started to saunter away.

  “Wait,” I called.

  He stopped and swiveled back.

  “Could I tell you about it, at least? I mean, I’m in the middle of recopying the plans, and I’ll have them to you by the end of the day. You said due today, so I thought that meant by three-thirty. It wouldn’t be fair to give everybody else an F just because my puppy peed on the plans.”

  He held my eyes.

  I could feel the rest of the Squad arching pathetic eyebrows.

  The Beak Man exhaled a long, weary breath.

  I exhaled one myself. “Geez,” I said, smiling, “I thought for a minute that you thought we didn’t even do it.” I gave a short laugh.

  Max, Prairie, and Lydia laughed, too.

  “So,” the Beak Man said, “what’s your project?”

  “Our project.” My mouth felt like I’d been sucking chalk. “Our project is…”

  “An experiment,” Max muttered.

  “Right,” I said. “An experiment. Like… how many M&M’s are there in a bite-size bag as compared to the full pounder.”

  The Beak Man frowned.

  “We’re going to see if M&M’s actually do melt in your hands, which everyone knows they do. Then we’re going to sue M&M’s for false advertising and make a million dollars for the school. To buy new science equipment, of course.”

  By his expression I could tell I’d exhausted the Beak Man’s humor quotient. Which was zero to begin with.

  “Just kidding,” I said. “I’ll have the plan to you by the end of the day.”

  After he left, the Squad gave me the thumbs-up. Sometimes school was like that. Dodge one disaster after another.

  At lunch, after we’d settled at our table in the far corner, I said, “About the science fair—”

  Lydia cut me off: “His favorite subject is math. Well, computers really, and his favorite sport is bowling.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Hugh.”

  “Who?” Max repeated.

  “Hugh.”

  “Hugh’s on first,” I said. “What’s on second. I don’t know’s on third.” They stared at me like I had a dead cow on my head. “Never mind. One of my father’s Abbott and Costello routines.” It usually got the same response from Vanessa and me. So why had I repeated it?

  Lydia reread the survey, shaking her head. “I don’t know how we’re going to use this information. Hmmm.” She tapped her chin. The first part of Lydia’s plan was to gather data on Hugh, since he was an unknown entity. I was coming to realize that people are unknown entities for a reason.

  “What did Prairie say about the survey?” I asked.

  Lydia replied, “I haven’t shown it to her yet.” A smile curled her lips. “She’ll just die when she sees it.”

  “Or you will,” Max muttered.

  Lydia said, “Oh, good. Here she comes.”

  Prairie usually came to lunch a little later than us. After science she had special classes in the resource room, which we used to call the retard room before we knew Prairie.

  “Hi, Prairie. Sit next to me.” Lydia scootched over on the table bench to let Prairie slide in.

  “I l-love spaghetti day.” Prairie smiled. “D-don’t you just love spaghetti day?” She wound a wad of day-old pasta around her fork and chomped into it.
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  While we ate, Lydia explained her plan and showed Prairie the survey. Prairie’s eyes bugged out. She sucked in spaghetti while she sucked up Hugh’s responses.

  “If no one wants their brownie, I’ll take it off your hands,” I said. There was more pleading in my voice than I meant to betray. Slurping pasta, Prairie handed hers over. Max, even though she’d eaten half, surrendered hers. Lydia hesitated. Clucking her tongue, she added her brownie to the stack.

  I smiled meekly. “I owe you one.”

  “Forget it,” she said. “Although I feel like I should be helping you stay on your diet.”

  “It’s not a diet. It’s a nutrition plan. As long as I write down everything I eat, I can eat anything I want.” That was my interpretation.

  Lydia looked skeptical. “I guess your dietician figures if you’re busy writing, you can’t eat.”

  My fingers formed a fist to slug her. Max beat me to it. “Ouch.” Lydia rubbed her arm. A blob of spaghetti sauce dribbled out of her mouth. Dabbing her lips with a napkin, she said, “Well, I should know. My mother’s a—”

  “Child psychologist,” we finished for her. We heard this so often, we could recite it in a coma.

  All of a sudden the air grew stale. A shadow enveloped us. “What’s this I hear about a sixth-grade survey?” Ashley Krupps said. She loomed over Lydia, her bulk blocking what little light there was. Ashley was fat, like me. Only she didn’t care. Next to Ashley stood Melanie. She flipped a spray of long blond hair over her shoulder. I tried that once in the mirror. Almost dislocated my sternum.

  “It doesn’t concern you,” Lydia said.

  Ashley replied, “You mean it’s only for sixth-grade boys? That’s discrimination.”

  Lydia clucked. “It’s not just for boys.”

  Melanie flipped her hair again. “Then it must just be for Hugh. He’s the only one who’s mentioned it.”

  Ashley widened her eyes at Melanie, then narrowed them knowingly at Lydia. “So,” she said, “someone’s got the hots for Hugh.”

  Lydia sneered. “Get real.”

  “Get lost,” Max mumbled.

  Ashley turned to Melanie. “I guess I should tell them about Hugh asking me to the spring fling. I wasn’t going to go, of course, but maybe now I will. Since you’re going with Kevin. We could double.”

  Melanie smiled at me, like she knew my secret.

  “Come on, I’m starving.” Ashley waddled away. Melanie snitched a brownie off my tray and sashayed after Ashley. My body responded with sugar shock, or maybe just plain shock.

  Prairie stared at Lydia, chin on chest.

  “Don’t believe her, Prairie,” I said. “You saw the survey. Hugh said he hadn’t asked anyone to the dance.”

  Prairie blinked at Lydia. “W-when did you give him the survey?”

  “This morning,” she said.

  Prairie nodded slowly. I hoped she wasn’t thinking what I was thinking. That between then and now some significant social event had transpired.

  Prairie met my eyes, then looked away. Her lower lip trembled. “Excuse me,” she said, sliding out. She walked away fast, leaving a half-eaten tray of spaghetti.

  “I’m going to kill them,” Max said, glaring across the cafeteria at Ashley and Melanie. It was no idle threat. “I’m going to cut off their—”

  “Me!” Lydia said suddenly. “Ashley thinks I like Hugh?”

  “Well,” I said. “You are the one asking personal questions about him. And only him.” Before Lydia could get her asthma up, I added, “Come on, guys. Let’s go find Prairie. We’ll kill the creeps later.”

  Chapter 4

  Back in Mrs. Jonas’s homeroom, I scribbled up a phony science fair plan ten minutes before the final bell. All I could think of was an enhanced M&M’s experiment in which we’d also taste-test the different colors and rank them as to their deliciousness. Hey, it was late in the day. My blood sugar was low.

  I rushed the plan over to Mr. Biekmund. Unfortunately he was there. Unfortunately he read the plan. Unfortunately he hated it.

  I called an emergency meeting of the Snob Squad. Once we’d taken our places in the Peacemobile, I said, “We need to talk about the science fair—”

  Lydia interrupted, “I know for a fact that Hugh hasn’t asked Ashley to the dance, Prairie. And Kevin hasn’t asked Melanie, either. They’re lying.”

  That erased the science fair from my agenda. “How do you know?” I said.

  Lydia clucked. “Just because Ashley and Hugh and Melanie and Kevin are working on a computer project for the science fair, Ashley thinks they’re all engaged. I know Hugh hasn’t asked her to the dance. You know what a liar Ashley is. She just said that because she thought I was interested. Which I am not,” she emphasized to Prairie’s dark face.

  Prairie didn’t look convinced. Neither did I.

  Then Lydia had to add, “But if Ashley really is after Hugh, then he’s doomed. We better think of something fast.”

  Max said, “We could blow up the computer center.”

  “N-no,” Prairie said. “If Hugh wants to ask Ashley, or anyone else, then he sh-should.” She stared off across the van, into rust dust.

  She was right. On the other hand, if Kevin wants to ask Melanie, or anyone else, maybe Max’s plan was solid.

  I didn’t really want to, but the look on Prairie’s face told me it was time to change the subject. “Hey, guys, we have to talk about the science fair. What are we going to do? The Beak Man didn’t accept the M&M’s experiment.” I passed around our after-school snack, a bag of peeled baby carrots that nobody would trade for at lunch. “He said he expected more.” I rolled my eyes.

  “I h-hate science,” Prairie said.

  Lydia sneezed. “I think I’m allergic to it.”

  Prairie exhaled a long sigh and added, “Why did Mr. Biekmund v-volunteer our class to represent the whole school?”

  “Because he’s transferring to Widener next year.” Lydia crunched a carrot. “What does he care if Montrose Middle School comes in dead last in the whole district? What does he care if the entire student body is totally humiliated by our class’s stupid science fair projects? It’s no skin off his nose.”

  Mr. Biekmund was leaving? That was news to me. I sort of liked him, weirdo that he was. He didn’t play favorites, not even with Ashley, the principal’s daughter. And he really loved science—you could tell. Even though he rejected my plan, he didn’t reject me. Know what I mean? It wasn’t personal. It was a putrid plan. I admit it. “So what’s our project going to be? I can’t get an F in science, okay? I’ve already got one in social studies. And my language grade as of yesterday is a D plus. Come on, think.”

  There was communal crunching. “I’ve got it,” Lydia said. “We could grow mold. That’s always popular.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Max muttered. “Especially in the cafeteria.”

  “My brother has m-mold growing in his car,” Prairie said. “My d-dad says he gave him the perfect name: Yucca. Get it? Yuck? Car?”

  Lydia said, “Your brother’s name is Yucca? For real?”

  Made sense to me. Prairie’s last name was Cactus. “What are your other brothers’ names?” I asked. She had six brothers. No wonder she was challenged.

  Prairie counted on her fingers. “River, Sun, Moon, Forest, Mesa, and Yucca.”

  Prairie got teased mercilessly. I bet her brothers did, too. Parents who give their kids weird names should be shipped to Shanghai. Where is Shanghai, anyway?

  Lydia said, “What’s your Mom’s name, Aloe Vera?” She hyena-howled.

  Prairie replied flatly, “No. Her name is Marianne.”

  That shut Lydia up. Her mother’s name was Marianne, too. Dr. Marianne Beals. How often did we hear that?

  I sighed wearily. “People, people, people. The project?” God, I sounded like the Beak Man.

  We all crunched in unison. The carrot bag made its way around. Prairie said, “Can we do an animal p-project? Last year my brother Sun h-hatched baby duc
ks in an incubator.”

  Max’s eyes lit up. “How many?”

  “Eight,” Prairie said. “But one died.”

  “Aw.” Max blinked away. She smiled tenderly. “I love baby animals.”

  We all stared at her. No one in their right mind would leave Max alone with a baby animal. I said, “I think by the end of sixth grade we’re supposed to do more than watch eggs hatch. Now, if we could clone a duck…”

  Lydia said, “Yeah, right. Who do you think we are, Einstein?” She paused and smiled. “Maybe we could clone Mr. Vance. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Jenny?” She wiggled eyebrows at me.

  I zinged a carrot at her.

  Max interrupted the ensuing food fight. “Could we train animals? Is that science?”

  “Sounds like science to me,” I said. “Does anyone have an animal?”

  Lydia said, “You have a puppy.”

  I just looked at her.

  “You don’t have a puppy? But I thought… oh.”

  No one ever accused Lydia of being quick-witted. “Last year I had Petey, my hamster,” I said. “But, as you all know, he died on Halloween.” Everyone lowered their heads in respect.

  “Wait here.” Max propelled herself to her feet and launched out of the minivan. Her army boots crunched gravel on the way to her house.

  Lydia snapped a carrot in her teeth and said, “Maybe Max has a cloning kit.” She grinned at me.

  “Wouldn’t surprise me,” I said. Nothing Max did surprised me. I take that back. Everything Max did surprised me.

  “C-could we b-borrow an animal?” Prairie said. “My cousin Butch has an iguana.”

  “I’m not touching any lizards,” Lydia said. “They’re infested with bacteria. Didn’t you hear about those kids at the zoo who got food poisoning from touching the monitor lizard?” She shivered.

  “Huh?” Prairie and I both frowned at her.

  “They touched it, then they sucked their fingers,” she explained.

  “Why didn’t they just b-buy a Popsicle?” Prairie asked.