Double Dog Dare, Page 2

  Francine peeled the foil lid off the pudding cup and licked the underside. The chocolate melted on the outside edges of her tongue, smooth and creamy and perfect. Just what she needed. “I guess I am a little jumpy,” she told Natalie. Her eyes drifted to the backpack on her desk, where she was keeping her secret weapon—the thing that was going to help her defeat Kansas Bloom for sure.

  Only … what if it didn’t?

  “You’re really going to do it?” Natalie asked, her eyes focused on Francine’s backpack, too.

  Francine gulped down a mouthful of pudding, and did her best to sound confident. “Yep,” she said.

  “Well”—Natalie crumpled her lunch bag closed, just as Kansas strolled through the door—“good luck.” And she stood up and joined the other members at the clump of desks in the corner, where they were studying that morning’s newspaper.

  “Thanks,” Francine said, scraping out the last dregs of chocolate pudding. But she knew that real winners didn’t need luck. Real winners needed courage.

  When she was sure that Miss Sparks was distracted on the other side of the room, searching through her desk drawer for something, Francine made her way over to the other members of the club. With his floppy hair and ruddy cheeks, Kansas was looking cool and calm, just like the King of Dares he thought he was. Well, Francine would show him. Not even the King of Dares would do what she had planned for him.

  Taking a deep breath of courage, Francine plopped her backpack dead center on the group of desks.

  “What’s that?” Luis asked.

  “That,” Francine replied, allowing herself the smallest of smiles, “is Kansas’s new dare.” And, while everyone watched, Francine slowly, tooth by tooth, tugged open the zipper of her backpack. Then, with the eraser end of a number-two pencil, Francine pulled out her secret weapon and raised it from her backpack for everyone to see.

  A white pair of boys’ underwear, slightly used.

  Emma squealed. Luis’s eyes went huge, his lips round as he whistled out a “nooooooo way!” Andre snorted and thumped Kansas square on the back. “Oh, man,” he said, shaking his head. “Oh, man.”

  But Kansas was silent.

  “Whose are they?” Brendan asked.

  Francine paused a moment. If there was anyone in that room who should know whose tighty whities they were, it was Brendan King. After all, he’d been the one who swiped them from the boys’ locker room during PE yesterday while Kansas was changing. Francine had paid him five bucks to do it. The whole dare had been his idea. But he was probably just trying to cover up so no one would suspect him of being an underwear thief.

  Francine stood up a little straighter, swinging the briefs from her pencil like a pendulum. “See for yourselves,” she told them. And she flung the underwear down in front of Kansas’s perched elbows so that the name on the waistband was completely visible.

  Kansas Bloom. The words were written in neat, square permanent marker.

  Emma squealed again, so loudly that Miss Sparks popped her head up from behind her desk to see what was going on. Alicia had the sense to cover for them, fanning out the pages of the morning’s newspaper and exclaiming loudly, “I cannot believe this thing about the strike in Greece!”

  Miss Sparks went back to rummaging.

  Luis inspected the briefs. “You write your name in your underwear?” he asked Kansas.

  Kansas was doing his best to ignore the underwear just two inches from his left elbow. “No,” he said, flicking his eyes up to meet Francine’s, “I don’t.”

  Brendan snorted. “Well, then I guess your mom does,” he replied.

  “What’s the dare?” Alicia asked, scrunching the newspaper aside to get a closer look at the underwear.

  This was it, Francine thought. This was the moment when Kansas would say, “Fine, I give up, you got me.” This was the moment when Francine would finally, officially, win the war and be declared the future news anchor of Media Club for spring semester. Just the way it should’ve been all along.

  “I double dog dare you,” she told Kansas, her stomach fluttering with the excitement of the moment. This must be how generals felt when they were about to defeat their enemies. “To string your underwear up the flagpole.”

  The members of the Media Club gasped. “Wow,” Alicia said. “That’s good.”

  “We need to vote on it,” Luis reminded them, “before it’s an official dare. All in favor?”

  They were all in favor.

  Francine turned to Kansas. She wanted to be sure to catch the exact moment when he threw his hands up in the air and quit.

  But he didn’t do that at all. Instead, as cool as ever, Kansas scooped his underwear off the table and said, “You want me to do it right now?”

  “Wait,” Francine said. “You mean you’re actually going to do it?”

  “Of course I’m going to do it,” Kansas said, rolling his eyes. Like Francine’s dare was nothing to him. Like she was nothing. “I told you, I’ve never turned down a dare in my life. I’m the King of Dares.”

  Then he slid his chair back, the feet making an awful thrummmmm against the linoleum, stuffed the briefs into his back pocket, and walked across the classroom. On the way, he gave Francine a little shove, right in the shoulder. It might have been an accident. But Francine knew it wasn’t.

  “I can’t believe he’s going to do it,” Natalie whispered under her breath, after the door had shut behind him. “He’s so brave.” Francine frowned at her. “Oh. But, I mean, you’re totally going to win, though. Obviously.” She offered her elbow to Francine, who took it after only a second’s pause, and together they joined the other club members at the window, where they were already swarming for the best view of the flagpole.

  The flagpole was right outside the school, next to the marquee that was currently announcing SCHOOL SPIRIT DAY TOMORROW! WEAR GREEN & WHITE! Mr. DuPree always raised the American flag in the morning right before school started—Francine had seen him do it a few times, just as Media Club was wrapping up—so at the moment, the flagpole was straight and bare, like a mast on a ship just waiting to fly its colors. One minute passed, then two. Francine did her best to breathe normally. Kansas was never going to do it, she told herself. No way.

  “So what do you want to do this afternoon?” Natalie asked Francine as they waited for Kansas’s floppy-haired head to pop out the main door of the school. “More guinea pig training?”

  “Um …”

  Natalie came over to Francine’s house every Thursday because her dad worked late and her mom had a pottery class, and otherwise she’d have to stay with her great-aunt Mabel, who Natalie said spent most of the time sleeping in front of the TV. Natalie had been coming over every Thursday since she and Francine were in kindergarten. She knew Francine’s house practically as well as Francine did—which cupboard the glasses were in, the trick to opening the laundry room door without it sticking, and the fact that the labels on the hot and cold faucets in the downstairs bathroom were switched.

  Of course, Natalie hadn’t come over last Thursday, because she’d had the flu. And she hadn’t come over the Thursday before that, because it was Thanksgiving. It also happened to be the Thursday that Francine’s parents announced, over mashed potatoes and okra, that they were getting a divorce. Francine kept meaning to mention it to Natalie, the whole divorce thing, but it never seemed like the perfect time to tell her. Besides, the second Natalie found out that Francine’s parents were getting a divorce, she was going to get freaked out and weepy and be all “oh, my gosh, Francine, you must be so upset!” and cry and sniffle and want to talk about it, like, nonstop. And that really didn’t sound like a whole lot of fun to Francine.

  “Um, yeah,” Francine said. “Samson training would be great.” Maybe Francine could sneak into the car before Natalie got in, and tell her mom not to mention anything. To just pretend like everything was peaches and happy and normal, like maybe Francine’s dad wasn’t at the house because he was off playing bridge or somethin
g. “Samson’s getting sort of good at his obstacle course. He only went backward twice last time.”

  Beside them, Emma suddenly perked up. “I think I see him!” she squeaked.

  “You do not,” Brendan said, but he was leaning as far up against the window as anybody.

  “Do too,” Emma said. “That’s him right there.” She pointed.

  “That’s a garbage can,” Alicia informed her.

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “You guys,” Francine told them, “he’s not going to do it.” But, like everyone else, she held her breath and waited.

  2.

  A PINK CHERRY PENCIL

  Two.

  One.

  Those were the numbers written on either side of the chalkboard in Miss Sparks’s fourth-grade classroom. They were the last two things that caught Kansas’s eye as he marched into the hallway with a pair of white boys’ underwear—slightly used—in his pocket. Kansas had two points, and Francine had one. He was in the lead, and he definitely planned on staying that way. He wasn’t the King of Dares for nothing.

  The hallway was empty, just like it was every morning before school started. Kansas’s steps echoed off the bare walls—step, step, step—as he made his way to the front door. He could see the empty flagpole out the window ahead of him.

  And then, suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks.

  Francine had said, “I double dog dare you to string your underwear up the flagpole.” Your underwear. But the underwear she’d given Kansas weren’t his. Kansas had known that for a fact, as soon as he’d laid eyes on them. Because for one thing, what self-respecting fourth-grader let his mom write his name on his underwear? And for another—well, they just weren’t. Francine had probably stolen them from her little brother and written the name on them herself, to try and embarrass him. Kansas didn’t have a problem stringing them up the flagpole, but … Francine had said your underwear. Not these. She’d been trying to trick him, to make him lose a point.

  Well, no way Kansas was going to fall for that. If Francine said your underwear up the flagpole, it was his underwear up the flagpole she was going to get. Kansas never failed a dare. He had the photos to prove it—pictures of every single dare he and Ricky and Will had ever done together, stuck to the wall above his bed.

  Kansas quickly changed course and turned into the boys’ bathroom. Making sure no one was inside, he raced to the farthest stall and locked himself in. Less than one minute later, he stepped out with two pairs of underwear stuffed into his pockets, totally bare-butted under his khakis. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but he was definitely not going to wear some other kid’s underwear.

  Kansas just had one more thing to find before he was ready to do his dare. But as it turned out, that thing found him.

  “Kan-sas! What’re you doing?”

  Kansas whirled around. At the far end of the hallway, by the library, was his little sister, Ginny. Her hair was pulled back into two uneven pigtails, and she still had on her ballerina tutu, the white one with the silver sparkles that she’d insisted on wearing on the early bus that morning. He’d really been hoping she’d take it off when she got to school.

  “I was just looking for you,” he called back, hustling over to meet her halfway. He gestured toward Mr. Benetto’s classroom, where the Art Club met before school. “What’re you doing out here?”

  “I was going to the library,” Ginny said. She was holding a red notebook and a fat pink pencil with a red cherry eraser. “I need to look up how to spell asthma.”

  “There’s a th in it.” Kansas paused. “Why do you need to know?”

  “I’m writing a note to my teacher,” Ginny replied, sticking the notebook against the wall. The cherry on top of the pencil wobbled as she wrote. “I just remembered that Mom forgot to give me a note to get out of races in PE, so I’m doing it myself. Is the th at the beginning or the end?”

  “She forgot? You sure she didn’t put it in your backpack?” Ginny was always needing a note to get out of something. She had asthma—not serious, but enough that she couldn’t run long distances—and she was deadly allergic to peanuts. One tiny bite, and she’d need to be raced to the hospital.

  “Nuh-uh,” Ginny said. “I checked. And Mom said never to call her at work unless our heads were chopped off.”

  “I think she meant only if it’s serious.”

  “Well, I forgot the number anyway. Do you remember?”

  Kansas frowned. “No.”

  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter,” Ginny said, still scribbling, “’cause I’m gonna give her this one.” She pulled the notebook away from the wall and flicked it into Kansas’s face. “Pretty good, huh?”

  To teacher.

  Ginny has azma azmath thazma. She cant run in pe. This is her note she forgot to give you before.

  Mom

  “Uh, Ginny, no way your teacher is going to believe Mom wrote this.”

  Ginny frowned. “What’s wrong with it?”

  “It looks like you wrote it with your feet.”

  Ginny grabbed the notebook back from Kansas. In one swift movement, she ripped the page out and threw it on the floor. Then she threw herself on the floor too, arms crossed and her sparkly white tutu poofed all around her.

  “Maybe if you just talk to your teacher,” Kansas said carefully. Ginny looked like she was going to cry. He hated when Ginny cried. Her voice got all gulpy and sniffly, and everyone always stopped what they were doing to hug her, and it took hours and was super annoying. “Maybe I could talk to her. Tell her that—”

  “I know!” Ginny said. Her eyes were lit up, excited.

  “What?”

  “I’ll call Dad. He’ll tell Mrs. Goldblatt.” Ginny jumped to her feet. “I’m going to the office right now.”

  Kansas grabbed Ginny by her tutu and dragged her back.

  “Hey!”

  “Ginny,” he said as she tried to wiggle away from him, “you can’t call Dad.”

  “Why not?” Ginny said, all arms and legs and squirming. She was making a ruckus, and Kansas was starting to get worried that some teacher might discover them and send them back to their rooms, and then he’d never get to the flagpole. “Give me one reason I can’t call him.”

  Because, Kansas thought. Because you’ve tried to call him almost every single day for the last three weeks, and he hasn’t picked up once. Because last time you tried to call, the voice on the other end said the number was no longer in service. Because every time you do, you get so upset it takes a two-hour tickle fight to calm you down. Because if he really wanted to talk to us, he wouldn’t have up and left in the first place.

  Kansas looked at his sister. “Because,” he said, letting all the air out of his cheeks. But he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say any of it. She was only six, for crying out loud. He shook his head, and then gently took the notebook from her. “Because I’m going to write you a note,” he said, and he smoothed his hand across a fresh sheet to think.

  Ginny clapped her hands together. “Oh, good!” she said. She handed Kansas the cherry pencil. “Thanks, Kansas. You’re smart.”

  Kansas studied the blank page and thought. Then, when he had it all figured out, he put the pencil to the paper and began to write.

  The good thing about growing up with a mom who worked late all the time and a dad who was usually who-knew-where was that you got really good at forging letters. Need a parent to sign off on your C-spelling test? Mom forgot to look at that permission slip before she raced out the door? Kansas was your guy. He had his mother’s handwriting down perfectly—from the loopy S in Susie to the jutting curve of the m in Bloom.

  When he was finished, Kansas signed the note with a practiced flourish and passed it to Ginny to inspect.

  Dear Mrs. Goldblatt,

  My daughter, Virginia Bloom, has asthma and will not be able to do any races for the rest of the year.

  Sincerely,

  Susie Bloom

  He was especially proud of the Sincerely.
He’d memorized that word about a year ago, just in case.

  “This is perfect!” Ginny cried, clutching the note to her chest. “Thanks, Kansas!” And she left a wet kiss on his cheek.

  “No problem,” he told her, wiping his cheek clean. He handed her back the pink cherry pencil. “Now I need you to help me.”

  3.

  A video camera

  Brendan and Alicia had wrenched one of the windows open, and a waft of early-morning air—sweet and crisp and full of that barely-December sting that Francine loved so much—was breezing across Francine’s face. She had stood, with the members of the Media Club, watching, for three minutes, then four, but so far Kansas had not appeared at the flagpole. The clock ticked away.

  “Do you think he chickened up?” Emma asked, standing on her tiptoes to lean farther out the window.

  “Huh?” Luis asked.

  “She means chickened out,” Alicia explained.

  “Oh.”

  Francine checked the clock again.

  “Where do you think he is?” Natalie asked.

  Brendan snorted. “Maybe he got so scared he fainted. Maybe he’s in the nurse’s office right now.” He turned his back to the window. “The King of Dares, ha! What a baby.”

  “Yeah,” Andre agreed, turning his back to the window, too. “What a baby!”

  Francine tried not to let herself smile at that. She wouldn’t be smug when she beat Kansas, she decided. She’d very politely shake his hand and tell him that he’d put up an excellent fight.

  “Let’s give him until the bell rings,” Luis said. “If his underwear’s not up by then, he doesn’t get the point. Everyone agree?”

  Everyone did. They turned back to the window to watch and wait.