Brendan Buckley's Sixth-Grade Experiment (11 page)

“Tee and Rex. That's funny.”

“My dad's idea. A little paleontology humor.”

Wow. To have parents who made science jokes.
That would be so cool
.

Right before we reached homeroom, Dwight David ran up. He wore his fatigues again, which he did at least a couple of times a week. “Hi, Morgan!” he said, grinning up at her. He was probably four inches shorter than she was.

He ignored me, but I didn't care. A small, round white scar on his cheek stood out against his brown skin. Khal said Dwight David had gotten the scar from a BB gun battle, which had impressed Khal but sounded crazy to me.

“Hi, Dwight David. How are you?” Morgan sounded as if she was genuinely interested.

Dwight David held out a gigantic bag of M&Ms. “I hope you like them.”

Morgan looked a little surprised, but she took the bag in her hands. “I
love
M&Ms.”

Dwight David grinned. “That's good, because they're for you.”

“You brought all these for me?”

Cordé walked by just then. “Oooh, look at little Romeo! Giving his girlfriend a big bag of candy!”

Dwight David shoved Cordé, who continued toward homeroom, pointing out Dwight David's gift to a handful of other guys along the way.

“Gosh. A whole pound of M&Ms.” Morgan looked flushed. “Um, thanks, Dwight David.”

I had started to mind being ignored. “The bell's about to ring,” I said.

Morgan unzipped her backpack and put the candy inside. “I'll share some with you later,” she said as we moved toward the door.

I started to say thanks, but she wasn't looking at me. She was looking at Dwight David. I hitched my backpack higher and followed them into the room. So what if Dwight David had given her a pound of M&Ms? What did I care?

If Morgan was really smart, though, she'd watch out for that kid. Dwight David was like a loaded spring, constantly getting tripped. It was only the beginning of October and he'd already spent more time in the vice principal's office than all the rest of the kids in the sixth grade combined, usually for something he'd done in our World Civilizations class. He and Mrs. Simmons were turning out to be like methane and a spark—a volatile combination.

The last time I'd seen Dwight David get kicked out of class, it was because he'd stood up and yelled “Yes, ma'am!” at the top of his lungs whenever Mrs. Simmons said “Is that clear, class?”—which she did about a hundred times each day. It only took three times of Dwight David shouting—after she'd warned him twice to stop—for him to get sent to Vice Principal Bowman.

Morgan took her assigned seat, which was next to mine since Ms. Manley did her seating chart alphabetically. When Ms. Manley got up to close the door, Dwight David whispered, “Psst, Morgan.”

Morgan peered around me. I was curious what else Dwight David had to say to her, but I resisted the temptation to look. Until Morgan sucked in her breath.

Dwight David's eyebrows undulated up and down—one and then the other in smooth succession. He was doing the wave with his eyebrows! Usually I didn't think Dwight David's shenanigans, as Gladys would call them, were very funny, but this was actually really cool.

Ms. Manley turned before Dwight David expected. Everyone who had been oohing and aahing got quiet real quick.

We all waited to see what would happen to Dwight David
this
time.

“Well, Mr. Del Santos,” Ms. Manley said, “that
is
entertaining. But tell me, can you do this?” Without warning, Ms. Manley's eyeballs started to go around and around in tiny circles, gyrating like a compass next to a magnet. The whole class gasped at once. No one could believe it!

After that, Dwight David hung on Ms. Manley's every word—we
all
did—as if she were the star of her own TV show or an NFL athlete, which, based on her musculature, she could have been.

Morgan and I spent lunch that day in Mr. Hammond's office talking about our experiment and Morgan's hypothesis about the bananas. He sipped his Coke and nodded a lot and told us to keep observing—we were on to something really good. After helping Mr. H finish off his Hershey bar, I started itching to get outside and throw the ball around with the guys. I thanked him, said goodbye to Morgan, and left to find Khal and the others.

“Where
you
been?” Khal threw the football to Marcus. “We need another player.”

I almost said
Morgan and I
—but that would have been like handing myself over to a firing squad. “I was talking to Mr. Hammond about our experiment.”

Khal rolled his eyes. “ ‘
Our
experiment … 
our
experiment.' Are you going to be talking about that every day for the next month?” He caught the ball back from Marcus.

“
No
. But we want to make it to the finalist round.”

“Dwight and I are going to make a wicked cool launcher.” Khal threw the ball to Oscar, who fumbled it and dropped it on the ground.

“Dwight
David
,” Oscar corrected, bending over to pick up the ball. He lobbed it back to Khal. It wobbled in the air, but Khal still caught it.

“Dwight Dingleberry is more like it,” Marcus said.

“I think he's hilarious. Anyway, this launcher's going to be like nothing you've ever seen.
Military
cool.” Khal torpedoed the ball at me. I wasn't ready, and it bounced off my chest and onto the grass. “So, don't you think you've been spending a little too much time with the Belcher?”

Ever since the first day of school, most of the boys in our homeroom called Morgan that, and not only behind her back. Most of them, including Khal, let out loud, long burps whenever she walked by. I would never do that, but I wasn't about to tell them to stop, either.

“Only as much as I have to for our—the experiment,” I said, picking up the ball and shooting it back.

“Yeah, well, seems to me like maybe you
like
her or something.” Khal made it sound as if liking Morgan would be a federal offense. He threw the ball again, hard. It stung my hands.

“I don't! Now can we just play ball?” I hurled the football once more.

Khal ducked, narrowly escaping getting his bell rung.

“Hey! Watch it!”

I hadn't meant for the pass to be so high. I'm just taller than Khal. But I guess I hadn't exactly been aiming for his hands, either.

Khal muttered something about me being too serious; then he motioned for Oscar to go long and launched the ball overhead. Oscar took off running, but when he
reached for the ball, he stumbled and face-planted. The ball hit the ground a few feet past where he lay and bounced away. He sat up slowly, rubbed his head, and looked around.

“I guess we'll find out Friday night,” Khal said.

“Find out what?” I asked.

“You're going to the dance, aren't you?”

“Yeah, I guess.” I hadn't been sure if I would, but Mom, who was on the PTA board this year, had signed herself up as a chaperone, so it was kind of just assumed I'd be there, and since I didn't really care one way or the other, I went along with it. Fortunately, Dad had to work on a paper for school and couldn't be recruited. One parent as a chaperone was all right. Two was not. Knowing Dad, he would have come in his uniform.

“So, I guess we'll find out how you really feel about the Belcher on Friday night—when she asks you to dance.” Khal grinned.

My stomach dropped. Somehow I needed to contract a terribly contagious disease in the next forty-eight hours.

I was a scientist. Surely I could come up with something.

Friday night rolled around, and boy, was I in trouble. As much as I wanted to be sick in bed—too hoarse to speak, too weak to dance, and most importantly, too contagious to go anywhere—I was fine. Except for my stomach, which felt like an empty cement mixer on overdrive.

I had spent the afternoon cleaning out Einstein's tank. I'd lured him into his holding pen with a mealworm. Even though I'd been nervous he'd try to make a break for it, he ran right in. Easy. Cleaning the tank, on the other hand, was
hard
. It took me a good couple of hours to get everything out, wash the walls, replace the bark, and put everything back in. I was glad when it was over.

I took a quick shower and threw on some clothes—a red, green, and black plaid shirt with snaps down the
front, my faded black jeans, and my red-checkered slipon Vans. Not that I cared what I looked like so much, but if I was going to go to the dance, I might as well show up looking halfway decent.

I crouched and peered into Einstein's tank. Einstein stared at me from his rock. “What do you think, Einstein? Should I dance with her?” His snout moved from side to side, as if he were shaking his head no. “Totally! But what if she comes right out and asks me?” It seemed like something she would do. “I can't just say no.”

Einstein clambered onto the vine and disappeared into the ivy. “Yeah, my thought exactly. Make up an excuse, then run for cover.” I pulled out the sprayer and misted the leaves. “Well, wish me luck, buddy. I'll let you know how it goes.”

On my way down the hall, I stepped into the bathroom and put on one more dose of deodorant. If I actually ended up dancing, I didn't want to be stinking the place up.

“Have a great time, buddy,” Dad said as I walked into the kitchen. “Dance one for me.”

Mom put her hands on Dad's chest and gazed into his eyes. “Remember the first time we danced?”

Dad pecked her on the lips. “How could I forget?” He spun her around the kitchen, then wrapped his arms around her waist. They swayed in the middle of the
“dance floor.” I was thinking about heading back to my room. The mush factor was getting a little too high for me.

“That was the night I knew we were meant to be together,” Mom said.

One dance with someone could tell you something like
that
? I was skeptical, but a little curious. What
would
I do if Morgan asked me to dance? All the guys would be right there, watching. Just the thought of it made me feel like I might hyperventilate.

“We ought to get going,” Mom said, giving Dad another peck. She rubbed her hand on my back. “You look very handsome, honey.”

“Thanks,” I said. Did the girls at my school think I was handsome? Did I want them to?

“Looking fly
is
tactical step number one,” Dad said, “but if you
really
want to attract the honeybees …”

My ears warmed with embarrassment, but they were also tuned in to hear what Dad had to say.

He leaned in. “It's all about the scent. You want to borrow some of my cologne?” Mom stood with her arms folded, a half smile on her face. I kept expecting her to say something about me being too young, but she didn't.

“What do you say? I'll go get it for you.” Dad started toward the door.

I swallowed. I'd been stung by a bee once. It hurt—
bad
. “Uh, that's okay. Thanks anyway.”

If only I had come down with the measles.