Double Dog Dare (13 page)

“What?” Kansas’s mom asked. Ginny was still shoving the grocery bag. “Where’s Mrs. Muñoz now? Is she here?”

“She had to go home to start dinner,” Kansas told her. “But she’s right next door, and anyway me and Ginny can take care of ourselves.”

“But what if something had happened?” his mother said. She was wiping her bangs across her forehead, looking totally freaked out. “Why didn’t you call me at work? Why
didn’t you
tell
me your dad didn’t show up? Ginny, will you stop messing with the groceries?”

“They’re on top of my homework!”

Kansas gritted his teeth. “We didn’t call you,” he told his mom, “because it wasn’t exactly a big news story. So Dad didn’t show up? So wh—”

There was a sharp
crack!
of glass, and all at once Kansas’s nose was filled with the overwhelming smell of mustard.

Ginny had knocked the grocery bag off the table.

“Ginny!” their mother shouted. “For the love of God! Will you just pay attention for three seconds to what you’re …” She trailed off as she ripped open a new roll of paper towels. She knelt down to peer inside the bag. “Oh, God, now the whole bag’s full of mustard. This was our
dinner
. And I have class in an hour. Kansas, don’t just stand there, get some towels.”

“What did
I
do?” Kansas whined. “Ginny’s the moron who—”

“I’m not a moron!” Ginny screeched.

Oh, good, now Ginny had gone and started
crying
.

“Kansas, stop yelling at your sister and help me over
here.” His mom was pulling groceries out of the bag, her jeans smothered in yellow goop. “Can’t you two just get along for thirty sec—”

“
I’m
not the one
yelling
!” Kansas yelled. “Get mad at
her
!” He shot a finger at Ginny, who was wailing in her chair, the heels of her hands smearing tears across her face. “This whole family is full of morons.”

“Kansas!” his mom cried. “Go to your room!”

“Already going!” Kansas replied, stomping down the hallway. He made sure each of his footsteps was nice and loud, and when he got to his and Ginny’s bedroom, he slammed the door. And then, because he wasn’t sure he’d slammed it hard enough the first time, he slammed it again. He kicked at the wall of boxes in the center of the room as he passed it, and then watched in horror as it—
crunch, crinkle, crumble
—crashed to the ground.

Kansas plopped face-first onto his bed.

There were a million thoughts buzzing around in his head, all of them angry and mean.
Stupid Ginny messing up the stupid cardboard wall. Stupid Mom for stupid yelling at him when he didn’t even DO anything.

But the loudest thought of all, the angriest and meanest, was the one thought Kansas wished he wasn’t thinking.

No wonder his dad left them. No wonder he never wanted to be around them. This whole family stank.

He looked up at the Wall of Dares, all those photos of things he’d done with his very best friends in the world—the friends who had up and forgotten about him the second he’d moved away. Maybe it wasn’t his family that stank, Kansas thought. Maybe it was just him.

He reached up an arm and, one by one, yanked the photos off the wall.

“Kansas!” his mother hollered from out in the hallway. “Come on, we have to go back to the grocery store before my night class!”

“You just sent me to my
room
!” Kansas shouted back. But he picked himself off the bed anyway, kicking the ruined cardboard wall. On his way out the door, he stuffed the photos into the garbage.

17.

A bag of jumbo marshmallows

Francine wanted to hate her bedroom in her dad’s new apartment—wanted to despise everything about it, on principle. But there was one part of the room that she found she actually liked quite a bit. In one corner, by the light switch, there was a bookcase built right into the wall. It was skinny and tall, with shelves all the way to the ceiling, and the first shelf started two feet off the ground. There was just enough space underneath for Francine to fold herself inside, knees drawn in close to her chest. Sitting there made Francine feel calm, like she was just another story tucked inside a bookcase.

She was sitting there on Tuesday morning, before they were supposed to leave for school, when her father poked his head into the room. “Well, you seem to have made yourself right at home,” he said with a small smile. He looked around. There was nothing in the room yet, really. Just a duffel bag full of clothes and Francine’s old camping sleeping bag scrunched in the corner like a pile of dirty laundry. “We need to get you some furniture. Why don’t we go on Thursday, after school? We can get you a dresser and a desk, and we can pick out some new beds.”

Francine crawled out of the bookcase. “I don’t need a bed,” she said. “I have one at home.”

“This is your home now too, you know. And you can’t sleep in a sleeping bag for the rest of your life.”

Francine sighed and walked out into the hallway.

“Pea pod?” her father called. “Where are you going?”

“I have to pee!” she shouted back.

Francine did not have to pee. But the bathroom was the one place in the apartment that didn’t look like an empty cave. It was the one place that didn’t look like it was the start of a brand-new life. So that’s where she went.

Twenty minutes later, Francine and her father had just pulled out of the driveway to go to Media Club, when Francine spotted something that she absolutely did
not
want to see.

Kansas Bloom.

He was waiting at the bus stop across the street. Behind him, she could make out the frill of a sparkly white tutu, which must be his idiot little sister. Francine scrunched down low in her seat, head ducked below the window. So Kansas was her
neighbor
now? Great. Just great. What if he saw her? What if he figured out that her dad had just moved there? What if he found out about her parents?

Her father coughed a tiny cough. “Pea pod?” he said. “You sick or something?”

“Huh?” Francine peeked her head over the edge of the window. Kansas and the bus stop were well out of sight. She tucked a strand of green hair behind her ear. She’d slept in the braids two nights in a row, and they were now mostly a mash of green matted hair on top of her head, a few bobby pins poking out here and there. Not Francine’s
greatest look. “I’m fine,” she said, inching her butt back into her seat. “I was just adjusting my socks.”

“Well, let’s hope they stay up for the rest of the school day, huh?” her father said. And he laughed, even though, really, there was nothing to laugh about at all.

As soon as Francine got to Media Club, everyone voted on her dare for the day. She had to stick jumbo marshmallows onto herself—an entire bag—and spend all of first recess pretending to be some sort of “marshmallow monster.” It was Emma’s idea. She’d brought the bag of marshmallows and everything.

Alicia was the one who came up with Kansas’s dare. He had to duct tape an ice cube to the crook of his arm until it melted. The club voted, and they all agreed.

So, when recess rolled around, Francine found herself licking the sides of 32 jumbo marshmallows and sticking them to her skin. She had marshmallows on her hands, marshmallows on her cheeks, marshmallows on her neck, even marshmallows balanced on top of her green hair. Her tongue was sticky with melted sugar, and her front teeth felt fuzzy. She was getting pretty sick of food dares.

Still, she seemed better off than Kansas, who was squirming next to her on the bench. The duct tape was pulling at the arm hairs below his T-shirt, as the icy water dribbled out from underneath it.

Francine stuck two marshmallows to her forehead.

Kansas shook with cold, gritting his teeth as Alicia patted the duct tape against the inside of his elbow to see if the ice cube had fully melted yet.

Francine plopped the last marshmallow into her mouth and stood up on the bench. She growled at two passing third-graders. “I’m the marshmallow monster of the fourth grade!” she declared, stretching out her marshmallowy hands at them. The two kids screeched and ran off.

Emma began to cheer, but Brendan just scowled and said, “I
told
you guys Francine’s dare was too easy.”

But no one was paying him any attention, because at that moment Alicia announced that Kansas’s ice cube was completely melted, and the group broke into applause.

Francine felt a little better when Alicia ripped the duct tape off and Kansas squealed like a baby. But she felt a little worse when Natalie rushed to his side to make sure he was okay, twirling a lock of her hair as she fawned over him.

When the bell rang, Francine peeled off the marshmallows and tossed them in the garbage. Then she walked back to room 43H all by herself, sticking to every single thing she passed.

The score was five to six.

On Wednesday, Francine had to write a love letter to Mr. DuPree. She told him he was a handsome dresser and that she fainted every time she thought about him. The members of the Media Club all watched as she slipped it into his mailbox in the front office.

Mr. DuPree did not respond.

Kansas’s dare was to try out for the girls’ volleyball team during lunch. The members of the Media Club peered around the gym door as he ran drills and spiked balls. Twice he accidentally walloped Emma in the face.

He did not make the team.

At the end of the day, the score was six to seven. Kansas was still in the lead, with only a week and a half left before winter break.

On Thursday, Francine had to wear a sign safety-pinned to her shirt all day that read
MAJOR
DOOFUS
. Kansas’s dare was that he wasn’t allowed to speak, no matter what anyone said to him. Finally, a dare Francine could support.

During literature, the last period of the day, when Miss Sparks asked if anyone wanted to read the poem they’d written for homework, Brendan raised his hand.

“Great, Brendan,” Miss Sparks said. “Why don’t you come up to the front of the class?”

“Oh, I don’t want to read mine,” he said. “I was just going to say that I think Kansas wants to do it. He wrote a really good one. He was reading it to me at lunch, weren’t you, Kansas? But he’s sort of shy. That’s why he didn’t raise his own hand.”

Even from across the room, Francine could see the silent death glare Kansas shot at Brendan.

“Wonderful. Kansas, I’m sure we’d all love to hear what you’ve written.”

Kansas shook his head slowly.

“Ask him
why
he won’t read it,” Brendan piped up.

“Kansas?” Miss Sparks asked. “Is everything okay?
You seem a little … quiet today.” Kansas remained silent. “Well, all right.” She looked around the room. “Is there anyone else who would like to read?”

From behind her, Francine heard a whispered, “Major Doofus!” and then there was a sudden pinch at her elbow. Her hand shot up in the air, and she whirled around to glare at Andre, who smirked.

“Francine?” Miss Sparks asked. “Are you volunteering?”

Francine turned back around. “Sure,” she said with a sigh. Why not? She walked to the front of the room, smoothing the
MAJOR
DOOFUS
sign across her chest, to read her poem. Luckily it was only four lines long.

On her way back to her seat, Natalie slipped a note into her hand. It wasn’t folded into a heart or a star or anything fancy. It was just a regular rectangle. Francine waited until she got back to her desk and then smoothed out the creases to read it.

Francine shoved the note into her desk. She didn’t know why her stomach was feeling so bubbly and squirmy all of a sudden. Almost like she was upset. What did she have to be upset about? It wasn’t like Natalie could’ve come over that afternoon anyway. That afternoon Francine and her dad were going furniture shopping.

After the bell rang, Francine unpinned the
MAJOR
DOOFUS
sign from her shirt and walked to the front of the class to throw it away as all the other kids streamed out of the room.