Gertie's Leap to Greatness (9 page)

“What's fickle?” asked Audrey. She stood in the doorway. One of the many frustrating things about babysitting Audrey was that you couldn't have a serious adult conversation.

“
Fickle
,” said Aunt Rae, “means they change their minds all the time for no reason at all. Like the children at Gertie's school. One day they like her, the next they don't.”

“I don't think we should be talking about this in front of Audrey,” Gertie said.

“Not the Waltons,” said Audrey, shaking her head. “They like each other all the time.”

“Oh my Lord.” Gertie propped her head in her hand.

Aunt Rae fixed a glass of water for Audrey, too. “Your friends don't hate you, Gert. They're going through a phase. Audrey, what have you got all over your clothes?” Aunt Rae asked.

Audrey pulled her dirty T-shirt away from her body and examined the stains as if they were fascinating artifacts.

“So what do I do?” Gertie wanted to know. She was willing to try anything because she had to get back on track with her mission. She would try whatever Aunt Rae suggested. She drank some of her water to see if water helped anything.

It didn't.

“What do I do?” she asked again, when Aunt Rae just frowned and rubbed the side of her head.

“Did your mama send you with a clean shirt, baby?” asked Aunt Rae.

“Oh my Lord,” Gertie said again.

*   *   *

Even though Jean wasn't speaking to her and people were fickle, Gertie would've been able to focus. She would've been able to concentrate on her schoolwork despite the broken pencils and stinging rubber bands. She would've been able to concentrate on planning some way to become the best fifth grader once and for all. She would've been able to concentrate, except for the fact that the only thing anyone talked about was Mary Sue's party.

They talked about the party in loud voices.

How Mary Sue had a
heated
swimming pool so that it was possible to go swimming in
November
. How Mary Sue's mother was hiring a professional caterer. How Mary Sue's house had a giant staircase, one with shiny wood banisters, perfect for sliding down.

And they talked about the party in quiet voices.

“Can you bring the posters?” Ella whispered to Ewan on Wednesday.

“Did Mary Sue tell you what she's planning?” Ewan asked Leo in a hushed voice during recess on Thursday.

On Friday, Roy pretended to have to tie his shoe right beside June's desk. He whispered out the corner of his mouth, “I got the jars for—”

“Shh! Don't talk about it here,” June told Roy, and she glanced at Gertie. “At recess.”

In the hall, Leo was walking by and started to lean toward Roy.

“It's fine!” yelled Gertie. “You don't have to whisper. I don't want to be part of your secret club!”

They looked at her like she was a dangerous maniac. Gertie glared back at them because she wanted them to know they were right. She
was
dangerous, very dangerous.

She pulled her locket out from under her shirt and held it tight in her fist. “It's fine,” she whispered to herself. “It's just fine.”

*   *   *

“You've got to go to that party,” Gertie told Junior on the ride home.

Junior's feet started kicking the bus seat in front of him. “I thought we weren't going.”

“
We
aren't,” said Gertie. “I can't go. But I need to know what they're planning, and they'll never talk about their club in front of me.”

“
I
can't go either!”

“Yes you can. You're going to be my mole on the inside.” Gertie had learned about moles from television. The mole pretended to be friends with the villains and used a hidden microphone to report their nefarious plans.

“I know about moles,” said Junior. “I saw a show about a mole who pretended he was a criminal, and he got murdered and fed to a panther named Delilah.”

They had seen the same show.

“That's not going to happen,” said Gertie.

“It's not?”

“Do you really think Mary Sue has a panther named Delilah?”

He rocked from side to side. “You were supposed to ‘Respond, Sir, Very Pronto,' if you were coming, and I didn't, so they probably won't even let me in.”

“Of course they'll let you in. If you tell them you're fed up with me and you hate me, they'll let you in. And that's not what RSVP stands for.”

Junior tilted his head. “What does it stand for?”

“Don't change the subject. They'll let you in. And they'll have cake.”

“You think they'll have cake? It's not a birthday party.”

The bus screeched to a stop to let a kid off.

“Of course they'll have cake. You have to have cake at any kind of party.”

Junior stopped rocking back and forth. “I like cake,” he began, and then bit his lip. “But they're planning something awful!”

“Shh.” Gertie looked around to make sure none of the other bus riders were eavesdropping. “That's the
point
. You have to find out what they're planning, because if it's something that'll sabotage my mission, we need to know. We need to know so we can stop it.”

“It's probably a Grind Gertie into the Ground Gang,” he said as the bus was stopping at Gertie's house. “And they'll have a Squish Junior into Juice Committee because I'm your friend.”

The driver honked the horn.

“Junior,” Gertie said, “please be my mole.”

Junior put his shoes on the bus seat and folded his legs against his chest, making room for Gertie to slide past him and into the aisle. “What if I get scared?”

“Hey, Mayhem!” the driver shouted. “Your stop!”

She slung her bag over her shoulder and looked at Junior, scrunched in his seat, and she was sure he would get scared, because he was scared of everything, but she didn't say it.

“Junior Jr.,” she said instead, “I believe in you.”

His eyes widened.

When she got off the bus, she looked back and saw Junior watching her through the window. She dropped her book bag, snapped to attention, and saluted him.

He stopped chewing on his lip. He sat up a little straighter and raised his own shaking right hand to his eyebrow, and it looked, thought Gertie, almost like a proper salute.

 

14

Delilah

“My name is Parks,” he said, bouncing his eyebrows up and down. “Junior Parks.”

Audrey covered her mouth with her hand and shook with giggles.

“Shh!” Gertie looked around.

Junior's eyebrows dropped so low that Gertie worried they were going to fall right off his face. “I don't
feel
like a secret agent,” he said.

“Why not?” asked Audrey.

Junior, Gertie, and Audrey were hiding behind a shrub outside Mary Sue Spivey's house, which was more like a mansion. Audrey's parents were having a “grown-ups only” weekend in Pensacola. Gertie knew that for Mr. and Mrs. Williams, “grown-ups only” meant “Audrey-free.” Gertie could've used an Audrey-free weekend. Especially
this
weekend.

Gertie peeked through the leaves. A car parked on the street, and Ella Jenkins clambered out, carrying a poster board.

“Okay,” Gertie said.

Junior was holding on to the shrub like it was a life raft.

“What's the worst that could happen?” asked Gertie, patting him on the back.

“You could get caught!” Audrey yelled.

Gertie clapped her hand over Audrey's mouth. “Shh,” she hissed. “Quiet as little church mice, remember?”

Audrey nodded, and Gertie turned back to Junior.

“Even if you get caught,” Gertie said, “the worst thing that can happen is they make you leave and you come right back here to us and we go home.”

Junior let go of the shrub and nodded.

“That's the worst that can possibly happen,” Gertie said again.

And she believed that it was.

*   *   *

Gertie watched Junior walk toward the Spiveys' front door. He was twitching so much he looked like he was doing some kind of chicken dance. When he got to the door, he stopped and swayed on the spot.

Audrey breathed in her ear. “Why isn't he going in?”

“Come on. Come on, Junior.” Gertie twisted a branch in her hands and willed Junior to keep moving forward.

Junior lifted his hand to the doorknob and then jerked it back like the metal had burned him. Then he straightened, ran a hand over his spiked hair, and pushed the door open. He was in.

“Yes.” Gertie sat back in relief.

“
Now
what are we going to do?” asked Audrey.

“Now we wait for him to come back out.”

“Why?”

“Because we can't leave him.” Gertie wrapped her arms around her knees and watched the house.

“Do you think they have a clown in there?” Audrey was squatting on her heels, her knees tucked under her chin.

“It's a secret club,” said Gertie. “They don't have clowns. They make plans to do something horrible to me to keep me from my mission.”

“Oh,” said Audrey, and Gertie thought that maybe she'd be satisfied for five seconds at least. “What mission?”

“I'm going to be the best person in the entire fifth grade, okay?” said Gertie.

Audrey shoved her hands in the pockets of her pink windbreaker. “Why?”

“Little church mice,” hissed Gertie.

Audrey glared, but she kept her mouth shut for once in her life.

Gertie watched the house and waited. Right now, inside that big house, Junior was convincing everyone that he hated Gertie, asking to join their club, and getting proof that they were the ones sabotaging Gertie's schoolwork. Then he was going to get out of there as quickly as possible and tell Gertie everything. Easy-peasy.

She waited. And she waited. Was this Phase Four or Phase Five? She waited so long that her legs got stiff and Audrey had enough time to stuff her pockets with leaves from the shrub, dig a hole, bury the leaves, and ask seventeen questions.

Gertie shoved her hands under her arms to keep them warm. A car
whooshed
by on the street.

“I'm going to go take a look through one of the windows,” Gertie said at last. “You stay put.”

“Aunt Rae said you had to take me with you,” said Audrey. “She said you couldn't let me out of your sight.”

“She's not your aunt,” said Gertie.

“But I call her Aunt Rae.”

“But she's
not
your aunt, so you should probably call her
Miss
Rae.”

“She's not your aunt either. She's too old.”

“I can't go around saying
Great
-
Aunt Rae
all the time,” Gertie said. “It takes too long, and I've got stuff to do.”

Audrey started to speak, but Gertie didn't let her get a word in.

“Take your jacket off,” Gertie instructed, shucking her arms out of her own jacket. “Because it's bright pink and we're trying to be invisible,” she added, beating Audrey to the
why
.

They tucked their jackets under the shrub, and Gertie grabbed Audrey's wrist. Keeping close to the wall, they tiptoed to the nearest window. Gertie lifted her finger to her lips. She heard laughs and shouts from inside the house. She peeked over the windowsill and jerked her head back down.

“What did you see?” whispered Audrey.

She'd seen June Hindman. She took a deep breath and peeked again. June, Leo, Ella.

No Junior. No Junior anywhere.

She made a follow-me gesture at Audrey and sneaked along the house until they came to a sliding glass door. A quick look told Gertie that it led to a bright kitchen that, thank the Lord, was empty.

“You stay right here,” Gertie whispered.

Audrey shook her head.

“Stay,” Gertie commanded.

Audrey's lip stuck out, but she crossed her arms and squatted.

The glass door was unlocked, and Gertie slipped into the kitchen and crept to a door that led to the rest of the house. For a moment, even though her heart was pounding, she felt like a real spy in a movie.

The house was full of noise. Television noise, laughter, talking, coughs, sniffs, papers rustling.

“Do you think I'm Jessica Walsh's type?”

Gertie jumped. Roy's voice had sounded close. She inched away from the open door.

“She's not that nice,” said Mary Sue. “I mean, we're friends, but she's actually stuck-up.”

If Mary Sue Spivey thought you were stuck-up, you must have your nose so far in the air that you could smell angel farts.

“But I'm just saying, if she had a type—”

“It doesn't matter,” said Mary Sue, “because she's already gone back to California.”