Prank Wars (8 page)

Byron turned to her. “The main thing is to not make any mistakes, okay? You never know when
someone
will use them against you and call you up pretending to be someone else to ask you out.” I groaned. Byron’s favorite thing to do lately was parroting that terrible phone call that initiated this war so long ago. “It’s like this, Carrie,” he said. She tugged on her shoe. “This woman I know is purposely trying to drive me—” he paused, watching her kick the shoe away.

“—crazy,” I finished impatiently.

Byron glanced at me. “You keep doing that.”

“What?”

“You keep finishing my—” he looked down at his fingernails.

“—sentences,” I said. “And I wouldn’t if you didn’t talk so slow.”

“This girl I know is so prideful,” he told the two-year-old. “She could fill the great and spacious building with it.” Carrie bobbed her head, her red curls bouncing, not really knowing what she was agreeing to. “And she asked me out first. She was the one who got
my
hopes up.”

“Don’t believe him,” I inserted.

“Why? An attractive sounding girl calls me up and wants to go out? And then she destroys my hopes by saying, ’just kidding?’ ”

“Excuse me?” I took a deep breath, realizing that I was letting him get to me again. Admittedly, it was the worst thing that I had done for a prank, but there was no way I’d back out now. “You should just forget this girl who called you, Byron. She sounds bossy and weird. She was making
la la la
noises behind you in chemistry. Totally stalker material. How is that even remotely attractive?”

“At least her heart wasn’t closed off to men—like other girls I know.”

My blood raced at the accusation. “Yeah, but that girl was only after money. She wanted you take her on an expensive date! How high maintenance can she get? And besides, you’ve done worse things. Look at my hair!”

He leaned back, studying me and I could just imagine what he was seeing, some crazy girl with white in her hair. I tried not to flinch at his penetrating look. “It’s cute, but you can’t blame that on me. It’s called getting on in years.”

My eyes narrowed. “You stole my phone and put the wrong names on the numbers. I sent a text about Sandra
to Sandra
.”

“Yeah, but have I ever made you think you actually had a chance with me then dashed your hopes cruelly?”

I hesitated. If I said yes, I’d be confessing a crush, if no then he would look like the better person. I tugged my gray skirt over my knees and scooted back to Carrie. “Don’t even try to make me feel guilty.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me. “It’s called choose the right. Our lesson for today.”

“Does that also mean no stealing?” I retorted. Carrie tried to escape the lesson, but I held her doll firmly. Byron’s lips curled at that and he gave me a single and dangerous nod. “Then I can only assume you took our cushions to clean them?” I asked.

“What cushions?”

Ah, so he was playing that game, was he? “Give them back and then we’ll discuss returning the item that belongs to
you
.”

“And what would that be exactly?” He found Carrie’s treats and peeled open the bag of graham crackers. I had a sneaking suspicion they were for him.

“Why don’t you tell me and that way, we’ll both know,” I said.

“You’re the one who took it, so you tell me.” He pulled out a graham cracker.

I stole it from him with an ironic smile and gave it to Carrie, who slobbered gratefully over it. “You’re the one who gave us the threatening letter,” I reminded him. “So you tell me.”

“What letter?”

“The one you put on the wrong door. Who did you send on that operation anyway, a complete amateur? You
chose the wrong
. CTW.”

His voice turned serious. “Whose door?”

“The door where nobody lives.” He still looked blank. “The apartment next to mine?” At his perplexed expression, I pointed to my side as if we were standing outside my place. “To our right? I thought someone lived there, but Lizzie says no. And I have no idea what we have of yours anyway. To be honest, it could be anything.”

“Oh, so you have more than one thing of ours, do you?”

I laughed. He wanted everything we took from him? Now he was getting selfish. “Beware of greed, Byron. Consider this our negotiations. You can take it or leave it.”

“Beware of secret combinations.” But Byron said it without his usual oomph. He seemed to be deep in thought. “Thank you for being the example for our lesson this week, Mad. Can I see that letter?” He said it too quickly.

“No. We want those cushions back. I have a roommate who happens to be really mad that we can’t sit down in our living room. And I think you know she’s the type to do something about it.”

He nodded absentmindedly. “I’ll find you your cushions if…if you give me that letter.” He wasn’t making any sense. “Yeah, so…I can frame it.” Byron absentmindedly stole a graham cracker off the plastic table.

“That’s Carrie’s.”

“She’s not eating it.”

I waited for him to put it in his mouth; as soon as he did, I smiled. “Well, she
has
been sucking on it for a while now. I hope she got it nice and soft for you.”

Carrie sniffed and wiped at her running nose. Byron gulped the cracker down with some difficulty. “We got a deal, right?”

I watched him suspiciously. He wanted the threat letter? “What about that other thing you wanted?”

Before he could answer, the door opened and AmyLee marched briskly into the nursery, swinging a brown scripture case in her hands. She was armed. Both Byron and I pulled subconsciously back from her. Angry little AmyLee. Her fists tightened on a sign-up sheet she held. She glared at me. The girl still hated me for helping her. She was supposed to get her ex back, and she did…with my interference. No problem. But then instead of dumping the guy like she was supposed to, she dragged her heels and he dumped her for the second time. And guess who she blamed—not the man who made a fool of her for the second time, not herself for disobeying orders, not her mom for bringing her into this cold, uncaring world. No, she blamed me. I guess it made sense.

AmyLee turned from me and shot a broad smile at Byron. It was meant to make me jealous—except why should I care if she got together with my worst enemy? It would be a fitting end for them both. “Why hello, Byron.” She waved at the comatose Carrie. The kid was back on the ground, watching the ceiling with dreamy eyes. “You’re such a cutie pie! How old are you now, honey, huh?”

Carrie pulled her wet fingers from her mouth to hold them up. According to her, she was five…and after we had taught her to CTR even. “Um, five fingers mean two in kid numbers,” I informed AmyLee.

AmyLee put her nose up like I hadn’t said anything.

Byron slanted a devilish look at me. “And just how old are you, pumpkin?” he asked me. I shook my head. He wouldn’t get that information out of me without torturing me first. “Do you have that many fingers?” he asked.

I threw Carrie’s ragdoll at him and it bounced off his shoulder. That brought AmyLee’s rage down on me. “Did you really?” Without waiting for my reply, she turned to Byron. He was rubbing his arm. “Is this how nursery usually goes?”

He sighed deeply. It was entirely for my benefit. My lip curled and I tried not to smile, since that’s what he was aiming for. “This too shall pass,” he said.

AmyLee’s face twisted into concern. “Well, I hope this helps.” She handed him the scriptures, making a production out of it like she wanted me to care. “You left them in my car, Byron.”

Her car, huh? My eyebrow sketched upward. Her turquoise skirt swayed prettily. It was too short so she compensated with black leggings. The ensemble didn’t work, so why would the fashion conscious Byron go after her? He didn’t even like my boots. Byron turned the scriptures over in one hand like he was palming a basketball. “Thank you for being so honest, AmyLee. Not many people would return such an item.”

She giggled too loudly. “Like I’m going to steal your scriptures, funny.”

I eyed the brown scripture case. “Well, they do look like an ugly purse.”

AmyLee’s face scrunched in what was supposed to be a glare. Byron’s eyes darted from me to her then he cleared his throat. “You want to steal them, Mad? Go ahead. You need a little religion in your life.”

AmyLee barked out a laugh. “You are too funny.” She hit Byron on the arm, crumpling up the piece of paper she was holding between them. Whether the women loved him or hated him, the poor boy always got beat-up. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She threw the sign-up sheet at him. It almost hit him in the face. He winced. “This is for you. It’s this funny thing that the stake came up with…a boyfriend for a week program. Isn’t that great?”

No!
I ripped it out of Byron’s hands. “What unholy…?”

Byron purposely misinterpreted my actions as eagerness. He clapped me on the back, his hand lingering there. “Here’s your chance. You can get yourself a temporary boyfriend, Mad Dog. Congratulations!”

I pushed him off. “What were they thinking?”

“Whatever.” AmyLee’s face pinched with heat. It was the unwritten rule that if I didn’t like it, she would. “It’s your fault anyway,
Mad Dog
. The stake thinks we need more social interaction.
Somehow
they think that some of us are severely underdeveloped socially. I don’t know where they would get that idea. Do you?” Her voice held too much condescension for my taste.

Byron stole the sheet back from me. “Hmmm, so do we get to choose the victim…ur, the…lucky girl that will be our ball and chain for a week?”

AmyLee practically simpered, imagining that Byron was referring to her, but he was just trying to threaten me. I swiped my finger in a cutting motion under my chin as a warning, but I changed it to a scratch when AmyLee glanced over. I didn’t want her to know how she could get me back. “No, it’s completely random,” she said. “We pull names out of a hat. It’s going to be so much fun.”

Byron pulled a pen out of his pocket. It had a spoon taped to it. One of those things you had in your possession only if you stole it from a bank. Was he really going to do this? I tried to relax. As long as I didn’t sign up for it, it was none of my affair. He signed it and passed it onto me. “Knock yourself out.”

“Not interested.” Before I could pass it off, I noticed that instead of his name, Byron had written mine. I held my hand out for the stolen bank pen. Byron refused to give it to me so I could cross my name out…and write his name in for good measure. “AmyLee,” I tried to keep the panic from my voice. “I need your pen, please.”

She hid it behind her back. “I don’t have one.”

“I’ll just take the one behind your back, AmyLee. AmyLee? C’mon, just give it to me.”

She laughed, swinging her beautiful hair. “It doesn’t work. Sorry.”

What was I supposed to do—tackle one of them? AmyLee was weaker, but it probably wasn’t very socially acceptable. “Oh, well, in that case.” I ripped my name off the paper. It was towards the bottom anyway. AmyLee cried out angrily. I handed the sign-up sheet back to her. “Here you go.”

She puffed her lips out angrily. “Thanks a lot.”

“No, thank-you for the use of your pen.”

AmyLee glanced over at Byron, looking for sympathy. She shouldn’t have wasted her time. He was incapable of that. “Can you believe her?” she whined.

“No,” he finally got out.

“If you need anyone to talk to, Byron…if this gets too hard, just you and her alone with that child, you know you can come to me. I know what you’re going through. I really do.”

“Hey,” I interrupted. “Um, since I ripped Byron’s name off that sheet, you can just write it back on there. You know if you really want to help him out and…”

AmyLee slammed the door before I could finish. I could hear her platform booties storming down the tiled floor to Relief Society. For once I was glad I was in nursery. “I guess I was wrong,” Byron told Carrie. “Girls aren’t like knives at all. They’re sweet, demure little creatures.” I crumpled the piece of paper with my name on it and threw it in the trash can one-handed. “You know, Madeleine, I’ve been thinking.” My eyes narrowed. He never used my real name. It got my attention, my suspicious attention. “Why can’t we just get along?” I listened to the hall outside fill with people. Talking and laughter echoed into our little room. Classes must be out. That was one thing about this new calling. Time sped by faster than it ever had for church. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “Just for two weeks. We’ll call it our civil month. And have a big celebration in the end. We’ll invite all of our…uh…soldiers. Give ’em a break from the big war.”

Considering how everything he did was a trick, it would most likely end up being a civil war instead. Whatever he was planning, he’d turn it on me. I smiled. “Sounds like the makings of the perfect chick flick.”

Byron leaned back against a pink chair. “I suppose you consider me the villain?”

I stood up, putting away Carrie’s toys. “Not you. That would make you too interesting. You’d probably be the annoying player the heroine hates and then she grows to like because he’s hot. I’m sure they break up once the credits finish rolling.”

Byron smiled faintly. “You think I’m hot?” I choked. Why wasn’t Carrie’s mom back from classes yet? I wasn’t doing very well in the war of words this week. “You know what’s wrong here?” Now Byron was talking to the little girl as if she’d understand what he was saying. I hoped it wouldn’t have anything to do with me, but it was a vain hope. “Madeleine’s beautiful. She just doesn’t know how to work it.”