Romance of the Snob Squad (3 page)

“Come on, I’m starving.” Ashley waddled away. Melanie snitched a brownie off my tray and sashayed after Ashley. My body responded with sugar shock, or maybe just plain shock.

Prairie stared at Lydia, chin on chest.

“Don’t believe her, Prairie,” I said. “You saw the survey. Hugh said he hadn’t asked anyone to the dance.”

Prairie blinked at Lydia. “W-when did you give him the survey?”

“This morning,” she said.

Prairie nodded slowly. I hoped she wasn’t thinking what I was thinking. That between then and now some significant social event had transpired.

Prairie met my eyes, then looked away. Her lower lip trembled. “Excuse me,” she said, sliding out. She walked away fast, leaving a half-eaten tray of spaghetti.

“I’m going to kill them,” Max said, glaring across the cafeteria at Ashley and Melanie. It was no idle threat. “I’m going to cut off their—”

“Me!” Lydia said suddenly. “Ashley thinks
I
like Hugh?”

“Well,” I said. “You
are
the one asking personal questions about him. And
only
him.” Before Lydia could get her asthma up, I added, “Come on, guys. Let’s go find Prairie. We’ll kill the creeps later.”

B
ack in Mrs. Jonas’s homeroom, I scribbled up a phony science fair plan ten minutes before the final bell. All I could think of was an enhanced M&M’s experiment in which we’d also taste-test the different colors and rank them as to their deliciousness. Hey, it was late in the day. My blood sugar was low.

I rushed the plan over to Mr. Biekmund. Unfortunately he was there. Unfortunately he read the plan. Unfortunately he hated it.

I called an emergency meeting of the Snob Squad. Once we’d taken our places in the Peacemobile, I said, “We need to talk about the science fair—”

Lydia interrupted, “I know for a fact that Hugh hasn’t asked Ashley to the dance, Prairie. And Kevin hasn’t asked Melanie, either. They’re lying.”

That erased the science fair from my agenda. “How do you know?” I said.

Lydia clucked. “Just because Ashley and Hugh and Melanie and Kevin are working on a computer project for the science fair, Ashley thinks they’re all engaged. I know Hugh hasn’t asked her to the dance. You know what a liar Ashley is. She just said that because she thought I was interested. Which I am
not
,” she emphasized to Prairie’s dark face.

Prairie didn’t look convinced. Neither did I.

Then Lydia had to add, “But if Ashley really is after Hugh, then he’s doomed. We better think of something fast.”

Max said, “We could blow up the computer center.”

“N-no,” Prairie said. “If Hugh wants to ask Ashley, or anyone else, then he sh-should.” She stared off across the van, into rust dust.

She was right. On the other hand, if Kevin wants to ask Melanie, or anyone else, maybe Max’s plan was solid.

I didn’t really want to, but the look on Prairie’s face told me it was time to change the subject. “Hey, guys, we
have
to talk about the science fair. What are we going to do? The Beak Man didn’t accept the M&M’s experiment.” I passed around our after-school snack, a bag of peeled baby carrots that nobody would trade for at lunch. “He said he expected more.” I rolled my eyes.

“I h-hate science,” Prairie said.

Lydia sneezed. “I think I’m allergic to it.”

Prairie exhaled a long sigh and added, “Why did Mr. Biekmund v-volunteer our class to represent the whole school?”

“Because he’s transferring to Widener next year.” Lydia crunched a carrot. “What does he care if Montrose Middle School comes in dead last in the whole district? What does he care if the entire student body is totally humiliated by our class’s stupid science fair projects? It’s no skin off his nose.”

Mr. Biekmund was leaving? That was news to me. I sort of liked him, weirdo that he was. He didn’t play favorites, not even with Ashley, the principal’s daughter. And he really loved science—you could tell. Even though he rejected my plan, he didn’t reject me. Know what I mean? It wasn’t personal. It was a putrid plan. I admit it. “So what’s our project going to be? I can’t get an F in science, okay? I’ve already got one in social studies. And my language grade as of yesterday is a D plus. Come on, think.”

There was communal crunching. “I’ve got it,” Lydia said. “We could grow mold. That’s always popular.”

“Oh, yeah,” Max muttered. “Especially in the cafeteria.”

“My brother has m-mold growing in his car,” Prairie said. “My d-dad says he gave him the perfect name: Yucca. Get it? Yuck? Car?”

Lydia said, “Your brother’s name is Yucca? For real?”

Made sense to me. Prairie’s last name was Cactus. “What are your other brothers’ names?” I asked. She had six brothers. No wonder she was challenged.

Prairie counted on her fingers. “River, Sun, Moon, Forest, Mesa, and Yucca.”

Prairie got teased mercilessly. I bet her brothers did, too. Parents who give their kids weird names should be shipped to Shanghai. Where is Shanghai, anyway?

Lydia said, “What’s your Mom’s name, Aloe Vera?” She hyena-howled.

Prairie replied flatly, “No. Her name is Marianne.”

That shut Lydia up. Her mother’s name was Marianne, too. Dr. Marianne Beals. How often did we hear that?

I sighed wearily. “People, people, people. The project?” God, I sounded like the Beak Man.

We all crunched in unison. The carrot bag made its way around. Prairie said, “Can we do an animal p-project? Last year my brother Sun h-hatched baby ducks in an incubator.”

Max’s eyes lit up. “How many?”

“Eight,” Prairie said. “But one died.”

“Aw.” Max blinked away. She smiled tenderly. “I love baby animals.”

We all stared at her. No one in their right mind would leave Max alone with a baby animal. I said, “I think by the end of sixth grade we’re supposed to do more than watch eggs hatch. Now, if we could
clone
a duck…”

Lydia said, “Yeah, right. Who do you think we are, Einstein?” She paused and smiled. “Maybe we could clone Mr. Vance. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Jenny?” She wiggled eyebrows at me.

I zinged a carrot at her.

Max interrupted the ensuing food fight. “Could we train animals? Is that science?”

“Sounds like science to me,” I said. “Does anyone have an animal?”

Lydia said, “You have a puppy.”

I just looked at her.

“You don’t have a puppy? But I thought… oh.”

No one ever accused Lydia of being quick-witted. “Last year I had Petey, my hamster,” I said. “But, as you all know, he died on Halloween.” Everyone lowered their heads in respect.

“Wait here.” Max propelled herself to her feet and launched out of the minivan. Her army boots crunched gravel on the way to her house.

Lydia snapped a carrot in her teeth and said, “Maybe Max has a cloning kit.” She grinned at me.

“Wouldn’t surprise me,” I said. Nothing Max did surprised me. I take that back. Everything Max did surprised me.

“C-could we b-borrow an animal?” Prairie said. “My cousin Butch has an iguana.”

“I’m not touching any lizards,” Lydia said. “They’re infested with bacteria. Didn’t you hear about those kids at the zoo who got food poisoning from touching the monitor lizard?” She shivered.

“Huh?” Prairie and I both frowned at her.

“They touched it, then they sucked their fingers,” she explained.

“Why didn’t they just b-buy a Popsicle?” Prairie asked.

I laughed. Lydia clucked. “Good one, Prairie,” I said. “What could you teach a lizard? ‘Hey, slimy. Roll over. Play dead. Pretend you touched a human and got food poisoning.’ ”

Prairie giggled. Even Lydia cracked a smile. Just then Max returned with… not a cloning kit. Something more interesting. A caged rat.

Lydia screamed.

“His name’s Harley,” Max said. “ ’Cause I found him out by the Harley-Davidson parts. Here, Harley. Here, boy.” She wiggled her index finger at him through the chicken wire. He sniffed it. “I bet we could train him. He’s real smart. I saw on
Bill Nye, the Science Guy
, where these trained rats played basketball.”

“You watch
Bill Nye, the Science Guy?
” Lydia widened her eyes at Max.

Max’s eyes widened back. “Doesn’t everyone?”

Prairie said, “N-not me. I hate science.”

Max looked at me.

“It’s on the same time as
Oprah
.”

“Horrors,” Lydia mocked me. “You can’t miss
Oprah
.”

I shot back at her, “What do you watch?
Barney
?”

Max snickered.

“No,” Lydia mumbled.

“Then what?” I said.

“Nothing.” Her cheeks turned pink. “I’m not allowed to watch TV.”

“At all?” we intoned in unison.

Lydia’s spine stiffened. “It’s poison for the brain, my mother says. And she should know. She’s—”

“A child psychologist,” we all droned.

“Well, she is,” Lydia said weakly.

“Bill Nye’s not poison,” Max replied. “He’s educational.”

“Same difference,” I muttered.

Lydia snuck me a thank-you smile.

Leadership is such a trip. “Anyway,” I sighed wearily, “getting back to the project, you think we could train Harley to play basketball, Max?”

“Nah,” she said. “That’s been done. We can teach him to play chess.”

I laughed. We all laughed. Except Max.

“You’re not serious,” I said.

“Why not?”

“We only have three weeks,” Lydia replied. “I’m not sure
I
could learn to play chess in three weeks.”

“Then it’s a good thing we’re not trying to train you,” Max said.

Lydia tensed.

“She’s kidding, Lydia,” I said. “But chess, Max? I don’t know. Who are we going to find to play against him?”

“Yeah. Bugs Bunny?” Lydia crunched off a chunk of carrot and chomped noisily.

My palm intercepted Max’s fist, which was headed toward Lydia’s face.

Prairie said, “How about an obstacle c-course? We could b-build tunnels and m-mazes, stuff like that. At the end, Harley could r-ring a bell.”

“Brilliant!” I cried. “What do you think, Max? Can we train Harley to run an obstacle course in three weeks?”

She studied the rat. With one hand she formed a tunnel over his head. “Hit it, Harley,” she said.

In a flash Harley lunged through her hand to the other side. Watching him perch on his haunches to wash his whiskers, I thought, Who needs Bill Nye, the science guy, when you’ve got Maxine, the lean, mean, rodent machine?

W
e had a family counseling session scheduled for Tuesday night. Dr. Sidhwa, our family psychologist, was pretty cool. Last month he’d helped me work through a major trauma in my life. Now he was working with Vanessa and playing marriage counselor for my parents. Dr. Sid, or as he pronounced it, Dr. Seed, had asked if we could all meet with him this week as a family unit. Family unit. No one in their right mind would call us that. Which made me wonder again about Dr. Sid.

When our clunky old station wagon pulled in next to Dr. Sid’s parking space in the lot downtown, Dad muttered, “It’s nice to know the Solanos are financing the good doctor’s Ferrari.”

Mom gave him the look. You know the one: Watch your language; there are children present.

We didn’t speak the whole time it took to ride up in the elevator to the fourteenth floor. We were all nervous as gnats, I think. What would we say in front of one another, as a family unit? What could we say? Nothing close to the truth, for sure.

“Welcome, welcome. Glad to see you all,” Dr. Sid greeted us. “Jenny, I’d like to talk to you alone first for a few minutes.”

“Me?” I almost lost my black bean burrito. No big loss. “Sure, okay.” I watched with panicked eyes as my family unit took seats in the waiting room.

“Have a chair.” Dr. Sid motioned me into his office. He closed the door behind me. “How is your food diary coming?” he said. “I spoke with Minnette about it last week.”

Minnette was my registered dietician. I wasn’t sure what she was registered for; the Jenny Craig Lifetime Achievement Award, probably. She weighed about forty-five pounds—with her shoes on. “Fine,” I said. “I mean, it’s almost full.”

He arched both eyebrows as if to say, “Already?” Instead he asked, “Have you discovered anything interesting about your eating habits?”

“Besides the fact that I eat all the time? Not really.”

Dr. Sid smiled.

I added, “I do have a question. She said I should write down everything I eat. Does that include toothpaste? I mean, there must be calories in Crest, since it’s so minty and sweet. Not that I’m eating toothpaste in globs or anything.” I didn’t add, Just that once when Mom made zucchini-and-bran biscuits for breakfast. I said, “If Mom asks where all the toothpaste is going, tell her it’s Vanessa. You know how you’re supposed to brush your teeth after every meal? Vanessa brushes her teeth after every bite.”

Dr. Sid frowned.

“Not that she’s worse,” I said quickly. “She’s a lot better. She hardly ever cuts her Cheerios in half anymore.”

He smiled.

To myself I added, She just eats half as many.

“That’s good to hear,” he said. “And you’re helping her by intervening when she starts to exhibit repetitive behaviors?”

“Yeah. I think it’s working. I hope it is.”

The conversation stalled. At least I’d managed to divert it away from me. Or so I thought.

“So,” Dr. Sid said, folding his hands atop his desk. “Have you identified certain times or situations when you feel a more powerful urge to eat?”

That was an interesting question. “As a matter of fact I have.”

Dr. Sid arched an expectant eyebrow.

“Mealtimes,” I said.

The eyebrow plunged.

“No, seriously. I remember how mealtimes used to be so much fun. We’d laugh and joke around, talk about all the stuff that was going on in our lives.”

“And you don’t do that anymore?” Dr. Sid said.

“No, we just… eat. At least I do. Vanessa moves food around on her plate. Nobody talks. It’s tense.”

He nodded, looking serious. Then he stood and said, “Thank you for telling me. That gives me some insight. Do you mind if I bring in everyone else now?”