Romance of the Snob Squad (6 page)

“Shut up,” I shot back. “And show me where the Kleenex is.”

T
hey called themselves the Cyber Stars. Ashley, Melanie, and our two true loves. Two of them were stars. The other two were black holes in cyberspace. Ashley had this thing about always coming up with a team name. She said it promoted teamwork. Baloney. She just wanted to pass on the blame to her teammates if anything went wrong.

On Monday Lydia, Max, Prairie, and I sort of moseyed over to the PC’s to sort of spy on the Cyber Stars. Discreet like.

“Mr. Biekmund, the Blob Squad is spying on us,” Ashley hollered across the room.

“That’s Snob Squad to you,” Lydia said.

“Huh?” Ashley cupped an ear. “The Slob Squad?”

Max raised a fist to silence Ashley forever, but I held her back. We didn’t need to get busted for breaking Ashley’s braces or anything. Ashley could get us suspended just for invading her space.

“Why aren’t you girls working on your project?” Mr. Biekmund said.

I answered, “Because you won’t let us bring the ra—uh, the project to school. And we already finished the write-up. Right, Lydia?”

“Uh, right,” she lied. “As much as we have. So we wanted to play computer games. But the
Cyborg
Stars,” she said in a singsong, “are always hogging the PC’s.” Lydia sneered at Ashley.

Melanie turned around. “We need both of the computers, Mr. Biekmund. Part of our project is networking the two machines together. Right, Kevin?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “It’s a communications project.” He looked right at me. Or through me, though I didn’t know how that was possible.

I swooned anyway. Hook
all
the computers together, I thought. I’ll drag them over to your house.

The Beak Man pulled out his rank hankie. “I don’t think playing computer games is appropriate while everyone else is working on their projects. Do you?”

We just stared at him dumbly.

Lydia was about to protest when the air grew odiferous. I knew that stench. Everyone at school knew that stench and what followed it. Mr. Krupps’s Old Spice and him, in that order. “Good afternoon, Mr. Biekmund. Class.” He faked a smile.

Everyone dummied up.

“How are we coming along with our science fair entries?”

“Fine. Great,” Mr. Biekmund answered. He slid us a sidelong glance, the classic evil eye, and we shuffled back to our desks to act busy.

“I thought I’d come by and have a look-see.”

Behind me I heard Ashley moan. Even though she was the principal’s daughter (and used her position to full unfair advantage), there were times I know she hated it. I mean, I would. Always having your father around, spying on you?

Mr. Krupps stopped at the first table and asked to see their project. “Oh, great,” Lydia muttered beside me. “What are we going to show him?”

“Your notebook,” I said. “That’s all we’ve got.”

“Not quite.” Max lifted Harley out of her pocket.

Lydia scootched around in front of Max. “Put him back,” she whispered loudly. “If Mr. Krupps sees him, he’ll burst a blood vessel. You know we can’t bring live animals to school.”

“Maybe we could teach him to play possum,” I suggested. Unfortunately, Prairie’s titter caught Krupps’s attention. He meandered over.

“Let’s see your science project, Ms. McFarland.” He met Max’s eyes. We all hated how he singled her out.

I said, “Show him your notebook, Lydia.”

She reached into her bookbag and pulled out the notebook. As she handed it to Mr. Krupps, I noticed that sometime since yesterday she’d painted a title on the cover in puffy paint.
The Extreme Rat-o-rama
, I think it said. The paint was so thick, it blobbed.

Mr. Krupps read the first page. He eyed Max again. “This is fine, but where’s
your
project, Ms. McFarland?”

I answered for her, “It’s our project.” I indicated the four of us. “We’re a team.”

Mr. Krupps set Lydia’s notebook down on the table. “Looks like Lydia’s doing all the work.”

That made me mad. “No, she’s not.” Thinking fast, I dug in my backpack for my language notebook. “We’re all keeping notes. See?”

He took the notebook from me.

I freaked. I didn’t think he’d actually take it. Worse than that, what I’d grabbed was my food diary. Before I could even peep a protest, he flipped the cover open.

He frowned. “I don’t understand. What is this project? Something about rats? And food?” He turned the page.

My heart stopped. If he read page two out loud, I’d have to kill myself. Fortunately Prairie piped up, “It’s an obstacle c-course.” In a smaller voice, she added, “For a r-rat.”

“A rat?” he bellowed. Dropping my diary on the table, he scanned the room with his beady eyes. “Mr. Biekmund?”

Surreptitiously, I slid over to snatch up my diary, but I couldn’t get to it through the crowd that had gathered. Some days I’d sacrifice my sister to be skinny.

Mr. Krupps located our science teacher, hiding behind Hugh in the back of the mob. “I didn’t think animal projects were allowed.”

“In this case”—the Beak Man stepped out and smiled wanly—“I gave special permission. It’s a special project.”

“Tell me about it.” Mr. Krupps grinned at Max. It wasn’t a friendly grin. More like, This better be good.

Lydia said, “We’re creating a closed learning environment to test the—”

“I want to hear from Ms. McFarland,” Krupps cut Lydia off. He zeroed in on Max.

Ashley, whose bulk was blocking me from getting my diary, said, “Yes, Max. Tell us
all
about it.”

Max’s eyes darted around. Without warning, without thinking, she whipped Harley out of her pocket and plopped him on the table. Several shrieks burst eardrums, and the crowd lurched back.

All except Mr. Krupps. He looked horrified.

I tried to intervene. “Our science project is called the Extreme Rat-o-rama. We’re training this rat to run an obstacle course. It’s, uh, real scientific.”

“Scientific?” Mr. Krupps’s raised voice hit a new high.

“It is!” Lydia leaped in. “Harley is a certified laboratory rat. An experimental specimen who will master an almost impossible task. He will complete, in sixty seconds or less, the world’s toughest obstacle course. In other words, we’re going to demonstrate the intelligence of lower life-forms.”

“Oh, brother.” Ashley snorted beside me.

Lydia, I thought, you win the Cracker Jack surprise.

Krupps’s narrowed eyes spelled skeptical.

Lydia babbled on, “We’re recording all of our observations. Every task Harley masters. That way the project will be preserved on record for future scientific study.”

“Cool,” Kevin said behind her.

“Very,” Hugh put in.

Sometimes diarrhea of the mouth is Lydia’s best quality. I wondered what Kevin would do if I leaped over the table and kissed him. Never mind. It was enough to hear him speak.

Mr. Krupps pursed his lips. “It is interesting,” he said. “But—”

“But you’re right,” I joined in. “We have a problem.” Before he could confiscate Harley or suspend Max, I said, “Since we’re not allowed to bring live animals to school, we can’t work on our project here.” Mimicking Lydia’s brownnose nasal whine, I added, “We may not get it done in time for the science fair.” I proferred my most pathetic look.

Lydia caught my cue. She could do pathetic better than anyone I knew. Wait a minute. Prairie’s pathos outpaced Lydia’s by miles. Max only had the one look. Threatening.

“Well,” Mr. Krupps considered. At that moment Harley scrabbled over to Mr. Krupps and started sniffing. Apparently the aroma of Old Spice was an aphrodisiac to rats, because Harley closed his eyes and swooned. Mr. Krupps smiled. A genuine smile. Maybe the first one ever. He reached down and scratched Harley’s head. Harley let out a little whimper before spreading out all four legs and sprawling across the tabletop. Everyone went, “Awwww.”

Mr. Krupps laughed. “All right,” he said. “I’ll make an exception. In this one instance, and only until the science fair. You are allowed to bring the rat to school.”

“Yay!” we cheered. Max high-fived us.

“But,” Krupps added, “I want him caged unless you’re working with him. I won’t have a rat running around free in Montrose Middle School. Now, Ashley, let’s see this phenomenal technological wonder you’ve been bragging about at home for a week.”

Ashley’s fat face froze. She whirled, but not before Lydia got in a good jab. “Suck-up,” she sniped.

Ashley waddled away.

Suddenly we heard a voice behind us. “What’s the obstacle course like?”

We all held our breath. It was Hugh. And he was talking to Prairie.

She paled. “Y-y-y… y-y-y—”

“You’ll see,” I saved her. “Tomorrow. We’ll bring it in.”

Hugh turned and smiled at me. “I can’t wait.”

L
ydia tossed her backpack on the Peacemobile’s sofa and said, “It’s all set for Saturday night. My mom says she’ll need to call your parents first, but you can all sleep over. She’ll even help us with our hair and makeup.”

I’d never actually seen Lydia’s mom, but if she looked anything like Lydia, I didn’t think we’d want her helping us with our hair and makeup.

“We n-need to finish the obstacle c-course today,” Prairie said. “So it’ll look good for tomorrow.”

“You mean so Hugh will be impressed,” Lydia said.

Prairie blushed. “He actually t-talked to me.” She sighed. But only a short sigh before sobering. “Max,” she ordered, “hand me that d-duct tape.”

I got out the SnackWells granola bars and took my usual two. A blurred vision of my nutrition Nazi flashed through my brain, and I reluctantly put one back. While the box went around, Lydia scrounged in her bookbag. “That’s weird,” she said. “I can’t find my science notebook. I got it out to show Mr. Krupps. I thought I put it back.”

My breath caught. Did I have my food diary? I plowed through my pack. Yes. Oxygen flowed again. There it was, right on top.

“Hey, g-guys. Something’s wrong with Harley.”

We all dashed over to the Rat-o-rama. “You’re right,” I said. “He doesn’t look so good.”

“He’s fine,” Max replied. “He’s just tired from all the excitement.”

Harley seemed beyond sleepy to me. More like comatose. Max tempted him with a corner of granola bar, and he sprang to life. “See?” she said. She trailed crumbs over the obstacle course while Harley scrabbled after them. About halfway across, though, where he’s supposed to run through the oatmeal box, Harley stopped and sprawled flat on his belly. He was breathing hard.

I looked at Max.

“He’s pooped,” she said. “Give him a break.”

“There,” Prairie said. “I think the c-course is c-complete.”

“I think Max is going into labor,” I said. “He—she could deliver anytime.”

“Damn!”

We all turned to Lydia, wide-eyed.

“Sorry,” she mumbled. “I can’t find my notebook. And it had all my notes about Hugh in it, too.”

“Hugh?” Prairie perked up. “You m-mean the survey?”

Lydia nodded. “Plus a, uh, couple of ideas about getting you two together that I jotted down. Where
is
it?”

“Don’t get your asthma up,” I said. “You probably just left it in the science room. Anyway, there isn’t anything new to write.” Yet. No babies had popped out. “Harley hasn’t made any progress at all. Maybe I’d better start bringing some real food. Like Hostess cupcakes, or Ding Dongs. Hey, Harl,” I said to him, “would you ring the bell for a Ding Dong?”

That cracked everyone up.

I added, “Think I’ll pick up a family box. Looks like Harley may be eating for more than one.”

Dinner that night was meat loaf and mashed potatoes. Mr. Mom’s specialty. Mrs. Mom added a can of peas to round out the meal. It was better than spaghetti and wheatballs, but not much. What was worse, there was no dessert. Worse than worse, if there is such a thing, no one talked through the whole meal. Forget rekindling the romance. Since their fight in the basement, Mom and Dad seemed to repel each other like opposite poles of a magnet. The peas repelled me. And Vanessa counted each chew of meat loaf to herself. God, she was obsessed about her weight. Unlike me, who emptied the bottle of ketchup over my meat loaf and swirled half a stick of butter into the potatoes to make a lava melt.

“When’s our next therapy session?” I said, shattering the silence. They all stared at me. “You know, help for the helpless? Hope for the hopeless? Do I have to spell it out? D-i-s-f-u-n-k-s-h-o-n… whatever.”

Mom got up to clear the table. “We are not dysfunctional,” she said. “Who told you that? We’re a perfectly normal family.”

My eyes met Vanessa’s. She was thinking what I was. This is normal?

“Your father and I have a marr—a separate counseling session next Monday, but it doesn’t concern you.” Mom whirled on Dad. “You see? Now our children think we’re dysfunctional.” She slammed the lid on the dishwasher and stormed out.

Dad looked at Vanessa, then me.

“Dad, I—”

“Just eat your meat loaf,” he cut me off.

Vanessa scootched back her chair.

Dad said, “Where are you going?”

She replied, “To my room. I’m not hungry.”

“Come back here!”

Her door slammed.

Dad sighed, and I forced a smile. “Guess that leaves you and me to clean up,” I said. “Did I ever tell you how much I love your meat loaf?” I sawed through the hunk on my plate, which wasn’t easy since it had the consistency of cardboard, then popped it in my mouth, swallowed it whole, and added, “An Arby’s Jamocha shake would sure go good with it.”

He didn’t take the hint. Just started smashing peas under his fork.

“Ever see that bumper sticker,
Imagine Whirled Peas?
” I asked him.

He blinked up at me, eyes vacant.

“Never mind,” I muttered.

From my school bus’s back window, I spotted the car immediately. It was a distinctive automobile. A rebuilt Chevy Camaro. Body by Rust-Oleum. Engine by Joe Camel. Max slammed the trunk while Scuzz-Gut unbent his beer belly enough to reveal… what? An armload of something draped in black silk. Of course. The Extreme Rat-o-rama. The black silk tablecloth must’ve been borrowed from Max’s mom, Sibylique. She was a channeler. You know, a fortuneteller? A link to the spirit world? It embarrassed Max no end. I thought it was cool.