Romance of the Snob Squad (7 page)

“Yo, Max,” I called to her as I stepped off the bus. She nodded acknowledgment while I bustled over to them. A bigger, better cage for Harley, constructed out of screen and wood, swung from Max’s hand.

“How far do we have to go?” Scuzz-Gut grumbled. “This damn thing’s heavy.”

“To the temps.” I pointed to the mobile units across the baseball field. “Unit C.”

“Ship,” he muttered. Or something like that. He reeked of beer. Must’ve poured it over his Rice Krispies this morning. Snap, crackle, foam.

“Is that it? Is that the Extreme Rat-o-rama?” Several people gathered around. I guess everyone in school had heard about our science project. Nothing like live animal experiments to roust the roadkill. In the rear of the crowd, Hugh loomed large. Kevin hovered at his wing tips.

“Keep back,” I said. “It’s very, very fragile.”

Max looked at me. So it was held together with six rolls of duct tape. So a demolition derby couldn’t destroy it.

“And don’t touch the rat,” Max warned. “He could have rabies.”

“Or babies,” I muttered.

“Can we see him?” someone asked.

“No,” Max replied, hiding Harley behind me. “Get lost.”

I added, “Harley, the wonder rat, will be making his debut today at nine-thirty, Science Lab One.”

“The wonder rat?” Melanie scoffed. She moved up real close beside Kevin. Too close. Even I could smell her Powder Fresh Arrid Extra Dry. “Oh, brother,” she said, sort of leaning into him.

He looked at me and smiled. I must’ve been hallucinating from Mom’s attempt at breakfast: fennel fritters. “Should be exciting,” Kevin said.

“You don’t know what exciting is.” I wiped the drool off my chin.

A
ll morning long people tried to sneak a peek at the Extreme Rat-o-rama. Or at Harley, the wonder rat. A steady stream of lookie-loos wandered by Max’s desk in back, as everyone took the long route to the pencil sharpener or the drinking fountain. Lydia and I switched off guarding the project, since Max was busy with Harley. After my neck developed a permanent crick from twisting around so often, I asked Mrs. Jonas if we could all just move our desks to the back. “To keep Harley from escaping,” I told her. “He’s extremely intelligent, you know.”

“By all means,” she said. She was making an obvious effort to stay as far away from our rat as possible.

Right before science, Ashley and Melanie meandered by to harass us. “The Extreme Rat-o-rama.” Ashley clucked. “I’m sure. I bet it’s just a bunch of junk car parts all taped together. And Harley is a junkyard rat. ‘Certified laboratory rat.’ Gimme a break.”

“Name the bone,” Max snarled. She held up a fist.

Ashley lurched back.

We all sneered.

Ashley and Melanie rolled their eyes and sashayed off to sharpen their glitter pencils.

“How’d she know where we found Harley?” I whispered to Lydia. “And what the Rat-o-rama really is?”

Lydia’s teeth ground together. Then her jaw unhinged. “She stole my notebook!” Her eyes narrowed. “Ashley stole my notebook. Now she knows all our science secrets.”

Science secrets? What was Lydia writing in there?

“Worse than that, she has my notes on Hugh.”

That was bad. Bad for Prairie.

“Guess we’ll just have to steal it back,” Max said.

Like a firing squad, we took aim with our eyes at Ashley’s broad backside. “We’ll do it at lunch,” I whispered, “when they’re out of the room.”

“Let’s go, people.” Mrs. Jonas stood, checking her watch. “Everyone in line for lab.”

For the first time ever, people actually hustled to line up for science. They couldn’t wait to see our project. Hugh and Kevin paused by our desks. “Can I help you carry that thing?” Hugh asked.

“No, we’ve got it.” Lydia hefted up a corner.

I elbowed her hard.

“Oh.” She stumbled backward. “You can carry this side.”

Hugh grabbed the corner, which happened to be next to Prairie’s. Her freckles sizzled. No kidding—you could hear them.

“Here,” Kevin said. “I’ll take this edge.” His hand brushed across mine as he grasped my corner. The tingle up and down my arm lasted all the way to the science wing.

The Rat-o-rama Revealed was an unforgettable event. At least I’ll never forget it. Lydia, Prairie, and I performed a finger drumroll on the science sink while Max lifted the black silk tablecloth. Everyone gasped. Right before they burst into laughter.

“See?” Ashley squealed. “It’s just a bunch of junk.”

The whole class shook their heads and wandered back to their own projects. Except Hugh and Kevin. “So, how does it work?” Hugh asked.

Max retrieved Harley from his cage, where he was deep in rat dreamland, and plopped him down at the start. I set a Gummy Worm at one end of a gallon milk jug. Harley sort of quivered in place, then yawned, wiggled his nostrils, and scurried through the carton. He snarfed the worm in one slurp. I continued the trail of Gummy Worms over tubes, through cartons, and around the steering wheel. At which point Harley stopped. He was breathing hard. Suddenly he sprawled in place and fell asleep.

“Wow,” Hugh and Kevin said together. Kevin added, “Pretty neat.”

“Hugh, Kev, come on!” Ashley shrieked from the PC center.

They jumped. Before leaving, Hugh reached down and scratched Harley’s head. “What happens at the end?” he said, speaking to Prairie.

She froze in shock.

I smiled coyly. “It’s a surprise.”

Hugh smiled back at me. His eyebrows wiggled. “I like surprises.”

After he lumbered off, Prairie grabbed my arm. “Did you h-hear that? Hugh l-likes surprises.”

“If he likes surprises, we’ll give him a big one,” Lydia said. “After he sees your glamour photos, he won’t be able to keep his eyes off you.”

Prairie beamed. She looked so happy, I thought she might pop right out of her prosthesis.

Back in homeroom after science, Mrs. Jonas told us to line up for lunch. Lydia, Max, and I stalled around. “Girls, we’re waiting.” Mrs. Jonas cocked her head.

Max said, “We’ll catch up. We gotta feed Harley first.”

Lydia added, “Since we all brought our lunches today, could we eat here, Mrs. Jonas? We don’t feel right about leaving Harley alone.”

“Don’t worry,” Mrs. Jonas said. “I’ll lock up.”

I said, “What if he gets out while we’re gone? What if he chews up a library book?”

Mrs. Jonas flinched. The consequence of returning mutilated materials to the media center… well, it was too hideous to imagine.

“Okay,” she relented. “I assume I can trust you girls to clean up your mess.”

We all gave her our “totally insulted” look.

“Tell them to keep out of our stuff,” Ashley said behind her.

“Ashley, really.” Mrs. Jonas frowned.

We copied the frown and added a sneer to bolster its effect.

As soon as everyone was gone, we ransacked Ashley’s desk, looking for Lydia’s notebook. “It’s not here,” Lydia wailed.

“Let’s try Melanie’s desk,” I said.

No luck there either. But she did have a tube of blue eye shadow that I pocketed. Then immediately felt guilty about and lobbed back in.

Max said, “What about the guys? Hugh and that Rooney Tunes geek?”

I shot her a dirty look. Hearing my true love trashed was not to be tolerated.

Lydia started toward Hugh’s desk.

“You better not let Prairie find out that you think Hugh might’ve taken it,” I said.

The door flew open, and Prairie plodded in. “Hugh might’ve t-taken what?”

Our eyes darted around. “That’s who,” I said. “I mean, you. Taking you. Hugh is taking you to the dance. And we’re so jealous, we could spit.”

“Yeah, r-right.” Prairie flung her pack over her desk chair and added, “You d-didn’t tell me we were eating in the classroom. I had to ask M-Mrs. Jonas where you guys were.”

“I was just coming down to the cafeteria to find you,” I lied. Max dropped a book behind me, and I scootched over in front of Hugh’s desk to hide her handiwork.

“What are you doing in Hugh’s desk?” Prairie asked.

Was I getting thinner? Don’t I wish. Max’s eyes bounced off mine. Lydia said, “We think one of the Cyborgs stole my notebook.”

“Not Hugh,” Prairie said. Her eyes narrowed.

“No, not Hugh,” I quickly agreed. “We think it was probably Ashley, but we can’t find it in her desk, so we figured she’s probably passing it around.”

“Right.” Lydia pushed her glasses up her nose.

“It’s not here,” Max mumbled as she shoved Hugh’s books back inside his desk. “Let’s try Rooney’s.”

“Now, wait a minute,” I said.

Everyone looked at me. “He doesn’t have it,” I said.

“How do you know?” Lydia asked.

My cheeks flared. “I just know. Even if it was offered to him, he wouldn’t take it.”

“S-same with Hugh,” Prairie said.

“So, Jenny.” Lydia smirked. “Are you in love with Kevin Rooney?”

I clucked. “Get real.” To remove her bloodsucking eyes from my face, I added, “Go ahead. Look. You won’t find it.”

All the time they searched Kevin’s desk, Prairie and I stood back, arms folded. “It’s not here,” Lydia said.

“No duh,” I said back. “Look, if Ashley took it, she still has it. She probably stashed it somewhere, like in her bra.”

“I’m not looking there,” Max said.

Prairie giggled.

“In fact,” I continued, “she’s probably reading it to everyone in the cafeteria at this very moment.”

Lydia gasped. “You may be right, Jenny. Why don’t I go buy a hot lunch and check it out. You guys keep searching around the room. It’s a pink spiral. With the name of our science project in purple puffy paint on the front. You can’t miss it.”

As Lydia yanked open the door, Max called across to her, “Bring me back some chocolate milk.”

I called, “And an extra hunk of spice cake.”

They all looked at me. “For Harley,” I whimpered.

L
ydia’s mom was not what I expected. I expected someone tall, like a dancer, with rock-solid thighs. Instead, she was short, like a shrimp, with flabby thighs. I could tell because she wore shorts. The only thing tall was her hair. Teased to Tennessee. Even more surprising, she had this soft voice. And she seemed nice. Obviously Lydia had inherited her father’s genes. Not that Lydia wasn’t nice; she just had a terminal case of megaphone mouth.

After Dr. Marianne Beals greeted us in her sweet, soft way, Lydia hustled us back to her bedroom. “My mom said we could use any of these costumes we want, as long as we don’t ruin them.” Lydia lifted the lid on a large metal trunk beside her bed. Max tromped around the bed and threw herself lengthwise across the frilly bedspread. No springs squeaked. “Hey,” Max said. “Is this a water bed?”

“Yes,” Lydia replied. “And my mom’ll kill you if she sees you on it with your boots.”

“Let her try,” Max muttered.

“Ooh, I want this!” Prairie pulled out a pink feather boa and draped it around her neck.

“Yeah, and I’ll take this.” I removed a leopard-spotted bodysuit, size one. Lydia opened her mouth to say it, but I saved her the embarrassment. “Just kidding. Unless I wear it on my head.” It snapped into place, and I flung the legs and arms back like long dreadlocks. Prairie and Lydia hyena-howled.

Prairie said, “Ooh, Max, this is d-definitely you.” She unfolded a red silk cape with matching mask. Two little devil’s horns stuck up from the top of the mask. Max’s eyebrows arched.

“I have dibs on this,” Lydia said. She grabbed a long, skinny rod from the bottom of the trunk. With a flick of the wrist, she unleashed it. A Japanese fan arced across her face.

“Gorgeous,” Prairie breathed.

There were enough sequins in that trunk to spark a fireworks display. After we pawed through all the costumes, Lydia said, “Okay, Prairie. You’re first.

Pick out an outfit. Then come sit at my vanity table and I’ll do your hair and makeup.”

While Lydia brushed out Prairie’s braids, I loaded up on flashy jewelry. Even though none of the outfits would fit, there was enough chiffon to wrap around my bulk several times.

A knock sounded on the door. “Get that, Jenny,” Lydia said. A row of bobby pins fell out of her mouth.

I hopped across the room and opened the door. Lydia’s mom asked, “How’s it going in here?”

“Good,” I answered.

She glanced at my getup and smiled. “Can I help with makeup or anything?”

I twisted my head toward Lydia. She’d teased Prairie’s hair into a giant haystack and stuck a peacock headdress on top. It looked like there’d been a barnyard brawl, and the rooster lost. “Uh, maybe—”

“No,” Lydia cut me off. “We’re fine.” She met Prairie’s panicked eyes in the mirror and added, “Well, maybe, if you’re not too busy. I guess I could use a little help with the hair.”

“You know I’m never too busy for you.” Lydia’s mom frowned at her. “Or your friends.”

Lydia gave me a look like “Puh-leaze.”

Dr. Beals padded in barefoot and took the brush from Lydia. We watched as she styled Prairie’s hair into a big bouffant and curled her bangs with a curling iron. Obviously she’d had a lot of practice with that look. As Lydia’s mom fitted the headdress in place, Prairie said in a sigh, “It m-must be fun being a Las V-Vegas showgirl.”

“Not really,” Lydia’s mom said. “It’s too much work for too little money. And the hours stink.” She told us how she worked all night, then studied for college until three or four
A.M.
Afterward she slept for a couple of hours, then got up to practice for a new show or prepare for the next performance. “What a life.” She shook her head. “I don’t miss it.”

Behind her, Lydia faked violin playing.

Prairie sighed again. “I’d like to t-try it.”

“Me, too,” I said.

“Yeah, right.” Lydia rolled her eyes.

Her mother whirled and shot Lydia a dirty look. “Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it. Goethe,” she quoted.

“You go, girl. Oprah,” I quoted back.

She laughed. And I didn’t even have to explain the joke, like I did with Dr. Sid sometimes. A thought struck me. I wished Lydia’s mom was my therapist. I bet she could solve my problem.