The Miraculous Makeover of Lizard Flanagan (6 page)

I kept staring at the floor. It was hard to do that, though, when we all lined up to tell Ms. Puff our names. I kept my head down, but glanced up twice so I wouldn't bump into anyone. It would be horrible to bump into a naked person.

We probably set Guinness speed records for shower taking—I bet not one bar of soap got wet—and hurried back to our lockers and got dressed.

Nobody talked the whole time. Not one peep out of anybody!

Then it was over.

Gradually, the talking started up again.

I was relieved—until I realized I'd have to take a shower next week and the week after that. I'd have to take a shower after every single gym class until the end of the year.

I'd never thought that my favorite class would turn out to be something I'd dread.

I wasn't sure I could stand it.

6

“How was school today, honey?”

Mom padded barefoot around the kitchen getting supper ready. Dad was sitting in the living room watching the news.

Dad sells insurance downtown, and Mom teaches piano at Withmore College. They get home about the same time and take turns fixing dinner. I like Dad's nights best because he fixes the food I like: hamburgers, baked chicken, lasagna, normal stuff.

Mom, on the other hand, likes to fix us healthy meals, like vegetarian stew with oat-bran muffins or tofu stir-fry over brown rice. Sometimes it takes all I've got to choke down that stuff.

“School was okay.” I shrugged. I didn't want to go into it. “What's for supper?”

“A new recipe,” Mom said. “Buckwheat pancakes—”

“Wow,” I said. “That sounds good.” I almost said “for once” but stopped myself just in time.

“With prune whip sauce.”

“Prune whip sauce?”

“It sounds wonderful,” Mom said cheerfully, hurrying to the refrigerator. “And it's filled with vitamins, fiber, calcium, and essential fatty acids.”

“Great.”

“Remember, our bodies are—”

“—like fine-tuned machinery,” I finished with her.

This was definitely a night for my Ban All Revolting Food plan.

I use the B.A.R.F. plan, which I call it for short, only in times of crisis. It has two parts: (1) getting rid of mom's healthy food; and (2) eating something good. Both parts require planning and a certain amount of sneakiness.

Part One is sometimes hard, sometimes easy. Cracked bulgar wheat or lentil nut loaf, for instance, are easy to get rid of. I just hide them in the cuffs or the waistband of my shorts. Then when I leave the table, I go to the bathroom and flush them down the toilet.

Getting rid of something like asparagus soup is a lot trickier. Sometimes I get my dog, Bob, to eat it.

Sometimes, though, even Bob hates it. I can't blame him. Then I have to pretend I'm suddenly sick so I can be excused from the table.

I don't like having to resort to these low-down tricks, but when you're faced with okra and brussels sprout surprise, drastic measures are sometimes necessary.

The second part of the B.A.R.F Plan is easier. A lot of times I get myself invited over to Zach's house after dinner. Zach's mom is a dessert freak and makes something gooey and delicious every night.

I watched Mom dump a can of prunes into the blender and turn it on. It whipped around the plastic container in a blur of brown liquid that turned my stomach to look at.

I sure hoped Bob liked prunes.

“Please call everyone to the table, Lizard,” Mom said a few minutes later. “Dinner's ready.”

I yelled at everyone to come, then hurried back to the kitchen. I poured milk as Dad and Sam sat down.

“What's this?” Dad asked when Mom brought in the platter.

“Buckwheat cakes,” Mom said. “With prune whip sauce.”

Dad's eyebrows shot up. “Sounds interesting.” He's a jock, like my mom, and very conscious of his health. He just isn't a nut about it the way Mom is.

Sam groaned and sat down.

“You'll love it,” Mom said. She always pretends she doesn't hear the complaints about her meals.

I took the milk back to the refrigerator, then hurried to the cupboard and grabbed a small dish, which I shoved under my shirt.

I walked back into the dining room and sat down.

“Dig in, guys!” Mom said, cutting her cakes with a fork.

She turned to Sam. “How did football practice go today?”

“Tough,” he said. “Coach Barnhart's into torture and cruelty.”

“I could take the physical torture,” I said. “It's the mental cruelty I can do without. He's such a jerk.”

“He wants everyone to work hard,” Sam said.

“He doesn't have to yell and scream and call kids names.”

“He gets results,” Sam said. “We've got the best middle-school football team in this part of the state.”

“I still say Barnhart's a jerk,” I said. “You couldn't get me on his team if you gave me a million dollars.”

“Nobody'd give you a million dollars to play football,” Sam said, grinning. “Besides, Barnhart wouldn't let a girl on the team, anyway.”

“Even if she was the best player to try out?”

“Yeah, but you wouldn't be, because
I'd
be the best player to try out!”

“You wish.”

“Okay, enough,” Mom said, holding up her hands.

“What position will you play?” Dad asked.

“Maybe wide receiver,” Sam said. “Coach watches me a lot when we practice passing and receiving.”

“Who'll quarterback for your first game?” I asked.

“Maybe Al Pickering,” he said. “Or Tom Luther.”

“When is it?” Mom asked. “We want to come.”

Sam pulled a piece of folded paper out of his pocket. “Here's the schedule.”

He handed it to Mom, who leaned over and studied the dates with Dad.

Now was my chance.

I pulled the dish out of my shirt, cut a huge piece out of my buckwheat cakes and scooped it into the dish.

I pushed the dish under the table. Bob was sitting in the corner of the dining room. I drummed my fingers on the side of my chair to get his attention.

Then I looked up. Sam was staring right at me.
Uh-oh,
I thought.

Sam started to speak, then closed his mouth. He got a funny look in his eye and gave me a tiny smile.

Bob trotted over to me and sniffed the cakes. In a minute, he had devoured all of them. He slobbered a little on my bare leg, but that was okay. Better to have prune whip on my leg than in my mouth. Bob trotted back into his corner, licking his chops.

Sam continued to watch me. “Who's your locker partner, Lizard?” His voice was super-casual.

“A girl named Ginger Flush,” I said. “She's a nincompoop.”

Mom and Dad were still looking over the schedule and murmuring about the dates.

“Other than that,” Sam said, “what's she like?”

“She's stupid,” I said. “Why do you want to know?”

“Just wondered. She talked to me in the hall. She said you two were locker partners.”

“So why'd you ask?” I said. “By the way, she has a crush on you. She says you're a hottie.”

Sam shifted in his chair and looked away for a minute.

It was fun watching him squirm.

“She wanted me to put in a good word for her.”

“Yeah?” Sam said. He grinned. “Cool.”

“
What?
”

“That's cool, she thinks I'm a hottie.”

“Are you nuts?” I said. “Ginger Flush is a grade-A, blue-ribbon airhead!”

Sam shrugged. “She seems okay to me.”

Mom turned to us. “Who's an airhead?”

Sam glared at me.

I ignored him. “Sam wants to know about this girl—”

“What girl?” Mom asked.

“Here, Bob!” Sam called out. He whistled. “Lizard has a treat for you!”

Bob came running right to me under the table.

“What girl?” Mom asked again. “What are you giving Bob, Lizard?”

At the same time Sam said, “Never mind,” and I said, “Nothing.”

Sam and I glowered at each other.

Truce. We didn't have to say it out loud, but we both knew it. I wouldn't tell about Ginger; he wouldn't tell that I gave my dinner to Bob.

“Oh, Lizard,” Mom said, smiling. “You've nearly finished your pancakes already! Would you like some more?”

“No, thank you,” I said politely.

“Sam,” she said, looking at his plate, “you've got a ways to go.”

Sam hadn't even touched his plate.

He scowled at me, and I smiled back very sweetly.

“Your mom makes the best chocolate cake on the planet,” I said.

“She sure does,” Zach said.

We sat on the top step of his back porch in the fading light, devouring humongous slabs of cake and piles of ice cream. My mom would've had plenty to say about the cholesterol and saturated fat we were shoving in our faces. I say, if it tastes good, who cares?

Bob and Klondike sat at our feet, gazing up at us. Occasionally, one of them would whimper.

“I could swear Bob practices that pitiful look when I'm not around,” I said.

“He does,” Zach said. “As soon as you leave for school, he runs up to your room, sits on your bed, and practices in front of the mirror.”

I grinned. “And how would you know that?”

“He told Klondike, and Klondike can't keep a secret.”

I laughed and took the last bite of chocolate cake. Then I put the plate down for Bob and Klondike to lick clean. Zach did, too.

We leaned against the porch railing and looked up at the sky. “A blanket of stars,” Zach said.

“Do you think there's intelligent life on other planets?” I asked.

“I know there's life, but I wouldn't call it intelligent.”

I grinned. “How come?”

“I've seen the aliens.”

“When was that?”

“It was about ten days ago,” he said, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “Klondike and I woke up about two in the morning, and my room was as bright as day. I went to my window, and hovering over the treetops was a huge, round ship with bright lights running around the edge.”

“What did you do?” I asked.

“I pulled on my jeans, and Klondike and I went outside.” Zach pointed to a large maple tree next to the garage. “Standing under the tree were two aliens. One of them came over and looked Klondike in the eyes and started making noises.

“I realized that the alien thought Klondike was the master and
I
was the pet. He touched Klondike's head, and before you could blink, we were all transported to the spaceship. He fed Klondike and me some blue food that tasted like cheese enchiladas.

“‘Zach, when do we get to go home?' a voice said. I didn't hear it with my ears; it came from inside my head. I looked at Klondike and realized he was talking to me!

“I figured the food made us able to communicate with each other, mind-to-mind. The alien came over and mentally said to Klondike, ‘Is this your only human or do you have a herd?'

“This had to be the dumbest alien in the universe,” Zach said. “So I decided to show him that I was Klondike's boss. I said, ‘Sit, Klondike. Speak. Roll over.'”

“Did he do his tricks?” I asked.

“No,” Zach said. “Klondike said to the alien, ‘Get a load of this pet, telling me what to do.' Then he laughed.”

“Klondike laughed?” I said.

“His laugh sounds like Elmer Fudd in the cartoons, sort of like this: huh-huh-huh-huh-huh.”

“How did you get away from the aliens?” I asked.

“Simple. I promised them Klondike's firstborn son.”

“I thought Klondike was fixed,” I said.

“He is.”

I laughed. Zach sat back, grinning, and relaxed against the rail. “Maybe I'll be a writer when I grow up. Either that or a professional baseball player.”

Klondike ran up the porch steps, wagging his tail, and licked Zach's face. Bob watched, wagging his own tail.

“That's a great story,” I said. “You should tell the kids at school.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He paused. “You see the posters for the dance next week?”

I sighed. I'd heard more about that stupid dance in the past few days than I ever wanted to hear in a lifetime.

“Yeah. I'm not wasting my time with it.”

“Mmm.”

“You don't want to go, do you?”

“Well,” Zach said, “I s'pose it's a way to get to know the new people better.”

“What new people?”

“The kids from other elementary schools.”

“I think the friends I have now are the best,” I said. “I don't need to have more friends.”

Zach scratched behind Klondike's ear. “It's good to have lots of friends.”

My stomach was turning sour again. “You never needed more friends before now,” I said. My voice was starting to sound whiney. I cleared my throat and lowered it as much as I could. “I don't get it.”

Zach shrugged. “It might be fun.”

“Dancing?”

“Or not dancing. Just talking.”

“You can talk to people at school between classes,” I said.

Zach didn't say any more about it. He got up and grabbed a stick on the ground. “Come on, Klondike. Come on, Bob,” he said. “Let's play fetch.”

I watched Zach and the dogs run around the yard. I didn't feel like joining them. What had gotten into my old pal? First, he didn't seem to mind Lisa and Ginger practically drooling all over him. And now he said he might like to go to that stupid school dance! This was not the Zach I thought I knew.

I got up to go home. My stomach was killing me.

I lay on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. I'd been thinking about Zach, but there was something else bothering me. I hadn't wanted to think about it, but it kept nudging me from a corner of my mind. It was what Ms. Puff had said in gym class.