“Vanessa, stop doing that and eat your corn dog.” Mom clucked her tongue. To me, she said, “Are you hoarding food in your room again? I thought I told you—”
“I’m not hoarding food,” I snapped at her. Then I added, “That was Vanessa’s idea of a joke.” Ha ha, I thought. How’d she know about those Ding Dongs, anyway? Borrowing a line from Max, I muttered, “She’s so funny I forgot to fart.”
Dad howled.
Mom silenced him with a scowl. She exhaled a short breath and said, “So, how was your day?”
Van and I both shoveled food into our mouths.
Mom said, “Vanessa?”
She glanced up and replied, “Fine.”
Mom cocked her head.
Vanessa shrugged. “It was fine. Uneventful. What do you want me to say? It was school. Duh.”
Mom sighed. “And how was your day, Jenny?” She twisted my way. “Don’t tell me uneventful.”
I sucked up a curd of cottage cheese and gagged. Setting down my spoon, I said, “It wasn’t uneventful.” Which was true. The ongoing feud between Lydia Beals and Ashley Krupps had provided endless hours of amusement—for everyone other than the Snob Squad, since we’d all been there. To Mom I said, “It wasn’t memorable, either. I forget.”
Mom aimed her corn dog at me. “You want your father and me to communicate more, but whenever we try—”
“Look at the time,” Dad interrupted Mom mid-rampage. “We better get going, hon. We don’t want the medical meter to start running without us.”
She finished her corn dog, dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and stood.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“You know,” Mom answered. “Marriage counseling.”
Dad faked a smile. “If we’re not back by morning, go ahead and put yourselves up for adoption.”
I laughed. Van didn’t. She bit her lip, looking worried.
In the doorway Mom slipped on a sweater and said, “Don’t make any plans for Friday night. We’re doing something together.”
As soon as the back door closed, Van and I exchanged expressions of horror. “God, I hope whatever we do is out of state.” I switched her dinner with mine.
Van was quiet as she cut the pear into a dozen identically sized pieces. Stabbing the first piece with one fork tine, she said, “Do you think they’ll make it?”
A frown creased my brow. “Make what?”
“You know, make it. Stay together.”
Swirling Vanessa’s corn dog in Mom’s leftover ketchup, I smiled in anticipated bliss. “They have to.” I chomped off the end and finished in a garble, “For the children.”
Vanessa met my eyes and held. “News flash,” she said. “We’re not children anymore.”
Which made my corn dog go mealy in my mouth.
Chapter 3
I stepped down from the bus on Friday morning to find Prairie and Max waiting for me. “Where’s Lydia?” I asked.
“In the temp.” Max thumbed over her shoulder.
“We should g-go help her fix her diorama,” Prairie said.
Slinging my backpack over one shoulder, I led the way to the trailer. “I tried to call Lydia last night,” I told them, “but the phone just rang and rang.”
“I tried, too,” Prairie said. “She sure was upset yesterday. I’ve n-never seen Lydia do anything like that.”
“Me neither.” Lydia Beals had a reputation as the biggest brownnoser in the history of the world.
Max said, “I heard all Krupps had to do was write a letter of apology.”
“What?!” My jaw hit the pavement. “No wonder Lydia went ballistic.”
We all fumed for her. “Lydia’s right,” I said. “Ashley gets away with murder. Remember that time someone flushed Lydia’s gym shorts down the toilet? It overflowed and since no one confessed, we all had to run laps.”
“I remember that,” Prairie said.
“We all knew who did it.” I seethed. “But Ashley puts on this horrified, innocent act. Then she claims she has a sprained ankle and can’t run, so we end up getting her punishment.”
Max shook her head. “She never got busted for the graffiti in the girl’s restroom, either. Everybody knows she did it. Who else dots their i’s with little hearts?”
Sometimes I did, but now was not the time to mention that.
“The problem is,” Max went on, “no one ever catches Krupps in the act.”
“I know,” Prairie and I said together. Prairie pointed. “Hey, there’s Lydia.”
Jogging down the sidewalk from the temps, Lydia stopped in front of us and bent over, wheezing.
“Lyd, you all right?” I put a hand on her back.
“I’m okay.” She erected herself. “Just an asthma attack. Probably set off by Melanie’s perfume.” She stuck out her tongue.
“We were coming to help you fix your diorama,” Prairie told her.
“Forget it,” Lydia muttered. “They’re in there.” She curled a lip. We all knew who she meant.
“Is it true all Ashley had to do was write you a letter of apology?” I asked.
Behind her glasses, Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “Plus, help undo the damage. Like I care anymore.” She stared off across the playground, adding, “Someday, somehow, justice will be served.”
I hoped she was right, but doubted it.
As we wandered over toward the bleachers, our usual morning hangout, I said to Lydia, “I tried to call you last night, but your phone just kept ringing.”
“That’s because I unplugged it after Mrs. Jonas called,” she replied. “She left a message for my mom, which I erased. Thank God I got to the answering machine first.”
“What did your mom say when you told her what happened yesterday?” I asked.
“I didn’t tell her.”
Prairie, Max, and I exchanged surprised glances. Lydia told her mother everything, or so I thought. Since it was only the two of them, Lydia and her mom had a really close relationship. Even though her mom could be a little overprotective, I sort of envied Lydia’s home life.
We sat on the bleachers, Lydia and Max behind Prairie and me. Prairie asked first. “Why d-didn’t you tell her?”
I twisted around to face Lydia. “Yeah, Lydia. Your mom would be down here in a second raising hell with Mr. Krupps.”
“I know.” She let out a short breath. “But Mom told me last time she was getting a little tired of fighting all my battles. She said I needed to figure out how to deal with people like Ashley; that there’d always be someone in my life trying to take advantage of my good nature.”
That was a depressing thought. “Did she give you any tips?” I asked.
“Nothing that would work. All this psychology crap. Like ‘Try to find out the reason she’s targeting you.’ ‘Sit down and conduct a dialog.’ ‘Strike a mutual agreement.’ Blah, blah, blah.” Lydia rolled her eyes.
“How do you conduct a dialog with sewer sludge?” I muttered.
Lydia blinked at me and howled. She had this really obnoxious hyena howl, but it didn’t bother me at the moment. It was good to hear Lydia laughing again.
The warning bell rang and we meandered slowly across the soccer field to the trailers. Surrounded by the Snob Squad, I suddenly felt at home. My friends were like my family—my family of choice as opposed to the ones I got stuck with. Before this year, I hated coming to school. Dreaded every moment. But now, with the Squad (not to mention my daily dose of Kevin Rooney), I dreaded the thought of school ending.
As soon as roll was taken, Mrs. Jonas handed out the weekly reports of our missing assignments. This week she’d listed everything we’d missed over the last grading period. Mine ran on for three pages.
Mrs. Jonas said, “I’ve cleared it with Mr. Biekmund for you to skip science lab today and Monday, if you need to stay here and work.”
My eyes scanned the room and came to a crashing halt on Kevin. He pointed to the floor with his index finger and mimed, “Stay.” Which sealed my decisi
on.
Just about everybody stayed. Unfortunately, Mrs. Jonas was serious about working. She wouldn’t even let us visit quietly.
Lydia, whose only unfinished assignment had to be her social studies project, immediately removed one of her trashy romance paperbacks from her backpack and immersed herself in it. Rats. Helping her was going to be my excuse to move closer to Kevin.
I actually completed two math practice sheets and a geography map of Africa, whatever continent it’s on. But the effort cost me. My foot fell asleep and my stomach was growling like a grizzly for a sugar fix. As I was digging in my desk for an old malted milk ball or something, a knock sounded on the door. Mrs. Jonas rose from her seat and tiptoed over.
“Mrs. Jonas, you have a call from your ex-husband in the office. He says it’s an emergency.” Needless to say, all ears tuned in. That’s the danger of complete silence.
Mrs. Jonas whispered to us, “I’ll be right back.” Her eyes darted around. “Jenny,” she said, “you’re in charge.”
Oh, great. My reward for being so responsible yesterday. The door hadn’t even whooshed shut before everyone transformed into their natural selves—zoo animals. The chimpanzees started hurdling over desks and chasing each other around the room, while the elephants stampeded out the back door. I noticed Hugh take Prairie by the hand and slip behind the big comfy chair next to Mrs. Jonas’s desk.
Kevin sauntered over to me, which I hoped meant he had ideas of his own. Which he did. “You want to play hangman at the board?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. Hyperventilating from the thrill, I followed him to the blackboard. There were only nibs of chalk in the tray, so Kevin headed back to Mrs. Jonas’s desk to find a new stick. Behind the comfy chair, I heard low murmurs. Whatever they were doing back there, it wasn’t daily oral language.
“You go first.” Kevin handed me a chalk. As I prepared to draw my gallows, Kevin took my hand, opened it, and filled it with M&M’s.
“Kevin.” My eyes grew wide. “Are these from Mrs. Jonas’s reward jar?”
He grinned. “She won’t notice. It was almost empty.”
I’d been eyeing that jar all year, drooling as the level of M&M’s decreased, no thanks to me.
A paper airplane whizzed by my cheek and Kevin launched it back over my shoulder. It sailed toward the door, where Mrs. Jonas was standing, arms folded. The din took a sudden plunge. Mrs. Jonas’s eyes held mine. All she said was, “Thank you, Jenny.”
I choked on my M&M’s. Talk about feeling like a worm.
When we got back from lunch, there was a surprise waiting for us. Mr. Krupps was standing at the front of the room, scowling. I think he was scowling; it’s hard to tell with principals. “Take your seats,” he ordered us. His tone of voice confirmed his mood.
Mrs. Jonas hovered behind Mr. Krupps, her arms wrapped loosely around her waist. Mr. Krupps said, “Mrs. Jonas has just discovered a sizable amount of money missing from her purse.”
A gasp of horror sucked up all the air. Wide eyes focused on Mrs. Jonas. Her chin fell to her chest.
“How much?” I asked without thinking.
“That doesn’t matter,” Mr. Krupps barked at me, making me shrivel. He went on, “The issue is, someone got into Mrs. Jonas’s purse.”
Mrs. Jonas blinked up. “I don’t think it was any of you.” Glancing around the room, she added softly, “Was it?”
You could feel eyeballs squirming in their sockets. When no one spoke, Mr. Krupps said, “If anybody knows anything about this, if you saw someone in here when they weren’t supposed to be, or heard anyone talking about it, speak up.”
I thought the silence was deafening until Mr. Krupps slammed his fist into the nearest desk. “I will not tolerate criminal activity here at Montrose. I run a clean school. Safe and secure, for students and teachers. No one leaves this room until we clear this matter up.”
Geez, what did he expect? A public confession? Get real.
“Daddy?” Ashley raised a tentative hand.
Oh, figures, I thought. To the list of stuck-up, spoiled, and snotty, we were about to add snitch.
“I don’t know if it means anything,” she said in a sickly sweet voice, “but a bunch of people were hanging around Mrs. Jonas’s desk this morning while she was out taking a phone call. Including Max.”
My head whipped around to catch Max’s reaction.
It was, in a word, nuclear. “I was handing in assignments,” Max snarled.
“Hey, I was there,” I volunteered. “She didn’t do anything—” I stopped short. Of course, I wasn’t focusing on anyone’s activities besides Kevin’s.
“I just thought I’d mention it.” Ashley shrugged.
I’ll kill her, I thought. If Max doesn’t get to her first.
Lydia piped up, “Could it have happened before school?”
Mr. Krupps queried Mrs. Jonas. “It could have,” she admitted. “I cashed my check last night, and my purse was in my desk all day.”
A slow smile spread across Lydia’s lips. “I was in the room before school and Ashley and Melanie were in here, supposedly working on a project.”
Ashley twisted in her seat. She was so fat, her desk moved with her. “You were here, too.”
“Not as long as you,” Lydia shot back.
Melanie said, “Max was here when me and Ashley got here. Remember that, Ash?”
Ashley’s beady eyes gleamed. “Now that you mention it, I do.”
“I came in to feed the fish,” Max growled. “Like I always do.”
Always? She never told us that. I knew she got to school before my bus arrived, but I thought it was to check out a basketball before the boys snagged them all.
“Maxine, to the office,” Mr. Krupps ordered.
She didn’t budge.
“Now!” he bellowed, aiming an index finger at the door.
“Hold on.” Mrs. Jonas stepped forward. “Max does have permission to feed…” At Mr. Krupps’s glare, her voice trailed off.
He said, “Everyone is a suspect until we get this cleared up. Maxine, I’ll talk to you first.” He wrenched open the door and waited for Max.
She slammed her desk shut and stood. The floor trembled as she stomped past. At the front, she paused at Melanie’s desk. Deliberately, she plopped her leg atop it and shoved her foot at Melanie. Melanie impaled herself against the seat slats.
“Get a good look,” Max said. “This is your face.”
“McFarland!” Mr. Krupps warned.
She flew past him out the door. He had to hustle to catch up. Mrs. Jonas stared out the windows past them. We all did. My blood boiled. Everyone always assumes Max is guilty.
So why did I feel guilty? Maybe because if the theft occurred during the time I was room monitor, this whole fiasco was my fault.
We stopped in the office after lunch to see Max, figuring she got in-school suspension just for being born, but she wasn’t there. Which worried me.
As I was hustling to catch my bus after school, I just caught the tail end of a conversation Ashley and Melanie were having on the front steps. Ashley, who was braiding Melanie’s hair, said, “Yeah, and my dad says anyone who carries around a lot of cash deserves to be robbed.”
My jaw cracked the stoop. I thought, She did it. Ashley Krupps stole that money. A slow smile creased my lips. Well, well, well. What would her father say when he found out his precious little angel was a thief? No way he could let something that serious slide. Another thought barreled through my brain: Now all we have to do is prove it.
Chapter 4
Dear Dopey Food Diary,
After school I ate three Oreo cookies. If I didn’t have to write it down, I would’ve eaten a whole row. But since I promised to tell you the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, you’ll just have to trust me. I actually controlled myself.
I paused, flicking my Bic in and out. Then I wrote,
Mrs. Jonas got robbed and Max got busted. Max didn’t do it—not this time. I
know who did, though. When I called Max after school to find out what happened with Mr. Krupps and tell her what I heard, she informed me she got a real suspension. Three whole days.
I asked her how Krupps could suspend her without proof and she didn’t answer. Then her brother needed to use the phone so she had to hang up.
I paused. The question lingered. How could he suspend her without proof? Unless… no, forget it. Max didn’t do it.
Anyway, I don’t know why I’m telling you this. What do you care? Unless I eat my words.
“Jenny, shake your booty,” Dad hollered down the hall. “We’re going to be late.”
I closed my food diary and bounded over to the dresser to check for Oreo traces in my teeth. As I trundled to the living room where the family unit was waiting, I asked casually, “Late for what?” Then I remembered: Mom had said not to make plans for tonight. “Where are we going?”
Dad smiled slyly. “It’s a surprise.” Dad wiggled his eyebrows.
Vanessa rolled her eyes at me. I reciprocated. I hate surprises.
Mom had changed from her work clothes into jeans and a sweatshirt. At least I was dressed for the occasion in my baggy overalls. Whatever the family togetherness activity was, I hoped it wouldn’t take long. I didn’t want to miss a call from Kevin.
It was just starting to sprinkle as Dad backed our old Subaru station wagon out of the garage. No one spoke the whole time, which wasn’t unusual. I don’t know about Van, but I was trying to figure out where we were headed. It didn’t help that the rain was turning into a monsoon and blurring all the street signs. After about twenty minutes, Dad slowed the car and said, “Surprise! This is it.”
“This is what?” I leaned over the seat and squinted ahead. Through the downpour, a neon sign flashed: BO L VA D OW ING.
“No.” Vanessa slithered down her seat belt. “I won’t go. You can’t make me.”
Believe it or not, my sister is fifteen.
“Go where?” I said.
Mom twisted around and answered, “Bowling.”
I just about lost my cookies. “You’re not serious.”