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?
Chapter 5
We 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?”
“Uh, sure. You want me to leave?” I pushed to my feet.
He waved me back down. “Let’s see if we can get this family talking again.”
Dr. Sid ushered everyone in and asked them to sit. With one patient in there it was cramped. With four we’d be sitting on laps. I hoped I wouldn’t get Dr. Sid’s. In addition to his huge desk and big comfy chair, Dr. Sid had books and toys and electronic gadgets littered all over the place. Someone, his secretary probably, had carted in four folding chairs for our group. It was interesting, watching my family. They each grabbed a chair and retreated to the far corners of the room.
“So, how is everybody?” Dr. Sid folded his hands over his desk again and smiled.
In unison, as if we’d rehearsed on the way over, we chirped, “Fine.”
Dad and I looked at each other and cracked up. Dr. Sid chuckled. Mom and Vanessa stared at the floor.
Dr. Sid said, “Okay. I’m going to go around a
nd ask you each to say one good thing about your family. Something you appreciate or enjoy about one another.”
Suddenly I understood the deeper meaning of dead silence.
“Katherine?”
Mom flinched. “I love my family,” she said. “Why do you think I’m the problem? Did Jenny tell you something?”
A guttural sound of shock issued from my mouth.
“No,” Dr. Sid said quickly. “Not at all. And I didn’t say you had a problem. I just thought I’d start on the left.”
“Oh,” Mom mumbled. “Sorry.”
Dr. Sid waited. When Mom didn’t continue, he said, “I am certain that you love your family, Katherine. But could you be specific? What is it about them you love? Specifically?”
I interrupted, “Is this like Oprah’s gratitude moment? You know, how you write down five things every day that you’re grateful for and it’s supposed to change your life?”
Everyone stared at me.
My face flared. “Never mind. Go ahead.”
Dr. Sid smiled at me and focused back on Mom. “Katherine?”
Mom pursed her lips. “Everything. I can’t pick just one thing. Are you saying there’s something about my family I don’t love? How can I be specific?”
Dr. Sid sighed and made a note on his yellow pad. Probably to go ahead and make that down payment on next year’s Ferrari.
After we were done as a family unit, Dr. Sid asked to speak to Vanessa alone for a few minutes. She came out looking like she’d been crying. Mom and Dad looked concerned, but I guess they knew better than to ask. She’d snap their heads off.
The appointment ended pretty much the way it had started. We didn’t speak the whole way home.
Chapter 6
As leader of the Snob Squad, it was my responsibility to get our science fair project off the ground. Duty can be a drag, except in this case. Thinking about the project gave my mind something else to dwell on besides the fact that (1) my family would be in long-term psychotherapy forever, (2) Melanie Mason had her claws in Kevin Rooney, and (3) I had to meet with Minnette, my nutrition Nazi, on Saturday to go over my food diary.
“Prairie and Max, you’re in charge of building the obstacle course,” I told them before school started.
“W-with w-what?” Prairie asked.
I knew she’d ask. “With whatever building supplies you can find around the house. Or, in Max’s case, steal from the strip mall.”
Max smirked at me.
“Lydia, you write down the daily observations of Harley’s progress. Since you can spell.”
She beamed. “And what are you going to do?” Lydia asked.
“Motivate the team, of course. Especially the rat.” At the sound of his species, Harley peeked his head out of Max’s jacket pocket. From my backpack I removed a limp carrot and dangled it over Harley’s head. He snatched it out of my fingers faster than you can say, “Leggo my Eggo.” Just as I suspected, Harley and I responded to the same stimulus—food.
I cornered Mr. Biekmund at his desk before science started and described our new and improved science fair project. “A trained rat?” he repeated. “I’m sorry, Jenny, but the science fair rules state no experiments with live animals.”
“We’re not experimenting,” I told him. Although, I have to admit, dissecting Harley seemed more intriguing than watching him wiggle through milk cartons. “We’re training him. We’re demonstrating alternative learning styles. It’s totally educational. We’re not going to harm him in any way.”
“Hmmm.” The Beak Man sniffled. “I don’t know.”
“It’s the only thing we could come up with,” I added. “Unless you want us to grow mold.” Like how would that look for Montrose Middle School? Huh? Huh? You’d be the laughingstock of the entire scientific community. Good luck getting a job at Widener, or anywhere else. “Besides,” I lied, “we already built the course.”
He sighed. “All right. But I don’t want you to bring a live rat to class.”
“How ’bout a dead one?”
He didn’t acknowledge the humor.
“You can work on your poster board display and type up your observations during science period.”
We could continue zoning out, is what I heard. How was I going to tell Max not to bring Harley to school, since she’d already smuggled him in? He’d built a homey little nest in her camouflage jacket pocket. Maybe I’d accidentally on purpose forget to relay the Beak Man’s message to Max.
Ashley and Melanie whooped with laughter over at the computer center, diverting Mr. Biekmund’s attention and mine. “Oh, Hugh,” I heard Ashley coo as she clenched his arm. “You are sooo smart.” She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Lydia was listening.
Lydia heard all right. Prairie did, too.
Kevin said something, Melanie giggled, and I gagged.
A formidable force wrenched me backward. It was Lydia, tugging on my T-shirt. “I’ve got it,” she said.
“Well, don’t give it to me,” I replied, lurching away.
“No, listen. I know how to break up that cozy little foursome. Max, come here.” She waved her over.
Max blinked out of her usual reverie, staring across the crowded room, plotting some cerebral carnage. She clunked down off the heater vent, where she’d been perched, and lumbered over.
Lydia whispered, “Let’s sabotage their project. Make it look like Ashley and Melanie wrecked it. That’ll pit the guys against the girls.”
“Yeah, right,” I said. Melanie laughed again, and I added, “Okay, how?”
Max ambled away, but not before I caught the gleam in her eyes. She clomped across the room in her army boots and paused at the PC center.
“What’s she doing?” Lydia asked.
“Don’t ask me. Whatever you said hit a nerve. If I were you, I’d be nervous.”
Max stuck a boot behind the first carrel and jerked. Without warning, all the computer screens went blank.
“Hey!” Ashley wailed. “What happened?”
Max twisted her head toward us. The most serene expression spread across her face.
Ashley hauled her extra-large carcass out of the chair and waddled around the carrel. When she saw the dangling plug near Max’s boot, she almost shoved Max. Almost. Ashley wasn’t stupid. Just stuck-up. And spoiled. She screamed, “Mr. Biekmund, tell Max to… to get away from here.”
“Maxine?” the Beak Man warned.
Max cringed. She hated her name. Who didn’t? “I tripped,” she said.
Kevin groaned. He said, “We probably lost everything we keyed in today.”
I felt sorry for Kevin. Even in despair, he was adorable. I personally would’ve rekeyed all his work, if he’d asked. Naturally he didn’t. How can you ask someone something when you don’t even know they’re alive?
Ashley whined, “I’m not keying everything back in. You’re the fastest typist, Hugh. You do it.”
He stared at the blank screen, shook his head, and grumbled. “Well, move over then,” he growled at Ashley.
Max smirked, spun on her boot heel, and sauntered away, snickering.
You gotta love her.
* * *
“The only way Hugh is going to notice Prairie is if she talks to him,” Lydia announced at lunch. “She could bring up one of his favorite subjects, like how she just loves to bowl. And wouldn’t it be fun to go bowling together sometime, hint, hint?”
I just looked at Lydia. Sometimes I wondered what her skull protected besides dead air. “She won’t do it. She’s too shy,” I said. “Anyone want my asparaguts?”
Lydia spooned the slimy gray mass off my tray. “Maybe we could move her desk over by his,” Lydia suggested. “Even though she’s only in class for a couple of hours in the morning, he’d have to notice her sitting there.”
“Don’t count on it,” I muttered. “His glasses are so smeared, he’s lucky to see light.”
“Okay,” Lydia blabbered on, “then we put something of hers in his desk. Somet
hing he’d have to return.”
“Like what?” I said. “Her fake foot?”
Max snorted.
Lydia gave me a dirty look. Swallowing a glob of green goo, she said, “We could change her looks. Do something drastic. Curl her hair, or dye it even.”
“We could strap a PC on her back,” I said. “He might notice that.”
Lydia blinked at me. She didn’t even smile. Her eyes stared past me, like Vanessa’s used to do when she was totally obsessed. “Maybe we could somehow trick them into eating lunch at the same table. Order an anchovy pizza for him and say it was really Prairie’s—”
Max made a retching sound. It stopped Lydia cold. “Please,” Max said. “I’m trying to eat.” She sucked in a slimy stalk of asparagus and swallowed.
I lost my appetite. For everything but the gingerbread, of course.
Lydia huffed. “Well, what are we going to do? We can’t trust fate.”
“We can’t trust Ashley, you mean,” I mumbled.
Max said something unintelligible through her asparagus.
“What?” Lydia snapped.
Max swallowed the glob. “I said, My brother’s girlfriend works at Glamour Photos. She said I could come for a free sitting anytime. So I’m thinking, we’ll send Prairie in my place. Then we stick her glamour photo in Hugh’s desk and voilà.”
“Voilà,” I repeated. “Instant humiliation.” I couldn’t believe Max was suggesting this.
A slow smile curled Lydia’s lips. “I love it!” she squealed. “Max, I love it!”
“Wait a minute,” I said.
They high-fived. They held up their palms to me. When I hesitated, Lydia said, “What’s the problem, Jenny? You act like you don’t want to help Prairie.”
“That’s not true. I just think we should let her in on the plan. It’s her life. Her love.”
“And if she says no, which she probably will, then what? We give up? Is that what you want? To ruin Prairie’s life?”
I glared at Lydia.
“Do you have a better idea?” she said.
I didn’t. She knew it. She held up her palm. Max did, too. I had a bad feeling about this. A feeling of foreboding, like something was going to go terribly wrong. But what could I do? It was two against one. And I was their leader. The sound of my slap echoed across the cafeteria as Prairie said behind me, “W-what are we c-celebrating?”