Revenge of the Snob Squad (7 page)

The calm was driving me to drink. I finished off both boxes of Hawaiian Punch from my lunch. When Ashley got up to sharpen
her pencil, I jumped up after her. I hadn’t spoken to Ashley all year, but I had to know. Since I couldn’t avoid passing Mrs.
Jonas’s desk on the way, I casually mentioned to her that Fayola was chewing gum.

“Fayola, trash.” Mrs. Jonas pointed.

Fayola snarled something colorful under her breath as she stormed past me. I stuck out my tongue. I know, kindergarten.

While Mrs. Jonas resumed her reading, I glanced at Lydia and Max. They both shrugged. Neither had heard a thing about our
dastardly deed. It was weird. Maybe I was sweating blood sugar for nothing.

At the pencil sharpener, I swallowed back bile and said to Ashley, “So, anything exciting happen over the weekend?”

She looked at me like, You talking to me? Jenny Solano, sewer sludge? Words are flowing from your lizard lips to my esteemed
ears? She finished grinding her glittery pencil and blew off the shavings. “They started putting in the pool at our new house,”
she said.

I wanted to bust her in the chops so bad. I wanted to… Pool? I hadn’t seen a pool at her house. But then, we weren’t in the
backyard. A smile tugged the corner of my lips. I wondered if a fat roll of Scott tissue was floating in the deep end.

Ashley returned to her desk. Weird. I shrugged at the Squad.

Before lunch we stopped by the PC lab to pick up Prairie. When we got there, she was waiting for us and looking as green as
the school’s goulash. “W-we’re in b-big trouble,” she said. “We’re all g-going to die.”

Prairie wouldn’t, or couldn’t, say what she knew until we were alone. As we lined up for hot lunch, she whispered, “J-just
act normal. Eat lunch.”

No one has to tell me that twice. As soon as we were snarfing cheeseburgers, Prairie whispered, “I heard a r-rumor.” She glanced
over one shoulder, then the other. “T-Tony said his cousin Mario’s house got TP’ed over the weekend, and he’s out to g-get
whoever did it.”

“Tony Reese?” Lydia yelped. Prairie pressed a finger to her lips. My stomach plunged. Tony Reese was the brother of the leader
of the Crips.

Could be a coincidence, right?

Lydia said, “Could be a coincidence, right?”

Max looked at me. I gulped.

For a long time we chomped our cheeseburgers in silence. Then Max said, “Come to think of it, Tony’s cousin lives on Quigley
Street. My brother sold him a ’66 T-bird hood ornament. I thought for sure his house was the orange jobby up the street from
the brown and white one.”

Then it struck me, what Ashley had said. “Oh, my God,” I breathed. Everyone turned to me. “Ashley moved. She said they were
digging a pool at her ‘new’ house.”

After a prolonged silence, during which the only sound you could hear was the chewing of our last meal, Lydia said, “I hope
we didn’t leave any incriminating evidence at the scene.”

Max choked. Her hand flew to her head.

“Oh, great.” Lydia dropped her jaw. “We’re dead meat.”

“It was just a b-black cap,” Prairie said.

“Right,” I added quickly. “No one can trace it back to Lydia.” I looked at her. “Can they?”

Lydia swallowed hard. “My mom might have painted my name in it. She’s into puffy paint.”

Slowly, a vision materialized in my brain. Swords. Blood. Death. Max met my eyes. She saw it, too.

The rest of the week was a blur. Not only did I fear for my life, but for the Squad’s safety by association. At least twice
an hour I reviewed my life. It was a short one but a sweet one. I didn’t want to see it end. Not like this. Not lying in a
pool of blood. You know how blood makes me woozy.

The relay races only fueled my fear. I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for the Crips to appear. Gun me down on the
final turn. I raced for my life, literally.

By Wednesday, when we were all still alive, I breathed a little easier. Maybe the Crips had forgotten. Maybe they’d given
up their life of crime to sell, say, a line of designer clothing. Leather and chains. Bullet bracelets. Stuff like that. Just
when I was feeling full of hope, Ashley pulled the plug.

As I lined up at the starting post, the Nikes jumped off the bleachers with Ashley yelling, “Wait, Mr. Dietz. Don’t start
yet.” She was hiding something behind her back.

Fayola stood in front of the gym teacher. In a loud voice, loud enough for everyone to hear, Fayola announced, “We want to
make sure the Snob Squad’s times are up-to-the-minute accurate.” She motioned to Ashley.

On cue Ashley whipped out her cache. It was a wall clock, one of those big round ones from the hall-way. “You’ll need the
hour hand to time Jenny’s leg,” Ashley said.

Everyone howled. Even Mr. Dietz struggled to keep a straight face. I lost it.

I lunged like a grizzly for Ashley’s throat. At the point of impact, Max stepped between us. Blocking my flailing fists, she
forced me back. “You get an automatic suspension for fighting,” Max said.

She should know.

Little by little, my temper cooled. I whirled in place. To the Squad I snapped, “Peacemobile. Now.”

“Now?” Lydia said. “But school—”

I lumbered off the field toward the clown target. My lardo legs picked up speed. Faster and faster, I charged for Erie Avenue
and leaped off the curb. In my blind rage, I never saw the bus that hit me.

I
f you’re thinking the same thing I was, that I was finally dealt the Death card, you’re wrong. I didn’t die. I woke up in
the hospital with my mom and dad hovering over my head.

“Oh, Jenny.” Mom kissed my face.

Dad squeezed my hand. “You’re lucky to be alive,” he said.

“Am I?” I had a headache that registered off the Richter scale.

Mom said, “What kind of question is that, ‘Am I?’”

Honest, I answered to myself.

“Do you remember what happened?” Dad asked.

“I fell?”

“Right into an oncoming bus,” he said.

“Really?” My eyebrows arched. “Did I total it?”

Dad shook his head sadly. “ ’Fraid so.”

“Good. Was it my school bus?” I hope, I hope.

He didn’t get a chance to answer because the door opened and a nurse bustled in to check my vital signs.

After she left Mom said, “What were you doing, running out in the street during gym class?”

“Escaping,” I replied.

“From P. E.?”

Was that a joke? Did Mom actually crack a joke? I almost laughed. Instead I said, “No, from the aliens. Don’t you see them?
They’re everywhere.”

Mom blinked across at Dad. “She’s kidding,” he told her. “Or maybe not. She has suffered a major head trauma.”

Mom muttered, “Thank God I got that psychologist’s appointment when I did.”

That bolted me back to reality. “I have to go to the bathroom,” I said.

Mom and Dad both helped me up. When my feet hit the floor, my head exploded. “Did I have brain surgery?” I asked. There were
no bandages. Apparently they left the speech center intact.

“You have a concussion,” Mom said. “The doctor wants to keep you overnight for observation.”

The way I felt, he could keep me for suffocation. Dragging my corpse across the room, I didn’t notice her until I got to the
bathroom door. Vanessa stood stock-still, staring. Not at me, at the wall. Or what was on the wall. A mirror. Lately, she
had this thing about mirrors. She got lost in them.

“Vanessa? Jenny’s awake,” Mom said as we passed.

No response.

“Vanessa!”

Vanessa flinched and turned her head. “Jen.” She threw her arms around me. “Oh, Jen.”

“Don’t squeeze,” I said. “I have to go.”

She released me. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

“Only when I breathe,” I said.

“So don’t.” She sneered. A flicker of the old Vanessa returned to her eyes. But the flicker faded fast because she caught
sight of herself in the mirror again and disappeared.

When I came out of the bathroom, everyone was getting ready to leave. “Get some rest,” Mom said. “I’ll be back in the morning
to pick you up.”

Dad tucked covers up around me. “Are you hungry? I’ll have the nurse order you a meal.”

Miraculously, I wasn’t hungry. Food was the last thing on my mind. Maybe my appetite center had been surgically removed. “Order
me two meals for the morning,” I said in a yawn. Just in case.

He and Mom kissed me good-bye. They dug Vanessa out of the mirror and left.

No sooner had I figured out the TV remote control than the phone rang. It was Lydia.

“Oh my God, Jenny. How are you?” she said.

“Alive. Barely. I have a concussion.”

“Is that all? I mean, that’s enough. You’re lucky to be alive.”

Where had I heard that before?

“We were so worried,” Lydia went on. “Especially when the ambulance came and took you to the hospital.”

“I rode in an ambulance?” Rats, I didn’t even remember. “Bet that was exciting.”

“No kidding. Everyone was screaming and crying. Even Ashley.”

“She should cry,” I said. “It was all her fault.”

Lydia babbled on for a while about how the bus screeched to a stop, but not before it dragged me under. How it swerved and
crashed into the clown target. How Bozo was smashed to smithereens, and how Ashley ran screaming to the office to call 911.

“Oh, sure. She probably called the PTA so they could sue me for blitzing Bozo,” I muttered.

I must’ve drifted off, because I woke up the next morning thinking it was all a dream. When they brought in my breakfast tray,
I realized it was a nightmare.

Oatmeal. Gag. I hate that stuff. And
two
heaping bowlfuls. Dad was true to his word. Just as I lifted the phone to dial Domino’s for a pizza, the lights went out.

“Surprise!” The Snob Squad leaped around the corner. Well, Lydia leaped. Max and Prairie sort of shuffled in.

“What are you guys doing here? Shouldn’t you be in prison?”

Max smirked. “Probably.”

“We got the day off,” Lydia said.

I looked at her. “You mean you ditched?”

She grinned.

“Your mom’s going to kill you.”

“So what?” Lydia said. “We had to see you. They wouldn’t let us up without an adult, so we snuck in.”

“How do you f-feel?” Prairie asked. She clenched the bed rail. “We thought for s-sure you were dead.”

“No such luck.”

Max clucked. “Anything busted?” she said.

“Just my head. I get out today.”

They all exhaled in relief. Max elbowed Lydia. “What?” Lydia said.

Max growled at her.

“Oh, yeah.” Lydia unzipped her fanny pack. “We brought you a present.” She pulled out a bag of Tootsie Roll Pops and shook
it over the bed.

“You guys are the best,” I said. “Rip that sucker open.”

While everyone chose a flavor and unwrapped a sucker, I made room for them to sit on the bed. Max pulled up a chair instead
and rested her army boots on the rail. Out of the blue Lydia said, “Are you ever going to tell us why you hate Ashley Krupps
so much?”

It froze me mid-slurp. Out in the hall a cart rolled by and a beeper sounded. Max got up and shut the door.

They all waited. How long could they wait? Their silence was making me mental. “Okay”—I took a long lick—“here goes. I had
this friend, Zoe. Zoe Zarlengo?”

“I remember her,” Max said. “Long, thick braid. Like an Indian.” She motioned down her back.

I winced at the memory. “Right. The rest of you wouldn’t know her since you didn’t go to Abrams Elementary. Anyway, Zoe and
I were best friends in fourth grade. Zoe was the best friend I ever had.” I removed the sucker from my mouth and added, “The
only
friend I ever had.” A lump lodged in my throat. Just thinking about Zoe made my heart ache.

“So what about Ashley?” Lydia said.

“Shut up.” Max scootched her chair closer. “She’s getting there.”

“Fifth grade started out good,” I said. “I mean, I hated school. It’s not easy for a fat girl, you know? I wasn’t as fat as
I am now, but I was overweight. I always have been. I was born fat. Like a birth defect.” What a stupid thing to say. My eyes
met Prairie’s, and she nodded understanding. Thank goodness.

Max said, “You’re not fat.”

I said, “Lydia, give Max your glasses.”

Lydia clucked.

Max said, “You should see my uncle Mel, you want fat.” She puffed out her cheeks.

I could’ve kissed her. Probably not a good idea. “Anyway,” I went on, “at least school was bearable with Zoe there. She always
defended me. Stood up for me if somebody said something mean, which happened about six times a day. She ate lunch with me.
If we had to pair up for stuff, she picked me.” The lump grew to a lemon and wedged in my esophagus. I coughed. It wouldn’t
budge.

Prairie handed me a glass of water with a straw. After I sipped, she took it back and held it.

My throat hurt, but I forced myself to continue. “Right before spring break Ashley decides to form this secret club. The Sacred
Circle of Sisterhood.”

“Oh, brother,” Lydia said. “I can guess what happened. She asked Zoe to join and not you.”

“No, she asked both of us, which was a shocker. But there was a condition. This certain thing you had to do to be voted in.”

Lydia gasped. “You had to strip in front of everyone?”

Where did she get this stuff? “No, but close. You had to reveal a secret. Not about you, about a friend. You had to prove
to the other sisters that you trusted them with your life. Whatever you told them would go no further than the sisterhood
because everyone was sworn to secrecy.”

Lydia clucked. “And Ashley told?”

Max said, “She’s getting there. Shut up.”

“Stop telling me to shut up,” Lydia snarled.

Max flinched. “Okay, put a lid on it, Lydia.” She smirked. Lydia whapped her. “Go on, Jenny.”

Without even getting to the chewy chocolate center, I stuck my sucker stick side up in a bowl of oatmeal. It was too hard
to talk and lick. And there was such a sour taste in my mouth anyway, a sweet sucker was a waste. “I thought the club was
a stupid idea, but Zoe wanted to join,” I said. “She had this fatal flaw. She wanted to be popular. So we accepted the invitation.
One night, a Friday night”—it made me queasy just to remember—“we were both asked to come to Ashley’s house to meet with the
sisterhood. To be interviewed. It was really spooky. Ashley led us downstairs to the basement. All the lights were turned
out, and there was black construction paper over the windows. A card table was set up in the middle of the room with a candle
burning on it. Three other people sat around the table. They wore sheets over their heads so we couldn’t see who they were.”