Mutant Mantis Lunch Ladies

by Bruce Hale

  But the oddest part came just after Mrs. Perez escorted Benny and me back into the cafeteria. Before releasing us, she gave us each a pinch on the upper arm, like someone testing the softness of a toilet-paper roll.

  “Good day,” she said, and turned to go.

  “Adios,” I replied.

  “Yeah,” said Benny. “Later.”

  The kitchen door locked behind her.

  “So, that wasn’t strange,” said Benny, rubbing his arm where she’d pinched it.

  “Or creepy,” I said. “Did you get a look at what they were baking?”

  Benny started for the exit. “Nah, but it smelled kinda nutty. What was it?”

  I shook my head as we emerged back into the light of day. “I can’t be sure, but it looked like…grasshoppers.”

  Benny grimaced. “Grasshoppers?”

  “Yeah.”

  “No, that’s not weird at all.”

  Before you go What’s so strange about cafeteria workers tossing kids out of the kitchen?, let me fill you in about Monterrosa Elementary’s lunch ladies. Our cafeteria workers were some of the friendliest, most generous grown-ups at school.

  Sure, they served up breakfast to kids who were on the free meal program. But if some other kid missed breakfast, they’d always make certain he or she didn’t go hungry. Our lunch ladies were also generous with seconds. And they knew almost every kid’s name, and asked about our families.

  Some kids called them the Three Amigas: Gooey, Chewy, and Ratatouille. (It was a sign of affection.)

  But the three women we’d just seen were nothing like that. They were (a) stingy, (b) cold, and (c) highly protective of their food. Plus they talked like a computer with a stick up its hard drive.

  It was enough to make a guy wonder.

  On our way back to the classroom after the bell rang, Benny and I bumped into AJ in the hallway. When he saw us, he rocked in place with pent-up energy.

  “Well?” he said. “Did she turn into an insect?”

  “Sorry, dude,” said Benny, “she looked pretty normal to us.”

  AJ’s shoulders slumped.

  “No insect legs,” I agreed. “But the lunch ladies weren’t acting like themselves, that’s for sure.”

  AJ’s chin rose. “So you won’t give up?”

  “And miss out on your dad’s cookies?” I said. “No way.”

  It did my heart good to see his spirits lift. Although I did think this was a waste of two top monster hunters like Benny and me. After all, nothing terribly strange or supernatural was going on here.

  Just goes to show how wrong you can be.

  OKAY, MAYBE THIS wasn’t as exciting a problem as preventing our teacher from becoming a raving shapeshifter, but I have to confess something: three weeks past our first supernatural adventure, Benny and I had gotten a little bored.

  You’d think that after tussling with a vicious were-hyena we’d be happy to live the life of normal kids. But here’s the thing: facing up to monsters and saving your teacher (who remembered almost nothing of it) changes you.

  Before all that happened, we’d been just your typical comics nerds—as plain as white rice on an ivory plate. But ever since we’d done brave things we didn’t think we could do, Benny and I felt different. Even my parents started treating me like something special. (This drove my mini-diva of a little sister crazy. Another benefit.)

  Truth is, after you’ve been a hero, it’s hard to go back to being a nerd.

  Maybe that explains why lunch period found us back at the cafeteria, investigating AJ’s little problem. (That or the fact that neither of us was brown-bagging it that day.)

  As we joined the line of kids waiting to be served, I noticed a commotion farther up the line. “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Beats me,” said Benny. “But they better not be running out of dessert.”

  Soon we found out. Just before we reached the serving area, we discovered that Mrs. Robinson was directing kids into two separate lines.

  “Girls over here, boys over there,” she kept repeating.

  Whenever a boy would try to slip into the girls’ line, she’d snag him by an arm and direct him back to the proper place. I noticed that none of the girls were trying to get in the boys’ line. Either they were more obedient or they knew something we didn’t.

  “Separate meals? About time,” said Benny. “Maybe this will cut down on the cootie factor.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s why they’re doing it,” I said.

  “It’s some new nutrition thing,” said Tina Green, leaning over from the next line. Everyone knew her as Karate Girl, although she had confessed to Benny and me that she’d never taken a lesson. She’d learned all her moves from Jackie Chan movies.

  “What, boys need more nutrition ’cause we’re so strong?” said Benny, flexing his spaghetti arm.

  Tina eyed him skeptically. “Yeah, Brackman, that’s gotta be it.”

  “Really?” he said.

  “No,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Way I heard it, boys and girls have different nutritional requirements.”

  “Because of our gnarly muscles,” said Benny.

  “Because we grow at different rates,” said Tina.

  Benny’s smile wilted. “Oh.” He turned to the lunch lady. “Mrs. Robinson, it’s not fair that boys have to eat something different from girls.”

  Her stare would’ve frozen a polar bear. “Eat your lunch and do not complain.”

  I blinked. This wasn’t like Mrs. Robinson at all.

  “But—” Benny began.

  “Move it!”

  As we reached the serving area, I checked out the girls’ choices. They had some kind of greenish glop, scrambled eggs, fish sticks, and a sloppy joe thing with the maybe-grasshoppers inside it. On the boys’ side, we had hot dogs, french fries, lime Jell-O, cake, cookies, and brownies.

  Benny opened his mouth to complain again, and I nudged him.

  “Before you grumble, check out our lunch,” I said.

  His eyes widened. “Wow. I take that back, Mrs. Robinson—it’s very fair!” Benny began piling his plate high with goodies.

  “Hey!” Now it was Tina’s turn to complain. “Why are they getting all the good stuff?”

  Mrs. Robinson rested a hand on her shoulder. “We saved the good stuff for you—brain food, to help you reach your potential. Girl power!” She raised her fist in some kind of salute.

  Tina grimaced. “Great, but can’t we be powerful and have cake?”

  The lunch lady frowned. “Cake makes you weak and fat.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I said.

  “Girls must stay strong, to rule.” Mrs. Robinson’s face lit with a fierce light. “Because we are the master ra—” She caught me staring and abruptly cut off her speech.

  “But if cake makes you weak,” said Tina, musing, “then why serve it to boys?”

  The lunch lady flipped her hand in a dismissive gesture. “Who understands nutrition best, a schoolgirl or a trained professional? Eat your lunch.”

  She stepped away to police the lines, and Tina and I scooped our respective lunches onto our trays. She cast a dubious look at her green glop.

  “If you’re nice, maybe I’ll trade you a brownie,” Benny told Tina. “Oh, wait—you’ve got nothing to trade.” And he strutted off to our usual table, snickering.

  “Don’t mind him,” I said. “He’s sugar-mad.”

  Tina snorted. “Brackman? He’s always been one french fry short of a Happy Meal.” And she marched off to sit with Gabi and Cheyenne.

  The younger grades were just finishing up their lunches and dropping off their trays as we came in. And wouldn’t you know it, my little sister, Veronica, was among them.

  “Hey, big brother!” Her eyes sparkled as she trotted over with a boy who’d recently joined her entourage.

  I should explain. My six-year-old, starstruck sister is a brand-new actor on one of those Disney Channel series. She’s got o
ur mom’s blond hair and a pair of huge dark eyes—even I have to admit she’s pretty cute. But this week, when she was home for a break in filming, her normal brattiness was becoming pure obnoxiousness with her Hollywood-speak and her little fan club.

  “Hey, Ron-Ron,” I said, using her least favorite nickname.

  She pouted for a split second, then her eyes went wide. “OMG, this cafeteria! Can you believe it? No dessert for girls! I can’t wait to get back to LA. The Channel gives us fabulous lunches with amazing desserts.”

  “OMG,” I said. “That’s so awesome, I forgot to breathe.”

  As Veronica scowled, her little friend said “Hi” to me shyly.

  “Hey, uh…Jacob?”

  “Justin,” he corrected. “What’s it like to be related to someone so famous?”

  “It’s like riding a unicorn over a rainbow into a giant vat of candy,” I said.

  “Wow,” he gushed. “It must be almost too much to take.”

  “You have no idea,” I said.

  Veronica tugged on his sleeve. “Come on, Justin. My fans are waiting! See you later, C-Man!”

  “Not if I see you first,” I teased.

  By the time I joined Benny, he’d almost finished scarfing down his hot dog. “Mmf, AJ’s cracked,” he said through a mouthful. “I like the way the—mmf—lunch ladies are acting.”

  I munched my own lunch and stared off at Mrs. Robinson. She hadn’t been her usual self—none of the lunch ladies had. “I don’t know….”

  Benny stuffed some fries into his mouth. “Look, we didn’t see any giant bugs, and the chow here is improving. I say we spend one more day on this, tell AJ we did our best, and collect our pay.”

  I frowned. “Is that what a hero would do?”

  “Maybe not,” said Benny, “but face it, Carlos. Not every situation is going to be chock-full of paranormal goodness.”

  “I guess,” I said, half watching AJ at his lunch-monitor post. Just past him, Veronica was holding court with a bunch of girls while Justin carried their trays.

  Benny took a bite of cake. “I wish something supernatural was happening, just to jazz up our lives. But sometimes things are just what they seem to be.”

  “Yeah, well, things seem weird to me,” I said. “What about those grasshopper dealies I saw, and all that girl-power talk?”

  “You think too much.” Benny waved a fistful of fries at me. “Come on, Carlos, there’s nothing paranormal going on. They’re just making some changes.”

  “But—”

  “Here’s to nutrition!” Saluting me, Benny shoved all the fries into his mouth at once. Disgusting, but impressive.

  “Carlos, Carlos!” Veronica appeared at my elbow. She shifted from foot to foot, biting her lip.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Your makeup artist went on strike?”

  “It’s Justin,” she said, her eyes as round as dark moons. “He’s…disappeared.”

  “JUSTIN’S GONE?” I asked her. “Have you checked the playground? He probably got tired of waiting for you to finish autographing your fans’ napkins.”

  “Nuh-unh.” Veronica shook her head. “He didn’t have time. I turned around, and he wasn’t there.”

  “What do you want me to do about it?” I asked, taking a bite of brownie. Compared to the other things on my mind, this seemed like small change.

  “Help me find him,” she said. “I’m worried. Please?”

  I blew out a sigh. “Be right back,” I told Benny as I got up from the table. He grunted and kept stuffing his face.

  Threading through the lunchtime traffic, I headed to where I’d noticed my sister standing earlier. “Where did you see him last?” I asked.

  She pointed to a spot just ten feet away from the kitchen door.

  “Okay,” I said. “You go check the playground; I’ll look around in here.”

  Veronica nodded. “Find him, okay? He’s my friend.”

  I patted her shoulder. My sister may be a drama queen, but she is loyal to her subjects. Off she scampered to search outside.

  Glancing around, I checked the busy cafeteria for the little guy. No sign of him. Most likely Justin had just ducked into the kitchen—maybe he was a lunch monitor like AJ. My sister was probably worried for nothing.

  I poked my head through the kitchen doorway and rapped my knuckles on the half-open door. “Hello?”

  One second, nobody was there, and the next, Mrs. McCoy loomed before me. I started.

  “Do you require more food?” she said, in a voice as flat as a steamrolled flounder. “Help yourself—from the boys’ side.”

  “Uh, no,” I said, trying to look past her. “Actually…did a second grader named Justin come this way?”

  “Of course not.” Mrs. McCoy smoothly shifted to block my view. “The kitchen is off-limits to students.”

  “Even lunch monitors?” I asked.

  “We have no second-grade lunch monitors.”

  I tried peering past her the other way, and she shifted again without seeming to move. All I caught was a glimpse of Mrs. Perez’s back.

  “I could’ve sworn…” I said.

  “Swearing is against school rules,” she said. “Now I must return to work.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Bye-bye.”

  The door shut so quickly I had to hop backward to avoid getting my nose smacked. If I’d had spider-sense like Peter Parker, it would have been tingling.

  Benny glanced up when I returned to our table. “What’s going on?”

  “Veronica’s friend just vanished,” I said. “I think something’s fishy.”

  “Yeah, the girls’ lunch,” Benny said, popping the last of his french fries into his mouth.

  I put a fist on my hip. “Weren’t you the one moaning about nothing supernatural going on? Mrs. McCoy said the kid isn’t in the kitchen, but she was acting strange.”

  “Okay, okay.” He raised his palms. “We’ll check it out.” Benny surveyed my half-eaten food. “You going to finish that brownie?”

  I shook my head, and he practically inhaled the treat.

  As we headed out the exit, AJ caught my eye from his post across the room. He spread his hands and raised his eyebrows in a question. I gave him a reassuring nod. In truth, I felt far from reassured. I didn’t know if I was imagining it or if odd things were really going on.

  Did I want bad stuff to happen just so Benny and I could play hero? And if so, did that make me a bad guy?

  Outside, the overcast skies pressed down like an iron on a wrinkled shirt. Kids were doing their usual carefree kid stuff, but I had heavier things on my mind.

  In a flurry of arms and legs, Veronica came running up. “Did you find him?”

  “Nope,” I said. “You?”

  Her shoulders sagged. “No.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll keep looking. You too.”

  She nodded and dashed off again.

  Benny and I walked around the cafeteria to the kitchen side, keeping an eye out for Justin. Not a trace. The kitchen windows were too high to see through, even taking a running jump.

  “Help me drag that trash can over,” said Benny. After dumping the contents of the can into the recycling container (I could picture our teachers’ disapproving frowns), we set it upside down beneath the window. I glanced about nervously, but no one was watching.

  With a boost from me, Benny climbed on top of the can. When he peeked through the pane, he flinched back with a startled “Eeugh!”

  “What is it?” I asked. “Are they filleting the kid?”

  “Worse,” said Benny. “These windows are filthy!”

  “Be serious.”

  “I am. You could catch a disease just by touching them.”

  I sighed. “Do you see the kid? Or the lunch ladies?”

  “Dude, I can’t see anything,” he said, climbing down. “They could be holding a hoedown with dancing heifers in there and I wouldn’t have a clue.”

  Casting about for another way in, I noticed a side door
farther down the building. “Let’s try over there.”

  We replaced the trash can and headed for the door. When we were about five feet away, it swung open, and a strange woman stepped out. (I don’t mean that she had three eyes or purple hair or anything; she was just a stranger.)

  “Oh,” said the woman, a little surprised. She looked like any other mom you’d see around school—pretty, ponytailed, medium-old, and dressed in a red polo shirt and khaki pants.

  “Excuse us,” I said, trying to step around her to the door.

  She closed it behind her. “You can’t go in there.”

  “Why not?” asked Benny, with his most innocent smile. “You did.”

  Mrs. Ponytail’s lips clamped into a thin line. Amazingly, she was invulnerable to my friend’s charm. “I,” she said, “happen to be the chair of the PTA lunch committee. And who, exactly, are you?”

  “We’re, uh, the official cafeteria taste testers,” said Benny. “We’re all about the spice.”

  She wasn’t amused.

  I tried to look harmless. (It was pretty much my regular expression.) “We just wanted to talk to Mrs. Perez.”

  “Oh? What about?” The mom crossed her arms.

  “Um…” I glanced at Benny.

  “That’s between us and Mrs. Perez,” he said. “Private business. About…you know, testing tastes.”

  Pulling a key ring from her pocket, Mrs. Ponytail turned and locked the door.

  I snuck a glance at Benny. Taste testing? I mouthed. He shrugged.

  The lady rounded on us. “I’ll thank you not to bother the cafeteria staff.”

  “But what about our private business?” asked Benny. “For all you know, this could be a flavor emergency!”

  “If you don’t move along,” she said, glowering, “you’ll learn what a real emergency is.” Her fist clenched at her side, and her gaze was hot enough to fry bacon.

  “Is that a no?” said Benny.

  “Come on, Benny,” I said, pulling him away. “I think we were just threatened.”

  He sniffed. “Man, the PTA has really gone downhill.”

  We shuffled away from the building, followed by Mrs. Ponytail’s suspicious stare. Who knew PTA moms could be so tough? Finally she got tired of watching us and went off to handle her own business.