“Ready, okay?” Sophia struck an aggressive cheer pose, glaring.
I looked around for any other “threat,” and my eyes landed on José. “Oh, yeah.” I leaned in and with a loud whisper said, “See that guy over there?”
José stopped, with a who-me? face.
“They call him El Pollo Loco, because one time he got so mad at his abuelo that he strangled all his backyard chickens with his bare hands. All. Of. Them.”
“Cockle DOODLE DO DO!” José cackled like a psycho, walking in circles.
Then all the kids—José, Cliché, Sophia, Janie, and even Raymond, who had just gotten back—stood behind me.
“We’re closed,” I announced. And I felt strong.
The driver glanced at his pals.
“Yeah, what Shrimps said!” Sophia took a step toward the truck, a pom-pom on each hip.
The truck’s window rolled up.
“Yeah, you heard ’em. Bwak! BWWAAK!” El Pollo Loco squawked, like the crazy chicken he was.
The pickup truck’s back wheels spun, spitting out loose gravel, peeling out of the parking lot. The metal scraped as the truck hit San Pedro, and a few balloons flew out and exploded on the street.
Dad ran over just in time to see the truck speeding away.
My legs melted, and I collapsed into Marquis’s chair.
“Are you all okay?” Dad asked, out of breath, confused. “I heard all the noise, but it took me a second to get out of the bay.”
“Zack saved the day,” Cliché said.
“He went all Mighty Mouse or something,” Raymond said, slapping his enormous hand on my shoulder.
“He told those creeps off,” Sophia agreed.
“Yeah,” Cliché said, looking at me, “you should have seen him, Mr. Delacruz.”
“He really told ’em!” Janie said.
Dad took off his gray Instant Lube shirt, leaving his white T-shirt. “Here, son,” he said, handing it to me. “Put this on. You’re soaked.” At that moment, I wasn’t a hundred percent sure if my shirt was wet from José spraying me or from threatening the thugs.
“Is everybody okay?” Dad asked.
“Yes, because of Zack,” José said.
Surprised, I looked at him. José had just backed me up. More than that, really.
“I’m staying until you earn the money you need,” Dad said. “My guys can handle the shop for a while.”
In the chair, I breathed in the sweet smell of oil from Dad’s shirt.
Everybody sat down and started talking.
After a few minutes, I remembered we had a car wash to finish. I stood. “Okay, listen up, Fighting Alamos, we can do this.” I looked at everybody. “We will do this. All we need is to wash twelve more cars, and we can make this dance happen. We’ll make history at Davy Crockett Middle School.” I was getting into it. “We will be the first sixth grade to attend the fall dance!”
The girls clapped and cheered, the boys patted me on the back, and Janie whistled through her fingers like only Janie could.
Sophia picked up her pom-poms, “Ready, okay?”
“Remember the Alamos!” Janie raised her fist.
“REMEMBER THE ALAMOS!” everybody cheered.
CHAPTER 23
THE TROUBLE NEVER ENDS
In the halls at school on the Monday morning after the car wash, I was surprised how many people talked to me. It was some kind of record.
“I heard you did good,” a girl towering over me said. I didn’t even know her.
“Hey, Mighty Mouse, I hear you saved the day this weekend,” a seventh grader said as he walked past. That was still a step up from Enrique Potter.
“You’re a celebrity.” Marquis snapped photographs of me with an imaginary camera phone. I noticed that for the first time all year he wasn’t wearing his warm-up jacket.
“Cut it out, goofball.” I shoved him off balance.
“Zack.” Marquis stopped smiling. “You’ve changed.”
“Whatever.” I slipped my backpack over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”
I knew Marquis was joking, but maybe I had changed. I had to admit, it wasn’t so bad having people say hello to me in the hall. Strange, but not bad.
The car wash had made all the money we needed on Saturday afternoon. Sixth grade was excited about going to the Night at the Alamo fall dance, and everybody said I’d made it happen. But if I’d learned anything over the last couple of weeks, even when you do the right thing, it doesn’t mean everybody’s going to like it.
There would always be some haters. Already some seventh and eighth graders didn’t think it was fair that they didn’t get to go to the dance when they were in sixth grade.
“Boooo!” A football player made a thumbs-down sign as he passed.
“Keepin’ you humble.” Marquis patted my shoulder. “Keepin’ you humble.”
But in the hallways that Monday, I knew it wasn’t all over yet. I couldn’t forget the fact that not everybody at school was happy about the car wash, even though we’d made the money back. When Dad had called Principal Akins after the car wash to let him know what’d happened, Mr. Akins had said I needed to stop by his office Monday at lunchtime for a conversation. A conversation? With Mr. Akins? At lunch?
I stopped by the library before classes to hand in the rest of the money for the fund-raiser.
Mrs. Darling was returning books to the shelves, sitting on the rolling library stool that looked like a tree stump.
“Hello, Zack.” She looked up over half-glasses, which today were lemon yellow. “How’d the car wash go?”
I handed her the envelope and smiled. “It’s all there.”
“This is wonderful, Zack.”
I kicked at the ground. “There’s one more thing though.”
“Well, don’t leave me in suspense, Zack.”
“Mr. Akins wants to see me.”
“Oh my!” Mrs. Darling shelved a book and took a breath. “He might have a bee in his bonnet that you had a school event off campus without getting prior approval from him.”
“But I don’t even know what that is.” I rubbed my forehead.
“Zack, I feel partly at fault.” She got off the stool. “How about I accompany you to the meeting with Mr. Akins?”
“Really?”
“Of course, it’s the least I could do.” Mrs. Darling smiled.
Then, without thinking, I threw my arms around her and squeezed.
“It’ll all be fine, Zack.” She patted my back. “So, when is our meeting?”
After third period, Mrs. Darling met me outside Mr. Akins’s open door. We traded looks like two scared kids accused of throwing rolls in the cafeteria.
I stood there, my hands in my pockets, rocking up and down on my toes.
“Just tell the truth, Mr. Delacruz.” Mrs. Darling touched my shoulder. “And that Zack Delacruz charm won’t hurt either.” She looked at her watch and straightened her hair.
Mr. Akins sat on his black office-chair throne, signing and moving papers around to different stacks. I didn’t think he was ever going to look up, and that was fine with me. His white bullhorn was on his desk too. I hoped he wasn’t planning on yelling at me with it.
“Knock, knock!” Mrs. Darling sang.
“Come in and have a seat.” Mr. Akins straightened a stack of papers on his desk. “I’ll seek to be with you both momentarily.”
“Thank you, sir.” I bowed my head.
I gave Mrs. Darling my “how’d-you-like-that?” face.
But Mrs. Darling eyed the chair.
I sat.
I could tell Mrs. Darling believed in me. Marquis did too. And Mom and Dad believed in me. But in that moment, I didn’t know why any of them did.
It was the first time in my life I’d been in the principal’s office.
Well, except for a tour we took in kindergarten.
I glanced around at the walls of Mr. Akins’s office. I stopped on a poster framed in black: What’s popular isn’t always right,
but what’s right isn’t always popular. I thought I’d try to work that into our conversation.
After a few minutes, Mr. Akins leaned back on his throne and crossed his shiny black shoe over his left knee. “Now, Mr. Delacruz, I’d like for you to seek to tell me your version of the events that transpired during the unfortunate incident at the car wash this past Saturday.”
Mr. Akins listened as I apologized. When he nodded, the light glinted off his bald head.
“Mr. Delacruz, it is first and foremost my duty to inform you that district policy states that any school-sponsored, off-campus event must seek prior approval from the principal before proceeding.”
“Oh, it wasn’t really a school-sponsored event. It was more of a me-sponsored car wash.” I shrugged. “It was at my dad’s work.”
“But, you’d acknowledge it was a fund-raiser for Davy Crockett Middle School sixth graders to seek to participate in the fall dance?” He lowered both his chins and waited.
“Yes?” I turned to Mrs. Darling. I wondered if he was a lawyer.
“Zack may not have had a full understanding of this regulation, and he may have been under the impression that it was okay.”
“Please explain.”
“I knew they were planning on having a car wash, and I knew about the rule, so if anyone should be in trouble, it’s me.” Mrs. Darling shrugged.
“Mrs. Darling, the two of us shall convene that conversation at a later time.”
Right then, I decided to offer to come with her, like she’d done for me.
He turned back to me. “Have you given any thought to all of the possible problems that could have arisen for studens, due to your failing to follow district policy?”
“Uh …”
He touched his thick fingers as he listed all the bad stuff that could’ve happened: “Bodily injury, huge lawsuits, untimely deaths, heatstroke.”
Nodding, I got distracted by his bald head. I wondered if he waxed it to get it that shiny.
“So, the question of the day is, why were you having this car wash in the first place?”
“One of the students—let’s call her Janie Doe,” I leaned on Mr. Akins desk for support, “checked out eight boxes of Nation’s Best chocolate bars, and let’s say she ate every last one of them.”
Mr. Akins’s eyes widened and darted to Mrs. Darling.
“And tell him what you did to fix the problem, Zack.” Mrs. Darling cleared her throat.
“Well, we had this interven—”
Mrs. Darling interrupted, patting my knee. “Zack organized a car wash to raise the money to help the student out.”
“Janie Doe?” Mr. Akins asked.
“Sure, let’s call her Janie.”
I spilled every last detail (except for the intervention) on the big wooden desk, piled with papers.
“I very much appreciate your father calling me Saturday night to give me a heads-up,” Mr. Akins said, nodding.
I leaned back.
“That was absolutely the right thing to do in such a situation.” Mr. Akins held up his finger. “One truth has served me well throughout my life: when you mess up, you fess up.”
“And let’s not forget, under Zack’s leadership, the students completely made back the money to support a fellow student,” Mrs. Darling said, sitting up straighter, “which I think shows admirable initiative and compassion.”
“What is right isn’t always popular,” I mumbled.
Mr. Akins looked over his shoulder at the framed poster behind him and nodded.
“Yes, indeed, Mr. Delacruz.”
“You know, the weird thing is, it really is just like that sign says.” I leaned forward on his desk. “If you do something right and everybody likes what you did, you’re a hero. If you do something right and people don’t like what you did, you’re a loser.”
Blinking, he looked at me for a minute. He drew in a deep breath and laced his fingers behind his head. “Sounds like you learned something, young man.”
I kept waiting for him to say the sixth graders wouldn’t be able to go to the dance. But he never did.
“Well, Mr. Delacruz, I am not happy at all with this unfortunate situation. However, I am impressed with your sincere apology and your superior problem-solving capabilities. What I see in you is a leader, Mr. Delacruz.” Mr. Atkins raised his finger in the air again. “A leader knows the way, goes the way, and shows the way.”
“Those were some powerful words”—Mrs. Darling looked to me—“weren’t they, dear?”
“Yeah, they rhymed and everything,” I said.
“What do you think the lesson is in all of this hubbub, Mr. Delacruz?” Mr. Akins asked, rocking forward, his big leather chair creaking.
“Always get prior approval?”
“Always.” Mr. Akins smiled and grabbed his bullhorn. “I have to get to the cafeteria.”
Mrs. Darling and I stood, and Mr. Akins shook my hand, gripping it tight like a vice from Dad’s shop.
“You have a good school, Mr. Akins.” Rubbing my hand, I winked at Mrs. Darling. That was all part of the Zack Delacruz charm that Mrs. Darling had talked about.
Still, for the next few days, I couldn’t shake the feeling that an announcement would be made that the sixth grade could no longer attend the dance.
But it never was.
CHAPTER 24
READY OR NOT
Friday—the day of the Night at the Alamo dance—finally arrived.
I’d been living with my mom since Sunday. And because it was the week leading up to the dance, I’d become Mom’s extreme makeover project. I was like a house she needed to fix up and sell fast. I guessed she wanted me to have a date or something.
“I just want to spruce you up a bit, Zack.” Mom licked her finger and straightened my spikes into some kind of part.
“Mom!” I smacked her slobbery hand away and poured my bowl of Cheerios—the real kind.
“If it’s my week to be your mother, then by golly, this week I’ll be your mother.” She put on her lipstick while I ate my Cheerios. “You need to be ready in ten.”
At the breakfast table, I thought about the past week—Makeover Week: Zack Edition—as I crunched on my cereal. If mothers were supposed to be a pain, then by golly mine had been a real mother. Holy guacamole! A haircut. A new navy-blue shirt that buttoned and had a collar (when all I really wanted was a shirt without buttons or a collar). New shoes. A new darker pair of jeans. At least I wouldn’t have to wear khakis for one day of my life!
The day of the dance crept by like an endless multiple-choice test.
Sophia and her clique came to school with big curlers in their hair. Half the girls showed notes to Mrs. Harrington, so they could go home after third period to get ready for the dance.
When Cliché was packing up her stuff, she told Marquis, “In case you have anything to ask me, here’s my number.” She handed him a folded-up sheet. “I won’t be coming back until the dance at four thirty.”
Marquis looked like a statue.
“O … kay, so if you need to ask me anything …” Cliché paused, raising her eyebrows as she backed out of Mrs. Harrington’s door.
My afternoon classes were almost empty. The teachers didn’t want to do anything because so many kids were gone. Teachers hated to give make-up assignments. So, we had free time. At first I was afraid of the free time because I always got bullied or tortured. But today, free time felt … free. Marquis and I talked and laughed. I didn’t feel like I needed to be quiet and hide anymore. Sure, José asked, “Are you going to the dance with Janie?” But it was more like how Marquis or Dad teased me.
I wrote, Why didn’t you invite Cliché to the dance? on a piece of notebook paper we’d been playing tic-tac-toe on. I wasn’t hiding. I was asking something I wanted only Marquis to see.
“Who’d you ask, Zack?” Marquis waited. He didn’t even bother to write back.
“Okay,” I said. “I get why you didn’t ask. But she would’ve said yes: I am one
hundred percent sure.”
“That’s the problem.” Marquis nodded. “She’d say yes, and then what?”
I hadn’t thought about that.
Even when girls complimented my shirt today it made me feel like something was wrong with me. (Okay, so what if the “girls” were Mom, Mrs. Darling, and Mrs. Harrington—a compliment is a compliment.)
“I guess sometimes you actually have to do something before you can find out what will happen when you do.” I stared out the window at the PTA ladies unloading boxes of dance decorations from their cars.
“Like Ma says, ‘Start small.’”
“What’s that mean?” I turned back.
“It means,” Marquis said, “I’ll ask her for one dance.”
“One?”
Marquis snapped back, “Zack, how many times are you asking anyone to—”
“Okay,” I interrupted. “Okay.”
I’d worried so much about the dance happening that I’d forgotten to worry about who I’d ask to dance.
Or how.
Or if.
Who would say yes to me?
And what would I do if she said no?
I took a deep breath.
Like Ma says, start small.
CHAPTER 25
EL POLLO LOCO
By four thirty, the cafeteria had almost been transformed into A Night at the Alamo. But the lights were still on. The rows of lunch tables were folded up and wheeled against the wall. Colored butcher paper covered the wall of windows that faced the courtyard, blocking out the afternoon sun.
Mrs. Darling was so busy taping little orange, brown, and red Alamo cutouts on the walls she didn’t see me. On a ladder, Coach Ostraticki finished taping strings of Christmas lights on the cinder block. He wore some kind of dress tracksuit—white velour with a black tie. His mustache looked ready for the dance.
He looked down from the ladder. “Is that you, Delacruz?”
What now? I thought.
“You look downright spiffy, kid.” He climbed down the ladder.
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