Prank List

by Anna Staniszewski

  “Rachel, are you still there?” Marisol says after a minute.

  I clear my throat, pushing back the tears. “Uh, yeah. I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “If I’d known this would happen, I would have talked you out of putting up those reviews in the first place.”

  I laugh bitterly. “Are you kidding? I’m glad I did it. Doesn’t this prove that the Ladybugs deserve it? The question is, what prank am I going to do next?”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea? Maybe you should—”

  “I’m not giving up. Not when my mom just told me we might be moving to Connecticut if we can’t find a way to turn things around here! I’ll only give up when those stupid Ladybugs are gone from this town for good.”

  There’s a long silence, and I start to wonder if Marisol’s hung up the phone on me.

  “You really might move to Connecticut?” she says.

  “Yeah. To go live with my aunt. I can’t let that happen, Marisol. You don’t know what she’s like.”

  There’s another long silence. “Okay,” she says in a soft voice. “I know I said I was done, but I’m not going to let you do this by yourself. If you need my help, I’m in.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut. “Thank you,” I say. At least I’m not in this alone.

  Chapter 25

  Marisol and I spend hours the next day racking our brains for a plan to strike back at the Ladybugs, something that will ruin their reputation in town and get them to leave me and my mom alone for good.

  We pore over the list of pranks, but none of them seems good enough.

  “I don’t know,” Marisol says finally, flopping on her bed. “If we start slashing their tires so they can’t get to their jobs, that could do the trick, but we might also get arrested.”

  I sigh. “Right. Note to self: Avoid getting arrested.” Still, Marisol might be on the right track. If we can find a way to keep the Ladybugs from getting to work on time… “I know! We do something to their cars so they can’t get to their jobs.”

  Marisol stares at me. “Isn’t that exactly what I said?”

  “You were talking about slashing tires. I’m talking about something that won’t go on our permanent record if we’re caught.”

  “Like what?”

  “Hmmm, do you think we could track down a few dozen ladybugs and let them loose in one of the vans?”

  Marisol smiles. “Probably not, but I see what you mean. We just want to annoy them enough to throw off their day.”

  “Exactly. If a bunch of the Ladybugs can’t get to work one day, I’m sure their customers won’t be too happy about that.” I scratch my head. “Now we have to figure out where they park their vans overnight.”

  “How do you know the vans are all at the same place?”

  I explain about the first time I saw the vans while I was at my pastry class, a whole fleet of them going down the street like they’d all come out of the same spot. “It must be somewhere near the bakery.”

  “But they’ve been cleaning houses in other towns for years. Why would they park their vans there?”

  I shrug. “Who knows? Maybe they needed more space or something. The important thing is that we pretty much know where they are.”

  “And now all we have to do is find them.” Marisol laughs. “I never thought being corrupted by you could be so much fun.”

  As she adds our ideas to the Prank List, looking as excited as she did the day she hid Angela’s T-shirt, I have to tell myself I’m doing what I have to do. Just because I’m bringing my perpetually honest best friend over to the dark side doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. It means I’m desperate. Once this is all over, Marisol will go back to her old self, and she’ll never have to lie or cheat or do anything bad for me again.

  •••

  After we’ve told her mom that we’re going to the consignment shop, Marisol and I ride our bikes into town to search for the Ladybugs’ home base. I’m imagining some kind of nest or hive in between buildings where the red-and-black vans hang out in webs. But chances are, it’s something way more boring like a parking garage.

  We get to Ryan’s Bakery and lock up our bikes.

  “Now what?” says Marisol.

  I think for a second. “Well, the kitchen is in the back of the building, and I saw the vans going past the window heading from…” I try to orient myself, but a sense of direction has never been one of my gifts. “Maybe that way?”

  Marisol shrugs and heads in the direction of my pointing finger. I follow, keeping an eye out for any flashes of red.

  As we go past the bakery, I peer inside, dreading seeing Chef Ryan. I sigh in relief when I spot Cherie behind the counter instead.

  “Is Chef Ryan really so bad?” Marisol asks, like she’s read my mind. She does that way too often. I guess it’s a sign of how well she knows me.

  “He’s…” I try to find the words to explain. “He keeps telling me every technique I’ve ever used is wrong. Wouldn’t you freak out if someone looked at your clothes and told you that they were done the wrong way?”

  Marisol thinks about that for a minute. “I’d be upset, sure. But then again, if it was some big fashion designer telling me that, I’d probably listen to his advice. I mean, he’s the one doing it for a living, right? I’m only self-taught.”

  I tuck my hair behind my ears, trying to decide whether what Marisol said is wise or infuriating. “I guess,” I finally say. “And I guess he does know a lot. I just wish he didn’t make me feel so bad about every little thing I do wrong.”

  She gives me a sympathetic smile. “I know. And that part stinks. But you know you’re good, no matter what he says. Right?”

  “Are you forgetting that I practically poisoned Evan’s friends?”

  She rolls her eyes. “That was an accident. You were distracted. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad chef. Evan knows that.”

  “I haven’t talked to him since then. I think he’s ignoring me.”

  “Are you kidding? Of course he’s not ignoring you! You’re the one who ran out of his house, remember? He probably thinks you’re upset and he’s giving you space or something. You need to be the one to make the first move.”

  “But what if—?”

  “What if nothing,” she says. “You and Evan are perfect for each other. Are you going to let things get weird between you two over some semi-poisoned baked goods?”

  She’s right, as usual. “Okay, I’ll call him tonight. Anything to get you to stop bossing me around.”

  She makes a big show of sticking her tongue out at me. Then her eyes widen and she grabs my elbow. “Look,” she whispers.

  I turn to see a parking lot next to a big building that used to be a toy shop but is now totally deserted. Half the spaces are empty, but the other half are filled with minivans. Red and black ones.

  Bingo.

  Chapter 26

  After I call Evan and apologize profusely for running out of his house after the cookie incident, he agrees to come over the next afternoon while Mom is out with a friend from work. I’ve decided it’s time to tell him about all the stuff that’s been going on with the Ladybugs. I know he probably won’t approve of the pranks I’ve been pulling (even if the Ladybugs totally deserve what they get), but I’m hoping he at least won’t try to stop me from doing them.

  But when I open the door for him, my resolve goes out the window. His green eyes twinkle back at me like he’s genuinely glad to see me. How could I do anything to mess that up?

  “Hey, Booger Crap,” he says, flashing a crooked grin. “I’m glad you invited me over.”

  “Me too. I’m sorry again about the whole cookie fiasco. No one had to go to the hospital, right?”

  He chuckles. “Nope. I just wish you’d gotten to hang out with the guys. I think they’d really like you.”

  I smile. I gues
s that means everything’s forgiven.

  When we go snuggle up on the couch, I’m in heaven. I wish I could erase all the other craziness in my life and stay in this moment forever.

  “So how was class the other day?” Evan asks.

  I stiffen, replaying the things Chef Ryan said to me. I don’t want to repeat them to anyone, not even to Evan. “Okay, I guess. I…I’m not sure I’m meant to be a chef after all.”

  He stares at me. “What are you talking about? It’s like your dream!”

  “I know, but…well, you didn’t see the other people in my class. Some of them are way better than me. Whit’s cannolis were amazing, and mine…” I shake my head, blinking back tears.

  When I glance over at Evan, I’m surprised to see an odd look on his face. Not sympathy but something else…disappointment?

  “You worship that Whit guy, don’t you?” he says in a tight voice.

  “What?”

  “You talk about him all the time and you’re always saying how much you hate him, but I can’t help wondering…”

  I nearly choke. “Are you saying that I like Whit? Like, like like him? No way! That’s crazy!”

  Evan doesn’t look convinced. “Admit it, Rachel. You do like him. That’s why you made me hide when we were at the ice-cream place, so he wouldn’t see you with me. And that’s why you didn’t want me to come by your pastry class. So if you’re planning to dump me for him, go ahead and do it, okay? At least then I’ll know where I stand.”

  “Dump you?” I whisper. “Dump you?” A sudden wave of rage crashes through me. “How could I dump you when we’re not even official? I keep waiting for you to ask me to be your girlfriend, but you never do! I’m not the one who doesn’t want to be with you. You’re the one who doesn’t want to be with me!”

  Evan jumps to his feet, his cheeks suddenly red. “I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend. That’s the whole reason I asked you out for ice cream in the first place. I was just about to do it when you spotted Whit and got all weird on me. After that, I didn’t know if it was worth saying anything to you anymore. I didn’t want to make a total fool of myself.”

  I stare at him. He was going to ask me to be his girlfriend? He had it all planned and I ruined it by freaking out? Can that really be true?

  “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” he asks. I’ve never heard him sound so mad.

  The idea of me liking Whit is so ridiculous that when I open my mouth to deny it again, a loud snort-laugh comes out instead. How could Evan think I would ever choose someone like Whit over him?

  But the minute the laugh echoes through the room, I know I’ve made a huge mistake. Evan’s face goes almost purple, and he turns toward the door. “I should get going.”

  “No, wait! I didn’t mean to—”

  “Sorry, Rachel. I think we both need some time to think about stuff.”

  “What about… What about the Bake-Off? You’ll still be there, right?” I could kick myself in the head. What’s wrong with me? Evan is pretty much saying we need a break from each other, and I’m asking him about the stupid Bake-Off?

  Evan looks at the floor. “I don’t think so.” Then he turns and walks out of my house.

  •••

  When Mom comes home, I’m curled up on the couch with Mr. Hip under my arm, staring at the blank TV screen like I’ve been doing ever since Evan stormed out.

  “Rachel?” she says. “Is everything okay?”

  It’s weird that I haven’t cried. Maybe I’m still in shock that he would break up with me. Did he break up with me? I have no idea. I still can’t believe the argument we had. It’s like a bad dream.

  “Rachel?” Mom asks again.

  “I…I’m…” I’m not fine. I can’t even say the word because it’s so untrue. “Evan left.”

  She sits down next to me. “Did you guys have a fight?” she says, her voice soft and gentle.

  It wasn’t a fight. It was something more, something worse. “I don’t know. It might be over.”

  “Oh, honey,” she says, putting her arm around me. “I’m sorry. I know how hard that is.”

  And she does know, I guess, but her sympathy doesn’t make me feel any better. I just feel empty and drained, like someone opened a valve and most of me leaked out.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” she asks.

  Rewind time? Keep Whit from ever showing up in my life? Make me into a different person, one who doesn’t always do the wrong thing?

  “No,” I say. “I think I just need to mope for a while.”

  “I understand.” She gives me another squeeze and then heads to the kitchen. “How about I make us some dinner?”

  That snaps me out of my daze. Mom hasn’t made dinner in years, not since I started cooking every chance I got.

  “How about some lasagna?” she says. “Grandma’s special recipe?”

  I smile weakly. It’s been forever since I’ve had the lasagna recipe that my grandma passed on to my mom, but I can’t imagine anything more comforting. “That’s perfect. Thanks, Mom.”

  As I sit there curled up on the couch, watching her bustle around the kitchen, the tears finally start trickling down my face and plopping onto Mr. Hip’s fur. I’m afraid they might never stop.

  Chapter 27

  The next day, when I tell Marisol what happened between Evan and me, she coos at all the right places and is furious on my behalf.

  But when I tell her the part about him accusing me of liking Whit, she goes weirdly quiet and starts twisting one of her rings around her finger.

  “What?” I say. “You don’t think I like Whit, do you? That’s crazy!”

  “I know,” she says, “but you have been talking about him a lot. I can see how Evan would get the wrong idea.”

  Great. So I totally deserve Evan being mad at me. “Okay, but why would he pull out of the Bake-Off? Does he hate me so much that he doesn’t even want to be around me anymore?”

  Marisol’s face goes pale. “Wait. He dropped out of the Bake-Off? Just him or the whole band?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Because if we have no band, there won’t be any music! I don’t think I can find someone else in a week, and I don’t even have any sound equipment for us to play music on. Evan was going to bring amps and stuff. The flyers all say ‘live music’ on them! What are we going to do?”

  I hadn’t even thought about how this might mess things up for the Bake-Off. “I’ll talk to him,” I assure her, even though it’s the last thing I want to do. I can’t leave Marisol high and dry like that. “Maybe I can convince him to do it.”

  “Thank you,” she says. “And once he and his band are done playing, then we can smack him for being such an idiot.”

  I smile weakly. “Thanks.”

  “Okay,” she says, clapping her hands. “Enough moping around. We need a revenge plan!”

  At first I think she means revenge on Evan, and I start imagining all sorts of movie-style ways to make him regret ever letting me go—most of them involving glam makeovers—but then she grabs the list of possible Ladybug pranks.

  “So we need to do something to the Ladybug vans,” she says, “but all we have written down so far is ‘Put ladybugs in vans.’ I don’t think we can go to the insect store and buy some.”

  “All right.” I take a deep breath. “What else could we do?”

  We start listing other possibilities: Laying out nails to puncture their tires. Toilet-papering the vans. Putting gunk on their windows.

  At the last one, a lightbulb flickers on in my brain. “Gunk,” I repeat.

  “Gunk?” says Marisol.

  I smile my best villain smile. “I think we might have to make those Ladybugs an extra special batch of caramel.”

  •••

  When Mom gets home from work that ni
ght, she looks even more miserable than she has the past few days.

  “Did we lose another client?” I ask, trying not to count how many (or few) that leaves us.

  She shakes her head. “Robert and I had a bit of a disagreement.”

  “About what?” I can’t imagine Mr. Hammond fighting with anyone. He’s like the jolliest person ever. He probably tutored Santa.

  “Nothing, really. He was hoping we’d go out tonight, but I was too tired.”

  “Isn’t that the third time in a row that you’ve canceled on him?” I ask.

  Mom purses her lips. “You sound like him. But it’s not some conspiracy. I have a lot going on.”

  I don’t point out that Mom’s also been avoiding his calls the past week. “Shouldn’t hanging out with your boyfriend make you feel better?”

  Mom just shakes her head and doesn’t answer. I guess that means she doesn’t want to talk about it. “How are you doing?” she asks me. “Are you hanging in there?”

  I know she’s asking about Evan, but I don’t want to talk about that, either. I guess Mom and I are both in serious funks.

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  She can clearly tell that I’m lying, but she doesn’t pry. Instead, she says, “I think I need to go lie down for a while. Would you mind making dinner?”

  I almost laugh at her question since I always volunteer to make dinner. Then again, I have to admit I haven’t been enjoying cooking and baking nearly as much since I started taking the pastry class. Pretty ironic, huh?

  “I’ll wake you up when it’s ready,” I say.

  Mom gives me a quick peck on the forehead. “Thank you, Rachel. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Then she goes to her room and closes the door.

  Her words keep throbbing in my head as I start making dinner. What would she do without me? Well, for one, no one would be accusing her cleaning employees of stealing things. And she wouldn’t be in the middle of an online review war. I wish I could at least tell her what’s going on, but I can’t, not when it would break her heart.