by Phil Bildner
“Not funny.” I gripped the back of my neck. “They’re going to see you.”
“I’m doing a project, a twelve-days-of-Christmas project. That’s my alibi.”
Before I could say another word, she rolled into the back and hockey-stopped by the sinks. Then she popped a wheelie and did a slow three-sixty.
I looked over at the fridge. Tarantula had her back to Avery. Down the line, Ratio was working the register and …
Suddenly, Tiki raced past me and headed for Avery.
“Tiki, what are you doing? Stop!”
She didn’t.
“Tiki, get out of there!”
Too late.
“What are you doing, young lady?” Donatella snapped.
“I thought Avery got caught,” Tiki answered.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening.
“Got caught doing what?” Bunion said, turning from the serving line. “What are you two doing back here?”
Tiki glanced my way. Donatella saw.
“What is going on here?” Bunion waved her serving spoon from Avery to Tiki.
“Um, we were … we were playing a game,” Tiki stammered. She snort-laughed. “Yeah, we were playing a spy game—”
“Sweetheart, you’re making a fool of yourself,” Bunion said, cutting her off. “You think I was born yesterday?”
“Shut up, Tiki,” Avery growled.
“Honest,” Tiki kept talking. “We were playing—”
“Sweetheart, stop,” Bunion interrupted again. She spun to me. “You’re the wise guy who walks all over our clean tables every morning. You don’t think we know who you are?”
I didn’t. I didn’t think they knew I even existed.
“Yikezy-wikezy,” Tiki whimpered. She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “We’re sorry, we’re sorry, we’re sorry.” Her whimpers became cries. “There’s a camera on the back of her chair. We’ve been…”
“A camera?” Tarantula stormed over. “Stop talking! All of you. Principal Darling’s office. Let’s go. Right now!”
Caught
The last time I was in Principal Darling’s office was back in the spring when Hunter, Zachary, and I made the TouchCast vid. Principal Darling sat with us on the floor in front of her desk and asked us questions about the unit on climate change we’d been working on in Ms. Wright’s class. When we finished, she let us sit in her chair and spin around as fast as we could.
No one was taking her chair for spins today.
I looked over at Diego. His head was down, so the blue-and-white eyes of his SpongeBob hat were looking back at me. Tiki sat beside him. She was no longer crying, but her chin still quivered. She wiped her tearstained cheeks with her shoulder sleeves. Avery was parked next to her. She had her elbow resting on her armrest and her head against her knuckles. She stared out the window.
I checked Principal Darling. She sat at her desk hunched over her laptop, emailing our parents. We needed to be picked up. We were being sent home.
“I thought you were getting in trouble,” Tiki whispered to Avery. “I couldn’t stand the sight—”
“Whatever, dude.” Avery’s eyes stayed on the window.
“This is all my fault. When I saw…”
“It’s okay,” Avery muttered.
But it wasn’t okay. That’s what I wanted to say to Tiki. None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t panicked.
“Disappointing,” Principal Darling said. She stood up, rolled her chair around her desk, and sat down next to Diego. “You involved Red?”
The words were aimed at me.
Red wasn’t with us. After we got caught, Red refused to leave the booth. He sat swaying back and forth with his hands behind his neck and his arms squeezing his head. He kept saying, “Stop, stop, stop.” Ms. Yvonne had to come get him and take him to her office.
“Red was only lookout,” I said.
“Lookout?” Principal Darling said. “What does that mean?”
“All he did was sit at the booth,” I said. “His job was to keep an eye out for teachers, but he really … Tiki was our real lookout.”
“Did Red think he was the lookout?”
“Yes.”
“Did he think he was involved?”
“Yes.”
“Then he was involved.” She shook her head. “So disappointing.”
If you ever get caught doing something stupid, I hope you have the good sense to admit it.
Mom’s words were on blast in my brain. I twisted a lock near my forehead at its root. I had to come clean. I had to admit …
“This was my idea,” Tiki blurted. “I was the one who came up with the plan.”
“We all agreed to it,” Diego said. “It was everyone’s idea.”
“No,” Tiki said. “I came up with it first. I was the one who wanted—”
Avery cut her off. “It was everyone’s idea.”
“Enough,” Principal Darling said, holding up a hand. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Tomorrow morning, we’re all going to meet here. All of you, all of your parents. Then we’ll get to the bottom of—”
Principal Darling didn’t finish the sentence. She stared at her phone and shook her head.
“This is ridiculous,” she said after a moment. “They have me out of the building every day this week. How do they expect me to be a principal if I’m never here?”
We weren’t supposed to answer the question.
“This is going to have to wait until Friday morning.” She looked at each of us. “All of you and all of your parents will be here Friday morning. Until then, you’re not permitted to set foot in that cafeteria. If you get grab-and-go, someone will bring you your breakfast. During lunch, you’ll be elsewhere. On Friday morning, there are going to be significant consequences.”
The Hot Seat, Again
Mom didn’t say a word the whole ride home. She didn’t look my way either. Not even a peek out of the corner of her eye.
When we turned onto Key Place, I thought she might stop the car in the middle of the street again, but she didn’t.
Mom was in total principal mode. Just like she’d been in total principal mode since she’d picked me up. Her lips were pursed, and she was tapping the steering wheel with her fingertips. She was nodding, too.
I see Mom in principal mode all the time, but I’ve only seen her in principal mode because of me twice. Once was in second grade when I threw a basketball across the gym after we lost a close game. She made me call the other team’s coach and apologize. Then she didn’t let me play in the next three games. The other time was last spring when I posted comments she said I shouldn’t have. She took away the Wi-Fi password for a month. I was only allowed to use the Internet when she was in the room.
This was the third time.
As soon as we pulled into the driveway, I unlocked my door.
Mom relocked it.
I was in the hot seat. Again.
“Every last detail,” she said, pointing her keys at the house. “When we get inside, you sit down at the kitchen counter, and you start writing. I want every last detail.”
“I told Principal Darling the truth,” I said.
“You better have.”
“I mean … I did what you said. Like when kids at your school get busted in the act.”
“You better have,” she repeated. “I can’t believe you involved Red.”
“Do you know what he said?”
“I’m not interested right now.”
“Please, it’s—”
“Rip, I said—”
“No.” The word came out louder than I meant it to. “Please. It’s something he said this morning. It’s really good.”
“Rip, I know you’re working me right now, and I don’t appreciate it.”
“Before school,” I said anyway, “when we were playing tinfoil basketball in the cafeteria, Red—”
“Tinfoil basketball? Why do I have a feeling I’m not going
to like what that is?”
“Red used the expression ‘pushing the envelope,’” I said. “He said we were pushing the envelope too far.”
“Red said that?”
I nodded. “Mr. Acevedo taught us what it meant a few weeks ago. Red learned it. He’s catching on to things so much faster.”
“Not fast enough to know not to go along with this.”
I lifted my legs so that my shins pressed against the glove box. “Mom, he didn’t do anything.”
“Yes, he did.” She backhanded the side of my knee. “Put your legs down.”
I picked my water bottle out of the cup holder and squirted what was left into my mouth.
“Operation Food Fight?” she said. “You come up with that?”
“We all did.” I wiped my chin. “Tiki came up with the name.”
“Honey, I told you point-blank it wasn’t going to be pleasant for the parent of the next kid who got caught doing something like this. Point-blank.”
“I know.”
“Now I’m that parent.” She pinched her thumb and index finger together. “I thought you would’ve had a teeny-tiny bit more sense than this.”
I let out a puff. “I know.”
“This is such an inconvenience, Rip. I have my School Leadership Team meeting on Friday mornings, and the SLT didn’t meet last week because of the holiday. Now we’re not going to meet again. Because of you.” She tapped the console with her fist. “I expected so much better from you, Rip. So much better.”
Something’s Up
“Something’s up,” Red said when we got to Room 208 the next morning.
When Red says something’s up, something usually is. Though this time, even I could see something was up.
Mr. Acevedo was wearing dress pants and a button-down shirt. A blue sport jacket hung across the armrest of his chair. It was the first time all year he wasn’t wearing jeans.
As the other kids filed in, everyone had a reaction.
“Looking dope, Mr. Acevedo,” Attie said.
When Melissa arrived, she checked the number on the door to make sure she had the right room, just like she did the first time she’d laid eyes on Mr. Acevedo.
“Who died?” Declan said as he walked in. “What time’s the funeral?”
This was bad. Seriously, seriously bad.
“So no one freaks out,” Mr. Acevedo said, after most of the kids were in the room, “let’s start off with CC today.”
A few moments later, we were seated in the meeting area.
“What’s the story?” Miles asked.
“Spill it, Teach,” Declan said. “What’s up?”
Mr. Acevedo smiled. “What makes you think something’s up?”
Declan, who was lying in the bathtub, popped to his feet and stood in the tub. “Let me count the ways,” he said. “One, you’re not smiling. Well, you are right now, but you weren’t until a second ago. Two, you’re sitting in your chair. You never sit in your chair at CC. You always sit on the carpet. Three, you have your thermos. You never bring your thermos to CC. Four—”
“You can stop now.” Mr. Acevedo held up his hand. “You’re right, something’s up.”
I looked around. Avery was parked by the door. She was twisting a paper clip in her lap. Her head was down. Diego sat on the floor beside her. His head was down, too, and all I could see was his blue-and-yellow one-eyed Minion hat. Tiki was a couple beanbags to my left. Her arms were crossed, and her fists were clenched. She was staring at Mr. Acevedo. Red sat in a chair on the far side of the couch. He was spinning a pen cap on the cover of the composition notebook in his lap. Ms. Yvonne was beside him with her hand on his back.
“I have to attend a couple meetings today,” Mr. Acevedo said, pulling back his hair. “I’m not a big fan of meetings during our class time, but these are meetings I need to attend.”
My brain was bursting. The meetings were about us. The meetings had to be about us. We got him in trouble. Big trouble. We pushed the envelope too far.
“RJE is experiencing growing pains,” he said. “That’s no secret. So I’ve been asked to meet with some people today. Without going into too many details, we’re trying to get to the root of a few of these growing pains and maybe find a few solutions.” He bongo-drummed his legs. “But don’t you worry, I’ll be back in my jeans tomorrow.”
One on One
Twenty-three hours and forty-two minutes later …
Mr. Acevedo was in Room 208 wearing the jeans he’d worn to school every day except for yesterday.
“Who’s my first victim?” he asked.
I was his first victim. He’d told me that when Red and I had walked in this morning. I was having the first Where I Read conference.
We met on the rug. I sat on a beanbag. He sat on the floor.
“Let’s get right down to this,” he said, strumming the carpet. “Let’s see what you got.”
I pulled the stapled papers from my folder. “I didn’t always keep them as I went along,” I said, handing them over.
“You weren’t the only one.”
“I don’t like keeping reading logs, Mr. Acevedo.”
“I’m not a big fan of them either,” he said without looking up, “but these weren’t reading logs in the traditional sense.”
“I hate when … I mean … I’m sorry.”
“It’s all good, Rip.”
You’re not allowed to say hate at RJE.
“I don’t like when I have to write about what I’m reading,” I said.
“Neither do I.” He glanced up. “Where’s ‘the Hood’?”
I smiled. “The hood of Mom’s car in the Home Depot parking lot.”
“Why’d you decide to read there?”
“I didn’t want to look at Christmas decorations. We were parked right near the entrance, so Mom said I could stay by the car. She knew I’d be fine.”
“Reading while you wait—a great reading strategy.” He tapped the page again. “Can I See Your I.D.? Cool book. Which story did you like the best?”
“The first one,” I said, “the one about the kid who took the New York City subway train for a joyride.”
After I finished A Wrinkle in Time, I picked up Can I See Your I.D.? Gavin had posted a review on YO! READ THIS! so I decided to give it a shot. I was glad I did.
“I like that you’re reading different genres,” Mr. Acevedo said. “Keep it up.”
“Thanks.” I brushed the locks from my forehead and let out a puff. “Did we get you in trouble?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“You were dressed up yesterday. You had to go to those meetings.”
“You thought that was because of you?”
“Well, yeah.” I nodded. “We got you in trouble for Operation Food Fight, right?”
“Rip, those meetings had nothing to do with that.” He tightened an earring. “I got me in trouble. I pulled a little switcheroo a few weeks ago.”
“Switcheroo?”
“Yeah,” he said with a half smile, “but it was absolutely worth it. I’ve already gotten pretty good at taking care of myself around here.” He tapped my foot. “Tell me about Rip Hamilton.”
“Rip Hamilton?” I made a face.
“That’s where your nickname comes from, right?”
“Yeah, Rip Hamilton.”
“Tell me about him. I know he played college ball at UConn and won an NBA title with the Pistons. Tell me some things I don’t know.”
I smiled a Red-like basketball smile. “In high school, he played on a traveling all-star team with Kobe Bryant,” I said. “They were roommates sometimes.”
“Nice.”
“When UConn beat Duke to win the NCAA Tournament, he was the Most Outstanding Player of the Final Four. Then he was drafted by the Washington Wizards.”
“Do you know who he played with on the Wizards?”
“Michael Jordan!”
“That’s right.” He looked back at my sheets. “The Walking Dead,
huh?”
“Is it okay that I’m reading another graphic novel?”
Mr. Acevedo chuckled. “A little different from A Wrinkle in Time, right?”
“A little.” I shook out my hair. “Xander’s brother gave me the whole series.”
“Your mom’s okay with you reading them?”
“As long as I don’t get nightmares or want to sleep in her bed.”
Mr. Acevedo laughed. “Sounds reasonable.” He tapped my foot again. “So we’re good, Rip?”
“We’re good.”
“That makes me happy. Big game at Walker tomorrow.”
“I’m bringing it.”
“That makes me even happier.”
Bench Mob!
From the opening tip, our starters looked out of sync against the Walker Wolves. On our first possession, Keith threw a pass out of bounds. A couple plays later, Jason missed a wide-open layup. The next time we had the ball, Mehdi traveled. Then he traveled again.
Luckily, the Wolves didn’t take advantage of our sloppy start. They were ready for our press—word had gotten around—but they couldn’t put the ball in the basket either. Four minutes in, the game was still scoreless.
I looked down the bench. Coach Acevedo needed to bring in the second unit. It was only a matter of time before the Wolves went on a run. We didn’t want to fall behind on the road. He needed to shake things up, but I was done trying to figure out Coach Acevedo’s—
“Let’s go, Bench Mob!” he said.
“Yes!” I leaped off the bench and hammer-fisted the air.
“We need a different look out there,” Coach Acevedo said. “Let’s shake things up.”
Shake things up. It was like he read my mind.
As I took the court, Tiki headed my way with her fist held out. I gave her a pound, a real pound. When our knuckles met, so did our eyes.
“Zwibble,” she said, smiling. She then blew a bubble and scooted to the bench.
I waved Wil, Maya, Chris, and Jeffrey together. We football-huddled near the foul line.
“The Bench Mob takes control,” I said. “Just like we did against Fairlawn. We’re all involved on offense, we’re all involved on defense. Let’s do this.”
