Mostly, it was things like “sure,” “uh-huh,” “I think…the red one.”
Bree was rattling on about her latest fashion magazine. “The red one? Really? With that neckline?”
There was only one logical conclusion. Jack had lost his marbles.
“Cassidy, are you out there?” Dad called from the back porch. “If so, would you mind investigating something in the front yard with me?”
It was just over a week since I couldn’t keep calm in an emergency, resulting in Officer Weston saving Miss Melton-Mowry’s life and getting a special pin for his uniform. At the ceremony, he made a nice speech about how my inability to follow directions helped save Miss Melton-Mowry’s life.
“We’d have far fewer choking deaths in this country if diners were willing to cause the kind of ruckus Cassidy Corcoran can.”
I think that was a compliment.
In Calamity Jane fashion, I might as well skip the boring bits about how I got “shouting at the top of her lungs” and “near-lethal first impression” removed from my permanent etiquette record. Our regular class ended, too, and we had a parents’ reception to celebrate. With all the extra hours I’d put in, I outgestured Donna Parker and kept a group of health-conscious moms on the edge of their seats, talking about the pros and cons of the Corcoran family’s new Yonanas machine. I even knew it was time to stop when Miss Melton-Mowry said, “Thank you for sharing the intricacies of banana transformation, Miss Corcoran.”
It was Saturday night and Dad had promised a marshmallow roast in honor of my graduation from etiquette prison school, but we had to wait for Jack to be ready.
Since that didn’t appear to be any time soon, I followed Dad to the front yard. One of the shop lights he uses in the garage was lying in the middle of the driveway, casting a strong beam on…a pair of arms reaching up from the ground.
“Either the Michigan Film Office is scouting locations for a remake of Night of the Living Dead or you’ve just been pranked.”
I kneeled on the grass and examined the arms. There was no doubt about it—I’d know those slender wrists anywhere. Miss Information. Either she was buried under our lawn or someone had dismembered her.
Could it be? Delton Bean!
I pulled on one arm. It came out easily. Delton had wrapped a piece of florist’s wire around the screw and inserted it into the lawn without damaging more than a blade or two of grass. I had to give him an 8.5 for technique. Still! I’d spent a bajillion hours in etiquette class for beheading her. How he thought he could dismember her and get away with it was beyond me.
“I know you’re out there, Delton,” I shouted into the darkness.
“I would imagine it’s past Delton’s bedtime,” my dad said. “Jack?”
“Jack’s busy, Dad. Plus, he didn’t have access. No, this has Delton’s fingerprints all over it. He’s here somewhere, probably with his mom and they don’t want me to know.”
Dad unplugged the extension cord and everything went dark. “I’ve never thought of bonding with you over pranks. Can I have my shop light back now?”
I groped around for the other arm. “Sure.” I set off down the driveway. “But I might need it later for interrogation purposes.”
“And where do you think you’re going, Miss Corcoran?”
“It’s Saturday night, Dad. I’m going to search for the rest of Miss Information.”
“Well, make sure you’re back in thirty minutes. Your mother and I have a surprise for you.”
I stopped. “A good surprise?”
“Yes, in fact. A good surprise.”
When I got to Delton’s house, I pushed the arms behind a row of flowerpots on the porch, just in case he was acting alone and Mrs. Bean did not know about this. Let the record show that Cassidy Corcoran is not a snitch. With the items in question stowed, I rang the doorbell.
“Oh, Cassidy. How nice to see you.” Mrs. Bean looked over her shoulder, a little doubtful. “I think Delton’s in his pj’s, but I—”
“He can stay in his pajamas, Mrs. Bean, as long as you’ll let him on the front porch. I need to ask him something.”
“You’re sure you don’t want to come in?”
“No thank you.”
Did that just come out of my mouth? Who says “no thank you” when just “no” would do?
It came as no surprise to me that Delton wore airplane pajamas.
“Cassidy. There’s something I have to tell you,” he said before I could get a word in edgewise.
“You’re darn right there’s something. I want you to explain—” I broke off, grabbing the arms from where I’d stowed them. “This! Where is the rest of Miss Information? I just got sprung from etiquette class, Delton, and if you—”
“Oh, that. That’s easy. Miss Information belongs to me now. Miss Melton-Mowry gave her to me—well, to us—me and my mom, that is.”
“And why would she do that?”
“Because she, well…she’s retiring from teaching etiquette classes to focus on her videos.”
I waved away a hungry mosquito with one of Miss Information’s hands. “Not following, Delton.”
“I told you my mom was in information systems. Well, she applied some SEO techniques to drive more Web traffic to Miss Melton-Mowry’s website.”
“Speak English, Delton.”
“SEO stands for ‘search engine optimization.’ It’s all about finding out how people search for what you want to sell and matching those key phrases with your Web content. After she did that, Mom set up Miss Melton-Mowry’s video channel and her website with a commission-driven advertising company that placed ads to appeal to her audience. The real money comes with finding items related to etiquette for sale online and linking to them on your site. The clickables there are up to eighty cents per. Cloth napkins were a huge hit.”
“Okay, whatever. I’m getting eaten alive here. Cut to the chase.”
“She made four hundred dollars in the first week. Mom thinks if she focuses on generating quality original content, she can double that. It’s a lot easier than trying to teach kids in the classroom. Plus, she wouldn’t have to travel so much.”
“But wouldn’t she…want Miss Information for the videos?”
“No. She’s too hard to bend…I’m afraid she doesn’t translate well to the screen.”
“Where’s the rest of her, then, Delton? Why’d you take her apart?”
“I…be right back.” Delton went into the house and returned with a set of car keys. We walked over to the car parked in the driveway. I peered in the windows.
“Back here,” he said, and popped the trunk. There, in the trunk of Mrs. Bean’s car, lay the pieces of Miss Information.
“We had to dismantle her to fit,” Delton said. “Neither Mom nor I was certain that Dad would endorse this plan.”
“What plan?” I looked at poor Miss Information, whose head and legs were piled on top of her torso.
“Miss Melton-Mowry didn’t know how to thank Mom for all the work she’s done; when she told her she was going to sell a bunch of her stuff to pay us, I suggested we take Miss Information in trade, Cassidy. You have to admit, these body parts could make some pretty good pranks.”
Delton had a point. “The one on my lawn was sweet.”
“And you probably want to up your game…seeing as we are heading into middle school.”
“Wait? How did I get pulled into this?”
“I asked for Miss Information for us—you, me, Jack. Miss Melton-Mowry liked the idea. She said if it wasn’t for your lack of composure, she wouldn’t be with us today.”
I considered what it might mean to go in on pranks with Delton Bean in middle school. Then I was hit by a vision of her toes (which I’d get Bree to cover in pink nail polish) sticking out of a locker….
“To further prove myself…as a prankster, I sent your friend, Miss Olivia Dunn, a package.”
“You what? How did you crack that code?”
“It took me a while. It was
an interesting variation on the PigPen cipher, which uses fragments of a grid to signify letters or numbers. I wrote her back for you.”
“Seriously? What did she say in her letter? What did you say?”
“I can show you the letter if you like. She reported on various camp activities…it’s an all-girls camp, so there was some skinny-dipping, putting baking soda in the cook’s chili; she finally mastered the double flip but doubts her parents will allow her to do it on the slopes until she’s a legal adult and no longer relies on them financially…. She left several instructions for what you should send to satisfy her sweet tooth.”
“I bet she did.”
“In keeping with her…and your mercurial style, I wrote her back using a Caesar cipher. There are twenty-five possibilities. Usually you give the code reader a clue, but to make it extra frustrating, I ‘accidentally’ tore the letter there so it’s impossible to tell. It will probably take her all summer to go through the possibilities.”
“What did you say?”
“I took one of my mother’s old candy boxes and filled it with peanut shells. On the note, I wrote: ‘Dear Olivia, I prefer cracking peanuts at a Tigers game to cracking code during my summer vacation. Hope you’re having loads of fun flipping and skinny-dipping. Have to run! Am jumping a train this p.m. Cassidy.’ ”
“She thought she was getting chocolates and the box was full of peanut shells? And you sent it all in impossible-to-read code?”
“It seemed in character with one of your pranks. As well as the phrase ‘loads of.’ That’s not a phrase I typically use.”
“Delton, normally I would congratulate you…it’s the perfect prank. But…but…” I stopped talking; I was picturing Livvy all excited to open her box of chocolates from me, only to find…garbage and an impossible-to-read code.
For a moment, I was there with her, watching it happen and feeling her disappointment. “You didn’t put any chocolates in at all?”
“I didn’t. I…didn’t think that would be in character.” Delton put his hand on my shoulder. “Cassidy, are you all right?”
I shrugged it off. “ ’Course I am.”
“Good, because that’s not what I wanted to tell you earlier. I wanted to say that…”
I knew I was in trouble when Delton assumed his dining posture.
“Well, I never realized that making pranks with you would be so much fun. That, and discovering you were an actual girl at the luncheon.” Delton cleared his throat. “The next logical question would be to ask you if you would—”
“Delton!” I clapped Miss Information’s hand over his mouth. “Don’t ruin this perfectly good gift of code-cracking and body parts with a subject that’s not fit for polite conversation!”
I tossed the arms into the trunk and slammed it shut. “Now go inside and go to bed. I gotta go home.”
But I didn’t go home right away. Instead, I sat on the curb outside Delton’s house trying to figure out what was happening to me—on the inside. Why didn’t Delton’s prank make me want to hug myself tight to keep from bursting out laughing?
I put my hands on my stomach and felt around for my organs.
They felt…complicated.
I could smell the smoke from the fire pit as I came up the driveway. Mom and Dad, Magda and Jack were all there, sitting on the sawed-off tree stumps Mr. Taylor had nabbed from a housing development and leveled into the perfect stools.
“Cass, come help us test-drive this new product I’m considering for the baking aisle,” Dad called out.
“These are amazing.” Jack pulled a perfectly crisp marshmallow off a skewer. “They’re made of surgical steel so they cook the marshmallow from the inside out.”
“And the ceramic handles keep you from burning your hands.” Mom held out the bundle for me to choose. “I vote yes.”
Handing me the marshmallow bag, Jack asked, “So…how’s ole Delton?”
“Fine.” I was about to ask “How’s old Bree?” but instead I shut it, preferring to listen to the fire crackle and turn my skewer—slowly. Our family takes a lot of pride in the way we roast marshmallows—toasty golden, that’s our motto.
Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, Dad looked at the screen and said, “There’s someone here to see you, Miss Corcoran. It’s about your etiquette class.”
“Not her…no, Dad. That cannot be my good surprise.”
“I’m afraid it is.” Mom propped her skewer against the edge of the fire pit and went into the house. As she led Miss Melton-Mowry into the backyard, Dad explained, “You see, there’s a part two to your inheritance from Great-Grandma Reed.”
“Hello, Cassidy. I bet you’re surprised to see me.”
I let my skewer dip into the fire, ruining what promised to be a perfectly toasted marshmallow. Was it the sight of Miss Melton-Mowry in a pair of pants or her taking a seat on a tree stump and selecting a skewer that just did me in?
“I am.” Which was all I had at the moment for polite conversation.
Jack handed me another marshmallow; I popped it into my mouth and chewed it raw.
“Your parents have given me the distinct pleasure of informing you of the second part of your inheritance. But first, maybe you can instruct me in the proper way to roast a marshmallow. I have very little experience in this area.”
I held out my hand for Miss Melton-Mowry’s skewer as nightmarish thoughts of etiquette stay-away camp filled my mind. “You can touch as many marshmallows as you want before you choose,” I heard myself say. “They get roasted, so it burns off any germs.”
“I see.”
Handing the skewer back to Miss Melton-Mowry, I watched as she leaned forward and stuck it into the fire.
“No, no.” I grabbed it back without saying “excuse me.” “That’s too close to the flames—you’ll burn it. Oh, and it’s okay to grab someone’s skewer if they’re about to scorch a perfectly good marshmallow.”
“Here, I’ll show you, Miss Melton-Mowry.” Jack took the skewer and demonstrated his patented twirl, exactly eight inches above the source of heat, which always changed because flames have a way of bouncing around. It was quite a performance.
“This is more complicated than it seems. Forgive me, but…aren’t you the young man who visited our table at the country club?” Miss Melton-Mowry asked Jack. “Of course you are.” She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. “This is your fellow Knight of the Road, isn’t it, Cassidy?”
“But how—”
“Maybe you should read the letter, Miss Melton-Mowry,” Jack said. “Especially since it has to do with what I’ve been saving up for all summer.”
“You?” I forgot my manners again and pointed at Jack. “You’re in on this, too?”
Putting on a pair of reading glasses, Miss Melton-Mowry pulled a single sheet of paper out of the envelope, which she held out to me so I could see what was printed on the front: “To the parents of Cassidy Eleanor Corcoran, to be read and passed on to her etiquette instructor.”
“Your mother gave me this letter on the first day of class, when she explained your situation,” she said. “To prevent any special treatment of one of my students, I did not read it until our session was over.”
She turned in her seat so the fire gave her enough light to read.
To Cassidy’s etiquette instructor, please read this to my great-granddaughter if—and only if—she can successfully complete your course.
Dear Cassidy,
Something important happened during your last visit. It wasn’t that you nearly killed me or that you destroyed some of my precious possessions. It was how upset you got seeing that poor earwig struggle to free itself from the spider’s web. I knew then that you were the child who’d inherited my genes and that someday, when you grew up, the drive to stand up for the voiceless would kick in.
But truly, you were the most undisciplined child I had ever met! How to get all that energy going in the right direction and harness it for good—like saving
the rain forest or protecting Bengal tigers from being hunted to extinction? I knew it would nearly kill you to take politeness lessons, but I firmly believed that if you could live through them you might see there’s an upside to self-control. You cannot always travel on the My-way Highway, Miss Corcoran. You need discipline.
If you are reading this, it means you successfully completed your etiquette lessons. Congratulations. A fine effort should be rewarded, and so, in addition, I bestow on you three tickets to the National Hobo Convention in Britt, Iowa, plus meals and lodging; that and two first-class train tickets to transport you and your father as far down the line as you can get. If your fellow Knight of the Road wants to accompany you, he’ll have to pay for the train himself.
As you travel along the rails of life, Cassidy, remember that things are not always what they appear to be. I hope that you will now stop cursing me and enjoy your trip back in time.
With love,
Great-Grandma Reed
“So…” Instead of pointing my skewer at Jack and pretending we were about to duel, I simply said, “Mr. Taylor, is it true that we’re going to the National Hobo Convention?”
“Sure we are. Isn’t it great?”
“Yes, it’s great! Really?” I was having trouble taking it in—given my karma and all, I was sure there must be a hitch—but the whole family was nodding at me. “Wow. This is loads better than dead-body camp!”
“Cassidy, can’t you just be happy?” Magda impaled the ground with her skewer. “Why do you have to keep making my camp sound so ghoulish?”
I was about to shoot back “Because it’s fun to drive you crazy.” But that was not polite and there sat Miss Melton-Mowry.
Having her around was a real blow to my comedy routines.
“I’m sorry, Magda. I know that the mystery of decomposition is very important to you, and I will try…” Ugh. I couldn’t bring myself to be any nicer to my sister, so I turned to Miss Melton-Mowry. “Delton says you’re going to make more videos.”
“Yes, that’s the plan. I have some free time now that our session is over.”
Cassidy's Guide to Everyday Etiquette (and Obfuscation) Page 23
