Cleo Edison Oliver in Persuasion Power

by Sundee T. Frazier

  “You mean I missed your spiel?”

  “My what?”

  “You know, your sales pitch, your selling job, your elevator speech …”

  “Oh! Right.” If Mr. Boring bought a pair, other teachers might too. She had almost overlooked an important segment of the market. “Our business is called Passion Clips. We make personalized hair clips in just about any shape, with or without your name, so you can tell the world who you are!”

  “How about you, Mr. B?” Cole interjected. “Want a pair?”

  “My hair does sometimes get in my eyes.” He swiped the hair at the sides of his face. “Seriously though, see me after school, if you have time. I might be interested.” A few boys laughed. “For my daughters.”

  “Ohhhh,” they all said.

  Yippee! Another order—most likely for more than one pair, since he had said daughters, plural. She gave Caylee a thumbs-up. Caylee smiled in return.

  “Thanks, Mr. B. If you buy two pairs”—she scribbled in the margin of her notebook—“we’ll have sold thirty-seven clips for a grand total of one hundred and thirty dollars!”

  Mr. Boring raised his eyebrows. “Wow. I thought for a minute you were going to say if I ordered two pairs, I’d get a third for half price.”

  Cleo considered the idea. “I’ll need to discuss it with my partner”—she jerked her chin toward Caylee—“but chances are good we could work something out.” She was wheelin’ and dealin’!

  Mr. B smiled. “Great. And now, onto Adventures in Science! with me, your host, Adventurer-Scientist Ted Boring. Today, we’re starting a new unit on—drumroll, please—”

  All the kids slapped their palms on their desks and thunder rolled through the room. Cleo drummed extra hard, loving every minute she got to make noise in class and not get in trouble for it.

  “Bugs!”

  A few girls made ewww sounds. Micah pulled his elbow into his side with a clenched fist and said, “Yes!” Cleo agreed with Micah. She had never minded bugs and thought girls who said “ewww” to them were kind of silly.

  Quentin McDonnell raised his hand. “Can I do my paper on the computer variety?”

  “Actually, we won’t be writing papers.”

  Cleo pulled her elbow into her side. “Yes!”

  “And computer bugs don’t fit within the scope of this particular unit.”

  Quentin’s face fell.

  “However, you may feel free to write a paper on computer viruses for extra credit any time you like.”

  Now it was Quentin’s turn: “Yes!”

  “We’ll be looking at insect anatomy, behavior, habitat, roles within their larger ecosystems, life cycles. And we will be doing this by observing one insect in particular.” He pushed a button on his computer keyboard and words started zooming onto the smart board. “Of the kingdom Animalia, of the phylum Arthropoda, of the class Insecta—”

  Were they going to have to remember all this gobbledygunk?

  “—of the order Coleoptera—”

  “Ooo, that one’s kind of like my name!” Cleo blurted, and then slapped her hand over her mouth. She couldn’t get another strike.

  “Of the family Tenebrionidae … the Tenebrio molitor!”

  “Say what?” said Cole Lewis.

  “Mealworms,” said Mr. Boring, facing the class.

  “Mealworms?” Micah’s face screwed up.

  “Yes! Their scientific name comes from words that mean”—he made his voice sound spooky—“ ‘One who prowls at night in the ground meal.’ ”

  That sounded pretty cool, but what in the heck was ground meal?

  “I’ll be giving each of you five to take home and observe over the next two weeks.”

  Amelie raised her hand. “I can’t. I’m allergic to worms.”

  Max Peacock piped up. “No one’s allergic to worms.”

  “No, really! They make my skin itch.”

  “First of all,” Mr. Boring jumped in, “mealworms aren’t worms. They’re larvae of the darkling beetle.” He pointed to the word that looked sort of like Cleopatra. “Second, Amelie, I’ll call your parents and we’ll make sure it’s all cool. Does anyone else have a known allergy to insects?” He scanned the room. “Good. I’ll pass them out now and we can start getting to know our new little buddies. Amelie, you can just look at yours through the plastic.”

  He gave everyone a small, lidded tub filled with what looked like pencil shavings. Mr. B told them it was actually oat bran for the larvae to eat. When he put Cleo’s in front of her, she was puzzled. And disappointed. The “prowlers” were about a half inch long, skinny, light brown with darker brown stripes, and smooth, with no visible teeth. Completely harmless-looking. They weren’t even slimy.

  Cleo raised her hand.

  “Yes, Cleo?”

  “Do you think someone overdid it a bit with the name? Tenebrio molitor makes them sound like something out of a monster movie.”

  Mr. Boring laughed. “Wait until you look at them through a magnifier”—he held up a lens—“you might see some monster resemblances.” He instructed them to take off the lids and pick one out. “Place it on the lid so it can’t crawl away. We don’t want mealworms getting loose in the school and creating an infestation.”

  More ewwws from around the class. Cleo thought of her family’s mouse problem. The traps Dad had bought hadn’t caught a thing.

  “Invasion of the Tenebrio molitor,” Cole said in a ghost-announcer voice.

  Cleo opened her container. The mealworms were having a squirm party. Their bodies bent this way and that, making Js and Us in the oat bran. They crawled on one another with dozens of little buggy legs. How was she supposed to pick one up? They were so wiggly.

  Micah had one between his fingers already. Its body arced back and forth. He held it up, grinning wildly. A shiver ran down Cleo’s back. She didn’t want to look like a scaredy-cat, or worse, a priss. But now that she had to touch one, they suddenly gave her the creeps. “Sorry to break up the party, guys,” she whispered, then quickly reached in and grabbed one. Eww! So squirmy!

  “Ahhh!” Micah screamed. Something plopped on Cleo’s head. Something SQUIRMY!

  Cleo sprung from her chair. “Is it on me? Get it off!” She swatted at her hair but didn’t want to smash the worm on her head, so she hurled her braids toward the ground instead. She bent at the waist—down, up, down, up—so fast and hard that her lightbulb clip flew off. Laughter and shouting erupted around her. Mr. Boring quacked his duck call until everyone settled down.

  “That little sucker bit me!” Micah said, and stuck his thumb in his mouth.

  Mr. Boring stooped at Cleo’s feet. When he stood, a mealworm squirmed between his fingers. “Huh. I didn’t know they could bite. We’ve learned something already.” He set the bug on Micah’s container lid. “Anyway, it looks like he survived the ordeal.” He put a hand on Cleo’s shoulder. “Will you?”

  Cleo shuddered, breathing hard. “I think so.” She looked at her empty hands. “My worm!” In her panic, she’d forgotten all about it.

  Cole tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to her chair. The worm squirmed its way across. “You almost had a mealworm pancake.” He laughed.

  She took a deep breath, picked up the bug, and put it on her lid. Then she sat.

  “Your goal for the next two weeks is, first of all, to keep them alive.” He raised an eyebrow at Cleo and Micah. “And second of all, to learn as much as you can about these little guys. You will be formulating questions and devising experiments—humane experiments—to find answers.”

  While Mr. Boring led them through an exploration of all the parts of a mealworm, Cleo thought about names. She had five new pets to care for. They deserved names.

  Their neighbor Miss Jean had named her chickens after the women’s rights leaders she admired: Gloria, Alice, Susan B, and Big Betty.

  Cleo wouldn’t ever dare give Fortune’s name to a mealworm … but how about o
ther successful business moguls and entrepreneurs? She picked up the larva that had almost gotten squashed and looked into its scrunchy little face. “Hello, Steve Jobs.” The former Apple founder and CEO may have been a little intense, but he’d also been a marketing genius. “You and me got the bug for business!”

  Caylee came home with Cleo that day so they could celebrate their success. “Mom! We got nineteen orders on our first day of business! Will you buy a pair? Please!”

  Mom was mixing up a batch of Cleo’s Canine Cookies™. The doggie treats had been Cleo’s idea—after Mom’s healthy cookies turned out to be more popular with Barkley than with people. They planned to sell them at the farmers’ market as soon as a space opened up and Mom had enough money to afford the booth-rental fee. For now, she was test-marketing them to the neighbors’ dogs.

  Cleo grasped her hands under her chin, put on her angel face, and fluttered her eyelids. “If you order, that will bring our total to twenty! And twenty is such a nice, round number.” She put her head against her mom’s shoulder and gazed up into her eyes.

  Mom wiped her hands on her apron. “Wow. That’s fantastic!”

  “Not just fantastic, Mom. It’s fantastamazing! Amazatas-tic! We are one dynamic duo!” Cleo held out her fist and Caylee bumped it with her own, giggling. “Ka-pow!” They fluttered their fingers in the air as they pulled their hands away.

  “You sure are,” Mom said.

  “I’ve got the Cleopatra touch!” Cleo jutted one hand in front and one behind, like Dad when he did the “Walk Like an Egyptian” dance to make them all laugh. She strutted around the kitchen.

  “Okay, let’s not get carried away …”

  “What, Mom? We need to celebrate!”

  “Maybe we should wait until we’ve actually made them,” Caylee said. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  “Relax, Cay-Cay. We’ll pump them out in no time!”

  Caylee’s brow creased.

  “Ooo, I know! We need a special sparkling drink to toast to our success.” Cleo grabbed a Sprite and the red-sticky-sweet grenadine syrup from the fridge. “Shirley Temples all around!”

  Mom looked at her through half-closed eyes, eyebrows raised and mouth set. But a smile was there … at the corners of her lips and eyes, wanting to take over her whole face.

  Josh zoomed into the room. Jay followed closely on his heels. “Did someone say ‘Shirley Temples’?”

  Mom broke. “Oh, all right. Drinks for everyone!” The boys cheered and Mom sent them back out. “And yes, I’d be happy to buy a pair.”

  “Thanks, Mom!” Cleo turned to Caylee. “I’ll take yellow smiley faces with braces, please. Since I’ll be getting mine soon.”

  Mom planted her fists on her hips. “Hey! Who said I was buying them for you? I want a pair for myself!”

  Cleo frowned and Caylee laughed. “What do you want to tell the world about who you are, Miss Nicki?”

  Mom’s lips slid to one side of her face. “Hmm. That’s a good question. Definitely not anything having to do with hospitals.” Mom had worked at Saint Luke’s before Cleo’s brothers had come. Not as a doctor or nurse. She did something called “risk management.” Entrepreneurs had to manage risks too, but they also had to take them, which Mom didn’t seem to like as much.

  The mention of hospitals somehow reminded Cleo of her mealworms, potentially roasting in her backpack and in need of resuscitation. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She rushed to the front door, where she’d left her bag. The boys crowded around, wanting to know if the Shirley Temples were ready. She pulled out the container. “Back up, everybody. They need some air.”

  “Who needs air?” Josh asked.

  “My mealworms,” Cleo answered.

  “Mealworms?” Mom had just come into the room.

  “They’re harmless,” Cleo said. Barkley sniffed inside her backpack.

  Jay pulled on her arm. “Let me see!” Cleo kept the container out of reach and headed for the dining table.

  “You didn’t like it so much when one landed on your head.” Caylee gave a snorty little laugh.

  “On your head?” Mom said.

  Cleo nodded. “Yeah, Micah threw it when it bit him.”

  Jay finally backed off.

  “They bite?” Mom said. “I thought you said they were harmless!”

  “I get to do experiments on them.”

  “Do you get to cut them open?” Josh asked, wild-eyed and grinning.

  “No! We’re supposed to keep them alive.” She took off the lid, hoping she hadn’t killed them already. Everyone crowded around. The worms squirmed in their huddle. Phew. What would she have done if they’d overheated? Done mouth-to-mouth on the creepy-crawlies? The thought gave her creepy-crawlies, but it also made her laugh. She replaced the lid.

  Mom shook her head. “First mice. Now mealworms. We’ve got our own little pest zoo going here.”

  “You forgot our main exhibit.” Cleo’s eyes slid to her brothers.

  “Cleo …” Mom warned.

  Caylee got her mealworms and they went to the kitchen for food—for themselves and their buggy friends. They decided on grapes. They plopped a couple of grape halves into each of the insect containers and replaced the lids. Then they made their Shirley Temples, dropping in grapes, since they didn’t have any maraschino cherries to make them fancy.

  Everyone gathered in the dining area to clink glasses. “To our first fabulous day of sales,” Cleo said. The boys guzzled their drinks. Mom took a sip. Cleo savored her first swallow and then blurted, “Fortune!” How could she have forgotten?

  She and Caylee started for the family room.

  “Homework, Cleo?” Mom’s one-word question stopped her.

  Normally, Cleo wouldn’t have any on a Friday. But her conscience poked her about her uncompleted simile assignment. Pesky conscience.

  She moaned and then tromped back to her backpack. “I’ll do it in the family room. It won’t take long.”

  “No TV until it’s done,” Mom reminded.

  “I know!” Cleo kept the worms with her. For now, she’d keep them close—in case her brothers got any crazy ideas.

  “I have to finish my similes,” she said, settling onto the love seat with the mealworms beside her. “As quickly as Fortune makes money. Want to help?”

  “Sure.” Caylee sat on her left, which was good since Cleo was right-handed. It was a little cramped, but it would work. They put their drinks on the coffee table.

  “What word did you choose for yourself?” Cleo asked.

  “Organized, of course! I’m as organized as a library. I’m as organized as the periodic table. I’m as organized as a filing cabinet.”

  “Not if you’re my filing cabinet!”

  “You don’t have a filing cabinet.”

  “I’m just saying, if I did.” Cleo took a sip of her drink.

  “How many do you have left?” Caylee asked.

  “All of them.”

  “All of them?”

  “I got distracted. But now, I’m as persistent as …” Cleo began. “A dripping faucet,” she said, thinking of the sink in the upstairs bathroom that drove her nuts with its drip-drip-drip.

  “How about a seed in dirt?” Caylee suggested.

  “A seed in rocky dirt!” Cleo scribbled it down. She thought some more. What else couldn’t be stopped when it was striving after a goal, like her with all her bright ideas? Who else wouldn’t give up until they wore down their opponents or overcame all obstacles and got what they wanted? “The Itsy-Bitsy Spider!” she shouted. Jay loved that song—a little too much, Cleo thought.

  “Good one,” Caylee said. “I had to go to the dentist last week. She sure was persistent about scraping my teeth.”

  “Ooo yeah. What do they call that tool they use?”

  “A scaler, I think.”

  “I’m as persistent as a dentist with a scaler.” They laughed. “Only one more.”

&nb
sp; Barkley came into the room. He sniffed around on the carpet. His nose led him to Cleo’s mealworms. “Don’t even think about it,” she said, snatching up the container. She set it on the bookshelf behind her, out of Barkley’s reach. He looked at her with inquiring eyes, and she rubbed behind his ears. “You can have some lovin’ but you can’t have my mealworms.” Barkley moved over to the bookshelf.

  “You could just tell Mr. Boring, ‘My dog ate my homework.’ ” Caylee giggled.

  “First it’s my room … then it’s my dog …”

  Barkley stood with his paws on the level of the mealworms and continued to sniff the container. “Down, Barkley!” Cleo commanded.

  “He sure is being persistent,” Caylee said.

  “Sheesh. I know.” Wait a minute …

  Cleo grinned. She wrote her fifth and final simile, “As persistent as a dog that’s caught a scent! Thanks, Jelly. And Barkley.” He finally came over and lay at their feet. Cleo grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. Hopefully they hadn’t missed too much.

  Fortune was radiant, as always. Her round eyes sparkled. Cleo felt a magnetic tug toward this woman who looked more like Cleo than anyone in Cleo’s family.

  Fortune spoke to her studio audience. “As you all know, my personal mission statement is what drives me. And that statement is to …”

  Everyone, including Cleo, chimed: “Deliver destinies and finance futures!” The audience applauded.

  “Yes! And today on my show, I have the opportunity to introduce you to a young woman who has a for-sure destiny, people! Breanna Anderson was adopted as a baby by a loving couple.”

  Cleo’s heart began to thump.

  “As an older teen, Breanna became life-and-death ill. It turned out she needed … a kidney transplant. Having a genetic match would be the best place to find a kidney for her, but she knew very little about her birth parents and all her family’s attempts at locating them had failed.”

  Cleo’s heart raced. The sound of it filled her ears, making it hard to focus on what Fortune was saying.

  “That’s when Breanna’s parents did a very daring thing. They got in touch with me, which, I admit, is not always the easiest thing to do.” The camera cut to audience members nodding and smiling. “But these folks were determined! They would not take no for an answer.”