“See, I told you.” I said.
I rushed up to Marty and lunged for the bag.
“Finally,” I said to him. “I mean, goodness gracious.”
I looked up. Marty was low-key and quiet.
“What?” I said. I could see there was something he wanted to say. “What? Spill it,” I repeated.
“Sorry,” he said. “I tried.”
I reached inside the bag and pulled out Poochy. I paused. The dog, well, it looked okay. I mean, at least its head was attached.
I turned on the power. Nothing. I flipped the switch a second time ... and then a third.
Still nothing. Nothing at all. Poochy was still dead.
“Like I said,” Marty said, “sorry.”
“And now, for our next performance,” announced Mr. Piddles. “It’s going to Rain Gold!”
Boom! An explosion blasted through the theater and the lights went pitch black. A moment later, gold confetti dropped from the rafters, and a few seconds after that a burst of rainbow lights hit center stage.
Then, as if by magic, the ThreePees appeared through a cloud of smoke. It was an awe-inspiring entrance.
“But those little witches,” Marty commented under his breath, “they’re gonna pay.”
He walked away.
The three of us stared at the stage. A hard beat pumped, and the music began. Some kind of cinematic journey through the plains of Africa played on the fifty-foot projection screen behind the ThreePees. The audience was electrified.
We watched for a minute, silent and unmoving. Finally, I spoke.
“Well, we can still do it,” I said, optimistically, as I grabbed Poochy’s leash. Beanpole and Q stared at me. “I mean, we can still do some kind of makeshift performance. You know, where we drag him around by his leash and he dances in sync with us while we...”
Holding the leash, I began to march like we were doing our routine, in order to show them how we could still get the dog to kinda follow along if we stayed with the original plan.
But then Poochy’s head fell off.
I stopped. The robotic dog was totally and completely destroyed. Beanpole and Q stared at me, wondering what I would do next.
“Okay, okay, don’t worry,” I said as I came up with Plan B. “We can still—”
“She told you, didn’t she?”
“What?” I said. “Told me what? I have no idea what you’re talking about, but look, we can still—”
“She told you,” said Q with a shake of her head, as I fumbled with the broken dog. “I knew it. She told you.”
“Told her what?” asked Beanpole.
I didn’t respond. The ThreePees danced in the background.
“Would somebody please tell me what is going on?” Beanpole demanded.
I stood and walked up to Alice.
“You look nice tonight,” I said. “I mean, that outfit, well…it kinda flatters you.”
“What?!” exclaimed Beanpole. “Did you just say she looks nice?”
It appeared that Beanpole’s ears were going to pop off, she was so angry.
“You pick right now to say the first nice thing you’ve ever said to any of us? Right now, Maureen?” she shouted.
“What I meant was that your mom, Beanpole, she did a really nice job of covering Q’s—”
“I knew she told you,” exclaimed Q, pushing me away. “I knew it!”
She collapsed into a chair.
“She had no right!” she yelled out. “She had no right!”
She began to cry. I turned and looked out at the ThreePees. Sofes O’Reilly approached the big turn.
And nailed it. She hit it perfectly.
Then, like NFL cheerleaders, the ThreePees sprang into the air, jumped over a ring of fire, and landed in a synchronized split that would have been good enough to win a gold medal at the Olympics.
“Aren’t I pathetic enough without her?” said Q. “Aren’t I a big enough loser without her interference? Why does she always think she has to protect me?”
“It’s not like that, Alice,” I said. “It’s not like that at all.”
“Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?” said Beanpole.
Suddenly, there was a blast of explosions. Indoor fireworks, the color of gold. The crowd went nuts.
“G’head, tell her,” said Q.
I didn’t answer.
“G’head,” said Q, her eyes blazing with rage. “Tell her what a monster I am. Tell her what a bad person I am. Tell her about how I am a selfish little spoiled brat who killed her family because she wanted to play a stupid video game. Tell her. Tell her!”
I didn’t move.
“Tell her!” Q shouted. Her eyes were red with tears and rage. “Tell her how I deserve to die!!!”
I stood there stunned.
“TELL HER!!!” screamed Alice.
“And now, for our final performance…” said Mr. Piddles as the ThreePees bounced off the stage. “Please put your hands together for the Nerd Girls.”
We heard a small round of applause. None of us moved.
“Um, Nerd Girls?” repeated Mr. Piddles into the microphone. “Nerd Girls, it’s your turn.”
We could hear the people shuffling in their seats while the stage sat empty. A long fifteen seconds passed, nobody knowing what to do or how to respond.
“Um, Nerd Girls?” said Mr. Piddles again. “Last call.”
“You’re not a monster, Alice,” I said. “And you’re not a bad person, either.”
I lifted my head and looked her in the eyes.
“And you don’t deserve to die.”
“Oh yeah?” she barked at me. “Then what am I? What am I, Maureen? Tell me!”
I paused.
“You’re just sad, Alice. On the inside, you’re just sad, and you need to let it out.”
I lowered my eyes and began walking toward the stage.
“Wait!” said Beanpole. “Where are you going?”
“Out there,” I answered.
“What?” exclaimed Beanpole.
“I am going out there,” I repeated.
“But why?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I answered. “I guess because I just realized that none of this is about a dog.”
My words hung in the air.
“And if we don’t go out there, they win.”
I turned, took a deep breath, and walked out to center stage.
The spotlight hit me in the face. Hundreds of people stared.
Actually, a thousand.
I picked up the microphone. It took me a moment to begin. “I...” BEERREERRRRERPPPPP!!!
A burst of feedback pierced everybody’s ears. I guess I’d put the mike too close to my mouth or something.
“Sorry,” I said. The audience didn’t seem too happy.
Everyone stared and waited. It took a moment before I started again.
“Um, I’m not sure I have any talent,” I said into the mike.
The audience shifted uncomfortably in their seats.
“I’m not even sure I—”
Suddenly I was interrupted by an image on the projection screen. It whirled to life behind me.
Huh?
I looked up, and a video started playing.
It was the YouTube video of A Chunky Chick Does the Peanut-Butter-and-Mango-Marmalade Big Butt Dance. It only took a few seconds before the audience began to laugh and howl.
I turned and looked over at the ThreePees. They were high-fiving each other backstage.
I looked back at the big screen and watched as I squished peanut-butter-and-mango-marmalade sandwiches into my face and went “Mrrmphh Mrrmphh Mrrmphh” in front of a thousand people.
“You know,” I finally said into the mike as the video continued to play behind me, “that was once the worst moment of my life.”
“I can see why!” someone yelled. The comment got a big laugh.
“Yeah, the worst,” I admitted. “But now, well…now, I actually think it’s
kind of small potatoes.”
The audience got quiet. I looked out into the crowd. It was hard to see any faces with all the lights shining in my eyes, but I could tell they were listening.
“Yeah, small potatoes, because, see, I did that for my friend.” I pointed to the screen, and everyone watched as I ran around like a stupid, fat, sweaty pig with a face stuffed full of food.
“My friend Alice.”
I turned to look backstage at Q. I started to cry.
I saw Beanpole walk over to Alice to ask her what was going on. Then I saw Q turn and whisper something in Beanpole’s ear. Though I couldn’t hear their conversation, I was pretty sure I knew what Q was telling her.
At first Beanpole looked shocked. Then I saw her lean over and hug Q.
“That’s right,” I loudly announced into the mike as I turned to face the audience. “I am friends with Allergy Alice Applebee.” A rush of energy came over me. “And I know something about her,” I continued. “Something about her that almost no one else in this theater knows.”
I smiled big and proud.
“And you know what?” I said. “I think I have something to tell you about this little secret of hers. Something to tell all of you!”
I turned and saw the expression on Q’s face suddenly change to freak-out level, full of fear and anxiety and horror.
“Yep, I sure do,” I said. “I sure do. And here it is…”
I paused, making sure to speak loudly and clearly so that everyone in the entire auditorium would be able to hear me.
“I will never say a word, you hear me? I’m not saying a word. Never! ” I told the crowd. “Because real friends, that’s what they do. They keep each other’s secrets and they have each other’s backs and they’re there for each other when times get tough.”
I looked at Q. She seemed completely shocked by my words, as if she had no idea how to respond.
“You hear me?!” I repeated into the microphone. “I am friends with weirdo, freak-a-zoid Allergy Alice Applebee, the turdball, doof-brain, kook-job of the century, and I don’t care who knows it. I’m proud of it! I am proud that she is my friend!”
I turned again and looked at Q. Tears streamed from my eyes. Suddenly, Alice began walking toward me, toward center stage.
She took the mike.
“And I am friends with Maureen—the baked potato, peanutbutter-squishing-cupcake-lover—Saunders,” she said. “Best friends.”
We hugged and cried.
“Did you just call me a baked potato in front of a thousand people?” I asked as tears poured down my face.
“Uh-huh,” she said with a laugh.
I paused.
“You’re funny,” I told her.
“And you’re weird,” she replied.
“But I’m not trying to be weird,” I said.
“And I’m not trying to be funny,” she answered.
We laughed and hugged again, the tears just flowing and flowing and flowing. A moment later, we turned to Beanpole, who was standing all by herself backstage, and waved at her to come out and join us.
A huge smile crossed her face, and she started to run as fast as she could.
But of course she tripped over the microphone cord.
“OUCH!” she yelped as she did a face-plant center stage.
“OOOHHH,” gasped the audience. Beanpole looked as if she had just killed herself. But then she bounced up off the hardwood floor and took the mike.
“I’m okay, I’m okay. Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m okay.”
The three of us hugged and laughed and smiled and cried. The people in the audience had no idea what was going on. Absolutely none. A moment later, we heard a voice over the loudspeaker.
“Um, Nerd Girls,” asked Mr. Piddles from his judge’s chair, “do we have a talent to perform?”
We looked out into the crowd. The audience stared in amazement, waiting to see what we were going to do next. I grabbed the mike.
“Do we have a talent?” I said in a sarcastic tone. “Of course we have a talent,” I answered.
I took a step back.
“Hit ’em, Beanpole.”
Barbara paused, unsure of what I meant. But then, a moment later, she understood what I was talking about and reached into her sock.
Where she pulled out a Q-tip.
A moment later, off came her shoe.
Alice and I stepped back as Beanpole proceeded to clean the wax out of her ear using only her big toe to hold the cotton swab. In a middle-school talent show filled with loser performances, it was by far the biggest loser performance of all.
Q and I just smiled as Barbara worked furiously to impress the crowd. I could even hear a small squeak, squeak coming from her left ear. Wanting to help Beanpole out as best I could, I got down on my hands and knees and stuck out my own head, and Beanpole moved from cleaning her ears with a Q-tip to cleaning mine.
The audience gasped. Beanpole didn’t even flip the cotton swab around: it just went straight from her ear to mine.
“Urrggh,” groaned the crowd. I smiled.
A moment later Alice bent down, and before anyone realized it, Beanpole was cleaning all of our ears with the same Q-tip. To tell the truth, she was pretty good.
Finally, with the audience staring at us like we were the biggest freaks they had ever witnessed, we stood up, grabbed the mike, and shouted “NERD GIRLS!” before we dashed off the stage.
When we got backstage, behind the curtain, we were all silly with the giggles. The ThreePees stormed up.
“What kind of dorkfest was that?” asked Kiki, apparently outraged that we were having a good time.
“Like, did you just share the same Q-tip?” asked Brattany.
“Gross!” said Sofes. “That’s like, so not hypodermic.”
“Hygienic, Sofes,” said Kiki. “The word is hygienic.”
“Uh, yeah ... whatever.”
“And now”—Mr. Piddles’s voice came over the loudspeaker—“if we could please have all the contestants return to the stage.”
The house lights in the theater went on, and the audience moved to the edge of their seats. Every kid who had performed walked to the center of the stage. Beanpole, Q, and I had our arms interlocked together super tight. There was nothing that could break apart our grip on one another. Nothing at all.
“While everyone who appeared this evening is a winner,” announced Mr. Piddles, “there can only be one performance that is awarded the Grover Middle School Grand Prize for Aptitude. And so, without further ado…”
He paused for dramatic effect.
“Drumroll, please…” He stalled as if he were creating even more drama.
“RAIN OF GOLD!” he shouted as the music started. Suddenly, more confetti and balloons dropped from the rafters, and the audience let out a huge cheer.
The ThreePees ran to the front of the stage and started hugging and kissing one another like a group of Miss Americas.
The audience stood on its feet and clapped loudly.
“Picture! Picture!” someone called out. “The yearbook picture!”
Just then each of the girls was handed a bouquet of roses. Kiki and Brittany-Brattany and Sofes took a step back and smiled for the camera.
“Wait,” came a voice. It was Marty. “The stage lights, they’re making your foreheads look too shiny,” he told them. “Quick, pat yourselves down with this makeup. We want to get a good shot.”
The ThreePees started patting down their faces with makeup pads, just like the Hollywood celebrities do to make sure that their foreheads aren’t too shiny under the bright lights.
“Make sure you do your eyebrows,” Marty said. “Do ’em good.” I guess since Marty was wearing a tie, they trusted him.
But they shouldn’t have. That’s because Marty had put hair remover in the makeup kit.
“There ... perfect ... Okay, smile girls!” said Marty taking a step backward.
Poof! Flashbulbs went off.
A minute l
ater Kiki’s mother and sisters ran up onstage to give Kiki a big hug and congratulations.
Then they froze.
“Oh my goodness, what happened?” asked Kiki’s mom.
“We won!” shouted Kiki, holding the bouquet of roses. “Mommy, we won!”
“No, I mean to your eyebrows,” said Kiki’s mother. “Where are your eyebrows?”
“What?” said Kiki, the smile vanishing from her face. She turned to look at Brittany-Brattany, then Sofes.
Their eyebrows were gone too.
“Oh my gawd, you look like chicken eggs!”
“Smile, girls!” said Marty with a huge grin on his face, holding a video camera. “Smile big for YouTube!”
Having no idea what was happening, the ThreePees stood there like a group of stupefied, eyebrow-less girls who had just traveled to Earth from Planet Alien Egg. A moment later, a look of fear and shock swept over their faces, and they tried to run. However, with all the people onstage, the ThreePees hadn’t noticed that Ashley and her group of gymnastic friends had formed a circle around them so that there was no way for the ThreePees to escape.
They were trapped.
“Snobby Witches with No Eyebrows Win the Talent Show…Smile girls! This could break the one million hit mark on YouTube!”
The ThreePees fought to escape the circle, but Ashley and her gymnast friends were really strong for young kids, and neither Kiki, Brittany-Brattany, nor Sofes could get away.
Kiki’s mom and sisters tried to help, but all the Masters family was able to do was cause more chaos and add more funny footage to the video.
Especially when Miss Masters’s wig fell off.
“Mommy, help me!”
“Let go, you brat!”
Ashley stomped the foot of Cece Masters.
“Ow, you dwarf!”
Suddenly there was a countdown…
“Three ... two ... one!”
The gymnast girls let go, and everyone onstage took off running.
For the Fountain, where we all jumped in.
“This was the best talent show ever,” I said, splashing Q.
“I’m allergic to chlorine,” she shouted back with the biggest smile on her face that I had ever seen. Then she splashed Beanpole and dunked herself completely under the water. Marty, video camera in hand, filmed everything, especially Q’s smile.
“Who are we? Who are we? Who are we?” I shouted, my pink sparkly costume soaking wet top to bottom.
Nerd Girls Page 16
