Off the Charts

by Catherine Hapka

  Mr. Lucas grinned sheepishly. “Honey, you obviously misheard me. What I meant was, we should have burgers. That I make. Right now.”

  He hurried over to the refrigerator and swung open the door. Bending over, he started rooting around inside, looking for burger ingredients.

  Frankie watched with interest. He loved burgers. He also loved his mother’s freckles. If having burgers meant she got to keep them instead of sweating them off, he was all for it. He licked his lips. His stomach growled. Then it rang.

  Oops, that wasn’t his stomach. It was the doorbell.

  Mrs. Lucas turned to answer it. Well, she thought about starting to turn to answer it. Before she could actually move a muscle, her son Joe came dropping down one of the three fire poles that connected the main floor with the loft above.

  “That’s for me!” Joe announced. “I ordered pizza.”

  A second later Joe’s younger brother, Nick, dropped down the second pole. “That’s for me!” he exclaimed. “I ordered pizza.”

  The oldest Lucas brother, Kevin, came skidding down the third pole. “That’s for me!” he shouted. “I ordered pizza.”

  Safely on the ground, all three of them paused and eyed one another suspiciously. Meanwhile Mrs. Lucas followed through on her earlier plan and headed toward the door.

  “Here’s a thought,” she said to Frankie and Mr. Lucas over her shoulder. “How about pizza?” Then she glanced at her three older sons. “Where’d you guys order from?”

  “Picarillo’s,” all three answered in unison.

  They paused again. And eyed one another even more suspiciously.

  “Not PUKE-ARILLOS!” Frankie cried. He began pretending to throw up.

  Mrs. Lucas looked pretty disgusted, too, and, surprisingly, it had nothing to do with Frankie’s fake puking. “That place?” she said. “Their pizza’s terrible!”

  “Terrible?” Kevin exclaimed, sounding wounded.

  “How can you say that?” Nick’s lower lip quivered slightly with dismay.

  Mrs. Lucas was worried. Kevin, Joe, and Nick made up the superpopular band JONAS. Their faces—which were undeniably cute—could be found on a dozen magazine covers at any given time, and their voices were always on the radio. But so far, even their fabulous success hadn’t changed them much. They still lived at home between tours, attended an ordinary high school, and helped out with the chores— most of the time. Totally normal.

  But this? Definitely not normal. Had success finally gone to their heads? Turned them into weird celebrities who actually liked bad pizza?

  As she pondered that terrible possibility, Mrs. Lucas opened the door. A delivery boy was standing there holding three pizza boxes.

  As Mrs. Lucas reached for some money, the pizza-delivery boy took off his hat. Waves of silky brown hair came cascading down around his shoulders. Er, her shoulders. Mrs. Lucas realized the pizza-delivery boy was actually a pizza-delivery girl.

  And her sons realized it, too. Most definitely.

  “It’s the most beautiful pizza in the world!” Joe said with a dreamy sigh, gazing adoringly at the pizza-delivery girl.

  Nick and Kevin were gazing dreamily, too.

  “Now I understand why we ordered from Picarillo’s,” Mrs. Lucas said. Yes, she understood perfectly.

  CHAPTER TWO

  A short while later, the entire family, except for Nick—who claimed he had a headache and needed to rest—was at the dinner table eating. Or trying to, at least. The pizza wasn’t making it easy.

  “Well, it is round,” Mrs. Lucas said dubiously. “And there’s something melted on it. Yet I can’t bring myself to call it pizza.”

  Mr. Lucas looked disheartened. “I keep chewing and chewing, but I just can’t get it down.”

  “That’s the ‘jawbreaker,’ ” Joe said proudly. “I ordered that one.”

  He reached over and switched plates with his father. For a second, Mr. Lucas just looked relieved to have an empty plate in front of him. But he was still hungry. Reaching for a slice from one of the non-jawbreaker boxes, he stared at it suspiciously. It bubbled back at him, looking menacing. Also gross.

  “I can’t believe this stuff!” Mr. Lucas cried. It must break some cooking or taste code, he mused silently.

  Joe shrugged. “Hey, where is it written that pizza always has to taste . . . good?” he asked philosophically.

  “Yeah,” Kevin put in. “And Picarillo’s is environmentally friendly. Their slogan is, ‘We use the stuff other places throw out.’ ”

  Mr. Lucas rolled his eyes and set down the slice. This was ridiculous. “Would your sudden love of Picarillo’s have anything to do with the cute delivery girl?”

  “Who?” Kevin asked innocently.

  “Oh, was the delivery girl a girl?” Joe added even more innocently.

  Mrs. Lucas noticed that Frankie wasn’t eating. “Have some pizza, honey,” she urged him.

  Frankie glared at her. “Why do you hate me?” That was the only reason he could see for this joke of a meal.

  Just then the doorbell rang again. Mr. Lucas got up after wrestling free of some stretchy cheese that was trying to glue his hands to the table.

  “I’ll get it,” he said. “Anything to escape from this cheese prison.”

  He headed over to the door. When he opened it, a delivery man was standing there. Mr. Lucas looked a little closer. Yep, definitely a man. And he smelled like food. Chinese food, to be exact.

  By then Frankie was rushing for the door. He was smiling.

  “Frankie loves the mu shu!” he crowed as he paid the delivery man. Then he grabbed the bags the man was carrying and took off in the direction of his room.

  “Hey, Franks!” Mrs. Lucas called after him. “Where are you going with that? How much did you order? Let Mom get you a plate . . . or two . . .”

  She grabbed a couple of empty plates and took off after Frankie.

  As he watched them go, Mr. Lucas felt like kicking himself. Why hadn’t he grabbed that Chinese food when he had the chance? Sure, Frankie was quick and absurdly clever. But Mr. Lucas was taller and stronger. He could have had most of that mu shu down the hatch before the kid could figure out what to do. And he wouldn’t even feel bad about it. In an emergency situation like this, it was every Lucas for himself. . . .

  But it was too late now. With a sigh, Mr. Lucas swung the door shut.

  RRRRING!

  The doorbell rang again. Mr. Lucas felt a flare of hope. Had the Chinese food delivery man returned with more mu shu? This time, he’d be ready. . . .

  He swung open the door. But it wasn’t the delivery man. It was the Picarillo’s delivery girl!

  “Gaaaah!” Mr. Lucas exclaimed, his dreams of actual food fizzling out. “What are you doing back here?”

  “Delivering pizzas,” the girl replied. “It’s kind of my job. I deliver pizzas. And solve crime.” She shrugged. “But mostly the pizza thing.”

  Suddenly Nick came thudding down one of the fire poles. “I just texted Picarillo’s,” he announced.

  “Me, too!” Joe added in surprise.

  Kevin didn’t say anything for a moment. He was bent over his cell phone. “And . . . send,” he muttered, hitting a button.

  Nick frowned at him. “Dude, she’s already here!”

  Mr. Lucas just sighed. Then he paid for the pizzas.

  Meanwhile Joe had sidled closer. He had his best Mr. Smooth smile on his face and was wearing some of his sharpest casual clothes. “What’s new, Maria?” he asked the delivery girl.

  “Since you saw me twelve minutes ago?” Maria asked. “Let’s see: I raced back to the shop, grabbed the pizza, bragged that I was delivering to JONAS, got a flat tire, fixed it, and beat my best time by thirty seconds.”

  Joe looked impressed. “Wow. And all I’ve done is eat!” He gazed at her soulfully. “I like your pizza-delivery hat, Maria.”

  Nick pushed forward to join him. He was gazing at Maria even more soulfully. That wasn’t surprising. After all,
it was well known that he was the most soulful member of JONAS.

  “I like your pizza-delivery hat and your Picarillo’s T-shirt, Maria,” he added.

  Not to be outdone by his younger brothers, Kevin hurried over. “Maria, I like your inner beauty,” he said earnestly. “And your zit-free complexion.”

  Maria giggled. “You guys are so funny!” she exclaimed. “I wish I could hang, but I should get to my next delivery. There’s nothing worse than cold pizza.”

  She waved and exited. Standing in the doorway, the three brothers stared off after her.

  Mr. Lucas glanced from the mess awaiting him back at the table to the boxes of new, hot, steaming mess in his hands. Then he pushed past to join his sons in the doorway. There was something that had to be said. . . .

  “I think temperature is the least of your problems!” he shouted after Maria.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Joe groaned. He’d never been so full in his life. Beside him, Kevin groaned, too. The two of them were lying immobile. They’d been eating Picarillo’s pizza almost nonstop since the night before.

  The sound of approaching footsteps stopped their groans momentarily. However, it was too much effort for either brother to turn and see who it was.

  “If I have to keep making your pants bigger, the world is going to have a denim shortage!” the voice that went with the footsteps said, sounding irritated.

  Joe let out another groan. He knew that voice. It was Stella Malone. She was the brothers’ lifelong friend as well as the stylist for their band. She took clothes seriously. Very seriously. Usually the guys appreciated that. It kept them looking like rock stars at all times.

  Right now, though, Joe and Kevin wished that Stella took their clothes a little less seriously. Or at least a little more quietly. Her yelling made their heads hurt, which made their stomachs hurt even more than they already did.

  “Our pants fit fine,” Joe mumbled, still lying there motionless.

  Kevin was motionless, too. “As long as we don’t move,” he said.

  R-R-R-R-RIP!

  “Or breathe,” Kevin added.

  Stella rolled her eyes. “If you guys don’t cut back on the pizza, you’re going to have to go out onstage in sweatpants.”

  “Oooh!” Kevin said, intrigued. “Power sliding in sweatpants. Awesome!”

  “You could design us some really cool ones,” Joe suggested. “With special pockets to hold our pizza.”

  All Stella could do was shake her head. She didn’t have time for this conversation. It looked like she had pants to let out—again.

  As she hurried off, Mr. Lucas entered. He was shuffling through a handful of receipts.

  “Gentlemen, a word,” he said, his expression stern.

  Just then Nick came in. He was tying the waistband of the sweatpants he was wearing.

  “Hey, have you guys tried sweatpants?” he asked his brothers, unaware that his father did not look happy. “There’s a lot more room!”

  Mr. Lucas frowned at him. “Okay,” he said, turning to frown at his other sons. “Apparently, in the past month we’ve spent over five hundred dollars on Picarillo’s quote-unquote pizza.”

  The guys mumbled their disbelief: “What?”

  “We didn’t spend that much!”

  “No way!”

  Before Mr. Lucas could confirm, there was a rustle of cardboard from a corner of the room. Glancing over, he saw Frankie sticking his head out of a large, elaborate homemade fort. It was built entirely of Picarillo’s pizza boxes.

  “Hey!” Frankie protested. “I’m trying to sleep!”

  He ducked back inside his fort. Mr. Lucas sighed and returned his attention to his older sons.

  “Look,” he said as patiently as he could, “I get that you all have a crush on the delivery girl, but—”

  “Crush?” Joe interrupted incredulously. “On the delivery girl?”

  He laughed. It sounded a little forced. Nick and Kevin laughed, too. It sounded really forced.

  Mr. Lucas started wandering around the room. There was pizza everywhere. Under the table. Inside one of Kevin’s guitars. Even rotating in the slot of the CD player. Mr. Lucas gathered up as much of it as he could. The trash bin was too good for this stuff. Maybe he could build a pizza bonfire and burn it.

  “This is no fake-laughing matter,” he warned the guys. “The pizza party is over. Nobody’s ordering any more of it.” Shooting his sons one last stern look, he left the loft.

  Their dad had sounded pretty serious. Sighing, Kevin, Joe, and Nick started picking up more cold pizza slices. They tossed them in a pile on the table. There were quite a few slices. . . .

  “Imagine Dad thinking I have a crush on the pizza girl,” Joe exclaimed. He paused, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “Just because Maria has hair as shiny as eggplant . . .”

  “And she smells delicious,” Nick put in. “Like toasted oregano.”

  Kevin nodded. “And she smells delicious. Like toasted—” He stopped himself, shooting a look at Nick. “Oh. That’s what you just said.”

  They all picked up a few more slices. Then Joe let out a loud sigh.

  “I miss her so much!” he exclaimed. “If I can’t order from Picarillo’s, how will I see the pizza girl again?” Then his expression brightened. “Duh! I’ll just call Maria and ask her out!” He reached for his cell phone.

  “Not if I call her first!” Nick blurted out, grabbing his own phone out of his pocket.

  “I’ve got you both beat!” Kevin bragged. His phone was already in his hand. Before the others could react, he pressed one of the speed dial buttons.

  Joe’s phone rang. He answered it. “Hello?”

  Kevin spoke into his own phone. “Hey, Joe,” he said. “Do you have the number to Picarillo’s?”

  Nick had had enough. “Okay, everybody, hang up!” he ordered.

  Even though he was the youngest of the three, the others almost always obeyed Nick when he used that tone of voice. They both hung up.

  “Nobody’s asking Maria out,” Nick continued with a frown. “May I remind you of the JONAS Book of Law? Kevin?”

  He glanced toward his oldest brother. Kevin nodded and headed over to a bookshelf. Peering at the books, he reached up and selected one. It was leather-bound, ancient, and dusty. Very dusty.

  Kevin tried to blow off the dust and ending up blowing it right up into his own face. He coughed. “Too much fake dust!” he complained.

  Nick just tapped his foot, waiting. “Amendment three,” he reminded Kevin. “Subparagraph A. Line six.”

  Kevin opened the book. Pulling out a magnifying glass, he started to read aloud.

  “‘It was a dark and stormy night,’” he intoned. “ ‘Fireball the pony was lost in Box Canyon—’”

  He cut himself off. That didn’t sound right. Shutting the book, he checked the spine.

  “Oops. Wrong book,” he announced.

  He grabbed another dusty old book off the shelf. This time he checked the cover before opening it. It was titled JONAS Book of Law.

  With a satisfied nod, Kevin flipped it to the appropriate page. Once again, he started to read aloud:

  “ ‘If more than one JONAS is crushing on the same girl, absolutely no JONAS may ask out said crushee, or JONAS risks destroying the bond that makes them awesome bandmates and brothers.’ ”

  As the law sank in, Nick nodded. “Yeah, we don’t want to destroy our awesomeness.”

  Joe still looked a little dreamy. “But what if the crushee is the beautiful and adorable Maria?”

  “Well, then we have a problem,” Nick said.

  Kevin shrugged hopelessly. “How do you solve a problem like Maria?”

  “There’s no problem,” Joe said firmly, snapping out of his dreaminess. “The JONAS law is clear. None of us are going out with Maria. Agreed?”

  He stuck out one hand. Nick put his on top of it.

  “No more bad pizza,” Nick agreed.

  Kevin placed his hand on top
of Nick’s. “No more tight pants.”

  Then, together, the three of them threw up their hands. “Noooooooo Maria!” they all cried in one voice.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THUMP!

  Nick landed softly at the bottom of the fire pole. The kitchen was dark and deserted. Excellent.

  He caught his reflection in a mirror on the wall. Pausing, he admired his outfit. He straightened his tie and ran his fingers through his curly hair until it was perfect. Excellent.

  ZZZZZZIP!

  The soft sound made him turn. One of the kitchen chairs had just spun around, revealing Joe. He was sitting there, his fingertips pressed together like a villain in some cheesy spy movie.

  “Well, well, well,” Joe said, sounding just as villainy as he looked. “Good evening, Mr. Nick.”

  Nick froze, his heart pounding.

  “If I didn’t know any better,” Joe continued, “I’d say somebody’s dressed for a date. Perhaps with a girl I like to call . . . Maria?”

  Nick squared his shoulders. He wasn’t going down without a fight. Not when the stakes were this high. This could be true love. He felt it in his bones. Maria was cool. And funny. And didn’t go all weird because they were in a famous band. And she could probably get them free pizza anytime they wanted. Yup, she was worth fighting for. He had to play this perfectly.

  “Can’t a guy get dressed up for his evening snack?” he said, doing his best to sound casual. He headed for the refrigerator, trying to throw Joe off his trail.

  “Oh, please,” Joe mocked. “I can smell your body spray from here.” He paused and sniffed. “What is that, ‘Le Babe Magnet’?”

  “For your information, it’s called Growl,” Nick corrected him. Then he squinted, taking a better look at Joe. Wait a second. What was that sticking out of his shirt pocket? “And it looks to me like you’re the one going on a date with Maria!”

  Leaping forward, he grabbed at Joe’s pocket. Aha! Just as he’d thought!

  “Pizza coupons!” Nick spat out accusingly, waving the coupons in the air. “Care to explain these?”

  “Certainly,” Joe said calmly. “You present these when you pay, and you get a discount on your pizza.”