Here Comes Trouble

by Kate Hattemer

  “We weren’t sure she’d be online,” I told Ruth.

  But she was. I panned the screen so she could see the whole room. “The Dream Team is back!” she said. “Oh, and you, Ruth. Is this your old room, Soren? What happened to the wall up there? Are those drawings?”

  “Never mind that,” I said quickly, tilting the screen to center on my face. “We’ve got our next all-school assembly in a couple of weeks. Want to help us plan something?”

  Alex frowned. Her glasses slipped down her nose. “My mom says we can’t visit again until she’s a hundred percent certain nobody’s going to cut off an ear the second she leaves town.”

  “Oh.”

  “She said definitely not November. Maybe December.”

  “Oh. Shoot. Okay.”

  “So…”

  “So what?”

  “So let’s plan a prank for then.”

  “Sure, we will,” said Lila, neatly sliding in front of me, “but what about now?”

  Alex bit her bottom lip. “Just, I think you should wait till December.”

  I grabbed the screen so I was the one in it again. “Alex. We can’t wait till December.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s only October! What are we going to do in between?”

  “Plan the December prank.”

  “And pass up any other opportunity?”

  “We’re the Dream Team,” said Alex. “Well, minus Ruth.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “And the Dream Team shouldn’t prank when only four people are there.”

  “Five,” said Ruth under her breath.

  “You shouldn’t leave me out,” said Alex.

  “You could do something down there.”

  Alex snorted. “Yeah, right. The way they secure this school? And Sophia hates pranking. She’s always like, ‘Why is that even fun?’ ”

  I shook my head. If someone doesn’t immediately grasp the joy of pranking, they’re beyond hope.

  “Listen,” said Lila, taking advantage of my momentary lapse to regain control of the laptop, “we’re pranking now. That’s decided. So either you’re cool with it and help us, or—”

  “I just think you’re being a little mean,” said Alex. “You could wait for me.”

  But you moved away! I wanted to say. I never wanted you to move, Alex, but you did, and what else am I supposed to do?

  Lila swiveled so Alex couldn’t see her face. She mouthed at us, What should I say?

  “I got this,” said Tabitha. She scooched forward. “Alex?”

  “Imagine how epic December could be—”

  “We’re having trouble hearing you.” Tabitha frowned at the screen. She grabbed the top of the screen and shook it back and forth. “Alex?” she said in a faraway voice. “We’re losing you—bad connection—are you—”

  She slammed the laptop shut.

  “Done,” she said.

  We all stared at the laptop there on the rug. A second ago it had been talking, it had been Alex’s moving face, scowling, glasses shifting around—and now it was just a hunk of plastic. Technology was weird.

  “That’s what we do when our mom’s out of town and trying to give us chores,” said Tabitha.

  “It’s not very nice,” said Ruth.

  “Nope,” agreed Tabitha. “We’re Slytherins.”

  “Big picture, it is nice,” said Lila. “She doesn’t need to know we’re pranking without her. She can think we’re waiting, and we’ll forget to mention whatever we do.”

  “I’d rather know the truth if I were her,” said Ruth.

  “But you’re not her, are you?” I snapped.

  What? Where did that come from?

  “No,” said Ruth, “but—”

  “Go away,” I said. “You’re just proving you’re too little to be here.”

  I guess I thought, At least I can do one thing Alex would approve of.

  “Go away, Ruth,” I said again.

  “You said I could stay!”

  “They said you could stay. But you’re my little sister, so I get to decide.” Right then it felt like everything had been better in the old days, and that’s the most helpless, hopeless feeling. “And I decide no.”

  Ruth stomped her foot.

  “Very mature,” I told her.

  She drew herself up as tall as she could. Her eyes got big as she tried not to let tears come out. There was no way she’d cry in front of older girls. Ruth has a lot of pride. “I am extremely insulted,” she said. “If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have even gotten them in the house.” On her way out, she whirled around to toss one more thing over her shoulder. “Don’t think I’m going to wash that egg pan for you.”

  * * *

  —

  IF YOU’VE EVER been over to your friend’s when they fight with their sibling, you know it’s the second-most awkward situation in the world, number one being them fighting with their parents. I’d seen it plenty (Soup can’t even ride in the same car as his sister Wallaby without name-calling), but I’d never been the one who caused it. Not because I’m noble. Just because Ruth and I are, usually, cool.

  The triplets were tactfully silent. After a while, though, we started reliving the Alarm Clock Incident. That cleared the air. Olivia did an imitation of Leary when the clocks went off—“M, children, is for—AHHHHH! HELP!”—and we were all rolling around like the kindergartners on their mats.

  “We’ve got to do another prank,” said Tabitha. “That was the most fun I’ve had since we forced Ethan to go ice fishing for his boxers.”

  Lila’s legal pad was scrawled with ideas by the time the door opened.

  “Oh,” said Flynn. “Hey, everyone.”

  “Oh my gosh,” said Olivia, sounding like she’d been sucking on a helium balloon. “It’s Flynn.”

  “Hi, Olivia.”

  She turned bright red and scooted back so she was half-hidden by the desk. “Hi!”

  “I’m back from Goldie’s,” Flynn told me.

  “We can see that,” I said. “Um, is it okay that we’re in here?”

  “I guess.” He didn’t sound totally sure, but he perched on the windowsill and played the piano on the seams of his pants. “What’s up? Are you working on your science presentations too?”

  “What science presentations?” said Lila. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Nobody here’s started,” I said.

  “They’re due in two days!” said Flynn.

  “LA LA LA—” the triplets began.

  “What are Dad and Ivan doing?” I asked Flynn. “Are they okay?”

  “Your dad is lying flat on the kitchen floor. Ivan is driving trucks over his face.”

  “Back to normal, then,” I said, relieved. “Er, did you happen to see Ruth?”

  “She’s reading From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler on the couch.” Uh-oh. Isn’t that book about a girl who runs away from home because her brothers are so annoying? “She looks mad,” Flynn added.

  “I bet she does,” said Tabitha.

  “Poor Ruth,” said Olivia.

  “You don’t know anything about it,” I told them. “So don’t pretend to.”

  There was an awkward silence.

  “So,” said Flynn.

  “So,” said Lila.

  The awkwardness continued. Three other people thought about saying, So.

  Finally, I glanced at the mural on the wall. “We would ask you to hang out with us,” I said, “but you wouldn’t like what we’re doing.”

  “Oh.”

  I wanted him to leave. I wanted him to get the hint.

  “So,” I said at last, “you’re kind of interrupting.”

  “Well,” said Flynn, “you’r
e kind of in my room.”

  As a unit, the triplets stood. “We’re sorry!” said Olivia. “We’ll go!”

  “Let’s go downstairs, Soren,” said Lila.

  “Don’t boss me around in my own house,” I told her. I turned to Flynn. “And you should remember that your room is actually my room.”

  “Whoa,” Tabitha said. “Chill.”

  Didn’t she know that the worst, the absolute number-one worst thing to be told is “chill”? I went from annoyed to mad to furious in about half a second, and I grabbed a corner of butcher-paper mural and tore it. I tore it twelve inches, a jagged diagonal rip that went right through a careful, colorful cartoon of Flynn playing the banjo while a bald dude and a ponytailed lady, obviously my parents, bowed in worship. “You can have this room,” I said. “At least I’m living in my own house.”

  Flynn turned a deep red. I spun to leave, but not before I saw the way his eyes had gotten all watery. It was the second time that day I’d made someone cry. I knew I was supposed to feel sorry, but it didn’t hit me right away. It didn’t hit me for a while. For a while it felt like when you’ve won a soccer game, not just won but really pounded them, and you’re walking off the field and you give your counterpart on the other team that little look, chin up, square in the eyes: I’m better than you. It was like the surge you get when you win a random arm-wrestling match at lunch and everyone shouts, “OHHH!” Until the sorriness hit me, I felt like a champion. Then it hit me, and I wanted to cry myself.

  FLYNN HAD A stomachache and didn’t come down for dinner. Mom went to check on him, and after we ate she took up a plate of food and stayed up there for an hour at least.

  I figured I’d be in for a Big Talk, so I spent the hour preparing arguments in my head. He didn’t like pranking, he’d said that, so I wasn’t acting exclusive, and about the room, the thing is, as Mom knew, in a big family, or even a medium family in a small house, it’s not a huge deal to use someone else’s room. Sometimes there’s just no other place to go. We hadn’t snooped or messed anything up, well, except the mural that had gotten torn, but that was practically an accident—

  But Mom didn’t say anything about it.

  Also, I would have asked whether she’d noticed that the most embarrassing moments in her son’s life were depicted in graphic detail on her nephew’s walls, and what did she think about that.

  Nope. Nothing. She did make me wash the egg pan, though.

  The next day, Flynn went over to Goldie’s again. Her dad dropped him off right before dinner. He slid into his seat and said, “Wow, Uncle Jon! Homemade pizza!”

  “Homemade cabbage pizza,” Ruth corrected him. It was Experimental Food Night again. “Don’t get excited.”

  “Cabbage is my favorite!”

  “There’s acorn squash and caper pizza as well,” said Dad. “Have a slice of each.”

  “What did you and Goldie get up to?” said Mom.

  “First we had snack,” said Flynn. “Mrs. Grandin made Snickers salad. It was amazing. I’m really coming around to Midwestern cuisine.”

  I was having a tough time choking down the cabbage pizza, and I think what happened was that I took a way too big bite and actually clogged my ear canals for a few seconds. Everything’s connected in there. By the time I managed a swallow, both Mom and Dad were glaring at me.

  “Soren,” said Dad, “Flynn says he and Goldie spent most of the afternoon working on their Ethics in Science presentations for Ms. Hutchins.”

  “Well, actually, we’ve been working for weeks,” Flynn said. “Today was for the finishing touches.”

  “And they’re due tomorrow?” said Mom, still glaring.

  “I’ll be fine!” I said.

  “Flynn is done. Have you even started?”

  “In a way,” I hedged.

  “What way?”

  “Well…” I considered saying I’d made half the PowerPoint already, but that was an easy one to check. “I know what my topic is.”

  That was almost true. I couldn’t have named it, but I did know where I had it written down.

  As long as I hadn’t thrown away that piece of paper.

  It had to be in the pocket of my Adidas soccer pants.

  Unless they’d gotten washed.

  “I thought you’d vowed to stop procrastinating,” said Dad.

  “No, I said soon I’d vow to stop procrastinating,” I said.

  Nobody even cracked a smile. That was how I knew I was in trouble.

  * * *

  —

  I WAS LOCKED in the dining room with Dad’s laptop and a cowbell. The laptop was for working; the cowbell was for ringing if I had to go to the bathroom. Then Mom or Dad would come grant permission and stand there scowling until I got back.

  At nine or so, Ruth popped her head in. “Flynn’s making Snickers salad,” she said. “He found the recipe online.”

  “Cool,” I said, not raising my eyes from my PowerPoint. I was still choosing a visual theme, but that was probably the most important step.

  “Dad gave him Snickers from the Halloween stash, and he’s microwaving them and mashing them up with marshmallows and peanut butter and Rice Chex.”

  Those were four of my all-time favorite foods. “That sounds disgusting,” I said.

  “Too bad,” said Ruth, “because I was going to ask if you wanted me to bring you a bowl.”

  “Wait, really? Will you really—”

  With her sweetest smile, she said, “Nope. Just kidding.”

  She skipped off.

  My mouth was watering.

  “I guess Flynn’s eating processed sugar these days,” I called, and after a minute, “Who’s acting exclusive now?” Nobody answered. But I could hear the beeps of the microwave and Ivan chanting “GLOOP! GLOOP! GLOOP!,” so I bet they could hear me.

  They could definitely hear me.

  I couldn’t believe they were taking his side.

  IT WAS TWO a.m. by the time I finished Fudging Data: A Very Big Problem in Scientific Research, the worst PowerPoint I’d ever made. I relied heavily on animations, twirling letters, and GIFs to cover up the fact that I’d done hardly any research. To be honest, I had to fudge some data myself. I would have considered the irony, but I was too busy collapsing into bed.

  Approximately ten minutes later, Mom yelled, “Flynn! Soren! Ruth!”

  I flinched.

  “Flynn! Soren! Ruth!”

  I rolled over.

  “Rise and shine!”

  I squinted my eyes open. The sun seemed extra bright.

  “Blerg,” I said to Ruth, forgetting that she was mad at me.

  “Blerg yourself,” she said, obviously forgetting too. She hopped out of bed. “It snowed! First of the season!”

  That was why it was so bright. The sun was glaring off it, like the world was carpeted with fluorescent lights.

  “You think we’ll get a snow day?”

  “No. It’s not much. I can still see grass blades.” October snow is usually pretty wimpy. Besides, we’re so good at plowing up here in northern Minnesota that it takes a major blizzard to get a snow day.

  “CHILDREN!”

  “I’m up, Mom!” called Ruth.

  “Me too, Aunt Lucinda!” yelled Flynn.

  I closed my eyes. I’d rest for one more minute, let Ruth take her turn in the bathroom—

  “SOREN EBENEZER SKAAR! YOU’LL MAKE US ALL LATE!”

  I jolted awake.

  “IF YOU DON’T GET YOURSELF OUT OF BED WITHIN THREE SECONDS, I’M COMING TO GET YOU OUT OF BED MYSELF!”

  That made me jump. You do not want Mom to get you out of bed. Once she literally picked up the footboard and dumped me out, like she was having one of those superhuman-strength moments that normal moms get when they’re saving their child from a flipped c
ar or something.

  I got on the bus like, Phew. Sometimes you want to go from the frying pan to the fire just for the change of scenery.

  * * *

  —

  MS. HUTCHINS IS always peppy on presentation days, mostly because she gets to use the bingo machine she bought at an antiques store in Duluth. It’s basically a birdcage full of numbered Ping-Pong balls, and you pull a lever and they all hop around like water bugs and then one ball falls down the chute. Ms. Hutchins loves it. She danced over and set them popping and sang out, “Our first victim is…”

  The Ping-Pong ball glided down the chute. We held our breaths.

  “Number…”

  She drags this out, I swear.

  “Nine!”

  We’re numbered alphabetically. Twenty-three kids breathed a sigh of relief. Goldie stood.

  “Hi!” she said. Goldie loves presentations. She was wearing a blazer, total overkill but probably doing great things for her grade. “My PowerPoint is called Why We Shouldn’t Experiment on Animals.”

  I half closed my eyes. I meant to mentally rehearse my presentation, but I must have dozed off. I was jerked awake by the applause as Goldie bowed left, right, and center.

  “Thank you!” said Ms. Hutchins, glowing. “What a wonderful start! I hope you all will take Goldie’s professional, well-mannered presentation style as a model.”

  She pulled the lever on the lottery machine. “Number…”

  I crossed my fingers and prayed for salvation.

  “Seventeen!”

  Me.

  Rats.

  Reluctantly, I pulled up my PowerPoint on Ms. Hutchins’s computer. “Er,” I said, “hello. My topic is…”

  I blanked.

  “Um…” I turned around to look at my slide. “Oh, right. Fudging data.”

  It went downhill from there.

  I’ve blocked out most of it, so, sorry, you don’t get all the grisly details. I do recall reading authoritatively from one of my slides, “Amazingly, 37.2 percent of scientific data is entirely made up.”

  “Really,” said Ms. Hutchins dryly.

  “Yup,” I said, sensing imminent disaster and clicking onward fast. The next slide was the second to last. Thank goodness. “So if you ever become a scientist,” I said, “you should never make up data.”