“Are we ready to get these to our readers?” She patted one of the newspaper bundles, and all four of us nodded. “Great! Heather and Tim, why don’t you take the east side of the sixth grade hall while Brooke and Vanessa take the west?”
“You got it,” said Tim, taking a bundle and gesturing to Heather. “After you.”
I picked up the other bundle and carried it in both arms. The advice, and my secret admirer, would have to wait for now. “You ready for potential ridicule and shame?” I asked Vanessa. “You’re with the Booger Eater, you know.”
“Booger Eater and Blank Stare,” she said with a grin. “When you need a crime to not be solved, you know who to call!”
I laughed and led the way down the hall. At the first classroom, Vanessa knocked on the door and poked her head in.
“Special delivery!” she said.
I snipped the twine with a pair of scissors and started passing out copies, greeting everyone with a big smile.
“Hi, how are you? Check out the advice column, it’s pretty awesome.”
“Do you give advice on how to eat boogers?” a guy wearing a basketball jersey asked.
Several people laughed.
“Do you give advice on terrible sports teams to follow?” I asked, gesturing to his jersey.
Several people said, “Oooh!”
“Nobody wants to play for the Kings. Not even the Kings,” I said. “How much did they pay you to wear that?”
“I told you!” The guy sitting behind him said gleefully, popping him in the shoulder.
The guy in the jersey sneered at me. “Like you know anything about sports.”
“I play soccer and coed baseball, and watch basketball, football, and golf,” I informed him. “You think you can stump me with something? Write in to the advice column.”
“I will!” he said, opening up his notebook and scribbling on a sheet of paper.
While I was busy not making friends, Vanessa had attracted a small group.
“Don’t worry, people,” I said. “There’s plenty of news for—” The cluster of students opened to let me in.
Vanessa had managed to get her head trapped under a chair.
I widened my eyes. “What happened?”
“I think it’s gum!” she called back in a muffled voice. “I dropped a paper under here and . . . Could you just get me out?”
“Sure,” I said, “but you’re not gonna like it.”
Grabbing the same pair of scissors I’d used to cut the twine, I snipped her hair free of the gum under the chair.
“Thank goodness for hats,” she said, making a face and rubbing her freshly cut hair.
We worked our way through ten more classrooms and made our way back to the main hall just as the bell rang. Vanessa and I gave each other a triumphant high five and headed for our next classes.
Heather was pacing outside the door to our history classroom when I showed up.
“Is Gabby in there?” I poked my head around the corner.
“Not yet. Have you thought about what you’re going to tell her?”
“Yep. You?”
She nodded. “Let’s talk to her out here, though. We don’t want the whole room to hear and make this more embarrassing than it has to be.”
“Good idea.” Heather and I leaned against the wall. “How did the newspaper handout go?”
Her troubled expression lightened. “Really well! Tim kept cracking jokes, and people even made us wait around so they could read our advice in person. How about you?”
“I gave Vanessa an impromptu haircut.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Good . . . job?”
We stood around until the crowd in the hall thinned to just a few students running to beat the bell. Finally, Mr. Costas called to us.
“Inside and close the door, girls!”
I glanced at Gabby’s desk to see if she’d slipped past us, but it was empty.
“Where’s Gabby?”
Mr. Costas frowned. “She wasn’t feeling well, so her mom came and picked her up last period.”
“Awww,” said Heather.
“It’s okay. She can’t avoid us forever,” I said.
Heather went to join her group, and I joined mine, telling them about my board game and showing them the horoscope chart I’d drawn for the sports and leisure portion of our project.
“What about your other topics?” asked my teammate Spencer.
“My . . .” I cringed. I’d forgotten I was supposed to cover food, money, and medicine, too. “I left the rest of that stuff at home,” I said. “The food and medicine might have spoiled, and the money . . . uh”—I cleared my throat and whispered—“counterfeiting is illegal!”
Spencer gave me a strange look. “Anyway. Here’s what I made for the language bit. It’s cuneiform.” He pulled out a tablet-sized piece of clay with indentations in it.
“That’s awesome!” I said. “Does this actually spell anything?” I ran my fingertips over all the bumps and ridges.
Spencer grinned sheepishly. “It says ‘Vote Spencer for Sixth-Grade President.’ I’m running for student council.”
“Student council!” I snapped my fingers. “I completely forgot I wanted to do that. Thanks for the reminder!”
“You’re welcome,” he said, shifting his gaze to the floor. “What . . . uh . . . what position?”
“Nothing but the best,” I said. “Sixth-grade president, of course! May the best candidate win!” I punched him in the arm.
“Yeah,” he said, rubbing it.
“Um . . . so Spencer, how long did it take you to make this?” asked Ashley, the other girl in our group.
“Almost my entire Saturday,” he confessed. “But it was fun.” He showed us the rest of the stuff he’d completed, and then Ashley shared her sections.
I watched and marveled at their hard work, feeling like the biggest jerk for being the only one who hadn’t come through on the deadline I’d made. I had to make up for this failure!
“Okay,” I told them in my most serious voice. “Let’s schedule a date to get our video complete. What’s everyone’s schedules like?”
“I’m free all week except Thursday,” said Spencer.
“Me too,” said Ashley.
I’m not gonna lie; I envied them.
“I have soccer all this week except Wednesday,” I said, “so why don’t we put our video together then?”
They nodded.
“Great! Hand in all your research to me tomorrow, and I’ll put together a script.”
“Are you sure?” asked Ashley. “I can—”
I waved a dismissive hand. “I got it.”
At the end of class, Heather left her group to talk to me.
“Do you think Gabby’s okay?” she asked.
“If she wasn’t, Tim would’ve said something, right?” I asked. “Besides, I’ve got bigger things to focus on. Like this project. Oh! And I’m running for president!”
She smiled. “I think you’ve got a few years before you’re ready for the White House.”
“No!” I laughed. “Of the sixth grade!”
“Oh!” She giggled too. “Well, if you need any help with your campaign, let me know. Also, I’m going to the library tonight,” she said. “You should come with me.”
“I don’t have time,” I said with a sigh. “I have soccer.”
Heather shrugged. “Then we’ll go after soccer. I’ll come with you!”
I looked up from my notebook. “Really? You want to watch me practice?”
None of my friends ever wanted to do that.
Heather smiled. “Don’t act so surprised! I miss hanging out.”
“Awww!” I gave her a spontaneous hug. “I know, me too! Things are just so crazy right now.”
“Tell me about it.” She rolled her eyes. “The choral director at this school is insane. She wants us to spend fifteen minutes a day singing.”
I frowned. “That’s not so bad.”
“While runn
ing on a treadmill.”
“Ha! Where are you supposed to get a treadmill?” I asked.
Heather bumped me toward the door. “That’s the part you have questions about?”
She and I talked all the way to Mom’s car and then all the way to the soccer field. I couldn’t believe how much I’d missed in just a week.
“They offered you a solo and you turned it down?” I asked. “But you’re so good!”
“Thanks,” she said with a modest smile. “But a solo means standing alone, with all eyes on me.” Heather shuddered. “That’s too much pressure.”
I goggled at her. “Last Friday you spoke to the entire school during our Meet the Press video.”
“That was different! I was talking to a video camera,” she said.
“So pretend everyone at the concert is a giant video camera,” I said.
“Right. Because that’s not creepy.”
I poked Mom in the shoulder. “You agree with me, right?”
She chuckled. “I agree that Heather has a beautiful singing voice, but if she isn’t ready, she isn’t ready.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Jacobs!” Heather said, giving me an I-told-you-so look.
I snorted. “That is so not my approach to life. My motto is ‘Ready or not, here I come!’”
Heather tilted her head to one side. “I’m pretty sure that’s wrong.”
Mom pulled up to the curb by the soccer field. “Brooke, stop bullying Heather. And have fun at practice. Do you need me to pick you up later?”
“We’re going to the library after,” I told her. “I’ll call you from there.”
I kissed Mom on the cheek, and Heather waved to her as we both hopped out.
“I’m so excited to see you play!” said Heather.
“Jacobs!”
I turned just as Coach threw a cloth bundle at me. I gasped and opened it.
“Is this . . . ? It is! Our new uniform!”
I held it up and admired the bright colors and fresh scent that was completely without body odor.
“It works better as clothing than decoration,” said Coach with a smile. “Get changed and on the field.”
Heather and I ran into the women’s locker room, where I changed and preened momentarily in front of the mirror.
“I love it!” I said, beaming.
“Let me get a pic.” Heather pulled out her phone, and I posed. “Perfect!”
“Okay, now I really have to get to practice,” I said with a giggle.
Heather took my bag of school clothes. “I’ll go find a place to sit.”
I pointed to one of the shade trees. “My mom always sits over there where . . . ugh . . . Jefferson is.”
We both made sour milk faces.
“I think I’ll stay as far from him as possible,” said Heather. She grabbed my arm. “Hey, look! It’s Gabby! We can apologize in person!”
“Oh?” I said, following her gaze. “Oh!” I looked at the big white bucket in Gabby’s hand. “Ohhh.” I watched as she stormed toward Jefferson. “Oh, oh, oh!” I tugged on Heather’s arm. “We have to stop her!”
“What?” Heather yelled, running after me.
I had no idea what was in the bucket, but I was betting it wasn’t butterflies and confetti.
CHAPTER
7
Do or Dye
“Gabby!” I shouted her name, hoping she’d freeze in her tracks.
She did, for just a second, but then doubled her pace toward Jefferson. I needed to change tactics.
I imagined that Gabby was a striker, the mystery bucket was a soccer ball, and Jefferson was the goal.
No way could I let her score that point.
I put on a burst of speed and reached Gabby just as she hoisted the bucket onto one shoulder.
“Don’t!” I yanked on her arm. “Jefferson, move!”
Of course he had his earbuds in, completely oblivious to the world.
Gabby must have been running on adrenaline because she tore herself free of my grasp, purple goop sloshing over the rim of the bucket.
“Stop!” Heather finally caught up, but instead of going for Gabby’s arms, she grabbed for her waist.
Gabby twisted and lurched forward as the bucket on her shoulder tipped backward.
Heather and I screamed and tried to escape by running.
Toward each other.
We did not get far.
Gallons of purple goo crashed down on us like a thick, sticky tidal wave. Beside me, Heather whimpered while I fought to wipe goo out of my eyes.
“What the heck is this stuff?” I screeched.
“It’s grape snow-cone syrup from my cousin’s shop!” I heard Gabby say. “I’m so sorry! I have to—”
She stopped talking, and I squinted through syrup, waving my arms in front of me. “Gabby?”
From out of nowhere, hands appeared with towels, and I could hear a myriad of voices.
“What happened?”
“Are you okay?”
“Here. Get your face first.”
“Watch out, that stuff’ll stain!”
I took a towel and wiped down my face, then used it to squeeze the syrup out of my hair. Each section stuck out from my head, so I felt like a purple porcupine. I exchanged an annoyed look with Heather and studied the crowd gathered around us. Parents, my teammates, Jefferson, but no Gabby. All that remained of her was the white plastic bucket tossed to the side.
Coach managed to break his way through the crowd.
“Are you girls okay?”
Heather and I nodded. My hair and skin were quickly stiffening, and I could feel syrup trickling into my uniform.
My uniform!
I gasped long and loud.
“What? What is it?” Heather grabbed my shoulders, her slimy palms squishing against the fabric.
“I . . . My . . .” I pointed to my clothes.
Coach shook his head. “I’m pretty sure they’re ruined, but go shower off, anyway.” To the rest of my teammates he said, “Way to hustle and look out for one of your own. Now it’s time to get to work.” He blew a whistle, and they all sprinted onto the field.
I disappeared into the locker room with Heather.
“Ugh! Can you believe Gabby?” I groaned with exasperation and slammed a purple towel into the trash can. “Come on.” I pulled her toward the showers. “Let’s see if this stuff washes out.”
We approached two empty stalls and looked at each other.
“See you on the other side,” I said, pulling back the curtain and stepping in fully clothed. Heather did the same in the next one.
A minute later twin clouds of steam were coming out of our showers, but no purple was coming out of my clothes.
“Brooke? It isn’t working!” Heather shouted to me.
“I know!” I shouted back.
“Well, that’s one outfit that won’t survive the school year,” she said, turning off her water.
I didn’t answer, too busy squirting soap from a dispenser directly onto my jersey. I scrubbed until my fingers hurt and my skin was wrinkled from being waterlogged. But my uniform was ruined.
Shoulders slumped, I turned off my own shower and squeezed water out of my clothes and ponytail.
When I stepped out, Heather was waiting with towels wrapped around her head and fully clothed body. Ordinarily, I might’ve said she looked ridiculous, but I looked like a giant raisin, so I had no room to talk.
“Oh, Brooke! I’m so sorry about your pretty new uniform.” She handed me a clean dry towel and hugged me. When she stepped back, she was frowning. “Uh-oh.”
“What-oh?” I asked.
Heather chewed her lip. “You’re no longer a . . . pure redhead.”
I groaned and grabbed the end of my ponytail, pulling it in front of my face. Red streaked with purple.
“This is not a good combination,” I muttered. “But Heather, you were directly behind Gabby. You know what that means?” I nodded to the turban on her head.
Hea
ther’s eyes widened, and she spun toward the mirror, pulling off her hair towel in the process.
“Ahhhh!” she shrieked, tugging at her deep purple hair. “My parents are going to kill me!”
I pulled her hair back. “It’s not that bad! Your hair is dark so it doesn’t show as much.”
“It shows enough!” she informed me. “We have school tomorrow and I have Hebrew school after that! Oy vey!”
“It’s okay, I can fix this. Just . . .” I covered her head with my towel. “Better.”
“Thanks,” she muttered through the cloth.
“That’s not my solution!” I said. “But your head is distracting me. I need to think.”
Heather found her purse and took out her phone. “No, you need to call your mom and have her take us to Vanessa’s.” She pressed the phone firmly into my hand. “We need professional help.”
As much as I hated to miss practice, Heather had a point. And I couldn’t really abandon her since the problem with Gabby was 90 percent my fault. After I called Mom, I changed into the old uniform I still had in my bag and lent my school clothes to Heather.
When we walked out of the clubroom, Coach closed his eyes and sighed before opening them.
“How much trouble will you be in for coloring your hair?”
“We didn’t color it,” I said. “G— Someone else did.”
Even though I was furious at her, on the off-chance that nobody had figured out who Gabby was, her identity might as well stay a secret.
“The girl who fled the scene?” he asked.
Heather and I nodded.
“What exactly happened?” asked Coach.
We explained, and when we were done, I blushed and said, “So if it’s okay, I have to miss practice today.”
“Of course.” Coach motioned for me to have a seat on the grass. “Since you’re taking off early I want to show you something.” He reached for his clipboard. “Here’s your current ranking.”
I smiled modestly in anticipation of what was to come, ready to shoo off any compliments Coach gave. But as soon as I took the clipboard I dropped it like a hot coal.
“What?” I squeaked. “I’m ranked third?”
“Third is good!” Heather said with a reassuring smile. “It’s still a medal in the Olympics.”
Brooke's Not-So-Perfect Plan Page 7
