by Josh Lieb
Chapter 26:
A VISIT TO STATELY SHELDRAKE MANOR
“Nice place you got here,” says Verna Salisbury, running a finger across Sheldrake’s silk couch.
“Thank you,” says Sheldrake. “I decorated it myself.”
Actually, I decorated it myself, and I happen to know Lionel hates it. It’s all intricately carved seventeenth-century French antiques and woven wall hangings of knights fighting dragons. Lionel says it looks like the ladies’ room at a fancy restaurant, but I think it’s important that the home of the fourth-richest man on earth should make a certain impression.
“Who’s that?” asks Verna, pointing at me. She’s pretty, in an intensely intelligent sort of way. All flashing eyes and dark hair and arching eyebrows. A pair of tortoise-shell eyeglasses perches on the end of her long flutelike nose.
“That’s my grandfather,” says Lionel. “Pay no attention to him. He’s in a world of his own.”
“Bloogle,” I say. My face itches but I won’t scratch it;
I don’t want to tear off any of the wrinkles.
“Saw you on TV the other night,” says Verna. “You really destroyed that guy.”
“Bloogle!” I scream happily, clapping my hands. “Bloogle!”
“Grandfather, please calm down.” He puts a steadying hand on the arm of my wheelchair. He already knows how happy I am with his performance on Daddy’s station; this morning, I donated a new building to the Cornell University Medical School in Lionel’s name.
“So, Ms. Salisbury,” says Sheldrake, putting a this-is-business tone into his voice. “How do you think your assignment is going?”
“Couldn’t be better,” she says. “I’ve got the both of ’em—Scott and Randy—wrapped around my little finger. To be honest, after so much time in Washington, I’d forgotten people could be so . . .”
She hesitates, searching for the right word. “Gullible?” Lionel offers.
She shakes her head. “No. Sincere. They’re really very sweet.”
“So you don’t mind . . . your romance with Mr. Sparks.”
Verna’s lips twist into a lopsided grin. “I’d hardly call it a romance. He gives me a kiss on the cheek after we watch a movie. But no, I don’t mind. Like I said, he’s sweet.”
“Bloogle,” I say sternly, commanding Lionel to get to the meat of the conversation.
“Ms. Salisbury, I have some concern that the campaign you’re running for Randy Sparks may not be as solid as I’d like. It can’t be a joke. It has to look like he has a legitimate chance of winning.”
“You want him to lose, right?” says Verna.
“Yes, that’s the agreement.”
She grins again. “Then you can’t ask me to run much of a campaign. I mean, Randy’s no natural-born leader of men, but this chump he’s up against is a real loser. I saw him one time when I was picking up Randy from school. Five foot tall, maybe two hundred pounds. Looks dumb as a post. I hear one time they caught him dunking bologna in a jar of grape jelly—”
“Bloogle!” I shout. “Bloogle!”
“Pipe down, Gramps,” says Verna. “Anyway, this kid
Watson, he’s just weird. When he walks, it looks like an ostrich egg wobbling down the street—”
“Bloogle!”
Sheldrake holds up a hand. “That’s enough, Ms. Salisbury. Thank you. Just do me a favor and try to give Randy a slightly more credible campaign. Don’t worry about winning. If he starts doing too well, I’ll just have you sabotage his speech on election day. Agreed?”
“Hey, you keep the checks coming, and I’ll do whatever you want,” replies Verna, laughing. It’s a charming laugh. She could probably run for office herself if she actually cared about anything.
But, like most people, the only thing that interests her is cash. Which makes her very easy to control.
And, for the record, I wasn’t dunking my bologna in grape jelly.
It was strawberry jam. I command you to try it some time. Delicious!
Chapter 27:
SUDDENLY, MY HOUSE SMELLS LIKE LIP GLOSS
Tatiana has turned my family’s garage into WATSEN 4 PRESDENT CAMPAN HEADQARTERS. It should, of course, say WATSON FOR PRESIDENT CAMPAIGN HEADQUARTERS, but Tati let Liz Twombley paint the sign that’s in the front yard, and Liz learned to spell by text messaging.
Under Tatiana’s management, the garage now looks like an evil version of Santa’s Workshop. Liz and Logan Michaels are the elves, cranking out poster after poster, dripping paint, paste, and glitter all over the hood of Mom’s Buick. Tati is the evil Santa. She sits in a folding chair, leaning back against the wall, leafing through my mother’s giant stack of old Knitter’s World magazines, and yelling at Logan and Liz whenever they take a break for more than two minutes. “Move your keister, Michaels,” she barks. “This tub of lard ain’t gonna elect himself.”
Mom and I watch them through the window while I eat my after-school grilled cheese. The sandwich is gritty; some of Tati’s glitter has floated into Mom’s kitchen.
My mother has a serious expression on her face as she watches the girls work. After thinking for a long while, she finally says, “Oliver.”
And I say, “Yes, Mom”
And she says, “I know all the girls are in love with you. But don’t commit yourself too early. You have plenty of time to find the right one.”
I nod and promise I’ll talk to her before I get married.
Tati pokes her sharp face through the door. “Hey, dork—guess what? We got a spy inside the Sparks campaign.”
“What do you—stop it, Lolli!”
Lollipop has jammed her nose up under Tati’s sweater and is licking her belly. But Tati is giggling and doesn’t seem to mind. “That’s okay. I got a dog at home who does the same thing. But listen, Tubby. Somebody keeps texting me the slogans Randy Sparks is gonna have on his posters. Know what that means? We can respond to his posters before he even puts ’em up.”
“But who would do that?” asks my mother, who’s looking at Tatiana suspiciously.
Tati gives her a serious look: “Team Tubby has spies everywhere, Tubby’s Mom.”
Mom gives a dismissive sniff. She doesn’t like Tatiana much anymore. I don’t think she minds it that Tati calls me Tubby or Dork or Fat Farm.93 If I didn’t know better, I’d think Mom was jealous. Very strange.
Liz rushes in, squiggling and shaking in her jean shorts and giggling uncontrollably. Her face is marked with big wads of Elmer’s glue, like zits. “Can I use your bathroom, Mrs. Watson?” she squeaks. “Logan poured glitter down my underwear, and it itches like crazy.”
“Go ahead, dear,” says Mom, cold as ice. See? She doesn’t even like Liz now, and Liz is nice.
“Pretty girlie!” says Liz, patting Lollipop’s head as she skips away to the bathroom. I’m starting to think Liz may be smarter than she looks.
“You wanna make a poster, Tubby’s Mom?” asks Tati, suddenly polite. “It would be, like, an honor. We got lots of supplies. We stole ’em from Liz’s dad’s office.”
I stare at Tati, astonished. I’ve never seen her treat an adult with this much respect before.
Mom bites her lip and gives Tati a funny look. “Are you sure you want my help? I thought you girls were taking over.”
“Oh, no way, Mrs. Tubby’s Mom. We totally need your expert advice and everything.”
Mom looks like she won the lottery. “Well, if you need me, I can’t very well say no, can I?” And she tears off her apron and runs out to the garage.
Tatiana watches her go and smiles. She doesn’t look so polite anymore. She winks at me and says, “They’re like violins. You just gotta know how to play ’em.”
Then she walks out the door and slams it in my face.
Is this what love feels like?
Chapter 28:
CALL AND RESPONSE
94
Chapter 29:
EXTREME MAKEOVER—DORK EDITION
Randy Sparks looks good.
/> I mean, not good. He’s still Randy Sparks, after all. But Verna has cleaned him up considerably. He combs his hair now. He has new glasses that aren’t bent and scratched and taped together. He’s washing more often, too; his face no longer looks like it’s coated with goat saliva.
His shirts don’t have sweat stains around the armpits anymore, but that’s only because Verna threw out all his old shirts and bought him new ones in bright preppy colors. I paid for them, of course.
But they’re already paying off. Just ten minutes ago, a girl noticed Randy for the very first time in his entire life. I witnessed this momentous occasion. She passed our table in the cafeteria and said, “Nice shirt, Randy.” He was so surprised he forgot how to breathe for about three minutes and nearly passed out into his pudding cup.
Now, don’t be too impressed. The girl was India Danko, a very low-ranking female who has one nostril bigger than the other. And everyone hates her because she steals. But she’s still definitely a girl, which means something. I know it does to Randy; he’s been smiling ever since.
With these improvements, Randy is now only the Fifth Most Pathetic Boy at School. The new rankings are95:
“Randy,” I say, as I expertly scrape the cream-filling from my cupcake, “Do you like India?”
He turns pink. “Uh . . . no. I mean, I don’t like like her.” Then he thinks about it and says, “Actually, I don’t even regular ‘like’ her. She stole my jacket last year.”
“I think maybe she likes you.”
He thinks about that some more. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t know . . . but maybe she does.”
He tries to take a bite from his tuna-fish sandwich, but it’s hard to eat when you’re grinning ear to ear.
I’m proud of Randy. He’s slowly becoming worthy of getting crushed by me.
Chapter 30:
I WILL BE VERY HONEST. I DID NOT SEE THIS ONE COMING
There is something rotten in the state of Nebraska.
Namely, Alan Pitt’s feet, which smell like ass. Har.
But let’s be serious for a moment.
Seriously, they smell like butt. Double har!
Sorry, sorry. I’m in a bit of a bubbly mood. Things really seem to be falling into place—and not always in ways I’d expected.
For instance: I’ve always worried that Mom didn’t have enough friends. To be precise, she’s never had any friends. Not that she isn’t friendly. I’ve watched her try to buddy up with some of the other mothers at PTA meetings and school carnivals. They always act nice enough to her at first, and they always say perfectly friendly things, but then they always, always, always end up ignoring her.
The other moms will stand in a circle, gabbing and laughing with each other, clearly having the time of their lives. Mom stands by herself on the other side of the room, lingering by the snack table, pathetically watching them. It’s like they can smell something wrong with her. Like wild dogs driving a sick member from the pack.
I’ve hired actors to be friends with Mom in the past, but she can smell something wrong with them, and invariably starts avoiding them because she thinks they’re “phony.” Mom has a good nose.
Which is why I’m so pleased that Mom finally has friends. Granted, they’re twelve-year-old girls, but it’s a start.
The day after Tati invited Mom to help make posters, the WATSEN 4 PRESDENT CAMPAN HEADQARTERS moved from the garage into the kitchen. Now, every day as soon as school lets out, Mom sits at the counter with Logan and Liz, giggling in a fog of glitter. Tati sits at the kitchen table painting her nails and ordering them to “stop cackling like morons and get back to work.” It’s sweet.
But I suspect they’re up to something. Yesterday, I went to the fridge for a chilled Twinkie,96 and they all shut up as soon as I walked in the door. They were all staring at me and smiling strangely, like I had a booger on my cheek.97 Liz’s stare was especially intense—her eyes were bugging out like she was holding her breath. Suddenly, she burst out, “We have a surprise for you, Ollie!”
Logan gave her a mean kick on the ankle and said, “You’re not supposed to say.”
Liz looked unrepentant. “I didn’t say what it is, Logan!”
“Knock it off,” said Tati. “Liz—ten push-ups for opening your trap. Logan, you do twenty for kicking her. I’m the one who gives out discipline here.”
Logan and Liz immediately dropped to the floor and grunted their way through some very sloppy push-ups.
This was intriguing. I turned to my mother and opened my eyes their widest. “What’s my s’prise, Mom? Is it chocolate?”
She smiled and opened her mouth to answer me, but Tati held up a warning finger and said, “You looking to get some exercise, Tubby’s Mom?”
Mom closed her mouth.
Then Tatiana stretched her tiny mouth into a crocodile grin and said, “Don’t get yourself excited, Chubbles. We was just talking some campaign business. The only surprise is that our spy at the Sparks campaign stopped texting me what their poster ideas are. So, you know, we gotta work a little harder to get you elected. That’s all.”
Somehow, I didn’t believe that was the actual surprise they were talking about. Still, it was surprising to me; Verna’s getting lazy. I decided to deduct some money from her next paycheck.
Then Mom shooed me out of the room. When I was halfway down the hallway they started giggling again.
It’s simply the most adorable thing ever: My mother has joined a gang.
Chapter 31:
EXTREME MAKEOVER—MEGA-DORK EDITION
Moorhead looks good.
I mean, not good—he’s still Moorhead, after all—but better, at any rate. He’s a little slimmer. His hair’s tidier. His teeth aren’t quite so yellow; it seems likely he’s ventured into the exciting world of toothpastes that whiten as they clean.98
The biggest change, though, is in the way he carries himself. There’s a little swagger in the old boy’s step this morning. A twinkle in his eye. His fat, self-satisfied mouth is even fatter99 and more self-satisfied than usual.
“Is everyone enjoying The Outsiders?” he asks rhetorically, as he parades up the aisle. “I hope so. It’s one of my favorites.”
I’m surprised to hear this since a) I actually like The Outsiders and b) I didn’t know we were reading The Outsiders. A quick scan of the room proves I’m the only one still holding a copy of Fahrenheit 451. It’s possible I should pay more attention in class.
I’m not the only one who’s scanned the room. Moorhead appears behind me and plucks the book from my hands. “Still finishing Mr. Bradbury’s opus, Oliver?” He pivots his head so everyone in class can see his shining face. “Perhaps someone’s been a little too busy making campaign posters to keep up with the reading.”
He waits for the expected laugh to die down before handing Fahrenheit back to me. I smile at him gratefully, and say, “I like the part where they burn the books.”
That makes his liverlike lip droop a little—but just a little—and he’s fully regained whatever wind I took out of his sails by the time he gets back to his desk. “Burning books is yesterday’s news, Ollie,” he drawls, as he rests his hand on an enormous dog-eared copy of Gravity’s Rainbow. “Today, we’re talking about setting your imagination on fire!”
