The Girls' Revenge

by Phyllis Reynolds Naylor

  Wally didn't care. Flunk me, he decided. It would be worth it just to make sure he wouldn't have to be in Caroline's class next year if the Malloys stayed on.

  As the class discussed what was good about his report and what wasn't, Wally realized suddenly that there was no one breathing on the back of his neck, no poke in the ribs. Caroline wasn't back yet. What was taking her so long? Had she gone home?

  “All right, let's hear from Caroline next,” Miss Applebaum said, and then she asked, “Where is Caroline?” The door at the back of the room opened, and in walked Caroline Malloy.

  She had on a T-shirt that said BUCKMAN EXXON in red-and-blue letters on the front, baggy blue pants, white tube socks with yellow and green stripes around the tops (she'd rolled the pant legs up so everyone could see), a pair of black Nikes with purple laces, and a dirty baseball cap worn backward. Everyone started to laugh.

  “What it feels like to be Wally Hatford,” Caroline began, smiling too. She patted the clothes she was wearing: “Wally's shirt, Wally's trousers, Wally's socks …” She held up one foot. “Wally's shoes…” And then, most humiliating of all, Wally found, she raised the bottom of the T-shirt to show the waistband of his Fruit Of The Looms: “Wally's underpants.”

  Seven

  Humiliation

  Caroline was in her glory. The only thing better than this would be standing onstage in a huge auditorium before a thousand people.

  She loved being onstage. She adored being the center of attention. And someday, she knew, her name would be in lights on Broadway and people would pay a hundred dollars just to see Caroline Lenore Malloy in a play.

  Meanwhile, she had to make do with the fourth-grade class at Buckman Elementary, and she played it for all it was worth.

  “I decided that if I had to be Wally Hatford for a day, I should be as close to the real thing as I could get, so I borrowed his clothes,” she said.

  The class laughed again, and Caroline could see Wally's ears burning as red as the nose on Rudolph the Reindeer.

  It serves him right, she told herself. Wally could describe her as dramatic or loud or conceited or even crazy, but how dare he call her boring? Caroline Malloy was never boring. And so the brighter Wally's ears burned, the better she felt.

  “What it's like to be Wally Hatford for a day is to be Mr. Average,” she continued. “He isn't very smart, but you can't call him stupid; he's never late for school, but he takes his time about getting here. The most interesting feature about Wallace James Hatford is that he lies.”

  Miss Applebaum leaned forward and looked at Caroline. Caroline merely nodded for emphasis.

  “It's sad, but true. I discovered later that everything he told me during our interview was a lie. His favorite food is not parsnips and chicken livers, it's pizza. The best book he ever read was not The History of Military Strategy in the United States in the Eighteenth Century, it's The Bodies in the Bessledorf Hotel. It took some skillful detective work on my part, but I—”

  “May I interrupt?” came Miss Applebaum's voice from behind her.

  Caroline frowned as she turned toward the teacher's desk. How rude! Whoever heard of interrupting an actress during a play! Stay in character, she told herself. Just freeze, and as soon as she stops talking, start in again right where you left off. This would be a good lesson in improvising.

  “Class,” said Miss Applebaum. “These two reports are the finest examples I know of how not to conduct an interview. Caroline and Wally were obviously more intent on annoying each other than they were in doing this assignment, which was to improve our observing and listening skills. An interviewer who approaches her subject already knowing how she feels about him cannot possibly be unprejudiced. An interview like that is worse than no interview at all, because it simply passes on to others our own prejudices. Therefore, both Wally and Caroline have failed the December project, and I don't think we need to hear any more, Caroline. You may take your seat.”

  Caroline stood speechless at the front of the room. This couldn't be happening! You simply did not turn off the lights in the middle of a performance! You did not pull the curtain when the actress was center stage. She still had her best lines to say! She still had to tell how Wally—

  “You may sit down, Caroline,” the teacher said again. “Though I would suggest you go into the rest room and change back into your own clothes.”

  It was Caroline's face that burned now, but Wally seemed to take no pleasure in it. His ears were still fiery red and he sat staring down at a pencil eraser on his desk.

  The rest of the class watched as Caroline stumbled back to her seat, picked up the shopping bag with her own clothes in it, and fled the room, tears running down her cheeks.

  This was horrible! It was awful! She had heard of plays closing in New York after only a few performances, but she had never, ever heard of a play so bad that they brought down the curtain right in the middle of the show. She leaned against the paper-towel dispenser and bawled.

  For the rest of the day Caroline did not look at Wally or he at her. She hardly looked at anyone else either, and the other kids left her alone. How would she ever get over the embarrassment? She would never live it down—never, never, never! Why hadn't Miss Applebaum sent Wally to his seat when he described her as boring? He had deserved everything she'd said about him! And then, silently interviewing herself, Caroline admitted that she had planned the grand humiliation of Wally Hatford even before he'd got up to give his report. Even before he'd called her life boring. In fact, the only reason she'd chosen him for a partner at all was to make him think she was his friend so he would accept a gross-me-out present.

  How could she think he would be friendly now? How did she think he'd dare open any gift she gave him? She had gotten so carried away by her own plans that she'd forgotten what she'd set out to do in the first place.

  I don't care, she thought angrily, turning all her anger back onto Wally again. I am going to make him as miserable as I can this Christmas, and if we're both stuck in fourth grade for the rest of our lives, he'll be sorry he ever heard the name Malloy.

  Miss Applebaum did not say anything more to either Caroline or Wally that afternoon. The fact that it was snowing when school let out made it even worse somehow. Ordinarily, Caroline would climb up on the highest object handy, toss back her head, throw out her arms, and cry, “Snow! Wonderful snow!”, letting it coat her hair and eyelashes.

  But she shuffled along with her head down, her shoulders hunched, until Beth caught up with her and grabbed her arm.

  “Caroline, what's wrong?” she asked.

  Caroline was afraid to answer for fear she might cry again. And if she cried out here on the sidewalk, someone would be bound to see and report it to the Hatfords. How could she feel so miserable in the season of peace and joy? How could she have acted so miserable, even to Wally Hatford?

  “What's wrong?” Beth asked again.

  “Only the major embarrassment of my life,” Caroline replied, choking. “Not only that, but I—I failed fourth grade!” Her tears came in spite of herself. But by then Eddie had caught up with them, and, comforted by the presence of her two older sisters, one on either side of her, Caroline spilled out her story in gulps and sniffles.

  “Yikes!” said Beth. “Major, major embarrassment!”

  “It was a stupid, stupid assignment, and Miss Applebaum wasn't fair!” Caroline sobbed. “How can I tell Dad and Mom I'm repeating fourth grade? What if we move back to Ohio and I have to tell all my friends, ‘Goodbye. I'm going back to fourth grade’?”

  “You'll just have to talk to the teacher and ask what you can do for extra credit,” said Eddie. “Tell her how sorry you are.”

  “But what if she wants me to apologize to Wally?”

  “That's a tough one,” said Eddie.

  The girls got to the swinging bridge, but as they started across, they saw that the bridge was already jiggling. The Hatford boys were just walking off the other side, and going right up the hi
ll toward the Malloys' backyard, heading for the garage.

  “Oooh, they think they're so smart!” Caroline breathed, anger getting the best of her again. “They're just doing this to bother us.”

  “What do you suppose they want the loft for?” said Beth. “It's not June, after all. It's December. It's cold in there.”

  “There's only one way to find out,” said Eddie, smiling slightly.

  Beth turned to her sister. “Spy on them?”

  “Exactly.”

  Caroline began to feel all warm inside again, though not, she knew, with the Christmas spirit. Eddie and Beth were back in her corner again, making plans, and that was right where she wanted them to be.

  Eight

  Peter on the Hot Seat

  Jake, Josh, Wally, and Peter trooped into the Bensons' old garage and over to the ladder. It was nailed to the wall and led up through the opening in the floor above.

  “Ladder still squeaks,” Jake said as he put his foot on the dusty rung and started up, hand over hand.

  One by one the boys emerged into the loft. Half the space held window screens and picture frames, and in the other Wally saw an empty box of fireworks, old soda cans, thumbtacks, a mitten, a candy-bar wrapper, string, wire, and a Chinese checkers game. There was not enough room to stand up, but it didn't matter.

  “We used to have a lot of fun up here,” said Josh.

  They looked around some more, crawling over to the loft window, which directly faced the girls' house.

  “Remember the time we strung up that pulley between the loft window and Tony Benson's room?” said Jake. “It worked too.”

  “Yeah, we used to clip notes to the pulley and pass them back and forth.”

  It was time, however, for the club meeting, and when Jake and Josh and Wally and Peter were sitting in a sort of circle on the floor, Jake said, “Peter, take the hot seat.”

  Peter, who had been running a little red double-decker Matchbox bus along the floor, quickly looked up. “Why?” he said. And then he saw the sober looks on his brothers' faces. “What?” he said.

  “Go ahead, take the hot seat,” said Wally.

  Peter reluctantly crawled into the center of the circle and looked from one brother to the next.

  “Okay, how did she get them?” asked Jake, who always seemed to take over.

  “I don't know!” said Peter, examining the little bus in his hands. “I don't know how Caroline got his clothes.”

  The boys looked at each other.

  “Then how did you even know we were talking about Caroline?” asked Josh.

  “How did you know we were talking about clothes?” Wally demanded.

  Peter was confused. “Well, what were you talking about, then?”

  “Caroline and my clothes!” said Wally angrily. “You gave them to her, didn't you?”

  “Well, she asked,” said Peter.

  “Whose side are you on, anyway?” Wally bellowed. “If she'd asked you to cut off our heads, would you have done that too?”

  “No,” Peter whispered.

  “What did she pay you, Peter?” asked Josh.

  Silence.

  “C'mon, what did she give you to steal Wally's clothes?” Josh insisted.

  “I didn't steal them, I borrowed them.”

  “What did she pay you?” Wally yelled.

  Wordlessly Peter held out his Matchbox bus.

  “A Matchbox car,” said Wally disgustedly. “You betrayed one of your brothers for a Matchbox car?”

  Peter nodded miserably. “It's a double-decker,” he said.

  For a while Peter's brothers just sat there staring at him.

  “Maybe he's too young to be in our club,” said Josh.

  Peter's head dropped even lower.

  “Either that, or he can't be trusted,” said Jake.

  Peter's lips began to tremble, and even Wally couldn't stand to see Peter cry.

  “Okay, Peter,” he said. “You either have to give back that bus or you have to get back every single thing you gave Caroline. I mean everything.”

  “I will !” said Peter. “I told you she only borrowed them.”

  There was the sound of voices outside, and the boys suddenly stopped talking and crawled over to peek out the loft window.

  “How come they're just getting home from school now?” Josh whispered. “What have they been doing all this time?”

  “Nothing good, you can bet,” said Jake.

  The four boys watched the girls go in the back door of their house.

  “You think they know we're up here?” asked Wally.

  “Who cares? Squatters' rights. We've got that official permit from the Bensons, and besides, Mr. Malloy said we could use the loft,” said Josh.

  Josh took a Magic Marker from his pocket and a sheet of paper from his school notebook. Explorers' Club: Members Only, he printed in heavy black letters, and tacked it to the wall.

  “Do you really think that will keep Caroline out?” asked Wally.

  “Of course not. It will just bug them to death that we're up here,” Josh said, grinning.

  “I'm hungry,” Wally said suddenly. “Let's go home and make a pizza or something.”

  They climbed down from the loft and Jake said, “All except you, Peter.”

  “Why?” asked Peter.

  “Because you're going to walk out there and knock on the Malloys' door and get Wally's clothes back, that's why,” Jake told him. “We'll see you at home.”

  The three older brothers headed out across the Malloys' backyard and down the hill toward the swinging bridge. Wally turned around once and saw Peter standing forlornly at the Malloys' back door, his head down, knocking with one tightly rolled-up fist.

  Good, he thought. Let him be miserable for a while. Peter had no right to take Wally's clothes and give them to Caroline. Now Wally and Caroline were both in trouble. They'd both failed the December project, and he had no doubt that any day now his folks would receive a letter in the mail from Miss Applebaum, saying, Dear Mr. and Mrs. Hatford, I very much regret to inform you that your son, Wallace Hatford, is failing the fourth grade …

  The water below had an icy look, and the wind whipped at their jackets as the boys moved along the bouncing footbridge. Ducks flew overhead in a V formation as though escorting winter in, and the snow was still coming down.

  When they reached the other side, they climbed up the bank and crossed the road.

  “What's that?” asked Josh, pointing.

  Over on the Hatford steps sat something that looked like a big white ball. A lumpy ball. A ball with a face.

  “What is it?” Jake wondered aloud, moving closer.

  “Underpants!” Wally cried.

  “With a face painted on them!” said Josh.

  “My underpants!” said Wally.

  He was right. Caroline had taken all the clothes Peter had given her—all the things she wore when she gave her report—and stuffed them into Wally's underpants until they bulged like a balloon. Then she had painted a smiling face on the seat of the pants.

  Wally desperately pulled his baggy blue pants out of the bundle, then his socks and shoes, but he held the underpants up with two fingers. How could he ever put them on again when Caroline had been in them? Mom would want to know how the face got on the pants, and if he said “Caroline,” she might think Caroline had drawn the picture with him still wearing them.

  He'd get even with Caroline, don't think he wouldn't. Wally walked out in the kitchen, where Josh was sticking a pizza in the microwave. There was a note on the table:

  Boys Don’t fill up on pizza, we’re having steak tonight and I want you to be hungry.

  “We'll be hungry,” Josh said to nobody in particular, and waited for the bell to ding. “I want to finish that painting for Mom tonight. Then I've got to think of something for Dad.”

  “It's you guys I have to shop for,” Jake said. “I've already got presents for the folks. Boy, I hope they remember how much I want a skateboard.
”

  As they were eating their second pizza Wally said, “I wonder where Peter is.”

  “Trying to get your clothes back, when they were here all along,” said Jake. “They're probably giving him a hard time. Should we call over there and tell them to send him home? I'll bet he's standing in the hall crying, with Caroline telling him all kinds of lies. Like how she lost Wally's clothes or something, and she's making him look all over their house.”

  “He'll think twice before he tries that again,” said Wally.

  The phone rang. It was Mom.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Sure. Fine,” said Wally.

  “You boys didn't eat pizza, did you?”

  “It's okay. We're still starving.”

  “Ask Peter if he turned in his lunch money like he was supposed to.”

  “Uh… I'll ask him when he comes in,” said Wally.

  “Where is he?”

  “Over at the Malloys'.”

  “The Malloys'? What's he doing there?”

  “Uh… I'm not sure,” said Wally.

  “Well, for heaven's sake! Do I have to do every thing myself?” Mother said, and hung up.

  Wally looked at the others. “What does that mean? Maybe we'd better go get him.”

  “Yeah? Not me,” said Jake.

  “I don't want to go either,” said Josh.

  “Listen, you guys. We're all in charge of Peter till Mom gets home, you know. It's not just me,” said Wally.

  The phone rang again. It was Mom.

  “He's baking cookies,” she said.

  Nine

  The Explorers' Club

  Beth opened the back door to see Peter Hatford

  standing there, one hand in his pocket.

  “What's this? A stickup?” she joked.

  Peter didn't understand. He pulled the double-decker Matchbox bus out of his pocket and showed it to her.