Pennybaker School Is Revolting, стр. 19
“Uh, right, that’s what babies do,” I had said, rolling my eyes really hard, even though I’d immediately thought of some handshake ideas that would look pretty great.
“Oh,” Chip had said. He’d pushed up his glasses and let it go.
Had I known the other guys were going to decide that fancy handshakes were actually really cool, I might have changed my mind about the babyishness of it. Of course, that was something my mom would have called “being a follower,” and “being a follower” almost always tended to “get a boy in trouble.” And then she would start talking about stuff they used to say in the old days when there must have been a lot more people jumping off bridges for fun than there are now.
I cleared my throat loudly. Chip glanced at me, then finished his ritual before peeling away from the group.
“Why are you here so early, Thomas?” he asked.
“I have a job to do,” I said haughtily. I walked to the statue and took the cap off the polish. The real polish, not Chip’s nasty homemade licking polish.
“Oh, I’ve got it,” he said, reaching for the rag.
I snatched it back from him. “No. It’s my job.”
“But I can do it,” he said, yanking on the other end of the rag. I refused to let go. The rag was pulled taut between us like a tug-of-war rope.
“No. You. Can’t.” I jerked right back. He stumbled into the pedestal, making the head wobble in its spot. We both watched with fear, but it settled back into place.
“I do it every day,” he said, yanking again. “When I didn’t do it, it didn’t get done.”
“But you’re not supposed to,” I said, pulling back—only this time I pulled with all my might, causing Chip to knock hard into the pedestal. Instead of just wobbling now, the statue wheeled, tipping, tipping. We both let go of the rag, letting it fall to the floor, and reached for the head.
But we were too late.
I watched as the bust left the pedestal and tumbled in slow motion down and down and down. It landed on the tile floor with a heavy crunching sound, and then rolled right onto a pair of feet. Mr. Smith’s feet, to be exact. It came to a stop on its back. There was a huge dent in its forehead, and the nose was gone.
Mr. Smith studied the head as if he couldn’t figure out how it had gotten there, and then turned his angry, red face toward us.
“Gentlemen.” He pointed sternly toward the office. “Come with me. Looks like we have a detention to schedule.”
I didn’t speak to Chip all day. And Chip didn’t speak to me. When you started in Principal Rooster’s office getting detention, you knew you were going to be in for a long day, and it was a really, really long day. We were even silent on the ride home. All I could think about was how I was in trouble at school and would be in trouble at home, and how it was all Chip’s fault. If he had just stopped trying to steal my job—and my friends—none of this would have happened. Why did he have to be so perfect at everything? It made regular guys like me look really not perfect. And regular guys like me didn’t need any help in that department. Most of the time I was doing a perfect job of reminding the world how not perfect I was.
I could hear arguing coming from the kitchen as soon as I walked through the front door. I dropped my backpack at the bottom of the stairs and loosened my bow tie.
Erma was sitting on the bottom step, eating a bowl of ice cream.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “Why are you eating here?”
She didn’t look up; she just kept shoveling the ice cream into her mouth. “Mom sent me out of the kitchen,” she said, “on account of Grandma Jo’s tattoo.”
“What tattoo? Grandma Jo has a tattoo?”
Erma shrugged. “That’s pretty much what Mom said, too.” I pulled off my vest, dropped it on top of my backpack, and started toward the kitchen. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”
I snuck through the living room and peered into the kitchen. Mom was standing in front of Grandma Jo with her arms crossed, tapping her foot. She had that look that she always got when she was getting ready to go on a You Will Not Lie to Me, Young Man Adventure.
Trust me—that was not a good adventure to go on.
“You’ve had it all this time, and I just didn’t notice it, huh?” Mom was saying. “You’ve been my mother for my whole life, and I haven’t seen that tattoo.”
“I guess not,” Grandma Jo said. The sleeve of her sweater was pushed up to reveal a brightly colored picture of what looked like a llama riding a motorcycle. That was definitely noticeable.
“When did you get it? You haven’t left the house in days.”
“Exactly! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. How could I get a new tattoo when I’m here all the time?”
Mom tapped her foot harder, and her eyebrows got closer together. Grandma Jo let her sleeve drop over the llama. I’d never seen Grandma Jo look nervous before. When you made Grandma Jo look nervous, you were being really scary.
Mom shook her finger at Grandma Jo. “I’m watching you,” she said. “I will figure out what you’re doing. Mark my words!”
Grandma Jo picked up a glass of iced tea and handed it to Mom. “You look awfully flushed, dear. Are you hot?”
Mom grabbed the iced tea, huffed, and took a drink.
This was definitely not the right time to tell her about the detention