Pennybaker School Is Revolting, стр. 2
“The cracker,” I repeated. He nodded excitedly. “Out of all the colonial people in the world, you chose the dude who invented saltines?”
“Well, no. The inventor of saltines was actually—”
“Never mind. I don’t want to know.” I tugged on the pantyhose, and my big toe popped through the end. “Oh, come on,” I said, pulling them off and wadding them up. I tossed them into the corner with the other nine hundred pairs I’d ruined. “Why do we have to wear all this, anyway?”
“The proper male colonial attire was a coat, breeches, a cravat—”
I pointed at him. “Nope. No way. I know what a cravat is. It’s a tie. And if I have to wear pantyhose, I am not wearing a tie. Pick one end or the other.”
“Spatterdashes,” Chip said. I figured he meant something like “balderdash,” a word Grandma Jo sometimes said when she thought something was ridiculous. But he stuck out one leg, swept his hand over it, and repeated, “Spatterdashes. Or leggings, if you prefer.”
“Pantyhose,” I grumbled, opening a new package.
“Not pantyhose.” He thought about it. “Although possibly a predecessor to them. I must follow up with some research this evening during my post-school academic reflection.”
I pulled the spatterdashes over my boxers, grabbed the breeches Mom had made for me, and yanked them up quickly. I haphazardly tucked in my usual white button-down school uniform shirt and covered it with a vest that Mom had made to match the breeches. I didn’t look nearly as fancy as Chip did, and I certainly was not going to wear a cravat, but it would do.
There were three knocks on my door, and then Dad poked his head through. He was carrying his coffee, just like always, and his neck was red from shaving, also just like always.
“Hey, pal, you about ready to go?”
I shook one leg to make it stop itching. “No.”
“Good. See you in ten minutes.” He started to pull his head out of the doorway, and then stuck it back in. “Who are you supposed to be, Chip?”
“John Pearson.”
Dad’s face lit up. “Ah! The inventor of the illustrious cracker!”
“Indeed, my good man.” Chip took off his hat and bowed low to the floor. “Indeed.”
TRICK #2
THE DANCE DITCH
“It’s about time, Thomas Fallgrout!” a pair of feet said to me.
I looked down to where normal feet should have been and saw Clover Prentice’s scowling face. She dropped out of her handstand and into a forward roll, then stood up. Her forehead was kind of sweaty and red, probably from having been upside down for so long. Or maybe inside out. You never really knew with Clover. Her unique gift was contortionism. As Grandma Jo liked to say, she could tie herself up like a pretzel and dip herself in cheese. I wasn’t sure what the cheese part was about. Probably Grandma Jo was just hungry when she said it.
“Sorry I’m late, Clover.”
“Late?” She wound an arm around her neck and looked at her watch. “How about very, very late?” As if to agree with her, the warning bell rang, and everyone started climbing the giant staircase to their classrooms. “This is the third time this week you didn’t get here early enough to polish her, and now her nostrils look dusty.” She waved at the giant bust of Helen Heirmauser, revered math teacher from days of Pennybaker past. I had a love-hate relationship with that statue, after everything that happened when I first transferred to Pennybaker School. I also had a love-hate relationship with my polishing duty. On one hand, it was an honor to be the school hero appointed to such an important task. On the other hand, it was a chore that involved getting to school early to spend up-close-and-personal time with the creepiest human head in all of human-head history. “It’s my job as hall monitor to make sure the school is presenting its best face at all times,” Clover continued.
“Well, if that’s our best face, I’d hate to see our worst,” I said, pointing at the goggle-eyed, openmouthed, wild-haired statue. I cracked myself up, but Clover simply stared at me.
“She’s not shiny,” she said. “And if you’re not going to keep her polished, we’ll just have to find someone else who will.”
“Excuse me, my lady.” Off with the hat again. If Chip wasn’t careful, he was going to break himself in half from bowing so much. “I would be honored to take care of this glorious icon here. Cleanliness, after all, is next to Heirmauseriness.”
I rolled my eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
He looked at me. “I never kid about hygiene, Thomas. You should know that.”
Clover looked half-angry—at me—and half in love with Chip. Gross. She batted her eyes, clutching her hands in front of her and releasing her shoulders so she looked like a balloon with a slow leak. “You’ll be late to class, though.”
Chip waved her off. “It’s the least I can do to save the reputation of my school. I am a colonial hero, as you can see.”
“You made a cracker!” I said. “It was probably by accident!”
They both ignored me.
“Please, fine madam, lead me to your polishing tools.” Chip crooked one arm out toward Clover.
“Of course,” she said sweetly. She snaked her hand through his arm, then gave me a glare. “As hall monitor, I’m afraid I must tell you to get to class, Thomas, or I’ll have to write you up.” She turned back to Chip and smiled again, and the two of them sashayed into the janitor’s closet to find the polishing rags.
“Oh, brother,” I mumbled as I started up the stairs.
I itched all through Biofeedback—my legs keeping me from directing my energy toward an inward