Pennybaker School Is Revolting, стр. 22
“He thinks it’s a head of horror,” Chip said. He made a wide-mouthed, bulgy-eyed face that actually pretty accurately mimicked the statue.
“You’re not helping,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You should probably go, Chip,” Dad said. “Sounds like Thomas has some explaining to do.”
I glared at Chip.
“Oh. Okay. But if I may be so bold, I came over to propose a social opportunity for Thomas.”
“A what?” Dad said.
“I’m hosting a shindig tonight. We will have snacks and listen to music and possibly play games. My charades socks are freshly laundered and ready to go.”
“Are you saying you’re having a party?” Mom asked.
“No,” I said.
“Actually, yes,” Chip said. “Thomas, your mother is a much better listener than you are.”
“I mean no, I don’t want to go to your party. I don’t even want to see you again until Monday. I need a Chip break.”
“Thomas,” Mom said. “Now you’re just being rude. First you attack the boy, and then you insult him? I raised you better than this.”
“No,” I repeated, ignoring Mom. I put my hand on Chip’s back and moved him toward the front door. “No. No. Definitely not.”
I opened the door and pushed until Chip was outside. “But don’t you want to hear about—”
“No.” Okay, actually, I kind of did want to go to his party. But sometimes when you’re mad you start talking, and next thing you know, it’s too late to turn things around without having to admit all kinds of embarrassing things about being wrong and sorry and stuff. “I don’t want to go to your party.”
I shut the door in his face.
TRICK #14
I SHALL NOW PUT ON THESE SHACKLES
Everyone was at Chip’s party.
Everyone.
Flea, Owen, Wesley, Patrice Pillow, Samara Lee, Buckley, Dawson Ethan—even Sissy Cork was there.
I knew this because they spent about half an hour knocking on my window and running away every time I went to open it. And there was the boom boom beat of music coming from a stereo propped in Chip’s window, and I saw them all dance and play football and eat pizza in his front yard and garage. Chip’s mom had gotten out a fire pit so everyone could keep warm, and I watched as they all ate gooey s’mores. At one point, even Erma was there. Erma. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Chip was stealing all my friends, my sister had to be in on it, too?
After the s’mores, Wesley came to my window.
“What?” I said through the glass.
He made an open-up motion with his arms. I shook my head.
“Why don’t you come over?” he said, his voice coming through muffled and dim.
“Because I don’t want to,” I said, even though I really did want to. Really, really bad.
“Chezzisay.”
“What?”
“Chezzisay.”
“I can’t hear you.”
He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Chezz-is-say.”
“I can’t …” Exasperated, I threw open the window, just as he took in a deep breath and bellowed.
“Chip. Says. It’s. Okay.”
I slapped my hands over my ears.
“Oh. Sorry,” Wesley said. “I was using my theater voice. What do you think?”
What I thought was that he could stand right where he was in my yard and be heard by an audience in Detroit, but I didn’t say that out loud. “You projected,” I said, because I knew that, to Wesley, projecting was a life goal.
He beamed. “Thanks. You should come over. Chip says it’s okay for you to join us. He forgives you.”
“He forgives me?” I asked incredulously. “He. Forgives me.” Wesley nodded. “He’s the one who got me in trouble in the first place. If he would’ve just left the statue alone …”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on him, Thomas,” Wesley said. “We all think he’s a really cool guy.” He said the last in a cartoony voice while swinging his arm and snapping his fingers.
“I know what you all think. If you’ll remember, I was the one who became his friend first.”
“Exactly.” He stood primly and cleared his throat. His Mary Poppins stance. “So you would think you’d be a little easier on the poor fellow.”
Just then, the music switched over to our ballroom dancing sound track. Everyone partnered up, including Sissy Cork, who was dancing with Chip. The crackers I’d eaten as a snack a few minutes before lurched around in my stomach.
“Tell Chip I’ll see him in detention,” I said. I shut the window and the shades.
TRICK #15
THE CANNONBALL CRIMP
Erma was at Pennybaker, being fawned over by a group of eighth graders, when I arrived Monday morning. Dad had brought her early to work on the dance, and Mom was going to pick her up and take her to her school when she dropped me off.
“Erma,” I said. She ignored me. “Erma.” Nothing. “Erma!”
The entire group stared at me with irritated scowls on their faces.
“Jeez, magic boy, chill out,” an eighth-grade girl said.
“Yeah. You shouldn’t talk to Ermie like that,” said another girl with really long, really red fingernails.
“Ermie?”
Erma flipped her hair over one shoulder. “It’s my nickname,” she said. “You have a problem with that, magic boy?” The entire group of girls giggled with her.
I sighed. I didn’t have it in me to fight with Erma. Especially not in front of everyone at Pennybaker, who apparently thought she was the most amazing thing since Chip Mason, and definitely not while Mom was sitting at the curb in her car. The last thing I needed was to have a Being Chewed Out by Your Mom in Front of the Entire School Adventure.
“Whatever. Mom’s here.”
I walked away, not waiting to see if Erma moved. Let her deal with Mom. I had to get to class. I trudged up the front stairs and got to the top just as someone came down. In the little sliver of open door, I could see Chip, polishing the pedestal where the head normally sat. Of course.
Instead of going in, I veered off to the right and ducked behind the bushes. Reap was tossing hunks of bread while making strange noises, just like always. I crawled over to