Pennybaker School Is Revolting, стр. 49
I turned back around. “I don’t think we will, Mr. Faboo,” I said.
His cheeks were flushed, bringing some color into his sunken eye sockets, and for a minute I thought he might cry. The newspaper dropped out from under his arm and landed on his foot, but he made no move to pick it up. “What … What is this?” he asked, and he sounded the way I would imagine someone to sound if they found a softball-sized diamond on the sidewalk—like they had just won a huge prize and didn’t quite understand why, but were pretty sure they were set for life.
“It’s your class, Mr. Faboo,” I said. “We all came out in costume to cheer you on when you pass your test.”
“Just like we all came out to prepare you for said test,” Chip added.
Mr. Faboo’s eyes roved over the crowd and then settled on mine. “You believe in me that much?” he asked.
Chip and I nodded.
The ATV veered right, bumped over the sidewalk, and plowed across the lawn, going so fast, chunks of grass sprayed around us. It came to a screeching stop right at the bottom of the front porch. I blinked.
“Grandma Jo?”
Teddy Roosevelt winked at me and revved the ATV. “I hear someone might need a ride to a test? A very fast ride?” When Mr. Faboo didn’t move, she got off the ATV and removed her helmet. Grandma Jo’s white, curly hair looked funny with Teddy Roosevelt’s brown mustache. “Listen, fella. As I said about a hundred years ago, it is hard to fail, but it is worse never to have tried to succeed.” She looked proud of herself.
Mr. Faboo’s eyebrows shot up. “Why, Theodore Roosevelt did say that,” he said in wonder.
“He also said speak softly and carry a big stick. Now, I can go find a big stick if I need to, but I’d rather tell you softly to hop on and go take that test. You have a lot of kids counting on you.” She gestured behind her. “The best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.”
“How does she know all these Roosevelt quotes?” Mr. Faboo whispered.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, pushing his back. “What matters is that you know them. You’re going to ace this test.” His feet started moving, slowly, slowly, but I kept pushing until we were off the porch and standing in front of Grandma Jo.
“Believe you can and you’re halfway there,” she said. She pushed a helmet onto Mr. Faboo’s head and guided him onto the ATV. She hopped on, and the engine roared to life. She donned her own helmet, let out a whoop, and gunned the engine.
Paulina Rivers, wearing a tricorn hat and carrying a lantern, climbed onto her unicycle and took off down the street, yelling, “Mr. Faboo is coming! Mr. Faboo is coming!”
“Technically,” Chip shouted, holding up one finger, “Paul Revere didn’t say—” His voice was drowned out when Grandma Jo throttled her engine again and spun out.
Grass and dirt sprayed Wesley, who had gotten off the ATV to make room for Mr. Faboo, but they were gone before he could protest, Mr. Faboo’s red robe billowing in the breeze and Teddy Roosevelt’s mustache fluttering to the ground behind them.
TRICK #31
THE BIG REVEAL
Chip and I perfected our secret handshake while we waited for Mr. Faboo to finish his test. It took a really long time. Way longer than we expected. After a couple of hours, kids started to get hungry, or tired, or cold, or bored, and trickled away. But we stayed. Because telling someone you believed in them was important, but sometimes you had to show them you believed in them, too.
“You boys need a ride home?” Grandma Jo asked. “I can swing you by on my way to the motocross circuit. Quad races tonight. I’ve got to pick up my partner.”
“No, thanks,” I said. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret, just like I’ve been keeping the others. I sort of owe you.”
Grandma grinned. “Nope; I told your mother.”
“You did?”
“Yup. I figured it was unfair of me to make you lie for me. Plus I was getting tired of sneaking out. Well, that, and she caught me coming in last night. Waited outside in the bushes for me. Like to scare the bejeebies out of me. I was impressed. She’s getting good.”
“And she’s okay with you going racing?” I asked, even though I knew the answer. No way would Mom be okay with anything having to do with Grandma Jo and racing.
Grandma Jo grinned. “Who do you think my partner is?”
Whoa. Mom sure had a way of surprising me sometimes.
“If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em,” Grandma Jo said. She left, the buzz of her motor vibrating off the building for a long time. The only people left were Flea, Owen, Wesley, Chip, and me.
“Your grandma’s pretty cool,” Wesley said, watching her go. There were still bits of Mr. Faboo’s front yard stuck in his hair.
“That was crazy, what she just did,” Flea added.
“You should see what she does with a clown suit,” Chip said.
“Huh?” Owen asked. They all seemed confused, but Chip and I just looked at each other and cracked up.
“Nothing,” I said. “Inside joke.”
The kind of inside joke only best friends share.
Not long after the guys left, Chip and I saw Mr. Faboo get up and feed his test into a machine. We waited while his silhouette paced nervously in front of the machine.
“What do you think will happen if he doesn’t pass?” I asked.
“I suppose Mr. Smith will become our permanent teacher,” Chip said. “Which means it will be likely that we will have more detentions. On the bright side, you’ll be able to throw away your leggings.” He pointed at my pantyhose, which now sported three giant holes.
I studied them. “Eh, I don’t mind ’em so