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  “What does she think, you just sat there at your desk taking notes while everybody else goofed off?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever. If I told her I’d been playing around she would have given me a character card.”

  It sounds like something from a game, but it’s not. Principal Lebonsky gives Hector a yellow index card with an inspirational quote anytime she doesn’t like something he did. Sometimes the quotes are from Thomas Jefferson and people like that, but most of the time it’s stuff she made up. He has to tack them to his bedroom door. Once he gets up to five, bad things happen. Last time, she took his skateboard for two weeks. He tried to tell her that skateboarding is exercise, but she doesn’t think it counts.

  The worst thing is nothing good happens if he doesn’t get cards. He just has to wait until he messes up somehow, and more cards come.

  “Those cards are dumber than dog sweaters,” I said.

  “Yeah,” was all Hector said.

  “Maybe I’ll do something. Like, on my own. Then you wouldn’t get into any trouble, but it would still be fun.”

  “Sure,” he said, but his eyebrows were all squished together. I wondered if he would tell on me and get me busted. He caught me looking sideways at him. “I’m not going to rat you out.” He looked offended, like he’d read my mind, and I felt like a lowly worm. Then he added, “I mean, I probably won’t.” The guilt left and I shoved him.

  “Dude! You do not know what she’s like,” Hector said. He was wrong—I did. It was bad enough before, when she was just my friend’s grandma in the building, but since we started at Fountain Point, she’s our principal, too. Still, unless she slipped truth serum into Hector’s buckwheat spaghetti or something, he could try a little harder to keep a lid on it. I didn’t talk to him the rest of the way to my parents’ restaurant.

  “I wouldn’t, you know. Tell. If you wanted to do something like the balls,” he said. “I know you’re still mad about the last time.” His voice was real low, as if his grandma trailed us down the sidewalk.

  We were both thinking about The Graffiti Incident.

  Last summer, right before school started, someone wrote “Principal Doodyhead Lives Here” with some really bad stick figures in fat, permanent marker all over the back door of our building. Hector told his grandma about it. Mistake #1. She asked Hector if he did it. She’d put him on a diet the week before, so he might have been my first guess, too. He swore he didn’t, so she kept questioning. She asked if I did it. Hector said no at first, he swears, but she said if he didn’t start telling the truth he’d be eating salad for a month. Green stuff is his kryptonite.

  He told her we’d done it together. Don’t ask me why, I guess he just panicked. He knew I didn’t do it. As if we would write something so dopey on our own building! Principal Lebonsky made us spend the afternoon painting the door. AND she gave us lunchtime detention for our whole first week of middle school, even though we didn’t get in trouble there. It made us look like pretty tough sixth graders, but still. I used to like her. I used to call her Betty. Now, even though she’s my best friend’s grandma, I call her Principal Lebonsky. She hasn’t asked me to stop.

  I could tell you about a few other times when Hector spilled his guts. Like when he ratted Bean out for sticking gum under the table at the beginning of the year. But The Graffiti Incident was the big whammy. I never really thought that Hector could’ve done it, and I’m pretty sure he knows me well enough to know that I didn’t do it. But, that didn’t stop him from telling his grandma that I did. Hector sold me out for something I didn’t even do the second his grandma put the squeeze on him. And, yeah, I’m still mad about it.

  “I know you wouldn’t tell, Hector. Thanks.” I felt, like, eighty-seven percent sure. “I’ve gotta go to work.”

  We said goodbye, and I went into Lupe’s and worked until closing because one of the busboys didn’t show up.

  5

  The Stink of Room 121

  After a couple of days, the whole school seemed to be waiting to see what might happen next. I went online to check out the free classifieds for inspiration, but nothing jumped out at me. This time it was mostly old carpet that somebody’s cat peed on and stuff. There’s nothing funny about that, even with the stink factor.

  When you search online for pranks, it’s mostly the same ten or so on a bunch of different sites. I learned that high school kids do a lot of the same tricks again and again. Most of them involve fake poop, burned football fields, or numbered farm animals. I don’t know where these schools are, but there aren’t a lot of sheep in the city, let alone any you can paint. Before I fell asleep that night, I knew two things. I needed a plan. And if I wanted to do something big—maybe even bigger than the balls—I probably needed some help.

  By Monday, everyone in the whole school had heard about the balls. Even though only a little bit of the smell stuck around, Room 121 officially became known as the “Pit of Stink.” Some kids said it like we were the worst sixth grade homeroom, but I think it made Room 121 sound like there was a mysterious adventure happening.

  Principal Lebonsky made the morning announcements herself. She did the one-two-three-eyes-on-me claps that she always does, even though she was in her office where we couldn’t see her and it was just her voice blaring out of the classroom speakers. After the parts about the lunch menu and some pioneer thing, she cleared her throat.

  “I wish to address the monkey business in Room 121 last week,” she said. “Any further mischief will not be tolerated. While the stunt with the balls might have been a temporarily amusing lark for some, please remember that student creativity should be confined to the traditional arts. Or music. Practical jokes toy with the molds of good character. I know this will be the end of the matter. Thank you.”

  It was like a dare. Kids were more interested than ever in the Pit of Stink. Everybody asked everybody else if they knew anything about it. People wondered if it might have been an inside job from somebody in our homeroom. I asked people, too, and said over and over how awesome and genius it was—but just to throw off suspicion—not like I’m conceited.

  6

  The List

  “Oliver did it,” Maggie Rubio whispered the next morning. I looked at Oliver, sitting two rows over. We watched him doodling lightning bolts on his notebook, and I wondered what he had done. Maggie likes to accuse people of randomly selected, gross bodily functions, stuff even I don’t like to talk about. I gave her a vague nod and waited for the handouts to come down the row. You couldn’t be rude about it, because then you might be the next kid who “did” something. “The balls, Ben. Oliver’s the one who brought the balls on Friday.” She gave him a look like he invented root beer floats, and then she had my attention.

  “What do you mean he brought the balls? He told you?”

  “He didn’t have to. I asked him and he just smiled and shrugged, but you could totally tell that he was the one who did it. Isn’t that wild?” I almost contradicted her and confessed, but I didn’t need her giving me a weird dreamy look like that, so I kept my cool. Oliver looked back at us and smiled.

  Maybe Oliver would be good to team up with, but it would probably be better to recruit a couple more people. I still didn’t know that many kids at Fountain Point, but when Maggie got up to give a report on Pandora’s box I made a list of the kids I did know with a good sense of humor. I put a star by the name of anyone that had something special, like a history of causing trouble or a knack with computers.

  Hector’s name sat at the top of the list. He’s my oldest friend, and he has access to the keys to the school. He sat right beside me fiddling with the corner of his notebook, the way we’d been sitting for years. I glanced over, but he wasn’t paying any attention to me. He took notes on what Ms. Ruiz was saying about flying horses as if he were about to get one for a pet. He didn’t know I was thinking about how we walked to school together, and we walked home together. Hector noticed me looking at him and tried to flick me in the temple wit
h his pen, but I ducked out of the way.

  I drew a line straight through his name and then another zigzag line over that.

  I knew that I didn’t want Hector in the group, but once I admitted that Hector wouldn’t be my partner in crime I felt bad even seeing his name there. And I didn’t want him to see it, either.

  But, The Graffiti Incident was a problem. It effectively disqualified Hector from any plans that would need to be kept secret. He couldn’t keep a secret with a mouth full of pudding.

  I crossed out a few more names, leaving only two kids that met my requirements: Oliver Swanson and Frank Lenny. Oliver already claimed responsibility for the balls, and he once convinced half the class that his real parents had found him and he was going to live with them on a submarine. Frank Lenny owned a computer, could fart at will, and had an obsession with ninjas. He went to a different elementary school than I did. I heard he went to a few different ones. I didn’t know him, but I wanted to. He always seemed cool and private. And sometimes, he hung out with seventh graders.

  Oliver and Frank seemed like cool dudes, and with my idea for a secret prank task team, I knew they would want to join forces. Here were two guys who could make awesome buddies and probably have the natural talent for supreme goofing off.

  I needed them on my team.

  7

  An Invitation

  After math I grabbed the bathroom pass and left class as coolly as I could. I slid notes into Oliver’s and Frank’s locker through the vents. The lockers were on different sides of the school, so I had to run to get back to class before they noticed that I was gone too long. I’d practiced writing them over and over in block letters until it didn’t look anything like my handwriting.

  The notes said:

  FOR YOUR EYES ONLY!

  DO YOU HAVE AN APPRECIATION OF PRANKS? WOULD YOU LIKE TO BE A SECRET AGENT?

  MEET ME AT LUPE’S AFTER SCHOOL TOMORROW TO HEAR MORE.

  TELL NO ONE.

  8

  The Meeting

  I waited in the back booth of the restaurant, where I do my homework sometimes after school. The restaurant was a tomb—apart from the mariachi music that Diego, the cook, played in the kitchen. The front door swung open and flashed sunlight onto my table.

  It was Oliver. He stood there for a minute, looking around, but I don’t think he saw me.

  “Are you looking for Ben?” my mom asked.

  “Oh … all right. Sure.”

  “He’s in the back.”

  Oliver walked toward my table. “Hey. What’s up?” he said.

  “Thanks for coming, Oliver,” I said. “I wanted to congratulate you on the balls in the classroom. That was super.”

  “Oh, thanks.” He studied the painting over the booth. It was an old lady with flowers in her hair, and it wasn’t that interesting.

  “Where’d you get them?” I asked.

  “Where did I get what?”

  “The balls. Where did you get so many balls?”

  “Oh, right.” Oliver cleared his throat. “I just found them somewhere.” My mom walked back into the kitchen, so I dropped my voice.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Okay, I didn’t really. It wasn’t me.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “How do you know?” he said. My mom came back out of the kitchen, so I just smiled. Oliver looked confused for a minute, and then I could tell the lightbulb flickered on.

  “Sweet.” He nodded and sat down. “Is that what this is about then? Something like that?”

  The front door bells chimed. The door opened and closed again quickly.

  “Is Ben here?”

  Frank. Somehow he’d figured out that I’d put the invitation in his locker. My mom pointed toward us and he walked slowly back. He wore mirrored sunglasses, like a cop or a biker, and he didn’t even take them off inside the restaurant. My mom and dad keep Lupe’s pretty dark for romantic dates … I expected Frank to bump into something. He didn’t.

  Frank nodded to Oliver, and then to me. He sat down at our booth, sunglasses still on, and slid the invitation facedown across the table.

  “I got your message. I like your style. It looks like you’ve done your research. You want someone familiar with the inner workings of the human mind. Someone who can make things. Fix things. Know things.” Frank tapped his temple. “You’re assembling a team, and you want the best. Congratulations. I’m here, and I’m listening.”

  “How did you know I sent the invitation?” I asked.

  “You said to meet here. This is your family’s restaurant.” Frank took off his sunglasses and squinted at each of us. We stared back at him.

  Diego brought some guacamole and chips out and slid them across the table. “Your mom thought you guys might need some snacks,” he said.

  “Thanks, Diego,” I said. He went back into the kitchen and sang along with gusto to some song about a mean redhead running away with his heart and horse. I hoped that Oliver and Frank didn’t know Spanish.

  Oliver dug in and Frank waited for him to stop crunching before he spoke again. “What can I do for you?”

  “Yeah, Ben.” Oliver glanced at my mom and leaned forward. “What is this about?”

  “I’m making a secret society for pranks and goofing off.” I tried to keep my voice as low as possible. It sounded kind of cool. “The Pit of Stink? I did that.” Frank’s eyes flicked to Oliver, and then back to me. “I’m ready to do more, but I can’t do it alone. I think you two might be able to help.” Oliver smiled and nodded, but Frank stayed still. A loud motorcycle went by, and Diego chopped in the kitchen.

  “Who else have you asked?” Frank said.

  “Yeah, who else knows about this?” Oliver said.

  “No one,” I said.

  “What do you have in mind?” Frank asked. “I gotta tell you, fake dog poop and trick gum aren’t really my thing.”

  “Nah, I don’t want to do stuff like that. I’m talking about big stuff. The ball pit could be just the beginning,” I said. I noticed my hands were shaking a little, so I put them under the table. “I want to have fun—but it has to be secret. Which means no bragging.” I looked right at Oliver.

  “Cool,” Oliver said, and took another chip. We waited for him to eat it. “What? I didn’t tell anybody I did the balls. I just didn’t tell them they were wrong when they thought I did.”

  “Well, you can’t do that, either. It’s got to be our secret,” I said. “You have to swear.”

  “Fine,” Oliver said. “I swear.”

  “You’d better,” I said. “Nobody can know.”

  Frank put his sunglasses on and stood up.

  “I think I understand,” he said. “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Don’t tell anybody,” I called after him. My mom didn’t turn around, but she sat up straighter in the universal position of parental eavesdropping. There wasn’t anything left to overhear because the bells jingled over the door and Frank Lenny was gone.

  My mom was still listening so I gestured to Oliver and we left, too. Once we were out on the sidewalk, he turned to me.

  “Do you think he’ll tell?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. I was wondering the same thing. “I’ve only known him this year. I heard this is, like, his sixth school. We don’t even know anything about him.” Oliver stopped walking, and he looked a little ticked.

  “Some kids move. It doesn’t really have anything to do with them. You know?” he said. “They just go where the grown-ups tell them to go. It doesn’t mean he’s a kid super-spy or anything. It just means people move him around.”

  I remembered too late that Oliver knew something about moving around. Before he got placed with his “forever family,” as his parents said, he’d been to a few foster homes. I remember the day he moved in down the block. I was skating in front of our building when a man in a suit the color of green olives walked Oliver past and into a doorway with a black awning on the corner. Oliver carried a trash bag full of clothes. He
looked like he was in trouble. Oliver told me later that he’d used that same bag to carry his stuff from two different families. The first people decided they didn’t want to foster a kid anymore, and the second family got pretty mean until Oliver told his social worker.

  “You’re right. I didn’t mean … Sorry,” I said. Oliver shrugged and we walked down the block. “UNLESS, he’s really a thirty-year-old baby-faced CIA agent undercover at Fountain Point to bust … Mr. Roberts for an illegal gambling ring. Maybe they’re taking bets on how we do on our spelling tests.”

  “Interesting theory, Ben,” Oliver said in a way that sounded like it was definitely not an interesting theory. “We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  9

  A Side of Bean

  After school the next day on my way to Lupe’s, Bean Lee jumped out from behind an alley trash can. She wore red overalls with “Stand Back” written on the front pocket.

  Bean is kind of famous, in an Internet way. She started that Cat vs. Dude site with the cats fighting action figures and stuff. And you should know that Bean has more than one pair of red overalls. She has another pair with a patch of a panda bear playing drums, and some green ones with holes in the knees that she wears striped tights under. She wears a blue feather boa sometimes, and she’s sewn animal ears onto most of her hats and hoodies. You’d think it would be easier to see her coming, but she made me jump. She makes me jump a lot.

  “Mr. Diaz, we have an important matter to discuss.”

  I’d passed Bean digging around in her locker when I left school, so I don’t know how she beat me to the corner. The way she acted made me think it had something to do with Frank. Plus, they hang out together a lot. And I heard he helped her set up www.catvsdude.com. “My associate would like to accept your organization’s offer … with stipulations.”

  “What associate?” I said. I tried to look confused.

  “Are you organizing a prank task force or running a bad acting club?”