The Miraculous Makeover of Lizard Flanagan (16 page)

Zach and I sat at our table, and Ed followed.

“Stinky's voting in the poll,” Ed said. “He'll be right here.”

“Those girls are so stupid,” Zach said.

“Do you think one of the girls from our class will get to be a model?” Mike asked, looking at me.

“Who cares?”

Mike looked disappointed, so I added, “Ginger said they're picking fourteen girls—two from each grade.”

Stinky arrived with his lunch and sat down.

“Who'd you vote for, Stink?” Ed asked him. Stinky shrugged. “Come on,” Ed said. “You heard
my
vote.”

“Aw, you were just voting for your girlfriend,” Stinky said. “They wanted an objective answer.”

“So who do you think will get to model?” Ed asked him.

“Lisa, of course,” Stinky said. “She's
stacked
.”

I dropped my fork. “You make me sick, Stinky. Models don't have to have big … chests. They're thin all over.”

“Oh, yeah?” Stinky said. “Do you ever look at the
Sports Illustrated
swimsuit issue? Man-oh-man-oh-man!”

Ed, Mike, and Andy laughed, and even Zach grinned.

“Well, just because a girl looks good in a swimsuit, it doesn't mean she's interesting or fun to be with!”

“Know what I say to that, Lizard?” Stinky said with a devilish grin. “Who cares?”

“Well, I just happen to know,” I said, “that the girls who applied to model in the fashion show sent in pictures of their
faces
and information about their lives. That's all.”

Stinky grinned wickedly. “They didn't have to tell their bra size?”

“Some of the girls don't even wear bras,” Ed informed him.

“How would you know
that
, Mechtensteimer?” I could hear myself yelling, but I didn't care.

Ed smiled smugly. “I can tell.”

Stinky laughed. “So can I. Any guy can.”

“You jerks must be looking pretty
hard
,” I said.

Stinky hooted. “We are!” His gaze went right to my chest.

I stood up, my cheeks blazing hot. “You creep!” I gave him a hard shove, and he nearly fell off the bench.

“Hey, where're you going?” Ed said.

“Away from you and Stinky. I've lost my appetite.”

“Good going, guys,” Zach said to them.

I pulled my book bag out from under the table, and stormed out of the cafeteria and down the hall, fuming. Someday, I swear, I'm going to strangle Stinky Porter.

I stopped near the doorway of a darkened classroom and leaned against the wall. I forced myself to think about the Wrigley Field trip. That made me feel better. Maybe Stinky would get a cold or the plague or something and not be able to go with us.

I couldn't wait to go home after school and get the trip money from Mom and Dad. Then I'd call Shirley and reserve my place on the bus.

Yes
, I thought.
That would make me feel a whole lot better
.

CHAPER TWO

THE BEST TIME TO ASK
Mom and Dad for anything is after supper. They come home tired from work, and they don't feel like doing much but changing into their jeans and fixing supper. I've learned from experience that they're more likely to agree to stuff if I wait till after supper. They're in better moods then, more relaxed and more likely to say yes!

It was Mom's night to cook. I was determined to eat whatever healthy food she put in front of me, no matter how terrible it was. She's a health nut and likes to fix food that most people would throw in the garbage, dishes that have ingredients like bulgur wheat or brewer's yeast or wheat germ. I'm not even positive those things are meant to be eaten. I like a healthy snack once in a while for variety, but Mom goes way overboard.

Tonight she'd fixed Tomato Quiche with Egg Beaters on a whole wheat crust. I'd rather have had pizza, but compared with some of Mom's disasters—the worst was Spinach and Mustard Greens Soup—it wasn't too horrible. I managed to choke it down without resorting to my B.A.R.F. Plan. B.A.R.F. stands for Ban All Revolting Foods. It means that I do whatever's necessary to avoid eating Mom's cooking, even if I have to feed the stuff to my dog, Bob, under the table.

I'd gotten Sam to promise to let me handle the Chicago trip. He would've just blurted out, “Can we have fifty bucks to go to a Cubs game?” He doesn't understand that you have to use finesse to get what you want.

I first learned about finesse the time I watched Zach talk his mother into letting him go camping with my family. He'd asked her a week before, and she'd said no. She wanted him to help her paint the living room.

Zach told her about a boy at the high school who'd gotten caught breaking into Jim's Audio and Video.

“What a shame,” Mrs. Walters said. She was shelling peas on the back porch. The peas
pinged
into the steel pan on her lap. “He's throwing his life away, and he doesn't even know it.”

“I wonder what starts people down the road to crime?” Zach said. He popped a couple of raw peas into his mouth.

“Part of it,” said his mother, “is that friends and families just don't spend as much time together doing wholesome activities the way they used to. Kids are left to roam the streets without adult supervision.”

Zach nodded. “Yeah. I wish I could spend more time doing stuff with our family—and Lizard's. You know, like hiking and camping and doing stuff in nature.”

“I know,” his mom said. “We should make more time for the great outdoors, shouldn't we? We get so busy.”

“It gets pretty boring sometimes, roaming the streets or hanging out with Stinky,” Zach said. Mrs. Walters doesn't exactly love Stinky. She winced, and the corners of her mouth tightened a little. Zach looked at me. “Lizard, aren't you going on vacation pretty soon?”

“Yeah, we're camping at Backbone State Park.”

“That sounds like fun,” Mrs. Walters said.

“I sure wish you could come with us, Zach,” I said pointedly. “Mom said to be sure to invite you.”

“Thanks, but I'm going to help Mom paint. And I told Stinky I'd hang out with him in the evenings.”

Mrs. Walters sat up straight and looked thoughtful. “Oh, I think you'd have a much better time on a camping trip with the Flanagans, Zach,” she said. “We'll paint when you get back.”

“But I promised Stinky.”

“Zach, I want you to go with Lizard's family,” she said firmly. “I'm sure your dad will agree.”

Zach flashed me a quick smile. “Well, okay.”

I was really impressed, and I asked him later where he'd learned his technique.

“My cousin Anthony,” he said. “He's the master of finesse. It's pretty sneaky, so I only resort to it when it's really important.”

It was sneaky, all right. But if a kid only used it in emergencies, it seemed okay to me.

So tonight I was going to try using some finesse. An opportunity to see a Cubs game definitely qualified as an emergency situation.

First, I played up my accident—being sure to emphasize how careless the driver of the truck had been. I didn't mention that I'd been flying along at twenty-one miles per hour. Mom and Dad were very concerned about me, but I assured them that I was—probably—okay.

“Could you pass the quiche?” I asked Dad. “Ow, my arm is awfully sore.”

“That's okay, hon,” Dad said. “I'll serve you a piece.”

“Not too much,” I said. “My chin hurts a little when I chew.”

“I'll take a look under that bandage later,” Mom said.

Now, in case you're starting to feel sorry for my mom and dad, I wasn't acting too much. I really was sore all over, and it did hurt to reach out my arm. I just played it up a little.

Since Mom had cooked, Dad cleaned up. I opened my mouth to offer to help with the dishes but stopped myself just in time.
Don't go overboard
, I told myself. I'd have to act natural, or they'd get suspicious. I had to wait to be asked, then complain just a little.

“Come on, Lizard, Sam,” Dad said, pushing back his chair from the table. “Let's get that mess cleaned up in the kitchen. I have bowling tonight.”

Oh, shoot. I'd forgotten. Dad bowls in a league from his office twice a month, and tonight was the night.

It was going to be hard to get Mom and Dad together to finesse them both at the same time. It looked as if I'd have to start with Dad.

“You guys put the food away, and I'll start washing,” Dad said as we walked into the kitchen.

We started to work, and then, I swear, he handed me an opening.

“So how's school going?” Dad asked.

“Okay,” Sam said.

I was covering the quiche with plastic wrap. I looked up. “Oh—” I paused for a little drama. “Okay—I guess.”

Dad glanced over at me. “Anything wrong?”

“Well, it's just that it's hard to meet people. Sometimes I feel kind of lonely.”

“What?”
Sam said, sounding surprised. I threw him a dish towel and gave him a meaningful glance.

“I thought you knew half the boys at school from your ball teams,” Dad said, up to his elbows now in suds.

“Well, I know
some
of them,” I said. “It's hard to get to know the girls, though. They're all in cliques.”

“Didn't you go to a slumber party a couple of weeks ago?” Dad asked.

“Those girls are kind of stupid,” I said. “I wish I knew more girl jocks like Mary Ann and me.” I paused again. “There's one thing coming up that sports lovers, guys and girls, will sign up for. That might be a chance to meet people.”

“What's that?”

“A trip to Chicago to see the Cubs,” I said. “At the end of September.”

“Wow,” Dad said, rinsing off a plate, “that sounds like a trip made for you.”

“It sure does,” I said, grinning at Sam. “And it only costs twenty-five dollars. Just think, a chance to make new friends and see a Cubs game for so little money!”

“Sounds great,” Dad said.

“Yeah, it would be great if Sam and I could both go,” I said. “We can pick up a lot of pointers for the school baseball team.”

“Terrific.”

I held up my fists in victory to Sam. He gave me a silent high five behind Dad's back.

We were going to see the Cubs game!

Mom walked into the kitchen.

“What're you two grinning about?” she asked. She put some folded towels in the drawer.

“We're just happy,” I said. “Sam and I are going to see a Cubs game at the end of the month. Dad said we could go.”

“A Cubs game?” Mom said. “Who's taking you?”

I explained about the sign in the window at McCloud's.

“Twenty-five dollars?” Mom said. “Where are you going to get the money?”

I stopped and stared at her. “Uh, I thought you could advance us the money from our allowance.”

“No way,” Mom said. “We just advanced you twenty-four ninety-five for that computerized speedometer.”

“But, Mom—” Panicked, I looked at Dad. “Dad said we could go!”

“You didn't tell me that you'd have to get the money in advance,” Dad said. “Don't you have anything in your savings account?”

“Nope,” Sam said. “That's why she needed the twenty-five-dollar advance for the speedometer.”

“Oh, shut up, Sam!”

Sam looked at Mom. “I have nearly twenty dollars saved. Could I have an advance on the rest? It'd only be five bucks or so.”

“We'll see.”

“What?”
I cried. “You'd let Sam go and not me?”

“Lizard,” Mom said, “you need to learn a lesson in saving. When you spend all your money on baseball cards and sports equipment, you don't have anything saved for special occasions that come up, like this trip to Chicago.”

“But I'm the biggest Cubs fan in the whole world!” I said. “Baseball is my life!” Then I tried a new tack. “I could take my speedometer back to the store and get a refund.”

“Not this time,” Mom said. “You'd still be twenty-five dollars in debt.” She looked at Dad. “Agreed?”

“You bet.”

“But there won't
be
a next time,” I said. “I'll pay you back fast. I'll do extra work to earn it.”

“I'm sorry, Lizard,” Mom said. “But you haven't even started paying back the twenty-four ninety-five. I'm not going to let you dig yourself even deeper in debt.”

“But, Mom—”

“Do you know how long it would take you to pay us back fifty dollars?” Dad stopped me. “You get six dollars a week in allowance. It would take you more than two months to earn that much. And during that time, you'd probably think of five other things you
had
to have.”

“Lizard,” Mom said. “I know you love the Cubs. Why don't we plan to see a game next summer? The whole family will go.”

“But that's almost a year away!”

“In the meantime, you can watch them on TV.” Mom headed out of the kitchen.

I followed. “But, Mom—”

She whirled around in the dining room and glared at me. “That's it, Lizard. The answer is no. Don't bring it up again.”

“I—”

“
No
. You understand? End of discussion.”

Mom walked out of the room. I was stunned. I felt as if I'd been hit with a sledgehammer.

My dream of sitting in the stands at Wrigley Field, watching my heroes play baseball, was gone like a wisp of smoke.

Everyone would be there without me. Even Sam, that rat. He'd come home and tell me every wonderful detail about the game and say, “You should've been there, it was so great.”

And I'd think,
You bet I should've been there, you rat
.

I went upstairs, flopped on my bed and stared out the window.

If only I had the money!