Odd Girl In (15 page)

I felt a momentary pang of guilt because she might have heard me mention Emily, but I quickly put it out of my mind and kept going. While we waited for Dad to show up, I rattled off a list of Emily's faults until Nick finally put a hand over my mouth.

“You were done venting a while ago,” he said. “Now you're being mean.”

I squirmed away. “I am not! I was just pointing out—”

“Good friends
don't
,” he interrupted. “They make each other seem flawless.”

“And the way you're describing Emily, she's a pitchfork short of being the devil,” said Parker, rejoining us.

I frowned at him but didn't say anything. I hated to admit it, but both he and Nick were right. Instead of just being upset about this one event, I was adding it to a pile of Emily's other mistakes.

Nick noticed my silence and nudged me. “You and Emily
are
friends, right?”

“I don't know. Maybe?” I sighed. “If we
are
friends, I'm apparently not a very good one.”

“That's all we've been trying to say,” said Parker.

I punched him in the shoulder.

“This is new for Alex,” said Nick, giving me a squeeze. “She's working on it.”

I smiled gratefully at him and wondered if this was the time to mention Mom's note. But before I could, Dad pulled up to the curb.

“How was Champs?” he asked as we climbed in.

“Ms. Success is exploiting us for her film career,” said Parker.

“I've made some new enemies,” I added.

“And I accidentally swallowed the eraser off my pencil,” said Nick.

Dad stared blankly at all of us. “But did the three of you
learn
anything?”

“I learned not to chew on my pencil,” Nick said.

Dad sighed. “Well, that was money well spent.”

“Speaking of money,” said Parker, “we need to work on coming up with our three hundred-dollar championship entry fee.”

Nick nodded. “My coach has some team laundry I could do that he'd pay me one hundred dollars for, so I'm all set with my share.”

“I'm impressed,” said Parker.

Nick waved him away. “It's just laundry.”

“No, I'm impressed you could divide three hundred by three,” said Parker with a wicked grin.

“Wait,” said Dad. “So the three of you are on a team together?”

“Yep,” I said.

“By choice?” asked Dad.

“Of course,” said Nick with a laugh.

Dad beamed at all of us, and Parker groaned.

“Don't get weird and sentimental, Dad.”

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he said, forcing a serious face. “Carry on.”

Parker gave a haughty sniff. “Well,
I've
thought of a few fund-raising ideas that harness the power of my intelligence.”

“Meaning?” I asked.

“For a ten-dollar fee, people can give me their homework and I'll—”

“False,” interrupted Dad. “You won't be doing anyone else's homework. In fact, I'm shocked you'd even consider it.”

“Why are you shocked?” asked Parker. “We haven't learned about honesty in Champs yet.”

We all laughed.

“What other ideas did you have, Parker?” asked Nick.

“None.” Parker frowned. “All of mine involve slightly illegal efforts to aid my fellow man.”

“Huh?” asked Nick.

“All his ideas involve cheating,” I said. “I, on the other hand, have a perfectly legal idea. A hockey scrimmage, ten dollars per person to play. I talked to the manager of The Iceman, and he said I could rent one of the rinks for seventy-five dollars. If we can get two teams of twelve together, that's a one hundred and sixty-five dollar profit.”

Parker rubbed his chin. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, that's a clever idea,” said Nick.

I smiled and patted myself on the back. “I agree. Well done, Alex!”

“What does the winner get?” asked Dad.

“Get?” I stopped my self-congratulation and frowned.
“I didn't think of that. I don't suppose they'd be happy just knowing they won?”

“Not unless you can buy pizza with happiness,” said Nick.

“You could try getting some sponsors,” said Dad. “You know, local businesses to donate something for being mentioned in your program.”

“Dad, this is a scrimmage,” I said. “There's not going to be a program. If anything, it'll be a torn-out piece of notebook paper with a grease stain on it.”

“You could make a banner, though,” said Nick. “And hang it on the boards.”

“And mention the sponsors on flyers you use to advertise the scrimmage,” said Parker.

“A banner?” I repeated. “I could actually put something I learned in hockey boosters to use.”

Nick poked Parker. “So then it's up to you to come up with the rest of the money.”

“Thirty-five dollars? No problem,” said Parker.

“And since your portion is less, you have to help Alex find sponsors for her scrimmage,” Nick continued.

Parker rolled his eyes. “Fine. We'll hit the pavement this weekend. But if my running blisters reopen, I won't be pleasant to live with.”

I nodded. “Just like any other day.”

Chapter 12

O
n Saturday, I was impressed to see
Parker up and actually ready to go before noon. I was
not
impressed, however, to see him wearing our Champs shirt.

“Why are you dressed like that?” I asked as he left the bathroom.

“So businesses will find us more credible,” he said. “They'll assume we're with an organization, and they'll be more likely to donate when they see our T-shirts.”

“
Our
T-shirts?” I asked. “I think we can get the same message across if just one of us sports the star.”

Parker crossed his arms. “But if I'm the only one in a Champs T-shirt, I'll look like an idiot.”

“Yes,” I said, “but maybe people will take pity on us and give money toward getting you a better wardrobe.”

When he didn't budge, I sighed and went to change. After I re-emerged, I headed downstairs to find him eating breakfast and studying a map.

“What's that for?” I poured myself a bowl of cereal and joined him.

“I'm analyzing the businesses in the area near the rink,” he said. “We should start with them, since their proximity makes them most likely to help.”

“Uh-huh.” I read over his shoulder. “And what could … Drapes 'n' More donate that a teenager would possibly want?”

He frowned at me. “Obviously we won't ask all the businesses.”

“I don't know,” I teased. “I think Toilet Town could make us a nice offer.”

Parker dropped his map. “Well, what do
you
suggest?”

“The places close to the rink were a good idea,” I admitted, “but the places popular with kids are better.”

I pointed out a strip of restaurants and game and clothing shops a few blocks away. “Here. The Style Mile.”

Parker sat quietly, chewing his lips while I chewed my cereal. “Fine,” he said when I was almost done eating. “We'll try
your
way so I can prove you wrong.”

After breakfast, we grabbed Dad from his office and ran into Nick in the hall.

“Where are you guys going?” he asked.

“The Style Mile,” I said.

Nick's eyes lit up. “Ooh. I love that place. Give me a sec to get ready.”

With a smirk, I turned to look at Parker, but he'd discovered an interesting piece of lint on his sleeve.

Dad dropped us off at the end of the mile and promised to pick us up later. “Good luck,” he said. “Don't take any donations of livestock.” Then he drove away.

“Where are you guys starting?” asked Nick.

“Aww. You want to help?” I asked.

“No, I want to make sure nobody sees us together.” He nodded at our star shirts.

Parker and I frowned, and Nick pointed to the nearest game store. “I'll just hide in there.”

We watched him go, and then Parker looked from me to the people walking past.

“Maybe the Champs T-shirts
were
a bad idea,” he said. “Do you think someone would buy them from us?”

“Actually, I think they'd want
us
to pay
them
.” I put an arm around his shoulder. “Come on. Let's try the pizza place first.”

It was early enough that the parlor wasn't crowded yet,
so we had no problem talking to the owner. When she approached us, Parker smoothed out his T-shirt, fluffed his hair, and stepped forward to shake her hand.

“Madam,” he said in his most professional voice. “As proprietor of this establishment, I conjecture that you're responsible for various marketing opportunities when they arise?”

The owner stared at Parker and scratched her head. “As the what?”

“What my brother's trying to say,” I cut in, “is that we're collecting prizes for a hockey scrimmage, and we're wondering if you could donate anything.”

The owner crossed her arms. “What's in it for me?”

“You'll be mentioned on the scrimmage flyers,” I said. “And on a banner at the actual event.”

She shook her head. “That's not enough.”

Parker and I glanced at each other.

“Name your terms,” said my brother.

“I'm short on help this week.” The owner pointed to a swinging door behind her. “Dishes are stacking up in the kitchen and the floor's a mess. Clean it all up, and I'll donate two large pies.”

Parker nodded. “It's a deal. Alex, get in there.” He prodded me in the back, and I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Excuse me? I don't remember volunteering.”

Parker smiled at the owner and pulled me aside. “You pick up dirty pennies in public places. Touching a few grungy plates and floors shouldn't be a problem.”

“That's not the point,” I said. “I'm not doing all the work while you sit around.”

“I have to suffer too,” he said. “As we speak, my hair is soaking up the scent of pizza.”

The owner cleared her throat. “What's it gonna be, kids?”

I fixed Parker with a stern gaze. “You do the mopping and I'll do the dishes.”

Five minutes later, I was up to my elbows in soapy foam and staring at a pile of plates and glasses.

“Be careful,” said Parker. “If you break anything, you'll probably have to work here all night.”

“Thanks for your concern.” I scooped a pile of crusty silverware into the water. “Don't get your hair caught in the mop wringer.”

In answer, Parker let the mop hit the floor with a wet splat. “This is actually pretty easy,” he said. “I'm glad you took the harder task.”

“Well, I didn't want your dainty lady fingers to turn into prunes,” I said.

Parker didn't pick up on my sarcasm. “Where do you think we should go next? One of the shoe stores?”

“No. It'll mainly be guys at the scrimmage,” I said. “And
I doubt they'd want twenty percent off wedge sandals.”

After washing a stack of plates and pizza pans, I finally went back to the silverware I'd left soaking. One of the spoons I pulled out was bent in half. I showed my brother and he smirked.

“High-quality silverware
and
child labor in the kitchen,” he said.

“Yes, but they're fancy enough to have flower vases!” I held one up.

“That's a drink carafe,” said Parker. “It's just narrower on top so you can hold it when you pour water. Like a fancy pitcher.”

“See? Fancy!” I set it down and went back to straightening the spoon, but it slipped out of my hand and flipped into the carafe.

“Ten points for Alex Evins!” I cheered.

“Quit playing and get back to work,” said Parker. “My mop is starting to look nicer than my hair.”

I reached into the carafe and grabbed the spoon, but when I tried to pull my hand out … it wouldn't budge.

“Uh-oh.” I twisted my wrist and pulled, but there was no give. I jerked back, but my hand didn't move.

Trying not to panic, I turned to my brother. “Parker? I'm stuck.”

He didn't look up from his mopping. “Yeah, this floor
is
pretty gummy. I think they've been mopping it with soda.”

I flung a fork at him. “No, I'm not stuck to the floor! I'm just stuck!”

He looked up and saw me waving a carafe-covered hand.

“Oh you've got to be kidding.” He leaned the mop against the sink. “What happened?”

“I was trying to get the spoon out of the carafe.”

He inspected the bottle. “Why didn't you tip it over and let the spoon fall out?”

I just stared at him. “Because I'm twelve, and I did not think of that.”

“Okay, okay.” He grabbed some liquid soap and squirted it on my hand. Then he tried twisting and pulling on the carafe. “Hmmm.”