Pickle (13 page)

“Hey, Diego. Maybe I could bring my friend Oliver sometime, and you could teach him to cook, too?” I said. Oliver baked great stuff in his tiny apartment. I bet he'd love to make something in a big restaurant kitchen. Diego said yes, like I knew he would.

I went into my parents' office to use the computer after we ate. I had an email from Ms. Ruiz. She said Principal Lebonsky had called her at home to say that she thought that it would be a good idea if the League of Pickle Makers were “responsible for providing a traditionally pickled egg befitting of, and demonstrating respect for, the pioneer way of life.” Ms. Ruiz
never
talked like that.

So the League of Pickle Makers met to actually pickle stuff on Thursday. Over the weekend, I forwarded the email from Ms. Ruiz about the eggs to the pickle makers. Frank responded back with a link to the website. He'd set up a message board and a page to plug in prank information. If any of us had a message for the group, we could just send an email that said “Pickle.” Then we'd know to go check the website and talk about stuff there. He said it made our communication more secure. I said it made it more awesome.

I brought the recipe card that Principal Lebonsky had given me to show the others. Bean had actually heard of pickled eggs before and got kind of excited about it. Oliver wasn't crazy about the idea at first, but Sienna talked him into it.

I had boiled a lot of eggs in one of the big pots we use to make menudo on Sundays, and I ran to the restaurant to get it. Diego had filled the pot with ice water to cool them off, so I just picked the whole thing up and lugged it to the lab. School had been over for ten minutes and the front of my shirt was wet by the time I got back. The door to the lab was shut, but I could hear Sienna's voice inside. I tapped it with the pot so someone would come and let me in. Every time I whacked the door, the eggs would do this cool drum roll rattle thing. I did it a few more times until I sloshed egg water into my eye. Then I set the pot down and opened the door myself. I brought the eggs in and closed the door behind me with my butt.

“That's not the kind of thing we do,” Oliver said.

“Who says?” Sienna stood by Oliver with her hands on her hips. I stopped just past the doorway with the pot of eggs. Something told me we wouldn't be pickling yet.

“It's the rule. We already decided it. Only pranks that are fun or funny. That's just nasty.”

“Well, I think it would be hilarious,” said Sienna. “What do you think, Frank?”

Frank shrugged.

“I'm neutral. It's gross … but we'd definitely get a reaction,” he said.

“What are you guys talking about?” I said. Oliver rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Sienna wants to dump a bunch of plastic cockroaches in the cafeteria food,” he said.

“That's pretty great, right? Right?! People would flip!” Sienna said. My stomach flipped.

“It's kind of messed up,” I said. “And they'd probably just throw the food out and make everybody cheese sandwiches like they did when the freezer broke.”

“Well, I like cheese sandwiches. And it's a lot better than the mystery nuggets that are on the menu tomorrow.”

“It's a waste of food,” I said. I scratched my nose and kept my eyes on the floor. I didn't want to talk about it.

“That's what you're worried about?” Oliver said. “Wasting food? No, I think there's a story here.”

“Just drop it, okay?” I felt my cheeks burn and I knew I was blushing.

“Oh, I think Clevoliver is right,” Bean said. “Ben's hiding something.”

“Is it because your family has a restaurant?” Sienna said. “It's no big deal for the school.”

“Spill it, Ben,” Oliver said. “Are you afraid of a few little bugs?”

“I'm not afraid! It's just that roaches are gross, all right? I ate one once. By accident.”

“Well, I for one am relieved to hear that it wasn't on purpose,” Frank said.

“You guys can't tell anybody. I mean it!” They swore they wouldn't, and I took a deep breath. “We had them in the restaurant once. A long time ago when we first opened. My mom called an exterminator and nobody saw any for a few days. Then I snuck into the walk-in while my mom and dad were busy in the front to snack on some flan.”

“What's flan?” Oliver said.

“It's like caramel pudding, or custard,” I said.

“I'm simultaneously thrilled and horrified by where this is going.”

“Shut up, Bean. The first couple of bites were smooth and creamy, just like it's supposed to be. But, then I took another bite. And it crunched. I knew right away. I spit it out, but I could still tell it was a roach. I threw up on the mat and told them I spilled some pea soup. I haven't eaten flan since.” I hadn't told anybody about it ever. Just talking about it made my stomach clench up.

“That was a delight. Thank you, Ben.” Bean clapped me on the back.

“Maybe we should vote,” Oliver said. “Who's pro-bug?” Sienna raised her hand, like we didn't know already, and Oliver did, too. “Sorry, Ben. Okay, who is pro-nuggets?” Bean and Frank raised their hands. Bean looked conflicted. I think she liked the idea of bugs, but not as much as she liked voting against Sienna.

“You're the tie-breaker, Ben.” Sienna turned to me and smiled. “It could be really funny.” She looked so hopeful. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, so I could see little gold hoops in her ears. And that lip gloss. But I couldn't forget the flan. So I shook my head, and the smile fell right off of her face.

“Maybe we could come up with something else to do in the cafeteria instead,” I said. “I'm just not down with bugs.”

“Whatever.” Sienna swung her backpack off of the chair.

“Hey, what about the eggs?” I said. Sienna just sneered.

“I don't know why I agreed to join this stupid club anyway.”

I wanted to tell her that she had
asked
to join the club, but I didn't. She pushed me out of the way to get out of the lab. Some water sloshed out of the pot onto the dull linoleum of the lab floor. Everyone was quiet.

“Wouldn't it have been easier to pour the water out before walking over here?” Oliver asked. Diego had said that the eggs were cooling off. It didn't occur to me to dump the water.

“Yeah, and it would have been easier if someone helped carry them, too,” I said. I wanted to go after Sienna and find out what she was so mad about, but first I had to set down the pot of eggs. My feet didn't move.

“Geez, Ben. Did you even remember the jar?” Bean said.

“I'm holding it behind my back with my third arm.” My face felt hot, and I kept picturing plastic bugs in food. It felt all wrong. Oliver crossed the lab and tugged the pot out of my hands. Egg water sloshed on my shoes.

“Let's get this over with.” He grabbed a couple eggs and whacked the shells against the table. Bean and Frank peeled, too. They picked bits of shell off the eggs and made a pile of broken chips. Nobody talked.

I walked out into the hall, but Sienna was long gone. I didn't want to go back into the lab, so I ran back to the restaurant for the jar. I had put it through the dishwasher that makes everything smell like bleach, but it still smelled like chiles. Only parts of the label came off. Instead of “Green Comet Chiles” it said just “Come Chil.”

When I came back, the peeled eggs were in the pot and the shells were in the trash, but everyone had left. I followed the recipe for Lebonsky Eggs and set the jar in the cupboard that Ms. Ruiz had reserved for us. I knew it was our cupboard by the “League of Pickle Makers Use Only!!” sign she'd made with permanent marker on green construction paper cut into what I assumed was supposed to be a pickle shape. She always told us to take it easy with the exclamation points. I guess she felt that some situations, like pickling space, called for more excitement.

 

32

El Matador

“When do we get to do something with costumes?” Oliver said. He looked at Bean. “You have a costume shop, right?”

“What are you talking about?” Sienna said. She sat with us in the cafeteria at lunch like nothing had happened. She seemed to be in a better mood, so I guess we all just decided to let it slide. I had brought a peanut butter sandwich from home, just in case. I reminded Sienna about Bean's family's store.

“I've got a pretty good idea of something we can do. And since I'm planning it, it will count as my solo mission,” Bean said. “Ben wore a costume from the shop last year. Didn't you, Ben?” She didn't look at me, but she was smirking down at her burger. My mom and dad rented costumes from Lee's, before I knew it was Bean's store.

“What did you dress up as, Ben?” Sienna asked. Judging from Bean's giggle, she remembered. I tried to think of a way to make it sound good.

“Last year my mom had a big party at the restaurant for Halloween,” I said. “I work there sometimes.” Sienna nodded, and I think she looked a little bit impressed. I took a deep breath. “She rented a fancy flamenco dancer costume, and my dad got a pirate costume. He put coal around his eyes and blackened his teeth. He looked pretty freaky.”

“Cool,” Sienna said. “What were you?”

I had really wanted to wear a shirt that said “Go, Ceilings!” so I could be a ceiling fan, but my mom said it would be good for business if I did something else. I thought she might rent a storm trooper costume, or maybe a samurai. A samurai would have been cool.

“You dressed up like a … matador, didn't you?” Bean said.

“A minotaur? The bull man?” Frank said.

“A
mat-a-dor
. Bullfighter. Ben looked pretty cool.” I looked up at Bean as she dipped a French fry into a glob of ketchup and popped it into her mouth. She was lying.

If you're lucky enough not to be familiar with the ridiculous uniform of the matador, let me tell you about it. Lee's version of an authentic matador costume had short, tight, bright purple pants. I could stop right there and you would already feel sorry for me. But, it gets worse. The pants had wide shiny gold strips of lace sewn down the sides. They buttoned just below the knees with a big gold button. What else? Red socks and black ballet slippers. With bells. I told my mom that I didn't think matadors wore bells, but she said not to take them off because she didn't want to lose her deposit. It came with a puffy shirt and a jacket with big shoulder pads. Not like football shoulder pads. Gold lace shoulder pads. With pom-poms. And a hat shaped like a pot sticker.

I told my dad I looked silly. He said I didn't have a choice and to quit being such a
sabelotodo
, which is Spanish for smart aleck. He said that matadors were brave men of honor. I said that I would need to be brave to wear the matador costume to the restaurant.

The jacket was so stiff I couldn't lift my arms enough to bus tables. No way could I fight a bull. I whined to my mom and she said to stop before I got food on it. I thought I was off the hook, but I wasn't. She told me to walk around the restaurant to make nice with everybody and pass roses out to the ladies. I wondered if my mom loved me at all.

An old lady said I was the handsomest matador she'd ever seen and kissed me on both cheeks. I felt like a fool.

I figured that whatever I wound up wearing for a prank, it couldn't be any worse than that matador getup. Maybe I'd get to be a zombie after all.

“Let's do it this weekend,” Bean said. “I'll get everything together and let you guys know where to meet.”

“That's what I'm talking about.” Frank nodded. “It's time we branched out a little bit. Got away from the school. We need to take it to the streets.” Everybody yelled and high fived, but I still needed to know a little more about exactly
what
we'd be taking to the streets.

“What does that mean exactly?” I said.

“It means we're expanding our turf. Pushing the envelope off of school grounds,” Frank said.

“There's a big difference, a
huge
difference, between getting busted by Principal Lebonsky and getting caught by the police,” I said.

“I'd rather get caught by the police,” Bean mumbled.

“We're not going to get caught,” Oliver said. “Not if we play our parts well.”

“You don't know,” I said. “I feel funny about doing something that's not just goofing off at school.”

“It will be fun, Ben,” Bean said. “Don't freak, all right?”

“What about the P.T.A. cards?” Oliver asked.

“Forget the P.T.A. cards,” I said.

“How will we get credit?” Frank said. I shook my head.

“This one's got to be anonymous,” I said. “Just for a laugh.”

“Everything will be cool, Ben. No weird stuff,” Bean said.

“Do you promise?”

Bean said she did. Then she held out her hand to shake on it. I was about to shake, but then she spit on her palm—or did a really good job pretending to spit on it. I didn't want her to tell the pickle makers any more about the matador costume, so I shook anyway.