Romance of the Snob Squad (10 page)

“Vanessa!” Dad barked.

I sent Van a mental message: Thank you.

Mom’s eyes darted around the table. They held on Dad. He opened his mouth, then shut it. Mom’s eyes welled with tears. “It’s not easy, you know, having to work all day, then come home and cook and clean house—”

“You don’t clean house,” Dad said. “I do.”

Mom sniffled. “Well, I would if you didn’t do it.” She blew her nose in a napkin. Her voice trembling, she whimpered, “I try to be a good mother.”

“You are,” Vanessa and I said together.

Dad frowned at Mom. “Who said you weren’t a good mother?”

Mom shook her head.

Dad continued, “None of us has ever felt you weren’t a good mother. Or a good wife. Or a good anything. We appreciate everything you do. Don’t we, girls?” Dad widened his eyes at us.

“We do,” we both chorused.

“I’m the one who’s not appreciated.” Dad folded his arms.

We all gaped at him.

He unfolded his arms and started waving them around. “I do all the housework, the laundry, the shopping. I pay the bills. I’d cook if you’d let me. I know you don’t think it’s enough, that I should work full-time, too.”

Mom countered, “I never said that. I think you do plenty. It’s a lot of work, keeping this house running. I should know—I did it for the first ten years of our marriage. The laundry alone is a full-time job.”

“It sure is,” Dad muttered.

“I do appreciate it,” Mom said meekly.

“Me, too,” Vanessa and I put in.

Mom added, “I wish I could do more.”

“Why?” Dad rested his hands on the table. “I thought you hated housework.”

“I do,” Mom said. “But I still feel guilty.”

“About what? Working? You love your job. You didn’t go to college at night for six years so you could iron my shirts.” He reached over and covered her hand with his. “You don’t have to feel guilty, hon,” he spoke softly. “To tell you the truth, I kind of enjoy housework. More than I ever did office work. In fact, I’m getting a T-shirt that says,
Laundry is my life
.” He smiled.

Through taut lips, Mom cracked a smile.

Dad sobered fast. “If anyone should feel guilty, it’s me,” he said. “Having you support the family, work all the time, come home exhausted, cook dinner, it’s… it’s hard for me.”

Vanessa looked at me. She must’ve been thinking the same thing I was; that this was the longest conversation our parents had ever had.

Mom’s hand turned over and squeezed Dad’s. “I know it’s hard,” she said through a sniffle. “And I don’t really care if you never go back to work, Robert. It’s a relief knowing you’re home, taking care of things.”

“Really?” Dad looked shocked. He cocked his head and said, “Wow, I guess we should talk about this.”

Mom nodded. “I guess we should.”

He put his arm around her shoulders. “I want you to laugh more. Especially at my jokes.”

Mom laughed.

That’s it. I stood up. “If you’re going to get all mushy, can I be excused? I have a delicate stomach, you know.”

Vanessa rose. “I have no stomach.”

Mom and Dad sucked in smiles.

Vanessa followed me down the hall, muttering, “Especially for Singapore stir-fry.”

“See?” I said, pausing at her bedroom door. “They’ll work it out. Mr. Mom and Mrs. Dad. How romantic.”

Vanessa made a face at me. “How weird, you mean.”

A thought barreled through my brain. “You think we could get on
Oprah?
Yesterday she had a show called ‘Families Who Wave Their Dirty Underwear in Public.’ Ours could be ‘Families Who Don’t Have Dirty Underwear.’ We could show Dad doing the laundry.”

Vanessa didn’t reply. She was gazing into space, looking spaced out, as usual.

“Earth to Van.” I snapped my fingers in front of her face.

She caught my hand. “I have a plan,” she said.

My stomach lurched. Why did the word
plan
suddenly make me want to scream?

Vanessa glanced back toward the kitchen, where Mom and Dad were huddled, whispering together. Vanessa pointed to my bedroom door. “You got anything edible in there?” she said.

“Just a moldy package of Hostess cupcakes.”

“Perfect.” She shoved me inside and shut the door behind us.

O
n Saturday morning, I woke up with a fluttery stomach. It wasn’t Vanessa’s plan that was making me anxious. Well, maybe a little. If it backfired, we might both be put up for adoption. But we weren’t putting the plan into action until Sunday night. No, this anxiety was imminent. I think I was excited about the science fair.

How dumb.

When the horn honked outside, I’d already been ready for half an hour. Max had bribed Scuzz-Gut into hauling the Extreme Rat-o-rama to Hinckley High School and picking me up on the way. Knowing how Scuzz-Gut drove, I buckled up tighter than a twist tie and said a silent prayer. Talk about queasy.

Half an hour of road rage later, Scuzz-Gut squealed into a handicapped parking place right up front. I didn’t figure it was my duty to mention the absence of a handicapped parking sticker. Whoever was stupid enough to stop him was risking a rumble.

It took about an hour to find our class in the mob scene inside. Dozens of areas were designated for the fair. Hundreds maybe. After the bejillionth time Scuzz-Gut growled, “I ain’t haulin’ this rat contraption another inch,” we heard Lydia holler. She has this real loud voice; you can’t miss it. Beside her, Prairie flagged us down. I was glad to see that Prairie had come. Even though she was still one of us, lately it didn’t feel like she was one
with
us. Know what I mean?

At our designated spot, Scuzz-Gut dropped off the Rat-o-rama, literally, and said to Max, “You got the rat?”

She showed him Harley’s carrier.

“Okay,” he said. “Break a leg.” He punched Max in the arm and blew out of there. What a sweet guy. While Max and Prairie set up, I said to Lydia, “Come on, let’s find the food.”

On the way out, I asked, “Where’s your mom? I thought you said she was coming.”

Lydia smiled. “She had to work today, so she dropped me off. Thank gawd.”

Maybe being a psychologist’s daughter was as bad as being the principal’s daughter. Maybe worse, since the person looking over your shoulder was a trained professional.

Lydia yawned. “I was up till midnight working on our project.”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I had to redo the whole notebook,” she said. “Since I never did find it. Since we know who’s got it.”

“Yeah. Ashley was probably trying to sabotage our project. Not that we’d ever do that to
her
.”

Lydia smirked. “We don’t have to.”

I wondered what she meant but didn’t get a chance to ask, because we were swallowed up by the swarm of people following the signs to the Hinckley High Future Homemakers of America’s concession stand. When we got there, Lydia answered my question before I could ask. “Did you see the Cyber Stars’ project?”

I shook my head.

“Well, as of yesterday they still couldn’t get the two computers talking. And it’s such a ridiculous idea, naming one Barbie and the other Ken. They’re supposed to have a conversation. First Barbie says, ‘Hello, Ken. How are you?’ Then Ken says something like, ‘Fine. You’re lookin’ bad, babe. Real bad.’ Then Barbie goes, ‘Oh, wow, Ken. You’re hot, too.’ ”

I looked at Lydia like she had a memory malfunction. “Serious?” I said.

“Serious. At least that’s what’s supposed to happen, except Barbie doesn’t get a word out before she freezes up. Then the whole system crashes.” Lydia laughed.

That scenario was realistic, at least. If I was Barbie and Kevin was Ken, I’d freeze up, too.

Lydia wheezed, “Don’t you think it’s funny?”

“Yeah,” I said. “A real scream. Do you want chocolate or coconut?” ’ I surveyed the doughnut choices. Six doughnuts for a dollar. Not bad, even if most of them resembled deformed dumplings. Whoever married these future homemakers of America were in for a dining disaster.

“We’d like three chocolate and three coconut,” I ordered without waiting for Lydia to make up her mind. The zitty FHAer and I exchanged a greasy bag and a buck.

“I hope Harley likes coconut,” Lydia said. “You’re not supposed to give animals chocolate, you know.”

My mind reeled. Had I fed Harley anything chocolate? I couldn’t remember. I started to chomp into a chocolate doughnut. Suddenly my anxiety resurged and I lost my appetite. Handing the doughnut to Lydia, I said, “Speaking of Harley, did you see how he was leaning yesterday? Worse than the day before.”

Lydia licked off a drip of chocolate. “Max says he’s fine, but I don’t know. Harley looks sick. He’s wheezing a lot, like I do when I get an asthma attack.”

“Maybe he’s allergic to science, too. Maybe we should ask the Beak Man if we could borrow his snot rag.”

“Jenny!” Lydia whapped me and laughed.

I was glad we were friends. Lydia could be so much fun. As we meandered back to the gym, taking in the sights, sounds, and smells, I thought, Science fairs are fascinating. Besides the food, there was more nerdiness concentrated in one locale than at a computer convention. I felt out of place. Not to mention out of my intellectual element. “Lydia, could I borrow your glasses?” I asked her. “I feel underdressed.”

“Huh?” she said, scanning her pink paisley outfit.

“Never mind.”

The judging had already started by the time we got back. “You’re next,” Mr. Biekmund said to us. “After the Cyber Stars.” He seemed nervous as a ninny. “Are you ready to go? Where’s Harley?”

“He’s resting,” Max said.

“Ps-psyching himself up,” Prairie added.

The Beak Man smiled a sick smile. “Good luck,” he said in a sniffle. “Have I told you how proud I am of you all?”

We all looked vacant.

“No, really,” he said. “You’ll each get an A in science this term. The Extreme Rat-o-rama is a super project.”

“Super,” I said as I eyeballed the squad. An A in science? That ought to shock my family. Shock therapy. Maybe that’s what we needed.

At the table next to ours, the three judges huddled around the Cyber Stars’ project. We wandered over to observe.

Hugh was explaining. “The male computer, Ken”—he blushed—”has a choice of responses to, uh, Barbie’s,” he mumbled, “questions. It’s like artificial intelligence.”

Ashley interrupted, “Except it’s not artificial. It’s real. They’re having a real conversation. First Ken asks Barbie to the big dance and she says yes. Or vice versa.” She beamed at Hugh.

He looked green. I think he was wishing she was artificial. I was, and that her batteries would die. One of the judges said, “Okay, let’s see how it works.”

Kevin switched on Ken. Melanie booted Barbie. Kevin keyed in, “H-e-l-l-o.”

Barbie said, on the screen, “Hey, you’re cute.”

Ken replied, “What’s your name?”

Wow, I was impressed. So were the judges, if their wide eyes were any indication.

Barbie said, “Will you call me tonight?”

Ken said, “What should I wear? Underwear?”

Huh? My eyes bugged out.

Ken added, “Are you my mother? Where is your hair?”

Barbie said, “I can’t find my brain. Who’s knocking on your head?”

Then they both started garbling garbage in unison. None of the sentences made sense. And they were talking so fast, it was giving me whiplash.

Barbie said, “Would you like to go to the bathroom with me?” and Ken replied, “I feel like barfing.” Then he did. For real. The computer made this totally life-like barfing noise out the back, right before it crashed and burned. Barbie beeped, blooped, and blinked. Her screen went black.

The crowd fought hard to control themselves. We didn’t. We hyena-howled hysterically.

If we weren’t already dying of laughter, Ashley and Melanie would’ve machine-gunned us down with their eyes.

“Thank you,” one of the judges finally managed to squeak from a suppressed giggle. “Very, uh, innovative.” The judges all marked their scorecards, or whatever they were using to grade us.

Ashley seethed, “Who put that sound in? Did you program that, Kevin? It sounds like you. I’ll kill you. I swear.”

I thought I saw Kevin smirk. Now you know why I think he’s a god.

We were next.

T
he four judges circled our table. Everyone else in the room jockeyed for position. Immediately Lydia started to explain our project. “I might’ve missed a few details because somebody stole my notebook.” She glared at Ashley.

“Just show us what you have,” one of the judges said.

Max retrieved Harley from his cage. Prairie and I looked at each other and gulped a big one. I could tell Prairie was nervous; her hand shook as she set the siren. Battery acid was burning up my stomach lining. “Does anyone have a Tums?” I said.

Everyone felt in their pockets. No Tums.

“Jenny, you don’t look well,” the Beak Man said. “If you have to… you know. The restroom’s…” He pointed.

“I’m okay,” I lied. “But thanks.”

As Max placed Harley in the Extreme Rat-o-rama, a group gathered. Lydia finished her explanation about rat psychology, positive reinforcement versus negative, something about tough love and therapeutic touch. Who knew what she was babbling about? “He’s trained to begin on voice command,” she ended. “So, whenever you’re ready.” Her eyes met the judges’.

The head judge yawned. “We’re ready.”

“One, two, three…”

All together we shouted, “Go!”

Everyone sucked in their breath. Harley just stood there. Or rather, he leaned there. Human heads tilted to the left, to mimic his.

“What’s wrong with him?” Hugh asked behind me.

“Nothing,” I snarled.

Max said, “Come on, Har. Get up, boy. This is it. The big one.” She lifted him up and plopped him down.

We tried again. “Go!” we barked.

He leaned and flopped.

“Maybe he’s nervous. Maybe he needs a practice run,” Lydia said.

“Maybe he needs his head examined,” Ashley muttered behind her. “Like his trainers.”

Ooh, I wanted so bad to accidentally on purpose stomp her foot and break a toe. Think anyone would notice? The screaming might draw attention. I reached in the greasy bag and pulled out a coconut doughnut. I crumbled a hunk of it in front of the first milk carton. Harley’s whiskers twitched. He rose to his feet. He snarfed up the doughnut and scrabbled ahead.