Sammy Keyes and the Art of Deception (23 page)

Silence.

“I thought he was you.”

Another second of silence and then, “That's cool. So, what was it?”

By now my grip on the phone is starting to shake. And all of a sudden I can't think of what to say. Of how to start. “I … I don't know if I can do this twice.”

“Are you telling me I should go ask him?”

God, was I lame, or what? So I took a deep breath and told him. The whole thing. From the beginning. And it didn't come out smooth and fast like it had the first time, but at least I got it out.

I could now hang up and die.

Then he asks me, “So … you
don't
like Billy?”

“No! Right now I kinda hate him.”

He laughs. “He's just Billy.”

“Yeah, I know.” Then I add, “So I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for the misunderstanding and for Marissa telling Heather about how you kissed my hand. I know you were acting, and I want you to know that
I
sure didn't go around making a big deal out of it, okay?” Then before I can stop myself, out of my mouth pops, “It's a little cold to say that you'd rather kiss a codfish, but hey, I can understand why you said it.”

“What?”

I hesitated, then said, “Never mind.”

“No, seriously. I never said anything about a codfish.”

“You didn't?”

“Nuh-uh. Where'd you hear that one?”

I shook my head. “Where do you think?”

“And you
believed
her? God, she is such a pain!”

All of a sudden I remembered. “Oh! I forgot to tell you—I am
so
glad to have my skateboard back. Thank you for bringing it to school.”

“Man, you
smoke
on that thing. I had no idea.”

I could feel my cheeks turning roasty. “When did you—”

“Everyone on the bus was going, Dude! That's a
girl
?”

“Yeah, well, I was just happy to have it back. So thanks.”

“No problem. Sorry it took me so long.”

I kind of muttered, “Sorry I never asked nice.”

He laughed, then I heard some clinking and rustling on the other end. “Let me have your number, okay?”

“Uh … I can't do that.”

“Why not?”

“My mom … um … I'm not allowed to talk to guys on the phone.”

“You're not? So … what do you call what you're doing now?”

“I'm, uh … I'm calling you from a pay phone.”

“You're kidding.”

“No, so … I'll just see you around school, okay? And thanks for being so nice about all of this—”

“Wait a minute. You're calling me from a phone booth?”

“Right.”

“You're risking parental wrath to talk to me?”

This was not good. Not good at all! I could feel him smiling clear from his house in Sisquane. “Well, I … you know … I felt bad that you thought I would … And Marissa, you know … she really thought I should call …”

“Uh-huh,” he says, like, I know better. “Seriously, Casey. I—”

“It's okay, Sammy. I'll look for you at school. And hey! Tell me to break a leg tomorrow. We're either gonna smash or bomb—I don't think there'll be much middle ground.”

“What's the play about, anyway?”

“Laddies Gone Amok?”

“All Ms. Pilson'll say is, ‘You'll see.' ”

He laughs, “You'll see!” Then he adds, “But pretty much, it's just what it sounds like—we lads have gone amok! So have some of the lasses, but I don't want to give it away.”

“I already heard about Billy's … uh …
costume.
”

“He's a wild card, no doubt. Like that's something I need to tell you, huh?”

I laughed and said, “Right,” then added, “Well, break a leg.”

“Thanks,” he says, then switches into an English accent. “ 'Tis better by far than a broken heart, I say! And now, fair lass, I must be off. I have serious matters to attend to before morrow's light. I bid thee adieu!”

I laughed again and told him, “Adieu.” And when he hung up, I just stood there, listening.

Listening to the hum of the phone in my ear.

TWENTY   

The next morning I didn't do any fancy curb hopping or maneuvering on my way to school. I just
click-click-clicked
along on my board. There was a pretty strong head wind, but the truth is, I was also feeling a little self-conscious. I didn't want to get pegged as a show-off, when all I was, was happy to ride. I mean, junior high is such the high wire. One wrong move and you're doomed. Unless you've got some good friends willing to catch you, that is.

So I'm in the middle of thinking about how nice it is that I
do
have friends—and specifically that Marissa-the-Mute would have to break her silence once I told her I'd called Casey—when who do I see on the sidewalk about fifty feet ahead of me?

Pratt-the-Brat.

I hung back for a few kicks, then decided to lay down some rubber.

Some high-top rubber.

When I caught up to him, I said, “Never really pictured you as one of Heather's stooges. I thought you were cooler than that.”

He nearly fell off his board. “Oh, hey, Sammy, how's it goin'?”

“Pretty good, Stooge. Your germs washed right off.”

I powered on past him, but he worked to keep up. “Hey, Sammy, wait! I was just doing a dare, you know how it is…. Sammy? Hey, come on!”

“Don't sweat it, Billy,” I called over my shoulder. “I'm disappointed, is all. I used to think you were an original. Now I know better.” Then I dusted him. Just left him behind calling, “Sammy! Sammy, wait!”

Like I've got time to waste on stooges.

Marissa was already in homeroom when I gusted through the door. “Talk to me, sister!” I called across the room.

“You did it?”

I parked my skateboard behind the coatrack. “Everything's fine.”

“Fine? Or
fine.
”

“Fine, okay? Misunderstanding cleared up.”

“And?”

“And what? Don't make this into a big deal—it's not. And you were right—he never said anything about a codfish.”

“Told you!”

Just then Heather walks in the door, and the minute she sees me she lets out a really big
smoooooooooch.

Mrs. Ambler's oblivious. She's hunched over her desk pretending she doesn't need reading glasses, looking at someone's microscopic scrawl through her magnifying glass. So let me tell you, it's real tempting to say something back or
do
something back, but I'd just gotten
everything straightened out, and the last thing I needed was to give Heather a reason to think she had to mess them up again. So I
don't
say, Hey, your daddy'd like a restraining order on you, too! or, Pratt-the-Brat confessed, Fishface, or any number of things that would have lit her fuse. I just roll my eyes and turn away.

But she keeps at it, making little kissy sounds and acting oh-so-superior as she struts to her desk. So believe me, it's not easy keeping my lips buttoned.

And then, real loud, Marissa asks, “Oooo. What
is
that smell? You smell that?” Then she says it across the room. “You guys
smell
that?”

“Smell what?” Mrs. Ambler asks, with one eye looking at us through the magnifying glass for a second before she lowers it.

Now really, I don't smell a thing. But I can't exactly
say
that. So I wrinkle up my nose and say, “Pweeeu! It smells like …” I look at Marissa and pull a face, like, What? What's it smell like?

“Like … rotten
fish,
” she says, giving me a sly wink. “Like a stinky, slimy, rotten …
cod
fish!”

All of a sudden Heather's lips pooch out and her eyes get all big. And let me tell you, she's looking like a big old bass with a lure through its lip. And it's easy to see that any second she's going to start whining to Mrs. Ambler about how
we're
harassing
her
, only just then the strangest thing happens. Across the room Brandy Cavaletto says, “Oh, gross! I smell it, too,” and Tawnee Francisco says, “God, who farted?”

Now, Rudy Folksmeir is standing near them looking like a dog that's been caught lifting his leg on the couch, but he chimes in with, “Yeah, what
is
that?”

“Kids, kids!” Mrs. Ambler says, tapping her magnifying glass on the stack of papers in front of her. “If it smells that bad, just go out—” The tardy bell rings right over her speech, so she stops and shakes her head. “Never mind,” she says with a sigh. “Another glorious day has begun.”

So all through my morning classes I was in a pretty good mood. What did I care about Heather and Billy and their stupid smoochy prank? Big deal. And since all of our classes were shortened a little to make time for the assembly, the day seemed to go by pretty quickly. And I have to admit, I was looking forward to seeing what
Laddies Gone Amok
was all about. Between what Marissa had told me about Billy's barmaid costume and what Casey had said, it sounded like it was at least going to be interesting.

So when it was showtime, Marissa and I hurried over to the cafeteria and got really good seats. Center section, up close and near an aisle. We planted our fannies on the floor, saving room for Holly and Dot, then checked out the stage.

“What's that supposed to be?” Marissa whispered, pointing to the painted cardboard backdrop on the right. “Looks like something out of
Alice in Wonderland.
”

“Sure does.” It had a big yellow spiral background, with dirty, overflowing pots and pans and foamy mugs painted over it. And on an angle in front of it was an arched sign in Old English script that said BEDLAM
'
S
TAVERN
.

On the opposite side of the stage, there was a tall wooden ladder leaning against the wall beside another cardboard backdrop—this one of a bunch of painted windows with WEARY
WARRIOR
'
S
INN stenciled across the top. And against the back of the stage were bales of hay and tables with bowls of vegetables, and an A-frame contraption with rubber chickens hanging from it.

Just then Holly and Dot slide in, saying, “Wow. This looks like it's going to be wild.”

Ms. Pilson is up front with Mr. Caan, hugging a copy of the script. And she's smiling and nodding and talking away, but even from where I'm sitting I can tell—she's completely amped with nerves.

Finally Mr. Caan gives her one last nod, then clicks on the mike he's holding and says, “Boys and girls? Find a seat. We've got to get this show on the road if you don't want it to eat up your lunchtime!” He watches the crowd for about thirty seconds, then says, “Hey, guys—Rusty, Will, José? You can't sit there. We need both these aisles clear. That's it. Just scoot over for them, will you?”

Now of course everyone has to turn around to watch Rusty, Will, and José find their seats, including me. And while I'm doing that, I notice Heather's red head about halfway back on the left side. She's sitting with Tenille and Monet, and you can tell—they think having to be there is the lamest thing since kindergarten.

Holly whispers, “At least she's a safe distance back, huh?”

Dot says, “Why's she always got to go and look like that? Why can't she just be, you know,
nice
?”

I turn back around, saying, “She doesn't know how.”

When everyone's finally sitting, Mr. Caan says, “Very good. Now, I don't have to remind you—eyes and ears up front, everyone, eyes and ears up front.” He waits a few seconds, then says, “And I know I don't have to remind you that William Rose students are …” He holds the mike out to the student body, and on cue, one out of every fifty of us mumbles, “Attentive, respectful, and kind.”

“I can't
hear
you…. Let's try it again. William Rose students
are …
”

“Attentive, respectful, and kind.” Mumble, mumble, mumble.

“Well,” he says, giving up, “please do be attentive, respectful, and kind. And remember—your classmates have worked hard to put this play together for you. Treat them as you would want to be treated. And now here's Ms. Pilson to explain a little about today's production.”

Ms. Pilson takes the mike from him and says, “You guys are in for such a treat. This play was written, produced, and choreographed by the Drama Club. As you should know by now, it's called
Laddies Gone Amok.
‘Laddies' as in boys, and ‘amok' as in … crazy, wild, out of control! There'll be a little adjustment period for your ears as they become attuned to Old English, but don't despair! You'll catch on. The club has spent hours and hours and
hours
preparing this for you, so let's give our own William Rose Players a rousing William Rose welcome!”