Bully-Be-Gone (3 page)

G
uinea pigs are timid-eyed, nervous-nosed creatures, prone to freezing or fleeing at the slightest hint of danger. Millicent bore an uncanny resemblance to one of the edgy rodents when she saw Fletch's, Pollywog's, and Nina's glittering bikes parked on the library's front steps. Her eyes went round and her nose went into spasms of twitching as she pulled up to the building.

She cut the engine and touched her forehead and cheeks to reassure herself. Her face was still tacky from the lotion. She exhaled a burst of air.

“I suppose there's no better way to see if it works,” she
said to herself, trying not to hyperventilate. “Deep breaths, deep breaths.”

She stepped out of the car and slung her backpack over her shoulder. Next, she unleashed her flip chart and easel, nestling the bulky things as best she could under her arm. She stuck the bungee cord in her backpack and trundled toward the library entrance.

Before entering, she pressed her face against the main door's heavy glass pane. The bullies were nowhere to be seen.

Maybe I can make it to the chamber undetected
, she thought, her line of vision slicing a path through the fiction section, past the nonfiction section, clear to the children's room at the rear of the library.

The worst possible outcome would be if the bullies followed her and discovered the Wunderkind Club meeting place.

For several years, the Wunderkinder had been able to keep the location of their meeting chamber a secret. Only the nearsighted, muscular librarian, Miss Ogelvie, knew of its existence.

From a distance, Miss Ogelvie appeared like any other librarian—bespectacled and prudent. Closer inspection revealed that Miss Ogelvie had, through years of lifting books, developed a rather intimidating frame. Her arms, especially, were thick and strong—a fact she played up by having had them tattooed with the faces of literary figures like Shakespeare and Toni Morrison.

Millicent hoped to not attract her attention because,
beyond all else, Miss Ogelvie demanded a quiet library and would lecture anyone who made even the slightest noise.

Millicent strapped the flip chart to her back with the bungee cord, using it as one might a big rubber belt, opened the door, and walked through. The door glided shut, wedging itself between Millicent and her flip chart, sealing Millicent neatly inside the library and her flip chart outside.

“Darn,” she mumbled. She tried to move forward, but couldn't as she was tied to the flip chart which hung outside like a carnival poster. The more she struggled, the more the bungee cord pulled taut, the more the flip chart flapped and the door creaked.

“What in heaven's name?” exclaimed Miss Ogelvie, who'd scuttled her way to Millicent. “Who is this?” she asked, sliding her glasses down her nose.

Feeling somewhat absurd, Millicent said, “It's me, Millicent Madding. I'm kind of stuck, Miss Ogelvie.”

“Evidently,” said Miss Ogelvie. “Worse, you're being awfully disruptive. A library is a sacred place for study and the absorption of knowledge, Miss Madding. Quietness is paramount here. You, of all people, should know this, being a direct descendant of one of Masonville's finest librarians.” Catching sight of the secret meeting room key around Millicent's neck, she added in a low voice, “Those of us who've been entrusted with access to the secret room must be especially respectful of the tenets of this institution, wouldn't you agree?”

Hardly in the mood or position for a lecture, much less
a long-winded one, Millicent said, “Yes, Miss Ogelvie. I wholeheartedly agree. But could you please help me?”

Miss Ogelvie smirked and gave the door a push. Millicent fell backward and, like a turtle flipped onto its back, floundered while Miss Ogelvie watched.

“Miss Ogelvie?” asked Millicent, panting.

“Oh, sorry,” said Miss Ogelvie, helping Millicent up to a standing position with scarcely a grunt. “Why didn't you just undo the bungee cord?” Miss Ogelvie added, snapping the elastic band around Millicent's waist with her fingers.

Millicent didn't answer. For some inexplicable reason, she couldn't.

“You know,” continued Miss Ogelvie, still whispering, “for such a smart young lady, you do some pretty nonsensical things. If I were you, I'd exchange an ounce of smarts for a quart of common sense. You won't get yourself stuck in doors with common sense.”

Millicent knew that, by and large, adults dispensed advice every chance they got. Sometimes, the advice was useful, sometimes not. However, Millicent thought Miss Ogelvie's advice was downright rude.

“Miss Ogelvie—” Millicent started. She intended to tell her off, to tell her how much common sense she had at her beck and call. But she didn't. Miss Ogelvie cut a scary silhouette. Instead, Millicent walked on. “Thank you,” she called to Miss Ogelvie, who looked at her in bewilderment.

Millicent dodged into the first aisle of the fiction section. She peered around the end cap. No bullies. She snuck
two more aisles over and positioned herself between the bookcases, her flip chart knocking a book off a shelf in the process.
Oops,
she thought, carefully replacing the book. The sound of the book falling didn't attract any attention, so she moved forward to the nonfiction section.

Behind the last nonfiction bookshelf, she paused. She heard voices.

“Give that back,” a girl's voice said in a stern tone.

Tonisha,
thought Millicent.

“And what are you gonna do if I don't give it back?” Nina's deep and ugly voice replied. “Rhyme me till I choke? Yeah, right. Death by poetry.”

Fletch and Pollywog laughed uproariously.

Millicent parted some biographies and peeked between them. Tonisha and the bullies stood a few yards from the children's book room. The secret meeting room entrance was just a little farther away.

Nina stood nose to nose with Tonisha, while Fletch and Pollywog looked on. Nina held Tonisha's precious notebook—the one in which Tonisha wrote all her poetry—at arm's length behind her. Given Nina's unnaturally long limb, the notebook hovered well out of Tonisha's reach.

“I wanna see what's in it,” said Pollywog, hopping up and down, trying to snatch the book from Nina's grasp.

“You wouldn't get it,” Tonisha said under her breath. “It's not a picture book.” A bead of perspiration trickled down her forehead.

“I've always wondered why you and your weirdo friends
always go to the library,” Nina said to Tonisha. “I think we'll wait here until they all show up.”

Tonisha gritted her teeth.

“While we're waiting, I'll read us all a dumb poem. Let me see, here,” said Nina, pushing Tonisha away with her right hand while flicking the notebook open with her left.

“Aw, c'mon,” said Fletch. “Don't we got better things to do?”

Have,
thought Millicent.
Don't we
have
better things to do?

“Shut up,” said Nina.

I've got to help Tonisha,
thought Millicent.
But how?

Laid out in a horseshoe arrangement of seven bookshelves, the nonfiction section opened up to the French doors that separated the children's room from the rest of the library. With a little care, Millicent could skirt the nonfiction area's perimeter and wind up at the tip of the horseshoe. What she'd do when she got there was a mystery, but she hoped to devise a scheme on the way.

She got down on all fours and started crawling so as not to be seen.

Meanwhile, Nina located a poem and started reading it. “‘My Prince Charming,'” she read, “in his castle bright, will one day set my wrong heart right.”

“That's personal. Give it,” said Tonisha, trying to grab the book.

“This is lame,” said Nina, blocking Tonisha with her right arm. “Who is it about?”

“No one,” said Tonisha, looking down.

“A personal poem about a fake prince?” asked Nina. Tonisha looked away. Nina made a crusty expression, dropping her jaw into an ugly gape. “How pathetic,” she added in her grating voice.

“I think it's kinda nice,” said Fletch.

“What?” asked Nina, glaring over her shoulder at Fletch.

“In a geeky kinda way,” Fletch mumbled in return.

Millicent reached the last bookcase and stopped. She had an idea. She unstrapped the easel and the flip chart and took off her backpack and unzipped it.

Though it was still in development, she'd been toying with an invention she thought could get Tonisha out of her present pickle. Millicent had begun working on it while she had laryngitis earlier that year. Determined never again to be voiceless, she devised the VocoPad. The VocoPad was a miniature keyboard and looked as unimpressive as a regular computer keyboard. However, the VocoPad could do something a normal keyboard couldn't: it could record and store the nuances of your voice through a tiny microphone; then, as the need arose, speak what you typed on it, sounding just like you.

Millicent found the VocoPad and deprogrammed it, erasing all traces of her voice. Then she aimed the invention at Nina and waited for her to talk. She didn't have to wait long.

“I'm making up my own poem,” Nina announced,
chuckling and waving Tonisha's notebook over her head. “Roses are red, violets are blue…”

Tonisha bit her lower lip.

“This book's gonna be torched by you know who,” Nina said triumphantly. “Fletch. You got any matches?” she added, extending her palm.

Fletch dug through his pockets.

“No!” Tonisha yelped.

Fletch hesitated, then continued searching his pockets.

Millicent had never typed so fast in her life. Her fingers flew across the VocoPad's keyboard. She turned up the volume as high as it would go and pushed the enter key. Nothing happened. Millicent jiggled the VocoPad. Nothing. Millicent punched the enter key again. Suddenly, Nina's voice filled the entire library from the rotunda to the children's section.

“WE AIN'T AFRAID OF NO STINKIN' MISS OGELVIE!”

The exclamation was so loud, Millicent gasped and dropped the VocoPad.

Equally shocked at hearing the sound of her own voice coming from every which way, Nina dropped Tonisha's book of poetry. “What the—?” she asked.

Seizing the opportunity, Tonisha bent down and grabbed her notebook. Like a quarterback, she clutched the book close to her chest, weaving from side to side, as if one of the bullies would tackle her. Her headwrap wagged like a scolding finger.

Leaving the VocoPad where it had fallen, Millicent
typed another sentence on it. Shortly, Nina's voice reverberated throughout the library.

“RIGHT, FLETCH? RIGHT, POLLYWOG?” Nina's mechanical impersonator screamed. “BRING IT ON, LIBRARY WOMAN!”

Nina twirled around, her eyes darting. Fletch looked around, too. Pollywog said, “Hey, Nina. Cool trick. I didn't know you were a ventila—ventrila…I didn't know you could throw your voice.”

“I can't, you idiot,” said Nina.

Thunderous footsteps echoed in the bookcase canyons, approaching with the speed of a charging bison.

“Uh-oh,” whispered Nina.

Tonisha happened to glance in Millicent's direction, a glimmer of relief washing across her face. “Run,” Millicent mouthed. But rather than running toward the children's section, Tonisha dashed for the bookcase where Millicent was hiding and collapsed behind it—and not a moment too soon.

“Did you do that?” whispered Tonisha.

“Shhh,” warned Millicent.

Miss Ogelvie exploded into the clearing, practically snorting steam from her broad and slightly hairy nostrils. Planting her feet a yard apart, she jammed her fists into her hips.

“The sanctity of my library,” she growled, “has been disturbed.”

“What is—” said Pollywog softly.

“Sanctity,” said Miss Ogelvie knowingly, “is the sacred condition of silence that my library normally enjoys.”

Pollywog shrugged.

“Out,” said Miss Ogelvie, pointing to the front door.

“Hey—” said Fletch.

“Out,” said Miss Ogelvie, flexing her Shakespeare-tattooed bicep.

Fletch and Pollywog looked to Nina for a cue. Nina stared at Shakespeare's bulging face.

“C'mon,” Nina said. “We'll get Fontaine,” she added, scowling toward Tonisha and Millicent, “and Madding and the rest of 'em later. They're gonna pay.”

As the trio shuffled away with Miss Ogelvie at their heels, Millicent heaved a sigh. Since the VocoPad worked—even if only after a shake and repeated attempts—then the chances of her new invention working were pretty good. She grinned to herself and collected her things.

“Thanks, Millicent,” Tonisha said.

Millicent unlocked the secret chamber with the key she wore around her neck on a silk ribbon.

There were two keys to the secret chamber. The original belonged to Millicent. The second was a copy, cut because Roderick demanded it. He had complained that Millicent was always late and that the Wunderkinder couldn't dillydally, waiting around for her. She reluctantly complied and had a duplicate made, which Roderick wore around his neck on a chain.

To this day, it bothered Millicent that Roderick wore a Madding heirloom around his chubby, pink neck.

Millicent descended the stone stairs that lead to the
chamber, Tonisha close behind.

Tonisha tugged on Millicent's sleeve. “I owe you,” she said.

“I'll be collecting shortly,” Millicent said.

“What do you mean, you'll be collecting?” asked Tonisha in a hushed voice.

“You'll see,” said Millicent.

“No,” Tonisha said, grabbing Millicent's arm. “Tell me now. I don't like surprises.”

Millicent set her things down. “If I tell you, you have to promise you'll stick up for me. No matter what.”

“I promise.”