The (Almost) Perfect Guide To Imperfect Boys (18 page)

“I'm not sure I follow,” Ms. Cronin said.

Chloe undid her hair clip. “I just meant, you know, the whole idea of treating people
as individuals
—”

“Exactly,” Sabrina said. “Human beings.”

All of a sudden, I knew exactly where they were going with this—I felt it in my stomach like a cramp. The
Life Cycle
was the opposite of sunflowers. It was all about taking boys and turning them into generic amphibians.

Chloe and Sabrina were right. They were absolutely right, and I had no idea what to answer.

I just stood there, clutching my photos with sweaty
hands, my cheeks burning. And then: “Gggggrrrrkkk.”

The sound was faint and muffled, but it was definitely someone croaking into a fist. And it came from the back of the studio. Where Zachary was sitting.

I whipped my head around to stare at him. The corners of his mouth were twitching upward, like he was trying not to smile. And as he stared right back at me, he was barely blinking, just like when he'd lied about the
LUNCH
tattoo.

Thereby proving he was the phantom cell phone croaker.

Not that I'd ever doubted he was, but this nonblinking stare, plus the halfway-hidden smile, definitely proved it.

Well, I refused to let him ruin my art project. I took a breath. “Anyhow,” I said loudly. “What I was saying about these photos—”

“Grrrkkk.”

Slightly louder now. Was I the only person who could hear this horrible sound? Could I possibly be imagining it? No—because why else would Zachary be not-blinking at me like that?

I locked eyes with Maya, Olivia, Dahlia Ringgold, Ms. Cronin, anyone but Zachary.
Keep talking,
I commanded
myself. “I didn't shoot poses, because I think they look too perfect. And I think it's so much more interesting when people don't expect—”

“GRRRRKKKK.”

“Ribbit, ribbit.”

Now fake-frog noises were popping up from all over the studio. Most of the boys in the class were doing it, and they were grinning, not even trying to hide their mouths behind their fists.

Some girls were starting to giggle.

But not Maya. She jumped out of her seat. “That is just
so rude
,” she exclaimed.

Ms. Cronin rapped her desk with some rolled-up sketch paper. “Excuse me, what is going on here, people? In this class, when someone is speaking—”

She went on to patiently explain how the rule was No Ribbiting or Croaking in the Art Studio. When she finally finished, I muttered something about lighting and composition, and dumped the photos on her desk.

“Grrk,” someone added.

It could have been Zachary. But I wasn't looking at him then. I was staring at the other boys in the art room.

• • •

After art was lunch. That day Maya and I found a table in the corner, where we were immediately joined by Hanna and Olivia.

Maya was chomping on her veggie taco. She was furious. “I cannot
believe
the boys in this class,” she was saying. “Such infants. Such
total moron pea-brained rude jerkwads
.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But organized.”

“What are you talking about?” Olivia demanded.

I poked the lettuce shreds on my plate. “Have you noticed them today? I mean what they look like.”

“Who
cares
what they look like,” Maya said. “That's kind of irrelevant, Finley, under the circumstances.”

“Not really.” I pointed to the table across from ours, where seven boys from our class—including Zachary—were stuffing tacos into their mouths. In art I'd had this feeling about them, but they were scattered all over the studio, so my brain couldn't process all the data. But seeing them together, crammed around the lunch table: That was another thing.

“Look at how they're dressed,” I said.

Maya squinted. “What about it?”

“Wait,” Hanna said slowly. “They're all wearing
the same colors, aren't they? Greens and browns.”

“Yup,” I said. “I think they color-coordinated today. To look like frogs.”

Olivia burst out laughing. “Okay, Finley, I think you've gone nuts. For starters, boys don't color-coordinate.”

“Well, they wear sports uniforms, right?” I argued. “So it's not like they've never heard of colors. And maybe they decided to dress like the Amphibian Team.” I waved my arm. “Or something.”

“You may be slightly overanalyzing,” Hanna said gently. She glanced at the boys' table. “Although I have to admit it
is
a little weird.”

“It's more than weird,” I insisted. “It's totally on purpose.”

Nobody talked. Maya took a big, thoughtful bite of taco, and Olivia sipped her bottled water.

Finally, Hanna said: “Okay, Finley. Even if they all agreed to dress the same—and I think Olivia is right; boys don't
do
stuff like that usually—why would they
want
to dress like the
Life Cycle
? I mean, not to rub it in, but they're obviously mad at you guys.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “And it's how they're fighting back. Also why they're croaking.”

Maya snapped off teeny bits of taco shell. “Finny, please don't get mad at me for saying this, but that doesn't make any sense, okay? If they were rejecting the
Life Cycle
, they'd be dressed in pink. Or black. Or plaid, or polka dots.”

“No,” I said. “I think the way they're fighting back is to say, ‘Fine, you think we're nothing but amphibians? That's exactly how we're going to act. You talk in class, we'll croak at you. Deal with it. And you can't complain, because this whole frog thing was
your
idea.' ”

“That's kind of smart, actually,” Hanna said.

“It's warped,” Maya corrected her. “And just
rude
. Omigod, Fin. I feel like marching over to that table right now, and—”

“Finley! Move!” Olivia squealed.

Too late. A jabbing poke to my shoulder, then suddenly a wave of coldness and wetness splashing across my neck, the collar of my shirt, my back.

I gasped and spun around.

Zachary, Drew, and Ben were standing behind me, laughing. And Zachary was waving a two-thirds-full bottle of water.

“Are you insane?” I screeched. “You just poured
water
on me?”

“Water is our natural habitat,” Zachary explained in a Dr. Science voice, grinning in a way that was uber-Tadpole. “We're still developing. Sorry if we're a little clumsy.”

Across the cafeteria Mr. Coffee was texting. Instead of noticing.

Maya jumped up and snatched the bottle. “You know what?” she hissed at Zachary. “You're just as obnoxious as you were last year, and the year before that, and the year before that. You haven't changed
one single iota
. I'm sorry we were ever nice to you. And you never deserved Finley's crush!”

“What?” he said, as his goofy smile faded. “What are you—”

“Nothing,” I growled. “Delete that last comment, all right?”

Meanwhile, Hanna and Olivia had grabbed some greasy napkins from the table and were blotting my back. But it was all unbearable—not just the wetness and the taco grease on my neck, I mean the whole scene: the lunchroom buzzing, everyone staring, the three boys standing there stupidly. And especially Maya's public-service announcement about my crush.

So I got up from the table and ran. Just ran.

I ended up in the second floor girls' room, which was empty, luckily. So I banged on the automatic hand dryer and crouched below it, the hot air whooshing down my spine.

A gazillion emotions pinballed in my brain:

Fury at Maya for blurting about my (former) crush. To my (former) crush.

Gratitude that she had my back—literally and figuratively.

Shock at Zachary's moronic, immature prank.

Humiliation, because the whole grade was watching.

Frustration, because I needed to respond now, obviously. And I had no idea how.

But while the noisy heat attacked my cotton T-shirt, I decided three things:

1) Whatever-I-did had to be right away. In the last two days, Zachary had croak-called me, organized a frog color day at school, ribbited at me in class, and splashed water down my back. I needed to come up with something fast, before he thought of a prank even more obnoxious.

2) Whatever-I-did had to be public. I'd tried talking to Zachary in private twice, to explain and apologize, and he would barely make eye contact. Clearly he wanted to play Croaker hero, and if he was conducting his war in public, I needed to respond in front of the entire class.

3) Whatever-I-did couldn't just be words. Zachary was doing Stuff—so I had to do Stuff right back. Besides, the
Life Cycle
was nothing but words, and look where words had gotten me.

Irk,
I thought. The
Life Cycle.
The cause of all of this disaster.

The hand dryer turned off. I stared at myself in the mirror.

Why had we compared boys to amphibians in the first place? If only we'd picked adorable little kittens, say, I wouldn't be in this mess. The truth was, I didn't remember a whole lot about frog development. So how could I come up with some sort of frog-themed payback that was better than
Grrkk, ribbit, oops, I'm so clumsy with bottled water
?

I squirted soap foam on my hands, turned on the faucet, and slowly rubbed my palms together.

And a funny thing happened then. You know how you get a song stuck in your head sometimes, and you don't know where it comes from? As I stood in front of the mirror washing my hands, I suddenly had a flashback to the word “kerfuffle” and what Ms. Krieger had said to me that day in the library:
What do we do, Finley, when we don't know something?

Look it up.

• • •

A minute later I burst through the library doors, and was immediately pounced on by Maya, Hanna, and Olivia.

“Where were you?” Maya shouted. “I was sure you'd come here straight from the lunchroom. Are you okay?”

“I needed to dry off first,” I said. “But I'm fine. Listen.”

I told them what I'd decided: We needed froggy-themed retaliation, but it couldn't be as lame as what the boys were doing. It had to prove we knew something about amphibians. It couldn't be generic or obvious. And it had to be quick.

“But if we do something,” Hanna said (and I smiled a little when she said “we”), “won't that just encourage them to do more stuff back? Maybe if we just ignored them—”

“Not possible,” I insisted.

“Or if you explained about the
Life Cycle
—”

“Also not possible. Believe me, Hanna, I tried. I also apologized, but Zachary won't listen. He just wants to make this a stupid game.”

Maya's eyes glowed. She loved games. And she was the most competitive person I knew. “All right, so what should we do?”

“I think we should brainstorm,” I said. “After we've done a little research.”

Ms. Krieger's ears must have perked up at the word “research.” From her computer by the circulation desk she said, “Girls? You'll let me know if you need any help?”

“Actually . . . ,” I said, grinning.

• • •

We spent the rest of lunch in the library, Olivia and Hanna flipping through nature books, Maya and me reading stuff online. The funny thing was how Ms. Krieger was all,
Oh yes indeedy, it's no big deal for eighth-grade girls to come bursting into my inner sanctum demanding information about amphibian eating habits.
She didn't ask any of the typical questions you'd expect from grown-ups—
Oh, did one of you get a pet tadpole? Oh, are you studying frogs in science? Oh, is this some sort of wacky, madcap scavenger hunt?
She just pointed out the shelf for amphibians and reptiles, asked if any of us wanted tea (which that day she pronounced “tay”), and then disappeared inside her office to play Guatemalan flute music.

So we researched amphibians without needing to invent some cheesy grown-up-friendly explanation. And in the ten minutes or so until it was time for Spanish, I scribbled these notes—this time in my social studies binder:

Frogs eat bugs, snails, spiders, worms, and small fish. Some just eat bugs.

Snakes, foxes, dogs, bass, pike, hawks & seagulls eat frogs.

Frogs: no teeth.

Tongues = sticky.

Bulging eyes on top of head see in different directions. Eyes sink thru openings in their skulls, forcing food down throats.

“Blink” while eating.

“Brilliant,” Maya commented, reading over my shoulder. “Gorgeous, disgusting, mesmerizing. Wanna hear what I got?”

“Sure.”

She read aloud from her monitor:
“ ‘Frogs drink water with their skin, not their mouths. A group of frogs is called an army.' ”

“Seriously?” Olivia said, walking over to the computer desks. “I thought a group of frogs was a school.”

“A group of
fish
is a school,” Maya corrected her. “And that includes tadpoles. Whereas frogs form
armies
.”

“Well, silly me,” Olivia said. She tapped on her book. “Okay, so listen to this:
‘You can distinguish frog genders by noting the relative size of their ears. Frogs' ears are located right behind their eyes. If its ears are as big as its eyes, it's a male. If its ears are smaller than its eyes, it's a female.'
”

“Whoa, fascinating,” Maya said, laughing. “And it totally explains Zachary's huge sticking-out ears.”

“Which he doesn't have anymore,” Hanna said quickly.

“Oh yes, he does,” I said. “He just grew his hair longer, to cover them.”