The (Almost) Perfect Guide To Imperfect Boys (21 page)

And I can't say that I expected Zachary to greet us with a white flag, surrounded by his Croaker army, all of them declaring in unison:
Okay, you won, we acknowledge your superior prank-itude, we hereby end this stupid competition, we even forgive you for your stupid notebook
. Followed by all of us—not just me, but Maya, Hanna, Olivia, Sophie, and Dahlia—helping the boys pry off the flypaper. Maybe even followed by a yummy snack of s'mores.

Instead we were greeted with this: Mr. Lundquist, the school janitor, scraping Zachary's locker and muttering under his breath. Señor Hansen standing to the janitor's right, making a unibrow. Ms. Fisher-Greenglass to the janitor's left, typing into her phone.

As soon as we walked in, she looked up and smiled tightly. “Good morning, girls. Welcome back. Did you have a nice day off?”

Maya and I nodded.

“Good,” she said. “So. Do either or both of you girls know anything about these locker doors?”

“Miss Lopez does,” Señor Hansen sneered. “She sneaked into my classroom with the same vile material.”

“What?” I said.

Maya glanced at me. Her face had splotched pink.

“I believe the intent was to vandalize my desk,” Señor Hansen declared in a weirdly formal voice, as if he'd morphed into Sherlock Holmes. “As it happened, I was working late that afternoon, grading quizzes. But I stepped outside my classroom for a moment, and when I returned, Miss Lopez was standing at my desk. She made an excuse about needing a Spanish-English dictionary, which I found difficult to believe. Then she ran out, as if she was trying to flee, so I took the opportunity to inspect my classroom.” He waved one scary-hairy hand at Zachary's locker. “And discovered this same
extremely
unpleasant material on the seats of two classmates.”

“You said Chloe and Sabrina,” Ms. Fisher-Greenglass said, typing.

“Miss DeGenidis and Miss Leftwich,” he repeated. “Exactly. Miss Lopez has had some friction with these
girls in the past. As you are well aware she has had with me.”

“Yes, I'm aware.” Ms. Fisher-Greenglass looked up; her eyes were serious, almost sad. “Maya, let's take a walk to my office, shall we?”

“You mean right now?” Maya asked faintly.

“Don't worry, I'll inform your homeroom teacher.” The principal clamped her hand on Maya's shoulder, and the two of them left the lockers.

All I could do was stand there hopelessly, listening to the
scrape-scrape-scrape
of Mr. Lundquist's knife. And maybe because I was in shock, I peeked at the flypaper on Zachary's locker—which seemed housefly-free. It hadn't even worked, apparently. But it still smelled horrible.

“Tu amiga tiene una problema grande,”
Senor Hansen said. He smiled fiendishly, flashing his teeth.

It was the first Spanish sentence I ever understood perfectly.

• • •

Maya didn't show up for homeroom, or for first-period science, or for any other class that morning. She was clearly in trouble—
grande
trouble, because this was her second offense against Señor Hansen, and it involved
not only lockers and chairs, but also Señor Hansen's desk. (That is, according to Señor Hansen.)

Of course I realized I was in trouble too. So were Olivia, Hanna, Sophie, and Dahlia, but maybe not as much trouble as me.

Although me not as much as Maya.

Who beat me in everything, it seemed. Even trouble.

I admit I was mad at her for not sticking to the plan. The flypaper was supposed to be for frog payback, not Señor Hansen payback, or Chloe-and-Sabrina payback. And running off by herself to Señor Hansen's classroom was incredibly risky. It almost seemed as if she was asking to be caught. Asking us all to be caught.

And taking on Señor Hansen, of all people? Again?

Was she insane?

All signs pointed to yes, absolutely. And incredibly dumb, too—because as soon as Maya's parents found out about the Señor Hansen business, they'd yank her out of gymnastics, which she cared about more than anything.

But.

I still felt responsible. The flypaper had been
my idea. The
Life Cycle
had mostly been mine. And if it hadn't been for my stupid carelessness, Chloe wouldn't have stolen my notebook, and nobody would have heard about what I'd written, and then Zachary wouldn't have started his war against us, and I wouldn't have had to come up with froggy-themed payback.

Plus Maya was anti–
Life Cycle
—but even so, she'd told the class she'd cowritten all the entries; she'd rescued the notebook from Chloe and Sabrina; she'd joined my side the second the boys started their croak-calling. She never hesitated; she always had my back.

And there was this, which I hadn't let myself think about before, but which I needed to now: Way before everything got messy and complicated, Maya liked Zachary. I mean, we never discussed it, but it was obvious. And when she thought that I possibly liked him too, she stepped aside. She even did what she could to help me—she set me up to take his photo, to go with him to Chloe's party. Of course, I didn't appreciate her interference, but that wasn't the point—what I needed to remember was that she'd been looking after me.

The thing was, Maya and I had been through a
lot these past two weeks—one kerfuffle after another. But we were best friends. That would never change—not in middle school, not in high school. So I couldn't abandon her now, with her
problema grande
.

The only question was: How could I help her?

I could think of just one way. It wasn't brilliant, and it probably wouldn't work, but it was the single idea my brain could come up with at that moment.

So at lunch I escaped from the building.

• • •

Mom was in the kitchen reading
The Sneetches
to the Terribles when I burst into the house.

“Finley? Is that you?” she called.

“Just forgot something,” I panted, clutching my science notebook. “Mom.”

“Yes.”

“Could you possibly—would it be possible?” Oh great, now I was sounding like Dahlia Ringgold.

“Yes?” Mom looked alarmed. “Could I what?”

“Drive me back to school? Now?”

I must have had a demented expression on my face, because she didn't even ask what was going on. She just plopped the Terribles into their car seats and pulled the Toddler Mobile out of the driveway.

“Finnee, where are you here?” Addie asked incomprehensibly.

But Mom just said, “Not now, Addie,” in a voice that meant
not now
. Then she stuck on a Wiggles tape to occupy the twins' brainlets.

“Mom,” I said. “Has the principal called you?”

“No. Should I be expecting a call?”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure you should.”

“About?”

I took a quick breath. “Okay. You remember the frog delivery? And the warts?”

“Ah yes. The warts.” She checked her rearview mirror. “Your science project, right?”

“It wasn't exactly a science project. Well, it was
sort
of one.”

“Keep talking.”

“Okay. There's been all this boy-versus-girl stuff at school. Really immature, I mean from the boys. And I did a prank. The whole ex-troop did, but it was my idea. As a way of retaliating for Prong.” I told her about the flypaper, but not about Maya's independent project. Because that was Mrs. Lopez's business, I decided. “Anyhow, Ms. Fisher-Greenglass saw the lockers this morning, and she wasn't happy. So.”

“So,” Mom said.

“I wanted to tell you. First. Before she called you.”

Mom drove without saying a word. Then she pulled up to the school.

“You know, you can tell me anything,” she said quietly.

“I can?” I stared at her. “Then you're not mad at me?”

“Well, sure, I'm
mad
. Vandalizing school property? Finley honey, that's rotten judgment. And you deserve whatever punishment Ms. Fisher-Greenglass gives you.”

“Okay. I mean, I know that.”

“And of course there'll also be a punishment for you at home.”

“I figured. You can take my Christmas camera. I probably failed that Spanish test anyway.”

“You did?” Mom gave the steering wheel a light slap. “Okay, that's it, we're getting you a tutor!”

I looked up hopefully. “My punishment is a Spanish tutor?”

“No, Finley, the tutor is a
gift
. Taking away your camera is the
punishment
.”

“Oh. No, sure, of course.”

“But I'm glad you told me,” Mom added, sighing. “I'm glad you knew you could.” She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “You'd better get to class now, Awesome Daughter.”

I got out of the car. “Thanks, Mom,” I said.

“Anytime.” Then she winked at me. “Boys are
w-e-i-r-d
,” she spelled, and drove off.

I grabbed Zachary's arm just as he was leaving the lunchroom. “Come with me,” I commanded. “Now.”

And I guess he was too shocked to refuse or to make a joke. But when he saw where we were headed, he asked, “What about Spanish?”

“I've got that covered,” I told him. “This is more important.”

I pushed open the door of the school library.

“Ms. Krieger,” I said. “Could I please talk to Zachary here for a second? In private?”

She perched her lime-green glasses on top of her head. “Five minutes, Finley,” she murmured. “Tops.
I'll write you guys a note, but that's my limit.”

“Thank you.”

“De rien.”

I led Zachary to the red sofa.

“Can I ask you something?” he said. “What was that stuff you put on my locker?”

“Flypaper,” I said.

“Yeah, I kind of figured that. Can I ask why?”

“It was supposed to be like a frog tongue. Sticky. To catch bugs.”

“Huh,” he said. “No offense, Finley, but it just looked like a giant orange blob.”

“Listen, we're not here to discuss my artwork, okay? Here,” I said, thrusting the science notebook at him. “Read fast. I'm not hiding anything; it's the whole
Life Cycle
. But I put sticky notes on stuff about you specifically.”

“You expect me to read all this? In five minutes?”

“Okay, so just read the sticky notes, if you want.”

“Why exactly would I
want
to?”

“Zachary, listen—I wasn't insulting you; I was
complimenting
you. See?” I flipped through the sticky notes. “There's more,” I added. “Those are just the main parts.”

He read a little, then looked straight at me. “What about that ‘evolving in reverse' stuff? That was kind of an insult, Finley.”

“Well, yes. But I was upset at you when I wrote that. You were hanging with the Croakers. Which is fine, you have every right to, but.”

Zachary smiled. “They're not so bad.”

“I never said they were
bad
. All I ever said—I mean, wrote—was that you were better.” There, I'd admitted it. Something I'd never said to any boy, in the history of Finley Davis. “So can we please stop this stupid war?”

“Sure,” Zachary said quietly.

“Good.” I took a breath. “Because Maya is in trouble. And I think it might help if we went to Fisher-Greenglass together and explained all this amphibian business, but that we've worked it out. I mean maturely, like we're all ready for high school.”

“But isn't Maya in trouble with Hairy Hands?”

“Yeah, she is. But we can't help her with that. We
can
help her with the locker business if we all take responsibility, tell the principal we're sorry, swear it won't happen again. I mean, I'm
hoping
we can.”

“So am I,” Zachary said. In this light you could see
shadows under his eyes, like he hadn't been sleeping very well lately. Although neither was I, so it wasn't too surprising. Anyhow, he'd been back in Fulton long enough to get the sort of winter skin we all had—shadowy, tired-looking, the kind of complexion that looks its worst under school fluorescent lighting.

Which was a shame, really, considering how tan he'd been when he'd arrived from Florida. And that was when? Like two weeks ago? Time had gotten so strange lately, I thought. It was getting hard to keep track.

He handed me back the
Life Cycle
. And maybe it was because his sweatshirt arms were a little short, or they'd shrunk in the wash, or something, but all of a sudden I spotted the ink on his wrist.

“So now can I ask you a question?” I said, as I slipped the binder into my backpack.

“Sure, I guess.”

“Your wrist says ‘lunch,' doesn't it?”

“No,” he said, frowning. “I already told you that once. Remember?”

Of course I remembered. But he'd lied then, out on the snowy field, and we were being honest now. I mean, I'd showed him the complete
Life Cycle
, and
practically confessed to him that I had a crush. In the past tense.

“Well, I know it says something
like
‘lunch,' because I saw it,” I said. And I don't know what came over me then, but all of a sudden I grabbed his wrist and pulled up the sleeve.

The black letters didn't say
LUNCH
.

They said
CINCH
.

“What does that mean?” I asked. “What's a cinch?”

“Nothing.” He was blushing hard.

And I could feel my own cheeks blushing. You know how you can catch yawns from other people? I'm pretty sure you can catch blushes, too.

“Zachary,” I said, “I showed you my
Life Cycle
. Now it's your turn to tell the truth, okay? What's a cinch?”