The Miraculous Makeover of Lizard Flanagan (15 page)

Mary Ann turned back to me and glared. “What were you doing, trying to get yourself killed?” she hollered. “Are you
crazy
?”

I was shaking all over, and my knees felt rubbery. It was a stupid thing to do, I knew that now, and I didn't plan on trying it again.

“I know, it was dumb,” I said. “But I'm okay.”

“Good thing you were wearing your helmet,” Mary Ann said.

“I didn't hit my head.”

“You could have split it right open, just like a watermelon.”

I didn't want to think about that. “Come on, let's go.”

My bike was scraped, but it worked. I climbed back on and started off down the road. I'd probably need to get the brakes adjusted, but for now I could get to school with no problem.

“Your chin's bleeding,” Mary Ann said, coming up from behind. “Your arm is too. And your jeans are torn.”

“Yeah, I know. I'll clean up at school.”

Mary Ann didn't say any more. Maybe she knew I was more shaken up than I let on. She has a special radar for that kind of stuff.

We got to school and parked our bikes.

“Hey, Lizard! Mary Ann! Over here!” It was Ginger Flush, my locker partner.

Everybody at Truman Middle School shares a locker with one other person of the same sex. It's according to the alphabet, so my locker partner is Ginger because her last name begins with
Fl
, just like mine. She's also—and I don't admit this to very many people—going out with my brother, Sam. What he sees in her is one of the biggest mysteries of my life.

Ginger hurried over. Standing nearby was Lisa St. George, the most sickeningly gorgeous girl in the sixth grade. Ginger is Lisa's sidekick. You know, like Robin is to Batman. Whenever you see Lisa coming into a room, you know that Ginger's not far behind. It's funny, though; even though Ginger's the sidekick, she talks a lot more than Lisa.

Ginger stopped in front of me. “We're all making guesses on who—” She stopped and stared at my chin. “Hey, Lizard, do you know you're bleeding all over the place?” She pointed to a spot of blood on my shoulder. “Gross!”

I shrugged. “My bike fell out from under me.”

She frowned. “Bruises and scars for sure.”

Lisa stepped forward, looking impatient. “We're all making guesses about who will make the first cut to model in the Spring Pines fashion show. We're making lists of everyone's guesses, then tomorrow after school when the names are posted, we'll find out who was right.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

Ginger's eyes got big. “You mean you haven't heard about the fashion show? Everybody at school has been talking about it for weeks!”

I shrugged.

“It's the biggest event of the year!” Ginger said. “Almost every girl in school sent in a head shot—that's a close-up picture of your face—and a bio telling about her interests and stuff. My sister said lots of girls in the high school did too. First, about twenty-five girls will get picked to go on to the interviews. After that, fourteen girls—two from every grade, sixth through twelfth—will be chosen to model in the fashion show. They'll each get fifty dollars, and the best model in the show will be picked as Spring Pines Mall's Supermodel. She'll get a hundred dollars!”

“So we're guessing who'll be on the first list?” Mary Ann asked. Ginger's head waggled up and down.

“I'll make a guess,” Mary Ann told Ginger.

“I'm going inside to clean up,” I said to Mary Ann. “If I see the guys, I'll tell them about the Cubs game.”

I started off toward the building and heard Mary Ann say, “I bet you'll be chosen, Lisa.”

“That's eighty-three guesses for me,” Lisa said. I could hear the smugness in her voice from ten yards away.

I walked stiffly through the crowd of kids waiting to get into the school, trying not to limp. My right leg felt as if someone had slammed it with a baseball bat. My jeans were torn clear through at the knee, but the skin wasn't even scraped. I pulled open the door to the school building.

“Hey, Lizard!” I recognized Zach Walters's voice.

“Hi, Zach.” I turned and grinned at him, then let the door swing closed again. “Boy, do I have great news for you.”

“For me?” He walked over, followed by my twin brother, Sam, Ed Mechtensteimer, and Stinky Porter.

“Great news for all of us. We're going to Chicago to see a Cubs game!”

“We are?”

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked.

“Hey, Lizard,” Zach said, looking at my chin. “What happened? You're bleeding.”

“I fell off my bike,” I said. “Some guy driving a truck practically killed me. And I was about to break my all-time speed record, too. If the guy hadn't cut me off, I could've made it up to twenty-five miles an hour for sure!”

Sam's face didn't change. “The trucker may not have killed you, but Mom will when she hears about it.”

I ignored my brother. “Hey, listen, there's going to be a trip to Wrigley Field in a couple of weeks to see the Cubbies play!”

“You're kidding!” Zach said.

“The Cubs? The Chicago Cubs?” Ed said. “You're sure?”

“No way,” Stinky said. “You're making that up.”

“I saw the poster with my very own eyes. It's hanging in McCloud's window. The trip costs twenty-five dollars, and that's for box seats and the bus ride. I suppose we have to bring extra money for Cokes and hot dogs and stuff to eat along the way. You have to call someone named Shirley at the City Park Recreation Department to sign up. Here, I have the number.”

I dug in my pocket and pulled out the piece of paper.

“It'd be better if we could see the Yankees play,” Ed said.

“Who'd want to see the Yankees?” I said. Zach took the paper and started to copy down the number on the front cover of his social studies notebook.

“Hey, don't you guys start arguing about the Yankees and the Cubs again,” Stinky said.

“I just wish,” Ed said, “that if I got to see a major-league game, it'd be in New York.”

“Well, you can stay home, Mechtensteimer,” I said. “If you can't appreciate the talent on the Cubs' team—”

“Aren't you forgetting just one thing, Lizard?” Sam asked.

“What?”

“The fifty dollars it will cost for the two of us. Where are we going to get that much money?”

“Where do you think? From Mom and Dad.”

Sam looked at me as if I'd said something really dumb. “You think they'll hand over fifty bucks so we can see a baseball game? No way!”

“They won't just
give
it to us,” I said patiently. “They'll advance us the money from our allowance.”

“Mom'll never go for that. It's too much money.”

“Just you wait,” I said. “I know Mom and Dad better than you do—”

“What?”

“They'll let us go out of guilt,” I told him. “They know how long we've been wanting to go to a Cubs game, see? It's an easy way to make them feel better for not taking us all these years.”

“Oh.” Sam looked as if he finally understood. “Well, maybe.”

Zach grinned. “We'll have such a great time, sitting at Wrigley Field, eating hot dogs and popcorn, and watching Mark Grace play first base.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Wouldn't it be great if a fly ball came right at us? I'm going to take my mitt for sure!”

The bell rang, and we headed inside with all the other kids. I said good-bye to the guys and headed to the rest room. When I looked in the mirror over the sink, I was surprised at how banged up I looked. There were two scrapes on my chin, both starting to scab over, and dried blood was smeared on my shirt. My right arm was scraped, too, from my wrist up to my elbow.

I washed my face with a paper towel, and the scratches on my chin started bleeding again.

I stopped in at the nurse's office on my way to language arts class, and she cleaned my chin again and put on a bandage.

“That's a nasty scrape on your arm, too,” she said. “You'll have to be more careful riding your bike.”

“Yeah.”
At least, I'd have to ride fast on quieter streets
, I thought to myself.

I went through my morning classes doing two things: (1) explaining to everybody how I got scraped and bloody, and (2) daydreaming about watching the Chicago Cubs play in person at Wrigley Field. I'd dreamed about that a lot in my life, and now I was actually going to do it!

The sixth grade at Truman is divided into two groups, orange and black, the colors for the Truman Tigers. Everybody in the same group goes through their classes together. I'm in the orange group with Ed and Stinky. Mary Ann, Zach, and Sam are in the black group.

At lunch, though, everything is scrambled, and I get to see some of my friends in the black group. At five minutes after twelve I hurried to the cafeteria, as usual, to eat lunch with Zach, Ed, and Stinky. They were standing together in the hall, just outside the cafeteria door. Mike Herman and Andy Walinsky were there too.

“Hey, guys,” I greeted them. “I can't stop thinking about the game. I'm going to see if I can get Mark Grace to sign my glove.”

“That would be so great,” Zach said, grinning.

“What're you guys talking about?” Mike asked. We told him about the trip to Chicago.

“The Cubs are horrible,” Mike said. “Especially since Ryne Sandberg resigned.”

“Oh, yeah?” I shot back. “Well, the Cubbies still have Mark Grace, the world's greatest first baseman. He's a Golden Glove winner and has more RBIs—”

Zach joined in. “And don't forget Sammy Sosa, their right fielder. He's making big bucks 'cause he's so talented.”

“Wow, and just think,” I said, grinning. “We'll be seeing these guys
in person
.”

We got in line for lunch. “I'm going to buy a Chicago Cubs jersey,” I said.

“You already have one,” Stinky said.

“I already have
three
,” I corrected him. “But none of them came from Wrigley Field!”

Just then, Ginger, Lisa, and Tiffany Brady arrived. Ginger beamed as they approached. “Oh, look who's here! More people for our poll!” They stopped in line behind us, and Ginger held up her hands. “Okay, you guys. We're conducting a poll: Which of the girls from our sixth grade class do you think will make the first cut to model in the Spring Pines Mall fashion show? Ed, you first.”

Ed grinned and shrugged. “I didn't know about it. The Spring Pines—what is it?”

“The fashion show!” Ginger said. “Haven't you heard about it?”

“Nope.” He grinned like an idiot, looking back and forth between Lisa and Ginger.

“Well, think of the girls in our class,” Ginger said. “Two of them will get chosen to model in the fashion show. So name at least one girl who you think will get picked.”

“I dunno.” Ed continued to grin and look dumb. I wanted to smack him.

Ginger slowed down so that Ed would be able to comprehend what she was saying. “Well, who do you think is the most beautiful girl in the sixth grade?” She and Lisa and Tiffany leaned in to hear his answer.

I didn't think it was possible, but Ed's grin got even bigger. “Sara Pulliam.”

“Sara Pulliam,” Ginger said to Lisa, who held the notebook.

Lisa's jaw got tight, and she wrote down Sara's name. “Of course he'd say Sara,” she huffed. “He's going out with her. Some people just can't be objective.”

I paid the cashier. “Come on, you guys,” I said. “You're holding up the line.” I picked up a dish of red Jell-O with apples in it and started through the cafeteria line.

“Hey, Lizard.” Ginger paid the cashier and tiptoed around the guys to me. She leaned in and whispered, “Do you think Sam would vote for me?” She giggled.

“I don't know,” I said. “Why don't you ask him?”

She laughed. “Oh, I'd die before I'd ask him!” She whirled around and leaned over to talk to Tiffany, who was standing behind the guys. “
You
ask Sam, Tiff. We'll see him in the hall after sixth period.”

We inched along the lunch line. I picked up a small dish of green beans and put them on my tray. One of the cooks, dressed in a white uniform and a hairnet, handed me a plate with a sloppy joe on it.

“Who do you think will be chosen to model, Zach?” Ginger asked. “Give me at least one name.”

I held my breath and stared at my Jell-O, waiting for his answer. Zach and Lisa had gone out for a couple of weeks at the very beginning of school, but he'd been going out with me since they broke up. I hoped Zach wouldn't vote for Lisa.

“I don't know,” Zach said. “I can't guess.”

“Leave your emotions out of it,” Lisa counseled him. “Just think of the prettiest face you can imagine.” She cocked her head, opened her eyes wide, and—I'm not kidding—fluttered her lashes at him.

Zach looked away from her, and his ears turned bright red. “I vote for Lizard.”

Stinky laughed. “Oh, man,” he said, rolling his eyes.

Lisa snorted.
“What?”

Zach looked her directly in the eye. “I said Lizard.”

Ginger beamed. “Zach, that's so
nice
of you!”

I wished I could've vaporized into the air. “I didn't send in my picture, Zach,” I murmured.

Lisa laughed. “With that bandage on her face, Lizard's a
really
dumb choice. Models don't go out on the runway looking like accident victims.”

“Come on,” Zach said to me, taking his plate from the cook and motioning with his head. “Let's go sit down.”

I knew my face was bright red. It was so hot you could've fried an egg on it. Lisa was such a jerk! So what if I wasn't gorgeous like Lisa. I wasn't so bad looking. I'd recently learned how to put my hair in a French braid and how to put on some blush, and sometimes I think I look pretty good. Boys even turn to look at me occasionally.