Trouble Magnet (6 page)

The class roared.

“Okay,” Mr. Purdy said, rubbing his hands together. “I have a surprise for you today. In celebration of your first day in fourth-grade boot camp I'm treating you all to … lunch!”

A cheer erupted. Everyone but me stomped on the floor. “Lunch! Lunch! Lunch!”

I almost yelled, STOP! You might stomp on my centipede!

“Woo-woo!” everyone shouted.

Even the new kid joined in.

“Settle down,” Mr. Purdy said, holding up his hand. “After long negotiations with Mrs. Leonard—that's your principal—I was granted permission to invite a good friend of mine over to cook for you. Uncle Scoop!”

“Woo-oo-oo!”

Uncle Scoop's Lucky Lunch truck was parked at the beach every weekend. Uncle Scoop served hamburgers, hot dogs, chicken and beef teriyaki, kalua pig and cabbage, tripe stew, malasada doughnuts, sweet juices, and big fat shave ice to cool us in the sun's burning heat. He sold all kinds of snacks, too: sweet whole plum, cracked seed, beef jerky, cuttlefish, dried squid, kimchee, and Maui chips.

I was starving just thinking of it.

“How do you know Uncle Scoop, Mr. Purdy?” Julio asked.

“Scoop and I grew up here in Kailua. After high school we went into the army together.”

“Tell us about the army, Mr. Purdy.”

The lunch bell rang.

“Looks like that'll have to wait, Julio. But we have all year. Right now it's time to eat.” Mr. Purdy gave Julio a full-on U.S. Army salute. “Line up!”

I headed to the door, hunched over, looking one last time, thinking, Peedy, peedy.

Nothing.

But it was there.

Somewhere.

W
hile everyone else at Kailua Elementary headed over to the cafeteria, we swaggered like lottery winners out to the parking lot and Uncle Scoop's Lucky Lunch. “Rock and roll!” Rubin shouted.

“Hey, you!” somebody called from the crowd by the cafeteria. “Coco-dork!”

I stopped to look back.

“You!” Tito yelled again. “Coco-roach!”

Julio bumped into me from behind. “Pretend you can't hear him.”

Too late.

Tito Sinbad Andrade came slouching over with some other sixth grader. Another new kid, but not haole, like Willy.

My friends stood with me. The rest of Mr. Purdy's class continued on to Uncle Scoop's truck.

“We meet again,” Tito said, smiling. He tapped his chest. “You like my new shirt?”

It was a brand-new white World Wrestling Entertainment T-shirt. It said SMACKDOWN across the front. “Yeah, that's cool, Tito.”

“My uncle got me um.” Tito hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Frankie Diamond wants to meet you.”

Frankie was as tall as Tito and had a silver chain around his neck. He had straight white teeth and green eyes. His thick hair was spiced with something that smelled like oranges.

He crossed his arms and looked down on me.

Tito snickered. “Frankie thinks Little Johnny Coconut's songs are stupit”

“So?” I said.

Frankie Diamond grinned.

“Good answer,” he said. “You got guts.”

“Pshh,”
Tito spat. “What we doing with stupit fourth graders.”

They slouched away.

“You're the stupid ones!” Maya shouted. Frankie Diamond turned, surprised.

Maya made a fist and held it up. Frankie threw back his head and laughed.

E
veryone lined up at the lunch truck. Uncle Scoop beamed down from behind the counter in a white apron and yellow ball cap that said CAVEMAN KITESURFING on the front.

Mr. Purdy reached up to shake his hand, then turned and opened his arms. “Meet my new fourth-grade boot campers.”

“Boot campers?” Uncle Scoop said. “Then you folks must be hungry!”

“Yeah!” everyone said.

“Step right up!”

The line burst ahead, everyone pushing and shoving.

“Come inside the truck,” Uncle Scoop said to Mr. Purdy. “Help me feed this crowd.”

Everyone cheered when Mr. Purdy showed his face behind the counter. “Have what you want,” he said. “But choose wisely. I don't want your parents lecturing me on Monday.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Purdy, sir!”

Julio ordered teri beef with rice and macaroni salad. Maya got two Spam musubi, which was Spam wrapped in sticky rice and seaweed. Rubin went for a plate of rice and spicy hot pickled cabbage called kimchee.

I got one cone sushi and a bag of dried cuttlefish. Yum, so chewy and salty.

Willy, the new kid, frowned at the long menu.

Julio nudged me and whispered, “He doesn't know what all this food is.”

“For real?”

Willy ended up with a hot dog and Maui potato chips.

“Hey, new kid,” I said. “You want to try some of this?” I held up the bag of cuttlefish. For sure he'd like that.

“What is it?”

“Cuttlefish. Try some. It's good.”

“What's cuttlefish?”

“Dried squid. It's chewy, like beef jerky.”

Julio and Rubin crowded around us, Rubin working on his plate of stinky kimchee. I winced. “Back off with that stuff.”

Rubin grinned, his mouth stuffed with food.

I held the bag of cuttlefish out to Willy. He reached in and took some out. He looked at it, smelled it. “Fishy.”

“Yeah, smells good, ah? What's your last name?”

“Wolf.”

“Wolf! Ho! Cool.”

Julio nodded. “Yeah, that's a good name. Willy Wolf.”

Willy stuck the cuttlefish into his mouth and started to chew. His look went from curious to anxious. He chewed some more.

I studied his face. “Good, yeah?”

Willy gulped the last little bit down. “Uh …”

“Try some kimchee,” Rubin said, holding up his plate. It smelled like sulfur. I laughed, thinking Willy wouldn't get near it.

But he actually tried it. Impressive. I couldn't stand the stuff.

Willy let it sit in his mouth. He made a lemon face, then grabbed his throat. “Ack!” He coughed and spat it out.

Rubin leaped back.

Kimchee splattered all over our feet. Willy danced around, wiping his tongue off with his T-shirt. “Hot! Hot!”