I So Don't Do Spooky Read online

  Okay. No need for me to help the Donner team. But when it comes to beauty and fashion, even for a robot, I’m all about sharing. It’s my generous nature.

  Claire rudely interrupts my chat. “Button people? Can you use Mary?”

  “Not really; we’re in good shape,” Mohawk Guy says. “We’re making buttons with our logo to hand out at the meets,” he explains to me. “All the teams do.”

  “Website people?” Claire barks. “Can you use Mary?”

  Pimply Forehead Girl raises her hand.

  Claire frowns. “You don’t have to put your hand up, Sarah.”

  “Oh, yeah, right.” Sarah slams her arm down to her lap. “I really like the bling idea.”

  A lot of kids, even boys, are nodding.

  “Mary’s right.” All excited, Austin bounces on the balls of his feet. “We should individualize our robot.”

  “Fine. Bring in your junk,” Claire says.

  I think she’s secretly thrilled with the bling thing; she didn’t argue against it. She probably doesn’t want to show her enthusiasm because it wasn’t her idea.

  “Back to the website people.” Claire’s chewing on her nails. “Do you want Mary?”

  Sarah gets her hand partially up before jamming it in her pocket. “We’ll take her for Web interviews.” She says to me, “We get points for our website. We still haven’t done our team interviews. It’s where we collect info about each member and upload it to our site. We need someone to take over that. Like develop a questionnaire, type in our answers.”

  I could handle that. In fact, I’d rock at that. I’m really talented at getting people to talk about themselves. Donner would have the best interviews in the contest.

  Wait! I’m not actually joining the Donner robotics club. I’m not really homeschooled. My name is Sherry, not Mary.

  Claire says, “Interviews are good for Mary.”

  “How about plan A?” Austin asks. “We could use her there.”

  They’re fighting over me. I love it.

  Claire shuts him down with a look.

  “What’s plan A?” I say. “I’m probably down with plan A. Or B?” Very Cat in the Hat.

  “How do you know about plan B?” Claire bites the words off through clenched teeth.

  “Uh, I don’t? I was referring to The Cat in the Hat with all the little cats and their plans to get rid of the pink?” I roll my eyes. “Don’t you people read?”

  “You’re on interviews.” Claire turns to the bot. “People, we’re still having probs with the limit switch for the claw. We need the claw to open and close more smoothly if we’re going to pick up and deposit rings.”

  I wander around looking for the yummy snacks. Sadly, I am finding nothing, not even one single stale pretzel. I’m obviously the victim of false advertising.

  Yikes. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before, but this computer lab stinks. Like the PE locker room at school. The boys’ PE locker room. Don’t even ask me how I know. So is the Donner custodial staff a bunch of slackers? There’s a faint sweet smell too, like they sprayed cheap air freshener instead of actually cleaning. Honey + dirty socks is not a winning combination.

  Plugging my nose, I walk over to the window and start opening it.

  A group gasp gusts through the room.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Claire’s right beside me, hands on the sill, pushing down. Her black fingernails glisten next to my light pink ones. “We don’t open windows here. You’re not in your own home, Homeschool Girl.”

  “Aren’t you worried about losing brain cells from the smell?” I say.

  “What?” And she genuinely looks confused.

  The others do too.

  Obviously it’s too late for them. Their brain cells are already fried.

  “Sarah, get her started on the interview stuff,” Claire says and shoots me one last you’re-insane look.

  “Yeah, we don’t want any lame Saguaro Cacti kinds of questions.” A bunch of the students cackle.

  For the first time in my life, I feel the urge to stick up for my school’s robotics team. I could so kick Bryce’s piles of junk across the room. Instead, I say, “What’s the deal with Saguaro?”

  “We’re going to pulverize them this year,” Mohawk Guy says.

  “They stole the trophy from us last year,” Sarah explains.

  “All because of Paulson. They were never any good before her.” Bryce punctuates his statement by opening his fist and dropping a handful of doohickeys into a bucket.

  Alternating palms, Austin hits the tarp and chants, “Donner. Dynamos. Donner. Dynamos.” Very camp counselor.

  The rest join in, hunched forward, drumming the floor.

  Who are these crazy, crazy, unbalanced nutzoids? I came here today totally believing the Donner robotics team wouldn’t stalk The Ruler. Now? I’m not so sure. Let me outta here before I get sucked into their twilight zone.

  I glance at the clock on the wall. I just donated almost an hour of my life to the Donner Dementos.

  I’m coming, Josh!

  chapter

  seven

  I’m up and outta the frightening robotics meeting faster than you can say “Josh Morton.”

  As I storm through the door, Claire’s bossy voice charges after me. “Be at the practice competition at Emerson Middle School’s gym. Monday evening.”

  “Six o’clock,” Austin echoes after her.

  I’m blazing a path to the pool, sparks practically flashing off my ballet slippers.

  Please let me find the pool quickly. Please don’t let the game be over.

  I hear a whistle blast.

  I hear applause and yells.

  I burst through the entrance to the pool and skid onto the deck. I scan the water. Eric swims over to Josh, and they high-five. The ref shows two fingers to the students keeping score in the booth. Two. Josh’s number. Which means Josh just scored. I look at the scoreboard. Five to four. For us.

  “You rock, Josh!” a girl shrieks. “You so rock, Josh!”

  It’s Candy. Her arms fluttering above her head and her too-short skirt flapping above her thighs, she’s dancing in the bleachers.

  The ref blows one long whistle. Game over.

  Ack. Eek. Ike. I missed the game. Which Candy saw. I missed Josh’s winning goal. Which Candy saw.

  The players climb out of the water and walk in a line, shaking hands with the opposing team. When Josh passes me, I clap loudly. He doesn’t turn to look at me. No way he can hear me over Candy, who’s still screaming his name. Yuck. He waves at her. Double yuck.

  I stroll over to the bleachers, bottom level, right side. Basically, as far away as possible from screeching Candy. I sit. Elbows balanced on my knees, I hold my chin and wait. Josh is not going to be happy with me. I watch some of the next game, without really seeing it. Don’t even ask me what teams are playing; I couldn’t tell you.

  Candy sashays by. She shakes her head and her sad limp ponytail at me, saying, “Did you even catch one minute of the game?”

  One minute? I’m lucky if I caught one part of one second. I stand. Then I push past Candy, brushing shoulders with her, and head toward the boys’ locker room. The water polo players are exiting, done with their team meeting, done with their showers. Josh saunters out, his hair still wet, combed flat and cute. He bounds straight to me. Yeah, I did miss his game. And yeah, Candy did scream her guts out for him. But who’s he taking to a sit-down restaurant to celebrate their two-month anniversary? Me, me, me. So there, Candy Lopez!

  Josh reaches for my hand and we walk, legs in sync, to the parking lot. Dumb as it sounds, it’s only now that I think, Yikeserama, I better not run into someone from the robotics club. I look around wildly, swiveling my head.

  “What are you doing?” Josh asks.

  “Just admiring the campus.”

  “Sherry, you crack me up.” Josh breaks into a jog, pulling me along with him. “I see my mom’s car.”

  Works for me. I wanna
hightail it out of Donner. We slide into his mom’s Ford, me in the front passenger seat and him in the back. Josh’s mom is a hairdresser named Vicki. With gorgeous highlights, cool shoes and awesome long, fake nails. Vicki gives new meaning to the word “gabby.” I think the radio station must be on all day in the beauty salon because she’s always up on the news. And she always has opinions. Like today, she yaks for the entire ride about the paparazzi taking pictures of movie stars and their babies. No one tells me which restaurant we’re going to, and I don’t ask. I figure it’s all part of Josh’s plan, to make it a surprise.

  Vicki pulls up in front of a Mexican restaurant.

  Tio Roberto’s.

  My chest goes tight.

  I stare at the green and white neon sign with its dancing sombrero in the corner. I so know this restaurant, from the basket of warm tortilla chips you get before the meal to the striped cinnamon candies you get after. My family used to come here on a regular basis. There are a ton of other Mexican restaurants nearer to my house, but we’d make the drive because of my mother’s crazy cravings for their chicken chimichangas. I haven’t been back to Tio Roberto’s since she died.

  “I know how into Mexican you are, Sherry,” Josh says, all proud of his choice. “And I heard this place has great food.”

  Swallowing hard, I turn in my seat and give him a thumbs-up.

  He pushes down on the door handle. “Let’s kick it in Tio Roberto’s.”

  “Sorry again I couldn’t make your game, Josh. Too many heads to cut and color and style. I’ll be back to get you two in about an hour when I’m between clients,” Vicki says. “And, Sherry, I like your hair. It’s fuller than usual.”

  “Thanks.” Maybe I don’t look so bad with my portal-of-pain do.

  Josh and I open our doors at the exact same moment. We’re going to have a rocking sixty-minute date. Despite the tightness in my chest.

  Vicki rolls down her window. “Josh, you remember how to calculate the tip?”

  “We’ll be fine, Mom.”

  Josh and I spring up the tile steps, past the fountain with an embarrassing sculpture of a half-naked woman pouring water from a bucket on her shoulder, then through the front door. A waitress leads us across the room to a corner table. We get settled in with a basket of chips, a bowl of green salsa, a bowl of red salsa and a dish of spicy carrots.

  She brings us water and menus. “I’ll give you a few minutes to look this over.”

  The lighting’s kind of low, but not so low that you can’t see your meal. Or the chlorine highlights in the shaggy hair of the adorable boyfriend sitting across the table. Or his Lake Havasu blue eyes smiling at you. On the other side of the room, a man in a gray and red poncho plays the guitar and sings in Spanish. We look over the menu and decide what to get. We are so grown-up.

  “Did you catch much of my game?” Josh asks.

  I dip a chip in green salsa. “Not too much.”

  “How come?”

  “The Ruler.” Which isn’t entirely false.

  “At least you saw me nail that sweet final goal.”

  I never have to answer because the waitress shows up and takes our order.

  “Man. I hope that wasn’t my last game.” His voice is all sad, not the voice of a guy who just snagged the winning goal.

  “What are you talking about? Your last game?” I dip another chip. “The season’s not over.”

  “My grades.” Josh shakes his head. “I might end up ineligible.”

  “No way.” I plunk down my glass in surprise. “Your grades are that bad?”

  He grimaces. “I didn’t realize how bad they were until Coach talked to me in the locker room.”

  “So, doing the English project with Candy could really help?”

  “Yeah. Well, that and one other class, well, two other classes need to fall into place.” Josh doesn’t meet my eyes as he grabs a carrot.

  I reach across the table and touch his arm. “It’ll work out, Josh.”

  The waitress arrives with our food. “Be careful. The plates are hot.”

  After she sets my meal down, I lean over the steaming food, close my eyes and inhale. The Baja Burrito. My fave burrito in the universe: refried beans + potatoes + spicy beef + guac + cheese. The smell takes me back a couple of years. To the last time I was here with my mom, dad and Sam for my brother’s birthday.

  The guitar guy hung out by our table and played a bunch of pretty bad music. Until my mom paid him to move along. I gave Sam some great gag gifts like a squirt gun calculator and a whoopee cushion. Dad tied birthday balloons to Sam’s ears right before Sam knocked over his Dr Pepper. We had a sweet time. Really sweet.

  I pick up the burrito and nibble. Then another nibble. It’s okay. But just okay. It’s not the burrito of my past.

  Maybe Tio Roberto’s changed chefs. Or recipes. Or maybe I need Sam next to me, kicking me under the table. Or my mom taking forever to eat her chimichanga. Or my dad making his same-o lame-o “cold today, hot tamale” joke.

  A lump like a Ping-Pong ball forms in my throat. I swallow past it. The burrito hasn’t changed. My life has.

  Josh takes a humongous bite. “Awesome, babe. Even better than any burrito I ate in San Diego.” That’s where Josh is originally from. And that’s saying a lot for this burrito because Josh is way keen on California Mexican food.

  I sip my water, willing my throat lump to shrivel up and disappear.

  “You know anything about The Ruler’s after-school tutoring?” Josh asks.

  “It’s good. I had to go.”

  “I’m gonna try it.” He spoons extra salsa into his burrito. “You know, to raise my math grade.” He takes another big bite. He likes to eat a lot, especially after a game.

  With my fork, I push Spanish rice around while Josh wolfs down his food.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” Josh asks.

  “Not as much as you. I didn’t just play an amazing water polo game.” I scoot my plate toward him. “Plus, I’m saving room for fried ice cream.”

  “Thanks, Sherry.” Josh spears a chunk of avocado. “Guess what? I’m gonna be making some money. My dad’s worker quit. I’m gonna get to dig trenches for the sprinkler system at this new apartment complex.” Josh pops the avocado into his mouth. “I’ll take you on another date.”

  How romantic. He wants to spend his first paycheck on me. But next time I’m suggesting an unsad place like KFC. “How will you fit in tutoring and water polo and digging?” And me?

  He picks up my burrito. “It’ll be busy. Like tomorrow I have polo practice, English project with Candy and one section of the apartment’s front lawn to dig.”

  Yikes. Josh is going to be crazy busy, and I’ll be tied up with the stalker mystery—hanging with The Ruler, meeting with my mom and Junie, going to Donner robotics meetings, investigating clues. Eek. Candy’ll see more of Josh than I will.

  The waitress brings our fried ice cream. Josh digs in. One look at my family’s fave dessert, and it’s like two Ping-Pong balls are lodged in my throat. It’s a miracle I can even breathe and haven’t keeled over in a dead faint on Tio Roberto’s could-be-cleaner floor.

  After the waitress drops off the bill, Josh picks it up and stares at the numbers, a cute pencil-thin wrinkle across his adorable forehead. Finally, he un-Velcroes his wallet, pulls out a couple of dollars for the tip and flattens them next to his plate.

  At the front of the restaurant, Josh pays the bill. I snag a few cinnamon candies from a ceramic bowl by the cash register. For Sam.

  It’s dusk outside. His mom’s not here yet, so we plop down on the curb.

  “Thanks for dinner,” I say, knocking my knee against his. “It was really cool of you to plan something for our anniversary.”

  Josh is beaming. “You’re welcome, Sherry. I had a good time.” He puts his arm around me. “I always have a good time with you.”

  I suddenly remember something I keep forgetting to say to him. “Thank you so much for the gorgeous flowers this mo
rning.”

  Josh’s beautiful snapdragon blue eyes open wide. “What flowers?”

  chapter

  eight

  It’s Saturday, about two in the afternoon. Junie’s over. We did our homework and now we’re cross-legged on my bed, painting our nails with this really fun photochromic polish. Mine changes from blue to green in the sun. Hers changes from lilac to rose. She’s definitely more interested in clothes and makeup lately. Finally, my best friend is growing up.

  “Junie, keep your hand flat. I’ll get the polish on more evenly.” I make a broad brushstroke down the middle of her nail.

  “If Josh didn’t send you the flowers, who did?” She glances at the vase on my dresser.

  I shrug. “At first, I was thinking maybe I have a secret admirer.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  I ignore her sarcasm. “Anyway, the card did say ‘Happy Anniversary.’ So the secret-admirer theory doesn’t fit.”

  “Maybe the flowers were delivered to the wrong house.” Junie blows on her nails. “Maybe one of your neighbors had an anniversary, and the flowers were delivered to your address by mistake.”

  I shake my head. “There was a Post-it with our address stuck to the cellophane around the bouquet.”

  “Maybe the flowers were meant for The Ruler. And your dad arranged for the delivery while he’s out of town.”

  “It’s not their anniversary. You know they just got married over spring break.”

  “Could be an anniversary for something else.”