here tonight. That’s got to mean something, right?”
“Yeah, he came to dinner with his best friend, and they both ignored and insulted me all night. That’s gotta mean something too, doesn’t it?”
“Social triangles can be deadly,” my mother said, giving my knee a little pat. “But tomorrow George goes back to Pigeon Forge, and you’ll have Fennimore all to yourself again. The two of you will be like two peas in a pod—which reminds me, tomorrow is our first costume fitting for the play, so I’ll be coming to school in the morning.”
Could my life get any worse? Fennimore hated my guts, Kevin Brudhauser was going to go nuts when he got a load of my haircut, and now on top of that I could look forward to my mother being on display in front of the whole class.
“Why me?” I muttered as I got up and headed up to my room. “ Why me? ”
Chapter Twelve
A s soon as Kevin Brudhauser saw me the next morning, he got hysterical. Every time he looked at me, he’d burst out laughing that stupid donkey honk of his. He didn’t make one plucked-chicken crack about Fennimore. Clearly I was the only game in town now.
My mother got there around ten o’clock. I’d made her take off the first outfit she’d put on that morning—a suede jumpsuit with tea bags sewn along the seams like cowboy fringe—and convinced her to wear jeans and a plain T-shirt of my father’s (all of hers are decorated). But dressing her normally didn’t guarantee anything about the way she was going to behave.
Mrs. Hunn had cleared out a supply closet that would serve as my mother’s headquarters, and one by one the kids went in to have their first costume fitting.
“I’m not doing it!” I heard Lana Zuckerman yell when it was her turn to be fitted. “I’m a queen, not a plumber.”
It seemed my mother’s idea of a queen’s scepter was a plunger, the kind you use to unplug toilets and sinks, covered in aluminum foil. King Kevin was similarly displeased with his costume.
“What’s this weird bent-looking thing stuck to the front of my crown?” he asked.
I knew what it was. I’d recognized it right away when I’d seen the crown set out on the table that morning at breakfast. It was one of my great-grandmother’s sterling silver salad forks, which my dad had accidentally ground up in the disposal a few years ago. My mother cried when it happened, but she managed to cheer herself up by declaring that someday she’d find a way to put it togood use. Apparently that day had come.
When it came time for the shrubs to be fitted for their costumes, I was filled with a sense of dread. What were Fennimore and the other guys going to do when my mother tried to get them to dress up in Astroturf and bathing caps?
“Calling all shrubbery!” she cried.
We followed her into her room. On the table she’d laid out the capes and caps and six pairs of bright-green boxer shorts decorated with shamrocks.
“Mom, do you expect us to wear underwear onstage?” I asked in horror when I saw them. “In front of everybody?”
“It’s not underwear, Guysie, it’s a costume.”
“Looks like underwear to me,” said Max.
“St. Patrick’s Day underwear to be exact,” added Greg.
“I think they’re perfect,” my mother said. “Clover is vegetation just like shrubs are. And besides that, they were half price atFinnigan’s, since they’re left over from last season.”
“Gee, I wonder why,” grumbled Alex.
“Do you think it might have something to do with the fact that nobody would be caught dead wearing them?” said Henry.
“Uh, duh,” said Greg.
Fennimore said nothing.
We all tried on the capes and bathing caps and reluctantly slipped the shamrock boxers over our jeans. You’ve never seen a sadder bunch of bushes in your life.
“Perfect!” my mother pronounced with satisfaction. “All we need is a little green greasepaint for your hands and faces.”
My mom went to get some safety pins from the office to help
“Yeah, he came to dinner with his best friend, and they both ignored and insulted me all night. That’s gotta mean something too, doesn’t it?”
“Social triangles can be deadly,” my mother said, giving my knee a little pat. “But tomorrow George goes back to Pigeon Forge, and you’ll have Fennimore all to yourself again. The two of you will be like two peas in a pod—which reminds me, tomorrow is our first costume fitting for the play, so I’ll be coming to school in the morning.”
Could my life get any worse? Fennimore hated my guts, Kevin Brudhauser was going to go nuts when he got a load of my haircut, and now on top of that I could look forward to my mother being on display in front of the whole class.
“Why me?” I muttered as I got up and headed up to my room. “ Why me? ”
Chapter Twelve
A s soon as Kevin Brudhauser saw me the next morning, he got hysterical. Every time he looked at me, he’d burst out laughing that stupid donkey honk of his. He didn’t make one plucked-chicken crack about Fennimore. Clearly I was the only game in town now.
My mother got there around ten o’clock. I’d made her take off the first outfit she’d put on that morning—a suede jumpsuit with tea bags sewn along the seams like cowboy fringe—and convinced her to wear jeans and a plain T-shirt of my father’s (all of hers are decorated). But dressing her normally didn’t guarantee anything about the way she was going to behave.
Mrs. Hunn had cleared out a supply closet that would serve as my mother’s headquarters, and one by one the kids went in to have their first costume fitting.
“I’m not doing it!” I heard Lana Zuckerman yell when it was her turn to be fitted. “I’m a queen, not a plumber.”
It seemed my mother’s idea of a queen’s scepter was a plunger, the kind you use to unplug toilets and sinks, covered in aluminum foil. King Kevin was similarly displeased with his costume.
“What’s this weird bent-looking thing stuck to the front of my crown?” he asked.
I knew what it was. I’d recognized it right away when I’d seen the crown set out on the table that morning at breakfast. It was one of my great-grandmother’s sterling silver salad forks, which my dad had accidentally ground up in the disposal a few years ago. My mother cried when it happened, but she managed to cheer herself up by declaring that someday she’d find a way to put it togood use. Apparently that day had come.
When it came time for the shrubs to be fitted for their costumes, I was filled with a sense of dread. What were Fennimore and the other guys going to do when my mother tried to get them to dress up in Astroturf and bathing caps?
“Calling all shrubbery!” she cried.
We followed her into her room. On the table she’d laid out the capes and caps and six pairs of bright-green boxer shorts decorated with shamrocks.
“Mom, do you expect us to wear underwear onstage?” I asked in horror when I saw them. “In front of everybody?”
“It’s not underwear, Guysie, it’s a costume.”
“Looks like underwear to me,” said Max.
“St. Patrick’s Day underwear to be exact,” added Greg.
“I think they’re perfect,” my mother said. “Clover is vegetation just like shrubs are. And besides that, they were half price atFinnigan’s, since they’re left over from last season.”
“Gee, I wonder why,” grumbled Alex.
“Do you think it might have something to do with the fact that nobody would be caught dead wearing them?” said Henry.
“Uh, duh,” said Greg.
Fennimore said nothing.
We all tried on the capes and bathing caps and reluctantly slipped the shamrock boxers over our jeans. You’ve never seen a sadder bunch of bushes in your life.
“Perfect!” my mother pronounced with satisfaction. “All we need is a little green greasepaint for your hands and faces.”
My mom went to get some safety pins from the office to help
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