How to Curse in Hieroglyphics by Lesley Livingston

they tussled in the dirt. “You girls better make up your weirdo minds before you start whaling on me again!”
    Beside the tangled, brawling knot of Artie, Cheryl and Tweed—all flailing limbs and flaring tempers—Pilot dropped lightly to the ground from his perch up in the tree. He kicked at the broken branch that had held the “descender wire” rope the girls had used to get over the fence.
    â€œNext time I’d suggest a more thorough equipment check,” Pilot observed dryly.
    Tweed squirmed free of Cheryl and Artie and climbed to her feet, brushing off the knees of her black stockings. “Never mind that now. We’re in. The mission is still a go. Repeat: the mission is still a go.”
    â€œTell them that,” Pilot nodded toward the still-tussling twosome. “If they don’t cut it out, we’re gonna get busted.”
    â€œCheck. I’ll handle it. Heads up, Codename Cee!” Tweed barked. “Eyes on the prize! Focus power!” she said and several other catchy phrases designed to make Cheryl stop fighting with Artie.

    Cheryl grudgingly let Artie back up onto his feet, eyeing him with suspicion. “Were you spying on us, Artie Bartleby?” She stood, hands on hips, pigtails askew.
    â€œHow did you get in here?”
    â€œYeah! How did you get in here, Shrimpcake?” Tweed asked pointedly.
    Artie ignored the dig with an air of sudden superiority, somewhat undermined as he vigorously shook a pant leg in an attempt to empty the sand that he’d acquired in the brawl out of his undies. “I walked in,” he said. “Through the front gate. Like a normal person.” He went and stood next to Pilot. “Wasn’t locked or nuthin’. Geesh. Girls , huh, Armbruster?” he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.
    Pilot just frowned down at him. He wasn’t about to take sides with Artie. Not against the twins, certainly. Although he did glance down at the broken branch at his feet and wonder fleetingly why he hadn’t suggested they use the main gate. Then again, he supposed, that wouldn’t have really been “spying,” now, would it?
    â€œAnyway,” Artie was on a roll, “I’m the one who should be askin’ the questions here! Like—why the honkin’ heck are you sneakin’ over the fence to get in here? Or is breaking and entering a new hobby of yours?”
    He took a half-step back as Cheryl advanced menacingly toward him.
    â€œIf there’s any breaking to be done …” She trailed off ominously.

    â€œOh, yeah?” Artie gamely put up his fists and hopped around like a boxer, but Pilot stepped between the two of them before another skirmish erupted.
    â€œHey now!” he interrupted, glancing over his shoulder. “I think we might want to look for some cover—pronto. There’s a whole buncha carnival folk headed in this direction.”
    Cheryl and Tweed instantly took off running in a weaving pattern across the grounds toward the nearest tent, waving their complex military-style hand gestures at each other. Pilot rolled his eyes and grabbed Artie by the collar of his shirt, dragging him along as they ran to catch up with the twins.
    â€œWhat are we runnin’ for?” Artie sputtered in a choked voice.
    Pilot looked down and saw that Artie’s face had turned bright crimson. He let go of his collar and the little guy let out a gasp, waving weakly in the direction from which they’d bolted.
    â€œThey look harmless enough!” he said. “All they want is to bring us wonders, and rides, and upset stomachs . There’s nuthin’ sinister about it!”
    â€œSays you.” Tweed rounded on him. “We happen to have reliable intel that indicates to the contrary.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œIt means we know stuff.” Cheryl pulled him behind a sandwich board, garishly painted with a