The Candy Shop War
Page 28
As the foam erupting from Kyle began to subside, leaving his clothes completely drenched, Nate tapped Summer. “We better beat it,” he said.
Summer nodded.
Denny had not moved an inch. He continued to groan. While the others hurried away, Pigeon squatted beside him and said, “You better learn to watch what you eat.”
Chapter Seven
A Grave Assignment
Summer leaned against the flagpole at the front of Mt. Diablo Elementary, waiting for the other Blue Falcons. The parking lot was jammed with the cars of parents picking up their kids. Several buses idled at the curb, one of them near enough for the exhaust fumes to bother her.
When class had let out, Nate had accompanied Pigeon to the rest room. Ever since admonishing Denny to watch what he ate, Pigeon had grown progressively more paranoid. He was certain that vicious retaliation was inevitable, and had even discussed submitting a written apology. Summer and Nate had warned that if he showed any weakness, he would be doomed. Their best hope was to act confident and pray that Denny, Eric, and Kyle would be too intimidated by the effects of the magic candy to strike back.
As extra precautions, Nate had chaperoned Pigeon to the rest room, and they were all meeting in front of the school in order to take a different route home. If Denny opted to seek revenge, he would probably ambush them at the ramp that descended to Greenway.
Summer had mixed feelings about what they had done. Denny, Eric, and Kyle deserved to be humbled—they had ruthlessly bullied others for years. But even though the candy was designed to inflict no lasting damage, feeding it to them seemed almost too harsh, like issuing the death penalty for shoplifting. Denny had never actually beaten up any of them. He was just a pushy jerk who liked to steal lunch desserts and start dirt clod fights down at the creek. It was almost a game. Terrifying Denny and his friends with supernatural punishments might scare them into leaving the Blue Falcons alone. Or it could escalate the animosity into something much more real and dangerous.
Summer tried to picture how she would react if somebody gave her candy that made her vomit foam until she was soaked. Wouldn’t she be furious? She would certainly want retribution. She might even involve the police.
Somebody tapped her on the shoulder. She looked, but nobody was there. Turning the other way, she saw Trevor. “Gotcha,” he said. “Where’s Nate and Pidge?”
“Pigeon had to make a pit stop,” Summer said.
“I’ve had the best feeling all day,” Trevor said. “There should be Munchkins coming out of hiding and dancing in the streets.”
“Except I’m not sure the witch is dead,” Summer said. “Dorothy and her friends might get assaulted on the way home.”
“No way,” Trevor said. “Those guys are going to stay a million miles away from us. They probably think we have super powers or know voodoo. Would you mess with somebody who could turn gravity against you?”
“No, but who knows if they’ll be able to make sense of what happened? They might decide we drugged the candy and they dreamed the weird results. I mean, what happened seems impossible.”
“If all else fails, we break out the Shock Bits,” Trevor said, as if that idea ended the discussion.
“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”
“Depends on what they’re trying to do.”
“What if it stops their hearts?” she asked. “When I shocked that guy, he flew a long ways. A lot farther than any stun gun would throw him. And stun guns can give people heart attacks.”
“We’ll do what we have to,” Trevor said. “Now that we started fighting back, we can’t let up, or they’ll make us pay for years.”
“That’s exactly right,” Nate said, approaching with Pigeon. “They asked for it. Once they stop asking for it, we’ll stop giving it to them. But not before. Besides, after today we should add some new weapons to our arsenal.”
“I hope you guys are right,” Summer said.
“You’re as bad as Pigeon,” Nate accused. “There is nothing wrong with giving a stupid, mean bully a taste of his own medicine.”
“Except Denny isn’t stupid,” Summer said. “Mean, yes. Stupid, no. And unlike some bullies, he’s not a coward. Last year he thrashed a sixth grader who was bigger than him.”
“Tom Turrel?” Trevor said. “He was big, but it was all fat.”
“Would you have fought him?” Summer asked.
“No way—what if he sat on me!”
“Sounds like Summer might have a thing for Denny,” Nate said.
Summer clenched her teeth. She wanted to slap Nate for saying something so stupid and embarrassing, but managed to restrain the impulse. “I’m just saying we should be ready for Denny to come looking for revenge, no matter how scared he should be.”
“We’re with you there!” Trevor said. “Why do you think we’re sneaking home a different way?”
“We want to be careful,” Nate said diplomatically. “We’re also having fun enjoying the victory.”
Summer resisted a smile. “It was pretty funny,” she admitted. “They were freaked out.”
“It was the most hilarious thing that has ever happened,” Pigeon agreed. “I’m just worried it might cost me my life. And that my mom won’t be able to stop eating fudge long enough to hold a funeral. They’ll probably just dump me in a hole in the backyard.”
The four of them walked west along Oak Grove Avenue, the street that granted access to the school parking lot. Going home this way would make the walk nearly twice as long, since they all lived south of the school, and the first few southbound cross streets west of Mt. Diablo Elementary ended in cul-de-sacs. The slope at the rear of the school continued west for some distance before the incline diminished, allowing a road to connect the top of the ridge to the bottom.
A block down from the school on Oak Grove waited a boxy old ice cream truck. The shabby vehicle was painted a faded blue. Music chimed from hidden speakers. The words Candy Wagon were emblazoned on the side in black cursive. A semicircle of kids huddled around the opening in the side of the truck.
“Is that Mr. Stott?” Pigeon asked hopefully.
“Looks like it,” Trevor said, hurrying forward with Pigeon at his heels.
“Who’s Mr. Stott?” Nate inquired, continuing alongside Summer.
“He’s the best ice cream man,” she said, “but he hasn’t come around for over a year.”
Summer nodded.
Denny had not moved an inch. He continued to groan. While the others hurried away, Pigeon squatted beside him and said, “You better learn to watch what you eat.”
Chapter Seven
A Grave Assignment
Summer leaned against the flagpole at the front of Mt. Diablo Elementary, waiting for the other Blue Falcons. The parking lot was jammed with the cars of parents picking up their kids. Several buses idled at the curb, one of them near enough for the exhaust fumes to bother her.
When class had let out, Nate had accompanied Pigeon to the rest room. Ever since admonishing Denny to watch what he ate, Pigeon had grown progressively more paranoid. He was certain that vicious retaliation was inevitable, and had even discussed submitting a written apology. Summer and Nate had warned that if he showed any weakness, he would be doomed. Their best hope was to act confident and pray that Denny, Eric, and Kyle would be too intimidated by the effects of the magic candy to strike back.
As extra precautions, Nate had chaperoned Pigeon to the rest room, and they were all meeting in front of the school in order to take a different route home. If Denny opted to seek revenge, he would probably ambush them at the ramp that descended to Greenway.
Summer had mixed feelings about what they had done. Denny, Eric, and Kyle deserved to be humbled—they had ruthlessly bullied others for years. But even though the candy was designed to inflict no lasting damage, feeding it to them seemed almost too harsh, like issuing the death penalty for shoplifting. Denny had never actually beaten up any of them. He was just a pushy jerk who liked to steal lunch desserts and start dirt clod fights down at the creek. It was almost a game. Terrifying Denny and his friends with supernatural punishments might scare them into leaving the Blue Falcons alone. Or it could escalate the animosity into something much more real and dangerous.
Summer tried to picture how she would react if somebody gave her candy that made her vomit foam until she was soaked. Wouldn’t she be furious? She would certainly want retribution. She might even involve the police.
Somebody tapped her on the shoulder. She looked, but nobody was there. Turning the other way, she saw Trevor. “Gotcha,” he said. “Where’s Nate and Pidge?”
“Pigeon had to make a pit stop,” Summer said.
“I’ve had the best feeling all day,” Trevor said. “There should be Munchkins coming out of hiding and dancing in the streets.”
“Except I’m not sure the witch is dead,” Summer said. “Dorothy and her friends might get assaulted on the way home.”
“No way,” Trevor said. “Those guys are going to stay a million miles away from us. They probably think we have super powers or know voodoo. Would you mess with somebody who could turn gravity against you?”
“No, but who knows if they’ll be able to make sense of what happened? They might decide we drugged the candy and they dreamed the weird results. I mean, what happened seems impossible.”
“If all else fails, we break out the Shock Bits,” Trevor said, as if that idea ended the discussion.
“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”
“Depends on what they’re trying to do.”
“What if it stops their hearts?” she asked. “When I shocked that guy, he flew a long ways. A lot farther than any stun gun would throw him. And stun guns can give people heart attacks.”
“We’ll do what we have to,” Trevor said. “Now that we started fighting back, we can’t let up, or they’ll make us pay for years.”
“That’s exactly right,” Nate said, approaching with Pigeon. “They asked for it. Once they stop asking for it, we’ll stop giving it to them. But not before. Besides, after today we should add some new weapons to our arsenal.”
“I hope you guys are right,” Summer said.
“You’re as bad as Pigeon,” Nate accused. “There is nothing wrong with giving a stupid, mean bully a taste of his own medicine.”
“Except Denny isn’t stupid,” Summer said. “Mean, yes. Stupid, no. And unlike some bullies, he’s not a coward. Last year he thrashed a sixth grader who was bigger than him.”
“Tom Turrel?” Trevor said. “He was big, but it was all fat.”
“Would you have fought him?” Summer asked.
“No way—what if he sat on me!”
“Sounds like Summer might have a thing for Denny,” Nate said.
Summer clenched her teeth. She wanted to slap Nate for saying something so stupid and embarrassing, but managed to restrain the impulse. “I’m just saying we should be ready for Denny to come looking for revenge, no matter how scared he should be.”
“We’re with you there!” Trevor said. “Why do you think we’re sneaking home a different way?”
“We want to be careful,” Nate said diplomatically. “We’re also having fun enjoying the victory.”
Summer resisted a smile. “It was pretty funny,” she admitted. “They were freaked out.”
“It was the most hilarious thing that has ever happened,” Pigeon agreed. “I’m just worried it might cost me my life. And that my mom won’t be able to stop eating fudge long enough to hold a funeral. They’ll probably just dump me in a hole in the backyard.”
The four of them walked west along Oak Grove Avenue, the street that granted access to the school parking lot. Going home this way would make the walk nearly twice as long, since they all lived south of the school, and the first few southbound cross streets west of Mt. Diablo Elementary ended in cul-de-sacs. The slope at the rear of the school continued west for some distance before the incline diminished, allowing a road to connect the top of the ridge to the bottom.
A block down from the school on Oak Grove waited a boxy old ice cream truck. The shabby vehicle was painted a faded blue. Music chimed from hidden speakers. The words Candy Wagon were emblazoned on the side in black cursive. A semicircle of kids huddled around the opening in the side of the truck.
“Is that Mr. Stott?” Pigeon asked hopefully.
“Looks like it,” Trevor said, hurrying forward with Pigeon at his heels.
“Who’s Mr. Stott?” Nate inquired, continuing alongside Summer.
“He’s the best ice cream man,” she said, “but he hasn’t come around for over a year.”
