Hannah Smart, Operation Josh Taylor (2 page)

Blame It on the Orange Crush

O
kay
, so I need a plan … just one little idea. How hard can it be? I mean there's got to be a million moneymaking ideas out there. Right?

I know what you're probably thinking: why not mow a few lawns or take up babysitting? Well, for starters, mowing lawns is just out of the question — I have a huge phobia of lawnmowers … long story, tell you later. As for babysitting, we live in a neighbourhood full of old people. There are no little kids on my street, or even close by, which I thought wouldn't be a problem, because parents want responsible and qualified babysitters, right? Wrong! After months of training, taking the highest-level babysitting course in history, and learning advanced CPR and first aid, I found out parents don't want to hire babysitters who need a ride home; they want babysitters who live across the street. How messed up is that?

So, I need to think of a plan that doesn't involve lawn mowers or taking care of small children. Usually I tap when I think. Sometimes I tap the table, sometimes I tap my desk, but right now I'm tapping my head, which by the way, is empty. I mean
really
, not a single idea, no lightning bolts of inspiration, just nothing, nada. How frustrating! Why can't I come up with just one little measly idea? Maybe I'm just not an “idea person.” Hey, we can't all be geniuses. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm no dummy, but I'm definitely not a brainiac like my friend Rachel. Now that's a girl who's super-smart, like, I'm talking … brilliant.

Rachel is my very best friend in the world and has been since the day we met, a little over five years ago. It was the first day of third grade. Rachel and I were in the same class but we didn't know each other because she was new.

So, it was lunchtime, and I was watching her (not in a
weird stalker kind of way
, but in an
I don't

recognize that girl, she must be new
kind of way). Anyway, she opened her lunch bag and pulled out a strange-looking sandwich that had some weird grassy stuff in it. She took a bite and squished up her nose. Then she took out a Thermos, looked inside, and took a swig. It was pretty obvious from the look on her face that whatever was in that Thermos was completely disgusting. I looked down at my delicious, first-day-of-school lunch that Mom packs me every year: a ham-and-cheese croissant, carrot sticks with dip, a Kit Kat bar, and a can of Orange Crush. When I looked back at Rachel, she was stuffing her lunch back into her lunch bag. I think she'd barely eaten a thing. Who could blame her, though? What kind of mother would pack a lunch like that? Then she got up from her desk and just left.

Suddenly, I found myself hopping up from my seat with my prized first day of school can of Orange Crush.
What am I doing?
I was thinking as I walked toward her empty chair. I thought about how delicious my Orange Crush would be and then about that disgusting stuff in Rachel's Thermos. I put the can down on her desk, turned to walk back to my seat, and that's when I caught him! From the corner of my eye I saw Billy Butler booking it for that can of soda. I spun around, and, as fast as lightning, bolted toward her seat. But I was too late; in the split second it took to reach Billy, he'd already grabbed it and chucked it across the room. Zach jumped up, caught it, and pitched it back. In a flash, it became a full-fledged game of Monkey in the Middle. The boys were all flailing their arms and leaping in the air, trying to catch it, while the girls were all ducking for cover. That can had to have been hurled across the classroom at least twenty times before the lunch monitor poked her head in the door and insisted that it be put away at once!

So, the game stopped; the can was put back on Rachel's desk, and everyone went back to eating lunch, including me. I didn't have my Orange Crush, but at least I had something good to eat. I checked the clock. We had fifteen minutes of lunch left. (I remember this detail because below the clock was Rachel's desk, and as my eyes fell from the clock to her, well specifically to the can of soda in her hand, I suddenly realized that she was back and nobody had filled her in; she had no idea what was about to happen.)

In my mind I was screaming, “No! No! No! New Girl … don't do it … don't open that can …” But before I could warn her, she poked her finger through the loop of the pull-tab and then … snnnnnnnnnnnap … swishhhhhhhhhhhhhh … orange syrupy liquid was spraying everywhere, in every direction. It was all over her — in her hair, on her clothes, on her desk, on the floor. She sat frozen, like a sticky orange zombie, with everyone's eyes glued on her.

I knew one thing for sure: she needed my help. I sprang from my desk, sprinted to the craft table, and grabbed a massive roll of paper towel. Looking back now, I think everything would have been fine if I had just gone a
tiny
bit slower, but I kind of panicked.

Now to be clear, I don't think it was my fault that I slipped; the Orange Crush had turned the floor into a Slip 'N Slide, and how could I have known that Rachel would pick that exact moment to snap out of her daze and spring up from her desk?

It was like bowling a perfect strike. I hit her square on, and like a bowling pin, she went flying … and so did the can. It flew out of her hand and into the air, turning end over end, spraying an Orange Crush mist over everything in its path. When it finally landed, it was upside down on Scarlett Hastings's lap. Now, if you knew Scarlett Hastings like we know her, you would realize that this was the
worst
place for that can to land. I'll explain more about that later.

Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital with a concussion and the strangest feeling that I was being watched. Sure enough, the first thing I saw, as soon as I was able to focus, were two big blue eyes staring at me through a tangled mess of sticky, long, strawberry-blond hair. Those eyes, peering at me from the next bed over, belonged to Rachel. She was also the proud owner of ten brand new stitches, a broken arm, and a new best friend.

In the hospital we found out how much we had in common. Most importantly, this is where we discovered we were (and still are) Josh Taylor's absolute biggest fans!

Wait a second …
we
are his biggest fans …
Rachel and me
… could it be that easy? Of course it is. I just figured out a plan, a brilliant plan. I'll call Rachel! She'll know exactly what to do. Problem solved! I told you I'm no dummy.

“

The Highs and Lows of Celebration Pizza

H
ey
, Mrs. Carter, is Rachel around?” I say into the phone.

“Well, she is supposed to be in her room doing her homework, but you know Rachel.”

So, I told you Rachel is smart, but the weird thing is she hates pretty much everything to do with school, especially homework. Her mom is always on her case about this. I guess it makes sense though since her mom is a teacher, well actually a university professor. She teaches holistic nutrition, which, according to Rachel, just means she teaches people how to be completely obsessed with organic food. Rachel's dad is a pediatric surgeon. So, it's not surprising that Rachel's IQ is like over 140, not that she seems to care. This is the one thing I don't get about Rachel. I'd love to be smart like that. I know it drives them crazy when she goofs off, which
I hope
she's not doing now, but
I know
she probably is.

“Rachel Lynn Carter!” I hear her mom bellow. “Turn the music down! What are you doing?”

I hear Rachel mumble something in the background. She's probably doing a Josh portrait again. She's super talented, and she should be; she gets
lots
of practice. I think every girl in our class has at least one of her Josh Taylor sketches.

“What's up?” she says, with a sigh.

I can tell by her voice that I was right; she's in trouble
again,
but right now I've got
much
more important things on my mind.

“You are not going to believe what I am about to tell you!” I squeal.

“What?”

“It's the best news!”

“What!”

“Oh, you are going to be
so
excited!”

“What is it?”

“Well, how would you like to see …”

“Wait …” she cuts me off in midsentence. “My mother is
freaking
! I have to go. Call you later.”

Then there's a click and a dial tone.

This is beyond terrible on so many levels. I didn't get to tell her about Josh, and she didn't get to help me with my plan!

Suddenly, as if by magic, the phone rings. Thank god!

“Hey!” I say anxiously. “Wow, that was fast! So, like I was saying, how would you like to see …”

“Hannah, what are you talking about?”

“Oh, Dad … it's you.”

“You were expecting someone else?”

“Yeah, Rachel.”

“Well, never mind about that now,” he says. “Tell your mom I'm bringing home pizza and I've got some exciting news.”

Hmmm … pizza … exciting news? What a coincidence! We both have exciting news today. Unless his exciting news and my exciting news are the same exciting news! It must be! I mean what else could it be? I bet Mom felt bad and called him, or maybe he heard it on the radio. Well, one thing is for sure, he wants to surprise me and he's bringing home pizza to celebrate! My dad is so cool!

“Tell me now! I can't wait until you get home,” I squeal.

“You're just going to have to wait, but it will be worth it. I promise!” I can hear the smile in his voice.

Well, that's proof enough for me; Josh Taylor here I come!

I'm going crazy waiting for Rachel to call, which hopefully will be soon. I mean this is way too exciting to keep to myself!

About fifteen minutes later, Dad arrives home with our “celebration pizza.”

“Hi, honey,” he says, smiling as he puts the box down on the counter.

“Hi, Dad. I can't wait to hear your news!” I say, beaming. His smile gets even wider and he throws me a wink. A wink! You know what that means …

At the table, even though I'm sure I know what's coming, I'm still sitting on pins and needles, barely tasting my supper, waiting to hear those words:
Sweet Hannah, we're taking you to the Josh Taylor concert!

And then I'll say (for Mom's benefit),
But Dad, I can't go to the concert. I have no money to buy a ticket.

Then Dad will say,
Oh darling, you don't need money. We want to take you because we know you are Josh Taylor's biggest fan!

And then I'll look into my mother's eyes and she'll see how happy I am, and she'll look into my father's eyes and see how happy he is, and then she'll reach across the table and take our hands in hers, smile, and say,
Okay you can go to the concert and we will totally pay
.

“Hannah, lift up your glass, your dad is making a toast!” Mom frowns.

“What … now?” I stammer. Oh, here it comes! I can hardly wait! Okay, pretend to look surprised.

I lift my glass of Coke and Dad starts, “Today I learned some very exciting news. I think you're going to be very …”

Just then the phone rings. Mom gets up.

“Hannah, it's Rachel.” She gestures for me to make it quick.

“Hi,” Rachel whispers, “tell me what's going on, but do it fast 'cause if Mom catches me on the phone, I'm dead.”

“Hi,” I say quickly, “I can't talk now because we're eating supper! I'll call you back later!” I slam down the phone and rush back to my seat at the table. “Okay, Dad, as you were saying?”

“Okay,” he says, raising his eyebrow. “This afternoon I got some wonderful news. Actually, it's great news for all of us! I just found out I'm getting a big promotion at work.”

“But Dad, I can't go to the concert. I have no money to buy a ticket,” I say with a sigh.

Dad shakes his head. “Hannah, what are you talking about?”

“You just said you were taking us to the Josh Taylor concert, and I said I don't have money for a ticket.” I glance over at my mom, who is frowning.

“I didn't say anything about a concert.” He looks confused.

“You didn't? I'm sure you just said you were taking us to the concert. Didn't you?”

“No, Hannah, I said I got a big promotion at work.”

“Promotion?” I repeat dumbly.

“Yes, promotion! This is my exciting news! This is what I've been trying to tell you!” His face is beaming. “Today I got a promotion.”

You know when you're in a soccer game and you're right beside the net, the ball is speeding toward you, and you've got a clear shot to score the winning goal, but instead the ball slams you right in the gut …

No one seems to notice that I'm in a state of shock. Why would they care? They have
exciting news
to talk about. What's so exciting about a stupid promotion anyway? I mean a promotion is just … well, a better job and more money and … wait a second … I think I may have possibly found a silver lining to this grey cloud of information.

“Hey, Dad,” I say, flashing a big smile, “congratulations on your promotion. So I guess that means you're going to be making, like, tons of more money, right?”

He smiles back. “Well Hannah, it means a lot of things, and yes, a nice boost to my salary is one of them. It also means that there's going to be a few changes around here. I'll be working a lot and so I won't be home as much as I am now. Your mother is going to need you to help out more.” He reaches over to give my mom's hand a squeeze. For some reason she isn't smiling back. Weird … you'd think she'd be crazy happy about a nice fat paycheque! Instead, she gets up and starts clearing the table.

“So, Dad,” I say in my sweetest voice, “I heard some exciting news today, too. Josh Taylor is coming to Glen Haven. Isn't that exciting?”

“I'm sure it is for you, Hannah,” he says.

“Yeah, so I
really
want to go to his concert,” I blurt out.

“That's nice,” he replies, totally not taking the bait.

“Well, Dad, with your new raise and everything, do you think you'd have enough money to buy me a ticket?” I half whisper.

“Yeah, I think I could manage that,” he whispers back, smiling.

“Really! You could manage it?” I say in a hushed squeal.

He nods. “Yup, I think I can definitely manage it.”

Wow, that was easy! He said yes! It's totally official! I am going to see Josh Taylor, live in concert, breathing the same air and …

“Manage what?” says my mother from across the kitchen.

I shove a piece of pizza in my mouth.

“Hannah just asked me …” Dad starts.

“Mmmmm,” I say loudly, with my mouth full, “this pizza is
so
good!”

My mother's eyes narrow. “Hannah, what did you ask your father?”

“Oh, Mom,” I scold her, “this is Dad's night, not mine. Let's not talk about me.”

“Hannah, I know what's going on here,” she says, frowning, “and it's not going to happen.”

Great, and just like that another soccer ball slams me right in the gut.

My stomach hurts.