Pickle (6 page)

“Okay, Ben. You bring a big bottle of vinegar on Thursdays. Make sure to carry it around a lot so everybody sees it,” Frank said. I thought maybe I should remind him who the president of this league of pickle makers was and suggest one of
them
carry a jug of stinky stuff around.

“Shouldn't we try actually making something?” Oliver said. “For the Pioneer Fair?”

We found a recipe for “Simple Pickles” in the front of the book. Oliver remembered that he'd seen some vinegar in one of the cupboards left over from the baking soda volcanoes in science class, and Frank scrounged up some jars. We threw in the cucumbers and a jar of the pickling spices and shook it up. Contest entry. Done!

“Let's talk pranks,” I said.

“I know what we can do first,” Bean said.

“The Pit of Stink was first,” Oliver said, and Bean rolled her eyes.

“As a club, doofus,” she said.

“You know, Bean, to be frank—”

“Don't try to be Frank. He's right here, and he's made out of magnificent. You are no Frank,” Bean said. Frank nodded and Oliver rubbed his eyes.

“To be
honest
, people would like you more if you didn't call everyone names all the time,” Oliver said.

“You're the one trying to be Frank,” Bean said. I stood up.

“What's your idea, Bean?”

“Thank you, Ben.” She shot a look at Oliver. “My idea is super simple. Minimal supplies, low risk, maximum impact, high visibility.” She sounded like the guy who sold my mom her old station wagon.

“Suds, gentlemen. One bottle of dish soap in the fountain and we have a mountain of bubbles. I can't believe nobody has ever done it here before. My cousin Ted did it with his fraternity at college, and it was
A
-mazing. He posted pictures online. I saw.”

Fountain Point was renamed after they built a fountain in the front. It was the Millard Fillmore Middle School before that, but he wasn't even a very good president. Some artist who grew up around here built the fountain and donated it to the school. It looked like it should have been in a park in Paris, not in front of our school. I mean, come on, naked babies sitting on pillars constantly pouring water out of big ugly pitchers? Their arms would be hurting something awful to have to keep holding the pitchers up like that. It's like baby torture. Don't tell anybody, but it creeps me out.

“That's actually a great idea, Bean,” Oliver said. “What if we got two bottles and loaded up the drinking fountains, too?”

“Spectacular,” Frank said. I thought about the babies pouring bubbles instead of dirty fountain water. We toasted with our pickling spice jars, and made plans to meet behind the bushes near the fountain after dinner. Bean offered to stop at the store for the dish soap, so I gave her five dollars of the club cash.

After dinner I loaded the dishwasher without being asked. When I was finished, I asked if I could go down to Oliver's apartment. Timing is everything.

“Sure, but just for a half an hour, okay?” my dad said. I left right away. I heard a birdcall when I got close to the school. Then I heard it again. And again. It was Frank. Frank and Bean were indeed waiting with Oliver in the bushes. Bean showed me a new bottle of green dish soap. It guaranteed softer hands after you cleaned with it. That might work on parents, but they needed to think of something better than soft hands to get kids to wash dishes. Bean climbed out of the bushes and walked out into the open. Frank and Oliver followed. Bean held the soap up near one of the fountain lights so we could all see the “Extra Suds!” sticker. The lights were bright enough for someone walking by to see us.

“Maybe this is a bad idea,” I said, looking over my shoulder. “This seems more wrong than the ball pit.” The fountain was huge, and out in front where the entire school would see it. And what if the soap broke the motor or stained the creepy babies or something?

“What's the big deal? It is just soap, Ben. It'll wash right off. The fountain will be cleaner than before. It's not like there are fish in there or anything,” Bean said. I checked, but all I could see were old leaves, chewed gum, and pennies.

“What if we did that instead? That would be kind of cool if the fountain was suddenly full of goldfish! Everybody would be like, hey, where did they come from?” Oliver said. He looked kind of dreamy until Bean said they'd get sucked through the pumps. Then
she
looked kind of dreamy.

“It doesn't really take four of us to pour soap into a fountain,” I said. It was true. “What if one of the teachers walks by? Or Principal Lebonsky? You can totally see us from the sidewalk.” I know Principal Lebonsky takes a lot of evening strolls.

“Aren't we doing this as a club? Relax. Nothing really happens until the soap gets swished around. But in the morning, it will be everywhere.” Bean didn't care if I freaked out or not. Maybe if I said not to do it, she would take Frank and start another prank club without us. She took the cap off and looked up, waiting for me to whine some more. I didn't.

“You guys have to promise not to tell anybody—about this, the club—anything,” I said. They promised and I made Oliver swear, since he had fake-bragged about the balls. “We should probably set up some rules. Well, not rules, guidelines for the group and what kind of pranks we should do.”

“Yeah, but later. You don't want to get caught, right?” Bean tipped the bottle and the soap glugged into the pool and sank to the bottom. It took a while to pour out, but it just stretched around the floor of the fountain like a green ribbon of goo. The last squirt left a trail of bubbles on the top, but nothing that would impress anybody. Maybe it wouldn't work after all.

“Why don't you get in there and swish it around? That might speed things up,” Bean said. I took off my socks and shoes and rolled up my pants. I got into the fountain, and scooted through the cold, slippery piles of pennies. I sloshed my feet around, but it didn't really make any more bubbles.

“Try doing it faster,” Bean said. I did, but the water just sloshed around and soaked my pants. I heard Bean and Oliver giggling, and knew I'd been had.

“See you in the morning,” Frank said, and backed up into the darkness. Bean followed. I watched the green swirl around the bottom.

“Let's go, dude,” Oliver said. “Someone's coming.” I jumped out of the fountain and grabbed my socks and shoes. We ducked out of the fountain lights back into the bushes. We were totally hidden from the sidewalk, but anyone who stopped would see the tracks of my wet footprints leading right to us.

An old couple walked by, talking about whether they should throw a penny in the fountain and make a wish. The old man said he didn't have a penny, so the old woman asked him to check his pocket. Then she told him to check his other pocket. I worried that the fountain would start foaming up while they stood there looking for change, but after what felt like forever she believed him and they kept going down the sidewalk.

I got home with thirty seconds to spare.

 

15

Bubbles

I didn't see the fountain when I got to school. I didn't see it because it was covered in suds. A sparkly white pyramid stretched all the way to the top of the babies' pitchers. Some eighth graders were scooping out handfuls of bubbles and throwing them at each other like a snowball fight. Kids were trying to wrestle each other into the foam. A smallish kid I recognized from music class got pushed into the big jiggling mass of bubbles, and came out looking like a suds monster. Frank stood back with most of the rest of the school, admiring it from afar.

“Wow,” I said.

“Pretty crazy,” he said. “I wonder if there will be bubbles anywhere else today.” Quick as a blink he flapped his coat open like he just needed to make an adjustment, but I caught a flash of green in his inside pocket. “I'll see you in class. I need to go get a drink first.” Frank winked and cut through the crowd. I watched the bubble fight as more kids joined in. No matter how much they scooped out, it just kept growing. Hypnotic. I stood there until the bell rang.

Frank had been very, very thirsty. Bubbles grew in every drinking fountain on the way to class. That didn't stop anybody from pushing the silver buttons on the faucet to give them a little boost as they walked by. Each little squirt made the suds shake and grow, so that by the time I got down to my locker they overflowed and stretched across the floor. Rick stood at the end of the hall with his arms crossed beside the bucket and mop. He looked like a mad frog. Bean held her camera close to a drinking fountain and gave the button a couple of taps until the foam sloshed over the side.

“Margaret Lee. Come here.” Rick never yelled exactly. It didn't even sound like he raised his voice, but he could be heard over a crowd of kids like that. Bean swung her camera away from the fountain, but she caught some suds on her sleeve. She stared at Rick, and he stared back.

She was busted and she knew it. Rick held out the mop. I really wanted to watch Bean try to clean up soap, but the late bell rang and I ran into class. Bean came back scowling forty-five minutes later and slammed into the desk behind me.

“How'd you clean up the foam so fast,
Margaret
?” I whispered over my shoulder. She leaned forward. “Don't. Say. It. Again.” She smelled like dish soap.

“Say what?
Foam
? Oh, I get it. You don't want me to say
Mar
—ow, ow, OW! Fine.” Bean wiggled her fingers and a few precious strands of my hair fell to the floor. I turned around to give her my dirtiest look.

“You know, you aren't really growing on me,” I said.

“Sorry, sailor,” Bean said. I looked at her a little closer as she worked out an algebra problem. I was surprised that it hadn't occurred to me before, but I realized that she totally didn't care if people liked her or not. Honestly, it made me like her a little more. I still needed to get her back for yanking my hair, though. That hurt.

*   *   *

I don't know what Rick did, but by the end of the day the bubbles were totally gone. I turned a drinking fountain on after school, and there were zero suds. I watched the water run down the drain like normal. Hector leaned over my shoulder.

“What are you staring at?” he said.

“What do you use to clean up soap?” I asked him.

“What is that, a riddle?”

“No, it's just a question.”

“I don't know. Why don't you ask your new club?”

“What?” I turned around, but Hector had his head in his locker.

“Ab
surd
to
part a
stub.” His voice came out muffled. It looked like he'd stuck his face into his backpack.

“Dude, I can't even hear you. What are you doing, sucking out crumbs?”

Hector leaned out and glared at me.

“I heard that you started a club,” he mumbled.

“I did, well, Oliver and me. And a couple of other kids.”

“From our building?”

“No, from school.” My face felt hot, and I wished there was somewhere I needed to go. Anywhere.

“Uh-huh.”

“I didn't think you'd be interested, so I didn't mention it,” I said. Hector slammed his locker door.

“You're right. I'm not interested. What are you guys doing anyway?” My first instinct was to lie. I tried to think of something to tell him about what the club did, something he didn't like. I was close to saying the club made crossword puzzles or something when I remembered that we already had a cover.

“We're making pickles.” There's just
no
way to say that and make it sound cool. Maybe crossword puzzles would have been better.

“Really?” Hector threw his backpack over his shoulder. I waited. “That sounds like the last club in the world anybody would join.” He laughed and my stomach sank a little. I had my fingers crossed that he wouldn't ask to join, but I kind of wanted him to
want
to join. If he had, I might have said yes.