Phineas L. MacGuire...Gets Cooking! Read online

  “The question is, which ones will the judges like best?” Ben scratched his chin. “How does a recipe judge think? I like the pizza brownies a lot, but they need one more element. Something else that will really make them stand out.”

  “We could make them explode,” I suggested.

  Ben jumped about five feet in the air. “Exploding Pizza Brownies! Fantastizoid! Incredibaloo! Yes, Mac! Yes!”

  I’m pretty sure he liked the idea.

  I liked it too. I liked it especially when I thought about a brownie exploding right as Evan Forbes was about to take a bite.

  Ben thumped me on my back. “You’re a genius, Mac. I’ve always said it.”

  “But I don’t actually know how to make exploding brownies,” I told him. “That could be a problem.”

  “How hard could it be?” Ben said with a shrug. “You mix in a little of this, a little of that, and whammo! Exploding brownie! Easy peasy.”

  “Maybe if we added bacon to the brownie mix, we could have sizzling brownies,” I said. “Sizzling is almost as good as exploding.”

  “Sizzling and exploding are two entirely different things,” Ben argued. “Still, you might have a point. A little bacon in our brownies could really make the flavor pop.”

  Okay, so maybe our brownies wouldn’t explode, but they could definitely pop. Popping was a step in the right direction.

  I just hoped Evan Forbes liked bacon.

  chapter eight

  The routine goes like this. I get off the school bus in the morning with a brown paper bag full of brownies. Instead of going directly into school, I look around to make sure no one is paying attention, and then I take a sharp right, then a sharp left, and walk twenty feet down an alley to the Dumpsters behind the cafeteria. Then I wait for Evan Forbes to show up.

  The Dumpsters are the stinkiest part of the school. I don’t mind stinky stuff as much as other people do, because bad smells are a sign that some science is happening. In fact, spending so much time around the Dumpsters got me thinking. So why does stuff stink in the first place?

  Here is what my research has turned up:

  1. Stuff that stinks is usually stuff you shouldn’t eat. So stinkiness may be nature’s way of telling you to stay away so you won’t eat something and immediately croak.

  2. Some stinky things are actually okay to eat, like Limburger cheese, which stinks because of the bacteria that’s used to make it. It’s called Brevibacterium linens, which is the same bacteria that makes people stink if they haven’t taken a shower in a while.

  3. Just because it’s okay to eat Limburger cheese doesn’t mean I’m going to.

  4. I mean, have you ever smelled that stuff?

  5. A lot of stinky stuff is in the process of decomposing. Tissues are breaking down and bacteria are eating everything they can get their hands on, which produces the gas that makes us plug our noses.

  6. Bacteria are responsible for a lot of the world’s stinkiness.

  So maybe I’m being bullied into making brownies every day, but at least I’m getting to learn some interesting new science facts.

  On Monday I stood by the Dumpsters, holding a bag with a dozen marshmallow brownies. I hoped Evan liked marshmallows. When I heard someone walking down the alley toward the Dumpsters, I automatically started worrying that Evan Forbes hated marshmallows, and my stomach started hurting like crazy because I thought this might be the day that he finally clobbered me.

  It was only a matter of time.

  “Mac?”

  The voice was familiar, but it wasn’t Evan’s.

  Mr. Reid came around the corner of the Dumpsters. “What are you doing back here, Mac? This area is off-limits to students.”

  “I was—uh—I was—just waiting.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “For a friend of mine.” I held out the bag. “I wanted to give him some of the brownies I made this weekend. Me and Ben are working on a recipe for this contest. If we win, we’re going to each get five thousand dollars. I was thinking I might use my five thousand dollars to buy a chemistry set. Do you know anything about chemistry sets, Mr. Reid? Because I sure could use some advice—”

  Mr. Reid cut me off. “Whoa there, Mac! Your mouth is going a hundred miles an hour, and I still can’t figure out what you’re doing here. Why would you meet a friend behind the Dumpsters to give him brownies?”

  I couldn’t think of an answer.

  “Well?” Mr. Reid said.

  “I like how it smells back here?” I said.

  Which, you have to admit, was not a total lie.

  Mr. Reid gave me a concerned, grandfatherly type look. “Mac, what’s going on? I saw you out here once last week too. Is there something you want to tell me about?”

  I wanted like anything to tell Mr. Reid about the Evan Forbes brownie situation. There was only one problem: I also wanted to live to be ten.

  A lot of grown-ups will tell you that if you have a problem, you should tell an adult that you trust. Adults are there to help you. And I pretty much believe this, except in situations where someone will probably kill you if you tell.

  I mean, what are the grown-ups going to do? Put Evan Forbes in jail? No, he’s a kid, and all they’ll do is talk to him and maybe make him stay after school for a week. And he’ll make a big deal about how sorry he is, and how he’ll never bully another kid again, and then guess what?

  He’ll clobber me.

  Finally I came up with a big lie to tell Mr. Reid. “The thing is—and I kinda know this is against the rules—but I’m playing this spy game with some kids? And the brownies are like a cover? And this is one of our secret spy ring meet-up places?”

  “You don’t sound too sure of yourself, Mac,” Mr. Reid said, looking doubtful.

  “I guess I’m just worried I’m going to get in trouble.”

  Mr. Reid seemed to think about this. “I’ll tell you what, Mac. I won’t take you to Principal Patino’s office this time, but I don’t want to find you out here again. Is that understood?”

  I nodded. “I promise.”

  “Then run on inside,” Mr. Reid said, smiling, like everything was okay now.

  But everything was definitely not okay. First of all, as I walked back up the alley to the front of the school, Evan Forbes showed up.

  “Hey! Where are you going with my brownies? I thought I told you to meet me at the Dumpsters. Well, hand ’em over, dude. And tomorrow, wait until I get here. Understood?”

  “I can’t,” I told him. “Mr. Reid caught me standing there. He says he’ll take me to the principal’s office if he catches me again.”

  Evan grabbed the bag from me. “That’s your problem, Big Mac. See ya tomorrow.”

  I slumped against the side of the building. I felt really, truly awful. I was lying to everybody, I was either going to get clobbered or sent to detention, and it was starting to look like I was going to have to give Evan Forbes brownies for the rest of my life.

  I closed my eyes. “What am I going to do?” I asked out loud, like I hoped the wall would give me some advice.

  When I opened my eyes, Aretha was standing in front of me. “I don’t know, Mac. What are you going to do? I can tell you one thing—you need to do something, and fast.”

  I stared at her. “How much do you know?”

  “Everything, I think.” She glanced to her left, and then to her right, like a character in a spy movie. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you, Mac. It’s never a good thing when Evan Forbes starts paying too much attention to a kid. I figured he was up to something, so I’ve been spying.”

  “I don’t even know how I got into this mess,” I told her. “Two weeks ago my life was completely normal.”

  We started walking to the front of the building. “Yeah, you definitely have a problem, Mac,” Aretha said. “An Evan Forbes–size problem.”

  “So what do I do about it?”

  “You meet me and Ben at the jungle gym at recess. With my great brain, your scientific kn
ow-how, and Ben’s creativity, we’ll figure something out.”

  And just like that, my stomach stopped hurting.

  chapter nine

  We found Ben dangling upside down from the top bar of the jungle gym.

  “Jeez, Mac,” he said when Aretha and I explained the situation. “Epic fail on the number one rule in the The Big Book of Best Friend Rules, buddy.”

  “Uh, the what?”

  “The Big Book of Best Friend Rules. Keeping a secret is the number one no-no.”

  “I didn’t know there was a Big Book of Best Friend Rules,” I said, climbing up to the top and taking a seat next to him.

  Ben tapped his head. “I keep it all up here. Rule number one: no secrets. Rule number two: best friends stick together, even if it causes bodily harm.”

  Aretha pulled herself up so she was dangling from the bar across from me. “I bet if you stood up to Evan, he’d back off. My mom says that most bullies are all talk.”

  “And so what if he punches you?” Ben added. “He’s not going to punch you every day for the rest of your life. I predict three days’ worth of punches, tops. Then it’s over and you go back to your regular life.”

  “This isn’t making me feel better, guys.” I leaned back and looked at the sky. To the west, I saw a bunch of nimbostratus clouds, which meant it would probably rain later.

  I thought it was sort of awesome that I knew that fact.

  “I wish I could just do science all the time,” I told Ben and Aretha. “I wish I didn’t have stupid problems that I don’t know how to solve.”

  “I know! Maybe you should think of Evan Forbes as a scientific challenge!” Aretha said, her voice all of a sudden excited. “You formulate a question, do your background research—”

  “Construct a hypothesis,” I continued, “test your hypothesis through experiments, and then analyze your data and draw a conclusion.”

  “And then eat a doughnut,” Ben finished up. “Because what you guys are describing sounds like a lot of work. You’re gonna need a doughnut when you’re done. Probably one with frosting and sprinkles.”

  “What we’re describing is the scientific method,” Aretha informed him. She pulled herself up so she was sitting on top of the jungle gym and turned to me. “So what’s the question you’re going to start with?”

  I thought about it for a minute. “How about, ‘What’s the best way to stop a bully from bullying you?’ ”

  Aretha nodded. “That’s good. Now, how about research?”

  “I could read some articles on the Internet,” I said. “And maybe ask Mrs. Patino and Mr. Reid. They’ve probably seen a lot of bullies over the years.”

  “You could ask other kids, too,” Ben said. “Everybody’s got at least one story about somebody being mean to them.”

  “Yeah! Remember how you were mean to Chester Oliphant at the beginning of the school year?” I asked Ben. That was back in the days when Ben was new to the school and acted like he didn’t care if anyone liked him or not.

  Ben’s face turned red. “I don’t want to think about that. It’s sort of embarrassing.”

  “But it could be helpful to our research!” Aretha exclaimed. “Why were you so mean to Chester?”

  “I don’t know,” Ben said with a shrug. “I was just acting all stupid and stuff. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Later, during social studies, Ben passed me a note. When I unfolded it, I saw he had written in big letters at the top of the paper: FOR SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH ONLY. READ AND DESTROY!

  Then there was this list that was titled “Why I Was Stupid and Sort of Mean When I First Moved Here.”

  1. I was scared other people would be mean to me first.

  2. Everyone was sort of ignoring me.

  3. Chester Oliphant is the only kid in our class shorter than I am.

  4. I missed my dad.

  Ben’s list gave me an amazing idea. I could put together a questionnaire and give it to all the kids in my class. It could be questions for kids who had been bullied and questions for kids who’d been bullies. Most of the kids in my class were pretty nice, but looking around, I saw one or two who were friendly now, but had been sort of mean in second or third grade. Also, there were girls like Stacey Windham, who could be super nice to her friends one day and then totally ignore them the next day. Why couldn’t she be nice every day?

  All of a sudden I felt better than I had in forever. That’s the great thing about science, in my opinion. When you take the scientific approach, instead of sitting around all day feeling rotten about a problem, you look it straight in the eye. You ask questions. You get to the bottom of things.

  I was copying down the homework assignment, when a question popped into my mind. What would happen if I told Evan Forbes I wasn’t going to bring him brownies anymore?

  My hypothesis? I’d get clobbered.

  But here’s the weird thing: My next thought was, maybe I should do an experiment.

  Maybe I should tell Evan Forbes no.

  My stomach started hurting just by thinking that. But it didn’t hurt as bad as it usually did when I thought about Evan. The thing about me and Evan Forbes was, we were like a colloid. We were two things that didn’t really mix together unless you forced them to. We were mayonnaise. We were whipped cream (which, in case you’re wondering, is a gas dissolved into a liquid). We were gelatin (solid dissolved into a liquid, FYI).

  Now, some things when you force them together turn out okay.

  And some things, like me and Evan, are a disaster.

  Scientifically speaking, I was pretty sure it was time for us to go our separate ways.

  Okay, then. When I got home, I’d do the following:

  1. Come up with a list of questions about bullying to hand out to all the kids in my class.

  2. Brainstorm all the horrible things that could happen to me if I stopped giving Evan Forbes brownies.

  3. Come up with a deadline for no longer giving Evan Forbes brownies.

  4. Try not to think too much about getting clobbered when I stop giving Evan Forbes brownies.

  5. Make dinner.

  I thought about the stuff I could make for dinner. I could make hamburgers and salad, or waffles or spaghetti. I could try a new recipe, liked baked chicken and mashed potatoes.

  I leaned back in my chair, starting to get hungry as I pictured all the good things we could eat that night.

  And that’s when I got my craziest idea ever.

  I could invite Evan Forbes over to eat. I could do my scientific research in the comfort of my very own home.

  That’s too crazy, I thought. Besides, what would be the point? So Evan Forbes could bully me in front of my family? So he could find things to make fun of, like Margaret’s potty training chair that Sarah kept parked in front of the TV?

  And then this funny picture came into my head. Remember that day Evan got held back at lunchtime because he hadn’t turned in his homework? I’d sort of forgotten about it, but all of a sudden I remembered how his face looked when I turned around, like he was about to cry.

  Maybe Evan Forbes wasn’t so tough after all.

  I’d invite him over and see if I could find out.

  chapter ten

  Evan Forbes sounded confused when I called him that afternoon.

  “You want me to do what?”

  “Come over to my house for dinner,” I said, my voice sounding sort of squeaky. “I’ll be cooking. I mean, you seem to like my cooking a lot, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess—I mean, no! I mean, you’re such a dweeb, MacGuire! People don’t go over to other people’s houses for dinner!”

  “You mean your family never goes to anybody else’s house to eat?”

  “My parents work late every night. My nanny makes me dinner.”

  Evan Forbes had a nanny?

  “You have a nanny?”

  “Well, she used to be my nanny. Now that I’m older, I guess she’s my—I don’t know. Whatever you call someone who ta
kes care of you and drives you around and stuff.”

  “Your assistant?” I thought Evan might like the sound of that.

  He did.

  “Yeah, my assistant! That’s it. She’s kind of like my assistant and my personal chef. She cooks dinner every night. So why would I eat dinner someplace else?”

  I had to think about that for a minute. “Because it’s interesting to try new and to see how other people live?”

  Evan snorted. “You think I want to see how a dweeb like you lives, MacGuire? You’re totally gonzo.”

  “I’m a pretty good cook,” I halfway lied. I was pretty much a brownie expert by now, but other stuff? Not so much. “What kind of stuff does your assistant make for dinner?”

  “I don’t know,” Evan said. It sounded like he was stalling. “You know, frozen stuff that you microwave. Pita pockets. Chicken nuggets.” He paused. “What are you making for dinner tonight?”

  “I was thinking about some baked chicken and mashed potatoes.”

  “And biscuits?”

  I could practically hear Evan sniffing the air, like the smell of biscuits was coming through the phone.

  “Yeah, sure,” I told him. “I could try some biscuits.”

  “Okay, whatever,” Evan said. “I’ll be there at six. But it better be good, MacGuire!”

  As soon as I hung up the phone, I yelled for Sarah. “I need help!”

  Sarah rushed into the kitchen. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself?”

  “Worse! I need to make biscuits, and I don’t know how!”

  Sarah grinned. “Have no fear! My hundred-year-old granny was a champion biscuit maker. I know all the tricks.”

  “Really?” I couldn’t believe my good luck.

  “No, not really. My grandmother’s sixty-four and never cooked a day in her life. But my dad makes biscuits for breakfast on Sundays. It’s easy peasy.”

  After that, Sarah started bossing me around. Get the flour! We need baking soda and baking powder! Don’t forget the salt!