Troublemakers Read online

  “Can’t your mom get a paternity test?” I asked Byron.

  “Yeah,” said Tina. “She should call Maury.”

  “See, that’s what I said!” said Byron. “But it turns out you can’t make people go on Maury. He’s not an official government authority.”

  “He should be,” I said.

  It was around this point when Tina closed her left eye, gave thumbs-up with both hands, and rattled her tongue back and forth in her mouth like “lublublublublublub.” It went on for a while.

  “What are you doing?” asked Principal Caldwell.

  “Lublublublublublub,” said Tina.

  “Tina! What are you doing?”

  She stopped.

  “I’m… you know… I’m black….”

  “Yes,” said Principal Caldwell. “I am also black.”

  Tina looked very confused. She thought for a moment, then sighed with recognition.

  “You’re telling me there is not a secret thing among all black women where if I signal double thumbs-up, close one eye, and make fish sounds, you’ll know I’m cool and let me off the hook?”

  “No, there is not a secret thing like that.”

  Tina nodded, as though the future were inevitable.

  “I’m gonna set my cousin’s sneaker collection on fire,” she muttered.

  “What’s so frustrating is that you guys could have real potential if you applied yourselves. Tina, you’ve done well on your science projects. And Carlos, you’re very articulate. You display real leadership qualities that—”

  “What about me?” asked Byron.

  She thought.

  “You… have great penmanship.”

  “Nice,” said Byron, sitting up a little taller.

  “Why are you so desperate to get rich? Have you even thought about what you’d actually do with a bunch of money?” she asked.

  “Buy a McLaren 570 GT,” I said.

  “And then?”

  “Learn to drive it!” shouted Tina.

  “You three are delusional,” said Principal Caldwell, shaking her head.

  “Thank you,” said Byron.

  “It’s not a compliment,” she said.

  She closed our files and put her glasses back on.

  “I’m not going to suspend you this time, but from now on, there are going to be real consequences for any money-making schemes during or between classes. Understood? I don’t want to see you in my office again.”

  “Okay, so… next time we’ll meet somewhere else?” said Byron.

  She sighed. She sighs a lot when we’re around. But that caper was already old news. We had a new problem to focus on, and it was big.

  __________

  The Situation At Hand

  Back in fifth grade, we had the same class all day long: same teacher, same desks, same annoying classmates. Only time we even got out of our chairs was for lunch and P.E. Then we got to sixth grade, and we had seven different teachers to contend with. Now, after only one semester, they were switching it up again. I wish all these administrators would realize that the problem isn’t how they do school, but the fact that school is boring at its core. I say replace it with a series of internships where we can learn on the job while building our personal brands, though sadly my mom says she’s not gonna take me to school board meetings anymore if I keep hogging the microphone.

  The latest idea from LAUSD to try and get us to learn: block scheduling. Studies say it improves retention blah blah blah they’re messing with the schedule. Instead of having seven 42-minute classes in a day, we’d have only four classes, with each one like an hour and a half, and we’d switch class schedules every quarter instead of every semester.

  To accommodate this new scheduling, Carver would be introducing tracks. Students would be divided into two groups based on aptitude, and all your classes would be in your particular track. The smartest kids would go in Track 1, with the rest in Track 2. Third quarter was gonna look like this:

  Track 1: Math, Reading, Science, P.E. & Health.

  Track 2: Math, Reading, Social Studies, Art & Music.

  Then in March, we’d flip for fourth quarter. Everyone would be taking a big test to determine which track we’d be in for the block scheduling, which started in January.

  “Wow,” said Tina as they explained this to us in homeroom. “It’s a shame I won’t be in class with you guys anymore since I’ll probably ace that test.”

  “Please don’t pretend like you’re going to take it,” I said. “We are absolutely finding a way to cheat.”

  “No way am I spending nine whole weeks having to sing,” said Byron.

  We weren’t even allowed to do cool stuff in art class anymore since the clay bomb incident. For those of you who aren’t ancient Pueblo First Peoples, the way you make pots is by molding them from clay and then putting them in a kiln where the teacher heats them up overnight and they get hard. You have to smooth out the clay, because if there are any air bubbles, they’ll pop in the kiln. Therefore, we engineered a big pot that looked normal but had a secret three-inch air bubble hidden in the middle. It exploded, sending clay everywhere, meaning everyone else’s Mother’s Day gifts were impaled by shards of our pot. We were caught because we loudly bragged to everyone.

  Cheating on the test was definitely the way to go; it would ensure we avoided art and music and got to run around for an hour and a half three days a week, spending the other two watching videos about our changing bodies. Plus, we’re such bad students, we’d probably get found out and moved down to Track 2 after a quarter, meaning we’d get to have P.E. again for fourth quarter.

  The old middle school schedule was very conducive to cheating; you just needed someone from an earlier period to take a quick picture of the test, and then you had all of lunch to get the answers ready. But this would require deft maneuvering: a big exam that took up multiple periods and was being taken by everyone at the same time while every teacher watched. We were experienced cheaters, but our methods weren’t always sophisticated.

  Usually, we just got by with guessing on Scantrons and using eftees. Do you know about eftees? It’s when you have a true/false question, and you don’t know the answer, so you make a capital T that also has a little line in the middle, so it looks like something halfway between a T and an F. The teacher is usually grading so fast, they’ll just give you the benefit of the doubt and count it right. I’ve only made it to sixth grade through a heavy reliance on eftees.

  That wouldn’t work here. No Scantron, no true/false, and a completely new test no one had seen before. But it wasn’t a problem. I had a genius, flawless, foolproof plan that couldn’t possibly fail.

  __________

  The Plan

  I explained my proposal after school as we feasted on our haul from playing “Hi, Grandma.” That’s a game where you wander the halls of an old folks’ home and say “Hi, Grandma!” to every old lady you see. (I usually handle “Hola, Abuela,” since I have the Latin market cornered in this group.) Roughly three out of ten times, after a fifteen-minute chat, you’ll be given candy or money with which to buy candy. It’s really a win-win: we get candy, and they get a polite visit from what they think is their grandchild. It’s basically the same thing as the Peace Corps.

  “Trade me your butterscotch ones for my Red Hots,” said Byron as we huddled on my bedroom floor.

  “What’s wrong with Red Hots?” asked Tina.

  “Not worth the risk,” said Byron. “I forgot to brush my teeth before my mom came home last time. She asked why my mouth was red, so I had to pretend it was bleeding. Now I gotta see the dentist again.”

  “Okay, so here’s the deal,” I said. “Test cheating plan, version C.”

  “What were versions A and B?” asked Byron.

  “A involved drones, and B involved nanotechnology. Both require more R&D. Anyway, the test is next Friday, which means we have eleven days to enact this plan. Tina, the first step is all yours: you need to visit the office tomorrow morning.�
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  “Do I have to throw up?” she said. “Because that’s usually Byron’s job.”

  “No,” I said. “Part one of this plan is that you join the water polo team.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I’m a tremendous athlete, so that shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Didn’t you get a D in P.E. first quarter?” asked Byron.

  “Mr. Peterson and I had a small disagreement over what counts as running. Also, I tried to strangle Armando with a juggling ring. And I went 0-for-47 from free throws. And I still haven’t brought gym clothes from home. He hates me. The system is rigged.”

  “You just need to be on the team the day before the test,” I said. “Whenever they have a game or match or whatever on a Friday, they leave school an hour early. The test takes up the last three periods of the day next Friday, meaning they’ll miss it – so, as they always do, they’ll take it the day before, on Thursday afternoon. If you’re on the team, you’ll be there. So, Tina gets in, steals the test, and then bails on the water polo team without finishing the exam. She’ll have to take it with us the next day, but we’ll have already seen the questions, so we can pass it with flying colors.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” said Tina.

  “Wait,” said Byron. “Our school has a pool in it?”

  “Apparently,” I said.

  “Where?”

  “I don’t know. Tina, find that out.”

  “If there’s a diving board, I’m gonna do crazy double flips and stuff,” said Byron. “I saw the Olympics; it doesn’t look that hard.”

  We were set. All Tina had to do was play water polo for a week and a half without screwing it up….

  __________

  A Complication

  I admit, I fully expected Tina to get herself kicked off the team after like one practice, which would be quite a feat, since it’s middle school and they have to let everyone play who wants to, but I definitely didn’t see this one coming.

  On Tuesday, Tina showed up to school early and joined water polo. She brought a suit and everything; they let her participate in drills the first practice. The plan was going smoothly. Then: radio silence. We didn’t hear a word from her for the next two days. No calls, no messages – nothing. She steered clear of us in the hall and sat on the other side of the room in class. She didn’t even join us after lunch to hide in the library and play Brickles because we’re scared of getting beat up by eighth graders. Totally froze us out.

  We didn’t know what was going on until Byron and I were leisurely strolling down the hall before school, surveying the sixth grade for anyone who wanted to trade the math homework for a ROM-hacked pen that could fire its cap all the way across the room at blistering speed. We stopped in our tracks when we saw Tina and the water polo girls, in their gray sweatshirts, hair messy and wet from an early-morning swim.

  “Don’t get your tag caught again, Tina!” shouted a white girl with a ponytail.

  “Shut up, dinglehopper!” yelled Tina, pushing her.

  They all laughed hysterically, and then a big Mexican girl shouted “Pea-nuts!” and they all yelled “Dunk turds!” I assume that relates to water polo somehow. I was dumbfounded.

  “Oh, my jibbley,” I said. “She likes it!”

  It was true. Tina enjoyed being on the water polo team. We followed her to practice, and sure enough, there she was, laughing and hustling with the other girls. It actually made a lot of sense: Tina has a good deal of aggression, and this is a sport where you can shove people underwater and pelt them in the face with the ball. She was already in the starting lineup.

  “It’s actually nice to see her at her full potential,” said Byron.

  “She’s a traitor,” I said. “She’s gonna mess up the whole plan.”

  Eventually, she spotted us because we were yelling at her. She got out of the pool and walked over, dripping wet, forcing a smile.

  “Hey, guys,” she said. “Thanks for coming to support me.”

  “You’re bailing on us, Richard the Third,” said Byron.

  She looked around to make sure no one could hear, then whispered:

  “Look, I didn’t expect to like this so much, but it’s really fun, and all my teammates are super nice and supportive. I love competing. It’s like I was born for this.”

  “But you’re still gonna quit next week, right?” asked Byron.

  “I can’t. Next Friday’s match is super important for us to get a good seed in the playoffs. I gotta take the test a day early so I can go.”

  I thought for a moment, dreaming up the wittiest retort I could muster. But before I could think of anything, someone called to Tina.

  “Oh, scrimmage. Gotta go. Bye.” She ran off and jumped into the pool and threw vicious elbows at her new friends.

  “She does look really happy,” said Byron.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I guess this is what she really wants, even if it doesn’t fit with our plan.”

  We realized the right thing to do. We had to destroy her life and get her kicked off the water polo team to force her to help us cheat.

  __________

  We Ruin Tina’s Life

  Look, we’re not malicious people. It’s just that sometimes, you know what’s best for someone more than they do; I find myself in that situation a lot. And when that happens, you may have to crush that person’s dreams for the greater good. Therefore, we needed to sabotage Tina’s newfound popularity so she’d go back to being a part of our posse.

  “Okay,” I said to Byron at lunch. “Quickest way to get her off the team is to get all the other girls to turn on her. What do water polo girls hate?”

  “Us?”

  “Yeah, but if they were gonna hate her for hanging out with us, they’d have done it already.”

  “Gender roles,” said Byron. “They hate gender roles.”

  “Perfect! Okay, what do we know about that?”

  Byron sported a confused look. He tentatively spoke.

  “It’s not….”

  He stopped, bashful.

  “Go ahead and ask,” I said.

  “It’s not a food, right?”

  “No, Byron. It is not a food.”

  We gathered some information from the Internet about traditional gender roles and why violent girls aren’t in favor of them. We then wrote a detailed social studies essay with Tina’s name on it in which she proclaimed that women belong in the home and that men always know what’s best because their brains are bigger. All we had to do was swipe Tina’s paper from the pile, replace it with this one, and she’d be revealed as a part of the patriarchy and sworn enemy of feminism….

  Unfortunately, we spent more time on Tina’s fake paper than we’d ever spent on one for ourselves. Byron was convinced we’d done such a good job that it was a shame to waste this paper on Tina, so he put his own name on it and turned it in. The yelling-at he received lasted so long we only had about three minutes left in class to learn stuff that day.

  I felt it prudent to take matters into my own hands and find a suitable replacement who could fill Tina’s role. There were plenty of girls on the water polo team, and there had to be one who wanted to be in Track 1 with us. Plus, I’m super suave. I know women. I know what they want to hear. All I had to do was put my moves on them, and we’d be golden….

  Unfortunately, the girls on the water polo team have terrible social skills and don’t seem to understand when someone’s being charming. Four girls shoved me into lockers, three used foul language I won’t repeat here, and one said she’s not on the water polo team, she just woke up late and didn’t have time to dry her hair that day. Apparently, it’s a big insult to assume a girl plays a sport she doesn’t play, although I’m not sure why; I’d be thrilled if someone told me I looked like I could beat the crap out of people in a pool. The point is, my way with words didn’t sway any of them; probably didn’t help that I didn’t know their names.

  Byron came up with the idea that it was best to just forego a third participan
t in the scheme, and he should be the one to do it, so he joined the water polo team. Not the guys’ team, because our school doesn’t have a boys’ water polo team after a series of juvenile poop-related pranks.

  But, if you want to get technical about it (and I always do), there isn’t actually a rule that states a boy can’t join the girls’ team. In fact, there are no published guidelines of any kind regarding who can join. They probably just assumed no one would ever try it, since any boy who did would then become the laughingstock of the entire school, and middle school kids are about one notch below grizzlies with road rage on the viciousness scale, but they were wrong. They never counted on us.

  Since Byron has no shame whatsoever, I pretended to be his dad on the phone and threatened a lawsuit unless he was allowed to participate. The office ladies did not want to deal with me, so they said he could go ahead and show up if he wanted; you can get a lot done by being so annoying, no one wants to deal with you.

  All Byron had to do was play water polo with some girls for a week, and there’d be no trouble….

  Unfortunately, the girls on the water polo team had their own thoughts about Byron’s pathetic attempt to join them, and after his first practice on Friday, he spent the afternoon at the hospital and showed up to school on Monday walking a little funny and carrying a round cushion with a hole in the middle.

  “What’s the donut for?” I asked.

  “It’s for my young’uns,” he said. “It may not have been the smartest idea to join a team where people can kick underwater and I’m the only one with a wiener.”

  “I heard they pummeled you until you cried,” I said.

  “That’s a lie,” he said. “I was crying way before they started pummeling me.”

  “Did Tina join in?”

  “She offered instruction and support while the other girls decimated my biscuits.”

  “So you’re gonna quit?”

  “Why should I? This way, I can sit on the bench while on injured reserve. I don’t even have to get in the pool. If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them I’ll play again after my boy bugle stops hurting every time I move or breathe.”