Dead Possums Are Fair Game Read online

  “They’re beautiful.” I felt a twinge of guilt for being angry she’d taken over my bathroom. After all, she’d done it so she could do something nice for me.

  She pulled out the elephant photograph and laid it on top. “I remember this elephant in particular. She had a young calf with her who was absolutely adorable. Just loved to play in water.”

  I picked up the elephant photo. “You know, Aunt Willa, you kinda burst my bubble when you told me all the math you have to use with photography.”

  “Sorry about that. But you need to reset your expectations, Ella Bella. The reality is there’s not a job out there that doesn’t use math. Some use it more than others, but it’s everywhere.” She gave my shoulders a squeeze. “The good news is, I know you can do it.”

  I was quiet for a minute or two as I examined her photos. “It must be fun to take pictures for a living.”

  She sat on the bed and fluffed the pillow. “It is and it isn’t. Sometimes the pictures I take aren’t fun at all. Sometimes they’re of very sad and tragic things like war, famine, and other injustices.”

  “Why do you photograph stuff like that?” I asked.

  “Well, just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean you can ignore it and hope it goes away.” She leaned against her pillow. “One of my favorite quotes is by Edmund Burke. He said, ‘All it takes for evil to succeed is for good men to do nothing.’ Part of my job is to help make good people aware of evil and injustices so they can do something about it.”

  It was close to ten o’clock by the time we finished and cleaned up everything. Between the crying and staring at a computer screen, my eyes felt like sandpaper. As I closed them to try to sleep, I thought about Aunt Willa’s favorite quote. I kept hearing her voice: just because you don’t like something doesn’t mean you can ignore it and hope it goes away. Her words struck a chord with me. It wasn’t the girl talk I’d imagined we’d have when I first learned she’d be staying with me, but it felt more important. Even though I was still a little mad at her, I was glad she was around.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  APPREHENSION

  ap·pre·hen·sion

  noun ap-ri-hen-shǒn

  —fearful expectation or anticipation

  The next morning at the playground, I pulled Jonathan aside. “There’s something I need to tell you.” I hung my head and rearranged the gravel with my shoes.

  “What?”

  “Chewy ate your thumb drive,” I said and then bit my lip.

  “He what?”

  “He ate your thumb drive,” I repeated. “But we got him to throw it up again by feeding him my mom’s meatloaf.”

  Jonathan’s face contorted to an odd combination of amusement and shock.

  “My aunt ordered another Incredible Hulk thumb drive last night to replace yours—but please tell me there wasn’t anything else on it besides the spreadsheets.”

  He thought for a minute and then shook his head. “Nope. This was my first school project since I got it.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. “I am so sorry, Jonathan. That dumb dog eats everything.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I think it’s funny you fed him your mom’s meatloaf to make him throw up.”

  “You haven’t tried it,” I said.

  He laughed and started to walk off.

  I grabbed his arm. “Wait. That’s not all.”

  Jonathan raised his eyebrows.

  “He ate the spreadsheets, too.”

  “But they were saved on the thumb—”

  I put both hands up. “It’s okay. My aunt and I redid them. I just didn’t want you wondering why the spreadsheets I had today weren’t the ones you did yesterday.”

  He shrugged. “As long as we have them, I don’t care who did them.”

  “Thanks for being so nice about the whole thumb drive and spreadsheet mess.”

  He smiled. “No problem.”

  The bell rang for the start of the day and we headed to Ms. Carpenter’s room. During math time, as the class assembled their projects, Ms. Carpenter told us both our principal, Mr. Morris, and the librarian, Mrs. Gottry, were going to be the judges. “They will choose one Best of Show project from the whole fifth grade. Everyone in the winning group will receive a trophy and a free ice cream sundae at Peghiny’s Ice Cream Parlor,” Ms. Carpenter said.

  Peghiny’s Ice Cream was the best in the world. They had some of the craziest flavors I’d ever heard of, like Pink Mud Pie, Alien Gloop, and my personal favorite, Banana-Coco-Choco-Loco. Any prize from Peghiny’s was a prize worth fighting for.

  “It’s hard to believe tomorrow’s the big day,” Jonathan said, looking around the classroom. Glue bottles, markers, scissors, scraps of construction paper, poster boards, and foam core displays littered the desks and floor.

  Tomorrow.

  It could spell the beginning of the end of my summer if things didn’t go well. I had no crazy expectations about the judging. One group in our class, whose topic was fractions, was bringing in pizza to share. I also heard the division group was going to be using Hershey bars as part of their display. Our photographs were awesome, but how could we possibly compete with pizza and chocolate?

  Jolina followed my gaze toward the fractions group.

  “Everybody does pizza with fractions. And if they don’t do pizza, they do apples or pie. It’s way too predictable,” she whispered. “They may have the math lesson down, but I doubt they’ll score high creativity or originality points. Their display doesn’t look much fun, anyway.”

  “I don’t know,” said Jonathan. “Free pizza? I mean, holy cow! That’ll make fractions fun for anyone!”

  Lucille giggled. “Don’t you mean whole-y cow? Get it? Whole-y? As in whole.”

  I gave Lucille a blank stare. Obviously I wasn’t the only one affected by all the math.

  Our display was a large tri-fold board of foam core into which I had poured all my creativity and energy. I had cut it to look like a giant tombstone and was meticulously gluing down letters to spell out MORTY’S MATH MEMORIAL across the top of the board. The twelve beautiful photos Aunt Willa had given us were lined up perfectly under the words. And under each photograph was the spreadsheet listing the animal’s average life span in different time units ranging from seconds to years. I had to admit, it was kind of fun to discover that a Galapagos land tortoise lived, on average, 5,581,872,000 seconds.

  The surprise prop Jolina brought was perfect. It was a stuffed opossum her mom found at the toy store. Jolina placed it on its back and arranged its paws to hold a small ball.

  Lucille traced her finger around the edge of the board. “I’m so excited! I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep tonight. It’s a good thing the math fair is first thing in the morning, or I’d go nuts waiting!”

  “I know what you mean,” I said, rubbing the glue from my hands. “Only I’m more nervous than excited. I mean, two test grades? That still freaks me out.”

  Jolina stood up the board. “You have to admit your feelings about math have changed a little, though, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, a little, I guess. But that doesn’t mean I don’t worry about something as major as this. All my summer fun rides on this project!”

  Jonathan picked up the stuffed opossum and tossed it back and forth in his hands. “If you’re going to worry about something, Ella, worry about Harry. He’s in the same group as Jimmy and Jean-Pierre and their topic is estimation. Last I heard, Jean-Pierre will be taking bets on the number of Triple-Fire Fireballs Harry can eat within a two-minute period—without throwing up, of course—and Jimmy is going to write everyone’s estimations down. The student who’s closest will get to take home a bag of Fireballs!”

  We all turned to look at the daring Fireball trio. The title of their booth said it all: HARRY’S TRIPLE-FIRE FIREBALL ESTIMATION EXTRAVAGANZA. The boys were huddled around their booth, leaning over a bowl as Jimmy dumped in bright red candy from a large bag. Harry took a pie
ce, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth.

  “What’s he doing? Practicing?” Jolina asked.

  I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head. “With Harry, you never really know.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  HEIMLICH MANEUVER

  Heim·lich ma·neu·ver

  noun hɪm-lik mǎ-noo-věr

  —a first-aid procedure in which the abdomen of a choking victim is pressed inward and upward in order to assist in dislodging food or other obstructions from the esophagus

  Early the next morning as I got ready for school, Aunt Willa stopped me and gave me a big hug.

  “Your mom and dad and I will be at the awards ceremony. I want you to know I’m so proud of you, your team, and all the effort you’ve put into the math fair. No matter what happens, you should be proud of yourself.”

  She slid a small bag of gummy bears into my hand and winked. “Just in case you get hungry. I know they’re your favorite.”

  “Thanks.”

  I ate a couple gummy bears on my way to school and shared some with Jolina and Lucille at the back gate. Then I shoved the rest in my pocket to save for later.

  Inside the classroom, Ms. Carpenter clapped her hands to get our attention.

  “Okay, listen up. We need to get started with the math fair. Teams, push your desks together so they form a table for your displays and props. Once your booth is set up, two members need to man it. The other members can walk around and look at the displays in our class and in the other fifth-grade classes as well. In an hour, team members need to switch places.”

  It took ten minutes for everyone to get set up. Lucille and I decided to take the first shift manning the booth. Jolina and Jonathan left to check out the other classes’ projects.

  Before long, we were hearing cries of “ahh … so cool” and “awesome” from kids visiting our booth. We had a box of paper, pencils, and calculators so students could figure out how old they were in the various time units. I figured out I was 5,765,760 minutes old at the time the math fair officially began. I also figured out I had to have the pencil stuck in my cast for 50,400 more minutes.

  Right next to us, Jimmy and Jean-Pierre surveyed those who stopped by HARRY’S TRIPLE-FIRE FIREBALL ESTIMATION EXTRAVAGANZA and wrote down everyone’s guesses. Lucille and I checked out their display when no one was visiting our booth and gave Jimmy our estimations. I think Harry was waiting for the judges to arrive before he actually started eating the candy.

  About twenty minutes later, Mr. Morris and Mrs. Gottry began their judging. Armed with clipboards and pencils, they moved around the room, visiting with everyone and marking their score sheets. They stopped by the fractions booth and got slices of pizza, then went to division for a Hershey bar dessert. It would be a while until they reached us.

  Ms. Carpenter had also started grading presentations and was making her way in our direction. My palms felt sweaty and I kept cracking my knuckles.

  “Ella, stop that. There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Lucille said under her breath.

  I shoved my hands in my pockets and discovered my bag of gummy bears. Lunch wasn’t until after the awards ceremony and the smell of pizza was making me hungry. We weren’t allowed to eat candy in class unless Ms. Carpenter had given it to us. But this technically wasn’t class. It was the math fair. I logically concluded I could eat without breaking any rules (in theory). I grabbed a handful of the gummy bears and shoved them into my mouth.

  Big mistake.

  No sooner had I started to chew than Ms. Carpenter turned down the aisle toward our booth. What if she didn’t agree with my theory? What if she thought this was still class? I didn’t want to get stuck with a detention when the school year was practically finished. I quickly tried to swallow the wad of gummy bears, but they had turned into a humongous slimy ball inside my mouth and got caught in my throat. My eyes widened with panic as I realized I couldn’t breathe. I grabbed Lucille’s arm, pointed to my throat, then put my hands around it in the choking sign.

  “Oh no!” Lucille exclaimed. She rushed behind me, wrapped her arms around my stomach, and shoved her fists in and up, dislodging the globular mass of gummy bears.

  I watched in horror as a slimy half-chewed confectionary cannonball soared through the air and splattered across our display.

  “Ella, are you okay?” Lucille asked.

  I felt absolutely mortified and just wanted to hide. As I stared at our display, my eyes widened. Globs of slobbery gelatin slid down the front, leaving multi-colored trails of saliva and sugar through the beautifully typed charts. Numbers became unreadable as they bled into each other. Pieces of cherry, lemon, orange, and lime gummy bears had been spewed across Aunt Willa’s beautiful photographs.

  Right then and there, I gave up on my dream of a perfect score and thus a tutor-free summer. I had blown it, not only for myself, but for my whole team. Single-handedly, I’d managed to destroy our project.

  I looked at Lucille and whispered, “I’ve ruined it.”

  “And you thought I would be the one to make it messy!” she said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  DISTRAUGHT

  dis·traught

  adjective di-strawt

  —greatly upset with grief or worry

  Lucille stared at our display as if in a trance. She seemed as shocked as I was at what just happened. Any points we would’ve scored for good craftsmanship and tidiness flew right out the window. Tears filled my eyes. I fought hard to keep them from falling down my cheeks, but some managed to escape anyway.

  Ms. Carpenter must have seen what happened because I felt her hand on my shoulder. “Ella, sweetie, please don’t cry. It will be okay. Really, it will. Let’s get some paper towels, and I’m sure it will be fine,” she whispered.

  Lucille snapped out of her trance and went to grab a handful of paper towels. I gently blotted at the display board, trying to avoid smearing the ink even more, all the while feeling heavy with guilt. Lucille and Ms. Carpenter tidied up the table and picked up gummy globs that had fallen to the floor.

  “Well, let’s see what you’ve got here,” said Mr. Morris, arriving at our board. He peered over his glasses and leaned in for a closer look. He quickly drew back. “Oh my.”

  “Gracious,” Mrs. Gottry whispered. Even when she was shocked she still whispered.

  Ms. Carpenter motioned Mr. Morris and Mrs. Gottry aside. They talked quietly to each other, nodded, and then moved on to HARRY’S TRIPLE-FIRE FIREBALL ESTIMATION EXTRAVAGANZA.

  Ms. Carpenter wasn’t making a big deal out of my catastrophic candy mishap and the destruction of our display. This made me believe she was the world’s best teacher. I felt embarrassed enough already without the whole class turning their attention our way.

  Ms. Carpenter stepped back and looked over our display. “Well,” she paused. “It doesn’t look that bad.”

  “It doesn’t look bad,” I said. “It looks terrible!”

  Ms. Carpenter opened her mouth to say something, but just then Jimmy shouted, “Watch out! He’s gonna blow!”

  We turned around in time to see Harry, his face bright pink, spewing bits of chewed up Fireballs high into the air. He looked like an erupting human volcano. Mrs. Gottry took cover behind Mr. Morris, and Mr. Morris took cover behind his clipboard as small Fireball pieces rained down.

  Ms. Carpenter cried out in horror, grabbed the trashcan, and shoved it into Harry’s arms. He bent his head over the can and threw up the rest of the Triple-Fire Fireballs.

  “You never learn, do you, Harry?” Ms. Carpenter sighed. She patted him on the back and asked Jimmy to grab him a cup of water.

  “This probably disqualifies us from the Best of Show award, doesn’t it?” Jimmy asked.

  Mr. Morris and Mrs. Gottry nodded, but I could see Mr. Morris’s shoulders shaking as though he were trying hard not to laugh.

  Between Harry’s human volcano and my giant gummy bear loogie, there was more food flying through the air than du
ring a cafeteria food fight.

  Brushing bits of sticky candy from his clipboard, Mr. Morris and Mrs. Gottry left to judge the booths in the other classes. “See you at the awards ceremony,” Mr. Morris said to Ms. Carpenter on his way out the door.

  “We can’t wait,” Ms. Carpenter said excitedly.

  It didn’t seem right that my teacher was so happy when just moments earlier I had sealed the deal for my team to get a lousy math grade. With all the damage done, I didn’t see how Ms. Carpenter would be able to grade it. I glanced at Lucille. She still looked pretty upset. What was I supposed to say to her? Somehow “sorry” didn’t seem like enough.

  When Jonathan and Jolina returned to take their turn manning our booth, their jaws dropped.

  “What happened?” Jolina squawked.

  Before I could explain, Harry came up behind me, draped an arm over my shoulder, and said, “Oh man, you should’ve seen it! It was awesome. Stuff was flying everywhere.”

  “You should talk!” I replied angrily, shrugging his arm off my shoulder.

  He looked at me and smiled. It wasn’t a mean smile, just a dorky, amused one. He actually thought this whole thing was funny! That it was entertaining! I couldn’t believe it. I glared at him and walked away from the whole group. I wanted to be alone and have a good cry. I went where I always did for a sob session—the girls’ bathroom.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CLIFFHANGER

  cliff∙hang∙er

  noun klif-hang-ěr

  —a contest whose outcome is in doubt up to the very end

  The way I saw it, I had ruined my chances of a fun-filled summer and had also humiliated myself in front of everyone. But worse was the fact my friends would probably never speak to me again. It wasn’t just me who would get a failing grade for the math fair; they would, too.