my mom last night.”
“She did?” I gulp.
“Yup, she did.” Rachel purses her lips.
“What did she say?”
“Well, she told my mom about the concert.” She puts her finger to her chin. “Oh, and she might have also mentioned something about us buying our own our own tickets, and how it would be a great opportunity to teach us some responsibility.”
“Responsibility?” I say closing my eyes. “Oh no, don’t tell me …”
“Yeah,” she blurts out, “I have to buy my own ticket, too.”
“Sorry,” I say, secretly relieved that we’re both in the same boat. “My mother … you know how she is. Sometimes she can be so … motherly.”
“That’s okay,” Rachel says, hunching her shoulders. “We’ll figure something out.”
Suddenly, we hear the familiar cackle of Scarlett Hastings. She’s coming down the hall with Anika and Missy, who are her “yes-girls.” They trail behind her everywhere she goes and agree with everything she says. She pushes them around constantly, but they never seem to notice.
Strutting towards us, the three of them look like they’re auditioning for America’s Next Top Model.
“The bell rang you know,” Scarlett snarls, flicking her long, glistening, black hair over her shoulder. On cue, Anika and Missy follow suit with the stupid hair flick. As usual, they are on either side of Scarlett; they look like a couple of hair-flicking bookends.
“After school. My house. Planning session,” Rachel says with a quick nod, as she turns toward her classroom.
“Planning session? Ewwww, sounds serious!” Scarlett says, rolling her eyes. “Spill,” she demands, flashing the fakest smile ever.
We both know better than to tell Scarlett anything, especially this.
“It’s none of your business Scarlett,” Rachel replies.
“None of my business?” Scarlett raises an eyebrow. “As if I actually care,” she huffs.
“Well you asked,” I say under my breath.
“Whatever the two of you are up to, I’m sure it’s …” she pauses a second and narrows her eyes, “um … totally lame.”
“Lame,” Anika adds with a nod.
“Yeah, totally,” Missy adds, looking confused.
“Well, it’s been fun, Scarlett, but we have to get back to class,” I say.
“Whatever …” Scarlett yawns, walking away, motioning for the bookends to follow.
* * *
After school we head over to Rachel’s house to devise our plan.
“Hey, would you girls like a snack?” her mom asks as we come in the kitchen. “I just got back from the grocery store so there are lots of goodies in the fridge.” She points to their massive refrigerator.
“Goodies?” I whisper to Rachel.
“They’re goodies to her,” she whispers back, grimacing.
So, we fix ourselves a snack of fat-free, organic brown rice cakes smothered in 100 percent natural, unsweetened, sodium-reduced, organic peanut butter. Then we pour ourselves two tall glasses of low-fat, organic chocolate soy milk — all of this as close to junk food as Rachel’s mom will probably ever get.
Upstairs in her room, Rachel has a big easel with a roll of paper attached. She tears off her most recent Josh Taylor original, and pulls down the torn edge of the paper to reveal a clean, new page. She takes the cap off a purple Sharpie and writes OPERATION JOSH TAYLOR across the top.
“What do you think?” she asks.
“Perfect!” I say, beaming. I can’t believe how easy this is going to be! I mean it’s only been like a minute and we already have the perfect name for our plan. This is going to be a breeze!
Rachel turns on her radio. “What next?”
“What next?” I ask, confused.
“Any ideas?”
“Well, my idea was to call you. Now it’s your turn.”
“Well, I thought of the name!” she says.
“Okay, but, hello … I tried to come up with a plan already and the only one I could think of was to call you.”
“Well, what about a hunger strike?” she says, jokingly.
“Are you serious … a hunger strike? Do you even know me at all?” I ask, shoving the last bite of peanut-butter-smeared rice cake into my mouth.
“Oh yeah,” Rachel replies. “Hey, what about grandparents?”
“Nope, already warned not to go there.”
“I know — we could start a lawn-mowing service!” she says, pushing an imaginary lawn mower around her room.
“Lawn-mowing?” I look at her in horror. I can’t believe that she, of all people, could even consider such a thing. She knows the last time I tried to mow a lawn was a disaster!
Let me explain. Earlier this month, after probably an hour’s worth of very lengthy safety instructions on how to properly operate a lawn mower, my dad finally let me try it out. I started the mower perfectly, and went on to mow a nice straight line. I must say, I was pretty proud of myself. All that changed, though, when Rachel’s mom drove by and Rachel stuck her head out of the car window. I just let go of the mower for a split second to wave to her when the thing went crazy and took off across the lawn, kind of zigzagging right toward my mother’s brand-new car. I tore off across the yard after it like a maniac. Lunging forward, I almost had it in my grasp when suddenly I felt my foot roll over my soccer ball. As I flew through the air, it felt like everything was going in slow motion. Then, with a sudden smack, I landed face-first into my mother’s flower garden, which was planted a long the edge of the driveway. As I pried my face from the dirt, the sound of the slicing mower blades and the roaring motor became almost deafening. I whipped my head around, horrified, to see that out-of-control-beast-of-a-mower heading straight for me. If you ever had a moment when you saw your life flashing before your eyes, I’m sure you can relate, because, this was my moment. Suddenly, I felt two arms locking under mine, pulling me out of the flower patch. Just as I managed to twist my head around to see that it was Rachel who was rescuing me from certain death, the sound of high-pitched, ear-splitting screams drew my attention back to the garden, and to my mother, who, at that very moment, had returned home from her run just in time to see the charging-beast-of-a-mower, which
