Prank List by Anna Staniszewski

Author:Anna Staniszewski
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks, Inc.
Published: 2014-05-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

Right before class starts on Saturday, I remember that Marisol insisted I measure all the students for the fashion show. I sigh and reluctantly pull her hot-pink measuring tape out of my bag.

“Um, Whit?” I say, deciding to get the worst over with first. “Can I, um, measure you?”

He looks surprised for a second. Then he grins. “You want to see how big my muscles are, don’t you?” He flexes his arms like a bodybuilder. It makes me want to smack him.

“It’s for the fashion show! My friend is making aprons for everyone. Cherie told us about it, remember?”

He chuckles, clearly loving seeing me all flustered. I grit my teeth and tell him to get into the position Marisol showed me. Then I measure him as fast as possible as he keeps grinning the whole time, like I’m secretly enjoying every second of it. Yeah, right.

I write down the measurements and then quickly go through the other people in the class, trying not to die from embarrassment at having to touch them.

Finally, I get to Mr. Leroy. When I explain what I need, he shakes his head. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll be going to the Bake-Off.”

“What? But you have to! Everyone else is going. We’ll have music and stuff. It’ll be fun.”

“I’m sure it will,” he says. “But it’s the anniversary of my wife’s passing. I think I’ll spend the day thinking about her, instead.”

I suck in a breath. “Oh.” Suddenly, I feel terrible. Of course he wouldn’t want to spend the day doing something like that when he still misses his wife like crazy.

“It’s all right,” he says, patting my hand. “You kids have fun. I’m sure you’ll win the whole thing.” He gives me a big wink.

“Thanks,” I say.

As I go back over to my table, I groan inwardly as I see that Whit’s set up shop next to me. Even though we get to work alone today, I bet he’ll still be criticizing everything I do.

When class starts, I’m looking over the recipe for today’s chocolate-dipped cannolis when Whit leans over and says, “So how did your plan to thwart the Ladybugs go?”

I shrug like it’s none of his business and start measuring out ingredients. Who even uses words like “thwart,” anyway?

“Okay, fine,” Whit says after a minute. “I promise not to look over your shoulder while we’re making the cannolis if you tell me what happened. Deal?” I don’t know why Whit is so interested in this whole saga—maybe it’s better than listening to my nonsensical nervous babbling—but I’m willing to milk it for all it’s worth.

“Deal,” I say. As we get our materials ready, I tell him about how we succeeded at planting evidence in Angela’s room and how the Ladybugs got back at us with the flyers. I don’t mention “stealing” Angela’s shirt since that feels more like Marisol’s secret than mine.

As I talk, my voice shakes with anger. I’ve never seen my mom so sad for so long, not even after my dad left.

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