Riley Mack Stirs Up More Trouble (2 page)

“Well, as I've said, I hope you'll come back in two weeks to help us judge the talent competition,” said Mr. Paxton. “It'll be part of our Grand Reopening Gala when we finish renovating all the greens and fairways.”

Totally bored, Riley glanced out the big bay window and watched a mustard-yellow backhoe—half trench-digger and half bulldozer—rumble across a rolling lawn he wouldn't want to mow. It would take, like, a week. Maybe a month.

“In thirteen days, the golf course will reopen,” Mr. Paxton droned on, “and that Saturday night, we'll be hosting the year's biggest banquet followed by the annual All-School All-Star Talent finals.”

“Busy Saturday.”

“
Nyes
. We hope to raise a good deal of money so we can send golf balls to our brave men and women serving overseas.”

“Excuse me?” said Riley's mom.

“We're calling our gala celebration Greens for the Army Green. Tickets to the banquet and show will cost five hundred dollars apiece.”

Riley nearly whistled, but he didn't want to earn an under-the-table shin kick from his mom.

“All proceeds will go toward sending golf equipment overseas to Afghanistan, which, if you ask me, is just one giant sand trap.”

That was Mr. Paxton trying to make a joke.

“Um, my husband is serving over in Afghanistan.”

“
Nyes
. So I heard. Chick Chambliss, head of country club security, has told me all about Colonel Richard Mack.”

Riley's mom, who was decked out in her flowery Sunday-best dress, shot Riley a grin and a wink.

Mr. Paxton didn't realize that Chick Chambliss was Riley's godfather #24. When Riley was born, his dad had asked every guy in his unit to stand up for his son at the baptism, which took place at the base chapel over in Germany.

“I understand your husband is a decorated war hero?” said Mr. Paxton.

“He's won a few medals,” said Riley, proudly.

“Well, Mrs. Mack, as I've said, I'd love for you and your son to be my guests at the banquet and for you to be one of the celebrity judges for the talent competition. General Joseph C. Clarke has already agreed to participate.”

“But, Mr. Paxton, I'm not a celebrity.”

“Poppycock. You're the wife of a war hero.”

“Well, I'm not sure I . . .”

Mr. Paxton reached into his sport jacket and pulled out a thick envelope.

“To help you say yes, the Brookhaven Women's Auxiliary has put together a little package. There are coupons in here for hairstyling and a ‘mani-pedi,' plus a one-thousand-dollar gift certificate from the Posh and Panache Dress Boutique on Main Street.”

“Wow,” said Riley. “Awesome swag, Mom.”

“But, Mr. Paxton, I'm still not sure I'm qualified to judge talent . . .”

“Just follow Tony Peroni's lead.”

“The wedding singer?”

“
Nyes
. He handles the preliminary rounds at the local schools.”

“He's coming to Fairview Middle tomorrow,” added Riley.

“Are you in the contest?” his mom asked.

“No way. But Briana is.”

“Oh,” said his mom, looking worried. “Is that okay? Briana Bloomfield is a family friend.”

“That's fine,” said Mr. Paxton, flashing his toothy smile. “Ms. Bloomfield may not make it to the finals.”

“Oh, she will,” said Riley. “She's wicked talented.”

“Is that so? Well, it won't really matter if your young friend is one of the contestants, Mrs. Mack. The show's all done in good fun.”

“Um, I thought the winner got, like, a ginormous college scholarship,” said Riley, because Briana had told him she “really, really” needed to make it to the finals and win because her earthy-crunchy parents weren't what anybody would call rich. Without the All-School All-Star Talent Scholarship (and a few others), Briana Bloomfield would have an extremely hard time paying for college.

“
Nyes
. That's right. I believe there's a ten-thousand-dollar grand prize.”

This time, Riley
did
whistle.

He also felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket.

“Well, Mr. Paxton, I'd be honored . . .”

While his mom and Mr. Paxton went over the details of her judging duties, Riley slipped his smartphone out of his pocket and checked the text that had just come in from Briana Bloomfield.

EMERGENCY! S.P. PLANNING TALENT SHOW SABOTAGE!!!

Riley quickly tapped out a reply.

PP 2 P.M. ROUND UP THE GANG.

PP was short for the Pizza Palace, the spot on Main Street where Riley and his crew always met to strategize.

S.P. was Briana's abbreviation for Sara Paxton—the meanest girl ever to attend Fairview Middle School.

Sara was also the daughter of the country club president—the man sitting across the table from Riley eating booger-covered eggs.

A LITTLE BEFORE 2:00 P.M.,
Riley and his good friend Mongo biked over to Main Street to meet up with Briana, Jake, and Jamal—Riley's whole crew—at the Pizza Palace.

Mongo's real name was Hubert Montgomery, but he was so gigantic (bigger and stronger than any seventh grader at any middle school anywhere in the known universe), everybody called him “Humongo” or Mongo for short. In fact, he was so huge that when he pedaled his bike, his knees came up to his chin.

“So what's the emergency again, Riley?”

Mongo also had trouble remembering stuff.

“Briana has uncovered a plot by Sara Paxton and her gal pals to sabotage their competitors at the school talent show tomorrow.”

“Is Sara the one who always calls me Butt Munch?”

“Yeah.”

“She's pretty.”

“Yeah,” said Riley. “Pretty horrible.”

Riley and Mongo locked their bikes to the rack outside the Pizza Palace and strode through the front door.

“Hi, guys,” said Vinnie behind the counter. “The usual?”

“Sure,” said Riley. Vinnie slapped one slice into the oven.

“You want a whole pie again, Mongo?”

“No thanks. I just ate lunch.”

“How 'bout three slices of Meat Lover's, then?”

“Perfect!”

The guys paid and carried their greasy slices and cold drinks to the rear of the restaurant.

A wrinkled old lady was sitting in their usual booth.

Suddenly, the saggy-faced granny started waving at them, windmilling both her arms over her head. “Psst!” she hissed. “Riley! Mongo! It's me!”

Riley grinned. Briana Bloomfield was a master of all things theatrical, including disguises.

“Hurry up, you guys!” Briana was flapping her arms at her sides now. “Sit down! This is so-o-o-o-o
horrific
!”

An extremely talented actress, Briana Bloomfield made everything she said come out with italics and exclamation points.

Riley scooted into the booth beside Briana. Mongo squeezed into the bench across from them. Tilting his head, he was staring at Briana the way a confused puppy stares at a human who says stuff it can't understand.

“Are you going to be a witch next year for Halloween?” Mongo asked.

“This? Nuh-unh. I was in my bedroom, practicing my old-age makeup in case I get cast in a summer stock production of
Arsenic and Old Lace
or something when school's out. Pretty awesome, huh? I did it with latex. You wad up crinkled Kleenex, then pour on the liquid plastic to make the wrinkles. And then I added in shadows and lines and junk with greasepaint, found the right wig, padded out this potato-sack dress, and voilà! I am
totally
a little old lady.”

Mongo nodded like he understood.

“Dag, is that your grandmother, Riley Mack?”

Jamal Wilson, a wiry African American fifth grader, strolled up to the table. With extremely nimble fingers (which he used to do magic tricks and to crack open locks for fun), Jamal was the youngest and newest member of Riley's crew.

“It's me, Jamal!” whispered Briana.

“Really?” He scooted into the booth next to Mongo. “You need to stay out of the sun, girl. You've got more wrinkles than a box of raisins.”

“It's my new makeup.”

“Well, in that case, you need to go back to the store and demand a refund. Because—I'm just being honest here, Bree—your new makeup makes you look ancient, antiquated, and antediluvian.”

Jamal also liked to memorize new words from the dictionary every day. Riley figured he had circled back to the
A
s.

“Do you know what those words mean?” Jamal asked Briana.

“Yep. Old.”

“Sorry I'm late, guys.” Jake Lowenstein, his hands stuffed inside the front pocket of his dragon-print hoodie, shuffled up to the table. “Mr. Holtz asked me to swing by school and help him wire things up in the auditorium for tomorrow's talent show. He never remembers how the microphones work. Or the light board.”

Jake, who was the crew's technogeek–slash–electronics-and-computer wizard, scooched into the booth next to Riley.

“So what's up with Sara Paxton?” Riley asked, now that his team was fully assembled. “Is she really trying to bump you out of the competition by sabotaging your act?”

“Not
me
,” said Briana. “This is way worse. Sara, Brooke, and Kaylie are out to crush the fifth graders!”

“Which ones?” demanded Jamal, the only fifth grader currently seated at the table.

“Staci Evans and that bunch. Six of them are doing this dynamite roller-skating act that's absolutely
fabtastic
! I saw them rehearsing it on Friday.”

Jamal nodded. “I helped choreograph a few of their smoother moves.”

“So what makes you think Sara wants to sabotage the roller skaters?” asked Riley.

“Okay, this is way weird. I was in my bedroom, working on my makeup like I said, when I got this text. From Sara!”

“Interesting.”

“Yuh-hunh. I figure it was a mistake because I'm still in her phonebook or whatever.”

Riley knew that, last year, in the sixth grade, Briana had been Sara Paxton's “fourth musketeer.” But, the instant seventh grade started, Queen Bee Sara and her two other “best friends forever,” Brooke Newton and Kaylie Holland, had turned on Briana and made
her
their primary target.

“So, what'd the text say?” asked Jake, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Hang on,” said Briana as she pulled her iPhone out of the baggy hip pocket of her granny dress: “‘MEET ME AT SKATE TOWN. NOW! IT'S TIME FOR OUR COMPETITION TO HAVE AN ACCIDENT.'”

“SO, ANYWAY,” SAID BRIANA, “SINCE
I was already in disguise and everything, I decided to head over to Skate Town and spy on them!”

Skate Town was a small shop on Main Street that specialized in skates and skating gear. Roller skates, rollerblades, and skateboards in the warm months; hockey skates and figure skates in the cold ones.

“What'd you find out?” asked Riley.

“Two things. One: this is an absolutely amazeriffic disguise. Nobody knew I was even in the store. I spent most of my time flipping through Spandex pants on a circular rack. Two: Sara, Brooke, and Kaylie were
totally
flirting with Disco Dan, the high school dude behind the counter—you know, the one who never buttons the top three buttons of his shiny shirt?”

“Did you hear what they were talking about?”

“Nun-unh. Just a bunch of giggles from the girls and ‘Right on!' from Disco Dan. He is
so-o-o-o
stuck in the seventies. His hair is sproingier than a full-blown Chia Pet. And who wears purple-tinted sunglasses—
indoors
?”

“Okay,” said Riley. “We need to check this out. Jake? How late is Skate Town open?”

“Hang on.” Jake swiped his fingers across the glass face of his smartphone. “According to their website, they're ‘open Sundays till six.'”

“Excellent. It's time to put together our countersabotage response.”

Mongo raised his hand. “Um, Riley, don't we have to figure out what Sara and the mean girls are going to do before we can stop them from doing it?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, whatever it is,” said Jamal, “I'm sure it is foul and heinous. You know what that means?”

Riley just shrugged because he knew Jamal would tell him.

“It means Sara Paxton and her associates are up to some kind of chicanery. You know what
chicanery
means?”

“The same thing as heinous?” said Mongo.

“No!
Chicanery
means ‘dirty tricks'! Sara Paxton and her posse are attempting to steal this talent competition from people with talent!”

“Which would be everybody except them,” said Briana.

“Okay, Briana?” said Riley. “Head home. Get out of your costume and makeup. We may need some voice work this afternoon.”

“Who am I gonna pretend to be this time?”

“Don't know yet. Jake? Take Jamal over to your house, get things up and running in the basement.”

“No problem. My parents are both at their offices.”

“Sweet. Mongo?”

“Yeah?”

“You and me are heading down to Skate Town to run a reconnaissance mission.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“Look big and strong.”

“Oh. Okay. I can do that.”

Riley glanced at his watch. “It's two fifteen now. Let's reconvene at Jake's place at three thirty.”

“We must cause this heinous chicanery to cease!” said Jamal.

Riley shrugged again. “Works for me.”

Riley and Mongo hurried up the street, past the diner and Mister Guy's Pet Supplies.

“You know,” said Mongo, “I didn't think we'd be so busy this week, seeing how it's the last week of school and all. I was kind of hoping we could spend our afternoons chilling up at Schuyler's Pond. It's so hot out already.”