Riley Mack Stirs Up More Trouble (6 page)

Riley closed his eyes and knocked on the locker room door. “Okay, we have your costume. Jake texted your mom so you won't have to ride home on the bus.”

The door creaked open an inch.

Riley passed Briana the dress.

“Thanks, you guys,” said Briana. “Give me a second.”

“Take all the time you need,” said Riley as he, Mongo, Jake, and Jamal formed a human wall outside the door.

“So, Riley,” whispered Jamal, “did Briana really hang with Sara and that bunch back in the day?”

Riley nodded.

“Was she mental?”

“What can I say? She was young.”

“She was also, you know, confused,” added Jake.

“Yeah,” said Mongo. “I get that way sometimes, too. Especially during math class.”

Riley remembered when he and Briana had first become friends. All through elementary school, Briana Bloomfield had hung out with Sara Paxton, Brooke Newton, and Kaylie Holland, who—according to everybody except Riley—were the coolest, prettiest, most popular girls in whatever school they attended.

But the minute seventh grade started, Briana's three “BFFLs” turned against her and started calling her Flaky Wakey and Gork Girl. Over the summer, the Mean Girls of Fairview Middle School had decided that they were way too mature to hang out with artsy-fartsy Briana Bloomfield.

Riley had known she would need new friends. So he became the first.

The locker room door opened. Briana stepped out in a puffy-sleeved, floor-length gown trimmed with fake fur and gold ribbons.

“Come, noble Sir Robin,” she gushed to Riley, trying to hide her hurt under another make-believe character. “Wouldst thou and thy band of merry men kindly hie me hither to my mother's carriage?”

“That's from the show!” said Mongo.

“Um, not really. I'm kind of improvising here.”

“You're good, girl,” said Jamal. “It's like we're in Sherwood Forest—and I don't mean the subdivision out by the mall!”

Riley, Mongo, Jake, and Jamal created a box formation around Briana and walked her out of the building to the parking lot.

“Thanks again, you guys, for finding my costume.”

“No problem,” said Jake.

“Did you want the pointy pink princess hat with the streamer?” asked Jamal. “If so, I can . . .”

“Nope.”

“Well, school's out in four days,” said Jake, trying to make Briana feel better.

“That's right,” said Riley. “This time next week, we'll all be swimming in Schuyler's Pond.”

“Booyah!” said Mongo.

“Schuyler's Pond?” said Jamal, who hadn't been on Riley's crew last summer. “Where's that?”

“It's our secret swimming hole,” said Jake. “We typically go there at least once a week, June through August.”

“Schuyler's Pond is so secret,” added Mongo, “nobody even knows it's there except my dad, who's the one who told me about it. And, I guess Schuyler, whoever he was. He probably knew about his pond, too.”

“We'll go there,” said Riley, who knew Briana needed more than a pep talk. “After we make sure Briana is in the talent show finals at the country club.”

“Um, Riley—I totally missed the audition!”

“So?” said Riley, with a crafty twinkle in his eye. “I have a funny feeling that you're going be Tony Peroni's wild-card pick.”

“Really?” said Mongo. “How's that gonna happen?”

“I'm not sure. But, don't worry—I'm working on it.”

THE LAST WEEK OF SCHOOL
flew by in a blur.

Sara, Kaylie, and Brooke were still giggling at Riley, especially during lunch in the cafeteria. And on the school bus. And in homeroom.

Riley could not have cared less.

Because, by Wednesday, he had hatched his counterattack.

“I call it Operation Granny Smith,” said Riley.

On Thursday night, his whole crew was assembled in Jake's basement, where their parents thought they were studying for the “
final
final” of the school year.

“Does your plan involve apples, Riley Mack?” asked Jamal. “If so, there are other varieties with much more interesting names than Granny Smith. For instance—Jonalicious, Geeveston Fanny, and Fukutami.”

“Whoa,” said Briana. “Have you switched from memorizing the dictionary to memorizing the encyclopedia?”

“No. I have not ‘switched.' I enjoy spending time with
both
. Did I also mention that I've been working up a new card trick this week?”

Jamal pulled out a deck of playing cards.

“Jamal?” said Riley. “Can we maybe check out the new trick later? We've got work to do.”

“Sure thing, Riley Mack. Yo, Jake. What's that in your ear, man?”

Jake rolled his eyes as, once again, Jamal reached into Jake's raised hood and came out with a quarter.

“Wow,” said Mongo. “It's like Jake's head is a Coke machine.”

Riley just sighed. “Jake, roll out the floor plans.”

“On it.”

He cleared away a table covered with memory boards, hard drives, capacitors, wire cutters, and soldering irons so he could spread out several sheets of paper that looked like blueprints.

“I printed out a blowup of the architectural schematics from the Brookhaven Country Club's most recent renovations. The interior designers had the plans posted on their website.”

“The drawings are five years old,” explained Riley, “but there have been no major changes to the layout in that time.”

Riley tapped a large rectangle labeled
THE CRANBROOK BALLROOM
. “Okay, this is where the Smith–Oliverio wedding will be taking place on Saturday.”

“The whoozeewhatsit?” said Briana.

“The wedding that Tony Peroni is singing at,” said Jake.

Riley draped his arm over Jake's shoulder. “A wedding where our man Jake Lowenstein just happens to be on the technical crew.”

“I'm just helping out Mr. Holtz.”

“Which means we have an inside man.”

“For what?” said Mongo.

“Briana's audition.”

“Huh?” said Briana. “You expect me to audition for Tony Peroni in the middle of somebody else's wedding reception?”

Riley grinned. “No. At the start.”

“Two p.m.,” said Jake. “Sharp.”

“You guys, no way is the wedding singer going to let me sing the first song at the reception.”

“Oh, yes he will,” said Riley. “Because you'll be saving his butt.”

“Really? And how exactly am I going to do that?”

“With your karaoke machine. You still have it, right?”

“You bet,” said Briana, excitedly. “Remember when I won it?”

Riley shot her a wink. “How could I forget? Jake?”

“Yeah?”

“Swing by Briana's house before Saturday. Pick up her karaoke box.”

“How about tomorrow night?” suggested Briana. “You could stay for dinner. We're having tofu burgers. Again.”

“Cool,” said Jake. “It's a date.”

When he realized what he'd just said, he gulped.

“I mean I'll be there.”

“Excellent,” said Riley. “While Jake sets up your karaoke machine inside the Cranbrook Ballroom, we need to get you into the club and up to the stage. How much cash do we have in the till?”

Mongo pulled open a file cabinet and checked out a mayonnaise jar stuffed with coins and wadded dollar bills.

“Five dollars and fifteen cents,” he reported.

Riley reached into his jeans and pulled out a crinkled fifty-dollar bill. “Add in this.”

“Whoa, Riley Mack,” said Jamal. “That's your flash cash.”

Riley had kept the fifty-dollar bill his grandparents sent him for Christmas two years ago. It was the money he pulled out whenever he needed to convince people that he had money.

“You can't put that in the jar, man,” said Jamal.

“This is an emergency,” said Riley, slipping his bill into the jar. “Briana needs to take a taxi to Brookhaven on Saturday so she looks like she belongs at the country club.”

“That's never easy,” said Jamal. “Trust me. Those snooty-patootie preppy types aren't big on drop-in visitors.”

“Well, this is a wedding,” said Riley. “The country club will be crawling with nonmembers. To blend in, you'll need to put on your old-age makeup again.”

“Oh-kay,” said Briana.

“You're Granny Smith. Which one is Smith again, Jake?”

Jake clacked a couple keys on his computer. “He's the groom.”

“Right. You're the groom's grandmother. Nobody's going to stop a little old lady tottering down the hall with a corsage pinned to her chest. You'll need a different old-lady dress. Something blue, since you're with the groom.”

Briana's eyes brightened. “I'll swing by the thrift shop. And I can make a corsage with flowers from my mom's garden and a glue gun.”

“Excellent. I'll go in with you, Briana. In case anything goes wrong.”

“You better wear a snappy jacket and tie,” said Jamal.

“Don't worry, I've got one.” Riley tugged at his collar, remembering how tight his tie had felt the last time he wore one. “I'll also need a box because I'm going in as a Smith kid—a niece or a nephew or a cousin. I'm lugging a huge wedding gift for my frail grandmother. The box needs to be big enough to hide my face in case Chick Chambliss is on duty.”

“Who's this Chambliss character?” asked Jamal.

“Head of country club security. Used to be in my dad's outfit. Knows me. Knows my face.”

“So we should find some shimmering silver paper and wrap up an empty cardboard crate from, like, a microwave oven!” said Briana.

Riley nodded. “I like it. We need to gain access to the club by one forty-five. Then, you duck into the ladies' powder room here.” Riley tapped another box on the floor plan. “Where you change out of your granny getup.”

“I could wear my real costume under my granny sack!” said Briana.

“Perfect,” said Riley.

“But, um, what exactly am I going to sing?”

Riley turned to Jake. “Jake?”

“Well, according to their official wedding website, Casey Smith and Michele Oliverio list ‘Colour My World' by Chicago as ‘our song.'”

“Then that's what they'll want for their first dance,” said Briana.

“Really?” said Jamal. “Are they old-school or what?”

“It's a classic. I already have the karaoke version in my machine.”

“Good,” said Riley. “See if you can dig up a sing-along disc of ‘Make Me Merry, Mary—Marry Me!'”

“But that's Tony Peroni's big hit.”

“I know. He'll need your help to sing it Saturday.”

“Um, how come?”

“Because his piano player won't be showing up till
three
.”

“Wait. You said the reception starts at two.”

“Yeah. But we want to give the wedding guests the high-class entertainment first: the song stylings of Miss Briana Bloomfield. Besides, somebody's gonna call Tony Peroni's piano player with bum information about the start time.”

“What? Who would do that?”

“Tony Peroni, himself,” said Riley, with a wink. “Better known as Briana Bloomfield.”

ON SATURDAY MORNING, RILEY, JAKE
, and Briana were back in Jake's basement.

Riley's mom would be working at the bank all day. Jake's parents were both at their offices (again). Briana's mother and father encouraged her to “blossom wherever she was planted” so, basically, she didn't have all that much parental supervision most weekends.

“I've rigged up this phone to emulate the number Tony Peroni uses in his GigMasters listing on the web,” explained Jake as he handed Briana a cell phone, which had a black wire dangling from it. “That acoustic coupler will feed your voice into this pitch modulator, so I can make your voice go deeper, to match Peroni's.”

“You just have to concentrate on matching his style and pacing,” said Riley.

Briana put the voice changer's headphone over one ear and held the phone up to the other. “You mean like this, baby. Perfect. Beautiful. Sincerely. I mean that.”

“Awesome,” said Riley. “Jake, place the call.”

“What's the piano player's name again?” asked Briana.

“Greg Wu.”

“Got it.” Briana held up her hand to let the guys know the call had rung through. “Greggy, baby? Yeah. Tony. Beautiful. Slight change of plans this afternoon. Right. The wedding gig at Brookhaven Country Club. Seems the groom wanted to catch a little extra TV this morning . . .”

Riley gave Briana a puzzled look.

She made a face that said,
Well, I had to make up something!

Riley nodded. Briana was right.

“What can I say, baby—Mr. Smith loves him some Saturday morning cartoons. Beautiful. Just show up at the country club at three. No, that's okay. They've hired a crew to set up all our gear. Beautiful. Catch you later, Gregarino. Ciao.”

Briana pushed the off button on the phone.

“Score!” she reported. “Greg's wife wanted to take him carpet shopping, so three works better.”

Riley checked his watch. “Okay, Granny—time for you to get into costume and makeup.”

“And for
you
to put on your jacket and tie.”

Riley tugged at his collar again. “Don't remind me.”

At 1:30, a taxi picked up Riley, Briana, and their very large wedding gift.

At 1:44, they were waltzing down the corridors of the Brookhaven Country Club. Nobody stopped or questioned them.

Passing a wall hung with oil paintings featuring fuddy-duddy old men in suits, they saw another elderly woman. Dressed in blue. With a corsage full of blue flowers.

“Riley?” Briana whispered. “That could be the
real
Granny Smith!”