Novel - Half Moon Investigations

  The other girls actually hissed.

  “Boys. Horrible, smelly, big-mouth boys.”

  More hissing from the floor. Red and I were starting to feel unwelcome, though no one knew we were there.

  “Ever since kindergarten, boys have been grabbing all the attention with their shouting and fighting and rude noises. How are we supposed to learn with all this going on?”

  The sisters clapped and squealed their agreement.

  “Aaron, for instance. Picking his nose all day. I don’t know where he puts that stuff, but it’s not in a tissue.”

  Much groaning and wincing in the audience, and outside the window, too.

  “And Gerry, with his insects. How many of us have found something disgusting in our petit filous, thanks to Gerry.”

  Several hands went up. Apparently Gerry had been a busy boy.

  “And I hardly need remind you of Raymond.”

  “RAAAYMOND!” They howled his name like a dirge.

  “That boy is thicker than a milk shake,” lamented April. “All day wasting teacher’s valuable time with his dopey questions. ‘What color is a smell?’ ‘Which way is up when you’re asleep?’ ‘Does a basketball live in a basket?’”

  There were cries of Moron!

  And one, unexpected. “I like Raymond. He does nice pictures.”

  April groaned. “May. I know you don’t bother coming to most of the meetings because of your precious dancing classes, but now that you’re here, try to keep up. You don’t like Raymond. Remember, I told you. He’s nasty and horrible. Remember how he smells after curry day?”

  May giggled. “That’s just being a boy.”

  There’s always one missing the point. “Being a boy is bad, May. We don’t have to put up with boy stuff. We need to take charge. Be the bosses like we should be.”

  May nodded, but you could see she was doing it to be in the gang.

  “So you hate boys?” April prompted.

  “Yep. Well, sometimes.”

  “May?”

  “Hate ’em. Hate ’em. Can’t stand ’em.”

  “Better.” April clasped her hands. “Now, girls, I mean, sisters . . .”

  “You’re my cousin, April, not my sister,” said May.

  “May!” screeched April, pointing a stiff finger. “Shut up! You’re ruining the meeting. We’re not real sisters. Just pretend. It’s a game. If you can’t play along, you’ll have to go home.”

  May chewed her lip. “Sorry, April. But I can’t go home. Dad says we have to play together ’cause we’re cousins. Dad says I’m supposed to ignore you if you start acting like a snotty princess.”

  April almost launched herself off the footstool; only the presence of the other girls stopped her.

  She was the president and must act accordingly. April took a deep breath, sucking it down to her toes.

  “Now, girls. It is time for our transformation.”

  Les Jeunes Etudiantes lined up excitedly in two rows before a poster of the pop star Shona Biederbeck in a dance pose. Shona was the undisputed princess of pink. A girly icon with a squeaky voice and several platinum CDs under her sequinned belt.

  “What do people see when they look at us?” asked April.

  “They see little girls,” answered the little girls.

  “And what do they think of us?”

  “Sugar and spice and everything nice.”

  “And what do they not see?”

  “Les Jeunes Etudiantes,” chorused the girls.

  “And why do we use the French words?”

  “Because boys are too stupid to understand English, not to mention French.”

  “Now the moment has come for us to show our true selves. Our secret selves. Sisters, you may transform.”

  “Trans . . . what?”

  “Change, May, change.”

  “Okay. Sorry.”

  The girls pulled off their pink pajamas to reveal dark pantsuits underneath. Pink scrunchies were replaced with black butterfly clips. Pink slippers were kicked off and leather shoes slipped on. April ceremoniously snapped off ten false nails, and pulled the pink strands from her hair. The final touch came when she turned her fluffy beret inside out. It was black on the inside.

  She pointed at the poster of Shona Biederbeck. “Whose dream is this?

  “A boy’s dream.”

  “Is it ours?”

  One voice. “Yes.”

  “May! Be quiet. Is this our dream?”

  “No!”

  “Well then, sisters. What is our dream?”

  April jumped from her podium and tore the pop princess’s poster from the wall. Underneath was a picture of Mary Robinson, the first female president of Ireland.

  “Hail to Mary,” said April.

  “Hail to Mary,” repeated Les Jeunes Etudiantes.

  “This is our dream. We want to be just like Mary Robinson. We can grow up to rule the country.”

  “Whoopee!” screamed the other girls.

  April winced. “I’ve been thinking about that. Whoopee is a bit too Shona for me.”

  “It’s on her second CD,” said May, starting to sing. “Whoopee, look at me.”

  April plowed on. “So instead of whoopee, could we say Wonderful? Or Affirmative? I saw that on Star Trek.”

  “On the one where the thing’s head explodes?”

  “No, May. On the one where they couldn’t find enough stuff to power the thing.”

  “I loved that one.”

  “Me, too. At least we can agree on something. Now to business.”

  April pulled a clipboard from behind her headboard.

  “Last year there were a few boys giving us trouble. So we made a list.”

  Outside on the balcony, I remembered that I should be writing all this down.

  “With a little help from Les Jeunes Etudiantes, four of those boys decided to move to other schools, two learned to keep their big mouths shut. And three would not take a hint, so we had to have them expelled. Most recently, the iPod plan.”

  The girls applauded politely.

  April laughed modestly. “Merci, merci. It was nothing. I think Master Ernie Boyle learned his lesson.”

  I gasped. A confession. I couldn’t believe it. We had actually come to the right place.

  “But there are still a few more to go. The first on our list is a boy so gross, so stinky that he makes Ernie look like, well, a girl. I think we all know who I’m talking about.”

  They knew, all right, and so did Red. I heard him groan and saw his shoulders slump.

  “Master Herod Sharkey!”

  Herod. Of course. These girls would hate Herod.

  “Roddy, you idiot,” muttered Red. “You’ve actually driven these girls crazy.”

  April flicked over to a page dedicated to Roddy’s activities.

  “Last year Master Sharkey wasn’t much of an interruption, as he spent most of his time at home sick.”

  The girls nodded knowingly. Obviously Herod had been cutting class. Even ten-year-olds knew it.

  “But this year he has been in for four days, and in that time he has hit two students, one in the stomach. He stole all the teacher’s chalk and ate it. I know it was him because he stuck his tongue out at me. He didn’t do any of his homework, not so much as a single math problem, which is a terrible example for the other poor boys who are easily led, on account of them being thick.”

  “Herod can stand on his hands,” said May, a witness for the defense.

  “That’s all very well, May, but he shouldn’t be doing it on his desk. No, he has to go. We can’t take any chances with our education. We start long division this year, and that’s hard enough without Master Handstand Sharkey interrupting every two minutes.”

  Another girl piped up. “Let’s plant some money on him. Then say we saw him selling something.”

  “Very good, Amanda, but we did that already with Ernie. We have to try something new. I have an idea. Mercedes will you join me?”

  Mercedes
stepped smartly through the ranks.

  “Show the sisters your arm.”

  “Yes, Mademoiselle President.”

  Mercedes rolled up her right sleeve, revealing a mass of purple bruising.

  “Look at this,” said April shrilly. “Herod Sharkey did this.”

  May was horrified. “Really? Herod did that?”

  “Of course not, May. Don’t be soft. Mercedes’s pony threw her this afternoon, but we don’t want Bouffy to get in trouble, so we’re blaming Herod.”

  Outside on the balcony, Red tapped my shoulder. “Are you getting this?”

  I tapped the pad with my pen. “Every word.”

  “So the Soldier Sam walkie-talkie was a good idea?”

  “I suppose,” I admitted grudgingly.

  Inside, April was explaining her plan. “Tomorrow, I’ll bring poor, scared Mercedes to see Mrs. Quinn, and she’ll explain how Herod twisted her arm but she was too scared to tell.”

  “I’ve learned my part,” said Mercedes proudly. “Just like in drama class.”

  “Would everyone like to hear Mercedes’s speech?”

  A chorus of Yes, please.

  Mercedes smiled brightly, climbing onto the footstool.

  “Okay,” she said, shaking her fingers. “This is a drama exercise to get yourself in the mood. Everyone shake their fingers, as though they’re hot sausages and you’re trying to cool them down.”

  Soon there was enough finger-shaking to cause a breeze. I only noticed that I was shaking too, when Red slapped my hand.

  “You’re supposed to be writing.”

  “Sorry.”

  “As you’re shaking,” continued Mercedes from her little stage. “Say: ‘Shake shake shake silly supper sausages.’ That’s a vocal exercise.”

  “Obviously we won’t be doing this tomorrow,” said April, a bit miffed at losing the limelight. “Okay, I’ll be Principal Quinn, you be you.”

  April folded her arms and deepened her voice. “Now, Mercedes, what seems to be the problem?”

  Mercedes stopped shaking. “Just a sec, I have to find the well of my emotions.” She stared off into the distance, until her eyes teared up.

  “Oh, that’s very good,” said May.

  “Thanks. I’m thinking about my puppy that got eaten by a wolf.”

  May was horrified. “Your puppy was eaten by a wolf?”

  Mercedes rolled her bleary eyes. “Of course not, silly, I’m an actress. Now, Mademoiselle President, I’m ready.”

  “Are you sure? We won’t have time for all this tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure. Quick, before I remember that I never had a puppy.”

  “Now, Mercedes,” said April a touch grumpily. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “Oh, Principal,” gushed Mercedes. “I can’t tell. My good and responsible friend April made me come here. But he will kill me if I tell.”

  “Who will kill you?”

  “Herod Sharkey . . . Oh, no, I’ve said his name! He’ll know. That boy is the devil.”

  April placed her hands on her hips. “I might have known. Herod Sharkey. What has he done now?”

  “Please, Principal Quinn. You’re a woman. You understand how it is in this man’s world. We suffer in silence.”

  “Not in my school, young lady. Now, tell me what Herod did. Tell me this instant!”

  Mercedes, dramatically and with much wincing, revealed the bruises on her arm.

  “He gave me a skin burn, Principal Quinn. He thinks it’s funny.”

  “Well, I never,” said April/Principal Quinn. “This is disgraceful. I will expel him immediately. Blah, blah, blah. Herod is history, another victory for Les Jeunes Etudiantes.”

  Mercedes bowed modestly to an enthusiastic round of applause.

  “We have tried to remove Herod before, but his brother Red seems to always show up in the nick of time. Like a redheaded guardian angel.”

  May snorted with laughter. “Good one. Redheaded guardian angel. I’ll have to tell Red that.”

  “That is not a joke, May. Red has destroyed my plans more than once. But not this time.”

  “Because of Bouffy’s hair,” said Mercedes, who couldn’t bear to give up the spotlight.

  April took a laminated curl of hair from her pocket. “Yes, Bouffy kindly donated this lock of fake Shona’s hair, which I had planned to plant in Red’s gear bag, but Red got himself suspended all on his own, and by the time he comes back it will be too late for little Herod. We will have washed our hands of him.”

  More applause. While they were clapping, I caught up with my note taking.

  “‘Herod is history,’” I muttered. “ ‘Another victory for Les Jeunes Etudiantes.’ This is dynamite.”

  Red clapped me on the back. “We’ve got to get this to your friend Murt. One look at Queen April’s clipboard should put us both in the clear.”

  I was certain of it. My gut told me that Les Jeunes Etudiantes’ various activities would tie in with our own crime list, but nothing was concrete yet. I would have to give Murt a few hours to match the crimes to the criminals. Anyway, maybe April would make it easier on us and confess to a few more stunts.

  But at that moment the batteries ran low in the second Soldier Sam unit. The one inside the Unicorn Room.

  “More power,” said the walkie-talkie. “Soldier Sam needs more power, soldier.”

  “Oops,” said Red. “I think we’re busted.”

  April Devereux tracked the noise like a cat tracks the squeak of a wounded mouse. She pounced on the walkie-talkie. She stared at it for a moment, wondering how it had got on to her bed. What was it doing there?

  I scrambled to my feet. That girl was smarter than I had thought. She would figure it out.

  Sure enough, the truth dawned on April. “Someone’s listening!” she screeched. “Someone is spying on us, sisters!”

  This was too much for Red. He clapped his hands and squealed in fake falsetto. “Someone is spying on us, sisters!”

  “There!” shouted April, pointing. “On the balcony! Boys!”

  “Boys!” they howled the word like banshees from the darkest corners of limbo.

  “That doesn’t sound very friendly,” said Red, glancing back at me. I swear he was grinning. Grinning! “Come on, Half Moon, cheer up, they’re only little girls.”

  Only little girls, true. But I saw under the crook of my arm that April was handing out junior golf clubs like rifles from a rack.

  Her voice crackled with static over the dying speaker.

  “Get them. They’re burglars, so it’s okay to hurt them as long as it’s accidental.”

  Hurt us? Who were these girls?

  “Come on, Red. We need to go. If we get into a fight with a group of ten-year-old girls outside their bedroom, we’re going to look like the bad guys.”

  Red’s chuckles rattled to a stop like a faulty motor. He knew exactly how the police would see this: Red Sharkey casing another house to break in to. Social services would have him in a home faster than you could recite Les Jeunes Etudiantes’ credo.

  Red grabbed a unicorn horn, swinging up onto the railing. “Okay. We go. But we’re not running away, we’re . . .”

  “Making a tactical retreat,” I offered.

  “A tactical retreat,” muttered Red, followed by a groan.

  The French doors opened behind us. Girls poured out like beetles from a crack in the wall. Their clubs were raised and their eyes were bright.

  April spearheaded the attack. I noticed for the first time that she had all her grown-up teeth, and they seemed really big in that tiny mouth. Especially when she was snarling.

  “Come on!” shouted Red, grabbing my collar.

  April’s club swished as she swung. It was a putter. Graphite shaft. Amazing what you notice. That steel head could do some real damage to a person’s head.

  Fortunately the putter missed my head but did whack me on the shoulder, giving me a dead arm.

  “Ow!” I shouted. “Hey.
Watch it.”

  “They’re just flesh and bone!” shrieked April triumphantly.

  This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

  Then Red had me by the collar, swinging me out over the balcony, into space.

  “Grab the ivy,” he grunted.

  I reached for the creeper with my good hand. I had it, too, in my grasp. We could have escaped— then I heard two things. A metallic twang, like you get when you bang a taut steel cable with a stick. And Red’s voice saying softly “Oh, no.”

  Neither of these sounds was encouraging.

  Suddenly Red was not holding us up anymore. We fell, fast and hard. There wasn’t time for my life to flash before me. My shoulder scraped the wall, I saw the moon, then I was up to my ears in gravel.

  Not too bad, I thought. Then Red landed on top of me. I felt like a cartoon character who had just been hit by an anvil.

  I didn’t lose consciousness altogether, but I lost the ability to do anything. Things happened around me that I could not connect with. It was like watching a movie from inside a fish tank.

  There were girls, and gravel crunching and whispering.

  “Alive. They’re alive.”

  “Shut up, May. Daddy will hear.”

  “Should we . . .”

  “No, Mercedes. No need for that. Grab their ankles.”

  “That’s Red Sharkey. They’re both Sharkeys.”

  “How much did they hear?”

  “Doesn’t matter. Who’s going to believe dirty smelly Sharkeys?”

  I was lying on a beach in the surf, with the undertow dragging me across the pebbles. Maybe. That’s how it felt. My shirt rode up and stones gathered between my shoulder blades. My head flopped sideways, and Red was inches away. His face was covered in red. His whole face.

  THE POWER OF MAGNETISM

  I KNEW I WAS UNDERGROUND before my eyes confirmed it. Something about the deadness of the air. I was lying on a stone floor, a tiny stream of water pooling at my cheek. A dozen skinny-girl legs swayed in my vision, like reeds on a riverbank.

  “What now?” said a voice.

  They were still talking. Why couldn’t they shut up? I had a headache.

  “We can’t wait until morning, sisters. I’ll have to go now. To Principal Quinn’s house. Daddy will take me. He does whatever I say.”

  “But what about those boys? Red is hurt.”