“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 As.
“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.’”
3
“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.”
“We’ll get there, big g
uy. But right now, we need to fight for truth, justice, and the American way.”
“Isn’t Superman supposed to do that?”
“Yeah. But even Superman can’t be everywhere at once.”
“True. Especially now. I hear he’s making a new movie.”
Riley and Mongo reached Skate Town and stepped into the store.
The walls were covered with shelves of rainbow-colored roller skates. Disco music was thumping out of ceiling speakers. A rotating mirror ball swirled tiny squares of reflected light around the room. It was like walking inside a pinball machine from 1979.
“Keep the funk rollin’!” shouted Disco Dan, the shopkeeper. He was maybe seventeen and had to shout to be heard over the music: a woman singing about skating straight into somebody’s heart, which sounded kind of messy to Riley.
“That’s Daphne Champlain,” said Disco Dan, grooving to the beat.
“Who?” said Riley.
Disco Dan rhythmically (and repeatedly) pointed to an album cover hanging on the wall in a sparkling gold frame. The woman on the cover was an African American with long curly hair.
“Daphne ‘The Roller Disco Queen’ Champlain.” He jabbed a finger toward the ceiling (over and over) while shouting, “Whoop! Whoop!”
“We need to ask you a few questions,” said Riley.
“Be right with you, cats. Whoop whoop!”
Riley turned to Mongo and raised one eyebrow.
Mongo nodded.
“We need to ask our questions now!” boomed Mongo.
Disco Dan lowered his dark-purple shades so he could see who was yelling at him. When he saw it was a guy the size of a refrigerator, his disco finger slid down to turn off the disco music.
“Dyn-o-mite. What’s happenin’, man?”
“We’re looking for Sara Paxton, Brooke Newton, and Kaylie Holland,” said Riley. “They’re all blond. Twelve years old. Kind of look like matching Barbie dolls?”
“I can dig it. Three little ladies matching that description were in here a couple hours ago.”
“What’d they want?” blurted Mongo.
“To check out my mondo cool moves. Whoop! Whoop!”
“What else?”
“Sorry, little brother. Chicks that groovy? They are out of your league.”
Riley looked to Mongo.
Mongo stepped forward. Leaned in. Let Disco Dan smell his pizza breath.
“What. Else?”
Disco Dan shot up his hands. “The young ladies were also interested in a little righteous skate maintenance tip from yours truly.”
“What did they want to know?” asked Riley.
“How they could loosen the front wheels so they could, you know, oil the ball bearings. I showed them how it’s done. Of course, the most important part is making sure you tighten up that axle nut when you put the wheels back on.”
“How come?”
“You don’t tighten that sucker right, the wheel will come flying off in the middle of your roller disco routine.”
4
“IT’S A CHEAP AND DIRTY trick straight out of Roller Derby,” said Riley.
“If the wheels fall off the front axle,” said Jake as he studied an exploded-parts view of a typical quad skate on his computer screen, “then the toe-stop at the tip will drop down and dig into the floor. It’ll be like slamming on the skate’s brakes.”
“Making the fifth graders fall flat on their faces,” added Riley.
“I guess beating a few fifth graders isn’t enough for Sara Paxton,” said Jamal. “She wants to humiliate them, too!”
“And break their noses,” added Mongo.
Riley and his crew were down in the wood-paneled rumpus room where Jake kept his twelve computers (eight of which he had built himself), all sorts of tweaked-out electronic gear, and, of course, Riley’s favorite piece of low-tech equipment, the foosball table.
“Riley?” said Briana. “We need to do something!”
“Bree’s right,” said Jamal. “We need to sabotage their sabotage!”
Mongo raised his hand.
“Yes?” said Riley.
“Are these roller skating fifth graders good?”
“They’re fantabulous,” gushed Briana.
“Well,” said Mongo, kind of meekly, “what if we protect them and they end up winning the talent show and you don’t get that college scholarship you need so much?”
“Mongo, I don’t want to win by cheating. I want to win by singing!” Briana slowly sang some sad lines from “Hallelujah,” that song from Shrek.
Riley thought it was, to borrow Briana’s word, fabtastic.
“If you could sing like that while roller skating,” said Jamal, “you’d win for sure, girl.”
Briana acted appalled. “I am not cheating nor will I be stealing the Rockin’ Rollers synchronized skating idea. I intend to win this competition, and the finals at the country club, fair and square.”
“Works for me,” said Riley.
“So what’re we gonna do?” asked Mongo.
“A little plan I call Operation Roller Disco. Jamal?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you know the fifth graders doing the roller skating bit?”
“Sure. I, much like you, Riley Mack, strive to make friends with everyone I meet.”
“Good. Reach out to the kids in the skate troupe. Tell them, no matter what, they are not to let their skates out of their sight tomorrow. They should keep them locked up till the show starts at two p.m.”
“Um, okay,” said Jamal. “But, that’s it? I’m telling folks to keep an eye on their personal belongings?”
“That’s it.”
“Okay, but if you ask me, it doesn’t sound like much of a caper. In fact, this operation is so simple, it probably doesn’t even deserve its own name.”
Riley grinned. “That’s it—for you.”
“Oh,” said Jamal, nodding knowingly. “There’s more.”
“Isn’t there always?” said Briana, making gimme gestures with both hands. “Come on, Riley. What else?”
“Jake? Can you gain early access to the backstage area?”
“Sure. Mr. Holtz wants me there an hour before the show starts. I guess this Tony Peroni, the judge, is a major recording star.”
“Oh, he is!” said Briana. “His song ‘Make Me Merry, Mary—Marry Me!’ was a huge hit back in the eighties! He still makes a ton of money from its royalties. That’s how he funds the All-School All-Star Talent Scholarship.”
“And because he ‘truly and sincerely loves to perform,’” added Jake, who had already run a Google search on Tony Peroni, “he also does a lot of weddings. Especially at the Brookhaven Country Club.”
“I like weddings,” said Mongo. “Weddings always have cake.”
Riley grabbed a sheet of paper and a marker and drew a quick sketch of the middle-school stage.
“Okay. This is the curtain. Over here, in the stage left wings, the band usually leaves a bunch of junk. Music stands. Kettledrums. Over here, stage right, we have the cubicle that the music teacher, Mrs. Yasner, uses for her office. Briana—where will the acts be waiting before they go on?”
“We’re supposed to get dressed in the bathrooms or the locker rooms and then use Mrs. Yasner’s office as the greenroom.”
“Is her office painted green?” asked Mongo.
“Um, no. The greenroom is what theater people call the place where performers wait.”
“I knew that,” said Jamal.
“Jake?” said Riley.
“Yeah?”
“I want you to set up miniature surveillance cameras here and here.”
“I’ll go with the five-point-eight–gigahertz wireless spy cam with the USB adapter so we can beam the images directly to my laptop.”
“Cool.” Riley circled the area in front of Mrs. Yasner’s office. “We’ll put six pairs of roller skates right here, forty minutes before show time.”
“Yo, Riley Mack?” said Jamal. “I thought I was su
pposed to tell Staci and that bunch to keep their skates in their lockers?”
“You are.”
“So whose skates are we gonna put outside the greenroom?”
“The ones Disco Dan is going to donate for the talent show.”
“Huh?”
Riley turned to Briana. “You ever heard of a Roller Disco Queen named Daphne Champlain?”
“Sure. She had all sorts of big hits. ‘Skate Scat Boogie,’ ‘It’s a Heart Skate,’ ‘Skate School.’”
“Can you sound like her?”
“Riley, puh-leeze. Give me an hour and I can sound like anybody!”
“Excellent. Jake—pull up all the Daphne Champlain sound clips you can find on the internet.”
“On it.”
Riley glanced at his watch. “Okay. It’s almost four. I want Daphne Champlain calling Skate Town by five so her grandson can go pick up the skates before the shop closes at six.”
“Wha-huh?” said Briana.
“That’s the scam. You’re Daphne Champlain. You call Disco Dan.”
“I can rig it so the caller ID on the Skate Shop end reads ‘D. Champlain,’” said Jake.
“Perfect. Briana, you tell Disco Dan that your grandson goes to Fairview Middle School. At the last minute, he calls you out in Hollywood to say he’s in this talent show tomorrow and that he and his five friends all need roller skates, so it would mean the world to you, Daphne Champlain, if Disco Dan could let the kids borrow six pairs for one day.”
“Riley Mack?” said Jamal. “Not to pooh-pooh your plan, but I note one serious flaw: How are we gonna get Daphne Champlain’s grandson to head over to Skate Town before six o’clock when we don’t even know if she has a grandson or where he lives?”
“Easy,” said Riley. “You’re him.”
5
THE CALL WENT OFF WITHOUT a hitch.
Briana totally nailed Daphne Champlain’s voice. Disco Dan couldn’t wait to meet her grandson and donate the skates.
Jamal went to Skate Town a little before six. Mongo went with him (but didn’t go into the store) to help carry the heavy boxes back to Jake’s house.
While he was in Skate Town, Jamal even signed an autograph.
“I told him my name was Daffy,” he reported. “Daffy Champlain. Because I was named after my grammy, who, Disco Dan reminded me, won three Grammy Awards. That young man is seriously whacked, ya’all. I think disco fever fried a few of his brain cells.”