Francine squeezed out the twenty-first ketchup packet. The back of her neck was starting to sweat.
Twenty-two. Her eyes were starting to water.
Twenty-three. Her head was just the tiniest bit achy.
Across the table, Alicia whispered something to Natalie, and they both giggled. Francine snatched another ketchup packet off the table and ripped it open.
Forty-four. Francine could feel her second wind coming on. She was guzzling ketchup faster than ever.
Fifty-one. Emma and Luis were now cheering her on, chanting, “Fran-cine! Fran-cine!”
Sixty-two. Francine was still going strong, although she had to take a short break when Mr. DuPree passed by their table. Luis tossed his coat over the empty ketchup packets so he wouldn’t notice that they’d violated the two-ketchups-per-student rule.
Seventy. Francine burped. It smelled like rotten tomatoes. Everyone at the table inched back in their seats.
“Only two minutes till the lunch bell rings,” Brendan told her. “Feel like quitting yet?” Francine shook her head and soldiered on.
Seventy-one. Francine wiped her forehead. A long strand of green hair had fallen out of its braid, and she could feel ketchup smeared on her cheeks.
Seventy-five. She was going to make it. She would. She had to.
Eighty-three. Francine took a packet from Luis, and her hand shook as she held it. She stared at the ketchup for a minute, breathing deep, worried breaths. She just needed a moment. Everyone around the table sat silent, waiting.
Francine ate the ketchup.
Eighty-four. The group was becoming more excited than ever. Luis and Emma were chanting loudly, and even Alicia and Andre had joined in. “Fran-cine! Fran-cine!”
Eighty-five. Just two more left to finish.
Eighty-six. Emma cheered. Luis clapped. Alicia whooped. And then …
Ga-LOOP!
It was a distinctly awful sound, the sound of Francine’s lunch turning over in her stomach. Francine could tell by the look on the faces of everyone at the table that they had all heard it too. She felt queasier than she ever remembered feeling in her life. Eighty-six packets of ketchup, it turned out, was a lot.
“Are you gonna hurl?” Brendan asked, the sneer bright and clear on his face. “’Cause if you barf up all the ketchup, it doesn’t count.”
“Yeah,” Andre agreed. “Barfing doesn’t count.”
Francine swallowed hard. “I’m not going to barf,” she said. But—ga-LOOP!—her stomach disagreed.
From the corner of the table, Kansas frowned at her. “You don’t look so good,” he said. “Maybe you should go to the nurse’s office.”
“You don’t look so good,” Francine shot back, wiping the sweat off her forehead, “KAN-sas.”
The wolf-howling “Aaaaaaaah-OOOOOOOH!” that Kansas reluctantly unleashed was enough to get Francine through her very last packet of ketchup, number eighty-seven.
Francine dropped her head on the table. She’d done it. She had four points. At least for the moment, she and Kansas were tied.
Ga-LOOP!
Francine lifted her head, a ketchup packet pasted to her forehead. “Maybe I do need to go to the nurse’s office,” she said. She peeled the ketchup away from her head, slowly, then pulled one leg out from under the table and over the bench.
“I’ll go with you!” Emma said, leaping up from the table. She grabbed Francine under the armpit and hoisted her to her feet. “You okay?” she asked as they walked out of the cafeteria.
Francine glanced back at the table, where Brendan was continuing to make Kansas howl like a wolf and Alicia was continuing to make Natalie giggle. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she said, draping her arm across Emma’s shoulder. “I’m sure I’ll be okay.”
16.
A JAR OF MUSTARD
“You think she’ll be okay?” Kansas asked as Emma helped Francine hobble off to the nurse’s office.
Brendan shrugged. “She’ll probably hurl,” he said.
“Yeah,” Andre agreed. “She’ll hurl for sure.”
“I hope not,” Natalie said, shooting worried glances toward the cafeteria door. “Maybe I should go see if she’s all right.” But she didn’t get up.
“She’s totally gonna hurl,” Brendan replied. “Anyone would barf with eighty-nine packets of ketchup inside them.”
“It was eighty-seven,” Kansas told him. “And I wouldn’t barf.”
“Sure you would.”
Kansas shook his head. “The only dares that ever make me barf are spinning ones. Like one time Ricky and Will dared me to tie my shoelaces to the center of the merry-go-round at the park, and they spun me around a hundred times as fast as they could. And I totally puked.” Luis laughed. “Spinning always makes me puke,” Kansas said.
The bell rang, and Brendan rose to his feet. Andre rose too.
“Whatever, Kansas,” Brendan told him, tossing an empty ketchup packet across the table.
Kansas threw his head back and howled. “Aaaaaaaah-OOOOOOOH!”
“Bye, Kansas!” Andre called as he and Brendan left the cafeteria.
“Aaaaaaaah-OOOOOOOH!” Kansas wailed again.
Luis raised his camera to his face and snapped a picture. “Got it!” he told Kansas. “The perfect shot. You’re really gonna like that one.”
Natalie and Alicia had already left the cafeteria, and Kansas started to leave too, but then he noticed Luis, who was tossing ketchup packets into the garbage. Leave it to Luis to clean up someone else’s mess. Kansas glanced at the cafeteria door, where fourth-graders were streaming out in droves, then sighed and turned to help Luis.
“Hey,” Luis said, scooping a handful of ketchup packets into the trash, “I meant to tell you. My mom moved my party from Saturday to Sunday. The weekend right after school’s out. You think you can come, or is that when you’re camping?”
Kansas focused his gaze on a particularly blobby ketchup stain on the table. “Um,” he said. Kansas didn’t really want to go to Luis’s party. It wasn’t going to be nearly as fun as camping with Ricky and Will. But what else did he have to do? “Yeah. I mean, I guess I can go.”
“Awesome!” Luis said. Kansas did his best to smile.
There was a tap on Kansas’s shoulder. Kansas could tell, by the way Luis’s face drained completely of color, that whoever was standing behind him was someone he absolutely did not want to see.
Slowly, he turned.
It was a large woman with a bulbous nose and thick-rimmed glasses. She was wearing a suit, one of those lady ones with a skirt, and the fabric pinched at every button. She did not look happy.
“Kansas Bloom?” she said.
Kansas didn’t want to, but he had to. He darted his eyes toward Luis, who nodded slowly, his eyes wide with fear. “Aaaaaaaah-OOOOOOOH!” Kansas howled. And then he blinked. “Um, yeah,” he said. “That’s me.”
The woman pursed her lips together into one fierce line. “I’m Mrs. Weinmore,” she told him. “Your principal.”
“Oh,” Kansas squeaked. He’d just howled at the principal? “Um, hi.”
“A little birdie,” Mrs. Weinmore continued, studying Kansas’s face with angry eyes, “tells me that you’ve been engaging in dares.”
“Dares?” Kansas’s voice was squeakier than a chipmunk’s.
“Yes. Dares.” Mrs. Weinmore frowned. “Is there any truth to that statement?” Kansas shook his head, whip-fast. “Ah. So then what, may I ask”—Mrs. Weinmore reached into the trash can and pulled out a mound of used ketchup packets—“is all this?”
“Um … ketchup?”
Mrs. Weinmore shot the ketchup packets back into the garbage. Flecks of red splattered her fingers. “Young man,” she spat, “I realize you’re new to our school, but let me be the first to tell you that pranks and high jinks will not be tolerated here. Nor,” she went on, “are they the way to make girls fall in love with you.”
Kansas’s eyes went wide. Girls? Love? What the heck was she talking ab
out?
“I expect you to be on your very best behavior from now on, do you hear me, Kansas Bloom?”
Kansas nodded. And then, as quietly as he could manage …
“Aaaaaaaah-oo—”
Mrs. Weinmore stuck a fat, red finger right in his face. “I’ll be keeping a very careful eye on you. Do you understand?”
Kansas nodded. His legs had gone numb. He was pretty sure his spleen had gone numb.
“Now,” Mrs. Weinmore went on, her face as cold as stone, “why don’t the two of you race on back to class before the tardy bell rings, hmm?”
Kansas and Luis didn’t need to be told twice.
“Jeez,” Kansas whispered as they scuttled down the hallway. “Is she always that scary?”
“Yes,” Luis replied quickly. He checked over his shoulder just as they arrived at Miss Sparks’s room. “Who do you think ratted you out about the dares?”
That was one question Kansas knew the answer to right away. “Francine,” he replied. That sneaky little fink, trying to get him in trouble so she’d win the war. “It was definitely Francine.”
The way Ginny was hopping from one foot to another, it either meant she was super excited or that she had to pee.
“We’re going to the park!” she sang. “We’re going to the park!”
Kansas rolled his eyes at her as she danced her way toward the pick-up spot in front of the school. At least she didn’t have to pee, he thought.
“Ginny, calm down. You’re making me bonkers.”
“Park park park park park!” she sang, still hopping. She was wearing her sparkly tutu again. Now that she knew it had helped Kansas’s class win an ice cream party on Friday, she said she wanted to wear it to school every day so she could win ice cream too.
“He’s not even here yet,” Kansas said. “Why don’t you just wait to do all your hopping till he actually picks us up?”
Ginny stopped hopping. “Don’t say that. He’s coming, and you know it. And then when he lives here, he can take us to the park all the time. You want to see me cartwheel?”
With that, Ginny was halfway down the front lawn, turning hand over face as she attempted one cartwheel after another. It was about as impressive as her headstand.
Kansas was so busy watching Ginny, making sure she didn’t break her leg or worse, that he didn’t even notice Francine until she was standing right in front of him.
“Kansas Bloom!” she hollered. She didn’t look sick anymore, just angry. Kansas had liked her better when she’d been queasy.
Kansas pulled his attention away from his sister. “What do you want?” he growled at Francine.
“Ha!” she cried. “You didn’t do it. You were supposed to howl.”
“School’s over,” he replied. “And I already got the point.”
Francine stuck her hands on her hips. “Why don’t you just give up already?” she said. “You don’t even care about Media Club.”
“Why don’t you give up?” Kansas asked. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.” Then, because he could, Kansas decided to really get her where it hurt. “You’re never going to win anyway. It’s five to four. You know you’ll never beat me.”
Francine was just opening her mouth—to say something obnoxious, most likely—when from across the lawn came the sound of Ginny’s voice.
“Kan-sas!” she hollered. “Kan-SAS! You’re not watching me! You gotta watch me cartwheel! I’m going to cartwheel in the talent show and win the prize!”
Kansas whirled around. All he could make out was a sparkly white tumbling blob. “Just a second!” he shouted back to her. “Sheesh!”
“Who’s that?” Francine said. “Your lame sister?”
Kansas spun back around. “You leave my sister alone,” he told her.
“Oh, yeah?” Francine said. “And what if I don—”
Kansas didn’t know where the growl came from, but it was fierce. “MY SISTER KNOWS KUNG FU!” he bellowed. It was so loud he was pretty sure the entire state heard it. It was loud enough to startle Francine. “You leave her alone,” he said again, and then he turned and crossed the lawn to watch Ginny cartwheel.
“You just wait, Kansas Bloom!” Francine hollered at him as he walked away. “I’m going to win, you’ll see! You just wait!”
Kansas waited awhile, but it wasn’t for Francine. Fifteen minutes later, when everyone else had cleared out of the parking lot, Kansas and Ginny were still standing there. Waiting.
“Ginny?” He looked over at her as she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. She was done cartwheeling. Kansas sort of wished she’d start again. “I’m sure he’s just stuck in traffic or something,” he said. “Stay here, okay? I’m going to call him.”
Inside the office, Kansas asked if he could use the telephone. “My dad’s late picking me up,” he told the secretary. She nodded.
Kansas dialed his dad’s new cell phone number, the one he’d given them the day before. The phone rang once, then twice, then three times. Kansas was gearing up to leave a message when his father answered.
“Nicholas Bloom.”
“Dad?” Kansas said. “Where are you?”
“Kansas! Hey, champ. I just hit Mount Shasta on I-5. Making good time. How was school?”
“Dad?” All of a sudden Kansas felt a lump in his throat. He’d known it all along, that their dad wasn’t going to pick them up, and now his throat had gone lumpy? What was his throat going to lump at next? The sky being blue? “You’re driving home?”
“Yeah. I was supposed to be at work today.” Kansas could hear traffic rushing past on the other end of the line. “The boss is going to be furious. Good seeing you yesterday, though. Sorry I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye this morning.”
Kansas could see the secretary watching him across the desk, but her eyes darted away quickly when she noticed him looking. He turned and faced the door. “But you were going to take us to the park,” he said, and he knew even as he said it that he sounded pathetic. He could see his own sniveling six-year-old self, crying on the phone three years ago: “But you said … you promised!” Kansas swallowed hard, but the lump was still there. “Ginny was really excited about it,” he said.
“Oh, yeah,” his dad replied. “But the park will still be there next time, right? I really have a lot I need to get done this week. Should’ve driven back last night, really.”
“But—”
“Listen, champ, I’d love to chat more, but I’m not supposed to talk on the cell when I’m driving. Wouldn’t want your old man to get a ticket, would you? But I’ll talk to you soon! Tell Ginny I love her.”
Kansas gripped the receiver so hard he could feel his heartbeat in his palm. “Tell her yourself,” he said. And he hung up the phone.
When he turned back around, the secretary was looking at him with a slight frown.
“Everything all right?” she asked him.
Kansas wiped his nose. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I just …” She looked concerned. What right did she have to be concerned about him? She didn’t even know him. “I just got confused. Someone else is supposed to pick me and my sister up.”
“Oh.” She nodded, but Kansas could tell she didn’t believe him. “Okay.”
“Can I make another call?”
“Go right ahead.”
Kansas’s mom was still at work, so Kansas called Mrs. Muñoz, who seemed more than thrilled to pick him and Ginny up from school.
“You got it all worked out?” the secretary asked after he’d hung up, her voice all sugar sweetness.
Kansas pretended he hadn’t heard her and shuffled out of the office without saying a word.
“When’s he gonna get here?” Ginny said as soon as Kansas reached her. They were the only two people left outside. All the kids were gone; all the cars were gone.
Kansas blinked.
“He’s not,” he said.
“What do you mean he’s not?” Ginny asked. “What did you say to him? Why isn??
?t he coming?”
Because he never comes. That’s what Kansas wanted to say. Because he’s the worst dad in the world, and you should just give up on him now and save yourself a lot of trouble. That was the truth, and if Ginny could just figure it out, she’d be better off in the long run. Kansas had figured it out, and look how well he was doing.
“He …” Kansas opened his mouth to say it, but the words wouldn’t come. “He had an emergency,” he said at last. “At work. He really wanted to come, but he couldn’t.”
Ginny started crying again then. They weren’t the big blubbery tears she usually cried, but silent, sad, gulpy ones. Somehow those seemed worse.
Kansas put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it—not super tight so she’d think he was actually trying to hug her, but just enough so that maybe he really was. “He”—he took a breath—“he says to say he loves you.”
Ginny was silent for a long time, and Kansas just stood there, awkwardly, in his semihug-semipat, praying that every car that passed by the school would belong to Mrs. Muñoz.
Jeez, how slow did she drive anyway?
Ginny pulled away from Kansas and sat down on the curb, her arms cradling the pink Barbie backpack in her lap.
“Ginny?” Kansas sat down next to her, but she didn’t look at him. “Ginny?”
When she answered him, her voice was a whisper. “What’s kung fu?” she asked.
“Huh?”
“You told that girl I know kung fu. When you were shouting, before.”
“Oh.” He let out a tiny laugh. “Kung fu’s like karate.”
Ginny scratched her head. “I don’t know how to do it,” she told him.
“I know,” Kansas said. “I was lying.”
“Oh.”
Kansas stared at the street a while longer, focusing and unfocusing his eyes so the cars became blurry streaks as they whizzed by.
“Hey, Kansas?”
“Yeah, Gin?”
“Don’t lie anymore, ’kay?” she said. She kicked a pebble on the ground in front of her. “I don’t like when people lie.”
Kansas was helping Ginny with her homework at the kitchen table when the doorbell rang.
“Subtraction is, like, the easiest thing on earth,” he told her for the twelfth time. “You could get it if you tried.”