Candy Shop War (15 page)

Panicking, Kyle stumbled to his feet and tried to run, but he leaned heavily to one side and flopped to the ground after only a few paces, foam geysering from every available opening.

Summer watched the display in amazement. Nate, Trevor, and Pigeon laughed uncontrollably. Pigeon had tears streaming down his cheeks.

As the foam erupting from Kyle began to subside, leaving his clothes completely drenched, Nate tapped Summer. “We better beat it,” he said.

Summer nodded.

Denny had not moved an inch. He continued to groan. While the others hurried away, Pigeon squatted beside him and said, “You better learn to watch what you eat.”

Chapter Seven

A Grave Assignment

Summer leaned against the flagpole at the front of Mt. Diablo Elementary, waiting for the other Blue Falcons. The parking lot was jammed with the cars of parents picking up their kids. Several buses idled at the curb, one of them near enough for the exhaust fumes to bother her.

When class had let out, Nate had accompanied Pigeon to the rest room. Ever since admonishing Denny to watch what he ate, Pigeon had grown progressively more paranoid. He was certain that vicious retaliation was inevitable, and had even discussed submitting a written apology. Summer and Nate had warned that if he showed any weakness, he would be doomed. Their best hope was to act confident and pray that Denny, Eric, and Kyle would be too intimidated by the effects of the magic candy to strike back.

As extra precautions, Nate had chaperoned Pigeon to the rest room, and they were all meeting in front of the school in order to take a different route home. If Denny opted to seek revenge, he would probably ambush them at the ramp that descended to Greenway.

Summer had mixed feelings about what they had done. Denny, Eric, and Kyle deserved to be humbled—they had ruthlessly bullied others for years. But even though the candy was designed to inflict no lasting damage, feeding it to them seemed almost too harsh, like issuing the death penalty for shoplifting. Denny had never actually beaten up any of them. He was just a pushy jerk who liked to steal lunch desserts and start dirt clod fights down at the creek. It was almost a game. Terrifying Denny and his friends with supernatural punishments might scare them into leaving the Blue Falcons alone. Or it could escalate the animosity into something much more real and dangerous.

Summer tried to picture how she would react if somebody gave her candy that made her vomit foam until she was soaked. Wouldn’t she be furious? She would certainly want retribution. She might even involve the police.

Somebody tapped her on the shoulder. She looked, but nobody was there. Turning the other way, she saw Trevor. “Gotcha,” he said. “Where’s Nate and Pidge?”

“Pigeon had to make a pit stop,” Summer said.

“I’ve had the best feeling all day,” Trevor said. “There should be Munchkins coming out of hiding and dancing in the streets.”

“Except I’m not sure the witch is dead,” Summer said. “Dorothy and her friends might get assaulted on the way home.”

“No way,” Trevor said. “Those guys are going to stay a million miles away from us. They probably think we have super powers or know voodoo. Would you mess with somebody who could turn gravity against you?”

“No, but who knows if they’ll be able to make sense of what happened? They might decide we drugged the candy and they dreamed the weird results. I mean, what happened seems impossible.”

“If all else fails, we break out the Shock Bits,” Trevor said, as if that idea ended the discussion.

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

“Depends on what they’re trying to do.”

“What if it stops their hearts?” she asked. “When I shocked that guy, he flew a long ways. A lot farther than any stun gun would throw him. And stun guns can give people heart attacks.”

“We’ll do what we have to,” Trevor said. “Now that we started fighting back, we can’t let up, or they’ll make us pay for years.”

“That’s exactly right,” Nate said, approaching with Pigeon. “They asked for it. Once they stop asking for it, we’ll stop giving it to them. But not before. Besides, after today we should add some new weapons to our arsenal.”

“I hope you guys are right,” Summer said.

“You’re as bad as Pigeon,” Nate accused. “There is nothing wrong with giving a stupid, mean bully a taste of his own medicine.”

“Except Denny isn’t stupid,” Summer said. “Mean, yes. Stupid, no. And unlike some bullies, he’s not a coward. Last year he thrashed a sixth grader who was bigger than him.”

“Tom Turrel?” Trevor said. “He was big, but it was all fat.”

“Would you have fought him?” Summer asked.

“No way—what if he sat on me!”

“Sounds like Summer might have a thing for Denny,” Nate said.

Summer clenched her teeth. She wanted to slap Nate for saying something so stupid and embarrassing, but managed to restrain the impulse. “I’m just saying we should be ready for Denny to come looking for revenge, no matter how scared he should be.”

“We’re with you there!” Trevor said. “Why do you think we’re sneaking home a different way?”

“We want to be careful,” Nate said diplomatically. “We’re also having fun enjoying the victory.”

Summer resisted a smile. “It was pretty funny,” she admitted. “They were freaked out.”

“It was the most hilarious thing that has ever happened,” Pigeon agreed. “I’m just worried it might cost me my life. And that my mom won’t be able to stop eating fudge long enough to hold a funeral. They’ll probably just dump me in a hole in the backyard.”

The four of them walked west along Oak Grove Avenue, the street that granted access to the school parking lot. Going home this way would make the walk nearly twice as long, since they all lived south of the school, and the first few southbound cross streets west of Mt. Diablo Elementary ended in cul-de-sacs. The slope at the rear of the school continued west for some distance before the incline diminished, allowing a road to connect the top of the ridge to the bottom.

A block down from the school on Oak Grove waited a boxy old ice cream truck. The shabby vehicle was painted a faded blue. Music chimed from hidden speakers. The words
Candy Wagon
were emblazoned on the side in black cursive. A semicircle of kids huddled around the opening in the side of the truck.

“Is that Mr. Stott?” Pigeon asked hopefully.

“Looks like it,” Trevor said, hurrying forward with Pigeon at his heels.

“Who’s Mr. Stott?” Nate inquired, continuing alongside Summer.

“He’s the best ice cream man,” she said, “but he hasn’t come around for over a year.”

Summer and Nate caught up to Trevor and Pigeon, who were waiting behind other kids. Mr. Stott was handing a red-white-and-blue Popsicle to a young black girl. He looked to be in his late sixties or seventies. His silver beard hung halfway down his chest and had a pair of dark streaks that ran from his chin almost to the end of his whiskers. His bushy eyebrows dipped and bobbed expressively, and he wore his silver hair smoothed back close to his scalp. Notwithstanding his age, Mr. Stott was robust, with a gruff, grandfatherly voice.

“Any of you guys have money?” Trevor begged. “I’ll pay you back.”

“My mom gave me a ten this morning,” Pigeon said reluctantly. “I’m supposed to buy white fudge on the way home.”

“Spot me?” Trevor persisted. “What I want is only fifty cents.”

Pigeon had reached the front of the line. Only the four of them remained beside the truck.

“Here are some familiar faces,” Mr. Stott chuckled. “Trevor, Pigeon, Summer . . . and I’m not sure I’ve met you.”

“Nate,” Summer said.

“Hi,” Nate said with a little wave.

“Good to meet you,” Mr. Stott boomed. “Sebastian Stott, at your service.”

“Where have you been, Mr. Stott?” Trevor asked.

“Here and there,” Mr. Stott said. “At my age, an extended vacation now and again helps keep the motor running. Why, were you looking for me down at the cemetery?”

“No,” Trevor and Pigeon said together.

“I hope not. I anticipate several more encores before the curtain falls. What can I get you?”

“Whatever Trevor wants and a frozen banana,” Pigeon said.

“You’re putting up the cash today, huh?” Mr. Stott said, pulling a chocolate-dipped banana out of the freezer. “Hope that means he’ll be paying tomorrow.”

“I’ll pay him back,” Trevor promised. “I’ll have a Lightning Rod.”

“Good choices,” Mr. Stott said, taking a striped frozen fruit bar from the freezer. “I dip the bananas and make the Lightning Rods myself, you know.”

“They’re the best,” Pigeon said.

“I was correct to assume you’re still going by ‘Pigeon’?” Mr. Stott asked.

“Yep,” Pigeon said, unwrapping his treat.

“You might outgrow that moniker soon. You’re going to have to upgrade to a bigger bird. Let’s see . . . how about Condor?”

“Maybe,” Pigeon said noncommittally. He looked over his shoulder. “You guys want anything?”

“What about your mom?” Summer said.

“Honestly, as long as I come home with fudge, I don’t think she’ll be counting the change,” Pigeon said.

“You wouldn’t be referring to fudge from that new Sweet Tooth place?” Mr. Stott interjected. “That shop is going to run me out of business.”

“No way,” Trevor said. “She doesn’t drive around.”

Mr. Stott scrunched his eyebrows. “I don’t know . . . have you kids tried that white fudge of hers?”

They all shook their heads.

Mr. Stott scratched his beard just below the corner of his mouth. “Might be safer to keep it that way. I don’t know what she puts in that stuff, but after the first bite, it is hard to resist. I’m not sure she needs to drive through neighborhoods in order to ruin me.”

“I’ll have a Tooty Fruity,” Summer said.

“Sure you have enough to cover all this?” Mr. Stott asked Pigeon in a confidential tone.

Pigeon proudly flashed the ten-dollar bill.

“And Mrs. Bowen won’t mind?” Mr. Stott pursued.

“I’m feeling good about my chances,” Pigeon said.

“One Tooty Fruity coming up,” Mr. Stott announced in a more boisterous voice. “How about you, Nate?”

“You have candy too?” Nate asked.

“It’s the Candy Wagon,” Mr. Stott said, slapping the poster beneath the window that listed a broad array of treats and snacks. He handed Summer her Tooty Fruity.

“I’ll just have a piece of red licorice,” Nate said.

“
Just
a piece of licorice? Licorice is part of a proud candy tradition. I’ll even spice it up for you, if you want, make it a Powder Keg.”

“A Powder Keg?” Nate repeated.

“Easiest thing in the world,” Mr. Stott said. “An old favorite with some extra kick.” His hands began doing the work he was describing. “Tear off the end of a piece of red licorice. Dump in the contents of a Pixie Stick. And voila! Instant Powder Keg!”

“Thanks,” Nate said, accepting the candy.

Mr. Stott winked. “You stay in this business as long as I have, you learn a trick or two. That will be a dollar seventy.”

“Your prices are so low,” Nate remarked.

“Easier to say when you’re not paying, right, Pigeon?” Mr. Stott took the ten and handed Pigeon his change. “But yes, I take pride in the fact that I have not raised my prices for almost twenty years.”

“If Mrs. White is putting on the pressure with her candy shop,” Trevor said, “we’d be glad to pay a little more.”

“Very kind,” Mr. Stott said, “but somehow I think I’ll survive. You can’t take those long vacations unless you’ve put aside a healthy nest egg.” He winked. “You youngsters keep out of trouble.”

“You bet,” Pigeon said, trying to pocket his change with one hand while holding the frozen banana in the other. He was having trouble stuffing in the cash because his jeans fit too tight.

They turned down a road called Winding Way and descended into the little valley that housed much of Colson. Many shade trees grew along Winding Way, and the modest houses along it had tidy yards.