Mia the Magnificent (11 page)

“Boy, this place has sure gone to the dogs,” I said as I walked past Tim in the hallway the following Monday morning.

“Very funny,” Tim said, glaring at me from underneath his floppy ears.

“So,” I said, “do you do any tricks? Like roll over, sit up, or better yet, play dead? Because it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and you’ll need some skills to survive.”

“You’re just lucky I’m a man of my word and kept my part of the bargain,” Tim replied. “Half the guys on Student Council didn’t.”

“Then I guess I should apologize,” I said. “I must be barking up the wrong tree. I should let sleeping dogs lie.”

Tim sighed. “Am I going to have to put up with this all day long?”

“Why, are you dog-tired already?” I smiled. “Or is your bark worse than your bite?”

Tim shook his head. “I’m going to class.”

“If you have to go outside,” I called, “don’t forget your umbrella. It’s raining cats and dogs out there, which is really surprising, because this weekend, it felt like the dog days of summer.”

As Tim disappeared around the corner with his tail between his legs, I collapsed in a fit of laughter. Cassie was right. Getting even was fun.

I slipped into religion class later that afternoon, making sure my uniform blouse was buttoned all the way to the top. As I took my seat, I prayed that Father Carlos had succumbed to amnesia over the weekend, but just in case he hadn’t, I wanted to look as wholesome
as possible.

“So, I hear congratulations are in order. You won your bet,” Father Carlos said as he looked up from the pile of papers on his desk, throwing away any hope he’d forgotten my pathetic attempt at seduction.

I adjusted my buttoned-up blouse in case I was showing too much neck and said, “Thanks.”

Tim, still wearing his costume, walked into the room, and Father Carlos added with a smile, “This situation fits perfectly with my class discussion today on the Bible verse from Proverbs, chapter sixteen, verse eighteen: ‘Pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.’”

As a miserable-looking Tim took a seat in the back of the room, I breathed a sigh of relief. After my routine on Saturday, I was afraid Father Carlos might lecture us about the Bible’s infamous hussy, Jezebel.

The final school bell rang, and as Tim and I headed out of our last class, I remarked, “Can you believe how dog-eared my notebooks have gotten after just a couple months of school?”

Tim gave me a sidelong glance. “Are you about done with this yet?”

“Not quite,” I replied. “I still haven’t found a way to use the expressions ‘mean as a junkyard dog’ or ‘the tail wagging the dog.’”

“Well, let’s just say you have,” Tim said. “I don’t think I can take much more.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, giving him a sympathetic pat on the back. “After putting up with all this, you must be sick as a dog.”

Tim glared at me.

“I just couldn’t help myself,” I said with a laugh. “I promise, I’m done now.”

As we rounded the corner to enter the sophomore wing of lockers, Cassie intercepted us. “Well, look at what the cat dragged in,” she said.

“I had nothing to do with that one,” I said, raising my hands in innocence.

Alyssa, standing shoulder to shoulder with Cassie, crossed her arms. “Isn’t this convenient? Tim has all three of his girlfriends with him.”

I took a step backwards. “Tim and I broke up months ago, so leave me out of this.”

“Thanks for your support,” Tim said, shooting me a dirty look.

“Hey, I’m the one who told you you’d get caught dating two girls from the same school at once,” I said. “I mean, you got caught when you were dating two girls who lived over a thousand miles from each other. You put
yourself
in the doghouse.” I clamped my hands over my mouth. “Oops. That one was an accident.”

“I can’t believe you spent the first fourteen years of your life silent,” Cassie said, “and now you won’t shut up.”

“Sorry,” I said, ducking behind Tim.

“Anyway,” Cassie said, her icy blue eyes narrowing on Tim, “I’m here to tell you that we are so over. You made a fool of me twice and nobody gets away with that. So I swear, if you even
look
at me ever again, this dog costume punishment will be nothing compared to what I will do to you.”

“Uh,” Alyssa said, looking way more petrified of Cassie than disgusted with Tim, “ditto for me. We’re over, Tim.”

As they stormed off in opposite directions, two soldiers who’d joined forces only to win the war, Tim yanked the dog bonnet off his head and sighed. “This has been one of the worst days of my life. Those girls were brutal.”

“Yeah, they really dogged on you,” I said.

As Tim glared at me, I simply shrugged. “Come on, you practically
begged
for that one.”

Later that afternoon, Mr. Corrigan patted Jake on the back as he handed him his final driver’s ed evaluation. “Congratulations,” he said. “Yer a certified driver now!”

Jake, in disbelief, clutched the piece of paper in his hands. “You mean no more ridin’ shotgun or eatin’ dirt in the drive-thru?”

“You’ve come a long way, son,” Mr. Corrigan said. “But if I hear you started driving all cockamamie again, I’ll be madder than a bee-stung critter.”

“Don’t worry, dude,” Jake said, opening the driver’s-side door. “I won’t be all Driving Miss Crazy.”

“All right, Mia,” Mr. Corrigan said, turning to the backseat, “stop looking as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs, and get on up here to take your final driving test.”

“Are you sure you don’t want Zoë or Tim to go today? I can take my test later in the week,” I said as I gnawed on my left pinky fingernail—a habit I only resorted to when I was severely stressed.

“I got my papers all organized alphabetically by first names, so you’re up next,” Mr. Corrigan replied. “Now, hop on into the front seat. I ain’t gettin’ any younger, you know.”

I took a deep breath. So, this was it. Friday was my sixteenth birthday, and if I passed today, my parents said I could go to get my license on Saturday morning. I would finally live up to that army slogan—all I could be—except I wouldn’t have to live in a barracks... or get shot at.

“Good luck, Preppy.” Zoë chucked me on the arm. “May the Abercrombie & Fitch gods be with you.”

As I climbed out of the backseat and scooted in behind the
wheel, Mr. Corrigan said, “For your final driving test, I want you to take a left and head downtown, so I can test your city driving skills. Also, I heard there was gonna be some kind of hootenanny goin’ on down there. I want to see what all the ruckus is about.”

“What kind of hootenanny?” I nervously asked as I adjusted and then readjusted my seatbelt.

“Oh, there’s a protest goin’ on in front of the Cluck a Buck chicken joint,” he said. “Some folks are gettin’ hotter than a jumper cable at a redneck picnic sayin’ it just ain’t right to eat that many chickens. I heard they was even gonna have a big ol’ guy dress up like a chicken to cause a stink. And though I like to eat a fried chicken now and again, a guy dressed up like a chicken ain’t a sight a feller sees every day, and I ain’t gonna miss it. So, I can test your skills while we check out the chicken. It’ll be killing two birds with one stone.”

“Can’t you go see the chicken guy after you’re finished with my evaluation?” I suggested, choosing to ignore Mr. Corrigan’s awful pun. “I’m not really comfortable driving around a lot of people standing in the street.”

“Woo-ee, you’re jumpier than spit on a skittle today,” Mr. Corrigan said. “I think drivin’ around in a crowd is good practice, so quit yer bellyachin’ and let’s go see us a chicken.”

Against my better judgment, I clicked on my blinker and headed downtown. The closer I drove to the protest, the more congested the streets became. Flustered by all the cars, I slowed my speed even more.

“Can’t ya go any faster?” Mr. Corrigan said impatiently. “This ain’t no John Deere tractor. Go the speed limit, girl!”

I took a deep breath and inched my foot onto the accelerator, until I was only five miles under the speed limit. “Are we almost there yet?”

“Just turn down this here street,” Mr. Corrigan said.

After I did a few hundred head checks to make sure no cars were
coming, I took a left and was immediately faced with a street full of parked cars and protesters. Unable to go any farther, I put the car in park and asked, hopefully, “Should I take a right here and head back uptown?”

“Hold it just one doggone minute. I wanna see the chicken first.” Mr. Corrigan opened his window and looked out. “Don’t that just fry yer taters? There’s so many people waving signs around, I can barely get a glimpse of that big clucker.” He stuck his fingers in his mouth and emitted a whistle that could break glass. “Hey, do any of y’all know where I can find me a critter?”

The crowd stopped, turned around in unison, and parted, as if by modern-day Moses at a hen house. A giant chicken emerged from the center. He took one look at us and yelled, “Look! It’s a Cluck a Buck car! Let’s get ’em!”

As the rabble of raving radicals stormed our car, I shouted, “What’s happening? Why are they all running toward us?”

“Our bright yellow car looks just the Cluck a Buck delivery car,” Zoë said. “Come on, Preppy, put the pedal to the metal and get us out of here before we become chicken feed!”

I slammed the car into reverse and pressed down on the accelerator, going backward faster than I’d ever driven forward.

“What the heck is that chicken doing?” Mr. Corrigan asked as he looked out his window. “Don’t he know he has a better chance of nailin’ Jell-O to the wall than he has of catching us?”

“I don’t know,” I said, anxiously checking my rearview mirror. I fishtailed back and forth, trying to avoid the parked cars lining the street. “He runs pretty fast for a guy in a chicken suit. I think he’s gaining on us!”

The mob cut through the parking lot and blocked our escape. We were trapped! I clutched the wheel in panic as the crowd rushed our car, waving signs and shouting threats.

“Dad gummit!” Mr. Corrigan yelled. “That chicken and his crowd are like a bunch of boogers ya just can’t thump off.”

“Hey, dude,” Jake said, “someone just totally, like, pelted the car with barbecue sauce. That stuff rots through a paint job.”

“How do you know that?” Zoë asked.

“Let’s just say, me and my boys have a thing for condiments,” Jake replied mysteriously.

I shook my head. “Guys, I don’t have time for this,” I said. “Someone tell me what to do or we’ll all end up fried and dipped in sauce.”

From the backseat, Tim said, “If you do a U-turn in the middle of the street, you’ll catch ’em off-guard.”

“But I’ll be heading right at them!” I yelled. “And I don’t think vehicular homicide is going to help me pass this class.”

“Don’t worry,” Tim said. “If they’re anything like real chickens, they’ll scatter when they see you coming.”

“That just might work,” Mr. Corrigan said, “but I don’t know if Mia’s up to it.”

“You won’t fail me if I run down a crowd of people?” I asked.

“Little girl,” Mr. Corrigan said, “if God’s willin’, the creek don’t rise, and you get us out of here in one piece, I’ll give you an A-plus on this here evaluation. Because even though this might be harder than slippin’ sunrise past a rooster, I—”