A Pinstriped Finger's My Only Friend (19 page)

Up front, T. Zara sips his jumbo drink and adjusts his granny glasses. "Meep meep," he says, and then he walks out through a door to an interconnecting room. When he comes back, he's carrying a black shopping bag with white cord handles.

Everyone watches as he puts the bag on the floor and bends down to reach into it. He pulls out a filthy brown work boot and puts it on one of the front desks, just plops it down in front of the black-haired boy who's sitting there.

Reaching into the bag again, T. Zara pulls out a white cardboard Chinese food carton, followed by a pair of chopsticks and a compact umbrella. He sets all the items down in front of the black-haired kid.

(The whole time, he never puts his drink down.)

When T. Zara's done putting things on the desk, he looks out at the class and lets loose a belch, long and loud. Then he rattles off a complex series of whistles, clicks, and yodels, accompanied by a stream of one-handed gestures that look like rapid-fire sign language.

Everyone except Judd shoots their hands up, even the painted kid. Judd quickly follows suit, though he doesn't know what he's volunteering for.

"
Ding ding
!" T. Zara skips over Judd and zeroes in on Wayne beside him. "
Bleep
*k-pow k-pow*
grrrrr
*cough*
buzzzzzz
."

"Tic tac tabby!" Wayne's overjoyed as he leaps to his feet. He gives Judd a big fist-bump and jogs to the front of the room as everyone claps and cheers.

"
Tuh-wheet
!
Tuh-wheet
!
Oink
!" says T. Zara as he gestures at the objects on the kid's desk. "
Bang bang twang
!
Hummmmm
."

The students all nod like they understand, and Judd just fakes it. Grinning, Wayne rubs his hands together and steps up to the desk with the objects.

T. Zara has another sip of soda, then pats Wayne's shoulder. "Wee wee wee," he says. "
Blam
!" And then he makes a loud slurping sound followed by "
Buh-kaw
!"

After that, T. Zara clicks the remote, and a digital timer appears on the chalkboard screen over the image of the Living Cup.

(A.k.a Judd's big golden head.)

The timer starts running as soon as it appears, and Wayne starts working. The first thing he grabs is the Chinese food carton, which he pops right open. Without hesitation, he dumps the contents--some kind of dark brown leftovers--into the boot. The audience cheers.

(Why they're cheering for Chinese food being dumped in a boot, I have no ever-livin' idea.)

Next, Wayne tears the carton into shreds, piling them on the desk.

"
Mooooo
," says T. Zara, and then he points at the timer, sticks his tongue between his lips, and makes with the raspberries.
Spllltt.

(All that soda sure makes for some juicy raspberries, let me tell ya!)

Wayne speeds up. He grabs the boot, runs back the aisle, and dumps the Chinese food on the red-painted kid's lap. Then he dashes back up front, shoves the carton shreds into the boot, and kicks off his left shoe. He stuffs his foot into the boot, sticks the chopsticks up his nose, and grabs the umbrella.

The crowd roars when he pops the umbrella open overhead while standing on one foot...the left one, the one in the boot.

At which point, the timer stops counting, and everyone applauds.

"What a
performance
." I give Judd's palm a jab. "Weird stuff, dude."

"Yeah, but look at his score," says Judd, keeping me up by his mouth and keeping his voice low.

Up on the screen, the score beside the name "Wayste" brightens and rises from 153 to 325. Wayne whoops and pumps his fists in the air when he sees it.

"He's kicking your butt," I tell Judd. "Guess it's time for
you
to get weird, too."

"But I can't even tell what anyone's saying." Judd scowls and shrugs. "How can I compete?"

I think for a moment. "Monkey see, monkey do?"

"You really think you can help me?" says Judd, which sounds funny till I realize he isn't talking to me when he says it. He's brought up his left hand, and his eyes are on Finga or whatever she's calling herself during the current five minutes. "You're sure you can talk me through this?"

"Aw, man." I flick myself back and forth. "Don't listen to her, dude. Please."

But Judd isn't paying attention to me at this point. Whatever hold Finga has on him, I can't seem to break it.

(I wouldn't mind breaking
her
sometime.)

Wayne closes the umbrella, hands it to T. Zara, and comes bopping back to his desk, snapping off high fives and fist bumps along the way. Judd tops it off with a cool handshake--knuckle clutch, palm-to-palm clasp, then a double fist-bump (with the second bump flipped upside down).

Meanwhile, T. Zara makes a sound like a howling wind. Leaning down, he pulls another beat-up work boot from the shopping bag and plops it on the same kid's front row desk. He follows that with another Chinese food carton and pair of chopsticks.

"Meep meep
tuh-wheet
." T. Zara makes a popping sound by forming an "O" with his lips and smacking his open hand against them. "
Boing-oing-oing-oing
.
Rattle rattle rumble
." Then he lets out a long, whining fart that sounds like air being squeezed out of a balloon.

Arms shoot up all around the room, including Judd's. Apparently, it's time for another event.

Judd tries hard to get his arm higher than anyone else's. His butt actually leaves the chair, he's making such an effort.

"
Cock-a-doodle-doo
!" says T. Zara, pointing at the other side of the room...then swinging his arm around to point right at Judd. "
Crackle spackle sizzle
!"

Judd jumps up and heads for the front of the room. Normally, his heart would be pounding, but he doesn't have one anymore.

As soon as he reaches the objects on the desk, T. Zara claps him on the shoulder and shouts, "Boomalacka!" Immediately, the clock starts running.

And Judd gets busy.

Like Wayne before him, he pops open the carton and dumps the Chinese food into the boot. Then, he shreds the carton and piles the shreds on the desk. As he works, he makes a point of moving as fast as possible, trying to beat Wayne's time.

Grabbing the boot, he races to the red-painted kid and up-dumps it in his lap. Then, looking grimly determined, he charges back up front. He shoves the carton shreds into the boot, kicks off his left shoe, and stuffs his left foot into the boot on top of the shreds.

The kids cheer as he jams the chopsticks up his nostrils and goes for the umbrella. Standing on his left foot, he pops the umbrella open and holds it overhead, giving it a quick twirl for effect.

So this is when we expect the timer to stop counting, right? The crowd should applaud, and T. Zara should use the remote to add points to Judd's onscreen digital score. That's how it went down with Wayne, so
bring
it
.

But that
isn't
how it goes with Judd. The applause never comes. When he looks back over his left shoulder, he sees the timer's still running. Not only that, but when he looks over his right shoulder, he sees the score beside his name is blinking.

And dropping fast.

"Hey diddle-diddle!" T. Zara's punching buttons on the remote, controlling Judd's score's free-fall. "Hickory dickory *hork*!"

Judd just keeps standing there on one foot, trying to buy a clue. "What do I
do
?" he whispers to his left pinky, the one on the hand holding the umbrella. He listens as the answer comes...

(...which as usual I can't hear...)

...but when he gets it, he doesn't like it. "Are you
serious
? You want me to do
that
? In front of
everyone
?"

"Rubaiyat
tuh-wheet
*whistle* *gag*," says T. Zara. He looks impatient and checks the timer. "
Vroom vroom scuh-reeeeech
!"

All the kids in class stare up at him. Some roll their eyes, while others nod encouragingly, as if they're willing him to do the right thing.

Sweat rolls down Judd's back and sides. The pressure is getting to him. "All right then," he tells Finga. "Let's
do
this thing." He swallows hard and narrows his eyes. Then he does something I never thought I'd see him do in a zillion finger-years.

First, he puts down the umbrella.

(Don't have a cow, all right? That's not the surprising part.)

Next, he reaches for the button on the front of his bluejeans. And he pops it open.

(You see where this is going now?)

In a flash, he yanks down the zipper and gives his jeans a shove, letting them fall around his ankles. Suddenly, he's standing in front of thirty-some kids (and Frankenstein's teacher) with his pants down, exposing his black bikini underwear for all to see.

Everyone (except T. Zara) laughs and cheers and claps at once. It's like a classic teenage nightmare come to life...only this time, the results aren't nightmarish.

Because when T. Zara hammers a button on the remote, Judd's score skyrockets. At its lowest point, it was in the twenties; now it's shooting past 100, 200, 300,
500
. It pauses at 529, and I think that's as high as it'll go...but then T. Zara pounds the remote some more, and it tops out at 750!

"You were right!" says Judd. "Totally right!"

This makes my heart sink...

(...if I
had
a heart...)

(Just realized that's something Judd and I have in common.)

...because I know he's talking to Finga...

(...that witch...)

...not me.

"I've got the
high score
now." Judd closes the umbrella, then pulls up, zips, and buttons his jeans. "I wonder how many points I need to win the Permanent Tournament."

Just then, T. Zara pulls a gleaming silver referee whistle from under his shirt and gives it a good blow. The shrill shriek cuts through the noisy room and draws all eyes and ears to focus on him.

Next, he makes a sound like a cracking whip:
Wi-
krak
. He follows that by humming a little tune: "Mm-mm
hm
hm
mm-hm!" And then he cracks what sounds like every knuckle in his hands (all without dropping his drink, which he keeps tucked between his chest and the crook of his right arm).

Everyone (except Judd) mumbles ominously, looking across the room with eyes wide as tennis balls.

Looking straight at Wayne.

"
Quack quack
," says T. Zara. Then he puckers his lips and makes an exaggerated kissing sound.

After which, Wayne rises from his chair and struts to the front of the room. "Chuck luck hit nit," he says as he bumps fists with Judd. "Shag flag pickle pizza."

Judd's smile is forced. He doesn't have to understand the language...

(If you can call it language!)

...to know he's about to go head to head with the other top scorer, competing with his best friend.

(Other than Oogachucka, that is! Though it's true, I've got my doubts these days.)

The big question now is, what kind of competition will it be?

"Meeple." T. Zara sucks air between his teeth for a good, loud hiss, then clears his throat three times--once low, once high, once low. "Pee-yeww!" he says, and then he walks off into the side room, sipping his drink.

He comes back pushing a metal cart with squeaky wheels. There are two identical cardboard boxes on top of the cart, upside-down, each two feet square on a side.

T. Zara's drink is on the lower shelf, and he retrieves it for another long gulp.

(Dang! How much soda is
in
that cup, anyway??)

"Ay-yi-yi-yi," he says, gesturing at the boxes atop the cart. "Ding dong!" He taps one box with the straw from his drink. Then he taps the other. "
A-oooga
!"

"I guess we're supposed to pick one," whispers Judd...

(Again talking to you-know-who instead of you-know-me.)

...and then he scratches his chin. "But which one?"

Before Miss Finga can get him moving, Wayne bolts past and takes the choice out of his hands. Grinning, he grabs one of the boxes and lifts it up, revealing three yellow tennis balls.

"Arf arf!" says T. Zara. "
Chomp
." Then, he clicks his teeth together like castanets and punches a button on the remote. The timer starts running, counting away.

Wayne scoops up the balls and proceeds to juggle. There are only three balls, and he juggles them in a simple circle, keeping up a slow and steady rhythm...but the crowd loves it. The kids clap and stomp their feet like he's a rock star. Next thing I know, they're giving him a standing "O."

T. Zara makes a sound like the whirling blades of a helicopter: *chooka chooka chooka chooka*. Wayne throws the balls to the audience, one at a time, and takes a big bow.

T. Zara stops the timer and tallies Wayne's score. For juggling three tennis balls for about one minute, he goes from 325 points to 1,178.

The kids freak out. A couple of them boost Wayne on their shoulders and carry him back to his desk like a hero.

Then it's Judd's turn.

"
Click clock
*snort* *blublublub*," says T. Zara. (He makes that last sound by wagging his head fast and letting his jowls flap.) "Drip drip *flush*!"

The timer starts running.

Judd reaches for the remaining box on the cart and lifts it up. When he sees what's underneath, he freezes. His eyes just about bug out of his head, he's so shocked.

"
Quack quack
." For once, the weird sound effect isn't coming from T. Zara. "
Quack quack
."

This time, it's coming from the three white ducks standing atop the cart where the box used to be.