Riley Mack Stirs Up More Trouble (3 page)

“We'll get there, big guy. 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.”

“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 supposed 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.”

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.”

“Okay, Jamal—new assignment: Tomorrow, at school, get within earshot of Sara, Brooke, or Kaylie and make a big stink about how you're working with the fifth-grade roller skaters. Say, you're their equipment manager.”

“Do I need a costume? Maybe a jaunty cap?”

“Nope. Just make sure at least one of the mean girls hears you talking about how you need to set up the roller skates outside the greenroom thirty minutes before the show starts.”

“No problem. I am very good at being loquacious and/or garrulous. Do you know what that means?”

“Yeah,” said Briana. “You blab a lot.”

“Indeed I do, Briana. Indeed I do.”

“Okay,” said Riley, “it's nearly seven. I have to head home.”

“Are you chatting with your dad tonight?” asked Mongo.

Riley smiled. “Right after dinner.”

“Awesome,” said Briana. “I guess I better head home and put together my own costume for the talent show.”

Mongo's moony face lit up. “Are you going to dress like Shrek when you sing ‘Hallelujah'?”

“Um, no. That would be stupidious.”

“Princess Fiona?”

“No, Mongo. My mom made me this really pretty white dress so I'll glow like an angel when the spotlight hits me!”

“I hope you win,” said Jake.

“Thanks. I just hope I do a good job and don't forget my lyrics!”

“Oh, yeah,” said Jamal. “You do that, you're toast. I have seen what they do to singers who blow the lyrics on
American Idol
and, trust me, girl: It is
not
pretty.”

Everybody headed home.

Riley was feeling pretty good, the way he always did after he saw a wrong and figured out how to make it right.

He felt even better when he linked up with his dad for a laptop chat.

Riley's father, Colonel Richard Mack (who everybody called Mack) was currently overseas with the Special Forces in Afghanistan. Thanks to Skype, Riley and his dad could still talk two or three times a week—chatting across several thousand miles and nearly as many time zones.

“Your mom is superexcited about this charity thing at the country club,” his dad said.

“Yeah. It's going to be extremely fancy. They're charging five hundred dollars a ticket!”

Riley's dad whistled.

“I just hope they don't make us eat eggs Benedict.”

His father laughed. “Don't worry, son. It's a banquet. You'll probably have some kind of rubbery chicken.”

“Do they put yellow goop on it?”

“Negative. Chicken goop is typically brown.”

“Cool.”

“It was awfully nice of Mr. Paxton to invite your mother to be a VIP.”

“Yeah. He's pretty decent, I guess. But . . .”

His father arched an eyebrow. “But what?”

“Well, his daughter, Sara, she's in this big talent contest tomorrow at school and we found out she's trying to eliminate her competition by, basically, taking them out of the game.”

“How so?”

“We uncovered intelligence suggesting she and her accomplices will be tampering with some fifth graders' roller skates to make the wheels fall off in the middle of their act.”

“Have you shared this information with the proper authorities?”

“No. Not yet. But, well, Sara Paxton is superpopular at school. Not just with the kids, but the teachers and the principal, too. She's a cheerleader and president of every club. It would just be my word against hers and her word would definitely win.”