Dammit.
Second, I google Chaos Club, and it takes digging through three pages of links to Wheeler’s fake site to get to the real one. On the real Chaos Club site, I hope to find a denial of the pranks we’ve pulled in their name, but there’s nothing. The only change I can see from the beginning of the year is a picture of the cows on the roof. They don’t even bother mentioning the water tower prank, almost like it wasn’t a big deal to them.
Question: If we’re going to all this trouble to get back at a club who doesn’t care what we’re doing, aren’t we being laughed at all over again?
Later that week, Ellie catches me on my way to lunch.
“You need to get on board,” Ellie says. She’s doing that bouncing-on-her-toes thing she does when she’s excited. “I would’ve thought you’d be first to come up with a prank. Now you’re almost last.”
“I will eventually.”
“What’s stopping you?”
Fair question. Mostly, I haven’t thought of a prank yet, but a good part of it is the whole guilt thing.
“I’ll come up with something soon,” I say.
“Okay, but in the meantime…”
Ellie pulls her phone out and moves in close.
Would it be creepy of me if I sniffed her hair?
“I need your help,” she says. “But you can’t tell anyone.” She unlocks her phone and shows me the picture on her wallpaper.
“Oh my God,” I say. “Stealing isn’t very Christian-like, Ellie Wick.”
“Neither is what I’m going to do with it,” she says.
“What’s the plan?”
“I think it’s time the school got an image makeover. I can give you the details when there aren’t so many ears around, but it’s a two-person job. Are you in?”
I hesitate just one second, but it’s one second too long.
“What’s wrong?” Ellie says. Then her brow furrows. “Wait, you’re not thinking about quitting, are you?”
“Huh? No.”
“You are, aren’t you? It’s because of Tim’s and Kate’s pranks, right?”
Man, I swear sometimes girls have ESP or something.
“You can’t quit, Max. We need you. I need you.”
I certainly like the sound of that.
She says, “You may not like the last two pranks, but remember how you felt after the water tower? That’s why we’re doing this.”
“You say that, but it’s become personal.”
“But it is personal, Max. How can it not be? The Chaos Club embarrassed us and has gotten me twice now. People are still slipping Hitler pictures into my locker. The Chaos Club needs to pay for what they’ve done. It’s almost like none of this is real to you because it was a couple months ago.”
“It’s still real,” I say but wonder if maybe she’s right. I can’t remember the last time someone called out, “Water Tower Five!” to me in the hall. And I’m sure not getting Hitler pictures in my locker.
“I’m worried the others are losing interest too,” she says. “It’s like every club here in the school. Have you ever noticed they all sort of die off in the winter, once kids have gone long enough to put it on their college applications? But I think with us it’d be too bad if we gave up. We have something awesome here.”
“Yeah, we should go into business.”
“One step at a time, Mongoose. So come on, will you help me?”
Guilty conscience versus time with Ellie?
No contest.
“I’m in,” I say.
“You don’t sound fully committed.”
“I’ll get there. It’s a good idea you have.”
“Wrong,” Ellie says. “It’s a great idea.”
“Right, a great idea. Let’s do it.”
“Game on!”
Ellie claps hard once and looks so happy I think she might kiss me. Call it horny-teenage-wishful-thinking.
“It’s going to take me a bit to figure out exactly how I want to do this, but I’ll let you know,” Ellie says. “Thanks a ton, Max.”
I figure I’ll just fake it until I feel it. It’s worked so far. Besides, it’s Heist Rule #17: Commit one hundred percent.
But it turns out I don’t need to fake it at all. Commitment suddenly isn’t an issue.
Not after I get to school the next morning.
? ? ?
Like most kids, once I get off the bus and enter the school, I go directly to my locker to get my books for the day. But today that’s easier said than done because Stranko’s standing at my locker bay in front of a line of yellow caution tape. A large group of students laugh and talk excitedly as I weave my way to the front to see what’s going on. It takes a few seconds to understand what I’m looking at. It’s like the Blob has swallowed one of the lockers. But not just any locker—it’s my locker. Yellowish, spongy dough, sticky and reeking of yeast, is bursting from the locker, spilling from the air vents, and dripping onto the floor.
“That your locker, Cobb?” Stranko says.
I’m speechless.