“I see.” She taps her chin with her pen. “And how do you fare with desserts?”
“I, uh . . . I fare well. This past weekend, I made a homemade blueberry pie.”
“Do you have evidence of this endeavor?” Keiko asks, looking over her notepad at me with a quirked eyebrow.
“Yes. I do. I posted it on my Instagram. Humble brag, you know.” I pull out my phone and quickly click on the app, where I find the picture, and turn the screen toward Keiko.
With a studious eye, she gives it a good look over and then writes something on her notepad. “Visually, it stimulates my appetite. But with no hashtag, no filter, how can I confirm the true nature of this picture?”
“I didn’t think that was necessary. There’s no filter on this picture.”
“Is there any left?”
I wince. “Well, actually, I was hungover on Sunday, so I kind of might have sort have eaten the whole thing.”
“Total consumption.” She nods, writes more notes, and then brings her clipboard to her chest, where she grips it tightly. “From this brief conversation, some quick calculations I’ve made, along with your admission to consuming your entire pie in one day, I can confidently surmise that we have the potential for friendship.”
“Okay.” I glance over at Stella, still confused. “So . . . does that mean you’ll help us?”
“It does. But . . . Greer, you are currently on a trial basis. If I don’t find our individual identities are compatible, then we must sever our coupling.”
“Sure . . . yeah. But I really think we could be good friends.”
“I concur with your hypothesis.” Keiko gives me a curt nod.
I don’t know what just happened, but I guess I’m glad that it did. I have another friend, a friend who seems quite loyal once she’s attached. I need loyal right now, especially when my classroom neighbor is moody.
“Good. Glad that’s solved,” Stella says, standing. “Now we need an action plan.”
“Something subtle, but also something that says don’t mess with us,” I add.
“I say we start small, make him question what’s happening around him, and then slowly increase the severity of the pranks,” Stella says.
Keiko nods in agreement. “Labored manipulation over a certain frequency has proven to be quite successful.” She flips the page of her notebook and rests it on the table. Pen poised, she says, “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
Masterfully, Keiko starts laying the groundwork as I smirk excitedly to myself.
Arlo Turner is going to wish he never messed with me.
Let’s just hope he doesn’t figure out it’s me . . . but even if he does, at least I know I have a little secret in my back pocket.
Principal Nyema Dewitt really likes me.
Really, really freaking likes me.
At least that’s what I think.
“Robotics. Are you comfortable with such machinery?” Keiko taps her pen on the desk.
“Uh, I haven’t really worked with anything robotic before.”
“The only robotics experience I have is with my dildo,” Stella says, unwrapping one of the sandwiches we had delivered to school for lunch. “But that’s handheld, you know. It’s not like I’m using a remote control.”
“Phallic mechanics doesn’t convert to the type of experience I’m pursuing.”
“I played with a remote-control car once,” I offer.
Keiko eyes meet mine. “Remember, we’re on a trial basis.”
Laughing softly, I hold up her sandwich. “Turkey melt?”’
She eyes it and then takes it from me. “Don’t mind if I do.”
“Explosive bubbles?” Stella asks. “That seems a little extreme.”
“Although a great idea,” I say, treading carefully, you know, since I’m friends on a trial basis. “I think we need to consider what Arlo will be doing in the classroom. He’s won’t necessarily be playing around with bubbles while teaching AP English. The man couldn’t even stand a little music on the first day. I doubt he’s going to be dabbling in bubbles anytime soon.”
“Hmm, that does create a predicament.” Keiko takes a bite of her sandwich and thinks on it for a few seconds before perking up. “We could fashion an automatic bubble blower in the vents and blow explosive bubbles into his room.”
“Can’t we just buy those popper things, place them under the legs of his chair, and when he sits, they pop and scare the crap out of him?” Stella asks.
Keiko pauses and hums to herself. Her eyes flit back and forth as if she’s solving an equation in her head. When she’s done, she looks at Stella. “That could work. Less risk, still great reward. I shall note it.”
“There has to be a way,” Keiko says in distress.
I glance at the clock and realize we have five minutes left until lunch is over.
“I think what we have so far is great, Keeks.” Her head perks up at me using her nickname. I wait for her to mention it, but she doesn’t; instead, she fixates on the one thing she’s been fixating on for the last five minutes.
“We can’t possibly accumulate the proper conclusion to each prank without inserting a digital monitor inside on his person to audit pulse rate, blood pressure, dilation of the eyes—”
“Keeks, deep breath,” Stella says. “For this experiment, we’re going to have to fall back to classic observation.”
“Such courses of action are for peons.” She slams her fist on the table.
“Yes, but unless you have an invisibility cloak and invisible monitors, we’re going to have to go with observation.”
She sighs. “I’ll research the probability of the invisibility cloak.”
“Just a few more, hurry up,” I say to Stella, who is taking her damn time turning desks around.
When Keiko said we begin small, she meant it. She thought starting the plan too close to the argument would be obvious, so we decided to initiate phase one of a thirty-phase program—yeah, I’m not doing all thirty phases—on Friday, so we could gauge his reaction on a day that would bring him joy, then lead into a weekend.
Keiko wants to consider all factors when we move forward. It’s why I had to do some recon work and find his syllabus for the year, so we can see if any of his reactions are environmental. Honestly, the whole concept of conducting experiments on Arlo Turner had me giggling all week. Especially once Keiko showed me the spreadsheet she came up with to keep track of Arlo’s attitude. She complained once again about not being able to gauge his vitals and told me she wasn’t giving up on the invisibility cloak just yet. She’s bound and determined to gather the most conclusive evidence.
“Why do the desks have to be at a precise seventeen-degree angle?” Stella asks.
“I don’t know. Keiko said something about just enough of a turn to be noticed, but not enough to be obvious.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Don’t question her, just listen to the mastermind.”
“I still don’t understand why she’s not here.”