Page 117 of The Fake Out

“Oh, you beautiful, strong, rainbow-colored lady water buffalo.” She nudged my shoulder. “What’s the rule?”

“Ali…”

“We don’t ask, and we don’t tell.” She grinned at Aidan. “Get to work, kid.”

FIFTY-ONE

Girl, you are so like Batman.

Only the world’s greatest detective could have found

a boy wonder like me.

—PROFESSOR POPINJAY

That Saturday morning, the Save the Library Committee, along with Aidan, and Iris, gathered at the crack of dawn to set up for the auction later that day. Mrs. Katz produced detailed instructions which required reorganizing the library for an “optimal auction experience.”

“No, I did not say put that table there,” Mrs. Katz said. “Did you hear a thing I said?”

Horace bared his teeth. “I turned down my hearing aids. I got tired of listening to your caterwauling and yelling.”

Mrs. Katz clutched her clipboard to her chest with her crossed arms. “If this is the kind of help that I can expect from you, you can find your way out the door.”

Horace stomped up to her. “You are a mean old woman.”

“It takes one to know one.”

He sputtered, his face turning a shade of red his doctor would likely be concerned about.

“Calm down,” I said. “We’re all on the same team. Let’s just put the table where she wants it, okay?”

With a final glare at Mrs. Katz, Horace followed me. Together, we finished setting up the tables and I kept the two of them from killing each other. Barely. We had another close call over where to put the pens, to the left or the right of the bid sheets. I think Horace was about three seconds away from using one of those pens as a murder weapon.

“Those two need to do it and get it over with.” Iris shoved hair out of her eyes.

“Gross. Mrs. Katz was my sixth-grade teacher.”

She shrugged. “Their sexual tension is through the roof.”

“Seriously. Gross.” I put a hand on my hip. “And what do you know about sexual tension? You’re still a baby.”

The look she gave me was anything but toddler-like.

For lunch, Ali showed up with a boatload of food from the Taco Truck. “I have brought sustenance and my gracious presence.”

The volunteers fell on the food like someone yelled ‘brains’ at a zombie convention. When they were through, I was left with a partially unwrapped fish taco and eight tortilla chips (yes, I counted).

“Thanks for this,” I said. “We were all getting a bit cranky.”

“No problem.” She stretched out her legs in front of her. We were both sitting on the floor, leaning against the circulation desk. “Is the librarian gonna get mad we’re eating in here?”

I shrugged. “She’s willing to overlook it today.”

“She’s such a badass.”

“I know, right?”

“Where’s Chris? I thought he was supposed to be here?”