101 Ways to Bug Your Friends and Enemies by Lee Wardlaw

“It mean whack a ball so hard, air whooshes from da impact.” He nudged my chair closer with his paw-foot. “So what’s da scoops? What’s a menehune like you doin’ here?”
    â€œYou mean, what’s a kid like me doing in a high school like this?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œI skipped eighth grade,” I said. “Part-time, anyway. I take three classes here in the mornings, four at Jefferson Middle School after lunch.”
    â€œFo’ real kine? You serious? Cool . . .”
    Cullen continued to ask me questions while we explored the software. He was surprisingly easy to talk to, and I surprised myself by telling him about the Nice Alarm. In return, he shared his love of drawing (he designed the logo on his T-shirt) and his desire to learn digital art. He hoped to get a golf scholarship so he could attend one of the California universities and study animation. Just in case a scholarship didn’t come through, he’d moved to Southern California to live with his “Auntie.”
    â€œI like fo’ establish residency here,” he explained. “It make state college affordable.”
    â€œMy best friend—I mean, this guy I know—plans to study art in college too,” I said. “He’s expanded his cartoon superhero into a graphic novel he wants to get published.”
    â€œFo’ reals? Cool. I like fo’ see dat.”
    The end-of-class bell rang. I scribbled the homework assignment and hooked my pack over one shoulder. Cullen led the way into the hall, his flip-flops slapping against the soles of his brown feet. Guys leaped aside, offering a wide berth. Girls pointed and swooned. “Cullen Handsome ,” I heard one whisper.
    Cullen didn’t notice. “Hang loose,” he said, strolling toward the stairs.
    â€œHey, wait!” I trotted after him. “I want to ask you a question. About . . . a girl.”
    â€œWot girl?”
    â€œThe girl at Gadabout.”
    Cullen adjusted his shark’s tooth. “There was wahine there? Oh, da girl with da notepad. Kept hopping like she needed da lua ? Bathroom?” He shuddered. “Ho, she give me chicken skin. Goose bumps. Not da good kine.”
    â€œThat would be Goldie,” I said. “I meant the other one.”
    â€œAda one?”
    How could he not remember? How could anyone lay eyes on Hayley and not have her image burned forever into his memory cells?
    â€œShort hair the color of rice,” I said. “Golf ball earrings. Ice-blue eyes.”
    â€œOh, da one with da squint. She get one headache?”
    â€œNo, she have koa, ” I said, thinking about the way Hayley had challenged Scarecrow/Marcos.
    â€œYou’re right, menehune .”
    â€œSo, do you like her?”
    Cullen shrugged. “How I can like her? I don’t know her.” “I mean, do you think she’s pretty?”
    â€œShe ’bout the same age as my niece. Both keiki . Both da cute. Not as cute as ku’uipo . My sweetheart, Annie. She live in Hawaii. What like fo’ ask me ’bout Hayley?”
    â€œNever mind!” My chest almost exploded with joy. Cullen didn’t like her! Cullen thought she was a little kid! “I’m meeting a friend for lunch at Jefferson Middle. Aloha!”
    I sprinted down the hall, squeezing between students. The loose strap of my pack caught on a drinking fountain, jerking me backward. I yanked it free—
    â€”and smashed into a tight stomach clad in a burgundy knit shirt.
    â€œWatch it, punk!” the shirt said. It smelled of peppermint.
    â€œSorry,” I mumbled, and looked up, up, up into the face of Scarecrow—aka, Marcos the Moke.

Chapter Eleven
    â€œEep!” I said, and sneezed four wet times.
    Marcos chortled in disgusted glee. “Look who it is!” He gripped my shoulders. “Right under our nose !”
    His golf goons sniggered and contracted around me like a giant