Romance of the Snob Squad by Julie Anne Peters

siren’s green button.
    The blare registered about a bejillion decibels in the confined science lab. Anyone within earshot was instantly hearing impaired. A bunch of girls screamed. Everyone else covered their ears. I hollered, “Tornado! Take cover!”
    Just as we’d practiced since kindergarten, everyone hit the deck and rolled under the tables, covering their heads. Except us. We just stood there and hyena-howled at the goons. Revenge is so sweet.
    Later that afternoon, I confronted Ashley about Lydia’s notebook. For some reason I felt it was my responsibility to get it back. Maybe I was afraid Lydia would try and there’d be a brawl in the bathroom. “Hey, Ashley,” I said casually as we passed going to and from the pencil sharpener. “I believe you have something that belongs to us.”
    She blew off her shavings. “Such as?”
    “I think you know.”
    I thought I could do the blank, though obviously guilty, look better than anyone, but Ashley’s was good.
    “If you don’t give it back, I’m telling Mr. Biekmund.” She just looked at me. Then her eyes crossed, and she imitated a moron. Very realistic. She sniffed the air and said, “I think I smell a rat. A big, fat one. And I don’t mean the one in the cage.” She puckered her nose and waddled away.
    I almost stabbed her in the butt with my pencil. I should have. How much lead does it take for lead poisoning?
    As soon as Mom and Dad left for their marriage counseling, Vanessa and I ordered a pizza. Mom’s curried corn quesadillas didn’t exactly stick to the ribs. Ever wonder where the expression “food to die for” came from? Now you know.
    While we channel surfed, we stuffed our faces. Okay, I stuffed mine. But it was the first time in a long time that Vanessa actually ate more than three bites.
    We settled on Nick at Nite, which was having a mini-marathon of back-to-back
Brady Bunch
reruns. Out of nowhere, Vanessa said, “I bet Mom and Dad are going to get a divorce.”
    I froze, a pizza slice poised midair on its way to my open mouth. “What do you mean?” I managed to croak.
    She turned to me. “I mean d-i-v-o-r-s-e.”
    She couldn’t spell any better than me. “They can’t,” I said. “They’re in marriage counseling. It’s against the law or something to get divorced while you’re getting help.”
    “What help?” Vanessa said. “They argue all the time, in case you haven’t noticed. They hate each other.”
    “They do not!” The mozzarella in my stomach melded into a hard cheese ball. “They hate us.”
    Van met my eyes. She blinked back to
The Brady Bunch
, who were having a pleasant family discussion during dinner. Alice, the maid, carted in a luscious-looking chocolate cake. Maybe that’s what we needed. A maid.
    “They’ll work it out,” I said. “They always do.”
    “I don’t think so,” Vanessa countered. “Ever since Mom went to work and Dad lost his job, things have changed.”
    That’s it! That’s when everything changed. But why? I answered my own question: “Because they’ve lost the romance. But they can find it again.”
    “What?” Vanessa curled a lip at me.
    My face flared. I must’ve said that out loud. “Nothing.” Quickly I added, “Everyone changes. You’ve changed. I’ve changed. Change is good. Through change people grow.”
    She widened her eyes at me like I was a raging retard. “Who taught you the facts of life?”
    “You did.”
    “I got it wrong.” She turned back to the Bradys. A commercial came on, and she said, “I hate to tell you this, Jenny. You’re living in a dreamworld. Wake up. I want you to be prepared for the worst.”
    Why does everyone always say that? Why can’t we be prepared for the best?
    Just then the garage door sounded. A few seconds later, car doors slammed and the back door opened. Dad’s voice echoed through the kitchen, “I’m just saying I think it’s a waste of money. We’re paying a bloody fortune for this guy to sit and stare at us for