“She’s lying,” I said, picking the cheese off my pizza. “I don’t believe a word she says.”
“Why would she make things up?” Diego asked.
“Who cares?”
“She’s been to eight schools, Mason Irving,” Red said.
“No way.”
Diego, Red, and I were at lunch, sitting at the same booth as yesterday. Diego was across from me. Red was on my left.
“She always has a story,” I said. “About one of her old teachers, about one of her old schools, about one of her old teams.” I tilted back my head and dropped the cheese into my mouth. “Everything.”
“She cracks me up,” Diego said. “I like that she says whatever’s on her mind.”
I checked the kitchen area. In a matter of seconds, Tiki would be heading our way. At least today, she couldn’t …
Tiki burst off the lunch line.
“Here she comes,” I muttered.
“We’re becoming a thing,” she said, walking up. She slid next to me and tapped the fruit dish in the corner of her tray. “Name that food.”
“We’re not playing that today,” I said.
“Oh, okay.” She shrugged. “Not to be gross-hoppers, but check this out.”
She held up her thumb. She’d bitten off most of the nail and had chewed the cuticle until it was red and scabby.
“Sweet!” Diego said.
“Sweet!” Red repeated.
I looked over at the first and second graders seated at the long tables. The girl at the end of one table was so small her light-up sneakers didn’t reach the floor. The boy across from her wearing the Perry the Platypus shirt was even tinier. I didn’t think I was ever going to get used to eating with the little kids.
“So I started planning our operation,” Tiki said.
“What operation?” I said.
“Rip,” she whined. “The operation from yesterday, remember?” She swatted my arm. “We’re blowing the lid off this joint.”
“There is no operation.”
“It’s a mission, not an operation,” Diego said while chewing. “When I think of operations, I think of doctors cutting me open.” He spit the food back onto his tray.
“That was pretty,” I said.
“I can’t eat that.” He wiped his tongue with his fingers. “That’s supposed to be pizza, but that’s not pizza. That’s even worse than hospital pizza.”
“A mission it is,” Tiki said. “Now we need a name for our mission.” She took a bite of her slice.
Diego raised his spork. “The Undercover Lunch Ninjas.”
“Oh, yeah, Diego Vasquez!” Red said, his knees bouncing. “The Undercover Lunch Ninjas. I like that. I like that a lot.”
“The Undercover Lunch Ninjas are here to save RJE.” Diego jabbed his spork into the table. “Better food, better service, better days.”
“Ew,” Tiki said, spitting out her pizza and patting her tongue with a napkin. “That’s definitely not pizza.”
“I told you,” Diego said.
“It’s not that bad,” I said, even though all I was able to eat was the cheese.
“It’s not that bad,” Red said.
He was eating his pizza like he always ate pizza. First, he peeled off the crust. Then he ate the toppings, cheese, and sauce. In that order. Then he ate the bread. Except for the crust. Red never ate the crust.
“Here’s what I’m thinking for the mission,” Tiki said. She put her tray on the floor and clasped her hands on the table. “We’ll run it a few times. On different days, when they’re serving different foods.”
“Definitely on a pizza day,” Diego said.
“Yeppers, yeppers. We need at least four or five of us. We’ll each have a different role.”
“We’ll need lookouts,” Diego said.
“Ooh, I love it when a plan comes together.” Tiki unclasped her hands and rubbed them. “That’s what this guy always says on this old TV show my pop loves.” She pointed across the cafeteria. “Hey, there’s the girl in the wheelchair. What’s her name again?”
“Avery Goodman,” Red said.
“Avery!” Tiki shouted. She stood and waved her arms wildly, and for a second, she looked like one of those inflatable air dancers you see in front of a car dealership. “Avery!”
Avery wheeled over and hockey-stopped at our booth.
“I totally forgot your name,” Tiki said, smacking her cheeks. “Red had to tell me. I’m really, really sorry, but you know how it is. I meet so many kids and … Please don’t be mad.” She touched Avery’s armrest. “It’s the worst-o-worst when I can’t remember the names of the kids I’m friends with.”
Friends?
“Whatever, dude,” Avery said. She dropped her lunch bag onto the table. “It’s fine.”
“Groovalicious,” Tiki said.
I rolled my eyes.
I didn’t use to roll my eyes. I picked that up from Avery. It’s so weird that we’re friends now. If you’d told me at the beginning of school that Avery and I would be friends, I would’ve said not in a gazillion years. No friggin’ way.
Friggin’. That’s Avery’s word.
“BTW, I was in a wheelchair once,” Tiki said.
We all looked at her.
“One time, we were at the airport, and there was a volleyball team waiting at our gate. They all found wheelchairs and started playing right there. Bumping and setting and spiking. So I played, too.”
“They let you?” Avery took out her lunch.
“Yeppers. But I knocked into this guy wearing a suit and he spilled coffee all over himself.” She smacked her palm against her forehead. “Embarrassment city! My pop was not happy. No siree bob.”
“Since when did you start bringing lunch?” Diego asked Avery.
“Since they stopped serving pizza on pizza days.” She motioned to the trays. “That is not pizza.”
“Hot-to-trot!” Tiki touched Avery’s armrest again and then reached across the table and tapped Diego’s elbow. “That’s exactly what we said.”
I looked at Diego. He was wearing his black-and-white knit hat with the dog’s face on top. Whenever he tilted his head, it looked like the huge brown eyes were staring into your soul.
“This is my protest.” Avery held up her chicken salad sandwich. “I’m boycotting pizza days until they start serving pizza again. I want last year’s pizza again.”
“That was good pizza, Avery Goodman,” Red said.
“Operation Food Fight!” Tiki blurted. “That’s what we should call our mission.”
“Sweet!” Diego said. “I like that.”
“Wait a sec,” I said to Diego. “A minute ago you said operations made you think about doctors cutting you open.”
“They do,” Diego said. “But I like that name a lot. Operation Food Fight.”
“Operation Food Fight,” Red repeated. “I like that name a lot, too, Diego Vasquez.”
“What are you four talking about?” Avery peeled the crust off her sandwich.
“The operation we’re planning,” Tiki answered.
“What operation?”
“Our undercover operation,” Tiki said. “We’re going to run it on different days when they’re serving different foods. One of the days will be a pizza day. Some of us will be—”
“What’s the operation?” Avery said, cutting her off. “Just say it.”
“We’re going to blow the lid off this joint, remember? We’re going to show everyone what’s really happening in the cafeteria. We’re going to take vids of what’s—”
“Stop, Tiki!” I interrupted. “How many times do we have to say it to you? We’re not allowed to have cell phones. Don’t you listen?”
“I listen.” She snort-laughed. “If we get caught with a cell phone or shooting cell-phone vids, we get sent to the electric chair and the guillotine.”
“Not funny.”
I checked Red. His shoulders were hunched, and he was pinky-thumb-tapping his leg. I placed my hand on top of his.
“Anyway,” Tiki said, flexing her eyebrows, “who said anything about a cell phone?”
“I still don’t get it,” Avery said.
“What don’t you get?” Tiki asked.
“What do you hope to accomplish?”
“Rip?” Tiki pointed her index finger at me like she was aiming a gun. Then she lowered her thumb like she was pulling the trigger. “Tell her, Rip.”
“Don’t look at me,” I said.
“I’m looking at you.” She flexed her eyebrows again. “I can see that mind of yours working.”
I lifted my hand from Red’s, which was no longer tapping his leg. “No, you can’t,” I said.
“You’re the brains behind the mission.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Let’s pretend that you are.”
“Let’s not.”
“Let’s pretend that you are.” Tiki placed her elbows on the table and rested her cheeks in her hands. “What should be our goal?”
“We want the Lunch Bunch back,” Diego said.
“Excellent-a-mundo.” Tiki still looked at me. “Instead of a cell phone, we’ll use an action camera to shoot the vids. Like a GoPro.”
“Dude, where are we going to get one of those?” Avery asked.
“X’s brother,” Diego said. “He has, like, ten.”
“Seven,” Red said, relaxing his shoulders. “Xander McDonald’s older brother has seven action cameras. Last month, Xander McDonald’s older brother helped us with the video for our project.”
“I just love it when a plan comes together,” Tiki said.
“That’s what some guy says on some old TV show your pop loves.” I rolled my eyes. “Anyway, X’s brother isn’t going to just let us use one of his cameras.”
“Sure he will.” Diego patted his chest. “If I ask him.”
Diego’s family and Xander’s family were best friends.
“Fantabulous!” Tiki said. She turned to Avery. “You’re our secret weapon. Every mission needs a secret weapon.”
“Whatever, dude.”
“We’ll attach the camera to the back of your chair,” Tiki said. “No one will notice it.”
Diego nodded along. “That’s tight.”
“This is such a bad idea,” I said. “We’re going to get in so much trouble for this.”
“No, we’re not,” Tiki said.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I snapped. “We’re not allowed to have cell phones, and before you say the camera isn’t a cell phone, we’re using it like a cell-phone camera, and that’s exactly how the kids last year got…”
I didn’t finish. Red’s fists were tapping his cheeks, and his knees were bouncing against the table.
I let out a puff and looked from Avery to Diego. “I can’t believe you’re going along with this.”
“Listen, Rip.” Tiki held out her hands. “I’m the new girl, she’s in a wheelchair, you’re the teacher’s pet, he’s—”
“I’m not the teacher’s pet,” I said, cutting her off.
“Okay.” Tiki snort-laughed. “You’re not the teacher’s pet. You’re Mr. Perfect.” She winked at Diego. “He’s the cutie pie with the doggy hat. Red’s Red. We’re the good kids. I’ve been to so many schools. I know how this works. We’re not getting in trouble. Now, who’s down with Operation Food Fight?”