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Max was due to make the switchover to his father's custody right after school that Friday. But Dr. Carmody had shut down his office and gone to an emergency at the Plandome farm, where Madonna, a prize Guernsey cow, was ready to calve at any second. So Ellen Plunkett became Max's chauffeur out to the Locke house for the student council-PTA joint session.
They stopped to pick up Big Byrd on the way. In the backseat, Max unzipped the pocket of his jacket to reveal his mini tape recorder hidden there.
Big was confused. "If you get caught playing music at this thing, Sydni's going to freak!"
"Not music," Max replied in a low voice. "I'm going to record people laughing. Then I'll dub it onto our video, and it'll sound just like there's an audience responding to my jokes."
The plan drew a honk of admiration from the tube in Big's left sinus. "You're a genius!" he exclaimed. "Don't worry, Max. I'll get them to laugh for you."
"No," Max said quickly. "It has to sound totally natural. With fifty people in the same room, there's bound to be some laughing sometime. Just let it happen."
The Lockes lived in a sprawling converted farmhouse just outside the town limits. Sydni was pacing the wraparound porch when the Plunkett car pulled up the drive.
She rushed over to meet Max and Big. "No one is helping me," she complained. "Not even Amanda, and it's her job!"
"Max, don't forget your suitcase," called Mrs. Plunkett. "And remember, your father's coming for you at nine."
"Okay, Mom. Thanks for the lift."
As Mrs. Plunkett drove off, Sydni looked ner-
vously at Max's duffle. "Don't let Amanda see that. She'll think you're here for a slumber party." She took a deep breath. "Calm down, Sydni," she said to herself. "Everything's going to be fine. You've given it your all. There's nothing more you can do."
"Praying wouldn't hurt," Big put in helpfully.
She scowled at him. "Where's Maude?"
As if on cue, Mr. Dolinka's van pulled up the gravel driveway, and out hopped Maude. The round-faced girl carried a large shopping bag in each hand.
"Thanks, Dad. I'll catch a ride home with Max."
She shut the door, and the van pulled away.
"No!" shrieked Sydni. "Wait! Maude, you forgot to unload the rest of the stuff!"
Maude shrugged. "I've got everything right here."
The eyes very nearly popped out of Sydni's head. "There should be a dozen large boxes from the bakery! And what about the drinks?"
Maude set her packages down, and opened them to reveal their contents. One held a gallon jug of grape drink; the other, a five-pound paper sack of cookies.
"That's it?" she howled. "We've got fifty people coming! Maude Dolinka, where is the food I sent you for?"
"I couldn't get it," she replied defensively. "There wasn't enough money."
"I gave you a hundred-dollar bill!"
"Well # the pants alone cost eighty-five," Maude explained reasonably.
Max stared at his best friend. Maude was sporting skintight black leather pants with a rattlesnake pattern on the pockets and cuffs, and hand-tooled bands of cactus plants down the outer seams.
"Oooh," said Big. "Those are nice."
"I must be losing my mind!" shrilled Sydni. "I told you to pick up the refreshments! Nobody said anything about buying pants!"
Maude drew herself up to her full height, which was about three-quarters of Big's. "Madison Locke," she said evenly, "thinks I don't know how to dress. Well, wait till she sees me tonight."
"She isn't even here!" moaned Sydni.
"Good thing too," added Max, "because we definitely don't have enough food for her."
"She'll be here eventually," said Maude stubbornly. "And I'm not leaving untii she sees me wearing the most expensive pants in the entire Bartonville Mall. Believe me, I checked every store."
"And did you check for sizes?" Max inquired. "You look like ten pounds of sausage stuffed into a five-pound bag."
"This is insane, even for you, Maude Dolinka!" raged Sydni. "You bought these pants with stolen money!"
"Not stolen," Maude explained. "Borrowed. Tomorrow morning i'll go back to the mall and return them for a full refund. And the student council ends up eighty-five bucks ahead of where they'd be if I blew it all on junk. You'll be a hero."
"I'll be lynched," Sydni predicted mournfully. "Let's get in the kitchen and see what we can make of this disaster!"
Just how big a disaster became apparent when the packages were opened.
"Artificially Flavored, Artificially Colored Grape Drink Product" read the label on the jug. On the bag was printed "Broken and/or Slightly Irregular Chocolate Chip Cookies—5 lbs."
"Broken cookies? We're going to serve the PTA and the student council broken cookies '?"
"They're going to get broken eventually when you put them in your mouth," Maude reasoned. "So look at these as pre-broken."
"And how are we going to serve the drinks?" Sydni demanded. "With an eyedropper?"
Big pulled a large punch bowl from a lower cupboard. "We're going to have to improvise/' he decided. He opened the refrigerator. "Jackpot!" A carton of orange juice appeared, along with a halffull quart of Gatorade. Both went into the punch bowl, followed by the gallon of grape drink.
"Empty all the ice-cube trays," advised Max. "That'll make it look fuller."
Next they added varying amounts of root beer, lemonade, ginger ale, and iced tea. They filled the bowl up the rest of the way with water, and topped it off with three pints of Haagen-Dazs ice cream. "See?" said Big proudly. "It's a float!"
"It looks like Love Canal," observed Max.
"What would you call that color?" mused Maude. "A kind of grayish brownish purple—" Amanda appeared in the kitchen doorway. "How's it going in here?"
"Great!" chorused the four.
The doorbell rang. The guests had begun to arrive.
The meeting was held in the huge double parlor of the elegant old house. It lasted almost an hour. And
by the time the president of the PTA brought it to a close, Max, leaning in from the kitchen, was starting to worry. The PTA and the student council were probably the most boring groups of people on the face of the earth, and the topics of discussion could not have been more unfunny: the scheduling of school dances; the lunchroom committee; the Red Cross blood drive; who would be in charge of buying the trophies for the chess club. He had not recorded a single inch of tape. There hadn't been a weak smile, let alone a laugh.
"Don't worry," Big whispered. "By the end of the night, this'll be a party."
"It's hard to party on swamp water and cookie dust," Max reminded him grimly. "Don't be surprised if they make an early night of it."
Sydni wheeled in the punch bowl with a look on her face that said she was marching to her own execution. Max felt for her, but he couldn't worry about that now. If he didn't get his laugh track tonight, chances were he'd never get one before the deadline. Strolling nonchalantly, he circulated among the guests, hand in his pocket, trigger finger on the record button of his tape machine.
Laugh , he thought morosely. Come on, laugh.
The only reaction was a stir of conversation around the punch bowl.
"Now, that's an interesting flavor."
"Kind of a chocolate licorice purple—"
"I hope it tastes better than it looks."
Big waded into the crowd, flashed Max a thumbs-up, and announced loudly, "Hey, did you hear about the farmer's daughter and the giant panda that escaped from the zoo?"
A few heads turned politely in his direction.
Big looked completely blank for a moment, then threw his head back and filled the room with loud laughter.
"Yeah!" he cackled. "That's a good one!"
Maude marched up to Max, moving stiffly in her tight pants. "I've been listening in on conversations," she intoned. "The cookies are a hit."
"You heard wrong," Max replied. "What they said was 'Something hit the cookies.' Like a train."
She looked at her watch. "I hope Madison gets here soon. When the food's all gone, people are going to start to leave."
"In that case, you've got nothing to worry about," Max informed her. "That punch is going to be here through the next Ice Age."
"Hey, did you hear about the Russian ballerina and the mutant hippo with the two hundred I.Q.?" piped up Big's voice from across the room. Another hearty laugh, his alone.
Sydni sidled up to Max and Maude. "What's the matter with Big? Why's he yelling half-jokes and hee-hawing in people's faces?"
"It's a long story," sighed Max, "and a really sad one."
"When's your Dad coming, Max? I've got to be out of here before Amanda finds me! This is the worst night of my life!"
"He'll be here soon," Max promised. "He said nine, but he's always early."
What a disaster this night had turned out to be! And it had nothing to do with poisoned punch and broken cookies. Of all the places to come for a laugh track! A house full of zombies.
A manicured hand reached out and grasped Sydni's shoulder from behind. "There you are, Sydni."
"Am-amanda!" Sydni stammered. "Hi! Great meeting. When you guys voted to have the flagpole power-washed, I got goose bumps."
"You've put in a lot of work tonight," Amanda
cooed. "Here, I've brought you a glass of punch." And she held out a brimming cupful of black sludge, her eyes daring Sydni to turn it down.
"Gee, thanks," Sydni managed. "But I'm not very thirsty. And I should go and see if the cookie platter is getting low—"
"It's not," Amanda told her flatly. "Now, drink."
Hands shaking, Sydni brought the plastic cup to her lips.
"Did you hear about the computer programmer and the man-eating plant? Ha-ha-ha!"
It was unreal. Max thought—being in this situation, in this strange house, watching one of your closest friends drink a cup of toxic waste.
"Delicious," said Sydni.
"You didn't taste it yet," snarled Amanda.
"Yes, I did."
"No, you didn't!" Amanda reached out her hand and pushed the cup up, tilting it right into Sydni's face. The black drink slopped down her chin, and all across the front of her white blouse. The cup hit the floor with a splat. A few drops of punch splashed onto the rattlesnake pattern on the left cuff of Maude's leather pants.
"Oh, no!" Maude grabbed a napkin from the
serving table, and bent over to scrub at the leather.
R-R-RIP!
The entire seat of her pants split up the middle and opened like a rose.