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"T
I his is Katie Kates reporting from the veterinary office of Dr. Jack Carmody. On the other side of this door, this compassionate healer works tirelessly to save Darth the cat, an innocent victim of a schoolyard scheme gone horribly wrong. . . ."
"Give me a break!" groaned Max. "He's fine. Dad said it's only a few stitches."
"I should have sacrificed my own body to save him!" Big lamented, dabbing at moist eyes with his ascot.
"You should have stayed in school where you
belonged!" Sydni raved. "But no! You had to get the cat shaved, leaving these two idiots in charge of finding a substitute!"
"How was I supposed to know he was a wild animal?" Maude lamented. "I thought he just didn't like me. Why should he be different from everybody else?"
Luckily, Darth's surgery was a success. But by then he was no longer homeroom 604's special mascot. The Lockes had adopted him. Amanda had telephoned her mother at work, insisting that the family had to save Darth from "the bunch of sickos and Looney Tunes that hang around my ex-assistant on the student council!"
The zoo came to pick up the baby panther around three, and the WBAR crew left shortly after that.
"When is my interview going to be on the air?" Max asked.
Katie Kates glared at him. "When pigs fly, funny boy!"
The only good thing about this, Max reflected morosely, was that today was Friday. He was making the switch to Mom and Mario's, which meant he had a whole week before he would have to face his father over this debacle.
"In my world," commented Maude as she walked with Max down Oak Drive toward Chateau East, "this was a pretty average day."
"Average?" cried Max. "It was a nightmare! A team of geniuses couldn't figure out a way to make it worse!"
They rounded the corner, and there was Ronny Lugnitz, drooping against a tree. They could almost feel the heat emanating from him as they drew closer.
"Hey, Carmody—you find the guy?"
"Funny thing about that," said Max. "The tall kid has an airtight alibi, so it couldn't be him. We may never know the true identity of the guy who was hitting on Lorelei."
"He's a slippery one," Ronny agreed. "But he can't hide forever." He groaned. "What a lousy day. On top of it all, this comedian kid who was supposed to do a show for our class in eighth period stood us up.
It was the final blow, and Max had no strength left to ward it off. He'd become so wrapped up in the saga of Darth versus the baby panther that he'd forgotten his performance at Mr. Krakauer's class!
Maude was right. Things were never so bad that they couldn't get a little worse.
"My uncle owns a comedy club," Ronny droned on, "and it drives him nuts when the comics don't show up."
"What if there's a good reason?" Maude interjected. "You know—a panther or something."
Ronny fixed him with glassy eyes. "Who are you?"
"Maude Dolinka. You remember me. We went to the same summer camp two years ago."
Ronny looked blank. "Whatever. I'm going home." And he teetered off on unsteady legs.
As Max let himself and Maude into Chateau East, his friend was still ranting.
"Can you believe that guy? Pretending he doesn't know me? He put so many frogs in my sleeping bag that I still hear croaking at night!"
"Nobody's here," Max informed him. "Mom takes Olivia to her swimming lesson on Fridays. Let's see if there's any Gatorade."
Depressed and dispirited, they straggled into the kitchen.
"Ronny Lugnitz has been 'ribbiting' at me since i started middle school! Two months of 'Ribbit! . . . Ribbit!"'
"You know what your problem is?" Max inter-
rupted. "You think everybody has nothing better to do than to sit around dreaming up new and exciting ways to disrespect you! No offense, Maude, but you're just not that important!"
He opened the refrigerator. There were no drinks except milk and a single can of Mario's AMP cola.
"Let's try it," said Max, popping the top. "How bad can it be?"
"Count me out," muttered Maude. "I don't want anything in common with Ronny Lugnitz! How could he not know me? Of course he knows me! What other explanation could there be for all that ribbiting?"
Max raised the can to his lips and took a long pull. No sooner did he taste the sugary-sweet liquid in his mouth than he was aware of a cascade of gas bubbles as eight times the fizz of regular soda hit his stomach. A split second later, they were rising, and the burp tore out of his throat:
"Ribbit!"