Chapter 1
Safety Drill
Times like now, as I hide behind a stack of gym mats holding Cayden’s head down so he won’t get clawed, I wish Pearl was here. I don’t know why safety drills have to be so realistic. Everyone knows Cayden just moved here from Chicago. Why not prepare him a little before setting angry leopards loose in the gym, instead of letting him drag down our class’s score?
Cayden’s our neighbor, and I know I should help him, but he’s holding me back. Raymond’s going to get more points than me. He dove straight for the weapons locker, like I wanted to. We’re finally fifth graders, and there’s no one bigger to get there first. On the other hand, I know Cayden hasn’t finished his half of our diorama on “The Three Reasons Science Is Risky.” If he gets eaten, I’ll have to do all that homework myself.
A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. He’s always pale next to Raymond and me, but right now he’s white as a yeti.
“You know what my dad says every time we move, Ada? He says, ‘It’ll be an adventure!’ This time, I told him he was just saying it to make himself feel better. He’s getting back at me for complaining, isn’t he?”
“Nope. This is pretty normal for Oddity. Do what I say and you’ll probably live.”
Gosh, kid. Pull it together.
I glance over the stack of mats we’re hiding behind. Eunice is doing way better at rope climbing this year. She’s got claw marks in her gym shorts, but she’s high enough up that the leopards aren’t going to get her again.
The fourth graders pulled the bleachers out and are defending the top. Our class tried that, the time we had cassowaries. It didn’t work so well. Too easy for whatever it is to run around under there, going after your feet.
The teachers stand outside the grilled doors, waiting. Mr. Bakshi watches and makes notes on his clipboard. Ms. Winters rubs her hands up and down her arms, even though she’s got a sweater on and it’s about a hundred degrees out. She hasn’t been the same since she spent Labor Day weekend in the morgue. (It was an honest mistake. The EMTs thought she was dead.) I heard her tell Mrs. O’Halloran she’s so behind on grading now it will be Memorial Day before she’s caught up. That’s what they get for going to year-round school.
I run a hand through my braids and give the gym a quick once-over. The heavy doors they put in last spring will keep the leopards out of the locker room, at least. Sure enough, most of the big cats are under the bleachers swiping at people’s ankles. Raymond tranqed one on his way over here, at close range, I notice. I approve.
He tosses me a gun. “How many minutes you figure we got?”
“I’m timing,” I say. “Three and change.”
He sends another gun sailing over the stack of gym mats, almost whacking Cayden in the head.
“Aw, Mendez, you know he can’t use that.”
He vaults over the mats to land beside us. None of Cayden’s swingy skater hair for him, just the same old military buzz cut. He’s the one thing I can count on.
“Look, he’s gotta learn sometime. I’m not giving up a pizza party for the new kid.”
That’s this year’s prize for the highest safety ratings. There’s a new place we want to try called Ransom Pizza. They deliver empty boxes with threatening notes inside, and you have thirty minutes to find your pizza, or it explodes.
“He’s had three months of small sortie fighting drills. He’s ready. Cayden, get up!”
Cayden does. He’s still pale, but he’s standing. I give him the tranquilizer gun. Raymond also has Betsy, a shotgun, slung over his shoulder, but he won’t use her for this. Leopards are endangered, and we’re a green school.
I squeeze off a shot over Raymond’s shoulder, and the leopard stumbles, sliding to a stop behind him, out. Probably out. The other one’s still down. That’s a good sign. If they had superpowers, we’d know by now. I head around the side of the bleachers to get a clear view. Wish I had a flashlight. There must not have been any in the locker. Raymond’s good about grabbing that stuff.
I use the reflected light in their eyes to aim, and I get one. Then I take out the one Cayden’s aiming at and missing. The one behind that is so close I can see the ripple of its spots in the bars of light coming in through the bleachers. I yank Cayden out. It rounds the corner.
“Try again, Cayden,” I say, but Raymond puts it down before Cayden’s got a clear shot.
“Three for me, two for you,” I say, mad that he messed up my lesson. There’s only one left out on the floor, but either it’s not too swift on the uptake or Mr. Bakshi was taunting them this morning, because it’s swiping at the glass of the outside door over and over, and not accomplishing anything. I motion for Cayden to take that one, and he edges over. Still, I’m not impressed with the intelligence of leopards. The raptors were way worse.
WHAM!
Something hits me between the shoulder blades, knocking me flat, and I just know I’m about to get savaged. Figures. Kindergarten through fourth grade, no savagings, then I decide to be a Good Samaritan—savaging. It’s got the back of my sweatshirt in its teeth, and it’s shaking me. My shoes squeak as they’re jerked back and forth across the very, very waxed gym floor. My braids whip back and forth past my face, beads clacking. I don’t know where Raymond is, but I hope he’s doing something helpful. This thing is going to figure out it doesn’t have my head in its mouth eventually. I still have my tranquilizer gun, but there’s no way to aim when I can’t at least brace my arm.
I imagine the overhead announcement:
“Students are advised during future safety drills to please watch your twenty and keep your head out of leopards’ mouths if at all possible. As of today, the safety drill running score total is as follows: Fourth grade, fifty; fifth grade, minus twenty for preventable decapitation; third grade…”
There’s a shot, and I’m suddenly buried under a very heavy leopard robe.
Someone rolls the big cat off me, and I blink up at Raymond and that Emuel kid. Cayden points his shaking gun at the remaining glass-pawing leopard to cover us. He couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn, but at least he’s trying.
Cayden finally bags the last leopard, mostly because it’s so obsessed with Mr. Bakshi that it’s impossible to miss. We’re dismissed to wash up and change our clothes, which is good because our gym shorts are ugly as ever.
When I leave the locker room, I’m wearing jeans with the cuffs rolled up and a sleeveless blouse I found at For a Song Secondhand Clothes. That’s one good thing about gym uniforms—my favorite clothes don’t get shredded. My arms are too skinny, but I like the white blouse against my dark skin, so I wear it anyway. I meet up with Cayden and Raymond in the hall, and we start to head for class, but something is … heinous.
“What is that SMELL?”
Cayden’s expression is guilty. “What?”
“Someone reeks like a lovesick hyena.”
Raymond actually laughs. I’m a bit proud—usually only Pearl can get him to do that—but Cayden’s miffed.
“How would you even know what a lovesick hyena smells like?”
Raymond and I start to answer at the same time, and Cayden rolls his eyes. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”
“It’s obviously you, Cayden.” Raymond makes a gag face. “What IS that?”
“It’s just … this spray kids use at home.”
“That’s pretty smart,” I say. “What does it repel?”
He stares. “It’s not supposed to repel anything. It’s supposed to smell good.”
Raymond unzips Cayden’s backpack and fishes out a spray can with a hammer as big as Thor’s on the side.
BASH! it reads. IN YOUR FACE! (DO NOT APPLY TO YOUR ACTUAL FACE.)
We burst out laughing, and even behind his hair, I can tell Cayden’s turning red. “Shut up,” he says.
“It’s okay.” I pat his shoulder. “You can wash it off at my house after school.”
Copyright © 2017 by Sarah Cannon