Payback on Poplar Lane Read online

  VIKING

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street

  New York, New York 10014

  First published in the United States of America by Viking, an imprint of Penguin Random House LLC, 2018

  Copyright © 2018 by Margaret Mincks

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA IS AVAILABLE

  Ebook ISBN 9780425290927

  Version_1

  For Scott and Mattie

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Notice of Silent Period

  Be Yourself!

  1 | Rachel

  2 | Peter Peter Presents, Inc., Internship Application

  3 | Rachel Peter Presents, Inc., Internship Guidelines

  4 | Rachel Cyrano’s Revenge | Chapter III

  5 | Peter Cyrano’s Revenge | Chapter XX

  6 | Rachel

  7 | Peter

  8 | Rachel Cyrano’s Revenge | Chapter XXII

  9 | Rachel

  10 | Peter

  11 | Rachel Notice Of Silent Period

  12 | Rachel Cyrano’s Revenge | Chapter XLIX

  Peter Presents: Grand Opening of Rocks Rock!

  13 | Peter El Dorado, the Lost City of Gold

  14 | Rachel

  15 | Peter

  16 | Rachel Cyrano’s Revenge | Chapter LVII

  17 | Peter

  18 | Rachel Mel Chang’s You Reviews!

  19 | Peter

  20 | Rachel

  21 | Peter

  22 | Rachel Peter Presents: P Pyrite!

  23 | Peter

  24 | Rachel

  25 | Peter Clover’s Birthday Bash

  26 | Rachel

  27 | Peter

  28 | Rachel

  29 | Peter

  30 | Rachel Cyrano’s Revenge | Chapter LXX

  31 | Peter Cyrano’s Revenge | Chapter XC

  32 | Rachel

  33 | Peter Performance Review

  Cyrano’s Revenge | Chapter XCIX:

  Audition Notice!

  34 | Rachel

  35 | Peter

  Acknowledgments

  NOTICE OF SILENT PERIOD

  Dear Poplar Lane,

  Thank you for supporting my extremely successful business, Star Maps of Poplar Lane. It’s been a pleasure making high-quality maps starring you, the fine citizens of our cul-de-sac. I’ve learned so much about your lives, careers, and square footages.

  As my mentor Tom Reddi once said, part of being great at business is knowing when to move on. So I’ve decided to sunset Star Maps of Poplar Lane. That means I’m not doing it anymore.

  Don’t worry. This isn’t good-bye forever. I’m taking a silent period of one week to cook up my next big project.

  It’s a recipe for success. Add the can-do attitude of Peter’s U-Inflate Self-Service Tire Pump, the artistic flair of Peter’s Porch Selfie Station, and the streetwise sophistication of Uber-Peter’s Textbook Transport Wagon. Put them in a business blender. Makes one serving of my next smash hit.

  Fortunately yours,

  Peter S. Gronkowski

  Founder, CEO, CFO, and COO of Peter Presents, Inc.

  P.S. You are cordially invited to attend my corporate launch party next Friday at 4 p.m. It’s in my garage. I predict there will be a huge announcement about an exciting business opportunity just for you. This is your chance to be a leader. Don’t miss out.

  P.P.S. Yes, there will be Peter Presents, Inc., Cupcakes.

  P.P.P.S. No, there will not be lemonade. Business tip: Lemonade is for amateurs.

  Be Yourself!

  Poplar Lane Middle School “Self”-Ebration Self-Portrait Contest

  INSTRUCTIONS: Show Us Who You Really Are! Draw a Self-Portrait Below.

  PRIZES: Winner will receive a coupon for one Mega Freezy Shake at the Cone Zone (limit one topping), his/her picture on the front page of the Poplar Middle School Daily Chronicle, and membership in Poplar Middle School’s Random Acts of Artness Club. Winner will also reveal their self-portrait and address the school board at the next Poplar County School Board meeting.

  IT’S YOUR TURN!

  NAME: Rachel Chambers

  TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF: A picture is worth a thousand words (that’s what my dad says).

  DRAW YOUR SELF-PORTRAIT HERE:

  1

  Rachel

  I peeked outside my house to make sure no one was looking. On this cul-de-sac, someone is usually looking.

  The path to the mailbox was clear, so I tiptoed over. Inside was a smooshed construction-paper cat sculpture and a thin white envelope with my name on it. I knew what it was: the results of the Poplar Middle School Self-Portrait Contest.

  Boom, boom, boom!

  My best friend, Clover, banged on her bedroom window. She lives across the street.

  “I got my letter, too! I’ll call you!” Clover yelled. Her voice was crystal clear even though the window was shut. Dr. Spumoni says Clover has excessive earwax. Unless she gets the wax flushed out once a month, she can’t hear herself talk.

  Dad says Clover and I are best friends because opposites attract. She’s obsessed with cats. I like dogs, and my earwax is fine. We’re like two peas in a pod, but the pod is kind of warped and uneven. I’m the smaller, quieter pea.

  I hurried inside and answered the phone.

  “Eeeeee!” Clover squealed. “Let’s find out at exactly the same time. One, two—I won!” she said just as I was unfolding my letter.

  DISQUALIFIED. The word screamed at me in thick red marker, right on top of my drawing. THIS IS NOT A SELF-PORTRAIT. IT’S A TURTLE.

  “I . . . didn’t,” I said. My face felt numb. There was something extra pathetic about being disqualified from a self-portrait contest.

  I read the directions again: Show us who you really are! Draw a self-portrait below. They never said you couldn’t see yourself as a turtle.

  I’m not the only one who thinks I’m a turtle. At the last parent-teacher conference, Mrs. Francis told Dad I needed to come out of my shell. Why? The world is noisy enough. Maybe more people should stay in their shells.

  “Oh no!” Clover said. She sounded horrified, like it never occurred to her that if she won, someone else would have to lose.

  Clover always wins. She wins so much that I’m her official victory speechwriter. It’s practically a full-time job.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I like the cat sculpture.” Clover makes me a new piece of animal art every week. Most of the time it’s a cat.

  “Thanks! I’m experimenting with glitter,” Clover said. She’s always experimenting with glitter. “Anyway . . . cupcakes!”

  “What cupcakes?”

  “Peter’s party. Didn’t you get the invitation?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Oh,” Clover said. She st
ayed quiet for one whole second. “I bet he meant to—”

  “It’s okay,” I said. Sometimes I say things are okay without even thinking about whether it’s true.

  Peter Gronkowski had been my next-door neighbor for our entire lives, and he still didn’t know I existed. It’s hard for people to remember you when you have a best friend like Clover.

  “Come to the party with me,” Clover said. “You can be my date!”

  I sighed. “Okay,” I said. If I didn’t go, Dad would probably make me read a book on engaging with my peers.

  “Oh! I have to give a speech for the contest,” Clover said. “Can you help me?”

  “I’m kind of . . . busy,” I said. “But I guess so.”

  “Thanks, Rach!” Clover squealed. I held the phone away from my ear. “You’re the be-e-e-e-e-st!” Click.

  Dad says I’m like a guy in an old play called Cyrano de Bergerac. Cyrano was a really good writer, but his friend got all the credit because he said Cyrano’s words out loud.

  One time I Googled Cyrano de Bergerac. He had a gigantic nose (ew) and was in love with his cousin (double ew). Does that sound like a compliment to you?

  The reason I’m kind of busy is a secret. It’s such a big secret that not even Clover knows. The only person who knows is not a person. (It’s my dog, Molly.)

  My secret is that I’m writing a book called Cyrano’s Revenge. In my book, Cyrano is a girl with an average nose. She’s tired of only helping other people. She wants to shine on her own.

  Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I don’t have anything to say.

  —

  There were three signs on Peter Gronkowski’s front lawn. One said LAUNCH PARTY THIS WAY with an arrow pointing to his garage. The second was a picture of a rocket with a caption that said 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 . . . COUNTDOWN TO SUCCESS! The third was a drawing of a lemonade pitcher with a red X through it.

  “What do you think Peter’s new business is?” Clover asked as we walked into his garage.

  “An alien-human student exchange program?” I guessed.

  “Ahahahahahahaha!” Clover’s laugh bounced all over the garage walls. One good thing about having a loud best friend is that she laughs extra hard at your jokes.

  Making jokes is one of my secret talents. I only make jokes with Clover, Molly, and Dad. Once Clover told Mrs. Francis I was funny, and Mrs. Francis laughed because she thought that was a joke.

  Peter’s garage was already packed with kids from the cul-de-sac. Most were crowded around the Peter Presents, Inc., Cupcake Tower. The PP frosting logo on each cupcake was starting to melt, so the display was looking a little slimy. A big sign read PETER PRESENTS, INC., CUPCAKES: TO BE EATEN ONLY AFTER THE HUGE ANNOUNCEMENT AND ONLY IF YOU HAVE A GREEN WRISTBAND. BEST, PETER GRONKOWSKI, FOUNDER, CEO, COO, AND CFO.

  “Droooool,” said Clover. “Peter’s mom is a cupcake genius.”

  “Yeah,” I said. But I could see Mr. Gronkowski through the door at the top of the garage stairs. He was wearing a white apron with chocolate stains on it. And Mrs. Gronkowski was at work.

  Conclusion: Mr. Gronkowski was the cupcake genius.

  Before I could tell Clover my theory, Ken Spumoni ran over. He was wearing a black T-shirt that said SECURITY.

  “Hey, Clover!” Ken said. “Don’t forget to write your essay.” He pointed at a crystal ball with a sign beside it that said PETER PRESENTS, INC., CRYSTAL BALL OF OPPORTUNITY. ONE ESSAY = ONE CUPCAKE.

  “Essay?” Clover asked. She wrinkled her nose. “Like school?”

  “Not really,” Ken said. He looked down at his clipboard. “The topic is, ‘Why do you want to work for Peter Gronkowski?’”

  “I don’t,” Clover said.

  “Do you want a cupcake?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  Ken shrugged.

  “But I’m an artist,” Clover said. “Not a writer. Not like Rachel.”

  Ken scrunched his eyebrows like he was thinking hard. “Who?” he asked. Then, finally, he spotted me. “Oh, Puppet! I didn’t see you there.”

  I felt like an ant at somebody’s romantic picnic.

  For the record, I never asked to be called Puppet, obviously. But that annoying nickname has stuck like glue since the beginning of the school year.

  The whole class was “encouraged” (forced) to audition for The Wizard of Oz, Junior. Being onstage is my living nightmare, but I had no choice.

  Mr. Hodges, the piano teacher, said it was my turn. He started playing the Cowardly Lion’s song, “If I Were King of the Forest.” When I opened my mouth to sing, nothing came out. I froze like a block of ice.

  Clover thought I’d forgotten the words. She started singing to help me out. But my mouth was hanging open, so it looked like I was singing with her voice.

  Clover got the part of Dorothy. I got Girl Handing Out Programs in the Lobby.

  After that, kids started calling me Puppet (if they called me anything at all). I didn’t even raise my hand in class anymore. Whenever I did, someone would make a “creaky” sound, which was supposed to be the sound of puppet strings. Then everyone would laugh.

  “She’s not Puppet,” Clover told Ken. “She’s Rachel!” Clover grabbed a piece of paper and an orange pen. “Fine, I’ll do a picture essay.”

  Clover hates my nickname, too, but she still talks for me all the time. I must look like a wounded animal when I’m thinking of what to say, so she probably figures she’s putting me out of my misery.

  Sometimes it’s nice. But mostly I wish she would stop.

  “Pup—I mean, here you go,” Ken said, handing me paper and a purple pen.

  I stared at the blank page. I imagined DISQUALIFIED stamped over anything I wrote.

  What if I didn’t get disqualified, though? What if I won? That could be even worse, because I might have to give a speech. I’d freeze onstage just like I did at my audition.

  But maybe not. Maybe I’d surprise everyone with my confident and amazing speaking skills.

  Who was I kidding? I gave the paper and pen back to Ken without writing a word.

  “Rachel’s not a big contest person,” Clover explained.

  She would probably win, anyway. And I bet she wouldn’t be disqualified, even though she was drawing a picture for an essay contest.

  “What’s Peter’s new business?” Clover asked as she dropped her entry into the crystal ball. She winked at me. “An alien-student exchange program?”

  Ken snorted. “Good one.”

  I waited for Clover to tell Ken that was my joke, but she didn’t. He wouldn’t have believed it anyway.

  Ken gave Clover a green wristband. “This will get you one cupcake,” he said.

  The door at the top of the stairs swung wide open. Peter’s little brother, Daniel, ran out.

  “The Amazing Peter is on his way!” Daniel yelled.

  He slammed the door behind him and ran down the stairs, nearly tripping over his superhero cape. He pressed a button on a fancy speaker, and spooky Halloween music filled the garage.

  But it’s March, I thought.

  The door opened again, this time very slowly. And there he was.

  Peter Gronkowski.

  The crowd went quiet (even Clover). For a few seconds, Peter just stood at the top of the stairs. He came down slowly, one step at a time, like a king before his subjects.

  Peter wore a bathrobe with a T-shirt wrapped around his head like a turban. Most kids would never wear something like that. But for Peter, the more embarrassing the outfit, the cooler he looked.

  He walked onstage and stopped in the middle like he owned the room. I guess he kind of did, because it was his garage. Still, I felt dizzy, like his confidence sucked up all the air.

  Kids jostled to the front to get closer, like hungry fish fighting for chum. I held tight t
o Clover’s sleeve, more like a barnacle.

  Being ignored hurts. Not just your feelings, but also your toes. People can crush them when they don’t see you. When you’re small you somehow feel like you’re always in the way, which doesn’t make sense. Small people take up less space. But as small as I am, I always seem to be shrinking. I’m afraid one day I’ll disappear.

  The Halloween music stopped.

  “Welcome!” Peter said. “It’s my great privilege to announce the launch of my new business: Fabulous Fortunes.”

  As he talked, he took gigantic steps back and forth across the stage.

  Peter Gronkowski was no barnacle. He was a great white shark, ruling the ocean.

  I couldn’t breathe, and not just because J. J. Roma’s elbow was blocking my nostrils.

  Entering Peter’s contest was something I had to try, for my own survival. If not, I could get washed away, and I think I’d rather swim.

  I let go of Clover’s sleeve and tiptoed to the Crystal Ball of Opportunity.

  “I want to write an essay,” I whispered to Ken. He stared at Peter onstage like he was in a trance.

  I cleared my throat. Nothing.

  “Ahem!” I said again.

  Ken jumped. So did I. “Huh?” he said.

  “I want to work for Peter Gronkowski.”

  2

  PETER

  BUSINESS TIP: To achieve success, you must first Visualize it.

  Visualizing means you picture something in your head before it happens. I learned about Visualizing from my mentor, successful local businessman Tom Reddi. It was in his monthly magazine, Mind Your Business. I’m a loyal subscriber.

  I closed my eyes and Visualized a highly successful launch party for my new business: Fabulous Fortunes. I Felt the breeze of dollar bills waving in my face. I Smelled sweat and stress-activated cinnamon deodorant as kids shoved closer to the stage. I Heard—