Frogmans response, p.10
Frogman's Response, page 10
Though it was difficult to tell with her dark skin, Riley looked like she might be blushing.
“I don’t know about ‘griefer.’” She tugged at her blanket.
“You better give them grief.” Evan took a big bite of three-cheese, meat lover’s pizza.
Matthew took a moment to review the website’s slightly higher, but still dismal, views before pocketing his phone and turning on the movie. Sure, he had a great team assembled for the blog, but could they get readers to comment and post questions on their site?
Chapter 17
No vampire puns or announcements about the upcoming basketball season could change the fact that this October was muggy and hot. Cut-out pumpkin and scarecrow decorations around the teachers’ rooms painted mental pictures of a colorful fall, but the reality was a persistent heat and stubbornly green trees. The air conditioning in the old buildings at Henry Blake didn’t operate well, and stuffy days were unbearable.
Matthew’s last class let out early, so students could wait for the buses in the somewhat cool cafeteria. He sat at a stone table in the courtyard instead, wiping sweat from his forehead and looking at one of Evan’s posters on the wall. He turned his phone over and over in his hand and asked himself the same question Evan asked him.
If you’re afraid of getting in trouble, why start an underground blog?
Matthew shrugged to himself. He’d always pictured his blog taking off through word of mouth or students sending links to each other. No one had to know who wrote it, but everyone could read it on their phones. He thought starting his own blog would get him out from under Mr. Litso’s judgmental eye, but Evan was right. If this blog was as popular as he wanted it to be, the teachers would hear about it.
Matthew dug around his backpack. After burning through the last of his cash, he was back to granola bars and stale fruit snacks.
Other teachers must have let their students go early, too. Several walked by Evan’s poster without noticing it. Some stopped and squinted at the small words scribbled around the edges.
Say Mr. Litso found out Matthew was the obnoxious Frogman plaguing the school advice world. What could happen? Matthew would certainly get an earful. Litso would tell him he had no chance to get into CSU, and maybe he’d be suspended.
“Ah, my little brooding hen.” Evan arrived with a friendly push.
Matthew stumbled but regained his balance. He was getting more used to Evan’s aggressive signs of affection.
“You cooking up some new advice in that brain stew of yours?”
“I posted a few, new things this morning.” Matthew grinned, thinking about his particularly snappy response to a student complaining no one at school had any sense of taste because they didn’t watch his favorite show. When he saw who stopped by Evan’s poster next, his smile vanished.
“I’m kind of in a rut myself.” Evan stuck his hands in his pockets.
Matthew shook his head, waving his fingers across his throat to signal, stop.
Evan gazed out at the courtyard. “I’ve covered a lot of what’s been on my mind. Where do you go from there?”
Matthew stood, put a hand over Evan’s mouth, and pointed his head at Bradley Wallace, who read every detail of the poster.
Bradley even pulled out his phone.
Matthew was too far away to make out the detail, but he clearly saw the big anarchy A from their website on the screen.
Evan pulled Matthew’s hand from his mouth. “Oh, farts.”
Bradley took a photo of the frog pixel art.
“What’s this piss-ant offended by now? Frogs wearing clothes?”
“I added to your poster.” Matthew rubbed the back of his neck.
“It’s good.” Evan shrugged. “Frogs. Frogman. You know, I should probably come up with a name to sign with, too. That way, they know the difference between my posts and yours.”
Bradley tapped through posts on their website.
“I’m Brad…” Matthew quietly imitated him in a high-pitched tone. “And I don’t like that this frog is wearing pants. It’s offensive because when I was turned into a frog, all I could wear were dresses.”
Evan put a hand over his own mouth to muffle his laughter.
“I’m gonna call the president and get him to shut down this website because it teaches bad moral values. Like animals wearing clothes.”
Bradley rushed away.
Evan burst into a cackle. “Oh, man, where is he off to in such a hurry?”
“Maybe he wants to ask Frogman for advice, and he just can’t wait.” Matthew leaned against the courtyard table.
In a few minutes, Bradley returned with the teacher on duty.
Matthew and Evan sat right down at the table and turned away. Matthew pulled a textbook from his backpack and stared at it, listening to Bradley’s complaints.
“Mrs. Ross, this website doesn’t look like it’s from school. Is this poster allowed?”
Looking over his shoulder, Matthew saw Mrs. Ross review the poster.
She pulled her glasses from her shirt pocket to read some of the smaller writing. “It’s probably for one of the clubs. Wasn’t there a game club here or something?”
“That club was shut down.” Bradley bent to look at the poster, too.
“Oh boy, is this advertising that froggy thing Mr. Litso has been complaining about?” She straightened and took off her glasses. “I’ll look into it, Bradley.”
“Shouldn’t we take down these posters until we know for sure?” He stood poised to rip it from the wall.
“I’ll look into it.”
Once both Bradley and Mrs. Ross were gone, Evan pounded a fist on the table. “I can’t believe that snitch! Does he patrol the school looking for things to tattle about?”
Matthew put a hand to his forehead, picturing Mr. Litso’s hammer of lecture coming down sooner than he expected. After thinking a moment, he lit up. “Hey, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ve got some material for you, if you’re stuck.” The last bell rang, and he ran off after Bradley.
The more he thought about it, the more confident Matthew was that his name and Evan’s were nowhere to be found on their website or posters. If he wanted word-of-mouth to advertise the site, who better than Bradley Wallace, the loudest mouth in school? Matthew figured he’d have a quick chat with Bradley before he climbed onto a bus but saw Bradley headed for the theater. He would miss his bus, and his mom would never in a million years pick him up from school.
He followed Bradley anyway, pushing through the theater doors.
Small groups of cast members practiced lines together, scattered in bunches wherever they could find space. Even though this building was cooler, everyone fanned themselves with their scripts.
“Hey—” Matthew grabbed Bradley by the shoulder. “Hi, friend. Could I talk to you for a minute?”
Bradley turned and brushed off his shoulder. “You’re not my friend. You hang out with Evan Corey all the time. Evan is a criminal and a delinquent.”
Matthew glanced around at the theater students practicing. Did Bradley have to be so loud every time he spoke? “Hey, look, I’m sorry about what Evan did the other day. In fact”—he unzipped his backpack and pulled out Bradley’s blue spiral notebook—“I’m here to apologize. He shouldn’t have taken this.”
Bradley smirked, taking the notebook, then turned it over. Mud stains splotched the back cover. He gasped. “It’s ruined!”
“Well, you can still read the notes in here just fine.”
Bradley packed the notebook into his backpack, zipping it with a sneer.
Matthew focused on what brought him here. If he let himself forget, he might turn into Evan and push over the kid. He lowered his voice. “I saw that poster in the courtyard, and I agree with you. Someone’s up to no good.”
Bradley nodded. “You saw, right? You saw Mrs. Ross wouldn’t do anything about it? We should take them down, right?”
“You know what you could do?” Matthew leaned in. “If Mrs. Ross won’t take charge, you should tell everyone you know about that awful website and those ugly posters. If you bring enough attention to the problem, maybe the principal himself will ask you to take them down.”
Bradley put a hand to his chin. “You’re right, this issue goes way higher than Mrs. Ross. If she won’t take it seriously, I’ll find people who will.”
“I’d get started now. Every minute those posters are up, some criminal out there is using the school courtyard, and who-knows-where else, to advertise his website.” Matthew slapped a hand on Bradley’s shoulder and immediately regretted it. His shirt was damp with sweat that smelled like chicken noodle soup.
Bradley took a step forward, then turned back. “Thanks, Matt. Maybe you’re not such a bad guy, after all. You know, I could put in a good word with the school safety patrol.”
“I didn’t know they had a safety patrol. For high school.”
“I’m the captain.” Bradley puffed out his chest.
“I’ll think about it.” Matthew clenched his jaw to keep a straight face.
Bradley hurried over to interrupt a few girls writing notes in their scripts.
Once he was out of sight, Matthew let his face break into a grin, feeling good about his idea and good about the blog in general. He turned to leave and almost ran headfirst into a stern Julia Diaz.
She might still be mad at me for blowing her off when she wanted to play Orbit Racers… Before he even finished the thought, he knew it must be the case. She looked positively incensed.
“Hey, I’m sorry about the other day—” Matthew started.
“What did you say to him, culero?” She stepped immediately into his personal space.
Matthew’s eyebrows pinched together. “What, you mean to him?” He pointed after Bradley.
“Bradley gets made fun of enough, okay?” She poked an index finger into his chest, pushing him back a step. “If you want to laugh about him behind his back, whatever, I can’t stop you, but don’t you dare come to our turf here to hassle him. He’s always on time for practice, and he’s a great light tech.”
Matthew held up his hands. “Whoa, whoa. I’m not here to bother Bradley. I’m sure he’s a good lighting guy, or whatever.”
“What did you say to him, then?”
Her glare could have lasered a hole through the moon. “He was offended by a poster…” Matthew paused. Could he put a positive spin on using Bradley to get attention for his blog?
The silence extended, and Julia folded her arms. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, culero.”
Earlier, Matthew felt like pushing over Bradley. Now, he had a similar feeling about Julia. “Look, dragoon.” It wasn’t a foreign insult, or an insult at all. Just video game jargon from the top of his head. “We live in a free country, all right? I can talk to Bradley and be in the theater building if I want. What are you, the theater police?” He stood tall, looking her in the eyes. “If Bradley can talk big enough to get himself into trouble, he can get himself out of it.” He turned to walk out the double doors.
“You know what? I am the theater police. If we see you around here again, my crew will throw you out!” Julia called after.
Matthew didn’t like the sound of being thrown out of anywhere, and yeah, being so uptight about his games in the admin office a few weeks ago was stupid. He should have apologized sooner. But jeez, this girl was hardheaded. He walked across the concrete path to the courtyard. Evan hadn’t left yet, apparently collecting feedback about his poster from anyone who walked by.
“What do you like or dislike about this poster?” He stopped a freshman, who hurried past him.
Matthew tapped him. “Do you mind taking me home? My bus took off.”
“No problem.” Evan walked with him to the parking lot.
He was glad to have a friend with a car. Well, in general, he was glad to have a friend, especially since he felt like he was making a few enemies.
Chapter 18
With the dishes piled up in the sink once more, Matthew refused to risk going near the kitchen or living room at home while Mom might be there. After homecoming, he ran a small load, and since then stayed holed up in his room or working on blog posts after school at Evan’s house. Today, he sat on a weathered chair on the front porch, scrolling through the practice space calendars on his phone.
An email from Julia Diaz stood out in his inbox.
Matthew,
On behalf of the drama club, we’re tired of sharing the theater with the dance team. Can’t you move something else around so we have the space we need to practice?
Matthew frowned. Everyone made sacrifices to deal with limited practice space at school. The dance team split time in the theater because the volleyball team moved to the gym after a girl passed out from drilling outside in the heat. Julia was rude to make demands, especially after yelling about being the theater police.
He had an awful idea. After changing the calendar, he typed out his response.
Julia,
You no longer have to worry about sharing the theater. You and the drama club may have the cafeteria all to yourselves. You are also welcome to practice outside, as Shakespeare did in his day. Make sure to stay hydrated, though. I heard some people have had problems with heat stroke.
Matthew checked the time on his phone. The newest episode of City Slickers should have ended, which meant Mom was sound asleep on the couch. He pocketed his phone and opened the front door.
Mom stood by the kitchen counter with a plate of pizza rolls.
He jumped. Had she been waiting for him?
“Welcome home, hon. You hungry?”
Matthew was hungry but kept his hands away from the food until he knew what Mom wanted in exchange.
“Fresh from the oven.” She put one in her mouth, then cringed.
Matthew guessed they weren’t as “fresh from the oven” as she claimed. “I’ve got homework.” He started up the staircase.
Mom set down the plate. “I was thinking of picking up wings tonight.”
Matthew froze in place. Wings were a much better offer than cold pizza rolls.
“I have a little bit of work tonight, and I could use your help. You could get started while I run over and grab food.”
“What is it this time?” He lumbered back down the stairs.
She walked toward the den. “A little rearranging. It’ll just take half an hour. I didn’t want to move anything in the garage, because I know you have a lot of important video games and stuff in there. The living room is pretty crowded, so I want to leave that space alone for when you watch TV. If we shuffle things around in the den here, we can create some temporary storage.”
“Temporary storage?” Matthew put a hand to his forehead.
Mom picked up new bags from the thrift store and held them out. “I think I finally have what I need to put together my dream hangout. You know how guys have their man caves with antlers and beers and whatever guys like? Well, it would be the same thing, but with girl stuff. So, margaritas, shoes—stuff that really suits me and my personality. Look at what I found!” She pointed to a mannequin on the floor by the table. “I’ll set it up with a feather boa.”
Matthew imagined searching for his headphones in the den at night and seeing the mannequin silhouette among the wreckage. He shivered. “You want me to move stuff around the den so you can put more stuff in the den?”
“You make it sound stupid, but what do you think organizing is? Moving stuff from one place to another, except it’s easier to find later. God, you’d think I was asking you to build the pyramids.” She frowned, setting her hands on her hips.
Matthew ran a hand through his hair. His shoulders burned with a familiar ache. “Oh yeah, this time you’ll make your dream hangout. What about the vintage ladies’ living room? Or the tropical kitchen paradise? Where are your polka-dotted ottomans and record players?” He thrust a hand toward the living room. “They’re buried under all the other crap you bought. You said you would make a space so you and your friends could play bridge, but everywhere you look is still a disaster.”
She wagged a finger. “You know what? I don’t need to hear this. I am your mother. I spent all this time making snacks so we could work together to clean up the house, and you can’t spare a half hour for me?”
“It won’t be just a half hour.” Matthew’s voice rose. “You say it’ll be a quick project, but it takes the whole night. I’m not doing it, Mom. I’m not gonna shove stuff around the den so you can buy more crap to drown us in.”
“It won’t take all night—”
Matthew headed back up the stairs.
“Don’t you walk away while I’m talking to you. If I can’t get respect in this house, I’ll take away privileges. You think I won’t, but I will.”
“I’ve got homework.” He slammed the bedroom door behind him.
She shouted more rebuttals and complaints up the stairway.
Matthew slid on his mega, over-the-ear headphones and cranked the volume on an album to tune her out.
Mom thumped things around downstairs.
Probably to guilt Matthew into coming back down to help, but he knew better than to fall for that. After jamming his phone in his pocket, he took off his shoes and centered them under his clothes in the closet, then turned on his laptop and opened the school website. He browsed through the counseling page, looking for advice questions to appropriate for his blog but couldn’t stop the stream of angry responses to his mom cycling through his head.
He wasn’t the one who made the house a wreck, but Matthew couldn’t shake the worry she might be right. Did his “video game stuff” in the garage, or refusal to help organize, keep the house in ruins?
A growl rumbled in his stomach, and he dug through his backpack for a packet of fruit snacks. He should have found a way to sneak off with the cold pizza rolls.
When Carrie was around, she was serious about regular cleaning, and both of them would work on it together. But now, Matthew was on his own. Before the messes got so bad, Mom would sometimes say she wasn’t a maid, and she wasn’t paid to pick up after her kids. Well, Matthew wasn’t a maid, either.
