How to win a slime war, p.5
How to Win a Slime War, page 5
“Then what is?” he asks.
“Sliming!” I say, and my cousins both laugh. Hard. I didn’t mean to say that, it just flew out. “I mean, it’s not a sport…but it’s something to keep me busy after school.” Even Dad and Auntie and Uncle have little smiles on their faces. They’re not taking me seriously.
I try to eat my pizza and not look at any of them, but I feel so silly now. Don’t cry, I tell myself.
“Alex, buddy, we’ve talked about this. Sliming’s fine, but let’s find other activities you can go deeper into. Something to help you start sixth grade off with a bang!”
What he means is something to make him proud. Something to brag about like with Nick and Sammy. Something more his style…not mine.
“I’m good at making things.” I pick off a pepperoni and don’t look up. I wish I could fling it at him.
“You should totally play soccer,” Sammy says. “It’ll make you stronger.”
“Yeah, then you can finally beat this guy at arm wrestling.” Uncle Benny smiles kindly and points to Sammy.
“Never gonna happen,” Sammy says. He and Uncle are trying to lighten things up, but it’s not funny to me.
“Ah, leave him alone,” Nick says. “Maybe Alex doesn’t need to play anything. He’ll be like a cool inventor mogul or something.” Nick nudges my side. “He’ll buy me a Lambo with his first bazillion.”
“Alex is good at a lot of things when he puts his mind to it,” Dad says. “We all have a sport we love, right, guys?”
Do they have to talk about me like I’m not sitting right there?
“Who wants another slice?” Auntie asks. She flashes me a caring smile—she’s good at what she calls the distraction method. She always knows when I need the subject changed.
Sammy and Nick raise their plates and Uncle Benny loads them up.
“I can’t believe you’re both finally here, finally home,” Auntie adds. For the rest of the meal Dad doesn’t give me his disappointed death stare. He doesn’t look at me at all.
Auntie asks my cousins and me to clean up. We clear the table, wipe it down, and load the dishwasher. Having a store with a takeout bar and a little café has taught us how to do this—for as long as I can remember, Lola and Lolo have always made us help.
Sammy opens the pizza box and spots a couple of stray slices; Auntie playfully slaps his hand when he tries to eat one.
“Why don’t you wrap it up and put it in the fridge, sweets?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” he says with a stiff salute.
The grown-ups stay at the table. Nick finishes loading the dishwasher and presses Start until it gurgles.
“One more round of hoops?” Nick says.
“Sure,” Sammy says. “B-ball, little cuz?” he says to me.
“I don’t really feel like it right now.” I stuff my hands into my jeans and lean against the counter.
“You still thinking about that weird soccer thing with your dad?” Nick says.
“What’s so wrong with making slime?” I ask.
“Uncle just wants you to think about your future,” Nick says.
“I’m in sixth grade!” This makes Sammy crack up.
“Yeah, dummy.” Sammy lightly smacks Nick’s head. “Uncle’s probably still mad about that time at Christmas you got red-and-green slime stuck all over Lola’s cream-colored couch.” They both crack up now. Sammy drapes his arm around me. “Listen, cuz, a little word of advice. If you want the girls at school to like you, maybe choose something cooler than slime. It’s…kinda gross.” He starts laughing.
Nick rolls his eyes. “Don’t pay any attention to this fool,” he says, pointing to his brother. “And try not to let your dad get to you so much. He’s exactly like my dad. And Mom says Lolo was like that, too. It’s annoying, but it’s how they are.” Nick shrugs and he and Sammy head out.
The kitchen door slams behind them, and I can hear Dad and Auntie and Uncle talking from the other room.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Dad says.
“Let Alex find his own way,” Auntie tells him.
“He will, John, Alex is a really good kid,” says Uncle Benny. “Kids need to figure things out, too.”
“Remember how Anna always wanted a daughter to dress up or go to ballet class with?” Dad says.
Anna. My mom.
“She bought a whole load of tutus before she found out she was pregnant,” Auntie says, laughing.
“I used to joke with her that what I really wanted was a son. Somehow I thought it’d be easier than this,” Dad says. He laughs at first, but it turns into a sigh. I picture him rubbing his face the way he does whenever something’s bothering him. “Alex is a great kid, I just wish he’d apply himself more. Put himself out there, you know? Last week he spent all of his allowance on glue. Glue!”
Auntie chuckles hard. “I’d call that passion. He’s a dreamer and a doer.”
“You’re absolutely right. I guess I have a lot on my mind, sis. I need to make the store work. I’m putting everything into it—our savings, too. If it doesn’t start making some real money again, then our dream was for nothing.”
I creep to the door and Auntie catches my eye. I step back.
We’re not loaded like kids from my old school—we’ve always had enough, but Dad’s also had money issues because of the side businesses he’s tried to launch that never made it. Sounds like he’s worried about this one now, too.
Auntie joins me in the kitchen. “You all right, sweetie?”
“Did he really put all our savings into the market?”
She gives my shoulder a quick squeeze. “Your dad knows what he’s doing. He’s a Manalo, remember?”
“But what happens if the store doesn’t work out? If we can’t make it successful again?”
“I love that you’re asking, because it means you care. Every day you remind me more of your mom, you know that?” She pulls me into a quick side hug. “Your father says the things he does because he loves you. You’re his everything.”
I try to believe her, but when I peek into the dining room, I see Dad shaking his head, his face in his hands.
Once I’m back in my room, I grab a box and turn it upside down on the bed.
Slime stuff.
It’s not my room, really, it’s Dad’s old bedroom, which my grandparents haven’t changed since he was in high school. It’s still got a soccer ball bedspread and a shelf full of trophies that didn’t fit into the Shrine. I reach up, take them all down, and put them one by one into the empty box.
One trophy has a guy swimming, midstroke. I tried doing swim team once, the only sport I sort of liked. During meets I had a strategy: sometimes swim slow, sometimes swim fast. I was determined to win every place so I’d get every color ribbon. A rainbow of them.
“You’re such a strong swimmer, Alex. I don’t understand why it takes you forever for one lap but other times you’re so quick. We should work on your consistency,” Dad said, and I told him my goal of winning all the colors. His forehead scrunched up like a raisin. “Why wouldn’t you want to just go for first?”
“I do. Just not every single time,” I said. He gave me the oddest look.
I never got blue for first, but I won all the other shades.
Winning doesn’t have to look like a shiny trophy or a fancy ribbon the way Dad thinks it should—and I’ll prove it to him. If there’s one thing I know he respects as much as a sports guy, it’s a business guy. Maybe slime is the way I can finally impress him.
Dad’s old trophies fit neatly into the box like puzzle pieces. I close the lid, shove the box into the deepest corner of my closet, and fill the shelf with bottles of contact lens solution, cans of shaving cream, colorful bottles of shampoo with different yummy scents, permanent markers, rolls of tape, teeny vials of food coloring, a jug of thick glue, and palm-sized plastic containers for my final creations. I bought all of it at the dollar store with birthday money and allowance from doing chores. If Dad doesn’t like me using allowance for slime, I’ll make my own money from the Slime War.
I step back, dust off my hands, and admire my newly stocked creation station.
I’m going to show Dad—and my whole family—just how cool sliming can be. I’ll make my operation work and turn it into its own legend—something Dad can boast about. And if he’s spending our savings on the market, this could help. He won’t have to feel so worried about money, at least not when it comes to me, because I’ll make my own.
One more thing.
I dash downstairs. It’s only Dad now, sunk into the couch, clicking away on his laptop.
“Okay,” I say, loudly, and he looks up. “I’ll play soccer.” He doesn’t think I stand out like him or like my cousins, but he’ll see. If he wants me to play that badly, I’ll try. Soccer and slime. I’ll show him what I can do.
His eyes widen but then a smile stretches across his face. Before he can say anything, I run back upstairs to get sliming. I’ll give Dad the kid he wants—in more ways than one.
Glugs of glue
Shakes of baking soda
Splashes of baby oil
Dashes of purple food coloring
The teeniest, tiniest stray building-block pieces from an old toy set, to give some texture
The perfect cool and crisp early-morning breeze pours into my room through the open window. I can hear Dad humming downstairs, back from his run.
Every day, Dad’s alarm blares at five a.m. sharp. I don’t really care, especially not today because it dragged me up and I’ve got big plans before school starts. In Kidpreneur they taught us that mornings are when your brain’s at its best. Dad also liked hearing about how early risers get better grades because they have more focus. But I like mornings because even if I had a miserable day before, I can always start again.
I pull down all the ingredients from my shelf.
Let’s.
Get.
Sliming.
I’m going to try something I’ve seen online—creating without exact measurements. Inventing. Playing. Getting my warm thinking fuzzies going.
Lola has shown me how to cook Filipino dishes like pancit noodles and chicken adobo, but also her favorites that have nothing to do with her homeland, like eggplant parmesan and beef bulgogi, or golden beet salad with walnuts and goat cheese, which I thought sounded gross until I tried it. I’d watch her throw in dashes of this and that, chopping veggies quick as a machine before tossing and stirring and cooking until the whole house smelled wonderful. Whenever she wants me to try a new dish but I don’t want to, she reminds me how I ended up liking beets.
Making slime’s not the same as cooking, even though I’ve made edible batches by heating milk and cornstarch and adding fruit flavoring. Tasted just like candy. Still, sometimes I try to guess what ingredients work together.
I squeeze purple shimmery glue into my solution and mix everything with my hand. It’s not congealing like it should and runs right through my fingers.
Not great.
I try again with a recipe, and the next batch feels better, smooth and glossy. As I fold and squish, the slime snaps and pops. Nice. I’d spend money on this.
Off to sell.
Slime War, day one.
At school I’m in the thick crowd and spot Logan at the lockers. I weave my way through the sea of kids and march up to him.
Logan stuffs in a book and slams the door. When he turns he’s wearing a name tag: csc.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Me! Your new chief slime controller!” he says, and I laugh. “Before we team up, let’s figure this out. You make the slime, I help you sell it. Sixty-forty.” When he says “sixty” he points to himself, and with “forty” he points to me.
I shake my head. “No way. What happened to fifty-fifty?”
“I’m the one with all the connections, Alex. You couldn’t do this without me.”
Kendra walks up to us and I take a brave little breath—that’s what Auntie Gina calls them. I’m not good at talking to girls. Last year one had a crush on me, at least that’s what everyone said. Libby Chen followed me everywhere. When Raj and I would see her, we’d run in the opposite direction as fast as we could.
“Here ya go, Kendra. Fresh batch.” I toss her the container.
“You’re prompt.” She unpops the lid, and I can tell she notices the secret right away because she brings her nose closer for a deep whiff. I added something special—a few drops of essential oil gives it a delicious smell. “Grape? Awesome!” She grins and holds it up to Logan’s nose and he sniffs and pokes at it.
“Super bouncy,” Logan says, and they laugh.
“Stop! Hurry!” Kendra says under her breath. Their faces turn stony. Kendra quickly puts her hands behind her back, and Logan stiffens next to her. I’m not sure what they’re doing until I see a teacher walking by.
The teacher looks at Kendra and Logan, who smile politely.
As soon as he’s out of sight, they both let out a breath.
“Wow, that was close,” Kendra says.
“Too close,” says Logan.
“Who was that?” I ask.
“Mr. Schlansky,” Kendra says. “He hates slime.”
“Anyway, see?” Logan says to Kendra. He nods my way. “I told you he’s good.”
“I’m your newest fan, Alex.” She grins at me and my cheeks get warm.
Everyone has their own way of liking slime. For some kids it’s the satisfying feel, for others it’s a happy color or sparkle. I’ll have to start figuring out my customers to make things really take off.
“We good?” I ask, and Kendra nods.
Logan punches a fist into the air. “Victory will be ours!”
Piece. Of. Cake.
I can picture us winning. I can see every kid wanting to sit with us at lunchtime.
“Fifty-fifty,” I say, “and that’s my final offer. And you get to keep your CSC title.”
“Cool, cool,” Logan says. “Just wanted to see what you had in you. Let’s strategize. Meet me in the courtyard at lunch—I’ve got some ideas.”
I like idea people. They imagine anything out of nothing and turn it into something. Something real.
He extends a fist and we bump.
The bell rings and kids stream past us from every direction, including Trevor.
“Hey, Trev,” Logan says to him, but Trevor doesn’t stop or say anything back. Logan’s smile disappears. Logan said they were best friends, but it doesn’t seem that way.
As I walk to class a few kids turn toward me and give me sly smiles. The Slime War is on. We’re off to a good start.
In science class, Mrs. Graham greets everyone at the door. “Good morning, Alex,” she says with a smile.
I settle into my seat and Logan whispers across the rows, “Lunchtime we kill it.”
Last night I made batches of all my best slime, but I didn’t have time to think much about the selling part. I’m glad Logan’s on my side.
“How? Where?” I whisper.
“Haven’t made a final decision yet, but wherever we end up, we keep moving until it’s over. We can’t let any teachers get suspicious.”
“Should we put up signs or something?” I ask.
He looks at me like I’ve got ten eyeballs and twelve nostrils. “I just said not suspicious! You want to get caught before we even start?”
Oh, right.
Before I have a chance to whisper back, Mrs. Graham eyes us and makes her time-to-quiet-down peace sign, so that’s the end of that.
It’s hard to pay attention when I have slime on my mind—how we’ll sell and how we’ll win. Then, midway through our lesson is when I see it.
It starts with a whisper.
A chain reaction.
Logan looks around, and when Mrs. Graham turns her back he leans toward the girl in front of him and says something into her ear. Then she does the same thing to the kid in front of her, and up and up and sideways and over and all around the class those whispers travel, from desk to desk, kid to kid.
All day until lunchtime it keeps happening.
Notes passed.
Cupped hands by ears.
Strangers giving me a knowing nod. Every sixth grader is shooting glances my way, but I don’t know who they are yet.
The bell rings and I grab my backpack full of loot. It’s slime time.
I make it through the next few periods, but the whole time my stomach’s doing loopy roller coasters. At lunch Logan meets me at the lockers.
“Ready?” I ask.
“One important thing we have to do first,” he says with seriousness. “We need a secret handshake.”
I laugh, but then I think about it. Handshakes are the ultimate body language. In Kidpreneur we learned the importance of a good handshake. It means:
You’re confident.
You’re making a promise.
You’re setting something in motion.
You know what you’re doing.
And you have to give a firm one, not a wet-fish one with a floppy wrist.
“You’re absolutely right,” I say.
Instead of a formal grasp and a shake, shake, shake, we want to make ours special. We try a few moves—slapping palms and bumping knuckles, things like that—but it’s awkward and we crack up.
“Oooh, I know,” Logan says. He demonstrates a high five and two quick fist bumps.
“Not bad, but how about an oomph at the end?” I add exploding fingers.
“One more.” He adds a pullback.
We try the whole thing again as fast as we can: high five, two fist bumps, exploding fingers, pullback. Hey, not bad!
