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When no one believes her, Arlie and her best friend, Ty (yes, he's a boy, and no, he's not her boyfriend), set out with Mr. Boots to stop the creature themselves -- because if they don't, half the school is going to end up as lakeside hors d'oeuvres!
If ty hadn't kicked me in the head that day, I probably wouldn't even have noticed when Stacy Sizemore disappeared. Heck, nobody else really seemed to, not at first anyway. Not until they found the pieces.
We were out in my front yard after school, just fooling around, practicing our karate moves. Not that either one of us takes karate. The karate teacher down at Jazzercise quit to open a lube shop three counties over. But we weren't about to let that stop us -- I mean, we watch kung fu on TV all the time. What's to know?
Apparently a lot, because I'd barely even settled on a kung fu pose before Ty jumped up and kicked me right in the forehead. I have to admit, it was a great shot. I couldn't appreciate it right then, though, since I was busy keeling over and nearly cracking my skull on Tootie, Mom's plastic garden duck. I was glad Tootie survived, but I couldn't even begin to do that "I'm okay" routine to make Ty feel better. Heck, Tootie was lucky she didn't end up wearing the SpaghettiOs I had for lunch. It hurt that bad.
It was right about then that Stacy Sizemore came trotting out of her house. I say trotting because she had on her favorite pink heels -- the three-inch ones with the bow on the front that make her take funny little baby steps. There I was, writhing in agony, and what does Stacy do? Without a word, Stacy Sizemore just steps over my head and staggers into her car, leaving me on the ground choking in a cloud of her cheap perfume. Isn't that great? She wasn't even that careful about it. I'm serious -- I could've lost an ear.
I'm actually surprised I didn't; that's the kind of thing that would happen to me. Years from now I'd be on the senior superlatives page in the yearbook, next to the kids voted Class Clown, Most Popular, Most Likely to Succeed -- you know, the good ones. And there I'd be, Arlene Jacobs, plain kid, brown hair, missing that ear, voted Most Likely to Lose Another Body Part. And my class quote would be, "Gee, thanks, Stacy."
So when she turned up missing the next day, I took particular interest. Okay, maybe it was part gloating -- a see-what-happens-when-you-step-on-my-hair type of thing. (Because she totally stepped on my hair when I was lying on the sidewalk.) But I'm sure a little of it was real friendly concern.
At least I was nicer about it than Tina. Tina's in the same grade with Stacy, and honestly, I couldn't even tell if she'd heard Stacy was missing, that's how unconcerned she was. It wasn't until I saw her out back practicing her cheers that I knew she'd heard the news. Tina's been trying to get on the cheerleading squad forever, but she's convinced Stacy's been blackballing her out of spite. With Stacy gone, Tina must've figured that spot on the squad was hers. But I'll give it to you straight: I've seen Tina cheer. It isn't spite. Tina just sucks, that's all. But like I can say that, right? I like my head. I don't want it bitten off.
Mom and Dad, on the other hand, were pretty freaked out about Stacy. When I got home from school the next day, the phone was ringing. It was Mom. Then, two seconds later, Dad called. They did the same alternating phone call routine every ten minutes for the next four hours, just to make sure we hadn't been kidnapped or murdered for our snackie cakes. At one point nature called, and for obvious reasons, it took me a little longer to get to the phone. You should've heard Mom's voice. She was so shrill, she sounded like Minnie Mouse.
It was hard for me to get all worked up, though. I mean, sure, Stacy was missing and all, but it wasn't like I was looking over my shoulder every five minutes. If I wigged out over every supposed threat or rumor that went around this town, I'd be bouncing off the walls. Which of course my parents do.
Last summer, it was the gang of Jamaican drug dealers that we had to watch out for. Not that anybody ever saw a Jamaican drug dealer. That Reynolds kid with the blond dreadlocks was the closest I ever saw, but he's lived here his whole life and doesn't seem to do much except play the Galaga game down at the Happy Mart. And then the summer before that, there was a rumor that Michael Jackson was going to give a concert at the school auditorium. Which probably doesn't rank as a threat exactly, but heck, I was freaked out.
None of them turned out to be true, of course, but the whole town was in an uproar anyway. And the Daily Squealer tabloid newspaper covered them like they were true. I don't know of another town this small that's able to sustain its own tabloid newspaper, but hey, what can I say. There's really not a lot going on around here, so people take whatever excitement they can get.
It was like that all week -- the parents and grown-ups went out hunting for Stacy while us kids were penned up inside like little fuzzy bunnies. It really ticked me off. Partly because I figured us fuzzy bunnies were the ones who actually had a clue where to look for her, but mostly it was because that meant I was stuck in the house with Tina and our dog, Mr. Boots. All week long. For hours. You have no idea.
Mr. Boots is a great dog, don't get me wrong. We've bonded. We have a very cordial relationship. But I'm powerless to save him from the whims of Tina, and I think he holds that against me.
Mr. Boots is this weird-looking, runty Chihuahua with ears way too big for his head, and he has the misfortune of being the perfect size to fit into all of Tina's old doll clothes. It's really sad. I'll put it this way -- when Mom and Dad summoned us for an official "talk" Monday night, Mr. Boots came wearing a charming blue gingham dress with lace sleeves and matching bonnet.
"Girls," Dad started, clearing his throat and trying not to stare at Mr. Boots, "it's like this."
"PTA!" Mom shrieked. Tina and I exchanged looks. Mom was definitely on the edge. I almost wanted to check the freezer in the basement for Filet o' Stacy, that's how weird she was acting.
Mom must've known she was cracking, because her face got bright red and she licked her lips nervously.
"It's a PTA meeting, kids," she said, obviously controlling herself.
Dad cleared his throat again, like he had some kind of condition. "Just a PTA meeting to talk about school issues."
"Emergency meeting," Mom squeaked.
Dad shot her a nasty look. "Nothing to worry about. Just school issues."
"What, like dress code?" I said. I couldn't help myself. I mean, like we couldn't guess what it was really about.
Dad's face turned a sort of dusty rose, the same color as Mom's bathroom, and the vein on his forehead bulged out.
"So I can go out with Trey then?" Tina interrupted, glaring up from the squishy center of the couch. Tina has no patience for family meetings.
You'd think she'd just asked for permission to behead the neighbor's cat from the way they reacted. Mom sucked her breath in so fast, she almost choked on her own spit, and Dad slammed his fist down on the mantel, accidentally squashing a mini Snickers bar that I'd had designs on all day. I don't even know who'd stashed it there, but I'd been thinking finders keepers. Thanks to Dad, that mini Snickers was going to miss an important appointment with my stomach.
"You are staying right here until this gets straightened out, young lady." Dad wiped caramel and nougat off his hand.
"Think about Stacy! Tina, please!" Mom cried.
Tina narrowed her eyes and stared at Mom and Dad coldly for a couple of seconds. "Peachy."
Then she clenched her jaw for effect and inspected Mr. Boots's toenails. Mr. Boots blinked his watery eyes in terror. Poor guy. He could see what was coming.
"That's my girl," Dad beamed, patting Tina on the head. I think he got nougat in her hair. "Arlie, you mind Tina now."
"Great." I tried not to sound surly. Dad gets mad when you sound surly. Unbelievably, my Little Miss Sunshine routine fooled him.
Mom and Dad kissed us good-bye like they were leaving on a world tour and headed out the door. Tina promptly scooped Mr. Boots up and stomped upstairs.
"Don't bother me. I'm busy," she yelled as she slammed her door behind her.
Like I would. Like I enjoy playing fashion model any more than Mr. Boots does. Believe me, the days of Arlie, Tina's human doll, are far in the past. Besides, I had better things to do.
Ever since that little "missed evacuation" episode last year, when Tina's phone habit almost caused the Jacobs family to be asphyxiated by poisonous gases (courtesy of the local chemical plant), we've had two phone lines -- one for Tina's all-important social life, and one for the rest of the family to make emergency phone calls. I figured this qualified.
Carla Tate is this girl who lives in the little squatty house across from the junior/senior high. Usually I think it must be lousy, but not on emergency PTA nights. She gets the scoop before almost anybody else, so that makes her super popular. I grabbed the cordless, sat down in the squishy center of the couch, and started dialing. And dialing. And redialing.
Apparently, I wasn't the only person in the school with the idea of calling Carla. After about twenty minutes, I gave up and called Ty.
Ty answered on the first ring, so it pretty much confirmed my suspicions. "Carla, huh?" I said.
"You too?"
"Any luck?"
Ty snorted. "Yeah, right. It's worse than a radio contest."
"Tell me about it. What'd your parents go with? Mine went with an emergency PTA meeting." Like there even are emergency PTA meetings.
"My dad said it was a meeting of PHAPT -- Parents Helping Actualize Prom Traditions. He said it was pronounced 'Phat' but with a silent second P. I think he must've worked on that one for a while."
Ty's dad was pretty slick, I had to admit. That one was almost believable. Prom is the hugest deal around here, you have no idea. Swear to God, some girls start planning what to wear before they start junior high. There's even a front-page "Countdown to Prom" spread in the newspaper every year. So secret parental prom organ...
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
My son loved it,
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This review is from: Boots and Pieces (Paperback)
Customer review from the Amazon Vine™ Program (What's this?)
I am not sure what this book was about, my 10 year old son read it and told me he liked it. My son is not a reader and getting him to read is like pulling his teeth. However this book kept him interested and he even wrote a summary for his reading class at school. I asked him how he liked it on a scale of 1-5 being the best and he said 4 so there it is....
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Fun! Good for the 12 and up crowd!,
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This review is from: Boots and Pieces (Paperback)
Customer review from the Amazon Vine™ Program (What's this?)
Depending on the style of book your child enjoys will obviously determine whether or not you pick up this book. If they can't get enough Goosebumps or night time horror stories, then Boots & Pieces will be right up their alley.
Packed full of mystery, murder and intrigue yet spoken in the younger, goolish tone that I remember growing up. The story is easy to follow and keeps them reading, It will bring about some hair raising moments which is followed by some much needed light hearted humor. I thought the author packed a lot of entertainment in Boots and Pieces. My 12 year old daughter and I had a blast reading it. If you don't want your younger child hopping in bed with you night after night, then I suggest giving the book to 12 and up. Four stars!
1 of 1 people found the following review helpful:
3.0 out of 5 stars
Funny but,
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This review is from: Boots and Pieces (Paperback)
Customer review from the Amazon Vine™ Program (What's this?)
a bit much for my 9 year olds, so I agree with the others.
I think I probably enjoyed it more.
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