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Blame It on the Orange Crush

Okay, so I need a plan … just one little idea. How hard can it be? I mean there’s got to be a million moneymaking ideas out there. Right?

I know what you’re probably thinking: why not mow a few lawns or take up babysitting? Well, for starters, mowing lawns is just out of the question — I have a huge phobia of lawnmowers … long story, tell you later. As for babysitting, we live in a neighbourhood full of old people. There are no little kids on my street, or even close by, which I thought wouldn’t be a problem, because parents want responsible and qualified babysitters, right? Wrong! After months of training, taking the highest-level babysitting course in history, and learning advanced CPR and first aid, I found out parents don’t want to hire babysitters who need a ride home; they want babysitters who live across the street. How messed up is that?

So, I need to think of a plan that doesn’t involve lawn mowers or taking care of small children. Usually I tap when I think. Sometimes I tap the table, sometimes I tap my desk, but right now I’m tapping my head, which by the way, is empty. I mean really, not a single idea, no lightning bolts of inspiration, just nothing, nada. How frustrating! Why can’t I come up with just one little measly idea? Maybe I’m just not an “idea person.” Hey, we can’t all be geniuses. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m no dummy, but I’m definitely not a brainiac like my friend Rachel. Now that’s a girl who’s super-smart, like, I’m talking … brilliant.

Rachel is my very best friend in the world and has been since the day we met, a little over five years ago. It was the first day of third grade. Rachel and I were in the same class but we didn’t know each other because she was new.

So, it was lunchtime, and I was watching her (not in a weird stalker kind of way, but in an I don’t

recognize that girl, she must be new kind of way). Anyway, she opened her lunch bag and pulled out a strange-looking sandwich that had some weird grassy stuff in it. She took a bite and squished up her nose. Then she took out a Thermos, looked inside, and took a swig. It was pretty obvious from the look on her face that whatever was in that Thermos was completely disgusting. I looked down at my delicious, first-day-of-school lunch that Mom packs me every year: a ham-and-cheese croissant, carrot sticks with dip, a Kit Kat bar, and a can of Orange Crush. When I looked back at Rachel, she was stuffing her lunch back into her lunch bag. I think she’d barely eaten a thing. Who could blame her, though? What kind of mother would pack a lunch like that? Then she got up from her desk and just left.

Suddenly, I found myself hopping up from my seat with my prized first day of school can of Orange Crush. What am I doing? I was thinking as I walked toward her empty chair. I thought about how delicious my Orange Crush would be and then about that disgusting stuff in Rachel’s Thermos. I put the can down on her desk, turned to walk back to my seat, and that’s when I caught him! From the corner of my eye I saw Billy Butler booking it for that can of soda. I spun around, and, as fast as lightning, bolted toward her seat. But I was too late; in the split second it took to reach Billy, he’d already grabbed it and chucked it across the room. Zach jumped up, caught it, and pitched it back. In a flash, it became a full-fledged game of Monkey in the Middle. The boys were all flailing their arms and leaping in the air, trying to catch it, while the girls were all ducking for cover. That can had to have been hurled across the classroom at least twenty times before the lunch monitor poked her head in the door and insisted that it be put away at once!

So, the game stopped; the can was put back on Rachel’s desk, and everyone went back to eating lunch, including me. I didn’t have my Orange Crush, but at least I had something good to eat. I checked the clock. We had fifteen minutes of lunch left. (I remember this detail because below the clock was Rachel’s desk, and as my eyes fell from the clock to her, well specifically to the can of soda in her hand, I suddenly realized that she was back and nobody had filled her in; she had no idea what was about to happen.)

In my mind I was screaming, “No! No! No! New Girl … don’t do it … don’t open that can …” But before I could warn her, she poked her finger through the loop of the pull-tab and then … snnnnnnnnnnnap … swishhhhhhhhhhhhhh … orange syrupy liquid was spraying everywhere, in every direction. It was all over her — in her hair, on her clothes, on her desk, on the floor. She sat frozen, like a sticky orange zombie, with everyone’s eyes glued on her.

I knew one thing for sure: she needed my help. I sprang from my desk, sprinted to the craft table, and grabbed a massive roll of paper towel. Looking back now, I think everything would have been fine if I had just gone a tiny bit slower, but I kind of panicked.

Now to be clear, I don’t think it was my fault that I slipped; the Orange Crush had turned the floor into a Slip ’N Slide, and how could I have known that Rachel would pick that exact moment to snap out of her daze and spring up from her desk?

It was like bowling a perfect strike. I hit her square on, and like a bowling pin, she went flying … and so did the can. It flew out of her hand and into the air, turning end over end, spraying an Orange Crush mist over everything in its path. When it finally landed, it was upside down on Scarlett Hastings’s lap. Now, if you knew Scarlett Hastings like we know her, you would realize that this was the worst place for that can to land. I’ll explain more about that later.

Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital with a concussion and the strangest feeling that I was being watched. Sure enough, the first thing I saw, as soon as I was able to focus, were two big blue eyes staring at me through a tangled mess of sticky, long, strawberry-blond hair. Those eyes, peering at me from the next bed over, belonged to Rachel. She was also the proud owner of ten brand new stitches, a broken arm, and a new best friend.

In the hospital we found out how much we had in common. Most importantly, this is where we discovered we were (and still are) Josh Taylor’s absolute biggest fans!

Wait a second … we are his biggest fans … Rachel and me … could it be that easy? Of course it is. I just figured out a plan, a brilliant plan. I’ll call Rachel! She’ll know exactly what to do. Problem solved! I told you I’m no dummy.