From
Chapter 6
The Lunch Crunch
Lunchtime
was the most glorious period of the
day. Lunch, in fact, was Hillary and
Harriet’s favorite subject —
especially on days when they served
fudge brownies with the deluxe, peanut
butter layer in the center. In Hillary’s
opinion, anybody who missed school
on brownie day was at least a full
saddle short of a mule ride. The only
real drawback to lunchtime was waiting
in line — particularly when
the three goons who tied them to the
bus stop were standing behind them.
“Hey, girls,” said Darby
the Dough Head. “How are you
doing this fine day?”
He had a smirk on his face that was
easily the size of a flood in a sponge
factory. The twins did their best
to ignore them. It wasn’t working.
“Did you enjoy your jump rope
exercise this morning?” added
Smiley. “Tell your old pal,
Elmo, the next time he tries smarting
off to us — he’ll be waddling
sideways for at least a week.”
“Tell him yourself,” replied
Harriet, pointing over their heads.
“He’s right behind you.”
All three of them did an about-face
and nearly fell directly into Elmo’s
arms.
“Hey, boys,” said Cabbot,
staring them down. “That gig
you pulled with the jump rope this
morning was a real yawner. I thought
you guys were smarter than that.”
Elmo shot a disapproving glare at
Cabbot.
“I-I think what my friend is
trying to say,” he interrupted,
“is that we don’t appreciate
being tied to the bus stop.”
“You should have thought of
that before calling us newts!”
retaliated Bearamore. “I believe
the term was ‘hairless newts’
— if my memory serves me correctly.”
“Look,” said Elmo. “You
guys have been bullying us around
since the time we were kindergarteners.
All we’re asking is that you
leave us alone for a change. Some
of us are getting really tired of
it.”
“Oh yeah?” taunted Smiley.
“Apparently, you have forgotten
who runs this show.”
Almost as if he had a cue card, Spineless
Spiro Sparrow entered the scene.
Spineless was a wiry chump from the
third grade. The poor kid wouldn’t
hurt a flea. In fact, he couldn’t
hurt a flea if he tried. Spiro’s
hair was parted down the center and
held into place with something resembling
a mixture of motor oil and wallpaper
paste…Strike One! Spineless
wore red trousers that bottomed out
a full two full inches above ground,
the term “floods” being
a gross understatement. They were
held in place with green suspenders
that were haphazardly draped over
his fluorescent orange shirt. His
trousers had cuffs…Strike Two!
Then…there was the pocket protector…Strike
Three…Batter’s Out!
 Spineless
wasn’t hurting anybody. He was
just another Albatross Elementary
do-gooder minding his own business.
Pressing clumsily forward, he carried
in his hands a freshly purchased school
lunch. The special of the day included
a French dip sandwich with a side
order of mixed vegetables. Spineless
had even coughed up an extra quarter
for a chocolate Bismarck, and he had
already homed in on a vacant spot
near Wobbly Wanda where he was headed
for a hearty lunch with friendly conversation.
The kid had an original walk that
resembled something a walrus with
a broken fin might do.
The Pomegranates faced him head on.
Because he always had his head down,
Spineless didn’t even see them
standing in his path.
Smiley snapped his fingers and Spineless
put on the brakes. All three of them
looked him square in the eyes.
“H-hey, fellas,” mumbled
Spineless.
The Pomegranates didn’t move.
The Pomegranates didn’t breathe.
The Pomegranates didn’t make
a sound.
Three devilishly evil sets of eyes
penetrated into, through, and beyond
one.
Spineless started quivering. The way
he was acting, Cabbot wondered if
the poor boy was cold and almost shagged
down Julius the Janitor for heat relief.
Beads of sweat were forming on the
poor kid’s face, and before
he knew it, his orange shirt looked
like he had danced through the sprinklers
on a hot summer day. The Pomegranates
hadn’t spoken a word, and already
Spineless was trembling so hard his
Bismarck fell from his tray and landed,
chocolate side down, on the floor.
Great doughnut holes! There went a
full quarter’s worth of chocolaty
goodness down the drain.
Then it happened. It was exactly what
The Pomegranates bargained for right
from the start.
Spineless Spiro Sparrow’s lunch
took flight. The French dip sandwich,
the side order of vegetables, the
silverware, the napkin, the carton
of milk and the tray itself shot high
into the air like the rocket’s
red glare. It was a grand display.
As soon as it flew, the entire lunchroom
went from a sea of mixed vocal chatter
to dead silence, and every eye homed
in on Spineless.
He broke.
The pressure was too much. Without
even noticing his foot in the Bismarck
wreckage, Spineless left the room
on a dead run. On his way out, the
bottom of his shoe left a chocolaty
imprint that stretched a good 18 feet
before it finally faded. Old Julius
the Janitor wasn’t going to
like that little stunt one bit.
The Pomegranates grinned at each other
and wheeled back around.
“Let that be a lesson to you,
Elmo Jackson” said Bearamore.
“Nobody messes with The Pomegranates
and lives another day to tell about
it.”
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