Losing Joe's Place by Gordon Korman Page A

the hundreds, a tangle of electrical wires, miles of string, wads of tape, random magnetic chess pieces, lint-covered raisins, and something that was either the Hope Diamond or a great big glass bottle stopper.
    The three of us just stood there with our mouths hanging open as Rootbeer stepped out of the town dump, and proceeded to rip off the rest of his clothes, a sight that would make a summer all on its own. Then he filled up the tub, shook in half a box of Tide, and dumped all his clothes in. With the toilet brush (I wondered what that could be for) he pushed his laundry back and forth, like a witch stirring her brew. And by this time, the suds were on the ceiling. Then, satisfied that everything was moving along, he climbed into the tub himself, and began scrubbing his back with the toilet brush. (Why didn’t I know that was coming?)
    The phone rang. “Hello, darling.” It was my mother. “Anything new?”
    â€œIt’s washday.”
    * * *
    Since I had to go get the newspaper anyway, for the Employment section, I was in charge of the shopping.
    On Monday, I was in the grocery store, filling up my cart with our usual instant everything, when someone called my name. I looked up. There was Jessica, smiling and gesturing. Didn’t it figure? I strut myself all over the neighborhood with absolutely no results, and now that I’ve finally written her off, guess who finds
me?
    â€œAm I ever glad to see you!” she said, waving a clipboard under my nose. “I’m totally confused.”
    â€œWell, first you have to get a cart —”
    â€œNo, no, I’m not shopping. This is an assignment for school.”
    I stared at her.
    â€œSummer school,” she said distastefully. “I flunked a course this spring, and my mom says I have to make it up.”
    â€œYeah?” The wondrous Jessica got pushed around by her mom, too. How human of her! “What course?”
    She looked ashamed. “Home ec.”
    â€œHome ec!?” I laughed in her face. It felt great. “How do you fail home ec?” Even Don had managed a D-minus in home ec.
    She looked at me belligerently. “If you put salt instead of sugar in the soufflé, and you sew the waistband to the bottom of the apron instead of the top, and you set fire to your recipe book, you flunk.” She shrugged sheepishly. “Especially if you cut a lot of classes, and forget to show up for the final exam.” She showed me her clipboard, on which she had written exactly one word:
Beans
.
    â€œWhat’s this?”
    â€œMy homework. It’s a cost versus nutrition chart on at least twenty-five different products. You can help me.”
    What an honor! For this bright shining moment, I found myself wishing I had Plotnick’s mouth. I mean, what had she done for me lately? All I said was, “Well, I’m kind of in a hurry to get home so I can start looking for a job —”
    â€œThis’ll take two seconds!” she assured me, grabbing my arm and dragging me down the canned vegetables aisle.
    Very quickly, I learned why Jessica had flunked home ec. She didn’t know a pea from a carrot, and it was because she didn’t want to know. I’ve never seen anybody care so little. I ended up doing the whole assignment.
    When the chart was complete, I handed her the clipboard, and she looked at it in disgust. “This course is so stupid! What a waste of time!” was her comment.
    I nodded in agreement. A waste of
my
time.
    She glanced at her watch. “Oh, no! I’m late for class!” And she and her homework galloped off.
    â€œYou’re welcome,” I called sarcastically. But I was a coward. I waited until she was out of earshot.
    An hour and a half behind schedule, I started the shopping. But it didn’t go very well. Every time I picked up an item, I kept seeing it on Jessica’s stupid chart. Our usual groceries were among the most expensive and