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  For my own Bathwater Gang:

  Kevin

  Barbara

  Jeffrey

  Molly

  Sean

  Ben

  1

  Bertie Kidd was bored.

  And it was only the second day of summer vacation. Not to mention only nine o’clock in the morning of the second day.

  “I’m bored,” she whispered.

  “I’m bored,” she said.

  “I AM BORED!” she shouted.

  No one heard her. Her mother and dad had gone to work.

  She came downstairs and looked at the rocking chair by the front window. It was empty, as usual.

  When Granny had come to live with them, Mom and Dad had bought the rocking chair and placed it by the front window. This seemed perfectly normal. After all, that’s what grandmothers do, isn’t it? They sit in rocking chairs by front windows.

  Hah! Somebody forgot to tell that to Bertie’s grandmother.

  She called: “Gran-neeee!”

  No answer.

  Where was a grandmother when you needed one?

  Bertie grabbed her skateboard and went outside. She stood at the corner of Oriole and Elm and looked in all directions. No Granny in sight.

  She started rolling. Ten minutes later, way up on Buttonwood Street, she spotted something bright pink in the distance. It had to be either her grandmother or a flamingo.

  Bertie pushed off. Her skateboard wheels clacked over the sidewalk cracks.

  “Gran-neee!” she called. “Gran-nee!”

  Granny waved, but she didn’t stop. She was “wogging.” That was her word. It meant faster than a walk and slower than a jog.

  Of course, there was no such thing as a wogging suit, so Granny had had to settle for a jogging suit. It was the brightest pink she could find. “So people can see me coming,” she explained. Granny loved attention.

  As usual, several little kids were wogging along with her. Among kids, Granny was the most popular person in the West End. It wasn’t just Bertie who called her Granny. They all did.

  Bertie pulled alongside. “Granny, wait up. I have to tell you something.”

  “I can’t wait up,” said Granny. “I can’t stop when I’m wogging.”

  “Granny, I have a problem.”

  Granny lifted her knees higher. “I feel like I could run all day. I feel like I could jump over that roof. I feel—” she threw her arms in the air—“splendiferous!”

  “Granneee!” screeched Bertie. “I’m bored!”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Granny.”

  “Granny, you’re not funny.” She picked up her skateboard. She had to trot to keep up. “There’s nothing to do, and there’s eighty-one days of summer vacation left, and I’m bored already. At this rate I’ll be dead of boredom by July.”

  They arrived at a corner. Cars were coming. In order to keep moving, Granny wogged in a little circle. Bertie stood in the middle.

  Granny said, “You miss school.”

  “I do not,” Bertie protested.

  “Don’t interrupt,” said Granny. “You miss school. You miss all the kids. You’re a people person. You need to be around people.”

  “So?”

  “So,” said Granny, crossing the street as the last car passed, “start up a gang.”

  Bertie stayed on the sidewalk, letting her grandmother’s words sink in.

  Gang.

  Sure! That’s it!

  “Thanks, Granny!” she called.

  Granny waved. She was already halfway up the next block.

  Bertie hopped on her board and took off down the Elm Street hill. She knew exactly who her first gang member would be.

  2

  Bertie skateboarded straight to the house of Damaris Pickwell, her best friend. Bertie could not imagine having a gang without Damaris.

  Sure enough, Damaris was thrilled.

  “A gang! Wow! Yeah! Great idea!” And then she said what she usually said when a new idea came up: “I’ll ask my mom.”

  “Damaris,” whined Bertie, “what’s there to ask? All you’re doing is joining a gang. It’s not like we’ll be robbing a bank or anything.”

  “Only take a sec,” said Damaris, hurrying off to telephone her mother at work.

  This always annoyed Bertie, Damaris’s running off to ask permission. Bertie liked to just do things.

  When Damaris returned, the answer was all over her face. “I can’t,” she said.

  “Why not?” asked Bertie.

  “My mom says gangs aren’t good. She says one gang leads to another, and trouble starts.”

  “Did you tell her it was my gang?”

  “She said all gangs are that way.”

  Bertie wanted to scream. Many years before, Mrs. Pickwell had been a flower child. As Bertie understood it, this meant she went around in long dresses and bare feet, tossing rose petals everywhere and saying “Love” to everyone she met.

  Flower children were very big on Peace. Mrs. Pickwell was still that way. Even in this day and age, she could sometimes be seen with a blossom in her hair.

  “Damaris,” said Bertie, “I don’t mean to say anything bad about your mom, but sometimes she carries this peace business a little too far.”

  “My mom hates war.”

  “Da-mar-is. We’re not starting a war. We’re starting a gang.”

  Damaris shrugged. “Well, I’m sorry. She said no.”

  Bertie kicked a table leg. “Yeah, great. And she never would have said no if you hadn’t asked her.”

  “Don’t kick our furniture.”

  Bertie gave another kick. “Gonna stop me?”

  Damaris’s face got red. She stomped her foot. “See that, Bertie Kidd? You don’t get your way, and you start acting like a baby.”

  “You’re the baby.” Bertie smirked. “Always asking mommy’s permission.”

  “A little obedience never hurt anybody. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

  “Well, maybe you should try finding some new friends. Because you’re going to be the only one around who’s not in the gang.”

  Damaris stood tall. “I’ll survive.” She walked to the door and held it open. “You may leave now.”

  As Bertie passed by, she did not look at Damaris. But she did mutter: “Banana nose.”

  “What did you call me?” said Damaris.

  Bertie stopped and turned and repeated very clearly: “Ba-na-na nooooze.”

  Damaris sniffed. “Sticks and stones may break my bones—”

  “Blah blah blah,” said Bertie. “Watermelon head.”

  Damaris’s lip quivered. “Well… pumpkin face.”

  “Goose face!”

  “Turkey feet!”

  Bertie leaned into Damaris’s face. She bared her teeth. She snarled, “Boogie breath.”

  Damaris’s lower lip flapped. Before she could slam the door shut, she was bawling.

  Bertie bounced up the sidewalk. As usual, when she and Damaris had a fight, Damaris had been the first to cry. Bertie punched the air with her fist. “Victory!”

  So why didn’t she feel so good?

  3

  It always happened that way. Bertie would win the fight. Then Damaris would cry. Then Bertie w
ould feel rotten.

  What was the use of winning?

  This was as rotten as Bertie had felt in her whole life. She thought of something Granny often told her: When you’re down, look up.

  She looked up. All she saw was the sky. Granny said if you kept looking up long enough, you’d see something good.

  So Bertie kept looking up—and walked into a fire hydrant. She tumbled to the sidewalk. “Phooey!” she growled.

  But when she picked herself up, a good thing happened. She got an idea: I’ll have a good gang. I’ll have the best gang there ever was! Then Mrs. Pickwell will have to let Damaris join.

  Off she went to find members for her gang.

  She tried Jenny Johnson’s house. A neighbor said Jenny was away on vacation with her parents.

  Andrea Miller had the chicken pox.

  Grace Bondi said she would never join a gang that included her worst enemy, Kathy Hobbs.

  Kathy Hobbs said she would never join a gang that included her worst enemy, Grace Bondi.

  Nancy Keen, who wanted to become a ballerina, said belonging to a gang might damage her toes.

  Helen Jenkins said she would join only if she could be captain. Bertie withdrew the invitation.

  Joy Lin was too old.

  Erin Bohannon was too young.

  As a last resort, Bertie knocked for Tiffany Hongosh. Tiffany lived next door. Even though she was the same age as Bertie, she acted like a big-deal, fancy-pantsy movie-star lady.

  Sure enough, when Tiffany answered the door, she was wearing lipstick, eye makeup, and big hoop earrings. To Bertie, she looked like a clown.

  Bertie swallowed hard and forced the words out. “Want to join my gang?”

  Tiffany’s snooty nose got even snootier. “Gang? Me?” She laughed. “Don’t be silly. I don’t have time for such childishness. I have too many other activities.”

  “Oh, yeah? Like what?” Bertie asked, poking Tiffany in the chest. “Hair curling? Toenail clipping? Nose picking?”

  Tiffany turned green and gasped. She slammed the door shut.

  Bertie couldn’t think of anything mean enough to yell at Tiffany, so she just gave the door a kick and left.

  Bertie wandered over to her backyard. Except for making Tiffany turn green, the day had been a bust. Not a single member for her gang so far.

  She could think of only two others to ask.

  She hated to do it. It was embarrassing to think that these two were the only two she could get.

  On the other hand, she knew they would not say no.

  4

  After dinner Bertie found Granny in the basement, throwing darts.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be knitting in a rocking chair or something?” Bertie kidded.

  “I’m saving that stuff for when I get old,” said Granny. “How’s the gang coming?”

  Bertie slumped onto the bottom basement step. “Terrible. I had a fight with Damaris. She’s not allowed to join. Nobody joined, except two.”

  “Two?” said Granny. “That’s not terrible. That’s terrific.”

  “I made them join,” said Bertie. “It was too embarrassing to say nobody joined.”

  “Do I know them?” asked Granny.

  “Well, sort of,” said Bertie.

  “So, who are they?”

  “Clara and Wilma!” blurted Bertie, and she began to cry.

  Granny burst out laughing. Clara was Bertie’s pet hermit crab. Wilma was a fat worm that lived in the petunia patch out back.

  “I’m sorry,” sniffed Granny, wiping her eyes. “I didn’t mean to laugh when you were crying. It’s just the idea of Clara and Wilma in your gang.”

  Bertie wiped her eyes, too. “Well, now you know why I’m so miserable.”

  “Yep,” Granny agreed. “Now I know. Move over.”

  Granny sat on the step beside Bertie. Granny knew when to kid around with Bertie and when to be serious. Bertie hardly ever cried. And she never cried in front of anyone but Granny.

  She put her arm around Bertie. “Rotten day, huh?”

  “Totally.” Bertie sniffled.

  “Okay,” said Granny. “Let me think a minute.”

  Granny got up and started throwing darts at the dart board. She did some of her best thinking while throwing darts.

  Suddenly she turned. “Teasers!”

  “Teasers?” echoed Bertie.

  “Right. It means if you want people to join something, you offer them something in return.”

  “Like what?” asked Bertie.

  “Well,” said Granny, “it could be anything.” She thought some more. “Look at the navy. They don’t just say ‘Join the navy.’ They say, ‘Join the navy and see the world.’”

  Bertie slapped the step. “Yeah. Okay. Gotcha!” She ran up the stairs.

  Five minutes later she was back. She showed Granny a poster she had made. It said:

  JOIN BERTIE’S GANG

  AND SEE

  THE

  WORLD!!!!

  For the second time, Granny burst out laughing.

  5

  “I sure am cracking you up tonight,” said Bertie.

  “I know, I know.” Granny chuckled. “And you’re not even trying.”

  Bertie looked at her poster. “So what’s so funny? It’s a teaser, isn’t it? If it’s good enough for the navy—”

  “Your teaser,” said Granny, “has to be truthful. You can’t offer something you can’t deliver.”

  “Oh,” said Bertie.

  She ran back upstairs.

  “Daddy,” she said, “I want kids to join my gang. What can I offer as a teaser?”

  “A million dollars,” said her father.

  “Thanks, Dad. You’re a real big help.”

  She asked her mother, who said, “Well, what do kids like?”

  “Pizza!” piped Bertie.

  “There you are,” said her mother.

  That night Bertie got out her crayons and made five posters. They said:

  WANT FREE

  PIZZA?

  JOIN BERTIE’S

  GANG

  Then to each one she added a final line:

  NO BOYS!

  Early next morning, even before Granny went wogging, Bertie was outside. She tacked the posters onto five telephone poles up and down Oriole Street.

  She set up her office next to the front steps: a card table, a chair, a sign-up sheet, and a pencil. She waited for the recruits to come pouring in.

  The first to show up was Andy Boyer. He had one of the posters in his hand. He did not look too happy.

  He threw the poster onto the card table. “What’s this stuff?” he demanded.

  “What’s it look like?” Bertie growled back. “I’m starting a gang.”

  He pointed to the last line. “I mean this stuff.”

  “Want me to read it to you?” sneered Bertie. “It says NO BOYS. Okay? NO… BOYS.”

  “You can’t do that,” said Andy.

  “I can do anything I want,” said Bertie. “It’s my gang.”

  “My mom says it’s against the law.” Andy’s mom worked for a lawyer. “You can’t keep somebody out because they’re from a different sex. That’s dis-crim-in-a-tion.”

  Bertie snatched back her poster. “Listen, buster. I already signed up a worm and a hermit crab. I’m not going any lower than that. Now take a hike.”

  Andy jabbed a finger at Bertie’s face. “I’ll take a hike—but I’ll be back.”

  6

  Before long, Andy was back, with a poster of his own. It was mounted on a stick. One side said:

  BERTIE KIDD

  UNFAIR

  TO BOYS

  The other side said:

  DO NOT

  JOIN

  HER GANG

  Holding the poster high, he marched back and forth in front of Bertie’s house.

  “Get off my property,” said Bertie, “or I’ll call the cops.”

  Andy took one step into the street. “Now I’m not on your
precious property. And I have a right to freedom of expression. It’s in the Constitution.” He grinned and went on marching.

  Soon girls began to arrive. A few of them became frightened and left when they saw Andy picketing.

  But most of the girls walked right on past him and put their names on the sign-up sheet.

  They came from all over the neighborhood.

  They came from all over Two Mills.

  They even came from Bridgeport, the town across the river.

  Their names filled three sign-up sheets. There were fifty-nine of them.

  “Ya-hoo!” shouted Bertie. “This is more than a gang. It’s an army!”

  She dashed inside. She whipped off a poster, tacked it to a broom handle, and took it outside. She waved it in Andy Boyer’s face.

  It said:

  HAH-HAH!

  At dinnertime, Bertie told everyone of her great success.

  “Fifty-nine!” marveled Granny. “Pizza sure is a powerful teaser.”

  Her father asked, “When is the pizza party?”

  “Saturday,” said Bertie.

  “And who is paying for all this pizza?” asked her mother.

  “Uh-oh,” said Bertie.

  As planned, a pizza party took place in Bertie Kidd’s backyard on Saturday. All fifty-nine girls showed up.

  Dee-Dee Pizza delivered ten large pizzas. Bertie paid the man. It cost her her next twenty weeks of allowance. Plus all of her leftover birthday money. Plus three hours of work that she owed her mother.

  But it was worth it. Fifty-nine kids in her backyard—and she the boss of them all!

  Bertie told everyone that the first meeting of the gang would be Monday morning at ten o’clock.

  For the next two nights, Bertie could hardly sleep. She kept seeing herself as the leader of fifty-nine people. Fifty-nine girls saluting her. Fifty-nine girls calling, “Hail, Captain Kidd!”

  Monday morning at ten o’clock, two girls showed up.