Free 101 Ways to Bug Your Friends and Enemies by Lee Wardlaw Page B

I couldn’t wait for this class to begin, couldn’t wait to tackle the animation modeling software, to “draw” the virtual model of the alarm.
    The CAD room greeted me with three long rows of gleaming white, state-of-the-art computer stations, each with flat-screen monitors and ergonomically correct chairs. A chemical odor emanated from the new electric-blue carpet. The computers hummed.
    I grabbed a chair next to the wall, slung my pack under the desk, sank into the cushy seat, twirled twice in excitement, and gave the keyboard a flick. It glided into position.
    Atlantis . . . Shangri-la . . . Utopia . . .
    Cullen the Bear shambled in and overtook the seat beside me. My stomach lurched, colliding with my heart.
    Hades . . . Purgatory . . .
    I shrank in Cullen’s shadow, practically diving to the bottom of my pack, pretending to search for a pencil.
    â€œHowzit,” he said, not unfriendly.
    â€œMmpf,” mmpfed my pack-covered head.
    Students streamed in and chose seats. The bell rang, the door closed, and class began.
    I came up for air. Slumped lower in my seat. I felt sick. Dizzy .
    You can do this, Steve. You will do this. You promised Hayley , remember?
    Half an hour later, the teacher finished her lesson and suggested we experiment with the software. Since I hadn’t heard a word of her lecture, I tippy-tapped random keys while sneaking peeks at Mr. Handsome.
    He wore shorts and a faded yellow tank top with a drawing of a sno-cone on it. The tank read Haleiwa Shave Ice . His wide, dark brown fingers capered across the keyboard like he was playing jazz piano.
    What the golf tees did Hayley see in this guy, anyway? Sure, he was tall. Muscle-y. Handsome . . .
    Oh. Right.
    Okay, so I wasn’t tall. And my muscles were as rubbery as overcooked spaghetti. And my nose looked liked it had barely survived a nasty altercation with a garlic press. But I had something Cullen didn’t have: B-R-A-I-N-S.
    I emerged from Cullen’s shadow and, before I could change my mind, blurted, “Hi! Hello! Need any help?”
    â€œNo tanks, brah,” he answered. “Got it wired.”
    Great. Just great. The guy has computer smarts too.
    Well, at least I could tell Hayley I offered to help and Cullen declined. One favor down, one to go. And I had an entire semester to get around to number two. I mean, I promised only to ask if he liked Hayley. I hadn’t specified when I’d ask . . .
    A carpet fluff snuffed up my nose.
    â€œAH- CHOO !”
    â€œEh, don’t I know you, brah?” Cullen’s keen, blackish eyes regarded me and my wad of tissues.
    I shifted closer to the wall. “Nope. Yep. We sorta met a couple of days ago at Gadabout Golf.”
    Cullen grinned. “You da keiki wen gave Marcos da metaphorical bloody nose!”
    â€œMarcos?”
    â€œYellow rat bite. Wen threaten you wit one whoosha.”
    He must mean Scarecrow. But I didn’t recall any rodent nibbles.
    â€œYou got koa, junior boy,” Cullen continued. “But keep clear of Marcos, eh? No like talk stink, but from what I seen, dat moke make pilikia .”
    I stared at Cullen’s shark-tooth necklace. It glistened bone-white and sharp under the fluorescent lights.
    â€œI really, really, really don’t want to offend you,” I told him. “But—I don’t understand a word you’re saying.”
    Cullen’s grin gleamed. “Sorry, brah. In da islands, when my bruddahs talk story, we speak Pidgin. Hawaiian dialect.” He ticked his massive fingers: “ Keiki mean kid. Koa is courage, da stuff of ali’i , Hawaiian royalty. Talk stink — ”
    â€œBad-mouthing someone?” I guessed.
    He nodded, pleased. “Moke is tough local guy. Pilikia spells trouble. Rat bite , dat’s one bad haircut.”
    I laughed. “What about the other word? Whoosher . Is that a volcano?”
    â€œDat’s one golf term,” Cullen said.