The Ridiculous and Wonderful Rainbow Hat Page 2

  If you’re keeping track, that’s three Rileys in total: the original (rainbow hat) and two clones (green hat and blue hat).

  “Holy linguine with clam sauce, I’m cloning up a storm,” Riley said. “I better pace myself.”

  The eyebrows of both clones went up, then they each put a hand in front of their mouths to hide their devious smiles.

  “First things first,” the original Riley said as she let a smile slip out, too. “To avoid confusion, I’m going to call you Green Me and Blue Me. Everyone okay with that?”

  The clones looked at each other and shrugged. Green Riley said, “Call us anything you want.”

  Blue Riley followed that up by saying, “As long as you’ve got some mischief for us to do.”

  “Oh, that . . . can be arranged,” Original Riley told them.

  Chapter Six

  MORE, MORE, MORE

  Riley took the rainbow hat off and put it back on two more times, which taught her the rules:

  Every time she took the hat off, her clones would freeze in place.

  When she put it back on, the clones would start moving again, and . . .

  . . . a new clone would appear.

  So now she had four clones with four different-colored hats. There was Green Riley, Blue Riley, Orange Riley, and Red Riley. Fortunately, Locker 37 was wise enough not to give cloning powers to clones. Their hats couldn’t freeze or create anything. They could take them off and put them on all they wanted. They preferred to keep them on, though. They thought they were fashionable. And it helped them tell one another apart.

  “Okay,” Riley told her clones. “There’s work to do, but there’s also a problem. It’s time for gym class. I have to go alone, or that might be . . . suspicious.”

  “Cool,” Blue Riley said. “I’ll just sneak into the teachers’ lounge and switch the sugar next to the coffee with salt.”

  “Oooh, I’m gonna go get that drone that Dad has in the shed, put a witch costume and a broom on it, and chase kids through the halls,” Red Riley said.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” Original Riley told them. “Follow me to the Dungeon.”

  The Riley clones liked the sound of that, and they rubbed their hands together in anticipation.

  Getting down there without being seen was another matter entirely. First period was about to start and kids were leaving homeroom. The hall next to Locker 37 was empty for now, but to get to the Dungeon, they had to travel down one of the school’s busiest halls.

  Luckily, the art room was nearby. And Riley had a plan.

  Chapter Seven

  SAINT RILEY’S DAY

  “Parade coming through!” Riley shouted as she and her clones exited the art room.

  The four clones still wore their ridiculous hats, but now they also wore colorful paintings over their faces.

  On the first day of school, Riley had painted a series of self-portraits in art class. By attaching rubber bands to them, the Rileys had turned them into masks. The “self-portrait” masks actually looked more like animals than they did like Riley. But they hid the clones’ faces as they marched down the hall, slapping their thighs in rhythm and pretending this was a parade.

  “And what exactly is this parade for, Miss Zimmerman?” Vice Principal Meehan asked Riley, who was the only one not wearing a mask.

  “Saint Riley’s Day, of course,” Riley told him.

  By the time Meehan figured out that there was no such thing as Saint Riley’s Day, they were already around the corner.

  They sang a song as they marched.

  Saint Riley’s Day, Saint Riley’s Day,

  The best day of the year.

  A day to proudly shout hooray,

  Saint Riley’s Day is here!

  Saint Riley’s Day, Saint Riley’s Day,

  It’s really very cool.

  It should be a holiday,

  They ought to cancel school!

  Sometimes the best way not to be noticed is to draw attention to yourself. Or something like that. At least that was the logic behind the Rileys’ plan.

  They almost got away with it, too. That is, until they were walking down the stairs toward the Dungeon, and Hunter Barnes passed them on the way.

  His eyes were red and his cheeks were damp, as if he’d been crying. The moment he saw the group of Rileys, he sniffled and sneered and asked, “What’s with the ugly mugs?”

  Then he ripped the mask from Blue Riley’s face.

  The parade stopped dead in its tracks.

  This was not good.

  The original Riley tried to distract Hunter by doing the one thing bullies usually can’t handle: bullying back.

  “What’s with your mug?” she said in a teasing tone. “I caught you crying, didn’t I, Hunter?”

  She immediately felt guilty. It was a very mean thing to say. Entirely uncalled-for. And besides, it didn’t work. Because it didn’t distract Hunter at all.

  “There are two of you,” he said with a gasp.

  “Five of me, actually,” the other clones said. Since they were already caught, they figured there was no harm in revealing themselves.

  As they removed their masks, Hunter’s eyes darted from face to identical face, and he said, “I’m supposed to faint right now, aren’t I?”

  He didn’t faint. Because he was a fourth-grader, and fourth-graders at Hopewell Elementary were accustomed to seeing strange things like this.

  Instead of fainting, Hunter stood there gawking at the ridiculous and wonderful hats they wore. That is, until the original Riley grabbed his sleeve.

  “Come on,” she said. “We can’t be spotted. We’ve got to get you and each and every one of me to the Dungeon.”

  Chapter Eight

  WHAT WE TALK ABOUT WHEN WE TALK ABOUT CLONING

  Clones are cool. Let’s admit that first.

  Two of you? Three of you? One hundred of you? That’d make life easier and the world a better place, right?

  Ummm . . . maybe.

  You see, there’s something else we have to admit.

  Clones are scary. Does the world really need more than one of you? Don’t take this the wrong way—you’re simply amazing—but perhaps there can be too much of a good thing.

  Because clones aren’t always what they seem. They seem like perfect copies, but are they actually?

  Yes. And no.

  Not the most helpful answer, obviously, so maybe it’s time to get a little more in depth on what a clone actually is.

  Clones of animals (and remember, humans are animals) share the exact same DNA. DNA is short for deoxyribonucleic acid, as you probably guessed. If you didn’t guess that, don’t worry. All you need to know is that every animal has microscopic strands of DNA inside their bodies, and those strands are the instructions that tell their bodies how to grow.

  This means that a clone of an animal will start with the exact same instructions as the original animal. Those instructions will determine things like hair color, eye color, maybe even whether the animal enjoys eating fish sticks or not. But just because a clone has the exact same DNA as the original animal, it doesn’t mean the two will do the exact same things.

  For example, let’s say Riley went for a walk in the woods with one of her clones. And let’s say the two of them came upon a bear.

  If Riley told her clone, “Let’s go tickle that bear!” the clone might have second thoughts, right?

  I know I have identical DNA to Riley, the clone might think. But bear tickling seems a wee bit iffy. Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to hear a bear giggle. Who wouldn’t? But what about the teeth? And the claws? And the overall beariness of the bear? Frankly, that worries me. And who’s to say this bear is even ticklish? Is this a risk worth taking? Maybe I’ll just let my DNA buddy tickle the bear and see what happens first.

  A wise clone, indeed. Because what would happen?

  Well, odds are that Riley would grin and wiggle her fingers and slowly approach the puzzled bear. When she started saying, “Welcome to Tickle Town, Mr. Bear,” her clone would probably turn and start walking very swiftly in the other direction.

  Any growling, screaming, and chewing sounds that Riley’s clone might hear as she hurried away would confirm that even if two people share the same DNA, it doesn’t mean they will both be eaten by a humorless bear.

  So instead of thinking of clones as exact copies, think of clones as different versions of the same song.

  Most songs have defined music and lyrics. In other words, this is what you play and this is what you sing. The music and lyrics are essentially the DNA of the song. The instructions!

  But once that song gets into the hands of different musicians, there are different interpretations of the instructions. It’s still the same song, but each version has a unique sound.

  Of course, it must be pointed out that Riley’s clones were a bit different from traditional clones. They popped into existence as fully grown fourth-graders. They shared Riley’s DNA but also her memories up until the moment she opened Locker 37.

  But they were still like songs. The performances might have been exactly the same up through the first verse and chorus, but now that they were on their own, they were free to find their own sound. Which leads to an inevitable question.

  Was that a good thing?

  Yes. And no.

  Chapter Nine

  CUTTIN’ ONIONS

  “So, as you can see, Locker 37 gave me a magic hat that makes clones,” Riley told Hunter Barnes in the Dungeon.

  “Uh . . . yeah,” Hunter said as he stared at the four other Rileys in their ridiculous and wonderful red, blue, orange, and green hats.

  “And, as I can see, you’ve been crying,” Riley said.

  “No, I haven’t,” Hunter replied.

  “I see it, too,” Red Riley said.

  “And crying is fine,” Orange Riley said.

  “It’s good, actually,” Blue Riley said.

  “Everyone should cry every once in a while,” Green Riley said.

  “Hey, let me speak for myself,” Original Riley told the others.

  They all shrugged and quieted down.

  “Actually, I agree with . . . them . . . or me . . . or whatever,” Riley said. “It’s okay to cry. It’s good. And I’m not going to tell anyone that you were—”

  “I wasn’t crying!” Hunter shouted. “I was cuttin’ onions!”

  They all stood in silence for a few moments, because this was certainly not an excuse they expected.

  “Really?” Riley finally asked.

  “Really,” Hunter said.

  “And why were you cutting onions?” Riley asked.

  “None of your business,” Hunter said.

  Of course, Riley didn’t believe that he was cutting onions, because what fourth-grader spends his morning cutting onions? But she wasn’t going to call him a liar, because she needed him to stay quiet. Hunter was a notorious blabbermouth.

  “Listen,” she said. “I’m guessing you have a problem. I do, too. And I could use your help. Let’s help each other.”

  The other Rileys grimaced at this proposal. They knew Hunter’s reputation for trustworthiness. Which was he had none. No one trusted him.

  “Do I get to use the hat?” Hunter asked, and he grabbed at it, wrapping his fingers around a rainbow-colored ribbon.

  “No way!” Riley shouted as she put both hands on top of the hat to keep it in place. As she yanked it away from Hunter, she thought she heard the seams ripping—oh no!—but she managed to keep the hat firmly planted on her head and out of his grasp.

  Hunter sneered, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and asked, “Then do I get to use one of your clones?”

  “No!” all the other Rileys said at once.

  “Jeez,” Hunter said. “Then this doesn’t sound like a good deal for me.”

  “It will be,” Riley said, and she reached into her pocket and pulled out a single Ping-Pong ball she’d been holding on to as a souvenir. “Do you know what this is?”

  “Sure,” Hunter said. “I’m not stupid. That’s a sea turtle egg.”

  Blue and Red Riley lifted their hands in front of their faces to stifle their laughter.

  But the original Riley played it cool, bouncing the Ping-Pong ball on the grimy floor of the Dungeon and then catching it. “Or it might be a Ping-Pong ball.”

  Blood rushed to Hunter’s face as he mumbled, “Right. That’s my nickname for Ping-Pong balls: sea turtle eggs.”

  “Whatever you say,” Riley told him. “Now, try to imagine ten thousand of these . . . sea turtle eggs . . . and they’re shooting out from the heating vent above the gym and raining down on our classmates and teachers.”

  “As well as professional jugglers,” Orange Riley added.

  “As well as professional jugglers,” Riley echoed. “The . . . sea turtle eggs . . . are bouncing and causing all sorts of mayhem. Is that something you’d like to see?”

  Hunter grinned. And nodded.

  “Good,” Riley said. “So this is what you have to do.”

  Chapter Ten

  FORESHADOWING

  Here’s the thing about authors.

  They’re not always nice. They’re downright cruel sometimes.

  They withhold information for the sake of telling a “better” story.

  That’s what’s going on here. You won’t be told what Riley asked Hunter to do. At least not until the end of the book. The author thinks that’s for your own good, and that you’ll enjoy the story more if you wait to hear the best parts.

  Isn’t that simply terrible?

  Don’t throw the book across the room just yet, though. Because there is something you can do about it. It will, however, require a bit of investigative work.

  You see, there are clues sprinkled throughout the book. These clues can help you figure out what Riley asked Hunter to do and what Hunter actually did.

  Hiding clues about what will be revealed later in a story is known as foreshadowing. It is defined as “an indication of what is to come,” but mostly it’s a dirty trick that authors use to taunt readers.

  Again: simply terrible.

  But you’re smarter than any author, aren’t you? Or you’re at least smarter than this particular author. You can figure out his tricky and terrible foreshadowing and predict what will happen.

  All you have to do is focus on all the details in this book. Ponder the images. Pay particular attention to specific words. They may be hinting at something that’s going to occur later.

  Not to drone on and on about this, but there are more than one hundred pages left that will shed a light on what Hunter did. Don’t fly by every other word without considering how they might contribute to this beautiful symphony of ideas. Don’t rip through the pages simply to reach the end. Just hold on to your hat, focus your eyes, and beat this author at his own game.

  Got all that? Good.

  Moving on.

  Chapter Eleven

  INFESTATION

  After Hunter left the Dungeon to do what you’ll unfortunately have to hear about later, Riley gave her clones their assignments. Then they all split off in separate directions.

  Red Riley’s job was to hide out in the utility room and monitor the furnace to make sure the heat didn’t come on until the exact right moment.

  Green Riley went to the playground, where she was expected to hide in a tree and listen in on her classmates to collect any gossip that might help their mission.

  Blue Riley was supposed to station herself in a stall in the Dungeon, to make sure the Ping-Pong balls weren’t discovered.

  Orange Riley, designated as a free agent, was told to wait inside Riley’s locker for more instructions.

  And Original Riley hurried to first period, which was gym.

  Keisha James was on a bench in the gym locker room, lacing her shoes, when Riley burst in. Keisha looked up and said, “Nice hat, buddy. But you’re late.”

  “By your calculations, maybe,” Riley replied.

  “By the clock’s calculations, actually,” Keisha said, pointing to the clock above the door leading to the gym. “You have exactly thirty seconds before you have to be out on the floor, or Mr. Trundle will mark you absent. You can’t get ready in thirty seconds.”

  “Not true,” Riley said as she grabbed her pair of neon-green gym shorts from her pocket and then pulled them on over her baggy jeans. “You can’t get ready in thirty seconds.”

  Then she sprinted into the gym.

  “Well, good morning, Riley,” Mr. Trundle said as she emerged from the locker room. “Interesting attire you’ve chosen for today. Especially the . . . headgear.”

  “Can I help it that I’m an exceedingly interesting person?” she replied, though she resisted the temptation to tip her hat, because she didn’t need to be creating another clone at the moment.

  Mr. Trundle rolled his eyes. “Lose the hat.”

  “I’d love to,” Riley said. “But I have to wear it or something terrible might happen.”

  “Such as?”

  Riley thought over her choice of words, then finally settled on a single one: “Infestation.”

  Mr. Trundle assumed she was talking about some creepy-crawly things in her hair. Mr. Trundle most definitely did not like creepy-crawly things. So he put his hands up and took a step back. “Say no more. You can wear what you’re wearing today, but maybe it’s time for a haircut.”

  “Maybe,” Riley said, even though she loved her wild mane and would never consider chopping it off.