Riley Mack Stirs Up More Trouble Read Free

universe), everybody called him “Humongo” or Mongo for short. In fact, he was so huge that when he pedaled his bike, his knees came up to his chin.
    â€œSo what’s the emergency again, Riley?”
    Mongo also had trouble remembering stuff.
    â€œBriana has uncovered a plot by Sara Paxton and her gal pals to sabotage their competitors at the school talent show tomorrow.”
    â€œIs Sara the one who always calls me Butt Munch?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œShe’s pretty.”
    â€œYeah,” said Riley. “Pretty horrible.”
    Riley and Mongo locked their bikes to the rack outside the Pizza Palace and strode through the front door.
    â€œHi, guys,” said Vinnie behind the counter. “The usual?”
    â€œSure,” said Riley. Vinnie slapped one slice into the oven.
    â€œYou want a whole pie again, Mongo?”
    â€œNo thanks. I just ate lunch.”
    â€œHow ’bout three slices of Meat Lover’s, then?”
    â€œPerfect!”
    The guys paid and carried their greasy slices and cold drinks to the rear of the restaurant.
    A wrinkled old lady was sitting in their usual booth.
    Suddenly, the saggy-faced granny started waving at them, windmilling both her arms over her head. “Psst!” she hissed. “Riley! Mongo! It’s me!”
    Riley grinned. Briana Bloomfield was a master of all things theatrical, including disguises.
    â€œHurry up, you guys!” Briana was flapping her arms at her sides now. “Sit down! This is so-o-o-o-o horrific !”
    An extremely talented actress, Briana Bloomfield made everything she said come out with italics and exclamation points.
    Riley scooted into the booth beside Briana. Mongo squeezed into the bench across from them. Tilting his head, he was staring at Briana the way a confused puppy stares at a human who says stuff it can’t understand.
    â€œAre you going to be a witch next year for Halloween?” Mongo asked.
    â€œThis? Nuh-unh. I was in my bedroom, practicing my old-age makeup in case I get cast in a summer stock production of Arsenic and Old Lace or something when school’s out. Pretty awesome, huh? I did it with latex. You wad up crinkled Kleenex, then pour on the liquid plastic to make the wrinkles. And then I added in shadows and lines and junk with greasepaint, found the right wig, padded out this potato-sack dress, and voilà! I am totally a little old lady.”
    Mongo nodded like he understood.
    â€œDag, is that your grandmother, Riley Mack?”
    Jamal Wilson, a wiry African American fifth grader, strolled up to the table. With extremely nimble fingers (which he used to do magic tricks and to crack open locks for fun), Jamal was the youngest and newest member of Riley’s crew.
    â€œIt’s me, Jamal!” whispered Briana.
    â€œReally?” He scooted into the booth next to Mongo. “You need to stay out of the sun, girl. You’ve got more wrinkles than a box of raisins.”
    â€œIt’s my new makeup.”
    â€œWell, in that case, you need to go back to the store and demand a refund. Because—I’m just being honest here, Bree—your new makeup makes you look ancient, antiquated, and antediluvian.”
    Jamal also liked to memorize new words from the dictionary every day. Riley figured he had circled back to the A s.
    â€œDo you know what those words mean?” Jamal asked Briana.
    â€œYep. Old.”
    â€œSorry I’m late, guys.” Jake Lowenstein, his hands stuffed inside the front pocket of his dragon-print hoodie, shuffled up to the table. “Mr. Holtz asked me to swing by school and help him wire things up in the auditorium for tomorrow’s talent show. He never remembers how the microphones work. Or the light board.”
    Jake, who was the crew’s technogeek–slash–electronics-and-computer wizard, scooched into the booth next to Riley.
    â€œSo what’s up with Sara Paxton?” Riley asked, now