Creature from the 7th Grade : Boy or Beast (9781101591833) (11 page)

WHAT'S A NICE MUTANT DINOSAUR LIKE ME DOING IN A PLACE LIKE THIS?

AMY ARMSTRONG'S DEN
is not at all the way I imagined. After my eyes adjust to the flickering light from the old lava lamp on the coffee table, I notice a couple of Banditoes sitting on a worn-out sofa with One-Upsters at their side, munching on corn chips, sipping cans of diet soda, and looking bored. I wander farther into the room. The Black Eyed Peas blare from somebody's iPod mini-deck.

I don't see any soda fountains. Just a couch and a couple of chairs and tables in front of a plain old regular Samsung television set. No 3-D capabilities. Not an external speaker in sight. Rachel Klempner and Larry Wykoff lie on the floor in front of it, holding hands as usual and watching a
Seinfeld
rerun.

Oh no. He's here. I spot Craig Dieterly on the far side of the room. I quickly turn to leave. It's dark. I'm green. The room is crowded. Maybe he doesn't see me.

“What took you so long?” Amy Armstrong asks, reapplying her lip gloss.

“I had to stay late to clean my desk,” I reply.

“Go try some of my mom's guac. It's rad. She puts fresh cilantro in it. And anchovies. Aren't they like your distant cousins or something?” Amy Armstrong winks at me and then takes out a pocket mirror and looks lovingly at herself.

I head for the coffee table, grateful for any excuse to get away from her. Craig Dieterly is watching. Staring, actually. Make that glaring. I nearly get knocked over by the Schlissel twins, who are playing a rousing game of “catch the potato chip without using your hands.” A couple of cheerleaders egg them on with an occasional, “catch the chip, catch the chip, rah rah rah, in your mouth, in your mouth, sis boom bah.”

“Hey, creature guy, catch this!” Dack Schlissel yells as he tosses a few potato chips in my direction. My enormous tongue zaps those chips practically before they leave his hand.

“Way to go!” Dirk Schlissel shouts. “Fastest mouth in the West!” He throws me a few more.

I stand by myself in the corner and wait patiently for the party to start. Everyone mills around, watches TV, talks, and eats potato chips. After a while it dawns on me that this
is
the party.

Craig Dieterly sidles over to me. “You think I can't do anything to you because Amy Armstrong's watching and all of a sudden you're on her good side. But I'm not finished with you, Godzilla. I've got a great big surprise planned for you, and here's a hint—you're going to hate it.” He lowers his voice and whispers, “It's Rumpelstiltskin, isn't it?”

“You're not even close.” I back away from him. He sticks out his foot to trip me and sends me crashing to the floor. “Don't say I didn't warn you,” he says quietly.

I land right next to Larry Wykoff, narrowly missing his head. I can see the headline now: “Creature Nearly Squishes Successful Journalist at Shindig.”

“Get me another diet soda, will you, sweetie-kins?” Rachel Klempner asks.

“Sure thing, Rache,” Larry Wykoff says, and gets up.

“Love you, mean it,” Rachel Klempner says.

“Me too,” Larry Wykoff answers.

“You have to say it out loud, Lair, or it doesn't count,” she pouts.

“Yeah, but everybody's watching, Rache,” he says under his breath. “It's embarrassing.” Rachel Klempner glares at him like she might kill him any second. Craig Dieterly watches like a hawk. “Okay. Love you, mean it,” he finally says, and she gets this big smile on her face. There's a lot of stuff about this dating business I will never understand.

“C'mon,” he tells me. I am happy to follow Larry Wykoff away from Craig Dieterly and into the kitchen, where Mrs. Armstrong keeps the refreshments. “Rache really gets to me, sometimes,” Larry Wykoff says, opening the fridge and rummaging around for a fresh can of diet soda. “She has an awesome sense of humor. And she's fun to hang with. And she's sooo cute. But sometimes she gets so bossy I just want to run and hide. Did you ever go out with anybody like that?”

“Sure,” I lie. I'm not about to admit that I have never even held a girl's hand except my mother's. “Technically speaking, I'm not seriously involved with her at the moment. But things got pretty intense last summer between me and this girl I know from day camp.”

The only thing that was intense between me and Jessica Goldfrank was how much she didn't like me. Right about now is when my nose would start growing like Pinocchio's. If I had a nose.

“Jessica had two entirely different personalities. Good Jessica was kind and helpful. Bad Jessica was like a drill sergeant in the marines. Did you ever see
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
? It happens to be one of my favorite movies. Spencer Tracy was amazing. So was Ingrid Bergman. She was in
Notorious
. I bet you didn't know that.” Sometimes when I'm uncomfortable I can't stop talking.

“I think I missed that one,” Larry Wykoff says.

“You'd like it. It's about this really nice guy who drinks a magic potion and then turns into a monster and goes around killing people.”

“Sounds like Rache after a big piece of chocolate cake.” Larry Wykoff laughs. “She makes Rambo look like a wimp.”

“Like I said, I'm familiar with the type. Nip it in the bud, Larry. Fast. Stop calling her so much. Don't e-mail her back right away. Make a date and then forget to pick her up. And when you've got her feeling really insecure, flirt with another girl. She'll be treating you like a king in no time. Trust me. I've been there.” Once I hop on board the lying train there's no stopping me.

“Thanks for the advice, Charlie,” Larry Wykoff says, pouring diet soda into a Styrofoam cup. “We'd better get back to the den now or you-know-who will send out a search party looking for us.” We head back to the den. “You have my vote, that's for sure.”

“What are you voting for?” I have no idea what he is talking about.

“Bandito, of course,” he says. “We're considering new members this week. If Amy likes you, you're a shoo-in. If you get blackballed, she has the power to override. Just don't get a double blackball. Even Amy couldn't help you then. We announce the results on Friday. I think you have a real shot.”

What? Me? Bandito???????? Whoa! Pinch me quick to see if I am dreaming.

“My hero,” Rachel Klempner coos, as Larry Wykoff hands her the diet soda and lies back down on the floor beside her.

“No prob, Rache,” Larry Wykoff says, winking at me. I wander over to some One-Upsters enjoying a lively game of Go Fish in the corner.

Amy Armstrong walks over and stops me in my tracks.

“You're not like the others, Charlie,” she says. “You're so wild. So . . . different. Quick, tell me something interesting and unusual. I'm so tired of the same old small talk I'm about to go into spontaneous hibernation.” One-Upsters and Banditoes stop playing cards and look up attentively.

I reach into my pocket and fumble around for my social security blanket cards. I scan them quickly and select one. “Say, here's a little-known interesting and unusual fact, Amy,” I announce with as much confidence as I can muster. “A mixed-use container recycling center is scheduled to open behind the railroad station next Tuesday. It's the only mixed-use recycling center within a twenty-mile radius of greater downtown Decatur. I'll bet you didn't know that, did you?”

Instantly the room gets quiet and everyone stares at me. If somebody doesn't say something pretty soon I will pack up my tent and move to an alternate universe. The wrong factoid can be worse than no factoid at all. Craig Dieterly gloats at me from across the room.

Amy Armstrong finally speaks. “Wow, Charlie Drinkwater. I've got to hand it to you. It takes a lot of guts to say something that strange. You are one bad mutant dinosaur.” Everyone mumbles in quiet agreement and looks at me with admiration. Craig Dieterly scowls and turns away.

All of a sudden I fit in. I play “catch the jelly beans with your tongue” with the Schlissel twins. It is the only sport at which I have ever excelled. And then Larry Wykoff, Rachel Klempner, and I discover that we all love
Star Trek
. We compare favorite episodes. Larry and I love the movie where Captain Kirk disappears during the maiden voyage of the
Enterprise-B
, but is recovered from an alternate plane of existence. Rachel prefers the episode where Spock returns to Vulcan to find a mate.

Time flies when you're having fun, and before long it's seven thirty and Amy Armstrong is walking me to the door and thanking me for coming. “I'm so glad you came to my little party,” she says. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah. It was epic,” I say. “Thanks.”

“You're okay in my book, Charlie Drinkwater.” Amy Armstrong opens the door for me.

“Thanks,” I say. “So are you.”

Amy Armstrong flashes her beautiful smile at me one last time before she shuts the door.

TROUBLE IN PARADISE

"YOU SURE LOOK
pleased with yourself,” Mom says as I dance into the kitchen shaking my tail and humming. “How was the party?” she asks.

“It was fly, Mom,” I reply. “Very fly. What happened in here?”

The entire kitchen is littered with cookie sheets, bags of potato starch, half-filled mixing bowls, and empty egg cartons. “I'm testing my gluten-free Asian dumplings for Mrs. Pagliuso's garden party. It's a new recipe. I found it on the Internet. Can you hand me my spatula, sweetie?”

“Sure.” I grab the spatula, steal a dumpling, and pop it into my jaws. It is as hard as concrete and tastes like rocks. Mom pops a batch into the oven.

“Your brother's still at practice. The big game's tomorrow. I don't know where he finds the energy. Oh, by the way, Sam called. He wanted to know if you were all right. He said he and Lucille were expecting you at his house this afternoon and you never showed up. He wanted to know how you were.” My mom rolls out another sheet of dough.

I nearly choke on my concrete dumpling as I leap up from my crate. “This is terrible. Wednesday night is ‘dinner and a movie night' at Sam's house. I've never missed it before in my life. Sam and Lucille reminded me about it this afternoon. What did you tell him?”

“I told him not to worry,” Mom answers. “I said you were at a party at Amy Armstrong's and you'd be back around seven thirty.” She starts cutting out more of the jawbreakers.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!” I scream. “I was supposed to call him and say the dentist told me to rest my sore fang, and I totally forgot.”

“Did I do something wrong?” Mom asks.

“Yes!” I race to the closet. “And boy am I in trouble!”

“Is your fang okay, Charlie?” Mom asks, concerned.

“You wouldn't understand, Mom.”

“Where are you going?”

“Sam's house.” I grab my cape and fly out the door quicker than you can say “Charlie Drinkwater has cauliflower for brains.”

“Back from the dentist so soon?” Sam asks coolly as he opens the door a crack. “Hope your fang is feeling better.”

“You're looking really good, Sam,” I say. He is dressed in his Humpty Dumpty costume. It looks great on him, since he is already kind of egg-shaped.

“It's not finished. I'm still working on it. What do you want?” Sam replies.

“I came to apologize,” I say. “C'mon, Sam. Open the door and let me in. It's getting cold out here.”

“I didn't think cold bothered you,” Lucille says, poking her head around the door. “I thought you were ectothermic.” Lucille has on her meter maid costume. She's been a meter maid for Halloween as long as I can remember. She looks just like her regular self only she wears a gray paper hat that says
METER MAID
and has a couple of parking tickets pinned to her shirt. Lucille is not really into the costume thing.

“I thought you were a friend.” Sam holds up a copy of today's school paper. “Great article. Lucille and I especially liked the part where you talk about what it's like to travel around in a pack of hopeless losers.”

I guess I went a little overboard during my interview. I came up with a few good jokes about how unpopular me and my friends were. I told Larry Wykoff that people couldn't avoid us any more if we had bubonic plague. You'd think Sam and Lucille would have known I was only trying to sound funny and cool for my article.

Sam tugs nervously at his nose ring. It pops off and drops into the neck of his costume. He sticks his arm down and feels around for it. Lucille and I pretend we don't notice.

“I was running out of things to say,” I reply. “I didn't mean you, personally.”

“That's very comforting,” Lucille says.

“Look, I'm really sorry. Give me a chance, okay? I can explain.” I fidget awkwardly from one flipper to the other.

“What's to explain?” Sam says. “You lied to us and then you blew us off. It's simple. Why don't you go hang out with your new friends? Clearly they're more important to you than we are.”

“That's not true,” I protest. “Look, I never should have lied to you. But I didn't want to tell you I was going to Amy Armstrong's house because I thought you'd be upset you weren't invited.”

“Upset!” Lucille exclaims. “Why would we be upset? We don't
like
Amy Armstrong and her stupid friends. We wouldn't go to her house if she begged us. Who wants to hang out with a bunch of boring and pretentious idiots?”

“They're not boring and pretentious idiots, Lucille,” I reply. “They're a lot of fun once you get to know them.”

“Why would I want to get to know people I hate?” Lucille asks.

“Listen, hotshot,” Sam says, “if you think those meatballs really like you, you're crazy. You're just the new flavor of the month. In about five minutes they'll get used to you and drop you like a hot potato.”

“That is so not true! You take that back, Sam Endervelt!” I am practically shouting.

“It is true,” Sam answers. “You just don't like hearing it.”

“For your information, they're considering me for Bandito,” I say. “You're just jealous.”

“I have to go work on my eggshell. I can't take any more of this.” He digs his nose ring out of his costume, clips it back on his nose, turns on his heels, and leaves.

“I'm taking my apology off the table!” I shout.

“Good. Because we wouldn't have accepted it, anyway,” Lucille says. She slams the door in my face.

“Why didn't you tell Sam and Lucille you were going to Amy's in the first place, sweetie?” I'm back in the kitchen with my very large head in my very large claws. Mom takes out a big ceramic mixing bowl and starts to assemble another batch of gluten-free concrete dumplings. “Wouldn't that have made life a whole lot easier?”

“Yeah, but they would have talked me out of going. They're no fun. They never want me to do anything except hang out with them.”

“Do you really think it was worth lying about?” Mom asks.

“No. Yes. I don't know. Maybe,” I say. “I'm not proud about lying to my friends, Mom. And I feel bad about getting caught. But I'm glad I went to that party. And I really want to be a Bandito. I don't care what Sam and Lucille say. You wouldn't understand, Mom. Nobody does.”

“Oh, I think I do,” Mom says. “I was a kid once myself, you know.” She adds two cups of milk and folds in egg whites, soy sauce, and potato starch.

“I hate when you say stuff like that, Mom.”

Mom puts down her measuring cup and wipes some starch off her nose. She comes over to me, reaches up, and tries to put her arm around my shoulders. “It isn't easy being a teenager, Charlie,” she says. “It can be scary. And lonely. And confusing. But you'll get through it with flying colors. Trust me. I have faith in you, sweetie.”

“I'm glad someone does, because I sure don't.”

“You must be starving. C'mon. Pull up your crate and enjoy a big plate of gluten-free Asian dumplings. I made a whole extra batch just for you.”