Creature from the 7th Grade : Boy or Beast (9781101591833) (5 page)

GUESS WHAT'S COMING TO DINNER

"WHAT A BUMMER, DAVE.
You must really be upset about your wrist,” I say as we go upstairs to our room.

“Yeah,” Dave replies. “But not half as upset as you must be about turning into a mutant dinosaur.”

“I was the littlest nerd in my class. Now I'm the biggest. When you think about it, things haven't really changed all that much. Except for my tail. And being green. And a few other things.”

“Can you help me turn on the hot water, little bro?” Dave asks, heading into the bathroom. “I can't really use my hand and I've got to get some heat on this injury.”

“Sure,” I say. I put down the drain stopper, turn on the water, and wait for the basin to fill. “I'm sure you'll be better by the big game. You have to be. What would the team do without you?”

“They'd be fine,” Dave says, lowering his arm gingerly into the water.

“No, they wouldn't,” I say. “And you know it.”

“You're right,” Dave says. “Ouch.”

I shuffle back into my room and hand my turtles a claw-full of dried flies. They start licking me with their little tongues and trying to get me to pick them up. They coo at me affectionately when I go over to my desk to start working on my social studies paper. My legs are too big to fit underneath, so I sit sidesaddle on my crate.

The phone rings. I have trouble picking it up with my claws. When I finally do I nearly poke myself in the ear. “Hey, pal, what's up?” Sam asks.

“Plenty,” I reply.

“If that's Janie Belzer, tell her I'm putting heat on my injury and I'll call right back,” Dave hollers from the bathroom. Janie is one of Dave's three girlfriends. He likes them all, but Janie is his favorite. She has curly brown hair and a big smile, and her hobby is painting portraits of dogs.

“It's for me,” I holler back. “It's Sam.”

“Really?” Dave yells back, surprised. When the phone rings it's generally for him.

“Really,” I reply. Then I tell Sam all about Nana. And the family curse.

“Wow. That is so cool,” Sam says. “I'm jealous.”

“Don't be,” I say. “It's not as exciting as it sounds.” Sam wants to know if I'll be back in school tomorrow. “The school board still hasn't decided. If they don't let me back in it could be a real blemish on my record.” Mom says colleges pay as much attention to your grades in stuff like “attitude” and “cooperation” as they do to your regular academics.

“If they don't let you back you could probably sue for discrimination against a minority. My aunt works at the American Civil Liberties Union.” Sam's got relatives everywhere. “I bet we could get her to represent you.”

While Sam explains the pros and cons of getting the ACLU involved in my case, I gaze absentmindedly at Dave's tropical fish, which are swimming in their large saltwater tank on the top of his desk. I wonder if Dave would mind if I ate just one? He might not even notice.

I wonder how it would taste with whipped cream on it. And a daikon radish with cilantro-flavored mayonnaise on the side. On a bed of udon noodles. I haven't eaten anything except cocoa and cookies since I became a creature. Hmm.

“Gotta go, Sam. Dinner's almost ready. Call you later.” I hang up and casually amble over to get a better look at my appetizers. I am especially attracted to a family of five extremely rare blue-and-white-striped Egyptian mouth breeders swimming around a small plaster replica of Neptune's castle.

My dad says those fish look just like my uncle Marvin the mouth breather, my mom's sister Harriet's seventh or eighth husband. Only they live in Dave's fish tank on the side of his desk instead of in a split-level ranch house at 63 Maple Drive. And they don't have bad breath.

The phone rings again. I pick it up.

“Sam just called.” It's Lucille. “I'm dying to hear all about your family curse.”

“If that's Melanie, tell her I can't talk right now,” Dave yells from the bathroom. “Tell her I'll call back.”

Melanie Lindstrom is Dave's second-most favorite girlfriend. She is tall and has a long auburn ponytail, and her hobbies are rock climbing and collecting snow globes.

“It's for me,” I reply. “It's Lucille.”

Dave doesn't say anything. He shuts off the water and walks back into the room, looking annoyed.

“I have to lie down for a few minutes.” Dave goes over to his bed. “Coach says I need rest. Think you could tear yourself away from that phone for a minute, sport?”

“Sure,” I tell Dave. I ask Lucille to call back later, hang up, and find myself wandering to Dave's tropical fish again. “They're looking kind of hungry, Dave. I'd be happy to feed them for you while you rest.”

“They're not hungry.” Dave lies down. “I fed them this morning. Don't feed them, Charlie. The water gets cloudy if you give them too much.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot,” I lie calmly. “Why don't you take a nap and I'll wake you as soon as dinner's ready.” Dave's fish beckon to me with their flashing tails and silvery fins.

Close your eyes, Dave. Go to sleep. You don't want to watch this. It's not going to be a pretty sight.

“How come you're staring at my fish?” Dave eyes me suspiciously. “Is something wrong?”

“I like to stare at fish,” I reply. “It relaxes me.” No, it doesn't. Staring at fish just makes me hungry.
I must not eat my brother's pets. I must stay far away from them.
But try as I might, I cannot seem to pry myself loose from that tank. I salivate at the thought of chomping down on those gleaming little beauties. The temptation is far too great. I can resist no longer. Somebody stop me. Noooooooooo . . . . . . . . . . . . !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Before I know what's happening, my head is underwater, and I'm snapping up angelfish and Bolivian rams in my powerful jaws like there's no tomorrow. The Egyptian mouth breeders cower behind their castle and manage to escape my mighty fangs.

“Back off!” Dave yells. He rushes over, grabs me by the haunches, and pulls me to the ground. He's really strong. Even with a strained wrist. He's not only the football team's star quarterback, he's also captain of the wrestling team. Now he gets me in a hammerlock, flips me over, and sits on top of my heaving chest. Boy, is he good.

“Spit 'em out, Charlie. RIGHT NOW!” Dave yells. When I hesitate, he grabs my jaws in his hands and slowly manages to pry them open. He's struggling so hard the veins in his forehead are popping out. “Now, Charlie! Now! I'm not kidding.” Dave is really brave. I wouldn't put my hands anywhere near my fangs if I were him. “Oww!” Dave screams. “My wrist!”

My parents hear the commotion and come running into the room to see what's wrong.

While Dave holds my jaws open, five of the cutest little fish you've ever seen come hopping out and onto the rug like they've just returned from an exciting vacation at SeaWorld. “They're still alive,” Dave says. He breathes a sigh of relief, gets up, and flips the fish right back into their tank. They swim around happily, like they didn't just come within a whisker of total annihilation.

“You are going to have to learn to control those impulses, young man,” my mom says sternly.

“I know, Mom.” I hang my head. “I don't know what came over me.”

“Apologize to your brother, son,” Dad orders.

“I'm so sorry, Dave. This will never happen again. I promise. Are you all right?”

“What's happening to you, Charlie? Who is this big green scaly creature with the tongue that doesn't stop, and what the heck did he do with my little brother? The Charlie who I used to know is kind and gentle.” Dave turns around and starts adjusting the pH balance in the tank like he can't bear looking at me another minute.

I'm not really sure who or what Charlie is now, either. All I know is I'm starting to feel like one of those awkward, out-of-control adolescents who my parents and teachers keep talking about. If this is what being a teenager is like, I'm not so sure I want to be one.

Mom stands there and shakes her head. “Why don't you come downstairs and help your father and me with dinner, Charlie? Your brother needs some alone time.”

Mom, Dad, and I go downstairs, while Dave stares silently at his fish tank, cradling his sore wrist.

I'M BAAAAAAAAAAACK!

I BEHAVE MYSELF
at the dinner table. I keep my tail from knocking into anything. I don't overeat. And I refrain from drooling on the tablecloth.

“Who wants an extra baked apple?” Mom asks. She has just finished serving baked caramel apples in a flaky pastry crust. Another one of her specialties. “I have one left.”

“I do.” I raise my right claw. “Unless you want it, Dave.”

My brother just gets up from the table and brings his plate over to the sink to scrape and rinse. He's been ignoring me since dinner started.

“You didn't touch your food, Dave,” Mom says. “Didn't you like it?”

“I wasn't very hungry, Mom. Don't take it personally.”

“Where are you going, Dave?” Dad asks.

“To put some heat on my wrist. And then to Lainie's house. I'm helping her with her advanced trig homework.” Lainie Mingenbach is Dave's third-most favorite girlfriend. Lainie is captain of the cheerleading squad. She is very peppy. She has been studying jazz, tap, and flamenco since she learned how to crawl. “I'll be home by ten.” And with that he is out of the dining room and down the hall before I have a chance to say good-bye. The front door slams loudly.

“I feel terrible, Dad. I didn't attack Dave's tropical fish on purpose,” I blurt. “My animal instinct got the best of me. It won't happen again, I promise.”

“I know that, son. And so does Dave. He just needs a little time to get used to you, Charlie,” my father says. “That's all.”

“He'll come around,” Mom adds. “You wait and see. He's going through some pretty big changes himself. Next year he'll be leaving home. And going to college. And living all by himself in a strange new city. Change is hard for everybody, Charlie. Big brothers included.”

“If Dave thinks going to college is hard, he should try learning how to use a tail sometime.” I flick the baked apple into my mouth with my tongue and swallow it whole.

The phone rings, and my father picks it up. “It's Principal Muchnick . . . shhh . . .” he whispers to me and my mother. “Uh-huh,” Dad says into the phone. “Yes. I see. I understand. You are? Really? That's terrific. Mrs. Drinkwater will so pleased. Thank you for calling, Principal Muchnick.”

“Good news!” Dad says as he hangs up the phone. “The board just voted five to four to let Charlie back into school. After ‘careful consideration and reviewing all the facts' you are on ‘provisional reentry,' son. Congratulations! Principal Muchnick says they're even having a special assembly in the morning to welcome you back and make sure your reintegration into the student body goes ‘smoothly and without incident.' Isn't that thoughtful?”

“What does ‘provisional reentry' mean, Dad?” I ask.

“It means that as long as you don't ‘create a disturbance, interfere with the flow of normal school activities, break a school rule, or injure, maim, disfigure, or frighten anybody to death' for the next four days, you'll be allowed back in school permanently by the end of the week. You're really going to have to toe the line, son, because Principal Muchnick says if you don't you'll be suspended indefinitely.”

“Isn't that wonderful, Charlie?” Mom exclaims.

“I don't like that ‘provisional' part, Mom. I don't want everyone to go around judging me all week like I'm some kind of criminal. I'm self-conscious enough as it is. All I did was try to eat a couple of tropical fish. I don't see why everybody has to make such a big deal out of everything. Craig Dieterly is always creating disturbances and I don't see him getting put on provisional reentry. Why don't you just homeschool me and we'll e-mail in my assignments?”

“You're going back to school and that's that,” Mom says firmly. “You're just going to have to get used to living in the spotlight, Charlie. You're one of a kind. You might as well learn to enjoy it.”

The phone rings again. Mom picks it up. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. I see,” she says. She covers the mouthpiece with the palm of her hand and whispers to me and Dad, “It's Sally Pincus, Alice's mom. I never liked that woman.”

Mom listens some more before she answers. “My son did not bite Mrs. Adams's ear off, Sally Pincus, and you know it. Honestly, must you believe everything you hear?”

Great, now everyone thinks I bite people. Take off another fifteen points from my popularity chart for violent behavior. Could it get any worse?

“Really? Well, I don't happen to care what Rachel Klempner's mother says.” By now Mom is practically shouting into the phone. “Any parent who encourages their seventh-grade daughter to wear makeup and date boys is not someone I would consider a reliable source of information in the first place. Yes, well, you can sign petitions until you're blue in the face. It still doesn't make my son a menace to society. Because he isn't. Because I just know, that's how come,” my mom says vehemently. “Charlie Drinkwater is the best-behaved young man in that whole school and I refuse to listen to another word of this nonsense.” Mom slams down the phone.

Now they're signing petitions about me. I can't go back there. “Homeschool me, Mom,” I plead. “I'm begging you.”

Mom puts her hands over her ears and hums. “I can't hear you, Charlie, did you say something?”

Balthazar starts whining at the back door. It's time for his dinner. I go to the drawer in the kitchen table and take out one of his favorite liver snaps. I go to the back door, lean down, and hold it out in my claw. Balthazar will do just about anything for a delicious treat. Except, as it turns out, take it from me.

Dad goes over to let him in, but Balthazar refuses to enter the house until I hide around the corner where he can't see me, and Mom drags out an old stew bone, puts it into his bowl, and sets the bowl just inside the door. As soon as he finishes eating Balthazar sniffs the air and looks around suspiciously. I come out and wag my tail at him. I hold out my liver snap again. His tail stays tucked way down between his legs. He won't even look me in the eye.

He walks over and cautiously sniffs me with his big black nose.

“That's Charlie, Balthazar,” my mom says. “You like Charlie. Remember?” He looks back at her with a worried expression on his face as if to say, “Are you sure?”

“Charlie's your friend,” Mom tells Balthazar. But he isn't buying it. He growls unhappily.

I hold out the treat again. He won't even sniff it. “Don't worry, Balthazar,” I say. “You'll get used to me. Eventually. I hope.”

Balthazar whines mournfully and slinks away.

“'Night, guys,” I say.

My mom comes over and points to her cheek like she always does when she wants me to give her a kiss. “I'm waiting.”

“Are you sure, Mom?” I ask.

“You're still my son, aren't you?” she replies. I lean my long scrawny neck way down and gently brush her cheek with the front of my jaws, being extremely careful not to snag her with my razor-sharp fangs.

“Where's mine?” my dad asks, and points to his cheek. “Don't I get one?” I lean over and carefully brush his cheek, too. And then I put the liver snap away and trudge upstairs to work on my social studies essay. My parents go into the kitchen to do the dishes. Dad stacks. Mom washes. He dries. They both hum. Together they're like a well-oiled four-handed cleaning machine.

The first thing I notice when I enter my room is the big sign Dave has taped to his fish tank that says,
DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT TOUCHING MY FISH. THIS MEANS YOU!
in big red letters. I don't go anywhere near the tank. I head straight for my desk, pull up my milk crate, sit down, and go back to taking notes for my “José de San Martín and the Liberation of Argentina” essay that is due on Wednesday.

The phone rings. It's Lucille.

“Is Sam kidding, or was your grandmother really a dinosaur?” she asks breathlessly.

“He's not kidding.”

“Wow!” she exclaims. “Are you okay? That is so intense.”

“Define okay.”

“Is the school board letting you back in school?”

“Yeah. As long as I don't scare anybody to death. I'm on provisional reentry.”

“That's great,” Lucille says.

“I guess so. Alice Pincus's mom is telling people I bit Mrs. Adams's ear off,” I say. “Rachel Klempner's mom is sending around a petition to have me banned from school. Everybody hates me. I'm not so sure I want to go back.”

“You can't go around worrying about what everybody thinks about you, Charlie, or you'll drive yourself crazy. Oops. Gotta go. My ferrets are squeaking. It's feeding time.”

She hangs up and I try to calm down long enough to organize an outline for my essay. I am concentrating on José de San Martín's dangerous and challenging march across the Andes to liberate Peru. My premise is that San Martín was a heroic figure who succeeded despite great odds. The body of my essay will provide as many examples as I can find to support that premise. I will write the actual essay tomorrow night. Once you have a well-organized, comprehensive outline of your paper under your belt, the writing itself is a breeze.

When I'm done, I gather all my notes, along with my three-ring binder, my textbooks, my pencil case, an eraser, and some paper clips, and I arrange everything neatly in the backpack my parents gave me for my birthday last summer. It has special compartments for just about anything you can think of. It's very cool.

Then I browse the Internet for a while, looking for fun and unusual local and national news items I call “factoids.” I copy these items onto note cards I keep inside my pockets. I take them out and read them during those awkward silences that occasionally arise in certain social situations. Like when you come back to your school after you turn into a creature and everyone thinks you are a homicidal maniac. I call them my “social security blankets.” I don't actually have any pockets to put my cards into at the moment. BECAUSE NONE OF MY CLOTHES FIT MUTANT DINOSAURS!

I hear a gentle tapping at my door.

“Honey, are you decent?” Mom asks.

“As decent as I'll ever be,” I reply.

She opens the door and pokes her head into my room. Balthazar stands at her side, watching me. “I need to take a few measurements,” she says as she walks in and takes out her tape measure, a pad, and a pencil. Balthazar won't set foot in my room. “Stand up and hold still, sweetie.”

“What for?” I ask.

“I'm going to make you some school clothes, silly,” Mom answers, as she begins to measure me. My chest is five feet around, my waist a whopping six. My tail is almost eight feet long. My mom's measuring tape isn't big enough to measure how tall I am. “Hmm.” Mom sighs. “I hope I'll have enough material. Lean over, Charlie, I need to measure your head.”

“Not a hat, Mom. Please,” I beg as I bend my neck way down. “I look terrible in hats.”

“Nonsense. You'll look adorable. Besides, I don't want you catching cold.” She measures my head, earflaps included. “Okay. That's it.” Mom gathers up her supplies. “See you in the morning, Charlie. Sweet dreams.” She blows a kiss in my direction, then leaves my room and shuts the door behind her. I hear the clickety-clack of Balthazar's toenails in the hallway as he runs to catch up with her.

I get ready to go to sleep quicker than you can say “giant creatures don't have to lay out their clothes for school in the morning because they don't have any.” I barely fit into my bed. I have to get up and push Dave's old camp trunk over, get my upper half under the covers, and rest my legs, flippers, and the last four feet of my tail on the trunk. It's not very comfortable, but what else can I do? I lie on my side (if you have a tail, it's the only way to go) and wonder if I'll ever get used to myself. I toss and I turn, but I can't seem to fall asleep.

Later, I hear Dave's footsteps on the stairs. He's back from Lainie Mingenbach's. He opens the door to our room slowly, tiptoes in, and goes to the tank to check on his fish. He breathes a sigh of relief when he finds them alive and well. Then he washes up, puts on his pj's, and gets into bed. Within minutes he is making Zs like a buzz saw in a tree farm.

Dave's snoring can be annoying sometimes, but tonight I find it reassuring. It's familiar. Unlike everything else in my new life. Dave breathes out. He breathes in. He snores. Out. In. Snore. Before I know it I am matching Dave, breath for breath. Slowly. Evenly. Out. In. Snore. In. Out. Snore.

The next thing I know, it's morning and my alarm clock is going off. I rub the sleep from my eyes and look around the room. Dave isn't in his bed. He must be downstairs having breakfast already. I'm starving. I stumble over to the bathroom to wash up.

Whoa. I almost trip over Dave's football. He promised Mom he wouldn't leave his stuff on the floor. I'll have to remind him. I look down at my feet. . . .