Elrod McBugle on the Loose (7 page)

APPARENTLY, BY THE time the police got on the scene, the squirrels had fled back to their trees, leaving a bunch of scratched-up and freaked-out but otherwise unhurt kids. None of them had rabies, in case you were concerned.
    Guess who they all blamed? Was it Andy, who'd not only started the fight but chose the location? Was it Julie, who'd been the one to provoke Andy into starting the fight? Was it Howie Hankensnorker, the magical elf? Nooooooooo, they blamed me, Elrod McBugle!
    I think they were all still mad about the gum.

Chapter Ten Quiz

1. Who would you have bet on in an Andy vs. Elrod fight, knowing that Elrod was writing the book and could have changed the facts any way he wanted?

2. Do you think squirrels are cute? Do you think squirrels are cute when they're in your hair?

3. Write an essay (three words or less) describing your feelings about the way the government treats people who wear clown suits and carry big mallets and walk up to people on the street and say "Hi there, I'm Mr. Mallet, would you like me to hit you?" and when the person says "No, not today," they go right ahead and hit them anyway and give an evil clown chuckle and then when the person gets back up they hit them a second time with the same mallet and when the person says "Hey, I said I didn't want you to hit me!" the clown says "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you said you
did
want me to hit you, just like this," and then they hit the person again and give that same evil clown chuckle and when the person starts to run away they throw their mallet and hit him or her or whatever the person is in the back of the head and they keep doing that for hours and hours. Don't you hate that?

REMEMBER ABOUT THREE chapters ago when Scoopy and I were talking about the Greenwater Junior High Talent Show? I didn't just mention that to fill space, like I do sometimes when I'm writing an essay. You know, when you're writing an essay and you have to hit a certain number of words, and so you put in little things that aren't really important but they sound nice, like "Christopher Columbus had pretty eyelashes." It makes whatever you're writing longer and therefore better, but it's a bad technique and I hope that nobody reading this ever does it, even if the average cow has 3.87 legs.
    (I just made up the cow fact. I hope nobody reading this ever makes up facts just to have something to write.)
    What's that you're shouting at the page? Get to the point, Elrod? Okay, okay...but you should know that a bunch of people saw you yelling at the book, and they think you're weird.
    A couple days after the squirrel incident, Julie and I were in science class, doing our lab experiment and making absolutely no changes whatsoever to the procedure, as per instructions from Mrs. Jones, Mr. Botkin, Mr. Clark, Dr. Larson, my mom, my dad, the local authorities, and this kid named Doug.
    Andy walked over, along with Warren and Colin. "Hi, Julie," said Andy. "Nice hair."
    I had to admit, Julie's hair looked a lot better now that most of it had been torn off by the squirrels. Julie even thought so.
    "Thanks," she said, smiling.
    Andy turned to me. "Were you going to enter the talent show? You can win prizes. You can have fun. You can show your school spirit."
    I shrugged. "I don't know. Why?"
    "The three of us were going to enter, and we wanted to know if you wanted to join us."
    "Yeah, okay. What about Scoopy?"
    "Sure. He's pretty funny-looking. He'll be good."
    "What are you going to do?"
    Andy glanced at Julie and at the other kids who were listening. "It's a secret. Can you come over to my house after school?"
    "I'll have to make sure it's okay, but yeah, I think so."
    "Great. See you then."
    Mrs. Jones said something that was probably a command for Andy, Warren, and Colin to return to their own lab, so they left. Julie put her lip out in a pout.
    "You're so lucky," she said.

"WHAT IF THEIR idea of an act is beating you up on stage?" asked Scoopy, as we walked toward Andy's house.
    "Then we'd probably win."
    When we got there, Andy's garage door was open and the Former Bully Trio was already inside. They had some instruments set up: Colin on drums, Warren on keyboard, and Andy on lead guitar.
    "Hey, guys!" said Andy. "What do you play?"
    "Clarinet," Scoopy replied. "But I left it at school."
    "I don't think we can use a clarinet," Andy told him.
    Scoopy thought for a moment. "I can blow into a jug and make a neat sound."
    "There's a jug on one of the shelves. See if you can find it."
    Scoopy nodded and went in search of the jug. "What about you?" Andy asked me.
    "I can't play anything," I admitted. "I have no musical talent whatsoever. I didn't realize this was going to be a band."
    "You can do background vocals then."
    "I can't sing, either."
    "Yes you can. Everyone can sing. Watch." Andy began to jam on his guitar and screech "BABY BABY BABY I'M THE ONE YOU WANT!!! BABY BABY BABY I'M THE ONE YOU NEED!!!" Warren and Colin got into it and began playing their instruments as well. They were sort of the musical equivalent of an eighty-five car freeway accident.
    "OOOHHHH BABY I NEED YOUR LOVIN'!!! BRING ME THAT SWEET LOVIN' THAT YOU GOT, BABY!!! OOOOHHHHH YEAH!!!"
    "YEAH YEAH YEAH!!!" Warren and Colin pitched in.
    After about another half-minute of jamming, Colin ended the musical number with a cymbal crash. "What did you think?" Andy asked.
    "It was amazing," I said, purposely not specifying whether it was amazing in a good or bad way.
    "We wrote the music and lyrics ourselves," Andy said.
    "And we're called The Dogs," Colin told me.
    "The Dogs?"
    "Yeah, The Dogs!" said Andy. "Isn't that a great name for a band?"
    "I guess so. It's kind of boring."
    "It's filled with meaning," said Colin. "Because we're mean like dogs, we're wild like dogs, and we're loud like dogs."
    "Do you sniff other dogs' butts?" I asked.
    Colin glared at me. I realized that I'd become a little too comfortable around the Former Bully Trio. He could still slam my head between his cymbals if he felt like it.
    "The Dogs is an okay name," I said.
    "What would you call it?" asked Warren.
    I thought for a moment. "How about Squirrel Rampage?"
    Andy, Warren, and Colin all looked at each other for a moment, then broke out into a smile at the same time. "That's great!" Andy exclaimed. "See, I knew having you around was a good idea!"
    "I can't find the jug," said Scoopy.
    "Keep looking," Andy told him.
    "I found an empty paint can, but blowing into it isn't doing anything."
    "So, anyway," Andy said to me, ignoring Scoopy, "we'll have you pretend to play guitar and do background vocals."
    "I really can't sing," I said. "How about I just make comments while you practice?"
    "No, we need you up on stage. You fit with our image as wild dogs. Everyone hates you."
    "Not everyone hates me."
    "Well, a lot of people do."
    I think he genuinely believed he was giving me a compliment.
    "How come you're willing to split the prize money five ways?" I asked.
    "Oh, we don't care about the money," said Colin. "We're doing this for the publicity. Maybe a music scout will be in the audience and offer us a contract."
    Andy and Warren nodded.
    "I see." I figured the only person interested in them would be a zookeeper, but I wisely kept that little comment to myself.
    "There's a bottle of aspirin over here," said Scoopy. "I can't get the lid off, but once I do it might work."
    "This will be fun," Andy assured me. "Everyone will love us. I promise."
    "How can you promise that?"
    "How? Just watch!" Andy played his guitar again, and Warren and Colin immediately joined in with their own instruments. "OH BABY, BABY, BABY, BABY, BABY, BABY!!! I WANT YOU TO BE MY BABY, BABY, BABY, BABY, BABY, BABY!!!"
    "Yeah, yeah!" sang Warren.
    "Yeah, yeah!" sang Colin.
    "YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH YEAH!!!" sang Andy. He strummed his guitar so hard that I thought his hand would break right through the wood. I got ready to run for cover in case he started smashing the guitar against the floor.
    "YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!" the three of them sang, ending with another cymbal crash from Colin.
    I applauded. "Wow. That's the only thing to say. Wow."
    "So, do you wanna be part of our band? Just for the talent show, I mean. Once we're on the road nobody will know you and you won't do us any good."
    "Gee, thanks."
    "Found it!" Scoopy emerged victoriously from behind the car parked in the garage, holding a blue jug. He blew into it a few times, then began moving his shoulders to the rockin' beat. "Oh, yeah, I can feel the music flowing! This is gonna be great!"
    "Okay, sure, we'll be part of it," I said. After all, what was a little disgrace and humiliation if it made Scoopy happy?

"YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH!!!"
    I raised my hand, gesturing for Squirrel Rampage to stop. "Too many yeahs, Colin. It's only supposed to be five."
    "Are you sure?"
    "I'm positive." I held up the lyric sheet, which clearly showed five
yeahs
after the eight
babys
.
    "Oh, sorry about that."
    "No problem. Once again, from the top."
    "Hit it!" Andy shouted.
    Scoopy blew into his jug. After six beats, the rest of the band joined in. "I JUST CAN'T STOP LOVIN' YOU, BABY! YOU'RE THE ONE I WANT 'TIL THE END OF TIME, BABY! IT'S ABOUT TIME YOU TRIMMED THOSE SNOTTY HAIRS IN YOUR NOSE, BABY!"
    I had suggested that last line as a joke, but they liked it and added it to their song. Go figure.
    We practiced every day after school for the next week, and our musical abilities improved from "utterly pathetic" to "utterly pathetic but with the occasional moment that at least doesn't make your brain shrink."
    "We're ready!" said Andy, the day before the talent show. "Everyone go home, get a good night's sleep, and wake up tomorrow ready to rock!"

Chapter Eleven Quiz

1. Pick a song. Visit a library. Stand on a shelf. Sing the song. Loudly. How long did it take you to be thrown out of the library?

2. Pick another song. Visit a fancy restaurant. Sing the song. Loudly. How long did it take for the head chef to come after you with a pair of crab claws?

3. Pick a third song. Sing it in your head. Isn't that much better?

I WENT HOME, GOT a good night's sleep, and woke up feeling like I'd swallowed a power drill. My throat was so sore I could barely speak. There was no way I'd be able to do background vocals with my voice in this condition.
    Good. I was saved.
    My mom called Scoopy and told him that I was staying home from school, and to go on without me. But he arrived ten minutes later, looking grumpy and tired.
    "I thought my mom called you," I said as he walked into my room.
    "She did. But we need you, Elrod. You and me are the only ones in the band with any talent."
    "Scoopy, I can't do it. My throat is killing me."
    "But I wanted everyone to see me play the jug." He looked really sad and pitiful. "I spent all last night practicing. I can play that jug like Shrieking Seth can play the ukulele."
    "Who's Shrieking Seth?"
    "This guy. He plays the ukulele really well."
    "You can do the talent show without me."
    "But it won't be any fun! You're my best friend."
    "Why do you consider me your best friend, anyway? I throw paper airplanes up your nose."
    "I know, but it shows that you like to be around me. Most people don't. Come to school today, please?"
    He gave me a look so filled with pleading that there was no way I could refuse. I realized that, as lousy as Squirrel Rampage sounded, it was something that was truly important to him. I have no idea in the world
why,
but it was. And I wasn't going to let Scoopy down.
    But I also resolved that in the near future Scoopy and I were going to work on making him a little less pathetic.

BY LUNCH, MY throat was feeling better. Then somebody came up behind me and shouted "BOO!" causing me to let out a yelp that made it sore again. But by the end of the day, it was feeling better again.
    Classes for eighth period were cancelled, and everyone gathered in the auditorium. Those of us who were performing were supposed to wait in the backstage area, but as Scoopy and I headed back there Andy stopped us.
    "Bad news," he said. "We can't play."
    "What? Why not?"
    "The drums are still in my garage. I told my mom to bring them, but did she listen? Nooooooo. She's too busy picking up my stupid sister from daycare. So we can't do it. Sorry."
    "Sorry?" I was furious. "We gave up all our afternoons practicing with you guys! Why can't we play without drums?"
    "You can't have a rock band without drums."
    "Does anyone else have some drums that we can borrow?"
    "No, we already asked the band teacher. He said no because of that time in class when Colin was chewing on the cymbals. That's okay, we'll get our exposure some other time. Our vocals needed a bit of fine-tuning anyway."
    Scoopy held up his jug. "Then we'll just have to go on without you guys. Elrod will sing, and I'll play the jug."
    "Huh?" I said.
    "Well, good luck," said Andy. "If you want I could beat up some of your competition."
    "No, that's okay," I assured him. Scoopy walked toward the backstage area, and I hurried to follow him. "Are you sure you want to do this? I don't know any of the lyrics!"
    "Make some up! It's not like the original ones are any good."
    "My throat is still sore!"
    "That's good. Lots of rock singers sound like they have sore throats."
    Scoopy pushed through the curtain and we found a nice spot against the wall to stand. A couple girls were standing there, dressed in identical pink dresses, touching up each other's makeup. Mr. Clark smiled as he saw us enter.
    "Ah, Mr. McBugle, Mr. Casson! You're part of Squirrel Rampage, correct?"
    "Actually, we're all of Squirrel Rampage."
    "Really? I thought there were supposed to be five squirrels."
    "The other three couldn't make it."
    "Oh, well I'm sure you two will do fine."
    I looked around. Aside from the girls, there was nobody else in the backstage area. "How many acts are there?"
    "Two. You and the Math Club Women. It was a fairly low turnout this year. If you want to add some extra verses to your song to make it longer, that might be nice."
    Scoopy grinned. "Wow! We can't come in worse than second!"
    "Oh, gee, that's wonderful," I muttered.
    Then I realized something. Scoopy was supposed to be the whiny one. If he was determined to have a good time, well, darn it, I was too. Scoopy could play that jug pretty well if you wanted my honest opinion, and the lyrics wouldn't be a big deal as long as I remembered the words "yeah" and "baby." We'd do fine.
    Mr. Clark went out on stage and made his opening comments, which included instructions that nothing was to be thrown on stage while we were performing, and that booing was a sign of bad manners. Then he introduced the Math Club Women, who went out and began singing something called "How I Love Prime Numbers."
    They sounded good. Really good. Their voices blended in perfect harmony. Compared to them, my singing was going to sound like a dying buffalo clearing its throat.
    But it would all be over in a few minutes.
    The Math Club Women finished their song and marched backstage to wild applause. "You're on," said Mr. Clark, motioning for us to walk on stage.
    Scoopy chose that particular moment to trip, and the jug slipped out of his fingers. It fell as if in slow motion, and I dove for it, trying to catch it before it shattered against the floor.
    The Math Club Women gasped.
    Mr. Clark gasped.
    Scoopy gasped.
    I caught it.
    "Please be more careful," said Mr. Clark. "Broken glass is nobody's friend."
    "Yes, sir," said Scoopy, taking the jug from me. As I got to my feet, Scoopy tripped once again. The jug fell out of his hand and shattered against the floor.
    "I couldn't help it!" he insisted. "My hands are all sweaty!"
    I stared at the broken pieces of the musical jug for a long moment. "I guess The Math Club Women win."
    "No!" said Scoopy. "We can still go on! I can...I can say 'Aaaooogah' in the background while you sing."
    "How about you sing and I say 'Aaaooogah?'"
    "No, that'll be stupid. C'mon, Elrod, let's do it!"
    He marched out on stage. I reluctantly followed him.
    "Hi, everyone," I said, as I looked out at the seemingly millions of people who could potentially throw sharp objects at us. "We're Squirrel Rampage, and this is a song called 'Baby Bring Me Your Love, If It's Not Too Much Trouble.'" That wasn't the real name of the song, but at this point it didn't really matter. I pointed to Scoopy. "Hit it."
    "Aaaooogah," said Scoopy.
    I began to tap my feet against the floor to the beat. "Baby, baby, baby," I sang, snapping my fingers as well. "I need you, baby."
    "Aaaooogah," Scoopy repeated.
    "Oh yeah, be my baby. Oh yeah, be my baby." I tried to raise my voice, and with my sore throat my voice cracked, making me wince.
    I heard a bunch of kids laughing.
    Good! Let them laugh! If we couldn't be talented, we'd be funny!
    "BABY, BABY, BABY!" I screeched. The audience howled with laughter.
    "A-AAA-AAAOOO-OOO-OOOO-GAH!" shouted Scoopy.
    "Okay, stop this," said Mrs. Webster in a loud voice. She stood up from where she'd been sitting in the front row. "This is not what the annual talent show is all about! This is a mockery of talent! Both of you, sit down."
    I was in shock. She couldn't do that, could she? Who was she to tell us that we were terrible? She wasn't in charge of this talent show! She could give us all the disapproving glances she wanted, but the show must go on!
    And even though it meant that I could get in all kinds of trouble later, I made Mrs. Webster part of that show.
    "There she is!" I sang. "There she is! There's my baby! There's my baaaaaaaaaaay-beh comin' to see me!"
    The class exploded in laughter. Mrs. Webster turned a dark red color that can't have been healthy. Then she marched up the three stairs leading to the stage, I guess with the intention of dragging Scoopy and myself away by force.
    This was, I thought, very rude. It sounded like a whole bunch of students were getting plenty of enjoyment out of how awful we were, so where did she get off deciding to take it upon herself to stop us?
    I was mad.
    She walked toward us. "This is completely unacceptable," she said. "Absolutely appalling."
    "Aaaooogah!" said Scoopy.
    Then I made a decision. We all make many decisions that will affect the course of our lives. Some are small decisions, such as whether to put on a clean shirt or just turn the shirt with the mustard stains inside-out. Some are big decisions, such as whether or not to stick a fork in a toaster (don't). Then there are decisions like the one I made, decisions with the potential to change your life forever.
    I had already made the choice to get up on stage and sing badly. If I let Mrs. Webster take me away, this day would simply be remembered as the day Elrod McBugle ruined an already lousy song and was dragged off by a teacher. No glory there.
    True glory rested in making this moment one that nobody in school would ever forget, no matter what the personal cost.
    And so when Mrs. Webster started to reach for me, I threw my arms around her and kissed her on the lips.
    Saying that the other students had a strong reaction to this is sort of like saying "Sitting on a circular saw can ruin your pants."
    The auditorium
exploded
with shrieks of shock and laughter. Several students jumped to their feet, unable to believe what they'd just seen. I thought the walls were going to crumble from the intensity of their reaction.
    Mrs. Webster eyes were bugged out so far I thought they might drop onto the floor (and maybe roll into an open bottle of Slurpy Gulp). She stumbled backwards, gasping, and then fell off the stage, landing on the floor with a loud
thump.
The reactions of the other students grew even louder, and several teachers were waving their arms, trying to restore control.
    I glanced at Scoopy. His jaw was hanging open, and his knees buckled underneath him. He fainted, dropping face-first onto the stage.
    Mr. Clark rushed onto the stage and spoke into the microphone. "Please remain calm! Everyone be seated! Everything is under control here!"
    Nothing was under control.
    Especially after somebody pulled the fire alarm.
    Students stampeded for the exits, trampling over each other in an amazing display of bad fire drill technique. The air was filled with screams and laughter and sounds I'd never heard from human beings before.
    I moved to the edge of the stage and peered down at Mrs. Webster, who lay on her back, eyes wide open. "Stay away from me!" she shrieked. "Don't even look at me!"
    Fine with me. I hurried to Scoopy, who Mr. Clark had helped to a sitting position. "Where am I?" he asked. "What just happened?"
    "I kissed Mrs. Webster," I informed him.
    "Oh yeah, now I remember," said Scoopy, fainting again.
    Three minutes later everyone had fled the auditorium except me, Scoopy, and Mr. Clark. Mrs. Webster had been carried out by a couple teachers.
    "Uh, sorry about that," I said to Mr. Clark.
    "In all my years as an assistant principal, I have never seen anything like this," he said. "Never. What were you thinking?"
    "I don't know. I just wanted to beat The Math Club Women."
    "Elrod, I'm going to tell you something, and you need to keep it a secret, okay?"
    "Okay."
    "That was the funniest thing I've seen in my entire life." He leaned down. "And if you ever do anything like that again, I'll make sure you get expelled. Do you understand me?"
    "Yes, sir."
    After that, people started calling me Dr. Lips. They still do. And it was worth it.