The Battle of the Red Hot Pepper Weenies Page 11

  Over the next two or three weeks, I found myself understanding more and more of the stuff my teachers talked about—not just math, but science and English, too. I was grasping things that made no sense to me before. I even finally understood what Arnold had been trying to tell me about the keyboard, and about the ninety-nine ships. It was like when my dad rolled the miles on his old car. It went from 99,999 to 0.

  I was definitely getting smarter. Day by day. At a fast rate. By the end of the month, I was smart enough to figure out what was happening. It was the bugs. Something in their bite was raising my intelligence. There are lots of examples of this sort of cooperation in nature. It’s called symbiosis. Two organisms help each other. Each gains something. I provided the insects with nutrients—specifically, my blood—and they, in turn, provided me with greater intelligence.

  I made sure to go out to the backyard each day. Then Dad started talking about getting rid of the tire swing. I couldn’t let that happen.

  “I’ll take care of it,” I said. I was smart enough to know he’d leap at the offer.

  “You sure you can handle it?” he asked.

  “No problem. I’ll get Arnold to help me.” But I was planning to do it by myself. I didn’t want Arnold getting bitten and catching up with me. I was already a lot smarter than he was. I knew how to fix all sorts of mistakes in his computer program. Not that I told him. I didn’t want to show off, or have him wonder how I got so smart.

  I took our stepladder out back. Then I propped some cinder blocks under the tire so it wouldn’t fall when I sliced the rope. After I cut the tire down, I carried it out to the edge of the backyard and stuck it behind a hedge where nobody would notice it. The stagnant water sloshed, and a bit of it spilled, but there was plenty left to provide a nice breeding ground for my symbiotic pals.

  Perfect. The bugs were safe, and I could continue to grow smarter. I must have gotten bitten at least fifty times while I was moving the tire. But that was fine. I could feel my intelligence swelling and growing.

  I headed toward the house. But I then realized there was no reason to grow smarter a little at a time. I wanted to do it in one huge dose. So I went back, took off my shirt, and sat by the tire.

  They swarmed over me. I grew even smarter. Pretty soon, I knew I was the smartest kid in the world. And then the smartest person.

  How high can I go? I wondered. Was there a limit? Would I reach a maximum, and then stay there? I contemplated the enigma of an upper limit to intelligence. Even finite things can appear infinite if the upper boundary is sufficiently distant.

  And then my ultrasuperbrilliant mind had another thought. What if my brain had only a certain capacity for intelligence? Or what if my IQ reached 999? Was it possible that my intelligence could wrap back to zero, like the number of extra lives in Arnold’s game?

  That was too much of a risk. I was smart enough. I got up, batted the bugs away from me, and walked toward the house. I felt dazzlingly brilliant. I understood problems in math and science that nobody had ever been able to figure out. I saw a five-step proof of Fermat’s theorem and a beautifully elegant way to confirm the four-color map theorem.

  And then I felt a click, like a counter was turning over in my brain.

  Huh? What? Why am I here? I itch. “Momeee!” I screamed. There were bugs out here. Bad bugs. I’ll ask Daddy to kill them. I ran inside, where I would be safe from all those stupid bugs.

  OVERDUE ONTO OTHERS

  Edith had gone to the library to look for the latest book in a mystery series she was hooked on. They didn’t have it, so she browsed around a bit. She finally found a couple other books that looked interesting, including a graphic novel. As she was heading toward the circulation desk, she noticed a shelf under the videos with a sign that read: PERSONALITIES. CHECK ONE OUT TODAY!

  That’s weird, Edith thought. Maybe it’s something about celebrities. The shelf held a row of small plastic cases, about half the size of the ones movies come in. Each case had a label on the side. Most were just a word or two. ADVENTUROUS, OUTGOING, FUN-LOVING, POPULAR. Stuff like that. It wasn’t all good stuff. There were a whole bunch with labels like LOSER, COWARD, CRYBABY, and other things Edith wouldn’t want to be.

  She grabbed the one labeled POPULAR and took it up to the desk.

  “What’s this?” she asked the librarian.

  “Personalities,” she said. “It’s the latest thing. We’re the first library in the county to offer them.”

  “Oh. Right.” Edith didn’t want to admit that she still had no idea what it was, so she checked it out with her books.

  As soon as she left the library, she opened the case. There was nothing inside except for a stretchy wristband—the kind people wear to show they’re against a disease or in favor of some sort of cause. Except, instead of rubber, this was made out of braided wire.

  Edith slipped the band onto her wrist, then stood there for a moment, trying to sense any change. This is silly. She knew a wristband couldn’t make her popular. She sure didn’t feel any different.

  On the way home, as she passed the playground, a couple girls from her class ran over from the basketball court. “Edith, wait up,” they called.

  “Come play, Edith.”

  “She’s on our team.”

  “No, she’s on our team.”

  They fought over her until she shouted, “Stop that!”

  “Sure thing, Edith,” they all said.

  She put her books down and played ball until it was time for dinner.

  The next day, Edith got invited to sit at the cool table in the cafeteria. And everyone wanted to be her partner for an art project.

  Every day, for three weeks, Edith was popular. Other things changed, too, but not so much. She was a bit bolder than usual, and a bit happier. She realized that each personality band, just like each real personality, contained a mixture of traits, but the strongest was the one listed on the label.

  And then the moment she’d dreaded finally came. It was time to take her books back to the library.

  She didn’t want to return the band. She took it off and left it on her desk. When she handed the books to the librarian, she said, “I lost the personality.”

  The librarian leaned closer and stared at Edith. “Are you sure it’s lost?”

  “Absolutely.” The funny thing was, Edith knew if she was wearing the band, the librarian would probably believe anything without questioning her. That’s how people are treated when they’re popular. They can get away with all sorts of stuff. But, without the band, Edith had a hard time even getting people to notice she was alive. That didn’t matter. The band was hers now, forever. “Is there a fine?”

  “No. That’s not our policy.” The librarian pointed to a door behind her desk. “Come in the office. We have to fill out a loss report.”

  That’s not so bad. Edith had been afraid she’d have to pay for the personality. She’d fill out reports all day if it meant she didn’t have to give up being popular.

  Edith followed the librarian into the office. The librarian closed the door and handed Edith a pen. It was attached to a wire, like the pens her parents used to sign for stuff with their credit card. The other end of the wire went inside a black box that was attached to the USB port on a computer.

  Edith picked up the pen and looked at the form. The first line asked for the missing title. She wrote, Popularity. The rest of the form asked for her name, address, and phone number. At the bottom, there was a box for her to check. Patron gives the library permission to obtain a replacement?

  Why not? She didn’t care what they did. She put a check-mark in the box. The pen got hot all of a sudden. Edith tried to let go, but her fingers curled around it. Her arm started to shake.

  It lasted just an instant. Then her fingers fell open and she dropped the pen. The librarian lifted the lid of the black box and pulled out a wristband. She put it in a plastic case. Then she took a label from her printer. Edith noticed one word on it: DISHONEST.

/>   The librarian stuck the label on the case. “That’s all. You can go.”

  Edith got up and stumbled out of the library. The world felt flat and strange, like she wasn’t really a part of it. Something important had been sucked out of her.

  As she wandered past the playground, she heard kids talking.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Nobody.”

  “You can say that again. She’s a total nothing. She’s got no personality at all.”

  Edith got home just as her mom was taking a garbage bag out to the curb. “I cleaned up some junk on your desk,” her mom said. “If I waited for you to do it, it would never happen.”

  “whatever.” Edith went upstairs and sat on her bed. She had no desire to do anything else. There was really no place she wanted to go. There was really nothing at all she wanted to do. Ever.

  PUT ON YOUR HAPPY FACE

  I’d made it! I’d been accepted by the world’s greatest school for clowns. I’d bet they’ve never taken a kid before. But I’m good—very good. I can juggle five balls while balancing on a teeterboard. I can even juggle three balls with my eyes closed. I can ride a unicycle, walk on my hands, and take a fall that looks hilarious.

  It doesn’t matter that I’m only twelve. They accepted me. My aunt and uncle, who I’d been living with, were happy to let me go. They pretended to care about me, but I knew the truth.

  None of that mattered.

  I was right where I needed to be. Poirotte Clown College—the best clown school in the world. The teachers were so serious about being clowns—yeah, I know it sounds funny saying it that way—anyhow, they’re so serious that they always wore their makeup in class.

  And each face was different. Most people don’t know this, but that’s one of the most important decisions a clown has to make. Every clown has his own face. I’d read that in the old days a clown would paint a copy of his makeup on an egg and they’d keep all the eggs in the town hall. I guess it was a way to make sure nobody could steal your face. That was a long time ago, somewhere like France or !England.

  I loved the college. And I was really good. Some of the students couldn’t handle the harder stuff. One poor guy never did get the hang of walking in big shoes. But I nailed every skill on my first try. I was a natural-born clown.

  When Emmett—he was my teacher for slapstick class—showed me how to throw a pie, I did it perfectly the first time. Same with the seltzer bottle.

  In a week, I was even driving the clown car—and I’m not nearly old enough to drive a real car. It’s amazing how many clowns we could pack in it. You’ve seen that at the circus, I’m sure. Well, it’s no trick—just hard work, a lot of planning, and a bit of pain. But I don’t even mind some pain. If I take a bad fall or a hard slap, that doesn’t matter. I just shake it off and keep going. As long as I can be a clown, I’m happy.

  “You’ve got it, kid,” Emmett said to me during my second month. “You were born for this.”

  “I know,” I said. I loved his face. Instead of the usual red nose, he had a long orange one, sort of like Pinocchio. But he had a big smile and stars around his eyes. Emmett was a happy clown.

  Smiles are a major decision. Some clowns are happy and some are sad. I want a smile, because I like action and laughter. Sad Sack—he’s another of the teachers—has this really sad face, with tears and all. That’s great if you’re into that, but I like happy faces. Though even the happy faces sort of seem sad sometimes.

  Finally, I got to start my makeup class. Instead of putting the greasepaint on our own faces, they had us work on a dummy. I guess that gave us a better chance to look at it as we experimented.

  It took two weeks of playing around, but I finally created the perfect face.

  “Is that the one, kid?” Emmett asked.

  “Yeah. That’s me.” It was exactly what I wanted—huge red nose, big smile, blue lines making giant eyebrows. And freckles. Lots of orange freckles. I’d topped it all off with an enormous wig of frizzy green hair. It was great.

  “You sure?”

  “Absolutely.” I could just see the little kids in the audience cracking up when I clomped out with this makeup and a pair of giant shoes, carrying a pie or walking an invisible dog.

  “Great,” Emmett said. “You did a fine job. Let’s take a break.” We went to the cafeteria, where he treated me to a special lunch.

  I fell asleep right after we ate. I usually don’t take a nap, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open that afternoon.

  When I woke up, Emmett was there, sitting right by the side of my bed. He held out a mirror.

  “Wow,” I said. I guess Emmett had put on my makeup. “Perfect.” As soon as the words left my lips, a wave of pain washed over my face.

  “Easy, kid,” Emmett said. “It’ll hurt for a few days. But then you’ll be fine.”

  “Hurt?” I asked. Even that small word caused my lips to ache. I reached up to touch my big red nose.

  Emmett grabbed my wrist. “Leave it alone. Let it heal.”

  Heal? I stared in the mirror at the clown face I’d created. A face that would last forever. It wasn’t makeup. It was my own flesh—carved and reformed to match my design. That’s when I knew why even the funniest clown, with the biggest smile, sometimes seems to have a sad, sad face behind the makeup.

  MOODS

  Look what I found,” Colleen said as she slipped into her seat at school. She held out her hand, revealing the treasure that lay on her palm.

  “Nice ring,” Madeleine said.

  “It’s not just a ring,” Colleen told her. “It’s special. My grandma got it ages ago, when she was a kid. Watch this.” Colleen slipped the ring on her finger and waited while the large stone reacted.

  “Wow,” Madeleine said. “It changed colors.”

  “Yeah. Grandma said they call it a mood ring. It’s so cool.”

  “Can I try?” Madeleine asked.

  “Sure.” Colleen handed the ring over, then watched as the color of the stone shifted from blue to green on Madeleine’s finger.

  “What’s the color mean?” Madeleine asked.

  Colleen shrugged. “Grandma couldn’t remember.”

  “Hey, what’s up?” Lindsey asked, leaning over Madeleine’s shoulder.

  Colleen explained, and Lindsey tried the ring. Then Cathy tried, along with all the rest of the girls in the class. Except for Deanne. She just sat in the back like she always did, not really taking part. Ever since she’d shown up, a month and a half ago, the girls had tried to get to know her, but she hadn’t responded to their attempts. She seemed more like a spectator than a student.

  “I know,” Colleen said, “let’s find out Deanne’s mood.” She went to Deanne’s desk at the far right side of the last row and held out the ring.

  Deanne just sat there, not looking up.

  “Come on,” Colleen said. “Try it. It’s fun.” She could feel the other girls gathering behind her.

  Deanne still didn’t move.

  “Oh, come on. Be a sport.” Colleen reached out and lifted Deanne’s hand, then slipped the ring on the girl’s finger.

  The stone lost all color.

  Colleen pulled the ring free.

  “What happened?” Madeleine asked from behind Colleen. “I didn’t see.”

  “Yeah,” Lindsey said, “I didn’t see, either.”

  “It turned red,” Colleen said. She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d lied, but she had a feeling she’d stumbled across a sad and painful secret.

  Deanne moved her lips slightly, as if silently whispering, Thank you.

  “We’d better get to our seats before class starts.” Colleen walked away from Deanne, not looking back.

  Deanne didn’t come to school the next day. Or ever again. Colleen never forgot the clear lifeless look of the gem in the mood ring, or the cold lifeless feel of Deanne’s fingers. And she never wore the ring again.

  KEEP YOUR SPIRITS UP

  I only did one truly stupid thing in my ent
ire life. That was enough. It killed me. One minute, I’m proving I’m brave enough to slip out of my harness and stand up while riding the tallest, fastest roller coaster in the state. The next minute, I’m floating over my body. Truly stupid. Terminally stupid.

  It wasn’t much fun watching the rest. My buddy Rick scrambled out of the coaster the normal way, at the end of the ride. He ran over and pushed through the crowd that had gathered a safe distance from the spray zone of my splattered remains. When he saw my body, he turned away and got sick. I can’t blame him.

  I felt kind of numb. I mean, there I was, being scraped into an ambulance—as if there was any point taking me to a hospital—but here I was drifting around like a jellyfish at high tide.

  “Hey, what’s your name?”

  I turned and saw someone drifting toward me. He looked about my age. I could see through him. I held up my hand and stared at it. I could see through that, too.

  “Your name?” he asked again.

  “Brett,” I said. “Am I a ghost?”

  “Yup. You’re a ghost. Congratulations on figuring that out. Some people have a hard time with the concept. After the way you flew out of that ride, I figured you might not be the brightest guy around. I’m Curtis.”

  “Hi,” I said. “Now what?”

  “We hang out, or we drift around. Come on—I’ll introduce you to some of the guys and girls who hang out here.” Curtis started to drift away.

  “Hey,” I called after him. “How do I move?”

  “Just kind of lean forward,” he said. “Like with one of those electric scooters.”

  I tilted myself. It worked. I drifted with Curtis to the other side of the park. He introduced me to five kids—I mean, ghosts—who were in the amusement park at the time. They were pretty nice, though they all mentioned that my last act as a living person had been pretty much the stupidest thing they’d seen in a long time. I didn’t argue with them. After that, I just drifted around the park for a while.