Tom Bites Back

by Steven Banks

  “Done,” said Capri.

  I was a little afraid to look. She handed me the picture and I took a deep breath. I was going to see what I looked like for the very first time.

  * * *

  I definitely looked like a Vam-Wolf-Zom.

  I didn’t look as bad as I thought I would, but I didn’t look better either.

  “Capri, are my fangs really that big?”

  “Yeah. But you only see them when you smile.”

  “And my skin is that color?”

  “Well, I didn’t have the exact shade of gray-green pencil I needed.”

  I looked closer. “Is my hair that thick and does it stick up all over the place?”

  “Yeah. But you could comb it.”

  She had a point. I could do that.

  “Are my eyes watery?”

  “A little. But you only notice it if you get really close.”

  “And my ears are that pointy?”

  “I like your ears.” Her face went red for some reason.

  I started to think that maybe I should get braces. And contact lenses. Or wear a wig.

  Mr. Baker walked by. “Nicely done, Capri. You really captured Tom’s face.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Baker. Do we have to hand these in or can we take them home?”

  “You may take them home.”

  Carpi held the drawing out to me. “Do you want to have this?”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted it. But maybe Capri would get famous someday, like Van Gogh. It might be worth a lot of money.

  “Sure,” I said. “Thanks. Make sure you sign it.”

  She signed her name at the bottom.

  I looked at the drawing again. This is what I was going to look like for the rest of my life. Maybe it was better I couldn’t see myself in mirrors or photographs.

  * * *

  At lunch, I showed Capri’s drawing to Zeke and Abel, at our usual table in the cafeteria.

  “Tell me the truth, guys,” I said. “Is that what I really look like?”

  Zeke looked at it. “Uh…well…um…sorta…kinda…in a way…maybe…. Yeah!”

  Abel stroked his chin and said, “There is no question whatsoever, Mr. Marks, it is unmistakably you. However, one must remember, this is Capri’s artistic interpretation of your visage. How she sees you in her mind’s eye.”

  I’m not sure what he meant, but he’s smart, so he probably was right.

  11.

  Tea Party

  In Phys Ed I ran the track wearing my hat, sunglasses, and sunscreen. I could have run faster than everybody, but I didn’t try. What was the point? And I didn’t want to be a showoff.

  Zeke and I were running next to each other when Tanner Gantt ran up and said, “Hey, Three Freak!”

  I bet he had spent all of lunch thinking up that name.

  He laughed. “Get it? You’re a Three Freak!”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “You’re Three Freak because you’re three things.”

  “I get it! You don’t have to explain it!”

  “Cut the chitchat, Marks!” yelled Coach Tinoco, from across the field. “You’re supposed to be running! Not having a tea party!”

  Why did Coach say we were having a tea party? We weren’t pretending to be drinking tea. I’ve never been to a tea party. I don’t even like tea.

  Tanner Gantt went on. “You’re Three Freak because you’re a vampire, a werewolf, and a zombie.”

  “I know what I am, you ____!”

  And then I said a word that you’re not allowed to say at school. Or at my house. Dad gets to say it. Gram says it sometimes. Emma’s said it to me, but she’s always careful that Mom and Dad don’t hear her.

  “Coach!” yelled Tanner Gantt. “Did you hear what Tom Marks just called me?!”

  “I did! Three more laps, Marks!” yelled Coach.

  “See ya later, Three Freak,” said Tanner Gantt as he ran ahead.

  I ran the three laps superfast. I didn’t care if anybody thought I was a showoff.

  * * *

  On the way to Choir, I showed Capri’s drawing of me to Annie.

  “Wow,” she said. “She is an awesome artist. She should do the posters for our band.”

  “Is that what I really look like?” I asked.

  Annie looked at me and then back at the drawing. “Notexactly…. But I’d know it was you.”

  I didn’t know whether that was good news or bad news.

  Annie handed me the drawing. “So, how come Capri gave it to you?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’m gonna keep it. Maybe she’ll get famous like that Van Gogh guy.”

  “He’s my favorite artist,” said Annie.

  “Really?” I said. “Did you know he did two thousand artworks, but only sold a few paintings his whole life?”

  “I know. It’s so sad. And he cut off his ear.”

  “Actually it was just his ear lobe.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that.”

  We talked about Van Gogh all the way to Choir. Sometimes school actually teaches you stuff that you can use in life.

  * * *

  In Choir we practiced singing “What a Wonderful World.” Mr. Stockdale rolled over to his desk in his wheelchair to play it for us on the computer. He was in a surfing accident when he was twenty-five and his legs were paralyzed. He can’t walk anymore, but he still goes surfing and paddle boarding.

  “The man who sings this song is named Louis Armstrong,” said Mr. Stockdale. “Has anyone ever heard of him?”

  Nobody raised a hand. I had accidentally howled on the first day of choir and Mr. Stockdale got mad at me, so I wanted to get on his good side. I raised my hand.

  “Yes, Mr. Marks?”

  “Louis Armstrong was a famous musician who sang and played the trumpet. He was one of the greatest jazz artists of all time. He played on riverboats on the Mississippi River in New Orleans.”

  Mr. Stockdale looked surprised. “That is true.”

  “He did another song called ‘Mr. Potato Head Blues.’ ”

  Mr. Stockdale smiled. “I believe the correct title is ‘Potato Head Blues.’ I’m very impressed, Mr. Marks.”

  I glanced over at Annie. She looked like she was impressed too.

  “How did you know that?” he asked.

  “This girl I met told me. She saw him play once on a riverboat.”

  “A girl?” said Mr. Stockdale, who look confused. “How old was she?”

  I almost said she was two hundred and forty-four, but luckily I didn’t. “She’s thirteen.”

  “Well, she couldn’t have seen Louis Armstrong play in person. He died in 1971. Unless she has a Time Machine.”

  Some kids laughed.

  “Oh…. Yeah…. Right. I meant she saw a video of him on YouTube.”

  The bell rang and I was glad to hear it.

  Then I went home and The Most Disgusting, Grossest, Make You Want to Throw Up Thing happened.

  12.

  Art Critics

  When I got home from school, I dropped my stuff on the kitchen table. Capri’s drawing of me was sticking up from the top of my backpack, and Emma yanked it out. She’s always grabbing my stuff.

  “What is this?” she demanded.

  “Nothing, Grabby Magee,” I said. I didn’t try to grab it back because I didn’t want it to get ripped or torn in half, in case it was going to be worth $82,500,000 someday.

  “Did you really do this?” she said, looking at it.

  I could tell she was jealous. Emma can’t draw either, but she thinks she can. At least I know I can’t draw. Last summer she did these ugly paintings of flowers. Mom said we had to tell her they were good, so we wouldn’t hurt her feelings. I told Mom that Emma has no feelings.

  Emma looked up at
me. “Did your Vam-Wolf-Zom powers make you a good artist?”

  “Maybe they did.” Technically, I wasn’t lying. I just wanted to see Emma get mad.

  “That is so unfair!” she said, and tossed the drawing on the table.

  Mom came in and saw the drawing and acted like I was The World’s Greatest Artist. “Tom, this is wonderful. I had no idea you could draw like this. We have a real artist in the family.”

  Emma glared at Mom. “Hey! What about me?”

  “Oh. well, yes, of course, you too, Emma. Your flower paintings were very…special.”

  Mom is the worst liar in the world.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” said Emma. “How’d you see yourself to draw this? You can’t see your reflection in mirror.”

  “Okay, I didn’t draw it,” I confessed.

  “I knew it!” said Emma. She was lying. She thought I’d done it. Doesn’t she ever get tired of lying?

  “This girl named Capri did it,” I said.

  “Is she your girlfriend?” said Emma.

  I knew she was going to say that.

  “No!”

  “Then why’d she put a little heart over the ‘i’?”

  I hadn’t noticed that. Did Capri always do that?

  “That’s just the way she writes her name,” I lied.

  “Why didn’t you ask me to draw your portrait?” said Emma.

  Mom and I looked at each other.

  “Well…” said Mom, “maybe you can do a portrait of Tom too. I’m sure he’d love that.”

  No, I wouldn’t. Mom was crazy. Emma would make me look worse than I already do. Mom took Capri’s picture and stuck it up on the refrigerator with some magnets that looked like sushi. Emma freaked out.

  “Seriously? I have to look at Tom’s face every day, I don’t need a picture of him too. And in the kitchen? This is where we eat!”

  “You don’t have to look at it, Emma,” said Mom.

  Emma grumbled. Then she said, “Hey? Why didn’t you ever put up any of my flower paintings?”

  * * *

  Later that night, I was up in my room when Mom walked by with a box under her arm.

  “Mom, when’s dinner? I’m starving!”

  “Your dad’s picking up pizza. He’ll be here any minute. Hey, do you want to wear this for Halloween? It’s brand-new.”

  She held up the box. Inside was a Creepy Clown mask and costume. She finds stuff at yard sales and thrift stores, and sells it on eBay.

  “Uh, maybe. I haven’t decided what I’m going to be yet. You told Dad no garlic, right?”

  “Tom, he knows you’re part vampire and allergic to garlic. Hey, will you please clean Terrence’s cage?”

  “He’s not my mouse. He’s Emma’s.”

  “I know whose mouse he is, Tom.”

  “Then why do I have to clean his cage?”

  “Because I can smell it from here and it smells like it needs to be cleaned.”

  * * *

  Emma has a mouse named Terrence. She named him after that stupid actor in that stupid movie that every stupid teenage girl saw a million times last year. It was about these two kids in high school who hated each other at first, and then fell in love. Just like Emma and Carrot Boy. Well, actually Emma didn’t hate Carrot Boy, but she thought he was super-weird looking.

  It was The Worst Movie Ever Made. The only reason I went was because Emma wanted to see it for the hundredth time, and my parents wouldn’t let her go alone. She paid me five dollars to go see it with her. After we saw it she told me that was my birthday present, even though my birthday was seven months away. Seeing that movie was the last thing I would have wanted for my birthday.

  Emma is The Worst Gift Giver.

  The actor that Emma loved was named Terrence, so that’s why she named her mouse that. The only reason Emma had a mouse was because this girl named Claire Devi had one. Emma thinks Claire is The Queen of Everything and she has to do whatever Claire does.

  Claire was at our house, the day after we saw The Worst Movie Ever Made, and said, “Oh my God, Emma, you’ve GOT to get a mouse! They are SO cute! You can put them on your desk when you study! And watch TV with them in your lap!”

  Emma bought a mouse that night.

  * * *

  Emma paid attention to Terrence the Mouse for about three days and then she was over him. She is The Worst Pet Owner Ever. Mom and Dad have to remind Emma to feed him and give him water and clean his cage because it’s filled with poop and pee.

  “Where’s Emma?” I said to Mom. “Why can’t she clean it like she’s supposed to?”

  “She’s at her violin lesson.”

  “She sucks at the violin.”

  “Please don’t say ‘suck.’ ”

  “Okay, she is The Worst Violin Player in the World. Why is she still taking lessons?”

  “So she’ll get better.”

  “Mom, she’ll never get better. She never practices. She could take lessons for a million years and she’d still be the worst violinist of all time.”

  Mom let out a sigh. “Tom, just clean Terrence’s cage.”

  I let out a bigger sigh. “Okay…”

  “Thank you.”

  The only reason Emma was taking violin lessons was because she saw another stupid movie on TV about this woman who played the violin and all these men fell in love with her. Emma bases her whole life on movies and TV shows. I am not exaggerating.

  So, I went to clean Terrence’s cage and this gross thing happened, but I can’t be completely blamed.

  Five Reasons It Wasn’t My Fault

  Mom and Dad hadn’t made dinner.

  Emma hadn’t cleaned Terrence’s cage like she was supposed to.

  Mom hadn’t let me eat anything before dinner, which should be against the law if your son is one-third zombie.

  Dad was late bringing home the pizza.

  Claire Devi told Emma to get a mouse.

  I knew that the reason Dad was late with the pizza was because he went to a store called The Sound Experience. It’s right across the street from Pizza Paul’s. It sells vinyl records by bands that no one has ever heard of, except old people, like Dad and Gram and maybe Martha Livingston. So, while Dad was having a great time looking at old records, his part-zombie son was at home, starving to death.

  So, there I was, upstairs in Emma’s room, cleaning Terrence’s cage. She hadn’t cleaned the cage in a million years. The sawdust was filled with disgusting poop and pee. I felt sorry that Terrence had to live in these conditions.

  “Hey, Terrence,” I said. “I’m cleaning your cage again because Emma never does. If it wasn’t for me and my mom, you’d probably starve to death. Or die of exposure to your own toxic waste.” I thought about reporting Emma to somebody so they would give her a fine or maybe even put her in jail, but I wasn’t sure who to call.

  I took Terrence out of the cage and put him in a shoebox with some new shoes Emma had just bought. I secretly hoped he would poop or pee on her shoes. I dumped out the dirty sawdust into the trash can and put in new, fresh sawdust. I love the way new sawdust smells. That’s the only enjoyable part of cleaning his cage. Then, I sniffed something that smelled even better.

  Terrence.

  * * *

  I looked down at Terrence, sitting in Emma’s shoebox. He’s a chubby, little white mouse, with brown eyes and a pink tail. He looked pretty cute. He also looked pretty tasty.

  Remember: I didn’t ask to be bitten by a zombie. Or a vampire. Or a werewolf.

  And don’t forget that Emma is The Laziest Person in the World and does not take care of her pet.

  If she ever finds anyone to marry her, which I doubt will happen, unless Carrot Boy marries her—and I would seriously think about warning him not to—but if she does get ma
rried and have kids, they are going to have to learn to fend for themselves. After a week or two she’ll forget to feed them or bathe them or put clothes on them or she’ll just get bored with them. I’ll probably have to help raise them.

  She’ll say, “Sorry, kids, I can’t feed you today, I’m going out. I’ll call up Uncle Tommy and he’ll bring some pizza over. But remember it won’t have any garlic, because he’s a disgusting Vam-Wolf-Zom.”

  Thinking about pizza made me really hungry.

  And then it happened.

  I couldn’t help it.

  I ate Terrence.

  13.

  Eating Terrence

  It took like two seconds. I opened my mouth, tossed him in, and swallowed him whole. I have to admit, Terrence was delicious. But as soon as I ate him, I regretted it. I had to do something so nobody would ever find out. Especially Emma. So, I tried to come up with a plan.

  No One Can Find Out I Ate Terrence Plan

  I had just come up with the name of the plan when I heard the front door open. It was Emma.

  “Dinner better be ready, because I am starving!” she yelled.

  “How about you try that again?” said Mom, in a calm voice from the kitchen.

  “Good evening, my dear, sweet, lovely mother,” said Emma. “What delicious dinner have you prepared for your grateful daughter who adores you?”

  “Dad’s getting pizza,” said Mom.

  “I don’t want pizza. I’m in the mood for sushi.”

  “Well, get in the mood for pizza.”

  I went halfway down the stairs to listen to Mom and Emma in the kitchen.