by Steven Banks
“What does she look like?”
Why was Annie asking me all these questions?
“I don’t remember,” I said.
“I do!” said Zeke. “You said she has super-green eyes and red hair, and it’s really long like Annie used to have before she cut it. And guess what else?”
I was ready to kill Zeke.
That’s when Dog Hots arrived. I’d never been so happy to see him in my life.
“Hey, look!” I shouted. “Dog Hots is here!”
“Don’t call me Dog Hots anymore,” he said. “Call me Landon.”
“Sorry. It’s hard to remember. We’ve been calling you Dog Hots since third grade.”
He was carrying a snare drum and a pair of drumsticks.
“Do you want us to help you bring the rest of your drums in?” asked Annie.
Zeke jumped up. “I’m the roadie! I’ll get ’em!”
“No. This is it,” said Landon.
“What do you mean?” said Annie. “Where are the rest of your drums?”
He held up the snare drum and the drumsticks. “This is all I have.”
“I thought you had a drum set with cymbals and everything. You only have one snare drum?”
Dog Hots—I mean Landon—nodded. “Yeah.”
“We’re not a marching band!” said Annie.
“I love marching bands!” said Zeke. He really did.
Annie was getting upset. “Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t have a drum set?”
“You didn’t ask me,” said Landon. “I was just tapping a beat on my desk and you said, ‘You play drums?’ And I said, ‘Yeah.’ ”
“Drums! With an ‘s’! Plural! Not singular!” said Annie. “I said ‘Can you play drums!’ Not ‘Can you play a drum?’ ”
Landon shrugged. “Well, sorry. That’s all I have.”
I didn’t care that Landon only had one drum. I was just glad we weren’t talking about Martha Livingston anymore.
Annie was getting angry. “What band has a drummer with only one drum?!”
“Our band!” said Zeke. He is always optimistic. Even when it doesn’t make any sense.
“You need a drum set, Dog Hots!” yelled Annie.
“My name is Landon!”
“Okay! You need a drum set, Landon!”
“I don’t have one, Annie!”
“I know!” shouted Zeke. “We can make a drum set out of trash cans!”
“I’m not playing trash cans!” said Landon.
Everybody was yelling when the front door opened and Capri came in.
“Sorry I’m late— Whoa, what’s going on?”
“Landon only has one drum!” said Annie.
“Are you kidding me?” said Capri.
“It’s not my fault. Drum sets are expensive,” said Landon.
“Perhaps you could ask for a drum set for your birthday?” suggested Abel.
“When is it, Landon?” asked Annie.
“March thirteenth.”
“That’s too far away!”
“Put drum set on your Christmas list,” I said.
“That’s three months away!” said Annie.
Zeke started bouncing up on and down on the sofa. “I got an idea! Tom’s dad has an old drum set in their attic. Maybe you can use it.”
“I’ll ask my dad,” I said.
Everybody calmed down a little.
Annie’s mom came in, holding a tray. “Who’s hungry? I made quesadillas.”
“¡Que maravilloso!” said Abel. “Me encantan las quesadillas.”
Annie’s mom smiled. “¿Hablas español?”
“Si, Señora Barstow.”
I didn’t know Abel spoke Spanish. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I ate three quesadillas. Annie’s mom didn’t say anything about me being a Vam-Wolf-Zom, which I appreciated.
“Okay. This is important,” said Zeke, with a mouthful of quesadilla. “What’s our name going to be?”
“It’s gotta be…awesome!” said Capri.
“Yeah, it does,” said Annie. “Wait. Do you mean that our band name is the word Awesome? Or do you mean our name’s gotta be awesome, like an amazing name?”
“The second one,” said Capri. “But Awesome is a cool name. I vote for Awesome.”
I shook my head. “We can’t use that. People would say, ‘You guys better be awesome if you call yourself Awesome.’ And it makes us sound stuck-up.”
“And Tanner Gantt would make fun of us,” said Annie.
“He’ll make fun of us no matter what we call ourselves,” I pointed out.
“Let’s call ourselves Tanner Gantt!” said Zeke. “Then he can’t make fun of us.”
“NO!” said everybody (except Zeke).
“Let’s just shout out names and see what we come up with,” said Annie.
Everyone started shouting out different names.
“The Five of Us.”
“The Music People.”
“That is the worst name!”
“The Boogers.”
“No! That’s gross.”
“The Band That Only Has One Drum.”
“The Quesadillas.”
“No!”
“The Electric Quesadillas?”
“Stop saying quesadilla, Zeke!”
“Annie and the Others.”
“Beiersdorfer.”
Capri laughed. “What is a Buy-urs-dorfer?”
“He’s this scary scientist guy who lives across from Tom who wanted to turn us into robots,” said Zeke.
“No, he didn’t, Zeke,” I said. “My sister made that up.”
“How is Emma?” said Landon. “She’s cool.”
“No, she isn’t,” I said.
“Let’s call ourselves How Is Emma?”
“No!”
“Skeleton Nightmare?”
“What about The Rabbit Attackers? Or The Jumping Jacks? Or The Banjo People?”
(Guess who suggested those ideas?)
“Two Girls and Three Boys.”
“That’s kind of obvious.”
“Kind of Obvious is a cool name.”
“Death Demons!”
“The Dunderheads?”
“What does Dunderhead mean?”
“Never mind.”
“The Dead Skulls.”
“What about The Middle-Schoolers?”
“That is the worst name ever.”
“You said The Music People was the worst name ever.”
“No. Rabbit Attackers is the worst name ever.”
“What about The Black Skulls of Death?”
All of the names that had “death” or “skeleton” or “black” or “skull” or “night” in them were Landon’s.
Zeke looked over at me. “What about…The Bats?”
“No!” I said.
Landon flipped his drumstick in the air and caught it. “Hey, Tom, have you learned how to turn into a bat and fly yet?”
“No.”
“You gotta learn how to do that, dude.”
“You should try and do it right now,” said Zeke, smiling and nodding at me.
I had to change the subject. “Hey, I thought we were going to practice?”
Annie stood up. “Tom’s right. Let’s worry about our name later and play some music.”
18.
Clothes Make the Band
Everybody got their instruments ready to play. I stood by the microphone, next to Annie.
“What are we going to wear when we perform?” asked Capri as she sat down at the piano.
Zeke’s eyes lit up. “We should wear capes!”
“We are not wearing capes, Zeke,” said Annie, strapping on her guitar.
“What about matching
hoodies?”
“No!”
“What about different-colored hoodies?”
“Hoodies mess up my hair!” said Capri.
“Let’s just wear jeans and T-shirts,” said Annie.
“No, I want to wear a dress,” said Capri.
“Abel, do you even own a pair of jeans?” asked Landon.
“Yes. I have a pair of vintage, 1955, 501 Levi’s, with hidden copper rivets on the back pockets, zinc button fly, made with selvedge denim.”
“Hey!” said Zeke. “Why don’t we all wear suits and ties, like Abel?”
I remembered something. “Uh, guys, if we ever play outside in the daytime, I have to wear a hat and a long-sleeved shirt and dark glasses.”
Annie held up her hands. “Guys! It doesn’t matter what we wear! It’s what we play. C’mon, this is supposed to be a band practice, let’s play.”
Landon tapped on his one drum. “What kind of music are we gonna do?”
Everybody started talking
“Rap.”
“Rock!”
“EDM.”
“Hip-hop!”
“Indie Americana Folk”
“What?”
“Techno!”
“Metal!”
“Ew!” said Capri. “I hate metal! I want to do songs from Frozen.”
“If we do that, I’m gonna throw up!” said Landon.
“I’d like to play some jazz,” said Abel. “If that is mutually agreeable with everyone?”
“Jazz is too hard.”
“And too boring.”
“What kind of music do you want to play, Tom?” asked Annie.
“I don’t really care what kind of music we play as long as it makes us rich and famous.”
“Yeah!” said Landon. “I want a limo and a private jet!”
“I hope you’re joking,” said Annie, looking serious. “I want to play good music.”
I wasn’t joking, but I said I was. “Well, sure, yeah, I want to do good music too. But why can’t we also be rich and famous?”
Abel raised his hand. “I would like to suggest that we play a song that Ms. Barstow has written.”
Everybody agreed.
Annie pulled some notebook paper out of her guitar case. “I wrote a new song last night.”
Just then, her mom poked her head in the door.
“Hey, guys. Time to wrap it up. Capri, your dad’s here.”
We didn’t play one single note of music.
It was The Worst First Band Practice of All Time.
19.
Mad Scientist
Our band is gonna be excellent!” said Zeke as we walked back to my house.
Not if we never play any music, I thought. But I didn’t say anything. I just let Zeke talk for the three blocks back. He talked about his banjo, bats, flying, Martha Livingston, robots, and his skateboard that got stolen last year. We always thought Tanner Gantt stole it but we could never prove it.
We were almost back to my house when I said, “We gotta decide what we’re doing for our science project.”
“I still think you should be our science project, Bat-Tom.”
“I am not going to be a science project!”
We heard an old, crackly voice with a German accent.
“Someone needs to do science project, yah?”
It was Professor Beiersdorfer, the retired science teacher who lived across the street from me. He was sitting on his front porch in a rocking chair. He had on his usual red sweater, white shirt, tie, black pants, and rubber boots.
Zeke waved. “Hi, Professor Beiersdorfer.”
“Ezekiel. The boy who is always in the constant motion. And Thomas. How is our city’s one-and-only Blutsauger-Wolf Mann-Zombie?”
“What’s a…Blutsauger?” asked Zeke.
“It is German. It means…bloodsucker.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them with his handkerchief. “You were talking of a science project, yah? Perhaps I may be of help. I know a thing or two about science.”
He laughed without opening his mouth, which was creepy.
“Excellent!” said Zeke. “Do you have any experiments we could do with…robots?”
I gave Zeke a dirty look. I don’t know why I bother anymore. Even when he sees me, it never makes him stop.
The professor raised his big, bushy eyebrows.
“You like the robots?” He put his glasses back on and stood up. “Come tomorrow. After the school. We work in my laboratory. In the basement. Until then…auf Wiedersehen.” He opened his front door, which creaked, and went inside the house.
“T-Man! If he helps us, we could maybe get first place at the Science Fair!”
Zeke started doing jumping jacks. I didn’t stop him. This time, he wasn’t wrong.
20.
Changing Looks
That night, I was unloading the dishwasher and setting the table, while Emma stirred a big pot of beef stew in slow motion, so she wouldn’t have to help me. Mom was out in the garage, fixing an old cuckoo clock she’d found.
Dad walked in and said, “Behold…the new and improved…Dad.”
Emma turned around and screamed. “Oh my God!”
I looked up and I couldn’t believe what I saw.
Dad had shaved off his moustache. He looked completely different. It was so weird. He had looked exactly the same for the eleven and a half years I’d known him.
He spread his arms out. “It’s the new me. Dad 2.0.”
“And you did this…why?” asked Emma, with a shocked expression on her face.
“Well, I was thinking, Tom changed his look. I thought I’d change my look too.”
“Dad, I didn’t change my look on purpose. A vampire, a werewolf, and a zombie changed it.”
“I know. But you inspired me. And I was getting tired of the moustache.”
I think Dad had done it to make me feel better about the way I looked. I guess I’d get used to it, like I’d gotten used to Annie’s short hair and glasses.
“So? What do you think?” He moved around the kitchen and did different poses like he was a model. I have to admit: Dad can be funny sometimes. I laughed. Emma tried not to laugh, but she did.
“Parents are supposed to stay the same,” said Emma.
“Where does it say that?” said Dad. “You change your look, Emma.”
“No, I don’t!”
This might be the biggest lie Emma has ever told in her life. She changes her look all the time. She’s had blond hair, brown hair, red hair, and purple hair, short hair, shaved hair, spiky hair, and curly hair. I don’t even remember what her real hair looks like.
“Does Mom like it?” asked Emma.
“I love it!” she said, coming in from the garage. “He looks even more handsome.”
“Whoa! Let’s not get carried away,” said Emma.
“Who is this gorgeous man in my kitchen?” she asked, snuggling up to Dad.
Emma shut her eyes. “Stop! No! We just got on The Gross Train and I am derailing it right now. No one wants to see or listen to this.”
Emma was right, for once. It is embarrassing to see your parents do stuff like that.
We sat down to eat and I told them about Professor Beiersdorfer offering to help me and Zeke on our science project.
“That’s great,” said The Man Who Didn’t Look Like Dad.
“You couldn’t find anyone better,” said Mom.
Emma pushed a piece of potato around her plate. “I just hope Professor Beiersdorfer doesn’t turn you into a robot.”
Dad laughed. Mom didn’t.
“Seriously, Tom,” said Emma. “I would not go into his house if I were you.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Think about it…. He’s a scientist. You’re th
e world’s only Vam-Wolf-Zom. He’s going to want to do experiments on you so he can win the Nobel Prize for science. Then he’ll stuff you and put you in a museum.”
“Emma, that’s ridiculous!” said Mom.
“Is it?” said Emma. “That’s what they did to Joseph Merrick, the Elephant Man.”
“That’s true,” said The Man with No Moustache. “But don’t worry, Tom, I’d come visit you every single day. Except when the museum was closed.”
Emma tried to sound scary. “I guess you’ll find out…tomorrow.”
21.
The Perfect Haunted House
The next day, after school, on Friday, Zeke and I were standing on Professor Beiersdorfer’s front porch. His house was the oldest one in town, and it could’ve used some paint. The big oak door had a metal door knocker on it. I lifted it up and knocked.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
Zeke loved that sound. He wanted to knock again, but I stopped him.
We heard footsteps from inside getting closer. The heavy door slowly opened, making the longest creaking noise ever. Professor Beiersdorfer’s craggy face appeared out of the darkness.
“Guten Tag, my fellow scientists.”
“Your door makes an excellent creaky sound!” said Zeke.
“Yah. I must oil hinges. It is on my list.”
“Thanks for helping us, Professor Beiersdorfer,” I said.
“Please. Call me Professor B. That way, we waste no time.” He raised a finger. “ ‘Do not squander time, for that is the stuff life is made of.’ Your American genius Benjamin Franklin said that.”
Zeke blurted out. “Tom knows a girl that knew—”
“A lot of stuff about Ben Franklin,” I quickly said. “She helped me with a report.”
“Hopefully, I can help you also. Come in.”
We went inside and Zeke closed the door slowly, so he could hear the creaky noise again. It was dark and dreary inside. I looked up and saw a dusty crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. I think there was a cobweb on it. We peered down a long hallway, with wallpaper that looked like it had little eyes in it, staring at you.