by Books Kid
The following year, he laid out a chain reaction in a very clever pattern, which he set off by exploding at one of the ends. The trees, the pigs—even the hills—he flipped them all upside down, one by one, with a single explosion. He was lucKy in that the area was arranged in a way that made his chain possible–but, according to my dad, it’s not a question of lucK.
“You maKe your own lucK, my boy,” he repeats endlessly. But I don’t believe it. I am one of the unlucKiest creepers I Know.
WHY WOULD I WANT TO MAKE MY OWN LUCK WHEN MY LUCK IS HORRIBLE?
DAY 16
I hate Wesley. No, that word is not strong enough.
I loathe him, I abhor him, I revile him.
He stole my diary! Wesley the weasel stole my diary from me! And as if that weren’t enough, he brought it to school and read it out loud in front of everybody.
“Oooh! Poor Mervyn! Poor, sensitive little creature!” Weasley snicKered as I tried to get the diary bacK.
“Give it bacK! It’s private!”
I threw myself onto Wesley and KnocKed him over, biting and hitting him–I was that furious. He rolled on top of the notebooK so I couldn’t grab it, and he crushed it in the process.
“GIVE ME MY DIARY!”
“Go on, worm. Keep trying,” Wesley chortled, while I tried to pull my notebooK out from under him.
“That’s enough, you two.” Mr. Bing intervened to separate us. “Would you liKe to explain what’s going on here?”
Wesley looKed at me. I looKed at Wesley.
Everyone Knows you shouldn’t be a tattletale. But he had my diary!
“Mr. Bing, Wesley stole my diary.”
“That’s not true!” Wesley exclaimed.
Mr. Bing shot Wesley a darK looK. “Oh really? Give it here, Wesley.”
Wesley sighed and handed over the diary. Mr. Bing tooK a quicK glance inside.
“That’s not your handwriting, Wesley. Mervyn, don’t worry, I didn’t read anything you wrote. But maybe you should choose more carefully where you leave your diary in the future. Wesley would not have been able to taKe it if you had paid closer attention. Either way, you Know the rules about fighting. You are both getting detention. Together. Once I’m done with you, you will have learned how to worK together. Or else you’ll be in detention until you do.”
He turned on his heel and left.
“You’re going to regret having KnocKed me over, worm,” Wesley said. He stucK his tongue out at me. “Keep your dumb diary. It’s not as if you had anything interesting to write about, anyway. Your life is as boring as you are. See you in detention, loser!”
DAY 17
Being in detention with Wesley is hell. I would prefer to be thrown into a crater filled with ocelots rather than spend another minute with him. He annoys me so much!
“Very good, you two. I need your help moving some sports equipment. To begin with, taKe that chest and move it to the other side of the clearing.”
Wesley and I looKed at the chest and sighed. Those things weigh a ton. Since creepers don’t have arms, it’s super difficult to move things.
“TaKe the front, worm,” ordered Wesley.
“No, you taKe the front,” I replied.
“I’m stronger, so I should taKe the bacK.”
“But I’m taller, so I should taKe the bacK.”
“Wesley, taKe the bacK! Mervyn, taKe the front! Stop bicKering, you two. There is a lot of worK to be done and you are not going anywhere until you have finished.”
Wesley threw me a satisfied smile and went to the bacK end of the chest. It wasn’t fair. Even Mr. Bing was taKing his side now.
We both stepped up to our ends and slid under the chest. Then we stood up, balancing the chest on our heads. When you don’t have arms, you have to get creative if you want to move stuff.
“Go faster, worm!”
“I’m going as fast as I can! You slow down!”
“I can’t slow down! I’ll fall if I do!”
“Stop!”
“Keep going!”
“Humph!” Suddenly, Wesley dropped his end and the chest fell on my toes.
“Ow! That hurts!”
“If one of you damages my sports equipment, you will be in serious trouble,” growled Mr. Bing. “I suggest you stop acting liKe idiots and get to worK. When you have finished with the chest, I want you to taKe care of the mats.”
Wesley laughed to himself, and thinKing Mr. Bing couldn’t hear him mimicKed him:
“If you maKe fun of Mervyn one more time, Wesley, I’ll Keep you in detention every day for a month . . .”
Then reverting to himself, he said, “But Mr. Bing! The Creeper Combustion and Confusion Competition is barely a weeK away! I’ll miss it if I am in detention–and everybody Knows I’m the one who’s going to win!”
“So you’d better behave, don’t you thinK?” said Mr. Bing.
This time, I was the one who laughed.
DAY 18
I found a new hiding spot for my booKs. It’s a little cave next to the laKe. I got some stuff to maKe the cave looK liKe an ocelot lair. Wesley can try to pretend he’s not afraid of anything, but I Know he’s a scaredy-cat when it comes to ocelots. As are all creepers. Well, the ocelots do have very pointy teeth and very sharp claws.
The more I read these booKs, the more I thinK that creepers should be crafting more things. There are so many interesting creations to maKe. Why do we sleep outside, in the forest, when we could maKe comfortable beds for ourselves?
I asKed my dad this question and he laughed in my face.
“Don’t be an idiot, Mervyn. Creepers don’t need beds! We’re very happy sleeping in the bushes.”
“But dad,” I protested. “Have you already tried sleeping in a bed?”
“Certainly not! I am a creeper! I would never do such a thing! So forget all this nonsense and concentrate on your training. Creepers don’t build. Creepers destroy.”
I’m not going to tell him that I’ve built myself a bed in the forest out of wood and wool. I had a crazy time trying to get that wool. I had to carefully arrange my explosions so that the wool fell off, but the sheep didn’t blow up. I had to practice hard to master this, but I told myself it was a good exercise for the championship. After all, Mr. Bing has shown me just how much difference a well-placed explosion can maKe.
I don’t understand why my dad doesn’t want to try sleeping in a bed. It’s so soft and so warm. It’s much better than sleeping on the ground. But if I told him that I’ve made a bed, I Know he’d be furious with me. So I changed the subject and asKed him to tell me about his competitions.
My dad can Keep talKing about his past victories for hours.
DAY 19
Ever since Wesley stole my private diary, I don’t want to talK about my training in here, in case he picKs my diary up again.
ON THE OTHER HAND, NOTHING STOPS ME FROM TALKING ABOUT HIS TRAINING!
I had no intention of watching him train. I was smacK in the middle of the forest looKing for materials to use in crafting.
I came across a furnace in one of the booKs and thought that would be a cool thing to build.
If I set off an explosion in a furnace, it would catapult flaming logs in every direction. The fire would spread everywhere in the competition zone and everything would burn to the ground in seconds.
After all, it is called the Creeper Combustion and Confusion Competition. The rules only say you have to create destruction–they don’t say how.
I didn’t find what I was looKing for, but, when I heard Wesley’s voice, I plunged into the bushes to watch.
“OKay, guys,” Wesley was saying. “Time me as I run around the clearing. I’m going to explode in each of the four corners, which should maKe the clearing twice as big as before.”
I sanK lower so that he wouldn’t see me when he passed–and then I realized that if I stayed where I was, I was going to get blown up, too!
I began to crawl away, hoping he wouldn’t see me.
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br /> “Hey! Hey! LooK at the worm! He’s running away by crawling on his stomach–liKe a good little earthworm should!”
I FROZE.
“Trying to picK up some tricKs, worm?” Wesley came up to me from behind and gave me a KicK. I turned around and looKed him in the eyes.
“I don’t blame you,” he added. “I am super talented, after all.”
He bent down and brought his head close to mine.
“At any rate, if you thinK you’re going to steal my ideas so that you can win the competition, you’re going to have to find something else to do. The judges don’t liKe cheaters. And I will maKe sure that everybody Knows you’re a cheater.”
“But I’m not cheating!” I protested. “I have my own plan, and it’s better than yours.”
“Oh yeah?”
Wesley didn’t even bother to argue. He turned his bacK on me, laughing so hard that he nearly exploded.
DAY 20
They’ve started maKing the competition zones, so half the forest is now closed off.
I would liKe to be able to go and see what it is they’re maKing, but I’m not allowed. It’s strictly forbidden for competitors to see the zone that is reserved for them before the start of the competition. Those who try to sneaK a peeK will be disqualified on the spot.
I wonder what mine will looK liKe. I hope there are a lot of trees.
You can do a ton of stuff with wood, and I already have an idea. IT’S GOING TO BE THE BOMB!
Sometimes, I’m so funny that I make myself laugh.
DAY 21
It’s so difficult to concentrate in school, with all the racKet coming from the construction zone, that Mr. Bluebottle said we could have a breaK in our lessons and instead go play in the yard, under the supervision of the gym teacher.
“Wesley! Oscar! You’ll be captains,” Mr. Bing barKed. “PicK your teams accordingly.”
I hate it when they form teams liKe this. I am always the last to be chosen. And so, of course, when there was only me and Greg left at the end, Wesley chose Greg instead of me–even though we all Know that Greg doesn’t Know how to run and that he is incapable of exploding correctly.
Every time he tries, he sneezes, and this maKes one of his legs fall off.
“OKay, Mervyn. You’re on Oscar’s team. We’ll be playing dodgeball. Now, remember, this game is intended for you to worK on controlling your detonations. A creeper who explodes will maKe his team lose one point. If you explode three times, you’re out for good. Wesley’s team starts. Everybody to their positions . . . Ready, play!”
I hate dodgeball. Wesley always aims directly at me and he is truly talented with the ball.
I was nearly tempted to blow myself up three times straight so I could be eliminated, but I Knew that the rest of my team would hate me for costing them so many points.
Wesley shot straight at my head. I did my best to ducK, but the ball grazed me, anyway.
BOoM !
I couldn’t help myself. I exploded.
“Mervyn! Your team loses a point. Get off the court.”
I limped toward the bench, ignoring my teammates, who were glaring at me.
If only Mr. Bluebottle hadn’t canceled our classes . . . I would have rather been in math, than be here, getting shot at by Wesley.
DAY 22
“Behind you, Mervyn! An ocelot!”
“AAAAAH!”
I didn’t stop to turn around and maKe sure, and I didn’t have the time to find a place to hide. I exploded, hoping I would taKe the ocelot with me.
I felt pretty silly once I’d respawned. There had been no ocelot, of course. If an ocelot had wandered into the forest, the creeper alarm would have gone off so that everyone could run for shelter.
“You’re so stupid, worm!”
This was obviously a pranK by Wesley and his crew.
“I’m almost sorry I didn’t wait until the competition to do that to you,” Wesley continued.
“It would have been pretty hilarious to see you explode in front of the judges. Did you see his face? This was the funniest thing to happen all day!”
I turned bright green as Wesley and his friends made a circle around me, chanting:
“Ocelots! Ocelots! Ocelots! Ocelots!”
“That’s enough! Break it up!”
Mr. Bing broKe into the center of our group, his eyes flashing. The others instantly shut up.
“Would someone have the decency to explain to me what is going on here?” growled Mr. Bing.
“We were just trying to help Mervyn, Mr. Bing,” replied Wesley innocently. “He told us that he needed a hand in preparing for unexpected situations. So we pretended an ocelot was roaming in the forest.”
“Is this true, Mervyn?”
I looKed at Wesley, who raised his chin as a warning.
“Yes, Mr. Bing,” I sighed. “I was starting to stress about the competition and I wanted to be sure that I could remain calm, no matter what happened.”
Mr. Bing looKed at us sideways, first at me, then at Wesley, and I Knew that he didn’t believe me. But he couldn’t do anything if I didn’t tell him the truth.
“Fine. If that is what you were doing, then, by all means, continue. But be less noisy from now on, oKay?”
“Yes, Mr. Bing,” we chorused as he left.
“Good job worm, you Kept your mouth shut,” Wesley sneered. “We all Know what happens to little rats in the corner of the schoolyard.”
I nodded and raised my eyes to the sKy.
“You Know what, Wesley? If I were you, I would be busy preparing for the competition, instead of worrying about what I’m coming up with.”
“What a stupid worm!” Wesley laughed. “I’m way more prepared than you thinK. It’s you who should be worried about what I’m coming up with.”
DAY 23
I had the horrible feeling he was right.
“Come on, Mervyn. I want you to show me how you’re going to win the competition.”
My dad had brought me to a section of the forest where I don’t usually go. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I discovered that he had set up a training zone for me alone.
“It’s a reconstruction of the zone where I had my third victory. You remember what I did, don’t you?”
Did I remember? It’s difficult to forget a story when my dad tells it nonstop, over and over again: how he leapt from hill to hill and set off a series of explosions to maKe the ground flat, and how he then ran to the center and buried himself so deep that, by the time he was finished with everything, the whole zone was completely the opposite of what it had been. The hills had become valleys and the valleys hills.
“I don’t want you to do the same thing I did,” my dad said. “I want you to find your own way of using the zone. Who Knows, you may get the same layout, and you’ll lose points if you foolishly copy me.”
“Yes, Dad.”
“Are you ready?
ON YOUR MARK . . . GET SET . . . GO!”
I tooK a moment to stand still, liKe Mr. Bing taught me, in order to breathe a little and get an idea of the landscape.
“What are you waiting for, my boy? MOVE!”
I threw myself toward the center of the zone and exploded. But I hardly made a dent in the ground.
I scolded myself for having wasted time. I went to one of the hills and lay down at the bottom, thinKing that if I blew up right there, I would create a landslide.
All I ended up doing was maKing a bunch of pebbles shaKe.
My dad hurried toward me.
“Stop, stop! I can’t see any more of this. I can’t believe I let you enter a competition for which you are so obviously unprepared.”
“But Dad, I have a plan!” I protested. “Except I don’t want to show it, in case someone steals my ideas.”
“Mervyn, that’s impossible. You cannot possibly have an idea so brilliant that someone will want to steal it from you. You’re looKing for excuses because you didn’t notice the most effective places for detonati
ng, here and here, which were obvious.” He went to stand in the spot he indicated and then exploded, causing ten times more damage than my ridiculous explosions had.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I said. I lowered my head, ashamed.
“It’s not to me that you need to apologize–it’s to my fans, who are looKing forward to finding out how good my son is. You’re going to let a lot of people down if you believe that this is good enough for the championship. HUMPH!”
He left in a fury, leaving me standing there.
Was this the right thing to do–wait for the competition to try out my plan? Maybe I should have trained more, and not have worried so much about whether or not Wesley was spying on me.
In any case, it was too late to change anything now.
DAY 24
The championship starts tomorrow, and I am so stressed out, I’ve exploded four times. The first time was at breaKfast. My dad was so mad at me that he sent me outside, telling me not to come bacK before I was capable of controlling my detonations again.
“How do you thinK you’re going to win tomorrow if you can’t even eat your breaKfast without blowing up?” my dad raged. “Keep this up and you won’t even be ranKed. I’m warning you right now, if you embarrass me, I will not be pleased. You must preserve my legacy. I will not tolerate being humiliated by my son.”
Well, thanks, Dad. Way to add more pressure.
I walKed in the forest to try to relax. Usually, maKing my way to the laKe calms me down. On the path, however, I heard Wesley joKing around with his friends, so I tooK a detour. The last thing I needed today was to bump into him.