Copyright © 2011 Deborah Sherman
EPub edition copyright © August 2011
Published in Canada by Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 195 Allstate
Parkway, Markham, Ontario L3R 4T8
Published in the United States by Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 311
Washington Street, Brighton, Massachusetts 02135
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of Fitzhenry & Whiteside or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from Access Copyright (Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency), 1 Yonge Street, Suite 1900, Toronto, ON M5E 1E5, fax (416) 868-1621.
By purchasing this e-book you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any unauthorized information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Fitzhenry & Whiteside.
www.fitzhenry.ca [email protected]
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Sherman, Deborah (Deborah Faye)
The BEDMAS conspiracy / Deborah Sherman.
ISBN 978-1-55455-181-1
eISBN 978-1-55455-952-7
I. Title.
PS8637.H487B44 2011 jC813’.6 C2011-901397-5
Publisher Cataloging-in-Publication Data (U.S)
Sherman, Deborah.
The BEDMAS conspiracy / Sherman, Deborah.
ISBN: 978-1-55455-181-1 (pbk.)
eISBN: 978-1-55455-952-7
1. Peer pressure -- Juvenile fiction. 2. Self-perception – Juvenile
fiction. I. Title.
[Fic] dc22 PZ7.S5476Be 2011
Fitzhenry & Whiteside acknowledges with thanks the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Ontario Arts Council for their support of our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities.
Cover and interior design by Comm Tech Unlimited
Cover image by Tessa Dottor
To everyone I begged, bugged, and bribed for opinions—a big thanks for all of your help.
—D.S.
Mouldy Maple Syrup. Burrito Belches. The Broken Birthday Cakes. The possibilities were endless. The Rancid Chocolate Chip Cookies, Elegant Earwax, Repulsive Christmas Presents. It was easy once you got started. The Sloppy Saggy Scuzzy Sunbeams. Filthy Frothy Chocolate Sundaes. The Breathtaking Runny Noses.
“How about Nasty Kittens?” I offered.
“Not bad,” answered Daniela.
“Vomit Comet?”
She frowned. “It rhymes—but it’s gross.”
“But aren’t we trying to be a little gross?” I asked.
“A little,” she agreed, “but that’s a lot gross. The idea is to come up with a name that combines something nice and sweet with something icky.”
Daniela and I had been brainstorming possible names for our band for the past hour. We hadn’t yet struck the right balance between sweet and a little bit gross, but we were coming close. Trampled Ice Cream was my next offer.
“What about Melted Ice Cream?” countered Daniela. “Or we could really shock with the Barftastic Banana Splits!”
Our school, J.R. Wilcott Middle School, was holding its annual talent show next month. Wilcott’s Got Talent had never been won by anyone from grade six. Usually a group of grade eights danced their way to the big prize. Occasionally, a grade sevener sang his or her way to the top. But I thought we had a good shot to take home the championship this year. My cousin Daniela was a great singer. I wasn’t much of a musician but I was full of good ideas—really good ideas at this moment. I had it!
“Sick on a Snow Day!”
Daniela looked unimpressed. “Cute alliteration, Cuz, but it lacks the knockout, gross-out punch, don’tcha think?”
“Let me explain it to you, Daniela. If the idea is to combine something totally awesome with something rotten, what’s better than being sick on a snow day? You wake up to find out that school’s been cancelled due to a huge blanket of the white stuff, but when you try to yell for joy, nothing comes out of your dry, cracked mouth. Laryngitis! And when you try to jump out of your bed to start the good times, your legs are aching and your chest feels like it’s on fire. The flu! It’s a free day and you’re stuck in bed. What’s more of an awesome disappointment than that?”
“Sick on a Snow Day.” Daniela slowly repeated the name.
It was important that I come up with a good name. I couldn’t fake being musical, so I needed to make my mark with some solid ideas.
Daniela was still playing with the name. “Introducing, the one and only, Sick on a Snow Day,” she sang out in a clear voice. “With two hit singles and a new CD about to drop, here’s Sick on a Snow Day.”
It must have worked, because she smiled. “Cuz, you are a genius! It’s got the right mixture of elegance and trash. And you know how much I love alliteration! Sick on a Snow Day it is!”
Daniela had been living with my family and me for the past three months. Our moms were sisters, which made us first cousins. Daniela had spent the first part of the year with her parents in the South Pacific on an island called Papua New Guinea. Her parents were architects and they were building a hotel on the island. Daniela was supposed to go with them for the year, but after three days on that side of the world, she became incredibly homesick. After three months, her parents sent her home to live with us for the rest of the year. With long, red hair and a deep, strong voice, Daniela was lead singer material. Barely able to get through Chopsticks on the piano, I wasn’t sure what material I was.
According to last term’s report card, I could often be found gazing out the window, lost in a daydream, instead of paying attention to the teacher. Especially during math class. Every time Mr. Papernick started in on fractions, my mind automatically switched to a better place. And lately, this better place was onstage, winning Wilcott’s Got Talent. Just thinking about math was enough to send me off. Multiplication tables and long division faded into the background until all I could see was Daniela standing on the middle of a large stage. She was swinging her microphone like a lasso. There I stood, front and centre beside Daniela, even though the piano is usually found off to the side of the stage. It was my fantasy after all. My fingers whipped up and down the keyboard as I crouched down to avoid being hit by the flying microphone. The floor shook as the audience jumped up and down. It was hard to hear Daniela over the cheering. She caught her microphone and put her arm around me. She was singing directly in my left ear.
“Earth to Adam,” said Daniela, gently pushing my shoulder. “Wake up. Return to planet Earth, please.”
I shook my head, trying to bring myself back to Daniela and our conversation. But she was lost in a dream herself.
“This could be my big chance,” she said, looking right through me. “First, Wilcott’s Got Talent, and then the lead in the Grade Eight Thespian Extravaganza Extraordinaire. Sky’s the limit. Off-Broadway...Broadway...”
I had to cut her off. “Sorry to dash your dreams, Cuz, but you’ll only be in grade seven next year. If my math is right, which it usually isn’t, you’ll have to wait another year to be the lead in the grade eight play.”
“Not after they hear me sing!” said Daniela, smiling to herself and swaying to the music in her head.
Evidently,
daydreaming ran in our family. I changed the subject to something more important. The band now had a name, a singer, and a piano/ ideas man. We still needed one or two guitar players and a drummer. “My parents said we could use the garage for try-outs after school next week,” I said.
“Why don’t we have first auditions on Tuesday,” suggested Daniela, “and then the second round on Wednesday?”
“I think we should have first auditions on Monday. Why wait?” I said. I was excited, and ready to get the show on the road.
“But we have a geometry test on Tuesday. I don’t know about you,” said Daniela, “but I need to study for it on Monday. Actually,” she paused, “I do know about you because your dad has a very loud voice when he gets angry. You need to study for it, too—on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday!”
It was impossible to focus on numbers when the chance of winning a huge talent show loomed in my future. And in case winning Wilcott’s Got Talent didn’t provide enough distractions, there was the District Donnybrook Talent Competition, and—the ultimate—the City Championship. It was enough to send my mind spinning in a million different directions. But Daniela was right. My parents hadn’t been impressed with my last report card. The whole street probably heard my dad when he saw all of the C’s running up and down the report. I needed to force myself to open that math book and learn some numbers.
But I also needed to be sure that Sick on a Snow Day got first crack at Wilcott’s top talent. I brokered a deal with my cousin. “I promise to spend the weekend learning formulas if you agree to hold auditions Monday and Tuesday.”
I had worn her down. “Fine, but you better hold up your end,” warned Daniela. “Your dad gets loud when he’s mad. Now, excuse me while I wash my hair and work on my moves”—she tossed back her red hair with a dramatic shake of her head and used her tall, thin frame to strike a pose—“and you go learn a few new chords on the piano. I’m sick of hearing Chopsticks!”
We both had a lot of work to do.
“The Swedish Meatball? What kind of act is that?” I asked Daniela.
“I think it might be a competitive eater,” replied Daniela. “Gross, but highly watchable.”
We were checking out the Wilcott’s Got Talent sign-up list, which was posted on the cafeteria door. The deadline was Friday. It was only Monday, but the sign-up sheet was almost full.
“The Subtractions?”
“The math club’s band.”
“We Wuz Framed?”
“The guys in detention decided to form a break-dancing group. They’ve got a lot of spare time on their hands.”
“WETPDA?” I asked, thoroughly confused.
“Wilcotters for the Ethical Treatment of Poor Defenseless Animals. You know, the guys who let the frogs out of their cages last year.”
Those guys I liked! They got us out of our science dissections.
“I heard they were going to join forces with the guys from detention—they got to know each other pretty well—but I guess they decided against it,” said Daniela.
Sick on a Snow Day only had two members, but the sign-up sheet was quickly becoming covered in ink. Two more acts scrawled their names on the list.
“The Flying Perogies?” I looked quizzically at my cousin.
“No idea!” laughed Daniela.
“I guess we’d better sign up before it’s too late,” I said to her. All this competition was making me nervous. I was seriously thinking about doubling my piano lessons. We signed up for the show even though our first auditions weren’t until after school.
“Did you post all of the flyers?” I asked Daniela. We had made fifty flyers stating the date, time, and location of our auditions. I was hoping for a good turnout, especially after seeing the long list of competitors. On the bright side, it didn’t look like J.R. Wilcott’s marching band had entered. Perhaps we could find a drummer or tuba player who could keep the beat.
Daniela and I were just about head to homeroom when we heard a high, soft voice behind us. “We Wuz Framed—cool. Flying Perogies—nice! Sick on a Snow Day—what does that mean?”
It was Eldrick Hooperberg. He was a skinny little guy who really didn’t fit in with anyone at school. Way too nerdy to be cool but not cut-throat enough to be a power-nerd, Eldrick just disappeared into the background. Supposedly, he was an alternate in the marching band, but there was almost no evidence of him in the school yearbook. A gigantic tuba player blocked him out of the photo. Things weren’t much better in his class photo. His eyes were closed and his named was misspelled.
“Ellen Hopperbern?” wondered everyone. “Who’s that?”
I didn’t know Eldrick well. The only reason I knew him at all was due to Daniela. She had a soft spot for him. In the third grade, Eldrick had given her a bottle of liquid paper which he had dyed red to match her hair.
“He made the dye himself by mixing three different beetle juices,” she said, flattered.
“That little new guy made it himself?” I had asked her at the time.
“Adam, we’ve gone to school with Eldrick since kindergarten.”
I wasn’t the only one who kept forgetting about him. Teachers were forever calling Eldrick up to the front of the class and asking him to introduce himself and tell us what school he’d transferred from. But Daniela had never forgotten his liquid-paper present.
“Poor guy,” whispered Daniela, “I heard the Subtractions won’t let him play the triangle in their rhythm section.”
“Hey, Daniela. Hey, Adam,” said Eldrick shyly when he spotted us. “I heard you guys are getting a band together. When are auditions?”
“First auditions are today. Second round is tomorrow,” said Daniela.
“Why?” I asked. “Are you planning on trying out?”
Eldrick frowned and looked at the ground. He shuffled back and forth awkwardly. “Well, maybe not today. I’m tutoring Dez McDaniels in math and I’ve got to get him ready for the big math test tomorrow. We’ve got a lot of work to do after school. But if it’s okay with you, I’ll come on Tuesday for the second round.”
Quickly, I sized him up. Thick brown glasses, plaid button-down shirt tucked into a pair of brown cords that ended somewhere between his belly button and chest. He laughed nervously and pulled his pants a little higher. I wanted our band to be cool. Unfortunately, Eldrick was the opposite of cool.
Before I could try and talk him out of it, I heard Daniela saying, “Sure, no problem, Eldrick.”
I nodded reluctantly. “See you on Tuesday, Eldrick.”
A triangle player, no matter how good, was not what I had in mind for the band. I hoped today’s tryout would yield some superstars.
Sick on a Snow Day was officially in the talent show—which made it impossible for me to concentrate during class. I dreamed of bass guitars during biology. I fantasized about jamming throughout geography. Catchy choruses replaced chemistry formulas. By the time Daniela and I started walking home, I had written our first hit. I was just about to break into the chorus when, in the distance, I saw a bunch of people lined up on my driveway. This was good. Very good! We had the cream of J.R. Wilcott’s crop to choose from.
As we approached my house, I saw Andrea Hackenpack tuning her guitar. Sal Gervano was twirling two drumsticks. Raz Keilberg strummed on his bass. Even some grade eights had showed up. Sludge Sludinsky was doing some serious stretching while Nat Kaplan hummed as she listened to her iPod.
We decided to hold auditions in alphabetical order. Allan Alter was first up on drums. Daniela gently shook her head when he finished.
Andrea Hackenpack was next. She was one of the smartest kids at J.R Wilcott and great at everything she tried. But, she was also known to be a perfectionist and rather emotional. Daniela had once found her crying in the bathroom because she’d got an A-minus on her spelling test.
“I thought the teacher meant presents not presence,” she had sobbed.
This was okay for me, because all great rock bands had one member who was a loose cannon.
Andrea plugged her pink guitar into the amp and looked at us.
“Frieda and I are ready when you are.”
“Frieda?” I asked.
“Frieda—my guitar. I believe a true musician should be one with her instrument. Frieda is my best friend. Jenny Mitchell was my best friend until I told her that I liked Michael Wise; and then she ran and told him, and then she ran back and told me that he said—”
“How about you and Frieda show us what you two can do?” I interrupted. We had a long line queuing down the driveway that we needed to get through before dinner.
“My ex-best friend in Papua New Guinea did the exact same thing,” said Daniela to Andrea. “Play for us now and you can tell me the rest later.”
Andrea took a brief moment to compose herself. Then she looked down at Frieda and let out a howl.
“Okay, Frieda, let’s do it!” yelled Andrea as her fingers started to work.
It was a beautiful friendship. Andrea’s fingers plucked furiously and Frieda wailed happily in return. The faster Andrea’s fingers moved, the happier Frieda sounded. Daniela bobbed her head up and down to the music. Andrea and Frieda were shoo-ins for Sick on a Snow Day.
Suddenly, we heard an off-key, tinny twang. It was followed up by a sharp tongy twong and then a limp tangy tung. Andrea stopped playing. Daniela and I looked at each other. Andrea glared furiously at Frieda. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me right now!” she wailed. She stared accusingly at Frieda, who now sported two broken strings.
“Of all the times to let me down,” hissed Andrea to her guitar. “True best friends are there for each other. You’re no better than Jenny Mitchell!”
Andrea turned to us abruptly, “I’m sorry about this.” She started to pack her bag.
“That’s okay, Andrea,” said Daniela, trying to soothe her. “Adam and I heard enough to know that you and Frieda are awesome.” She looked at me and I nodded. “Can you have Frieda fixed by next week?”
“I don’t think that’s possible,” said Andrea sadly.
The BEDMAS Conspiracy Page 1