“I know what you’re up to,” I said to Ryan.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Cartboy,” he said, rubbing some dirt on his nose.
“Knock it off, this isn’t fair. You’re trying to steal the lead,” said Arnie.
But Ryan was way too busy opening a jar of worms and grubs and showing it to every kid in the hallway.
Ryan’s extreme moliness worked like a charm on Mr. Tupkin. He had pretty much made up his mind long before the auditions, and it was all over before it began.
Ryan got to be Mole. Arnie and I got the roles of Stoat One and Stoat Two.
Stoat: a small member of the weasel family that no one has ever seen.
On opening night, I stood backstage while my knees were practically knocking together. Sweat ran down my stoat hair, over my stoat forehead, and into my stoat eyes.
Arnie gave me a nudge. “Here’s our cue, Hal. Let’s go.”
“I can’t do it.”
“Everyone’s waiting. C’mon.”
“I have wet fur in my eyes. . . .”
“All you have to do is get out there and say one line. ‘What happened to the houseboat?’ It’ll be over in a second.”
I tried to wipe the sopping hair off my face, to get some visibility going, but all that did was rub more fur off my paws and into my eyes. The audience was fidgeting, and all the while, Mr. Tupkin was staring at me the same way he does in history class.
A couple of people coughed, and I heard someone behind me say, “Get going, Cartboy.”
That’s when I felt the paw on my back. Not just any paw. A thick, puffy, moley paw. A paw that could only belong to Ryan Horner.
Ryan gave me a hard shove toward the cardboard riverbank near the edge of the stage. Suddenly, I was under the hot lights sweating even more.
I turned to Arnie, and, giving it my deepest, stoatiest voice, asked, “What happened to the . . .”
The last word had somehow disappeared from my brain, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “What happened to the . . . to the . . .”
I searched around the stage for a clue as to what I was supposed to say. Every second that went by felt like an hour.
I guess all that silence was a cue for Ryan Horner to spring back into action. And give me another hard shove. I’d like to think that when he pushed me again, he was trying to be helpful. To jog my memory. But knowing Ryan Horner, I’d say he was taking the opportunity to act like a jerk.
The second shove was even harder than the first. And the next thing I remember, I was on the trombone player Terry Smit’s lap.
Of course everyone in the audience was taping the whole thing. When they got home, lots of them decided to post their videos (send them over to YouTube), so the whole world could see them too.
I guess a five-foot stoat doing a flip off a stage is the kind of thing people like to watch. A lot. I got to discover firsthand what it’s like to “go viral.”
Sometimes it’s hard being famous. Like, even if I’m just going out to play some handball in the park, a stranger will recognize me, and yell, “What happened to the!”
But you learn to cope.
Fame Through the Ages
The Information Age
Dear (fill in your name here):
They call the era I live in the Information Age.
This is because if you do something embarrassing, even worse than falling off the stage in the school play, the entire school will know about it in four minutes. That was how long it took everyone to find out what happened in the cafeteria today.
Today’s popular gossip-transmitting devices.
It all started when I was standing on the lunch line trying to decide what to eat. It was between the rib-b-que on a bun and the beefy nachos, and I was having a lot of trouble choosing. The main reason being that today was “Simm’s Surprise Day.” It’s the one time every month when Mr. Simms, the cafeteria manager, gets to pick whatever he wants to serve. All on the spur of the moment. Unfortunately what he usually wants to serve is the stuff that’s about to expire in the back of the fridge, and the “surprise” is a hunk of mold in your cheeseburger.
My eyes went back and forth between the bun and the nachos, the bun and the nachos.
“Hurry up, Cartboy,” shouted Ryan Horner from the end of the line.
“I’ll have the uh . . . um . . . uhhh . . .” I said to the lady behind the counter.
Suddenly, my stomach did what felt like a backflip with a twist. But this was much more than the usual barfy feeling I get on Simm’s Surprise Day. It was a deep, low growwwwl.
“I’ll take the rib . . . I mean the beef . . . I mean, wait . . .”
Growwwwl.
The next backflip came with a churning noise that could be heard from three tables away. Both Cindy Shano and Hilary Valentine looked up.
“You better not let one blow, Cartboy,” said Cindy, baring her fangs and braces.
Growwwwl.
Which brings me to the other reason I couldn’t choose a lunch, and it had nothing to do with Simm’s Surprise. It was because my stomach was starting to pay for what I had eaten at Arnie’s house last night.
Both of Arnie’s parents were at work, and guess who they asked to watch Arnie and me? None other than Garth and Ryan Horner.
Garth and Ryan would rather see Arnie and me get mauled by bobcats than provide any actual childcare. So when we told them we were hungry, they said there were microwavable burritos in the freezer and to go “get them yourselves, dipwads.”
We dug out the burritos from underneath some pie crusts that Arnie’s mom had made back in the nineties, scraped off the white glacial coating, and popped them in the microwave on high.
Burrito.
The kind of thing you get when you Google “burrito.”
I figured those burritos were kind of dicey. But my feet grew three sizes last year, and when I need to eat, I need to eat. I had to chew nine times the normal amount and I’m pretty sure I chipped my left molar, but eventually, I choked it down.
I guess it can take a food item with that much freezer burn a while to make its way through the digestive system. So it was about fourteen hours later in health and wellness when the dam broke.
What started out as a series of small growls quickly turned into a deafening rumble that could only be caused by one thing. A gigantic gas bubble with one place to go.
Out.
I tried squeezing my cheeks together, to keep the monster inside, but unfortunately, squeezing had an effect similar to letting air out of an overblown balloon.
Thirty seconds later the bell rang and you never saw a bunch of crazed kids grab their phones faster. What’s nice about the Information Age is that not only do the devices exist for transmitting instant information, there are all kinds of shortcuts and abbreviations for words.
As I walked to my locker with Arnie, there wasn’t a person in the hall who didn’t hold their nose and wave their hand in front of their face.
“This does not help your date prospects for the middle school dance,” Arnie said.
“Which, as I told you four million times, I am not going to. . . .”
But Arnie wasn’t paying much attention. He was busy looking across the hall at Heather Fukumoto, the girl he wanted to ask to the dance.
Arnie decided to go talk to Heather, so he put his phone down in his locker. He didn’t hear it beep again. But I did. And I couldn’t help but pick it up and read it.
STAY UPWIND FRM CARTBOY IF U KNOW WHT I MEAN
The weirdest thing wasn’t the text itself. It was that the text was from Ryan Horner.
And there was more.
MEET 2 TALK ABT SECRET
How did Ryan get Arnie’s number? We hate Ryan. We had a pact to never talk to him again. And besides that, what secret? The only secret Arnie and I cared about was where Susie was hiding the scythe. Arnie wouldn’t get that from Ryan behind my back.
Would he?
Human Communication Throu
gh the Ages
Dating
Dear Future Wanderer of the Earth:
Arnie isn’t the only person in Stowfield who’s obsessed with whether or not I’m going to the middle school dance. Even though it’s only the beginning of December, and the dance isn’t until February, almost three months away, my mom is all up in a tizzy about it too.
The other day, she was sitting in the kitchen changing Bea and Perrie’s diapers. “So who are you taking to the dance, Hal?” she asked as she threw a full diaper into the trash.
“I’m not going to the dance, Mom.”
“Why don’t you ask a nice girl, like Cindy Shano? You two could double-date with Arnie!”
Like all the other parents in Stowfield, my mom thinks Cindy Shano is the nicest kid ever because she gets good grades, sucks up to the teachers, and made a famous video about her dog. As if that’s not bad enough, just the mention of Arnie made me think of that text he got from Ryan Horner. The idea that Arnie and Ryan might have a secret together sent a shiver down my back.
My mom must’ve seen a weird expression come across my face because right away she said, “What’s the matter, honey?”
Before I could answer, she stood up and shouted in the direction of the spare room where my dad was fixing a lawn mower.
“Family powwow!”
“Family powwow” is the thing my mom shouts out every time she thinks there’s an issue we need to discuss. She says powwows are in the spirit of good communication and that they help our family build “mutual respect and a strong bond.” Or something like that. Every week, we have to gather in a circle “ just like the Native Americans did” and have “an open exchange of feelings and ideas.”
Does this man look like he wants to talk about feelings?
Mom takes family powwow very seriously and sometimes they go on for like, an hour. Even Bea and Perrie have learned to recognize the word powwow. Whenever they hear it, they both crawl over to me and climb on my legs like they’re hoping I’ll run out of the room and take them with me.
“Mom, it’s okay, we don’t need to have a powwow . . .” I started to say, but didn’t get too far.
My dad immediately appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I’m all ears!”
“Martin, explain to Hal that being attracted to girls in sixth grade is perfectly normal and nothing to be ashamed of.” My mom turned from my dad to me. “Hal, when Dad was your age he was dating Charlene Denton. She was a ballerina!”
My dad had a grease mark stretching from his ear to his shoulder, and it was pretty hard to see why Charlene Denton or anyone else would go on a date with him.
“Son,” he said in the serious voice he usually saves for history quotes. “When a boy begins to travel down the special highway that leads to manhood, he will experience many confusing changes. Sudden cravings and desires. Nervousness about dating girls. Hair in the armpits.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Who better to guide that boy through those changes than his father?”
I hoped Mom might step in to save me, but instead she said, “I think it’s time you two discussed the facts of life.”
The only thing worse than family powwow, or carrying an old-lady cart to school, is a talk with your dad about “the facts of life.”
If you ever come across a book like this, run for your life.
“Don’t be shy, Hal. It’s all perfectly natural,” said my mom.
I needed to bolt out of the kitchen immediately, but my dad was blocking the door. I slumped down in a kitchen chair and a thought came to me. Maybe, for once, it was time to put the family powwow to good use.
“Well, since you mentioned dating, Mom, there actually is one girl I’m thinking of.”
My mom practically jumped out of her skin. “Who is it? Who is she? Do we know her? God, I love family powwow.”
The truth is, I actually was thinking of a girl. But it wasn’t Cindy Shano. I mean, sure, Cindy isn’t always completely annoying, and she does have a vintage Metallica T-shirt that I am completely jealous of. But the girl I was thinking of at that moment was Susie on RavenCave. It’s been really gnawing at me that Arnie and I still haven’t gotten her to find the scythe.
Unless, of course, Arnie doesn’t care about RavenCave anymore. Since he’s been getting secret texts from Ryan Horner.
“Mom,” I said, “you were right. The girl I’m thinking of is Cindy Shano.”
Perrie let out a little yelp. My mom did too.
“But, the thing is, I would like to get to know her a little better. You know, to see if I want to ask her to the dance. And that’s just so hard to do when I don’t have my own room.”
Okay, I know it sounded like a long shot. But seeing as how badly my mom wanted me to go to the dance with Cindy, I had to try it. All I needed to do was convince my mom that having my own room was the best way to get alone time with Cindy Shano. Sure, once I got my own room, I’d pretty much just play RavenCave, but that was a minor detail my parents didn’t need to know.
I noticed that as soon as I put the idea out there, my dad stiffened up. It was like he knew I was trying to wiggle around my history grade to get the spare room. But one look at my mom and he softened up.
“Well, son, I suppose if I had a shed for my appliance parts in the backyard, I could give up the extra room.”
I could tell from the way my dad was talking, I was the one who would have to build most of the shed. Even if Arnie helped me it would probably take like, five weekends, and we’d have to make it out of scrap wood from the dump. But I didn’t want to think about that now. The shed seemed like the best chance I had.
Just add 9,473 nails.
The next day at school I was feeling pretty pumped. That is until I ran into Arnie. He was talking to Ryan in the hallway, but as soon as they saw me Ryan walked away.
“What were you talking to Ryan about?”
Arnie pretended he didn’t hear me.
“So you like Cindy Shano?” he said. “Not an obvious choice, with the braces and the constant put-downs and making fun of you behind your back.” Arnie grabbed a science book from his locker. “You going to ask her to the dance?”
I hadn’t figured on the fact that my mom talks to Arnie’s mom practically every day. She probably called her with the “big news” the second I left the room.
“No, I’m not going to ask her to the dance. Because I’m not going to the dance. Anyway, what were you and Ryan talking about?”
“Nothing.”
The bell rang and before I could ask Arnie any more questions, he practically skipped down the hallway.
“We could double-date,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m going with Heather Fukumoto.”
I turned the other way and headed toward history class. As I walked down the hallway, I couldn’t help but wish I lived in the future.
Either that or in the way-distant past. Like medieval times. Or dinosaur times. Or any times before dating existed.
Things People Have Done On First Dates Throughout History
Food
Dear, Um, Whoever You Are:
Mr. Tupkin was telling us that since the beginning of time, people have needed one fundamental thing to survive. “Be sure to write about food for the time capsule. I’m sure your future reader would be quite interested in knowing the culinary tastes and innovations of the early twenty-first century.”
The first thing I thought when Mr. Tupkin mentioned food was, Who cares! Who needs it when your dad is going to kill you anyway?
It turns out I got a D- on the midterm test.
Mr. Tupkin gave it to us the first day after Christmas break. I know I should have done better, but this one was a first-class colonial brain bender. Loyalists, Founding Fathers, rebels, patriots, minutemen. You get the idea.
This time, it wasn’t enough for Mr. Tupkin to send me home with an extra forty pounds of books. He also had to write a letter to my parents, complete with one of his “deep” quotes.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Rifkind
—
Hal must improve his study habits or he will not receive a passing grade.
“That men do not learn very much from the lessons of history is the most important of all the lessons that history has to teach.”
—Mr. Tupkin
Never mind that I’m good at handball and know everything about the Ziptuk E300S. That I’m a serious competitor on RavenCave and got to Level 3 in seven weeks. My parents didn’t want to hear about any of those accomplishments.
My dad barged into the room I share with Bea and Perrie and read Mr. Tupkin’s letter out loud.
“Hal. How many times have I told you? History is the self-consciousness of humanity. If you want to understand today, you must search yesterday.”
“Um. Uh-huh.”
“George Washington was one of the bravest men our country has ever had. Do you know why?”
“He agreed to appear on the dollar bill in a wig that makes him look like Gramma?”
“No. George Washington had character. The only way to inspire other people is to be a good person yourself.”
“Dad, you and Mr. Tupkin say a lot of complicated quotes. I’m not exactly sure what they mean.”
“How about this for clarity. You can forget about having your own room until I see at least a B on your next report card.”
Clearly, I needed to figure out a way to get on my dad’s good side without having to study history.
Luckily, during family powwow this week, my mom gave me a chance. And it had to do with food.
“Hal, I don’t want to make you frightened or anything, but over the years I’ve allowed your body to become a toxic waste dump. It’s too late to do anything to save you.”
Just as I was trying to digest this thought, she said, “Thank God there’s still time to salvage the twins. From now on, we’re going to eat local.”
Cartboy and the Time Capsule Page 3