Billy climbed to his feet, wiping the dirt and slime from his costume.
“You want to know what I did?” he asked the frozen monster. “I stopped you cold.”
Placing the Book of Creeps beneath his arm, Arche-bold started to clap.
“Very good, sir,” the goblin said, applauding. “Very good indeed.”
* * *
“Earth to Billy Hooten, come in, Mr. Hooten.”
The voice startled Billy from his memories of the previous night's superheroic escapades. He looked up to see his world history teacher, Mr. Cheever, standing in front of his desk with a smile.
“If I remember correctly, we're studying the Roman Empire.” The big man placed his hands on his wide hips. “And won't get anywhere near the formation of the space program until at least May, so if you would be so kind as to come down out of orbit and join the class, I would greatly appreciate it.”
The rest of the class started to laugh. Billy had no clue as to the current topic of discussion. All he could do was sit with a dopey grin on his face and hope that Mr. Cheever would get tired of teasing him.
Mr. Cheever's eyes twinkled as he prepared to make Billy look like the president of Moronica. “It's the time of year, isn't it, Mr. Hooten?” the teacher asked.
“Time of year, sir?” Billy was beginning to suspect a trap.
Mr. Cheever inhaled loudly, filling his lungs as he looked dreamily about the classroom, his gaze finally resting on the windows. “That smoky smell, the falling leaves, the change in seasons. It's that time of year again.” He looked back at Billy and his eyes seemed to do a little dance. “The fall. October. Halloween.”
A tingle of anticipation shot through Billy's stomach. He'd been so busy with schoolwork and being Owlboy that he'd almost forgotten Halloween was just around the corner.
“I've always loved this time of year myself,” the history teacher said. “I remember when I was your age.”
The image of Mr. Cheever marching alongside Roman soldiers filled Billy's head, even though he knew the man wasn't quite that old.
“It was always a huge distraction for me,” Mr. Cheever said to the class. “So I can understand how it would be hard for Mr. Hooten here to concentrate.”
Mr. Cheever strolled away from Billy's desk.
“I bet you're all excited about the big Halloween costume competition, and how your costume is going to be the best one again this year,” the big man said with a smile. “C'mon, Mr. Hooten, share with us. What are you going to be for the contest Saturday night?”
Billy was confused. “You mean next Saturday, don't you?” he asked. The Connery Elementary School Costume Extravaganza was always held the Saturday before Halloween, which, as far as he knew, was at least a week away.
Mr. Cheever stared at the boy, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “No,” he said. “I mean this Saturday.”
He walked toward a large calendar hanging on the wall and studied the month of October.
“Unless I'm looking at the wrong year,” he said, “the last Saturday before Halloween falls this weekend.” He turned his head to look at Billy. “Would you like to double-check?”
Billy couldn't help himself. He got up and practically ran to the calendar. Mr. Cheever stepped aside to let him get a good look.
“Holy crap!” Billy exclaimed. His teacher was right.
How could I be so stupid? he thought, reaching out to touch the dates on the calendar. In his mind he still had a week…a week to design and make his prizewinning Halloween costume.
But that wasn't the case at all.
Billy only had three days.
CHAPTER 2
How could I be so clueless?
Billy trudged down the stairs to the lunchroom, the weight of his own stupidity on the verge of crushing him flatter than a pancake.
He'd lost a week. How was that even possible? His mind rolled through the last few days—homework, Monstros City, Sludge Sloggers—and he could almost understand how he'd lost track of time. But to forget about the Connery Elementary School Costume Extravaganza? It was unheard of.
He reached the cafeteria and headed for the table where his friends were already eating their lunches.
“Hey, guys, look who it is,” Dwight said with a smirk, making sure everybody was listening. “I'm surprised he remembered he has lunch now.”
“You're a riot, Dwight.” Billy plopped down in the seat beside Kathy B. “Wish I could forget what a dweeb you are.”
That comment got a bigger laugh than Dwight's, and the boy immediately quieted down, shoving Cheez Doodles into his mouth one after another and glowering at everyone. Dwight believed himself to be the coolest and best at everything, even though most of the time he wasn't even close.
“Score one for the Hooten kid,” Kathy B said, patting Billy on the back. “How you doing today, Bill? You seem a little out of it.”
Billy shrugged, setting his lunch bag down on the table. “Got a lot on my mind,” he replied, taking his peanut butter and jelly sandwich out of the bag.
Kathy B suddenly stood and cleared her throat. “Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,” she proclaimed, and then she bowed her head, fist clutched against her chest.
“Let me guess, Shakespeare,” Billy said. For as long as he'd known the girl, Kathy B would quote from the writings of William Shakespeare and expect the others to know what she was talking about.
“Yeah, but what play?” she asked as she sat down to finish her lunch.
Billy thought about guessing but decided not to bother. He hoped that someday she would quote from something he knew, like comic books or horror movies. “Don't know,” he said, taking a bite of his sandwich.
“It's from King Henry the Fifth,” she told him, shaking her head. “I would've thought one of you doofuses would get it.” She looked at the others at the table with disappointment.
“I thought it might've been from that new show, ‘Rapping with the Stars.' I love that show,” Reggie Stevens said, grinning through braces that made his mouth look like it was imprisoned in some medieval torture device.
“Good one, Reg,” Kathy B said sarcastically.
“Better than his usual ‘Green Eggs and Hamlet' answer,” Danny Ashwell piped up before biting into his sloppy joe. “Gotta give him points for variety.”
Reggie tipped an invisible hat toward his friend.
“Whatever,” Kathy B moaned with an overly dramatic roll of her eyes. “So what gives, Billy? You didn't really forget that the costume contest is this week… did you?”
The table was suddenly very quiet, all eyes upon him.
Billy wanted to laugh it off, to tell everybody that this was part of an elaborate plan to make them all let their guard down and think his costume would be nothing special and easy to beat this year. He wanted to tell them that in fact he'd been working on the most spectacular costume ever and was ready to win first prize, as he had for the last three years.
But it would've been a lie.
“I honestly thought I had another week,” he said sheepishly, looking up from what was left of his PB&J.
Danny Ashwell dropped the spoon he'd been using to shovel fluorescent green Jell-O into his mouth. “Could it be that this year… this year the rest of us might actually have a chance at winning this thing?”
Dwight sat back in his chair, smiling. “You won't believe the costume I have this year. Might as well hand over first prize now.”
“I think mine might give you a run for your money,” Danny said, wiping Jell-O from his face with a napkin. “Guess we'll just have to see, won't we?”
“And wait until you see my costume!” Reggie piped up, so excited he had to stand. “At first I didn't think it was any good, because Billy's is always better, but if his costume stinks, I think I might just win!”
Kathy B grinned from ear to ear. “Do I smell an actual competition this year?” She rubbed her hands together eagerly.
Billy couldn't believe his ea
rs. These were his friends…at least, he thought they were. And they were all plotting against him.
It was an outrage.
“It's not like I haven't been planning, y'know,” he said, gathering up his trash and squeezing it into a tight ball.
“So you do have a costume then?” Dwight asked.
Everybody at the table leaned forward, eager to hear his answer.
Billy said nothing, squeezing his trash ball tighter.
He felt Kathy B's elbow jam into his ribs. “C'mon, Billy, if you can't tell us, who can ya tell?”
“No,” he croaked, the words not wanting to leave his mouth. “I don't have anything yet.”
The table went wild with whoops and cheers and high fives all around. And then, as if he weren't even there, they began to chatter about how cool their costumes were and how they all were going to win for sure.
Fine, Billy thought, gathering up his trash. He would find a nice quiet table and begin thinking about his costume. There wasn't any problem. He had plenty of time to put it all together before Saturday night.
No problem at all.
He got up abruptly from his chair and walked straight into the grinning jack-o'-lantern face of Randy Kulkowski, his mortal enemy and the meanest sixth grader who had ever walked the halls of Connery Elementary.
“Hey there, Hooten,” Randy said through a large mouthful of uneven, yellow teeth. His breath stank of raw meat, as if he'd just taken a big bite out of a cow the lunch ladies had stored in back just for him. “Hear there's a bit of a problem with your costume this year.”
Mitchell Spivey, Randy's evil little flunky, stood beside his master, rubbing his hands with glee.
“Not really.” Billy tried to maneuver around them to throw his trash away, but Randy blocked his path.
“You might as well tell 'em, Billy,” a hyper Reggie said, sucking back spit that was attempting to leak from his braces. “He'll only find out the truth anyway after beating one of us up.”
“That's true,” Randy said with a sadistic grin. “What's going on with your costume?”
Again, Billy wished he could lie. It would have made things so much easier.
“I haven't had a chance to work on it yet,” he blurted.
Randy let out an ear-splitting guffaw that Billy was sure could be heard on the second floor of the building. Mitchell laughed as well, bending over as if he'd just heard the funniest joke ever.
“What's so funny?” Billy asked, finally pushing his way around Randy and throwing out his garbage.
The bully crossed his arms. “I just find it funny that this would be the year you screwed up.”
Billy didn't understand. “Why? What's so special about this year?”
Randy grinned from ear to ear, and Billy thought his head would split in two.
“Cause this is the year that Hero's Hovel coughs up a hundred-dollar gift certificate, and since my costume is going to kick absolute butt, you don't stand a chance no matter how good yours is.” He turned his attention back to Billy's so-called friends. “And that goes for you girls as well.” Then he turned and lumbered away, cackling.
Billy felt as though his world had suddenly come to an end. How could I be so stupid? Hero's Hovel was his all-time favorite comic book store. How could he have forgotten that after all the years of awarding gold ribbons and candy-filled pumpkins, they had decided to spice things up a bit, and Hero's Hovel had volunteered a prize? Behind him, his friends were carrying on, each one trying to be heard over the other.
“I could've won!” “You're crazy, this was my year!” “It's not fair, I tell you!”
Billy wandered, unnoticed, from the lunchroom. He had a lot of thinking to do.
* * *
“I'm getting old,” Billy said, helping himself to a second serving of house-fried rice from the Chinese Dragon.
The coffee table was covered in Chinese food take-out boxes, the usual Friday night fare in the Hooten household. Mrs. Hooten sat on the edge of the love seat, plate in hand, while Mr. Hooten lounged in his recliner, his overflowing plate resting on his belly. Billy sat on the floor.
There was no response from either of his parents, so he tried another tactic.
“I sure am frustrated,” he said, loud enough to be heard over the DVD rental, an action movie he was sure they had seen at least three times. That was the problem with letting Dad pick the movie; he only liked stuff he'd seen before.
A bus exploded in a ball of fire, and still nobody was listening to him.
“I'm frustrated!” Billy suddenly shouted.
Both his mom and dad were looking at him now, their expressions confused.
“What the heck do you have to be frustrated about?” his dad grumbled, shoveling a forkful of mushu pork into his mouth. “You're only twelve.” His gaze wandered back to the TV where the hero had just made an explosive out of a cantaloupe, some Tic Tacs and a cell phone battery.
“What is it, dear?” his mom asked, taking a sip from her glass of water. “What's got you all worked up…is it a girl?”
She was suddenly beaming, her eyebrows going up and down. Billy was horrified; that's all he needed.
“What's her name, and what didn't she do that's got you all upset?”
“She didn't do anything,” he stammered. “Wait a minute, there is no she!”
“That's fine,” his mom said with a sly smile as she helped herself to some more rice. “I don't need to know her name.”
Billy shook his head furiously. “That's not what this is about. There is no girl.”
His mom nodded, attempting to suppress her smile. “Aha,” she said. “No girl problems here, you little devil.”
Forgetting that he had a plate of food in his lap, Billy scrambled to stand. “This isn't about that,” he said, his voice becoming high-pitched and screechy. “It's way more important than some stupid girl.” His mother just stared, a forkful of house fried rice midway to her mouth as Billy continued to rant.
“This could affect me for the rest of my life, destroy my self-esteem, now, in these my most formative years. I may never recover.”
Billy stopped, his breath coming in short gasps. His parents were staring at him, and by the looks on their faces, he could see that they were finally with him.
“If not a cute little girl, then what?” his mother asked.
“Yeah,” echoed his dad. “What's got your panties in such a bunch?”
Billy took a few deep breaths. “The Halloween Costume Extravaganza is this weekend,” he said, pausing for effect. “And I haven't come up with a costume yet.”
There was little change in his parents' expressions; the shock of what he'd just told them was obviously too much for them to handle.
“I know, it's how I felt too,” Billy continued. “And then I find out that my friends are actually excited that I haven't come up with anything yet.” Billy shook his head in disappointment. “I guess you never really know somebody.”
His dad was the first to speak. “Is that it?”
Billy didn't understand. “What… what do you mean, is that it?”
“Is that what you're all lathered up about?” his dad asked with a confused tilt of his head. Obviously, he'd failed to grasp the enormity of the situation.
“You're not getting it,” Billy tried to explain. “I don't have a costume yet, my friends are all against me, and, to make matters worse, Randy Kulkowski says that his costume is the greatest one ever.”
Mr. Hooten helped himself to a chicken finger and waved it around like a magic wand. “Thought this costume business was supposed to be about having fun,” he grumbled, turning his attention back to the movie.
Billy couldn't believe it. His father was actually blowing off this cataclysmic situation as if it were nothing important. He stood there, mouth open wide enough to catch flies, not knowing how to respond.
“Don't you worry about a thing, honey,” his mother said as she got up from the love seat and started to clean up. “Let me
get these leftovers in the fridge and we'll sit down and see what we can come up with.”
His vocal cords were practically paralyzed. How could they not understand the enormity of this situation?
“This'll be fun,” his mother said as she stacked their dirty plates and headed to the kitchen. “It's been ages since I worked on one of your Halloween costumes.”
Images from an old photo album exploded inside Billy's brain—four years old and dressed as a sunflower. He shivered at the memory. Something that horrific couldn't be allowed to happen again.
“That's okay, Mom,” he called after her. “I think I'm going to go up to my room and start working on some designs.”
He heard the sound of the dishes being placed in the sink.
“Are you sure?” she asked from the doorway, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “I've got some really good ideas.”
“That's fine, thanks anyway,” he told her.
“I've got two words for you, though,” she said, coming back for the Chinese food containers that still littered the top of the coffee table. “Monkey ballerina.” A crazy grin spread across her face as she slowly nodded. “I'll let you have that one for free, just to show you that your old ma knows what she's doing here.”
“Thanks,” is all Billy could muster as he slowly backed out of the living room, heading for the stairs that would allow him to escape to his bedroom.
“Just remember,” she called after him, “there's plenty more genius where that came from.”
Billy closed his bedroom door quickly behind him.
More often than not, his parents didn't understand the enormity of his predicaments. It reminded him of when he'd been having a heck of a time recently reaching the top level in his Galactic Conqueror game and had found himself on the verge of a nervous breakdown. He'd gotten the same empty stares, and a story from his father about how when he was a kid, they'd had to make do with rocks and dead animals they found in the woods if they wanted something to play with.
The Girl with the Destructo Touch Page 2