“The way I see it,” Freddy said, “once you get Des or Jas to notice you, you can talk your way into sitting in the Hot Box. Your big hurdle is going to be answering those questions and ignoring Des and his tricks.” He leaned back. “You've gotta be quick with the answers or you'll miss your chance to Spin to Win. You can't hesitate, even for a second, or the other guy in the Hot Box will ace you out.”
Freddy was responsible for old movies, history, and music. I had sports, geography, and science. Those categories covered most of the trivia questions they used on the show. We decided we'd both study miscellaneous trivia. I was good with sports, but geography and science were my weak spots. On Sunday we had agreed that Freddy would drill me every day. And he'd kept his promise. Whether I was mowing the lawn for Dad, getting books from my backpack, or running laps in gym, there was Freddy, jabbering away, pitching me one question after another. Freddy would make a great sergeant in the army. He never let up.
“Okay,” he said, “let's go over what we've studied so far. When you fly out of here, you're gonna be prepared. I'm going to play Jasmine and shoot questions at you as fast as she does on the show. Ready?”
“Ready,” I said, feeling nervous. “Wait,” I said as I stood up and pointed to the stairs leading to the front door of our school.
“What now?”
“Aren't you going to float down those stairs and look awesome?”
Freddy frowned. “Would you get serious, Jase? We have lots of work to do, and it doesn't include you trying to become a comedian.”
My hands felt clammy and sweat beads popped out on my forehead. Olympian sweat beads. What was it going to be like on national TV if I felt this nervous in front of my best friend? I sucked in my gut and psyched myself up.
“Fire away,” I said.
Freddy flipped open his notes. “How many bricks are in the Empire State Building?”
“Ten million,” I said.
“What's the dog's name on the Cracker Jack box?”
“Bingo.”
“Why were old schoolhouses painted red?”
“It was the least expensive paint.”
“Name one of Harry Potter's friends.”
“Hermione,” I said, wishing I had some of her magic now.
“Which president of the United States owned a parrot?” His eyes narrowed. “And what was the parrot's name?”
“A parrot? They all owned dogs,” I said. “No one keeps a parrot in the White House. It's against the law.”
Freddy didn't blink. “Who owned a parrot? Okay, I'll even give you the parrot's name. Washington Post.”
He was making me nervous. “I'm thinking! I'm thinking!”
“You better think, Jason. You can't hesitate. Not even for a second.”
I scratched my head but my brain had fallen out on the ground.
“President William McKinley,” he said. “Write it down in your notebook and don't forget it.”
I jotted down William McKinley/parrot/Washington Post. I looked at my watch. The tardy bell was about to ring. “Time for one more question,” I said.
“How many freckles did the puppet Howdy Doody have on his face?”
“Forty-eight,” I said, wondering who in the world would ever have counted them. As I slammed my notebook shut, I looked up and saw Amberson Anderson running toward us. Someone had just dropped him off in front of school. He was the only kid I knew who rode to school in a
car bigger than the school buses. His folks were loaded and Ambie Boy never let anyone forget it. His freckled face was puffed up from running so hard and I could see his neon braces from a mile away. I wondered how many freckles Amberson had. Just seeing him brought a scowl to my face.
Amberson Anderson was my nemesis. He wanted to do everything Freddy and I did. Ever since his only friend, Paul, had moved away, he followed us everywhere. He was like a second shadow. We couldn't get rid of him.
“Don't breathe a word about this to Ambie Boy,” I said under my breath. Amberson was such a big copycat that he'd try to get on the TV show, too.
Freddy's eyes met mine in silent agreement. Amberson bugged Freddy almost as much as he bugged me. He was never without a mouthful of bubble gum, and when he snapped it, it drove Freddy nuts. “You're going to pull out your braces someday,” Freddy would tell him. The only reason Freddy tried to warn him was to make him spit out the gum, but it never worked. Amberson would yawn and snap his gum louder. He'd blow huge bubbles and when they popped you could hear the noise all over the school. When a teacher caught him with gum he'd swallow it and say he had already spit it out. I bet his intestines were stuck together with a million pieces of Dubble Bubble.
“Hey, guys,” he called, his megabucks sneakers screeching as he stopped. “Why aren't you shooting baskets?”
“We had homework to do,” I said, shoving my notebook into my backpack. He looked suspicious. I knew he didn't believe me.
I had to say, it would be funny to see him on the show getting WHOOPS!'d big-time. He picked on everyone in class, but I was his main target. Besides copying everything I did, he'd been playing tricks on me since second grade. Ambie Boy did things like leave dead goldfish in my desk. Or spread tacks over the seat of my chair. Once, in fourth grade, he sent a mushy valentine to this girl I liked, Kara Kaye Barton, and signed my name. She totally believed it was from me until he blabbed the truth. I nearly strangled him. I did like her a lot. In fact, I still do. Our whole class thought it was funny. It took our teacher forever to calm everyone down, and Kara Kaye cried. After school I stopped by her house but her mother said she wouldn't talk to me. That's been going on for two years now.
I'd been thinking about next year. Seventh grade would be the perfect time to get a girlfriend. Jen even suggested it, and for once, I thought I might take her advice on something. If I got on TV, Kara Kaye might start speaking to me again. I felt my self-confidence swell in my chest. When you've been on TV (and I'm not talking about one of those reality police shows), people treat you differently. I wouldn't be just Jason P. Percy, the seventh grader, I'd be known as Jason P. Percy, TV star. And the new owner of a year's worth of DVDs! Things were looking up.
Amberson trailed behind Freddy and me into school. He snapped his gum on the way to class. It was so irritating! I could tell Freddy wanted to sock him. As usual, Ambie Boy was determined to find out what Freddy and I had been doing. No way was I going to let him in on our plans. There were some things money couldn't buy.
School was chaotic before summer vacation. No one paid attention and no one ever turned in homework. I was so excited about going to California that I couldn't think of anything but the possibility of getting on TV. We were leaving the day after school ended. It was hard to concentrate on anything else.
I slipped into my desk and grabbed my math book. Math was the first subject of the day. One year the principal decided to let the students vote on what subject they thought would be best to start off the day. The whole school voted recess first and lunch second. So the faculty voted. Math won out. Big surprise!
Ms. Ware was a good sixth-grade teacher. She believed in giving students the freedom to be themselves. “Soar beyond your greatest expectations,” she'd say as the first bell rang. Not a day passed that she didn't write one of her famous quotes on the blackboard. Dream and you shall become. Just do it. Only hungry minds can become educated. I copied down her quotes in my notebook. It was corny, but the words motivated me. Jen had been in her class a bunch of years before me. I had always held Ms. Ware responsible for giving Jen false hope about becoming a famous ballerina.
“Before we begin I want to tell you about something special,” Ms. Ware said. “After lunch I want each of you to create something that represents a topic you've enjoyed studying at North Hills Elementary. We'll be working in papier-mâché.” Everyone cheered. “You may create anything you like.” She paused. “Your work must be original. No copycats allowed.” When she said that, my eyes darted to Amberson. He stuck out hi
s tongue and scrunched his face. All his freckles ran together and he looked like one big brown blob.
My hand flew up. “Any suggestions?” I asked.
“The choice is yours,” she said grandly. “You are the creator of your own art. You may choose to make anything that you have enjoyed learning about while you have been at North Hills this past year—world geography, life sciences, language arts, health and the physical body …”
Some boys snickered in the back of the room. I wondered what I could make. I had enjoyed learning about lots of things, but none of them seemed interesting now.
“After your artwork is complete,” she continued, “you'll write a one-page essay about your creation and why you chose it.” The class groaned. She took her glasses off and flung her arms toward the ceiling. “I want each of you to soar!” she said. “Anything goes!”
Amberson headed for the pencil sharpener. He didn't fool me for a second. He spent a lot of time in front of our class and I knew the reason why. It gave him a good view of everyone. He could hear and see all. Especially me. He wanted to see what was going on in case he needed to copy somebody's idea. I watched him out of the corner of my eye as I concentrated on my sketch pad and made doodles across the page. I brainstormed ideas of potential Mania costumes. If Ms. Ware stopped at my desk she would think I was drawing what I planned to make in papier-mâché.
I had hurriedly finished my math problems and double-checked the answers. I put my paper at the top of my desk. When everyone was finished we always passed our papers to the person on our right for them to check. Some kids were still working. It gave me time to continue sketching costumes. I drew a scaly monster, a vampire, a king with a jeweled crown, a scarecrow, a cowboy, a ghost—there was no end to what I could wear. The only problem was it had all been done before.
After math ended, we went to the media center and then back to the classroom for language arts. When I sat down at my desk I saw a note taped to it. What is a PC screen also known as?
I wrote Monitor! and threw the paper at Freddy. He gave me a thumbs-up.
When the lunch bell rang I shoved my papers in my backpack and got in line. “Have anything good?” Freddy asked as we headed to the lunchroom.
“No way,” I said. “We ate fish last night for dinner and that's not an option to feed your kid the next day for lunch. Parents have been arrested for less than that.”
Martha Stewart would burst into tears if she ever came to our house. My mom hates cooking. In fact, once our oven was broken for six months before she realized it. Here's what happened. She couldn't find her favorite casserole dish one night and after looking everywhere, Dad suggested the oven. There it was, filled with moldy green mashed potatoes. They were hard as cement. She had forgotten all about them since Thanksgiving—which had been six months earlier! Luckily Mom couldn't do too much damage to a sandwich, so lunch was usually safe.
“Do you think Amberson heard us this morning?” I asked Freddy as we walked into the cafeteria. “He's been spending a lot of time up at the pencil sharpener.”
The smell of nachos filled the room. Nachos were about the only thing the school served that I liked. I opened my sack lunch, took out my sandwich, and flipped the lid off my yogurt.
Freddy was already into his dessert when Amberson plopped down at our table with his lunch tray. “Hey, guys,” he said, like he was doing us a favor. “I'll eat with you today.” Freddy rolled his eyes.
Amberson crammed a handful of nachos into his mouth and the melted cheese dripped down his shirt. He had shoved his plastic cup of jalapeño peppers off to the side of his tray.
“Gross!” I said. “Can't you eat those things one at a time?”
Across the cafeteria, someone dropped a tray. Freddy and I looked up to see what had happened. When I turned back around, Amberson had a smirk on his face.
“What are you smiling at, Cheese Face?” I said as I took a big spoonful of yogurt. “Blechhh!” Yogurt splattered across the table, hitting May Ling in the face.
“Ewwww!” she screamed. Everyone in the lunchroom looked up.
I couldn't quit coughing. Yogurt ran out my nose and down my chin.
“Real funny,” Freddy said to Amberson, shoving a bottle of water at me. “What's in that stuff? What did you do?” Amberson didn't crack a smile.
“Just a bit of jalapeño juice,” he said, like Freddy had asked him for the recipe.
“Jalapeños! You creep!” I managed to say after a few gulps of water. My throat was on fire!
“Don't worry, Jason, it's nontoxic. A little pepper juice never hurt anybody.” He laughed and turned to May Ling. “Sorry,” he said. “Jason shouldn't spit food at the table.”
Before I could smash Amberson's face to pieces Freddy caught my hand.
“Don't do it, Jase,” he said. “You'll get sent to the office. No fighting in school. Number-one rule. Remember?” I clenched my fist and put my arm behind me. Freddy was right. I didn't want to spend any time in detention.
The teacher on lunch duty had walked out into the hall. Of course. Whenever a kid does something mean, the teacher misses the whole thing. I picked up my soggy sack and pitched it into the garbage. There was a stack of paper napkins on our table. I wiped the mess off my face and stormed out of the lunchroom. Freddy ran after me. I could hear May Ling still ranting.
I rinsed my mouth out in the water fountain but the bad taste of Amberson didn't go away.
“Dad!” I yelled when I saw his face in the crowd of passengers. “Over here!” I waved my hands like a football referee and jumped up and down. He waved back. I could tell by his smile that he was happy to be home. “Hey,” I said when he got up close. His skin was the color of a walnut. “The California sun must agree with you.”
Millicent clapped. “Daddy. Daddy. Bye-bye. Byebye.”
“California is great, Jason. You're going to love it.” He kissed Mom and Millicent and gave me a bear hug. “How's my little ballerina?” he asked, looking around the airport. I hoped he wasn't referring to me.
Mom pointed to the newsstand across the corridor. Jen looked up, waved, and turned back to her magazine. She was such a brat. She never mentioned Dad unless she wanted an advance on her allowance. But Mom and I were excited that he had come back to Texas to fly with us to California.
“How was your flight?” I asked, straining my neck to peer down the motorized ramp that led to the plane.
Freddy had flown zillions of times. His dad was a commercial airline pilot and his family got free airline passes whenever they wanted them. Mr. Wade had arranged for me to fly with them a couple times, but it seemed every time they got passes for me I couldn't go.
I was pretty sure I was the only one in my class who hadn't flown. I didn't mind Freddy knowing my secret, but if Amberson ever found it out he'd never let me forget it. Not only had he made sure we knew he'd flown all over the world, his family had their own jet! I shoved those thoughts out of my mind. My life was about to change for the better and I couldn't wait. I was finally going to get to do something that Amberson couldn't copy.
“That trip was long,” Dad said, stretching his arms. “The legroom gets smaller every time I fly.”
Mom and Millicent walked to the magazine stand to get Jen while Dad and I headed to the baggage-claim area. I pretended I'd just gotten off of the plane, too. My heart raced. It wouldn't be too many days before I'd be airborne. I tried to ask interesting airplane questions. “How long does it take to fly to California? Can you see the mountains from the air? What states will we fly over?”
Dad looked startled. “Jason, my boy.” When he called me his boy something weird was going on. “I guess your mother didn't tell you.” I gave him a funny look. “There's been a slight change of plans,” he said as we reached the luggage carousel.
“How slight?” I asked, feeling my chances of getting on the game show going down the tube. The conveyor belt began to move and suitcases spilled out of the chute.
“Mom and
I have decided not to fly out to California after all.”
“Wh-wh-what?” I stammered. The pizza I had eaten for dinner was about to land in his face. “I thought that's why you came home. To take us back to California!”
Dad reached for his suitcase and dropped his next bombshell. “That is why I came home,” he said. “We are going to California. But we're not going to fly. We're going to camp.”
“Camp?” I repeated weakly.
“All five of us,” Dad went on. My knees turned to water. “Camping will give you kids a chance to see the country. It will be an unforgettable experience.”
Unforgettable? Camping to California with my parents, Jen, and the two-year-old disposable-diaper queen of the world would be more than unforgettable. It would be disastrous. I panicked.
“But Dad, I'll look out the plane's window the entire time. I promise! I'll see as much of the country as I can. I won't miss an inch of it.” Mom, Jen, and Millicent came into the baggage-claim area. Dad gave Jen a hug. She still had her nose buried in her dance magazine. She went over to a bench and plopped down.
I looked at Mom. “Tell me he's joking,” I pleaded. “You aren't considering camping to California, are you?”
Mom smiled, putting her arm around me. “Jason, it's going to be great,” she said. “I wanted to take a camping trip like this when I was your age, but I never got the opportunity.”
“Then why give it to me?” I said.
She laughed. “You'll get a chance to see other states up close. You couldn't do that from a plane window. We'll be traveling across New Mexico, Arizona, and the great California Mojave desert. You'll see parts of the country you've never seen before.”
“I know what our country looks like, Mom, I have schoolbooks, remember? This isn't a geography lesson. It's a vacation.”
I turned back to Dad. “You can't be serious,” I said, tugging on his sleeve. “How can we camp to California?” I brightened. “We don't own a camper.”
Made You Look Page 2