by E. S. Farber
“You better forget the race,” said my mom. “You’re going to be racing around here doing chores for me, mister.”
“FÜR ELISE”
Bagatelle No. 25 in A Minor, known as “Für Elise” (that means “For Elise” in German). It was composed by Ludwig von Beethoven around 1810 and published in 1867. It is still a mystery who Elise was.
“But, Mom . . .”
“Don’t ‘But, Mom’ me. It’s only a week. Would you like it to be the whole summer?”
This was another one of those trick questions. I sighed, not answering, and kicked my toe against the piano bench leg where a big chunk of wood was missing from when Shrimp chewed it off.
“Does he get to race for good behavior?” asked Uncle Norman, sticking his head in the door.
My parents looked at each other.
“If he does absolutely everything you ask him to do, and he waxes my motorcycle, too?” Uncle Norman winked at me.
Like I said, Uncle Norman is the best uncle in the entire world.
My parents looked at each other again.
“Maybe,” they said at the same time.
“We better go, Carmine.” Uncle Norman turned to my dad. “We have some automatic toilets to install.”
“Those work by electric sensors, right?” I asked, grateful for the change in topic.
“Yep,” said Uncle Norman, smiling, like he was glad for the change in topic, too. “An electric signal gets sent to the electrical flush valve.”
“The first flush toilet was called a water closet and belonged to King Minos of Crete two thousand, eight hundred years ago, right, Dad? Didn’t you say it was a great feat of engineering, like so much of plumbing?”
“Not even knowing your plumbing history will get you out of this, grounded boy,” said my dad in a gruff voice, but he smiled and ruffled my hair.
I walked out of the room and smack into Feenie and Mmm. “Busted!” said Feenie.
“Zip it, Feenie.”
“T. J. got busted, too,” said Mmm. “Also ’cause he ate the whole bowl of lime Jell-O salad with teeny marshmallows my mom made for the Cat Fancy Club Meeting. He has to clean out all the litter boxes, groom all the cats, and straighten out the junk bathtub, and he can’t have any dessert till he graduates from middle school.”
“No dessert!” Feenie shook her head. “That’s really bad.”
My first job was to mow the lawn with our very old lawnmower. It’s one of those push ones without a motor, so it takes like ten times as long as an electric mower to cut the grass, and requires a whole lot of elbow grease.
I was already sweating as I mowed carefully around my mom’s petunias when Roger stuck his head over the hedge. He had a hose in his hand, but no water was coming out of it.
“What’s the verdict?” asked Roger.
“Hung, drawn, and grounded!”
“Likewise.”
“Guess being irresponsible in the mind of a parent is as bad as committing high treason against the king, like those guys back in the Middle Ages who got hung, drawn, and quartered.”
Roger nodded. “You’re telling me, dude. I’ve got to weed all the flower beds, water every green thing for miles around, take out the garbage, mop the kitchen, sweep the porch, vacuum and dust the whole house, and clean the bathroom with that bleachy bubbly stuff, every single day for an indefinite amount of time.”
“Whew!” I said. Roger’s mom sure was strict. She was way stricter than his dad. When Roger’s dad was around, he used to make her laugh and joke her out of her strictness. He’s a joker, just like Roger.
“How long you got?” asked Roger.
“A week.”
“What about the race?”
“Only for good behavior.”
“The old good behavior routine,” said Roger. “It’s their secret weapon to make you do everything they want and more.”
“I know! Better start watering.”
Roger flipped the handle on the hose, but no water came out. He turned the gauge on the nozzle. Still no water. He put his eye up to the nozzle and pressed the handle. All of a sudden, a stream of water shot out and hit him in the face.
“Aaahh!” he yelled, jumping back.
I started laughing.
“RO-ger!!!!” his older sister, Summer, yelled. “Don’t forget to be careful with that old hose. Oh, and where is my iced tea?”
“Nice trick with the hose! Get it yourself, Winter!”
“Mom says you have to listen to me, or you’re going to be grounded until you start shaving.”
Roger held up the hose like it was a sword and he was going to run Summer through with it. I went back to mowing the lawn. I still had more chores to do, like weed the flower beds, sweep the garage, and clean out the grill—and that was just today. I wondered what my parents had planned for the rest of the week.
“Fish, Mom says you have to help Mmm and me fix our magic coach,” said Feenie.
She and Mmm waved their magic wands at me. Behind them was a cardboard box that they had colored pink and decorated with sparkles.
“What do you want me to do?”
“Make it go,” said Feenie.
“You’re the Fapits,” I said. “You’re the ones with magic powers.”
“Better do the princesses’ bidding, or they’ll turn you into a frog or a puddle of green slime or something!” Roger called over the hedge.
Feenie and Mmm nodded at me.
I sighed.
“Guys!” T. J. came running up to us, a pink plastic bottle in his hand and a pink hairbrush sticking out of his pocket. “Have you seen Champion Tatiana?” he gasped, trying to catch his breath.
“Oh, no!” Roger and I both said.
“I was grooming her and the mousse was next, so I went to get it, and—”
“You have to groom a moose?!” said Roger. “Wow, Teej! And I thought my punishment was bad.”
“I don’t mean a moose moose, I mean hair mousse,” said T. J., holding up the pink bottle. “Fabulous Feline really makes their coats shine, but Champion Tatiana hates it.”
Feenie and Mmm looked at each other and started slowly backing away.
MEOW! came from the azalea bush beside Feenie and Mmm’s magic coach.
“Aha! That meow sounds like our good friend, Champion Teeter-Totter of Blah-Bu-De-Blah,” said Roger, pointing the hose over the hedge at Feenie and Mmm. “She wouldn’t happen to be trying to hang a ride in your magic coach?”
“She’s our long-lost sister princess who the big bad witch turned into a kitty cat,” said Feenie.
“And you can’t have her,” said Mmm to T. J.
But T. J. was too fast. He had already run over to the carriage and scooped out Champion Tatiana. “I’m in big enough trouble already,” he said. “If I don’t do her hair all pouffy for the Cat Fancy Club Meeting, I’ll never get to have dessert again. See you, guys.”
T. J. dashed out of the yard.
“Ro-ger, where is my tea?” came Summer’s annoyed voice.
“Hey, Rog. Your princess is summoning you now. You better do her bidding.”
Roger sighed.
“Fiiiissssshhhh!” came Feenie’s and Mmm’s voices. “The princesses need you to fix their magic coach noooowwww.”
Having princesses for sisters sure made being hung, drawn, and grounded worse torture than it already was. . . .
READY, SET, KABOOM!
I officially stopped being hung, drawn, and grounded the night before the race. I had done everything my mom and dad asked—even dust-busting under the backseat of the car, where all the crumbs and sand and dog hair and stuff get stuck, and polishing all twenty-one doorknobs inside and outside our house.
I called Roger and T. J. to tell them the news.
“Excellent, dude!” said Roger. “I’m ungrounded, too.”
T. J.’s grounding was off also, except he still couldn’t have dessert.
I was so excited and nervous I could barely sleep. The next morning,
my mom made my favorite breakfast of cinnamon toast and Tang. In case you don’t know, Tang is this powdered drink that used to be popular with astronauts in the United States space program. You just add water and stir. I figured if it was good enough for John Glenn to drink on his Mercury mission, it was good enough for me to drink for the Captain Kidd Classic.
JOHN GLENN (1921-)
On February 20, 1962, Glenn was the first American astronaut to orbit the Earth, on the Mercury-Atlas 6 Mission. His space capsule, Friendship 7, circled the globe three times during a flight lasting 4 hours, 55 minutes, and 23 seconds. It was named Mercury after the Roman god of speed and Friendship 7 by John Glenn, to honor his fellow mission members.
Before I ran out the door, my parents hugged me and wished me luck.
“See you at the race!” said my dad.
“Be careful,” said my mom.
“Abracadabra!” said Feenie. Then she threw fairy dust all over me.
I was still brushing pink glitter out of my hair when I met Roger and T. J. at the Captain’s dock.
“Dude, you look like a Sno Ball.”
“Yum!” said T. J. “Those are my favorite cupcakes.”
They both tackled me and rubbed my head to get the glitter off.
“Ouch, guys! Come on. We’ve got to go.”
“Better,” said Roger, studying my head. “But your hair still looks sort of pink.”
We piled into the Fireball. It sure drove smooth and fast with the racing fuel Eli gave me. By the time we got to the marina, a crowd had already gathered. I could see my parents, Feenie, Uncle Norman, and Venus. They waved as soon as they spotted us. Mr. and Mrs. Mahoney, Mickey, and Mmm waved, too, and so did Mrs. Huckleton and Summer.
Off to one side, Mi and Si were busy selling clams. The Captain stood next to a rusty old cannon in front of a platform that was the judges’ stand. Mr. Billings, Bryce’s dad, was sitting there, with Mr. Blue, the marina manager, and Mr. de Quincy, Clementine’s dad.
I looked around for Clementine, but I didn’t see her anywhere.
“Ready to smoke the competish?!” said Roger.
“Ready to smoke ’em.” I pulled the Fireball up to the dock.
“You mean, you’re going to get smoked, Fish,” called out Bryce, pulling up next to me.
“Smoked fish. That’s what I call a delicacy,” said Roger.
T. J. and I laughed. “Good one, dude.”
“Whatever, losers,” sneered Bryce. “My motor is unstoppable now.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Got the biggest, most amazing prop ever,” said Bryce. “I had to, after you cut my boat loose and almost ruined it.”
“I didn’t do anything to your boat,” I said, trying not to get mad. “You’re the one who wrecked it in the sandbar.” I was pretty sure the cotter pin that held the propeller to the engine shaft had snapped off. That was probably why he needed a new prop. Then I remembered what Eli had told me about the danger of big propellers.
Even though I knew Bryce wouldn’t listen, I had to say something. “If the diameter and the pitch of the prop make your motor rev too fast, you know it might blow,” I said.
“You’re just scared, loser!” said Bryce, hopping out of his boat.
“Honest, Bryce, you don’t want your engine to blow,” I said, but he was already heading over to where his older brother, Beck, was standing with Trippy by the judges’ stand. Summer was on Beck’s other side, laughing and flipping her long hair around like she always does around Beck. Mr. Blue was in front of the stand, holding a clipboard to sign in the racers.
“Save your breath, Fish,” said Roger. “Once a big head, always a big head.”
“Have a fireball,” said T. J.
He handed one to me and one to Roger, and put an entire fistful in his own mouth. Like I said, I don’t know how he can eat so many. I could feel the burn from just one.
“Fireballs for the Fireball!” We bumped fists and did our secret handshake.
“I better go register,” I said and ran up to the judges’ stand.
“Fish Finelli, the Fireball, sir,” I said. “Race one, Eleven and Under.”
“I’ve got you right here, Mr. Finelli. Good luck.” He winked. “Next?”
“Two O,” said Two O. “I mean, Owen Osborn. The Comet.”
Two O and I high-fived and then knocked into each other as someone pushed us from behind.
“True Taylor,” said Bryce’s friend, the boy from Sandstone Cove. “The Barracuda.”
Two O and I shook our heads and rolled our eyes at True’s back.
“Break a leg, Fish!” Two O called as we headed off the stand.
“You too,” I said and pushed my way through the crowd.
“The Captain Kidd Classic will start in exactly seven and a half minutes!” said Mr. Blue through a megaphone. “Racers, to your boats.”
I had to hurry. Race One, the youngest class, was always first. When I got back to the Fireball, T. J. and Roger were waiting for me.
“Good luck, Fish!”
“Zhu ni hao yun, dude!” said Roger.
“Huh?”
“That’s ‘good luck’ in Mandarin. I can’t believe you don’t know that, Mr. Dictionary.”
“Hey, my mom isn’t studying Chinese like yours.” I grinned. “Thanks, guys.”
I watched them walk away. It suddenly struck me that I was going to be racing all by myself. It had always been the three of us—Roger with his cracks, T. J. with his snacks. I got this little lump in my throat for some reason.
“Love the pink hair, loser!” Bryce was back.
“Quit it, would you?” I said, tightening the screws on the Seagull’s cylinder one last time.
Just then a kid in a red baseball cap ran up to Bryce. He mumbled something about a Phillips-head screwdriver and a loose carburetor.
Bryce shook his head. “I can’t tighten your carburetor. The race is about to start.”
The kid bit his lip, looking upset. I watched him walk over to the next boat, the Barracuda. It was True’s boat, the one with the blue stripe. The kid in the red hat must have asked True the same question and gotten the same answer, because he walked away with his head down.
“Three minutes to go!” Mr. Blue’s voice boomed through the megaphone.
The kid in the red hat headed over to a boat with a silver stripe a few boats away from the Barracuda. He started fiddling around with his engine, which looked like a brand-new Evinrude and was an awesome motor. It clearly wasn’t starting. Next to his boat was the Comet, Two O’s little Alumacraft, the same one that belonged to his brother, Tucker, that their cousin Colum fell out of at the last Classic. When Two O saw me looking in his direction, he waved and gave me a thumbs-up.
I looked out at the course. It went all the way around the harbor, past the old bell buoy in a semicircle marked off by red buoys. I thought about how the race was about to start and how I had been waiting for this moment for so long. Then I remembered that the first law of boating is to help someone in trouble.
“Two minutes to go!”
I grabbed my Phillips-head screwdriver and ran to the silver boat. It was called the Zephyr. So this was the eighth boat.
“I can tighten your carburetor with this,” I said, carefully turning first one screw and then the other with the screwdriver to secure them to the carb. “That should do the trick.”
The kid in the red hat looked at me in surprise. The hat was so low on his head I could barely see his eyes. He gave me a small smile.
“One minute to go!”
With a few final twists, I finished tightening the screws.
“Thank you, Fish!” said the kid in the red hat.
All the other racers had started their engines. They had their hands on their wheels. They were all set to go. I raced back to my boat. I wondered how that kid knew my name.
“Welcome to the Captain Kidd Classic!” said a deep voice over the engine noise. “The first race is Class One, Eleven and
Under.”
All eyes moved to the judges’ stand. There stood the Captain, right beside the cannon. He was wearing his fancy blue-and-gold Navy uniform, the same one he had worn when he won a Medal of Honor for bravery.
I put on the mirrored sunglasses. I opened the throttle. Then I pulled the rope to start the Seagull.
No luck.
“Fair winds and following seas!” the Captain’s voice boomed through the megaphone. He pulled the rope on the cannon.
I pulled the rope on the Fireball.
KA-BOOM! went the cannon.
All the boats surged forward—except for the Fireball. . . .
AND Z WINNER IS . . .
I tugged hard on the rope.
VROOOOOM!
The Seagull started and the Fireball surged forward. The other boats were already yards away. They raced toward the bell buoy. I could hear the crowd roaring.
I had to get the Fireball up on plane if I ever wanted to catch up. I pulled out the throttle to full.
WHOOOOOSH!
The Fireball shot forward. But the other boats were even farther away now. As I gained speed, I could see Bryce in the Viper in the lead. True in the Barracuda was next, with Max in his dad’s boat, which was called the Neutrino (his dad is a scientist, a physicist, actually), just after him, and the Comet just behind. Then came three other boats. Edging up to them was the silver boat called the Zephyr, with the boy in the red baseball cap.
PLANING
A boat planes when it sails over its own bow wave, so that only a small section of hull (body of the boat) is in the water. This allows the boat to go faster than the maximum theoretical hull speed.
SPLASH!
Two of the boats fell off plane. The Zephyr passed them and the one ahead of them.
VROOM!
I zoomed past the same two boats.
PHWOMP!
The third one suddenly slowed coming around the curve. It must have fallen off plane, too. I surged past it. Way up ahead, the Zephyr passed the Comet and then the Barracuda. The Viper was just yards in front of it. The motor on that Zephyr sure was fast!