Go Jump in the Pool!

by Gordon Korman

  ’Twas a dark and stormy night

  And my heart was filled with fright.

  But everything turned out all right,

  I had my Sammy Norse night light.

  * * *

  The contest fever carried across the road. Miss Scrimmage’s girls were hard at work filling in entry blanks and making up commercials.

  “I’ve been using Fragrant Daisy Shampoo for forty years,” read Cathy Burton, “and never once have I had a speck of dandruff.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” exclaimed Diane Grant. “You haven’t even been alive for forty years!”

  “True,” said Cathy. “And it’s also true that I’ve never been a stock-car racer, but that didn’t stop me from saying how I use only XEQ Motor Oil. No matter what I have to say, Boots is staying right where he is!”

  “Fine,” observed Diane. “And what if you win the contest and they come here looking for a racing driver? They’ll find out you’re not even old enough to have a licence.”

  “That’s why I signed Miss Scrimmage’s name,” Cathy replied.

  The thought of Miss Scrimmage piloting a racing car was too much. They collapsed into gales of laughter.

  * * *

  After a few days things settled down at Macdonald Hall, and most of the boys concerned themselves solely with academic matters. With the number of available contests dwindling, Bruno racked his brain for another money-raising project and Boots continued to write glowing letters home.

  On Thursday morning, before breakfast, Boots opened the door of room 306 to admit the office messenger. There was a note for Bruno and an identical one for himself. They read: You are invited to the Headmaster’s residence this afternoon at four o’clock to see photographs from the talent show. Cookies and milk will be served. The signature was: Mrs. Sturgeon.

  “She has to be the nicest person in the world,” Boots remarked, but there was no reply. Bruno never got up for breakfast.

  When he got to the dining hall, Boots found that all the boys who had appeared in the talent show had received similar invitations, and all were as pleased as he was.

  At four that afternoon the cast of the talent show appeared on Mrs. Sturgeon’s doorstep. Butterfingers Rampulsky tried to make himself small behind Wilbur. He was not quite sure that he hadn’t been called to account for throwing the eggs at Miss Scrimmage. But Mrs. Sturgeon was all smiles as she bustled them into her living room.

  “Cookies and milk first,” she said brightly. “You’re all growing boys.”

  The boys ate happily, although they were quiet and a little shy at being invited to the Headmaster’s home socially.

  Mrs. Sturgeon produced a photo album from the drawer of a cabinet. “Gather around, boys, so everyone can see.” The pictures broke the ice and the boys were soon chattering and laughing easily.

  “Hey, there’s Bruno! Look at that stupid grin!”

  “Get a load of Hughie and Louie!”

  “Look, Butterfingers, there you are just before you —”

  “Don’t say it! I know what I did!”

  “Look at Hackenschleimer’s muscles!”

  “Wow! The Scrimmettes!”

  The picture of the Amazing Frederick with his head in the fishtank got a big cheer, as did the sight of Boots being sawed in half by Marvin the Magnificent. There was even a picture of Elmer Drimsdale, his face all scrunched up, with an owl swooping down on him. This brought more hilarity to the group. But the biggest cheer of all came from the picture of the Headmaster of Macdonald Hall being attacked by his door prize.

  Boots laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. “That would win first prize in any photo contest,” he declared.

  Bruno looked thoughtful.

  Chapter 9

  Hold that Pose

  “Sir, we’d like to have a funny photo contest.”

  Mr. Sturgeon smiled thinly. “If you two boys exhibited this kind of creative thinking in class, you would undoubtedly be the finest students in the country.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Bruno.

  “Actually, it wasn’t meant as a compliment,” the Headmaster replied. “However, before I give permission for this venture, I shall have to know all the details. For the talent show I was foolish enough to give you a free hand, and quite a few surprises cropped up.”

  “For us too, sir,” put in Boots.

  “I realize that you were not totally to blame. However — tell me about your funny photo contest.”

  “Everyone from both schools can enter,” Bruno began, “at fifty cents per picture. We’ll display the entries on the wall in the dining hall.”

  “Mark Davies has agreed to do the photo developing at cost price,” Boots continued. “And we’d like to ask Mr. Snow to judge the pictures and pick a winner and two runners-up.”

  “We decided on cash prizes,” added Bruno. “Twenty-five dollars for the winner, and ten each for the other two.”

  Mr. Sturgeon thought it over. It was fairly creative, it appeared harmless, and it seemed safe enough even for Miss Scrimmage. He knew that most of his boys had cameras, and fifty cents was very reasonable.

  “I shall agree on two conditions,” he said finally. “One, that the school must lend cameras to those boys who do not have them and who wish to enter. And two, that all photographs accepted and displayed must be tasteful and suitable for an institution of learning.”

  “Certainly, sir,” Bruno assured him.

  “Then we have permission?” Boots asked.

  “You have permission,” Mr. Sturgeon nodded. But when they left him he sat at his desk for a long time wondering if, perhaps, he were not getting a little soft.

  * * *

  When the door of room 107 burst open and Bruno and Boots barged in, Chris Talbot immediately reached for pad and pencil.

  “What is it this time?” he asked wearily.

  “A funny photo contest,” Bruno replied. He and Boots filled in all the details while Chris made notes.

  “I want posters everywhere,” Bruno concluded. “Two for Scrimmage’s and six for us ought to do it. The date will be two weeks from Saturday.”

  Bruno and Boots were about to leave when a sharp alarm sounded in the room next door.

  Boots rolled his eyes. “That’s the closing bell on Wall Street. Time for George to check his investment portfolio. In a minute we’ll know if he’s up or down.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “I never kid about George,” said Boots. “George is not funny.”

  Sure enough, a peal of gleeful laughter could be heard through the wall.

  “That guy is weird!” Chris exclaimed. “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I have some posters to make.”

  * * *

  The funny photo contest was received with an enthusiasm that even Bruno hadn’t predicted — the faculty trip to town brought back two cases of film ordered by the students. Mark Davies recruited several helpers in anticipation of a heavy workload.

  To everyone’s surprise, especially the Headmaster’s, the first entry was made by Mrs. Sturgeon. She entered the picture of her husband winning the door prize at the talent show. As Boots put it, “Everyone can forget first prize. That’s the funniest picture I ever saw in my life!”

  But then a senior named Mario Brundia entered a picture of Wilbur Hackenschleimer, his mouth open wide enough to drive a truck through, about to attack a triple-decker hamburger with the works, and Boots was not so sure.

  Pictures began to pour in by the hundreds. Notable among these was a particularly good study of Coach Flynn lying on the floor in pain after demonstrating to the boys the proper way to use the vaulting horse. Someone had taken a camera to gym class. There was also a picture of Sidney Rampulsky in free fall over the newly waxed floor of the infirmary, where he had gone for an aspirin and stayed for an ankle cast. Bruno Walton had even managed to capture on film the expression on the face of Mr. Hubert, the chemistry teacher, when someone accidentally dipped his beard in a beaker of acid. T
his picture was of such good quality that smoke could actually be seen rising from the tip of the beard.

  And still the pictures poured in. There were so many in just five days that Bruno and Boots had to start on a second wall in the dining hall. And mealtimes at Macdonald Hall were scenes of raucous delight as the boys all rushed to see the day’s entries.

  To Bruno’s chagrin, Boots entered a picture of his roommate in a state of peaceful slumber, the blankets in turmoil and the pillow partially over his face. To get even, Bruno snapped a still-life photo of Boots’s open gym locker, crammed full of old sweat socks and wadded-up jerseys. Prominent at the top was the stenciled name, Melvin O’Neal.

  Even Miss Scrimmage became enthusiastically involved. Unfortunately, however, she was under the impression that she was entering a serious photo contest, and when she set up her antique camera on its tripod one evening, it was to capture on film the beauty of a bowl of fruit. This was the first time in thirty years that Miss Scrimmage had used her camera, so she might be excused for grossly overloading the hand-held flash tray. She was humming happily to herself as she crept under the black hood and peered through the lens to focus.

  Foom! The flash powder ignited the hood, the curtains and the upholstery. Dense clouds of white smoke poured out of the sitting room and into the hall.

  “Fire!” screamed Miss Scrimmage.

  Into the room burst Cathy Burton, wildly spraying foam from a fire extinguisher. She sprayed until a thick blanket of foam lay over everything, including the Headmistress. Then, satisfied that the fire was out, she whipped out her own small camera and snapped a picture of Miss Scrimmage amid the wreckage.

  Diane Grant and two other girls came rushing in. “What happened?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Cathy said airily. “Miss Scrimmage has everything under control.”

  * * *

  It was becoming apparent that a naturally funny picture was hard to come by and that artificial circumstances had to be created. These creations began to get a little out of hand.

  “Elmer,” said Bruno, “I want to buy that poster of the Pacific salmon from you.”

  “Oh, you can have it for free,” replied Elmer. “I have fifteen more in my dresser. I’m really glad to see you’re taking an interest in icthyology.”

  “Right,” Bruno nodded. He picked up the poster and smashed it over Elmer’s head, leaving it hanging around his neck. Then he pulled out his camera and snapped a picture.

  * * *

  Pete Anderson was walking across the campus to his first class one morning when he was suddenly struck in the centre of the forehead by a suction-cup arrow which vibrated for a moment and stuck there. From behind a clump of bushes jumped Boots O’Neal, the bow over his shoulder, his camera in his hand. Snap.

  And when a furious Pete began to chase Boots, Wilbur Hackenschleimer was on hand to capture the chase on film.

  * * *

  Perry Elbert was splashing happily in a bubble bath one evening when his roommate appeared, thrust a rubber duck into his arms and snapped a picture.

  Things were getting worse. When Wilbur Hackenschleimer put his football helmet on at practice one afternoon, cold spaghetti spilled down over his head. Bruno Walton just happened to be there with his camera.

  * * *

  Mark Davies woke up one morning to find his face painted with peanut butter and jelly, and a slice of bread attached to his hair with a sprig of parsley and a toothpick. Another slice of bread was taped under his chin. His roommate photographed him in this state, and although he was angry, Mark was honour-bound to develop the picture for entry into the contest.

  * * *

  Miss Scrimmage’s also had its share of troubles over the photo contest.

  When Miss Smedley, the gym teacher, was showing her class how to jog without becoming exhausted, she failed to notice that Cathy Burton had attached a small smoke bomb to the back of her shorts. Miss Smedley ran around the cinder track leaving a plume of smoke behind her like the vapour trail of a supersonic jet. Cathy took the picture.

  When Cathy was put on kitchen duty as punishment for this escapade, she didn’t see Diane Grant sneak in and add half a box of detergent to the dishwasher. Diane took a picture of Cathy, knee-deep in suds, vainly trying to stem the overflow with her bare hands.

  For revenge, Cathy knotted all Diane’s underwear together and photographed her, perplexed and astonished, pulling miles of it out of her drawer.

  There were also pictures of girls caught unawares arm-wrestling, smoking cigars, and drooling toothpaste. No one was immune.

  * * *

  By now three walls of the cafeteria were covered with pictures — and more were coming in. The inexpensive little contest was turning into a huge moneymaker, as most students were entering several photographs. And the schemes for creating humorous subjects were getting wilder.

  Rob Adams reported to the infirmary, apparently permanently stuck to his desk chair.

  Marvin Trimble’s paper cup of tomato juice exploded in the dining room and the culprit proved to be, of all people, Elmer Drimsdale, who was brilliant even in making miniature bombs.

  Bruno Walton found out, the hard way, that his soup was full of hot chili peppers. The photographer turned out to be Perry Elbert, who had never been happier than when he took that particular photograph.

  Someone planted a tape recorder inside the skeleton in the science room. When the instructor opened the case, the grinning skeleton wished him good morning and a flash went off to record his astonishment.

  When Chris Talbot returned to his room after dinner one night, he was pushed by mysterious hands into a child’s wading pool which had materialized in his doorway. His freshman roommate snapped the picture. The resulting shouting match caused their next-door neighbour, George Wexford-Smyth III, to spill his after-dinner medicine, the one he took every evening to neutralize the germs he may have picked up during the course of the day.

  “This is the last straw!” George cried. “The whole campus is insane! I’m going to the Headmaster!”

  * * *

  The next day during lunch, Mr. Sturgeon appeared in the dining hall and called for order.

  “The photo contest is officially over as of this moment,” he announced. “There will be no more practical jokes, and the next boy who so much as clicks the shutter of a camera will wash dishes for a full month. Photographs which have already been taken, including those from Miss Scrimmage’s school, may be processed and entered but there are to be no more. Judging will take place on Saturday as scheduled, and when Mr. Snow arrives to do the judging, this campus had better be on its best behaviour. That is all. Good afternoon.”

  So things returned to normal at Macdonald Hall.

  * * *

  Mr. Snow arrived early, and it was fortunate that he did, because there were over four thousand pictures for him to examine. He took his duties seriously and spent hours in the Board Room of the Faculty Building. Occasionally Mr. Sturgeon and Mrs. Davis could hear rumblings of laughter coming from behind the closed door. Apparently the Chairman of the Board found some of the photographs extremely funny.

  The day was warm and sunny, and an informal assembly was arranged for both schools on the north lawn of Macdonald Hall. Portable microphone in hand, Mr. Snow stood up before the assembled students.

  “First of all, I would like to congratulate all of you who participated in this wonderful contest. I wish I had prizes for everyone. Before I announce the three winners, I would like to make honourable mention of the following: Melvin O’Neal for his picture of a boy with an arrow stuck to his forehead; Mortimer Day for his picture of a boy taking a bubble bath with a rubber duck; Bruno Walton for his picture of Mr. Hubert with his beard on fire; and Louis Brown for his picture of a boy made up to look like some kind of sandwich. I would also like to mention that Miss Scrimmage’s photograph of a fruit bowl was very nice indeed.”

  There was thunderous applause for the honourable mentions.

  �
��And now,” said Mr. Snow, “I would like —”

  The proceedings were interrupted by the sudden arrival of a huge transport truck. Its motor roared as it backed up the driveway, the horn honking vigorously. Mr. Sturgeon, followed by most of the student body, went over to the truck. The driver jumped down from the cab. “This here Macdonald Hall?”

  “Yes, it is,” said the Headmaster. “May I help you?”

  “Got a couple of crates here for a Peter Anderson,” said the driver.

  Pete pushed his way to the front. “For me?”

  “Yup. Sign here.” The driver handed Pete the delivery slip.

  Pete stared. “Fifty kilos of jellybeans?”

  “That’s right,” confirmed the driver. He indicated two enormous crates on the back of his load. “Where do you want these?”

  Pete looked helplessly at Mr. Sturgeon.

  “Ah — yes,” said the Headmaster finally. “Just leave them here, please. We’ll decide what to do with them later.”

  The driver unloaded the crates and got back into his cab. As the big transport made its way out to the highway, Mr. Sturgeon turned to Pete.

  “Anderson,” he said, “would it be presumptuous of me to ask where you acquired fifty kilograms of jellybeans?”

  “The Happy Elephant contest, sir,” said Pete. “I guess I must have won first prize.”

  “Well,” said the Headmaster, “after the assembly you’ll have to find a place for your jellybeans.”

  “Oh, they’re not mine, sir. I won them for Macdonald Hall. For the pool fund.”

  Bruno Walton pushed his way to Pete’s side. “You see, sir, we’ve all been entering contests to win stuff for our fund.”

  “Pool construction companies rarely accept payment in jellybeans,” commented the Headmaster in amusement. “It would appear that our students will be eating jellybeans for a very long time.” He raised his voice slightly. “Back to your places, everyone. We must conclude our program.”

  The students resumed their places for the remainder of the assembly.

  “And now for the winners,” Mr. Snow went on when all had settled down. “When your name is called, please come up to collect your prize. The first of our runners-up is Elmer Drimsdale for his picture of what appears to be an explosion at the dinner table.”