Take Us to Your Sugar

by Jonathan Roth

  “We’re here to see Principal Quark,” Lani said.

  “Did you do something bad?” he/she/it? asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you do something really bad?” he/she/it? asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you do something really, really, really—”

  Lani straightened. “We would like to see her about an important proposal. Concerning her policy about holidays.”

  Secretary Octoblob’s eye widened. “Holidays? Proposal? Now?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Oh, this should prove quite interesting. I’ll buzz you right in.” As he/she/it? reached for the button, a student caught in an arm broke free.

  “Finally!” Flash gasped, shooting away.

  “Oh, hey, Flash,” I said. So that’s where he’d been.

  Principal Quark’s office was down a cold, dark hallway. When we came to the end, a steel door slid to the side. Then another slid up. Then another from the other side. Then a spiky iron gate. Beyond it was dark and misty.

  “Uh, maybe we should come back,” I said. “Like, in a thousand years.”

  “Just go,” Lani said, nudging me forward.

  Once inside, our eyes began to adjust to the darkness. Something lurked behind the desk, making a terrible hissing and sputtering sound.

  “Principal Quark?” Lani said to the desk. “Is that you?”

  “Huh? Wha?” The lights suddenly came on, and Principal Quark’s eyes popped open. She blinked a few times. “What’s going on?”

  Lani cleared her throat. “I think we, um, woke you.”

  The principal’s face reddened. “I was not asleep. I was deep in thought. I am a very deep thinker.”

  I winked. “I like to think too.”

  She looked me over. “It doesn’t particularly show. Anyway, now that you’re here, and I’m in a foul mood, please tell me what you want.”

  Lani pushed me forward. “Yes, tell her what we want, Bob.”

  “Me? But I, uh . . .” I pushed Beep forward. “Yes, tell her what we want, Beep.”

  “Beep want more Beeps!”

  “I mean,” I whispered, “tell her the yummy you want.”

  Beep nodded. “Beep want blueberry!”

  “Blueberry,” Principal Quark said, “is available in the Servo-server.”

  Beep clapped. “Yay!”

  “Oh, aren’t you a cute one?” the principal said, smiling.

  “She likes him,” Lani whispered to me. “This is our opening. Do something.”

  I floated a few inches closer to the principal’s desk. “I think what Beep meant to say—and please remember how very, very cute he is—is that what we all really want is Halloween.”

  Principal Quark slammed her hands on her desk. “Out of the question!”

  “But why?” I asked.

  “Simple, young Bob. If Astro Elementary began celebrating planetary holidays, there would be no end. Every day is a holiday somewhere. Do you really want a party every single day of the school year?”

  “Definitely!” I said, turning to Lani. This was turning out great!

  Lani hissed, “She was speaking rhetorically. You weren’t supposed to answer.”

  “But it’s Halloween,” I said to the principal. “Can’t you just make an eensy-weensy exception?”

  “I am very firm on rules,” she said. “There are no exceptions.”

  Maybe this wasn’t turning out so great.

  Lani pulled me aside. “S.C.A.R.E.S. is failing! What are we going to do?”

  I shrugged. “Too bad there aren’t space holidays.”

  Lani gasped. “That’s it. Bob, you’re a genius!”

  “I am?”

  “Well, not in math,” she said. “Or in science. Or in any actual subject. But still.” She spun to face Principal Quark. “You said we can’t have any planetary-based holidays. But what about one that’s based in space?”

  The principal laced her fingers. “Continue.”

  “Well,” Lani said, “there’s this really interesting cosmic holiday called, uh . . .” She turned to me.

  “Called, uh . . . ,” I said.

  “Called Astroween,” Lani continued. “And, um, Astroween comes this time every year, on the very last . . .”

  “Very first . . . ,” I corrected.

  “Yes, sorry, on the very first day of October.”

  “And what, please tell me,” Principal Quark said, “does one do on Astroween?”

  “All sorts of fun things,” Lani said. “But mainly, on Astroween, kids dress up as their favorite aliens, to help celebrate the, um . . .”

  “To help celebrate the diversity of aliens everywhere!” I said.

  Principal Quark held us in her gaze for what felt like an hour. “Interesting,” she said.

  “Uh, but don’t forget, Lani,” I said, “to tell the principal about the most important part of Astroween.”

  “What could be more important than celebrating diversity?” Lani said.

  “Earth to Lani,” I whispered. “The candy.”

  Lani shot me a look. “Yes, I was getting to that part of Astroween where all the kids march from door to door and say . . . What do they say again, Bob?”

  I gulped. I couldn’t say trick or treat, because that was obviously from Halloween. And besides, wasn’t it time to retire the trick part anyhow? Let’s be honest here, no kid who goes through all the bother of dressing up wants some goofy dad who thinks he knows how to entertain kids coming up with some dorky . . .

  “I’m waiting,” Principal Quark said.

  “Oh, right. Sorry. What they say is”—I glanced over at Beep, who was playing with a sock, and it gave me an idea—“sock or . . . sweet! Because aliens like socks.” At least Beep did. “And kids like sweets!”

  “See how inclusive it is,” Lani said.

  “And then people give the kids tons of free candy!” I added. “The end.”

  Principal Quark pinched her chin. “Hmm. Astroween. Intriguing. I’ll have to think about it.” She shut her eyes and immediately began to snore.

  Lani sighed. “Well, Bob, we tried. But I guess it just isn’t meant to—” She jumped as Principal Quark popped awake.

  “I have considered your request,” she said, “and since it violates no rules, we can give it a try.” She picked up her phone. “I’ll have my secretary make the arrangements. Anything else, children?”

  “No. No, we’re good.”

  “Then you may leave now. Quickly, I suggest, before the spiky iron gate cuts you in two. Have a nice day!”

  SPLOG ENTRY #6:

  Lanced a Lot

  As we passed back through the front office, Secretary Octoblob was already juggling a dozen (well, eight) different Astroween-related preparation tasks.

  “One day’s notice,” he/she/it? said to us. “Thank you, children, for that.”

  Out in the hall, we did somersaults in the air and slapped high fives (in the case of Beep, high ones).

  “We did it!” Lani said. “We get to wear costumes! And we only had to change the name, date, and complete history of Halloween to do it!”

  “Costumes, that’s right!” I said. “How are we going to get cool alien costumes by tomorrow?”

  “Beep know good alien dress-up,” Beep said. He yanked on the frayed end of the sock he was playing with until it was a mess of yarn.

  “What’s that for?” I dared to ask.

  He then bunched the yarn and stuck it on his head. “Me be Bob-mother! Very alien scary. Gaahhhhh!”

  This time it was Lani who clapped. “Very good impression, Beep!”

  “Okay, okay,” I said. “And you can stop doing somersaults now.”

  Lani looked at me. “We’re not doing somersaults.”

  “Oh. Maybe I’m just dizzy with happiness.”

  Lani took my hand. “You’re trembling again. I think it must be from lack of proper nutrients. Luckily, we’re right by the nurse’s office.”

 
“Not Nurse Lance!” I said.

  Lani yanked me toward the door. “Bob, you’re not going to scream now, are you? Like—how does that go again, Beep?”

  Beep went, “Gaaahhhhhhh!”

  Lani laughed. “Just perfect.” Then she clamped her hand on my back and, to my horror, shoved me through the door. “See ya.”

  “Well, hello again, Bob,” Nurse Lance said to Beep. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “That’s Beep!” I said.

  Nurse Lance studied Beep closely. “Well, so it is. Remarkable resemblance.”

  “He’s wearing an old sock on his head!” I said.

  The nurse turned my way. “So, Bob, once again, please tell me, what brought you into this soothing chamber of healing?”

  “Well, I guess it all began when—”

  “Yes, that’s quite enough,” Nurse Lance said. “We’ll just strap you in the cold, hard chair and stuff you full of medicine.”

  “No, wait, I . . . hey, that really is cold.”

  He put his stethoscope on my forehead. “Hmm, heartbeat very faint.”

  “That’s my head!”

  “Say ahhh.”

  “Ahhh.”

  He looked into my mouth and made a face. “Well, there’s the main problem. You have a gross dangly thing in the back of your throat.”

  “That’s always been there.”

  “Still, I should probably cut it out.”

  “What? No! My problem is sugar! The sweetenizer broke, and I don’t have any hidden candy, and I’m just faint from it all! Please don’t cut anything! Please!”

  Nurse Lance nodded. “Ah, a simple sucrose imbalance. Why didn’t you just say so?”

  “Well, I tried to, but—”

  “Fortunately for you, I have just the solution.” He reached down and pulled out the longest needle I’ve ever seen! “One sharp jab from this and—”

  “No, please, GAHHHHH! There must be another way!”

  The needle stopped, inches from my neck. “Well, you could take a pill. Though I should inform you that it will take 0.00002 seconds longer to take effect.”

  “That’s fine! Really! Anything but the shot. Anything!”

  With a sigh, he put the needle away and unstrapped me. I felt a million times better already. “So,” I said. “Where’s my pill?”

  He gestured to the medicine cabinet. “Take your pick. They all have sugar in them.”

  “They do?” I floated closer to inspect the selection.

  “Of course they do. They’re for children.”

  “But”—and I can’t believe I was about to say this—“isn’t sugar bad for you?”

  He shrugged. “Eh.”

  I reached for a bottle that said TOOTHACHE MEDICINE. I had been having a little of that anyway. “What’s the right dose? Will too much harm me?”

  “Not at all. You see, once all the sweeteners are crammed into those pills, they have zero real medicine left.”

  “You mean, all this time . . . all this sugar . . . right here?”

  He nodded. “Hope it helps, Bob.”

  I floated toward the door. “I’m sure it will, Nurse Lance. I’m sure it will.”

  SPLOG ENTRY #7:

  Cosmic Costuming

  After enjoying a dose or three of my new “medicine,” I floated back into Professor Zoome’s classroom, where everyone was already talking about the new space holiday.

  I went up to Lani. “Who did you tell?”

  “Only Zenith,” she said.

  Who obviously then told Andromeda. Who told Flash. Who told Blaster. Who told Comet. Who told Hadron. Who told . . .

  “Bob-mother!” Beep said. “Tomorrow Astroween!” Beep put the “Bob” wig on. “Sock or sweet!”

  “Attention, class!” Professor Zoome yelled.

  Everyone landed in their seats.

  “No, not you, Bob,” she said. “I need you up front.”

  Gulp.

  “Bob,” she said, “I know there’s a lot of excitement about this rather suddenly announced holiday you told Principal Quark about called Astroween.”

  Double gulp.

  “In fact, I’ve been researching it everywhere, and I can’t find a single reference at all.”

  Triple gulp.

  “And so, Bob, I need you to be completely honest with me about something.”

  What comes after triple gulp? Fourple? Purple? Vermilion?

  “Yes, Professor Zoome?”

  She pulled a bottle out of her desk. “What I need to know is: Should I put glittery blue streaks in my hair to dress up as one of the sixty queens of Venus? Or should I encase my head in a large brain to represent the telepaths of Einsteinium-7?”

  I shuddered at both thoughts. But at least I wasn’t busted.

  “I think in the time-honored spirit of Astroween . . . ,” I began.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “You should do what you think is best.”

  Before she could respond, Beep swooped down and grabbed her bottle. “Blue glittery, yum!” And then it was gone.

  “The big brain thing sounds cool,” I said. “A definite Astroween winner.”

  “Then that is what I shall be.” She turned to the class. “Well, what are you waiting for? We have but one day to prepare. Class dismissed!”

  As Beep, Lani, and I floated down the halls, classroom doors swished open all around us. Word had spread fast. The entire school was in full Astroween prep mode.

  “This is great,” I said. “We should make up a new holiday every day. Especially now that my ‘medicine’ is gone.” I tossed the empty bottle.

  Lani caught the floating bottle and stuffed it in her pocket. “No excuse to litter.” She then turned a corner. “Quick. We need costumes. And I know just the place.”

  “Me too,” I said. “Astrozon Prime will ship overnight to anywhere in the solar system. And it only costs a sideways 8!”

  “That’s infinity, Bob.”

  “Oh.” I was glad I wouldn’t be home when Mom got the bill for those socks I had overnighted after Beep ate my last pair. “So where are we going to order our costumes?”

  “Silly Bob. We’re not going to buy our costumes.” She slowed in front of the art room, and I had a very bad feeling about what she was going to say next. “We’re going to make them!”

  Okay, it’s embarrassing to admit, but art is probably my worst subject (not including math, science, reading, music, and PE). The waxy feel of crayons gives me the jitters. And I still have nightmares about that time I got a glob of papier-mâché down my shirt.

  “Create time, yay!” Beep said. He, of course, is amazing at drawing. Plus, he loves to eat blue paint.

  “C’mon. It’ll be fun,” Lani said, pulling me inside.

  The art room was already packed with desperate kids who also must have maxed out their parents’ bank accounts. Ms. Splatz, the art teacher, turned to greet us.

  She smiled. “Hi, Beep. Hello, Lani.” Her smile faded. “Bob.”

  Okay, so last week I may have spilled a large can of brown paint. Sue me already.

  “We’re here to make costumes,” Lani said.

  “You and half the school! It’s wonderful. I’ve set up paint in that area, beads and feathers in that one, tentacles and pipe cleaner antennae right there, and for those of you who aren’t afraid of papier-mâché, a station in the back.”

  I cringed at the sight of big blobs of papier-mâché floating next to strips of torn newspaper. (Newspapers were how people got their news back in prehistoric times on Earth.)

  “Let’s go to the painting station,” Lani said. Sadly, the paint was bobbing around in little globules too, mixing with the feathers and beads. The school should probably splurge on gravity for the art room, too.

  Lani grabbed a brush. “I’m going to make a costume in the style of the indigenous large blue people of Pandemonium. What about you, Bob?” Lani asked. “What kind of alien species are you going to be?”

  “Let me thin
k. Which kind have the coolest laser blasters?”

  “You can’t have laser blasters with your costume! But you can choose something else.” She grabbed some fluffy feathers.

  “No way,” I said.

  “How about these tentacle things?”

  I picked one up. It was squishy, sticky, and gross. “Double no way.” But as I was putting it down, I noticed that some beads and other stuff were already stuck to it.

  And then, possibly for the first time ever, I had a pretty good idea.

  SPLOG ENTRY #8:

  Bob-Monster

  Okay, so maybe lugging eight tentacle-thingies back to my room wasn’t the easiest task, but I knew it was going to be well worth it. After Lani and Beep helped me, I told them my plan.

  “It’s very nice, Bob,” Lani said, “that you’re going to be celebrating the species of Secretary Octoblob. I’m sure he/she/it? will appreciate it.”

  “Yeah, and think how many candy bags I’ll be able to carry with all these! Eight arms times about ten suction cups on each arm times fifty pieces of candy in each bag equals”—I calculated with all my might—“two thousand yummy treats!”

  “Four thousand,” Lani said.

  “Yes, but I always eat half before I get home.”

  Beep clapped. “Bob-mother candy math good!”

  I shrugged. “Numbers have some uses.”

  I peeled a tentacle that was stuck to my back. “These things sure are hard to use. Maybe I don’t need so many.”

  Lani sighed. “But then you wouldn’t be honoring Secretary Octoblob. And it’s such a nice gesture, considering how lonely he/she/it? must feel.”

  “Why would Secretary Octoblob feel lonely?” I said.

  Lani leaned in and whispered, “You’d be lonely too, if you were the only one of your species around.”

  I pointed at Beep. “Beep is the only one of his species around, and he’s okay.” I slapped him on the back. “Aren’t you, buddy?”

  But Beep was suddenly not looking so okay. “Beep try hard forget.” His big eyes welled up. “But now Bob-mother remind.”