I'm Going to Be Famous

by Tom Birdseye

  I’m inspecting my tuna sandwich. Mom always packs me a tuna sandwich.

  “Write a letter? What for?” I want to know.

  Ben puts down his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and looks at me in disbelief.

  “What for? To get information, that’s what for. We need to know if there are any special rules to this world-record business. We need to know how we prove that you really broke a record. We need to know whether you can peel the bananas before the two minutes start. We need to know—”

  “OK, Ben, OK. I get the message.”

  “And we need to know if the lemons can have sugar on them.”

  I think I must have missed something somewhere.

  “Lemons with sugar on them? What are you talking about?” I ask. “I’m going to eat bananas, not lemons.”

  “I know that, Arlo. I’m going to eat the lemons. Three lemons cut into quarters in less than fifteen point two seconds. That’s including the skin and seeds. I’ll be in the Guinness Book of World Records, too.”

  I need to get this straight.

  “Do you mean you’re going to try to break the world record for eating lemons?”

  “Yep,” Ben says with a grin.

  “Including the skin and seeds?” I ask.

  “Yep,” he says with an even bigger grin.

  “That makes my teeth curl just thinking about it,” I say.

  “You eat bananas. I eat lemons.”

  Ben’s voice gets squeakier when he’s excited.

  “We’ll set world records on the same day—September twenty-fourth. How about it?”

  It might be nice to have some company on my lone quest for fame and glory. At least Ben believes in me.

  “OK, Ben. Let’s go for it. You and me, buddy, Seagrove, Oregon’s first entries into the famous Guinness Book of World Records. We’re going to be famous!”

  CHAPTER 12

  “Let me know if I can help.”

  —LAURA MCNEIL

  It’s funny, but last year I considered girls to be one of the things in life you just have to put up with, like rain on your birthday, a younger sister, or cough syrup.

  But this year it’s different. It’s like I caught some strange, exotic disease over the summer. All of a sudden, girls are very interesting to me. I think that maybe I’ve spent too much time with big brother John. Next thing you know, I’ll be pretending I shave and start using scented underarm deodorant.

  But whatever the reason, I can’t help the way I feel. Every time I get around Laura McNeil, my face turns hot like I’m hanging upside down. And I start bumping into things and forget how to talk.

  Laura McNeil … I get goose bumps just thinking about her. She’s new in town. She’s in Mr. Dayton’s class. She sits right in front of me. And she’s beautiful.

  “OK, Arlo, we’re almost ready,” Ben says.

  Ben has a very serious look on his face. He’s thinking about training for a world record, not about girls. When I look at Laura McNeil, I see gorgeous blond hair, beautiful blue eyes, and a smile that makes me feel sort of dizzy. When Ben looks at Laura McNeil, all he sees is someone who has a brand-new digital wristwatch, complete with calendar, alarm, and a stopwatch button.

  That’s why I’m sitting across table number 4 in the Lincoln Elementary cafeteria from Laura McNeil right now. Ben asked her to time us on her new watch as we train for our world-record attempt. I’m supposed to sit here in front of the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen and stuff bananas in my mouth. I’m so nervous, I probably can’t even talk, much less eat fast.

  Laura looks right at me with those blue eyes.

  “Hi, Arlo,” she says. “Tell me about this world-record attempt you and Ben are training for.”

  My mouth is dry. My tongue feels like a sponge. I hope I don’t say anything stupid.

  “Yeth … uh … wrrr … wrrr …”

  I’ve got to pull myself together. Maybe I should talk fast.

  “We’re going to try to set new world records,” I blurt out. “I’m going to eat seventeen bananas in less than two minutes. Ben will eat three whole lemons in less than fifteen point two seconds, including the skins and seeds.”

  That was probably world-record talking speed. I wonder if Laura had her stopwatch going. At least I answered her question, though.

  “That sounds exciting,” she says with a smile.

  I think I just melted, dripped out of my seat, and am now a big puddle of Arlo Moore on the cafeteria floor.

  “You think so? Really, Laura?”

  “Yes, I do. I’m interested in setting a world record, too—in politics.”

  “Politics?” I ask.

  “Yes, I want to be the first woman president of the United States.”

  She wants to be president of the United States? I watch the news. I know what kind of job being president of the United States is. It’s the kind of job that turns healthy men into raisin cakes and smart people into flat tires. You’ve got to have lots of courage to do that job.

  Hmm … our first woman president—Laura McNeil. I get more little goose bumps just thinking about it.

  “OK, Arlo, we really are ready now,” Ben interrupts. He’s fidgeting around with his lemons. He keeps standing up and then sitting down every couple of seconds. He’s nervous. This is our first training session in front of a crowd. Table 4 is surrounded by kids waiting to see us perform. It’s Friday, September 9, and we only have fifteen days before the big event.

  I’m nervous, too—about Laura McNeil being here, and about performing in front of a crowd. I guess I haven’t been practicing my Positive Brain Approach long enough to be cool, calm, and collected in a situation like this. If I’m going to be famous, I’d better learn how. Maybe a little PBA would help right now:

  “I can, I can, I can, I can …”

  “OK, you guys. I’ve got my watch set on zero,” Laura says.

  My PBA seemed to help a little. But I need more. I need extra help. I need superpowers. If I were an alien from outer space, that would help. I could be Xexus, superalien, bionic banana-eater from the planet Zoidtron. I’d be from the outer reaches of the Milky Way galaxy. I would come to Earth disguised as a mild-mannered fifth-grader. No one would suspect that beneath this ordinary-looking exterior lurks the fantastic food-gulping talent of Xexus. Champion of the light-speed restaurants of the universe, hero of the macaroni-and-cheese intergalactic wars, leader of the Banana Revolution in deep space, I would stand (er, sit) ready to wow these inferior Earth children.

  “I’ll say, ‘Take your mark, get set, and then go,’” lovely Laura says.

  But my problem is that I don’t feel like Xexus from Zoidtron.

  “Take your mark.”

  And I don’t look like Xexus from Zoidtron.

  “Get set.”

  But I’ve got to be Xexus from Zoidtron.

  “And …”

  For my planet and the universe, I, Xexus from Zoidtron, will excel.

  “Go!” Laura commands us.

  Five, four, three, two, one … blast off.

  “Yahoo! Go, Arlo! Go, Ben!” the crowd yells.

  Down, luscious banana, down. I’m biting and gulping like a moose who loves chocolate.

  “Five seconds,” Laura reports.

  “Eat, eat, eat!”

  The crowd is going wild. I’m almost done. The last bite is going … going.

  “Nine seconds,” Laura says.

  … and gone. The last bite hits belly bottom with a thud. Xexus from Zoidtron is full.

  “Nice going, Arlo. Great job, Ben,” kids are saying as they pat us on the back. Laura looks at me with that smile that makes me dizzy.

  “You finished in twelve point nine seconds,” she says. “Ben was right behind you. You know, you two just might get into the Guinness Book of World Records. Good job, you guys.”

  “Thanks, Laura,” I say as once again I get goose bumps, feel hot in the face, and begin to melt.

  “Sure, Arlo,” she says. “Let me kno
w if I can help some other time.”

  Burp … I think that I, Xexus from Zoidtron, am in love.

  CHAPTER 13

  “We’re a team now.”

  —KERRY MOORE

  It’s against the rules to run down the pale green halls of Lincoln Elementary School. My friend Ben, however, has been able to get around this rule. He can run without really running.

  When the bell rings at the end of the school day, Ben is usually the first one out of room 11. He shoots out into the hall like a cat out of a washing machine, and the action begins.

  Mrs. Caldwell, our principal, plants herself in the center of the hall, outside her office door. She’s short and wide, which makes her look a lot like a Japanese sumo wrestler with a dress on. Just her standing in the middle of the hall with a scowl on her face makes most kids slow down their headlong rush to be first in the bus line. But not Ben.

  Ben moves down the hall like a sneaky roadrunner, his legs moving in quick little steps. His head and eyes don’t bounce. His feet don’t slap the linoleum floor. He just weaves his way through the crowd, expertly zipping in and out, and sneaks by Mrs. Caldwell with a smile on his face before she can figure out who it is that’s moving so fast. And he can even talk while doing it.

  “Hurry, Arlo,” he says as he rockets past me and slips in behind Mrs. Caldwell. “If we get in the bus line first, we can sit in the back seat.”

  “Save me a place, Ben. I’m moving slow today. I want to conserve my strength for banana practice this afternoon.”

  “OK, see you on the bus,” he yells over his shoulder.

  Besides, I still feel like I swallowed a cannonball. One banana speed-eating practice was enough at lunch. I shouldn’t have let the crowd talk me into doing it three more times.

  But a famous person must sacrifice himself and go beyond the ordinary to prove his worth. Murray Wallace kept saying that I couldn’t do it again that fast and that I’d never eat seventeen bananas in less than two minutes. I had to keep going. I ate the fourth banana in 10.4 seconds.

  Speaking of Murray the Nerd, there he is. Wouldn’t you know I’d have to stand behind him in bus line.

  “Hi, Murray. Say something polite … please,” I say, trying to fake a smile.

  “Oh, Arlo, it’s you. I wanted to tell you how stupid your banana-eating show was at lunch today.”

  It never fails. Murray will always be a nerd.

  “Thanks, Murray. You’re too kind,” I say and turn away.

  “I’m curious, Arlo,” he says. “How does it feel to make yourself look like a slobbering pig in front of everybody?”

  There are 200 million people in the United States of America. Why do I have to live in the same town as Murray the Nerd? The question that now confronts me is whether or not to argue with him. It’s usually a waste of time, and I end up getting mad. I’m not sure I have the energy.

  “You seemed to enjoy it, Arlo,” he continues. “You actually seemed to enjoy making a complete fool out of yourself in front of everybody.”

  Maybe I’ll get some energy. Maybe I’ll turn into Xexus from the planet Zoidtron and blast Murray into hyperspace.

  “I know Laura McNeil thought it was disgusting. Don’t you think she did, Arlo?”

  “What do you mean by that, Murray?” I ask, turning to face him.

  “I saw her,” he replies. “She was watching you cram bananas in your mouth like a starving monkey. And timing you! I’m sure she thought it was disgusting and dumb.”

  Laura McNeil doesn’t find me disgusting or dumb. She wanted to be my partner in science class this afternoon. She thinks it’s exciting that I’m trying to break the world record.

  “I guess it doesn’t really matter, Arlo,” Murray says with a grin that makes my stomach twist. “I think she’s interested in more of a man, anyway.”

  “What?”

  “You know, Arlo, more of a man—like me …”

  I think I may get violent … either that or sick.

  “… rather than someone who gets attention by cramming bananas in his mouth as fast as he can.”

  I am losing my temper. I can feel my face getting hot. My fists are clenching.

  “I wonder if Laura would like to meet me at the movies on Saturday afternoon. What do you think, Arlo?”

  I’m a volcano about to erupt. I’m a tornado coming down from the clouds. I’m a tidal wave crashing toward the beach. I’m about to ATTACK.

  “Hi, Arlo. Say, you look red in the face. You feeling OK?”

  It’s my frizzy-headed sister.

  “Don’t bother me, Kerry. I’m about to commit unpardonable crimes upon Murray’s head.”

  Kerry looks at me and then over at Murray. My enemy has somehow slipped into the back of the bus line. He’s out of my reach, but not for long.

  “Out of the way, Kerry,” I order her with my best military voice. “Murray is under attack.”

  “That sounds like a great idea. But first let me tell you the good news,” she says, stepping completely in front of me, barring the way.

  “The good news? What good news?” I ask, without taking my eyes off my prey.

  “The good news about breaking world records. I’m going to try, too!” She grins at me.

  “What?” I glare at her.

  “And so is Mike.”

  “Mike?”

  “Yeah, you know, Mike Snead,” Kerry says. “He’s just a fourth-grader, but he can eat like an elephant.”

  She’s looking up at me with her idiotic smile going full blast and her red hair shooting out in a thousand different directions.

  “Kerry, please don’t bother me right now,” I plead. “You’re breaking my concentration.”

  Where was I? Oh, yeah, ATTACK.

  “What do you think. Arlo? Aren’t you glad to have some company on your lonely quest for a world record?”

  I can’t believe this. Who invented little sisters anyway?

  “Kerry,” I say with a sigh. “It’s not a lonely quest for a world record anymore. Ben is doing it, too.”

  “But wouldn’t it be exciting to have some more company on your lonely quest?” she asks. “You know, sort of a team effort. You eating bananas, Ben eating lemons, Mike eating ice cream, and me chewing gum!”

  “Kerry!” I almost shout.

  “Yes, Arlo,” she replies with her big grin shining from ear to freckled ear.

  “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

  “You’re not busy,” she explains. “You’re talking to me. I have your complete, undivided attention. You’re excited about having Mike and me in on the Lincoln Elementary World Record team, remember? You’re Arlo Moore, my wonderful brother, and you’re not going to commit unpardonable crimes upon Murray Wallace’s head, even though he deserves it. Because here comes our beloved principal, Mrs. Caldwell, who will chop you into little pieces and send you air mail to Mom and Dad if you do.”

  Good grief. How can I zap Murray the Nerd into hyperspace with all of these distractions?

  “You do see Mrs. Caldwell, don’t you, Arlo?” she asks.

  “Yes”, I answer, “I see her.”

  “Good,” Kerry says with an even bigger grin. “The buses are here. It’s time to go. Just ignore Murray. He’s not worth the effort. Save your energy for banana-eating. By the way, you don’t mind if Mike and I come over to Ben’s for practice this afternoon, do you? Of course, you don’t.”

  This is all I need: a spaghetti-headed sister who can’t stop her motor-mouth.

  “We’re a team now, Arlo, one big, happy, world-record-breaking family! Isn’t this exciting?”

  “Yeah … sure, Kerry. I’m tingling all over.”

  CHAPTER 14

  “Melon seeds?”

  —MICHELLE ANGIER

  Ben and I put on regular training performances in the cafeteria. We’ve been doing it for a week now. Despite what Murray said, Laura McNeil times us on her digital watch. But I saw her talking to him at the playground yesterday. And Ben said th
at Andy Phillips said that Dawn Gunther said that Murray said that he sat beside her at the movies last Saturday. I don’t know, but it all makes me churn inside.

  So far this week, I’ve eaten thirty-seven bananas! That makes me churn inside, too. Kerry says I’m starting to turn yellow around my fingernails. John says I smell like a chimpanzee.

  Ben has eaten so many lemons he walks around with his lips in a continuous pucker. He looks like one of those kissing fish in an aquarium. We’re both improving our times, though.

  Kerry and Mike Snead come to practice at Ben’s garage every afternoon. Mike can really put away the ice cream. He ate a whole quart of mocha almond fudge in less than four minutes on Thursday. He’s good. I’ve got to admit that. I guess I could eat pretty fast, too, if I had a belly as big as a snake that swallowed an elephant.

  But then we looked up the record for icecream-eating in Ben’s Guinness Book of World Records again. There’s a picture of this guy. His name is Tony Dowdeswell. He ate three pounds, six ounces of unmelted ice cream in 50.04 seconds. That’s three quarts.

  I don’t think Mike can do that. I told him what I thought. He told me that if Tony Dowdeswell could do it, so could he. Then he went home. He said he had a headache.

  But as it turned out, Kerry ended up with the worst headache of all. We all figured she knew what she was talking about when she said that there is a world record for chewing gum. I should have known better. We discovered she hadn’t even looked at the Guinness Book of World Records. We found out it has a paragraph in it about “potentially dangerous” things that aren’t accepted for the record book anymore. It listed eating live ants, goldfish, marshmallows, raw eggs in the shell, or chewing gum, and riding bicycles.

  I felt sorry for Kerry. She’d been at Ben’s every day, chewing away like a cow at a scary movie. She was chewing so hard, her jaw got sore. She used the same gum. ABC gum—Already Been Chewed; over and over and over.

  I must admit that her method for saving ABC gum was pretty creative. She would stick it on the inside of the lamp shade when she went to bed at night. Then, in the morning, she’d turn on the lamp and let the heat from the light bulb get her ABC gum warm and soft for chewing.