Triumphant, he looked across at Laila. A look of revulsion and horror swept over her face as she tried to swallow a bug. She jumped up and bolted to the washroom.
Martin smiled smugly.
The next morning in class, Martin tapped Laila on her pointy shoulder. This time, he thought he’d try a different approach to make her see that it was time to throw in the towel. Instead of grossing Laila out, he would pretend sympathy.
“I’m sorry about the bugs,” Martin said in an apologetic tone. He shook his head woefully to look even more convincing.
“I didn’t like the bugs,” Laila admitted. “But I’m not quitting, so you can forget it!”
Martin felt as if he had been hit in the stomach by a dodge ball.
“Besides,” she continued. “I’ve added a few more badges to work on. Archaeology. Emergency Preparedness. And Soil and Water Conservation.”
Martin’s fake pity was replaced with genuine outrage.
“You’re going for so many badges that Head Badger Bob won’t have any time left to mark work from the rest of the troop!” Martin accused.
Laila shrugged off his outburst and turned to the front of the class.
Martin seethed.
Then he remembered Kyle’s warning, delivered in that obnoxious breath of his.
Martin smoldered some more.
The next Junior Badger night, Laila received two more badges. If she kept going like that, she would catch up to Kyle in no time!
Martin hoped Kyle wouldn’t notice, but his sinking heart told him there was no chance of that.
“Before we begin this evening’s activities, I have an important announcement!” boomed Head Badger Bob as everyone sat down.
The Junior Badgers held their breath.
“The National Junior Badger Council has created a new badge to go with our pledge. It’s called the Badge of Courage.”
“The Badge of Courage,” murmured the troop.
“Only this badge is a little different,” explained Head Badger Bob. “With all the other badges, you prove to me that you are worthy of receiving them. With the Badge of Courage, members of your own troop must nominate you, and then I make the final decision, based on the nominations received.”
“What does ‘nominate’ mean?” Alex whispered to Martin.
“It means to vote for someone,” Martin whispered back.
“So you’ll nominate me, right?” Alex replied without missing a beat. “Courage is right up my alley.”
“Hang on,” said Stuart, who had been listening in. “I’m plenty courageous, too. I think Martin should nominate me!”
Martin said nothing. He hardly considered either of his two best friends courageous.
Take the time that Alex and Stuart had tried to get out of rescuing their class parakeet, Polly, from a junior high school. Or the time they made a big show of signing up for lead roles in the school play, only to back out at the last minute, leaving Martin to sing solo. And then there was the time they went to their superhero’s movie premiere, Zip Rideout and the Revenge of Crater Man, but covered their eyes during the terrifying opening scene.
Kyle cut in. His breath was diabolical.
“You’re all nominating me,” threatened the older boy in barely a whisper.
“I’m” — he showed the impossibly small gap between his thumb and finger — “this close to completing my sash. I only need one more badge to get high honors, and I’m all out of the easy ones.”
“There’s still Archaeology,” said Martin dryly. “Or Emergency Preparedness. Or Soil and Water Conservation.”
“Are you nuts?!” Kyle demanded, glaring at Martin. “Those badges are hard! They’d take forever!”
Martin fanned away the ghastly breath with his hand. He wondered if Kyle ever brushed his teeth.
Head Badger Bob started to hand out the nomination forms.
“Each Badger can only nominate one other Badger. You’ll see that you have to explain how the Badger you nominate demonstrates courage. Only one Badge of Courage will be awarded per troop each year, so this badge is very special.”
Martin studied his form. There were an awful lot of blanks to fill out. Then he scanned the members of the circle. He’d have to nominate someone. But whom?
“Get these nominations back to me in two weeks so that I’ll have time to review them before our move-up-to-Trail Makers ceremony. That is,” he continued jovially, but looking directly at Laila, “if I’m not swamped with other badges to mark.”
Kyle leaned toward Martin again, his breath a lethal weapon. “Hey! How come that whiz-head friend of yours is still here?”
Martin snapped.
“I told you! For the hundredth time! Laila is not my friend!” he shouted. “And for the record, I don’t want her here, either!”
Everyone sitting in the circle stopped talking and stared at him.
Including Laila.
Her face went beet red.
Serves her right, thought Martin doggedly, fists clenched. The sooner she figures out that she doesn’t belong here, the better. And if he had to be the one to come right out and say so, well that was fine. At least now, Kyle would get off his back.
The awkward silence was broken when Head Badger Bob cleared his throat.
“Perhaps it might be a good time to recite the Junior Badger pledge,” he observed.
He always suggested that whenever someone in the troop went off track.
Together, everyone stood and dutifully recited the pledge. Martin, still unrepentant, shoved his fists in his pockets and only mouthed the words.
“Now I’d like to introduce tonight’s special guest,” announced Head Badger Bob as everyone sat down. “He’s the president of the local reptile society, and he’s brought some live specimens to show us.”
The reptile expert pushed into the circle carrying several pillowcases with the ends knotted. The pillowcases squirmed when he put them down, much to the troop’s delight.
Martin glanced at Laila. She had pulled her knees to her chest, making herself as small as possible.
The special guest carefully untied the knots one at a time. Out came snakes in all kinds of patterns and colors. And everybody held one except Laila, who adamantly refused when it was her turn.
“Watch this,” said Kyle menacingly to Martin.
He sneaked up behind Laila and lightly squiggled his fingers against her neck, as if a snake had gotten loose.
Laila screamed and screamed as she frantically tried to brush it away.
The troop exploded into laughter, Martin included.
But it wasn’t nearly as funny to Martin when, moments later, Kyle did the same thing to him.
“Get it off me!” Martin shouted, pawing at the back of his neck.
This brought about a second round of hysterical laughter.
“Very funny,” muttered Martin when he realized he’d been duped. His ears burned with humiliation.
And for the first time, Martin felt a little sorry for Laila.
When the troop gathered for the next Junior Badger evening, Kyle pounced.
“Hey, Martin!” he called, making sure that Head Badger Bob was out of earshot.
Head Badger Bob was at the far end of the lodge, going over plans with that night’s special guest, a military historian.
“Guess you and Laila won’t be getting the Badge of Courage any time soon,” Kyle mocked.
Then he began to scream and go berserk the way Martin and Laila had done during last week’s fake snake prank.
Badgers doubled over with peals of laughter, while Martin filled with enough anger for both he and Laila.
Laila said nothing. She clasped her left foot, but by now she had stopped looking to Martin for acceptance.
If only Laila would quit, Martin thought with bitterness, this would all go away.
Yet even though the solution was simple, he knew that Laila wouldn’t quit. That she
couldn’t quit. She simply did not know how. She was going to keep coming week after week after week, snapping up badges left and right, while Kyle continued to make life miserable for her.
And for Martin.
There’s no way out, thought Martin glumly.
And then he spotted the rope circuit.
The rope circuit was an awe-inspiring tangle of lines and cables that towered at their end of the lodge. It was reserved for the Trail Makers, so members in Martin’s troop hadn’t trained on it yet.
That meant there was only one Junior Badger brave enough to make it to the top.
Martin took hold of the rope.
“Kyle’s wrong!” he announced boldly. “Laila’s got plenty of courage. Just watch her climb this rope.”
Laila seemed confused by Martin’s sudden show of support. She did not let go of her foot.
“No way she can do it,” Kyle retorted loudly, just as Martin knew he would.
The doubters in the crowd began to chuckle.
“Oh, she can do it all right,” Martin boasted, still holding the rope out to her. “Onwards and upwards,” he added.
It was something Zip Rideout said at the start of every mission.
Laila dropped her foot and beamed at Martin.
“Get out of my way, Kyle,” she demanded, grabbing the rope.
By the time Kyle let out his first guffaw, Laila was halfway up. By the time he wiped the smirk off his face, Laila had reached the top and was on her way back down.
Alex elbowed Martin. “How’d you know she could do that?” he asked in wonder.
“Laila sits in front of me all day long. How could I not know?” replied Martin.
He gave her the Junior Badger salute when she touched the ground in lickety-split time.
Laila smartly returned the gesture.
That evening, the troop’s special guest taught them how to build catapults. It was exciting to hurl objects, but the conversation amongst Badgers kept returning to Laila’s amazing rope feat.
“Will this fling water balloons?” Laila asked the military buff as he came around to check on everyone’s work.
Smiling, Martin recalled the afternoon that he and Laila had spent together exploding water balloons from his tree fort.
A few weeks later, Laila was awarded the Badge of Courage, much to Kyle’s disappointment. Almost all of the Junior Badgers had nominated her because of her impressive climb.
But that’s not why Martin had filled out Laila’s name on his form. His nomination had more to do with how she had kept coming back to Junior Badgers week after week.
Even when she had to look at scat.
Even when she had to eat bugs.
Even when she had been terrified by snakes.
And most difficult of all, even when she knew that no one had wanted her there.
“Courage is right up Laila’s alley,” Martin had written. And he had underlined his words.
Build a Marshmallow Catapult!
After Martin learned the basics about catapults at Junior Badgers, he built his own version, for acting out Zip Rideout’s famous battle scenes. You can make one, too. Just take care with your aim!
You will need:
1 2-liter (2-quart) milk carton
3 pencils
1 plastic spoon
assorted elastic bands
1 toothpick
scissors (use with care for all cutting)
ruler and felt marker
mini marshmallows
1. Cut top off the milk carton, so that all four sides are 20 cm (8 in.) high.
2. Back panel: On one side, draw two horizontal lines, one at 3 cm (1 1/4 in.) and one at 6 cm (2 1/2 in.) from the bottom.
3. Cut two corner seams from top of carton down to line at the 3 cm (1 1/4 in.) mark. Then cut across line at the 6 cm (2 1/2 in.) mark. Discard panel. Fold resulting flap to the inside.
4. Front and side panels: Draw a horizontal line 10 cm (4 in.) from the bottom of each of the other three sides. Cut corner seams down to that line. Fold resulting three flaps to the inside. The frame is now complete.
5. Throwing arm: Place one pencil behind the other, so that center of horizontal pencil crosses vertical pencil (throwing arm) near its eraser end. Crisscross an elastic band tightly around pencils to fasten them together. Loop a small elastic band to eraser end of throwing arm. The smaller the elastic band, the stronger the catapult!
6. Pivot: Using pointy scissor end, drill a hole 4 cm (1 1/2 in.) from top and in middle of both side panels. Slide horizontal pencil into holes.
7. Brake: Drill a hole 2 cm (3/4 in.) down and 2 cm (3/4 in.) from front of each side panel. Slide third pencil through holes.
8. Anchor: Punch a small hole in center of back panel. Feed small elastic from throwing arm through hole and secure with toothpick.
9. Cradle: With an elastic band, fasten spoon to back of throwing arm, so cupped part faces front of catapult.
Now, hold the frame steady, load the cradle with a marshmallow and slowly pull back the throwing arm. Ready, aim, fire!!
About the Creators
Jessica Scott Kerrin never did learn how to climb a rope. But she does have a huge collection of do-it-yourself books that she picked up at yard sales. Jessica learned about building catapults from one such book, and made a catapult that she now uses to hurl tasty treats to the fish in her backyard pond in Halifax, Nova Scotia.
Like Martin’s mom, Joseph Kelly prefers old keyboards. He uses one to write songs for his wife. Though he enjoyed drawing all the swirled and speckled ice-cream flavors for Martin and his friends, when Polar Pete’s ice-cream truck comes to Sonoma, California, Joseph will have a scoop of plain vanilla.
An Excerpt from The Lobster Chronicles
Floater Number Four
“I’ll dangle Lynnette by her ankles off the gunwale,” Graeme Swinimer swore to himself when he discovered a mummichog floating sideways in his plastic saltwater tub.
Its lifeless, speckled body bobbed above the sand dollars, periwinkles, brittle sea stars, urchins and a rock crab, all part of his marine life collection.
Lynnette was always feeding her food to his fish. What else could explain the soggy banana-and-peanut-butter sandwiches, crusts cut off, hanging in the water?
A dead giveaway.
And this was the fourth floater since the start of the spring lobster season!
Graeme sighed. Ankle dangling would have to wait, because his little sister was at the playground with her buddies from the after-school program. He could hear their screams of glee way off in the distance, along with the putta-putta sound of Homarus II, his dad’s mint-green Cape Islander, motoring home for the day.
Graeme cast about his room for the fishnet. He checked underneath his aquarium magazine, Cold Marine Tanks. He skirted past his posters of sharks, whales and sea turtles and scanned the top of his sock-and-underwear dresser. He turned to the other side of his room, which featured a large plaque of sailors’ knots mounted next to his closet door.
Aha! There it was, hooked on the knob. He remembered that he had hung the net to dry after scooping out Floater Number Three just last week.
Graeme strode across his bedroom’s round braided rug to retrieve the net. Then he dipped it into the saltwater tub to recover the limp fish.
Down the hall he plodded — drip, drip, drip — into the yellow bathroom with the wicker clothes hamper that faintly whiffed of lobster and diesel. Graeme stopped in front of the toilet. Plop went the fish. Whoosh went the bowl. Then, as payback, he grabbed Lynnette’s hairbrush and plunged it deep into the smelly hamper.
Graeme returned to the scene of the crime and wrote up the incident in his scientific journal. He included the usual details: the date, the type of marine animal, the probable cause of death.
Entry completed, he closed his notes, then gazed into the saltwater tub to observe the remai
nder of the school of mummichogs frolicking between barnacle-covered rocks, apparently unaware of the recent decrease to their number.
“Graeme’s going to be a marine biologist,” his dad boasted regularly at the government wharf next to the Lucky Catch Cannery where he unloaded his lobsters.
A longtime widower, Mr. Swinimer was determined that Graeme follow his dream, despite the challenges of having to raise him and Lynnette alone.
“Can’t wait!” Graeme always added, riding the wave of his dad’s enthusiasm.
The other fishermen would reply by thumping his back good-naturedly with their sausage-fingered hands.
“It’ll be nice to finally have a local scientist who knows what’s what around here!” they would say.
Fishermen often argued with come-from-away biologists about the state of the lobster stock in Lower Narrow Spit. But they argued even more with the owner of the town’s only cannery about the price for their daily catch.
From the open window above his desk, Graeme heard that the putta-putta had slowed down to a dull throb. His dad was maneuvering around the shoals at the entrance to their harbor.
“The sea is as big as the all outdoors,” his dad liked to remind Graeme, “but you best mind the rocks in the bay.”
Graeme understood what that meant. Even though his dad supported his career choice, he also believed that Graeme should know everything about home port before safely venturing farther away.
Which was true.
Except that Graeme had run out of fresh discoveries. He even knew exactly how many steps it took to get from their white-shingled house to the government wharf where he collected his specimens to study.
Martin Bridge: Onwards and Upwards! Page 3