Jar Jar Binks lands on my knee. “Are they just being nice to my family?”
“No. They say I’m in for a surprise. The only surprise would be if Yoda walked out in the middle.” He holds up his hands like he’s swinging a lightsaber. Then he sighs.
Viva holds out her hand to Admiral Ackbar. “My parents say they’re only doing it to be supportive. They hate musicals.”
Lonnie shakes his head. “They almost said I couldn’t come over before the musical. I told them we had a project, which isn’t exactly a lie. It is a project.”
“How are the preparations going?” Viva asks.
“Good. I’ve got six jars hidden inside the pigeon food bin.”
“I don’t think that’s enough,” Viva says. “Lonnie, try to get more from your house. I will too. We only have almond butter, but it should work the same. What about eating extra grains so the pigeons like you more? Have you mapped out your plan? Do we put the peanut butter on in the aviary or outside the aviary and then you walk in? When do we apply the birdseed? And what are you going to wear?”
“Hey, Tent Boy! Hi, Lonnie! Hi, Viva!” The Destructor waves frantically from across the fence. “Can I come over?”
“No!” I say.
“What are you doing?” he yells.
“Nothing.”
“You should break a world record,” he yells louder. “You know you could do it, Teddy.”
“Go away, Destructor.” I wait until he’s moved away from the fence and is out of earshot. “Do you think he heard us?”
“No,” Viva says. “Anyway what can he do?”
I shake my head. “Everything.”
The Destructor zigzags across the yard like a mosquito. Strange but true, in The Guinness Book of World Records there is a record for most dangerous mosquito. That bug has caused 50 percent of all human deaths since the Stone Age (excluding wars and accidents).
The Destructor is possibly a close relative, and I’ve got to be very careful.
FOLLOWING VIVA’S ADVICE
Luckily, Viva thinks about things in this super weird way that helps you do something better.
So for the rest of the week I sneak four jars of peanut butter out of the house every day. It’s only because my family shops for two months at a time and keeps it in the basement that I’m able to do this and have no one notice—no one except for The Destructor, who was in his cat box one afternoon as I snuck past.
“What are you doing with all the peanut butter?”
“School project,” I say. And keep moving. I can’t remember what else Viva told me to do, but I’m sure it’ll all work out.
THE DAY BEFORE THE BIG DAY
It’s Friday, the day before the big day, the doozy of the day, when I break a world record. It’s also Sharon’s big day.
At breakfast Sharon is so excited she’s about to explode. I feel the same way.
“Stop jumping on the sofa!” Mom shouts at me from the kitchen. “What is up with you? You’ve got more beans than Sharon.”
Mom is in hyper mode and is going over the schedule with all of us like we’re in preschool. “Tonight is opening night.”
“What’s opening night?” The Destructor asks from the cat box, where he’s eating his breakfast.
“The first night of the play,” Mom explains.
“When are we going?” he asks.
“Tomorrow afternoon,” Mom says.
“Why can’t we go to the opening?” The Destructor says opening like it’s a different language.
Sharon pipes up, “Because there is no way my family is ruining it. You’re going to the matinee, which is filled with kids and grandparents, and you’ll all blend in.”
She really doesn’t trust us, and I get it.
And then, out of nowhere The Destructor crawls out of the cat box, toast in his hand, and climbs onto a chair. I do a double take. He’s actually eating at the table.
“Don’t say a word,” Mom whispers in my ear.
There are just three entries in The Guinness Book of World Records for rare things. One is a plant, one is a tree, and one is something called a “speech sound” (really), but I think maybe The Destructor could join them. Rarest appearance for eating at a table.
THE DAY
I wake up. I’m sweaty and hot. In the middle of the night I kicked off my blankets, but it didn’t make a difference. The tent is stifling. I unzip it and go outside. It’s an absurdly hot day.
There goes my plan to wear my old sweatshirt and pants. I’ll find a T-shirt and shorts in my room.
In the house things are quiet. Dad and The Destructor are awake. The Destructor is sitting at the table again. I don’t know what’s happening to him.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
“Grace’s still asleep. Casey and Caitlin are out on their bikes practicing for trash hauling. Maggie’s at soccer practice. Mom’s taking Sharon to the school theater and staying to help out.”
As I go upstairs to find clothes I review my plan:
5:30: Pretend to feed the pigeons. (We want them super hungry so they eat off me.)
9:00: Lonnie and Viva show up. (I’ve already told Dad that we’re doing a project and not to bother us.)
9:05: Lonnie and Viva apply the peanut butter and birdseed.
9:10: Break the world record.
9:15: Done.
“Can I feed the pigeons with you?” The Destructor asks.
“No.” Like Sharon, I’m not taking any chances. “I’ll take you tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you let him tag along?” Dad asks.
“School project.” I feel lousy lying, but I have to. “Oh, and we need these.” I grab two spatulas and slip out.
RECORD ATTEMPT 10: PEANUT BUTTER
Lonnie and Viva show up. I’m in the loft giving water to the birds, in case they’re as hot as I am.
“Let’s go,” I say. I realize I’m nervous, but I can’t decide if it’s about breaking a world record or getting caught before I break a world record.
All the pigeons are in the loft and I close the door separating the two sections. I hand Lonnie and Viva the spatulas and the peanut butter jars that I fished out of the food bin.
They start to spread.
“Good thinking with the spatulas,” Viva says.
“Hold still, Teddy,” Lonnie says.
“Sorry, it tickles.”
They smear peanut butter all over my arms, my hands, my back, and my front, on the top of my head and all over my legs and feet. Lonnie stops for a second and looks at me real serious.
“I didn’t want to, but I’ve got to ask.” He cringes. “What about your privates?”
Viva smothers a laugh. I ignore her. A world record breaker has to be able to stand up to more than a giggle. Take Monsieur Mangetout, famous for eating metal and glass. The guy ate a bicycle once! I don’t care what anyone says, that has got to hurt. So I can handle a few giggles.
“No thanks,” I say as if he asked if I wanted a soda.
Being covered in peanut butter probably feels gross at any time, but on a hot day it has to be the grossest. It oozes through my clothes, drips on my skin, and is way more oily than I like to think about.
“It’s already nine thirty,” Lonnie says.
“Shake the birdseed on me. Quick.” I admit I’m nervous that Grumpy Pigeon Man will walk out. Every little noise startles me.
They sprinkle the seed all over me. I can’t feel any of it because of the peanut butter.
“Done,” Lonnie says. “It’s nine forty-five.”
“Right.” Viva picks up her camera. “Lonnie, your job is to get all the pigeons on him.”
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
RECORD ATTEMPT 10: HUMAN BIRD FEEDER
The pigeons should be really hungry since I haven’t fed them. But they’re not acting like it. They’re just hanging out doing their thing.
I stand there, waiting. They still don’t move. “Should I do something?”
“Pretend you’re a birdfeeder.” Lonnie laughs.
“Ha, ha,” I say.
“Don’t worry,” Viva says. “They’ll come.” After a few more seconds of the birds doing nothing, finally Paploo lands on my shoulder. His little feet grasp onto my shirt. His wings flap, then he starts to eat. Once he starts in, another pigeon flies over, then another, then another.
“I see about ten,” Lonnie says.
“Only ten?” I say. “It feels like more.”
“No, it’s definitely ten.”
“Chase some more pigeons onto him,” Viva says.
Lonnie waves more over. They run away from him but get the hint and land. It is very ticklish having this many pigeons on me. They peck off the birdseed from my arms and back. “Maybe I should sit down so they can get my legs?”
“Good thinking,” Lonnie says. I sit down, stretching my legs straight out in front of me.
Viva circles around. “I want to be sure I film all the pigeons.”
Lonnie says, “It’s hard to count them. They keep moving.”
The tickling becomes more like scratches as the birds fight for space.
“Twenty!” Lonnie sounds excited.
“Sit up straight,” Viva orders. “They won’t all fit if you’re hunched up.”
“I can’t help it,” I say. A bird pecks food off my foot. My foot jerks and three birds flutter away.
“Don’t scare the pigeons,” Lonnie says.
“I don’t mean to,” I say. Clearly, I did not think through what fifty-seven birds landing on me would be like, because having twenty is a real challenge.
I can’t stay sitting anymore. I slowly stand up. Now that they know there’s birdseed on my legs they cling to me for dear life. They hook their feet into my shorts, and my legs, and don’t fall off. It’s painful.
“You’ve got thirty pigeons on you,” Lonnie says. He sends more pigeons my way.
“As weird as this sounds,” I say, “the pigeons poking actually hurts.” I flinch as a bird gets me in the neck. “Does it really matter if I have all of them? I mean, thirty should get me into The Guinness Book of World Records, right?”
“I think you can stop when you want to,” Lonnie says. “You’ll break the record no matter what.”
“No,” Viva says. “You said fifty-seven in your application. You’ve got to do all fifty-seven.”
It’s true that we talked about this, but I forgot to find out the rule.
“I count forty now,” Lonnie says.
I try to think about Elaine Davidson, the most pierced woman in the world, with 4,225 piercings, and what that would feel like, but a pigeon pecking my head distracts me.
For some reason, now that one bird figured out my head was made of birdseed, they all have. This is not good.
“Stop hopping,” Lonnie says. “You’re scaring them.”
“I didn’t know I was hopping.” It seems my body has separated from my brain and decided to do whatever it wants. It jerks and jumps at each peck. “Hurry, Lonnie. I can’t do this much longer.”
“Of course you can,” Viva says. “Only seventeen more.”
I shudder as two more land on the back of my neck. My arms begin to flail. I’m also losing my balance as the birds flap, pulling me in different directions.
“Quick, Lonnie! Get the rest of them. He’s weakening.”
Lonnie says, “I think we should stop.” More birds land on me.
“He doesn’t want to stop. Do you want to stop?”
“I don’t know,” I say from under the pile of pigeons.
“Only nine more!” Viva says. “Don’t give up now!”
My body and brain have a different idea from Viva. I shake, jitter, and jump. I squirm, squiggle, and leap while the birds peck, scratch, and eat me. Clearly, they’re on Viva’s side.
It’s hard to see anything with all the feathers flapping in my face, but between their beating wings I see Lonnie and Viva trying to scoot the last birds toward me. Viva still films as she chases them over.
Suddenly, the birds are not happy. They push each other out of the way. They cling to my body fighting for the last seed. They poke at my feet, my arms, my head, and my legs. It’s too much. I wave my arms, trying to get them off. I holler, hoping to scare them. They pull me this way and that until I finally fall over, screaming as I hit the ground.
And then a voice cuts through: “I’LL SAVE YOU!” And The Destructor runs in. His arms spin like a windmill, and he’s yelling at the top of his lungs.
RECORD ATTEMPT 10: DESTRUCTION
The Destructor keeps shouting and flailing his arms. He crashes into Viva. The camera jerks out of her hand but she catches it. Pigeons flap in every direction, terrified by The Destructor. A bird flies into Viva’s hair and gets all twisted up. She struggles to untangle it. The Destructor pushes Lonnie out of the loft and runs back to Viva. He pulls the pigeon free, then shoves her toward the door. She trips.
“The camera!” she yells as she’s forced outside. The camera flips over and over and dives straight into the birdbath, clanging on the metal before it sinks to the bottom.
I reach into the birdbath and grab the sopping camera as The Destructor pulls me to my feet, waving his hands all around. The birds fly off me and he pulls me out and into the open air, slamming the door behind him.
“Teddy.” Viva frowns. “The camera. The birdbath.”
I hold it up. “It’s got to work,” I say. “Without that there’s no proof.”
Lonnie steps forward. The camera drips in his hand. He presses buttons, dries it on his clothes, presses more buttons, then shakes his head. “It’s not working.”
The Destructor stays close to me. He smiles. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” I repeat. “Don’t you see what happened?! My world record! I might have had a chance, but without the camera, there’s no way. I’ll never break the record. You ruined it!” I’d like to jump on him. To pounce on him. To rip him into tiny pieces. “I wish you’d never been born!”
His smile melts. He stares at me, then he turns and runs away, and I don’t care because it’s his fault. Everything is his fault.
TENT BOY? IS THAT YOU?
Grumpy Pigeon Man comes out of his house. “Tent Boy?” he asks. “Is that you?”
I don’t know what I look like but clearly I don’t look like me. I push past him and run to my house. I don’t have any words. I run. I run like Maggie runs. My feet pound up to our house, up the stairs, through the hall past Dad, past Casey and Caitlin, who are back from their bike adventures, past Maggie, who’s stretching, past Grace, who’s got a paintbrush in her hand. I dash to the upstairs bathroom and slam and lock the door like Sharon does.
I turn on the shower and climb into it, clothes and all. What was I thinking trying to break a world record? Trying to do one thing that The Destructor couldn’t destroy. What an idiot.
“Teddy?” Dad knocks. “Teddy? Let me in.”
“Go away,” I shout through the water. “Go away.”
“Teddy, what’s going on? Where’s Jake?”
“I don’t know. You’re the dad, you find him.”
“Teddy, come out of the bathroom right now.”
“No.” I can’t believe I’m saying this. Of course I should come out, but I can’t.
I turn off the shower and listen as he calls for Jake. I hear Maggie, Casey, Caitlin, even Grace calling for Jake. And then I hear the front door slam.
I turn the shower back on and scrub every bit of peanut butter and birdseed off.
CHER AMI RETURNS
“Tent Boy, it’s me.” I sit up. I wipe drool off my cheek. I must have fallen asleep. I look at my clock. It’s three. I missed Sharon’s show.
I unzip the tent partway. Grumpy Pigeon Man leans down. “We still can’t find him,” he says.
“So what?”
“He’s been missing since this morning.”
“He’ll turn up,” I say.
“Come o
ut, Tent Boy. You can’t hide in there forever.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Then let me in.”
I open the tent. Grumpy Pigeon Man climbs in and sits down. He’s tall. With him in here, there isn’t much room.
“You know he tried to save you.”
“Nobody asked him to.”
“That’s true, but he did what he thought was right. Now you have to do what’s right.”
I open my mouth to argue, but then close it.
“Tent Boy, all I’m going to say is: Cher Ami.”
I’m quiet for a while, then say, “It’s a point, Mr. Marney. I just don’t know if it’s a good one.”
“Don’t you get it, Tent Boy? You are Jake’s Cher Ami, his hero. Jake was scared for you. Don’t hold that against him. Whatever you think about him, change it.”
The first time I opened The Guinness Book of World Records, it just clicked in my brain. Right away, I got it. And suddenly just like that, I get it. Grumpy Pigeon Man’s words click.
I think about all the world records, and all the people setting records. The book is about change. That’s why every year they have to bring out a new version. I mean, even the world record for longest hot dog changes almost every year. Strange but true, somehow someone makes a longer hot dog. Will it ever stop? Only if people stop believing in change.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll find him, Mr. Marney.”
“Good. And don’t call me Mr. Marney. Grumpy Pigeon Man will do.”
How did he know I called him that?
“You thought I was asleep in the hospital,” he says.
LIKE A PIGEON
I know my family really, really well, so I know all the places they have already looked. I know that they already looked all over the house, in his room, in the basement, in the backyard, in all the nooks and crannies he could fit inside. But I know The Destructor like no one else. My homing instincts kick in. It’s like The Destructor is my home and I am Cher Ami. He’s easy to find.
Teddy Mars Book #1 Page 10