by F. L. Block
Something was wrong.
Way wrong.
The walls of my room were painted as black as Thursday’s eyeliner and hair and clothes, and my bed looked different, too. Someone had built a wooden lid that hinged onto my bed frame. My bed was a coffin!
How appropriate, because I wanted to curl up and die. And it was Sunday. Maybe Thursday’s theory was right.
JANUARY
CHAPTER 11
CAREER DAY AKA MORTIFY BEN HUNTER DAY
I was sore from Super Sport Baseball Cleat Camp when I got back to school after winter break. I was still sharing Angelina’s room because my mom hadn’t had the chance to repaint mine yet and I couldn’t sleep in there with those black walls. At least Angelina sometimes let me sleep with Monkeylad. Tree had come over a few times to ride bikes with me, but I was still not allowed to ride alone.
I’d thought I’d be happy to return to school after my miserable vacation. It seemed like even picking gum wads off the bottom of desks in Ms. Washington’s class would be preferable, but then something happened to make me think winter break hadn’t been so bad after all.
Today was Career Day. Another name for this should be Mortify Ben Hunter Day. When I first heard about it, I thought that real professionals who did interesting things would come, but it turned out to be just the parents. Every year my mom came to Career Day, even though I told her she shouldn’t waste her time talking to a bunch of ungrateful kids who were only interested in the parents who were firefighters or police officers or the ones who worked on movies. Each year was worse because the older we got, the less interested kids were in parents who had regular, boring jobs like our resident librarian, aka my mom, who ignored my hints and came anyway.
She didn’t wear her yoga pants. Instead she wore what she thought was a librarian outfit, even though she didn’t actually wear that skirt and sweater to work. On Career Day she put her hair up in a bun and wore her glasses. This part was a relief because she looked a little more normal.
But then she went on and on about how important reading is and how books can change your life. She said that when you care about a character, even if they aren’t perfect, and you watch them change and grow by solving problems, at the end of the novel you feel better about yourself.
Today she asked the kids in class how books can change your life. Mercy Keating raised her hand. Mercy Keating never talks in class ever.
“I love books because I used to have these scary thoughts, but when I read a book, it makes them go away.”
My mom looked like she was going to run over and give Mercy Keating a kiss on the cheek.
Mercy is really short and wears tiny glasses that she could have borrowed from her Stuff-It teddy bear. She always wears the same blue turtleneck and green corduroy pants. She loves books as much as Joe Knapp does. Suddenly I had this thought that made me feel the way you do when you hit your funny bone and your whole body buzzes: my mom would rather have Mercy Keating as her kid than me.
“That’s lovely, Mercy,” my mom said. “That’s why in my house we don’t have television—so that my family can spend more time reading books.”
I didn’t have time to worry about Mom liking Mercy more than me; now I had to worry about all the kids who were looking at me and whispering “No TV?” and laughing, especially Rocko Hoggen.
My mom handed out library card applications to the kids who didn’t have them and then left with so much pep in her step that I thought she was going to skip home.
Later, Joe Knapp’s dad talked about being a veterinarian. He was a skinny guy with a long nose and droopy eyes. I thought he was pretty cool, even though he had dressed up as a baby on Halloween. He said sometimes he could communicate better with animals than with people. That animals, like people, just needed to be understood. I wondered if he could help me communicate better with Monkeylad and set him straight about not getting demon eyes and stealing the neighbors’ food.
Then the next parent came in to talk to our class. He’s an art director on movies. Which explained Rocko’s life-size mission.
Rocko’s dad talked about how he designed all this “rad” (his word) stuff, like in the movie Incarnation. He actually designed the digitally animated fluorescent-orange winged aliens. He showed us his sketches of them and how he worked with the director and animators to help bring his vision to life. After he was done, he gave out these bags with pictures of the aliens from the movie. Inside there was a poster, a DVD, a T-shirt, a little winged alien action figure, and some Incarnation candy.
Ms. Washington clapped and clapped when he was finished and thanked him about a million times.
On my way out of the classroom, I saw all these yellow pieces of paper scattered on the floor. They were the library card applications from my mom. Only Mercy Keating and Joe Knapp were clutching theirs as their parents picked them up from school. Joe Knapp waved his at me in what seemed to be an actual hello, but I was too depressed to wave back.
When my mom and I took Monkeylad for his evening walk, I used the Incarnation bag as a poop picker-upper. I ate the candy first, of course. You can’t let perfectly good candy go to waste, even if the clavicle-breaking bully’s father gave it to you.
After the walk, I threw the ball for Monkeylad in the backyard. I figured he might get tired and not have demon eyes. That night Angelina let him sleep with me on my bed.
The next day we were supposed to write a letter to our favorite Career Day parent and put it in an envelope to give to them. I wrote to Joe Knapp’s dad.
Dear Dr. Knapp,
Thank you for visiting our classroom on Career Day. I’m interested in what you do, because it seems like a veterinarian is someone who likes animals and is kind to them. I have a dog named Monkeylad, who sometimes acts like he’s possessed by a demon. His eyes turn blue and roll back in his head, and he runs around the house in circles growling to himself. Sometimes he runs away and steals food off people’s tables and brings it back as if he thinks he is doing us a favor. If you were my vet, I would ask you what to do about Monkeylad. He doesn’t really obey us. We got him at the shelter as a rescue, so maybe that’s why. Sometimes I think that he was not loved properly as a pup, and maybe he didn’t get enough to eat, which is why he thinks he has to steal food for us.
Sincerely,
Ben Hunter
When I turned in my letter, I saw there were only two others there for Dr. Knapp. One was from Ms. Washington because she wrote to everyone.
On the way home, I peeked inside my mom’s envelope. There were only three letters. One was from Joe Knapp, and one from Mercy Keating. Mercy said she wanted to be a writer when she grew up and maybe someday her books could be in a library. Joe had drawn a pretty good picture of my mom smiling and holding up a book. There was a kid in a chair next to her with really red cheeks that matched his Darters baseball cap. Probably me.
All the other letters must have been in Rocko’s father’s envelope.
FEBRUARY
I will not chase girls around the schoolyard.
I will not chase girls around the schoolyard.
I will not chase girls around the schoolyard.
I will not chase girls around the schoolyard.
I will not chase girls around the schoolyard.
I will not chase girls around the schoolyard.
I will not chase girls around the schoolyard.
I will not chase girls around the schoolyard.
I will not chase girls around the schoolyard.
I will not chase girls around the schoolyard.
I will not chase girls around the schoolyard.
I will not chase girls around the schoolyard.
Dear Ben,
This is not exactly a paragraph about why not to play unsupervised chasing games at recess. Please redo it. Thank you.
Ms. Washington
CHAPTER 12
THE WAR OF THE KISSES
There was a WAR going on at my school. The war was between the fifth-gra
de girls and the fifth-grade boys, and it started with Rocko Hoggen and Serena Perl.
On Valentine’s Day—which is the absolute worst holiday ever invented, because it forces you to buy stupid stuff and makes you feel inadequate if nobody buys stupid stuff for you—Rocko and Leif were playing handball at recess and I was running around the track by myself when I saw Serena Perl skip over to them. It’s weird, but I can see what she’s doing no matter where she is; it’s like I have a sixth sense about her. The Serena sense.
I saw her skip over and kiss Rocko on the cheek.
Yes, actually kiss him.
Although I was a ways away, it felt like Rocko had slammed the handball into my stomach. I almost doubled over.
Rocko stared at Serena. Then he dropped the ball and ran off yelling.
Serena just stood there. She was wearing a T-shirt with a puppy and red hearts on it. A lot like that valentine she had made for me in kinder-garten. Her hair was in perfect braids, as usual. They bounced as she skipped away.
The next day when I was running laps around the playground, I noticed Serena heading for Rocko again. This time he noticed, too, and ran away, yelling. She followed him. Pretty soon, five other girls—Julie Chen, Ella Bean, Aurora Richards, Kennedee Jones, and Regina Mendez—joined her, chasing Rocko while Leif tried to ward them off.
“Hey, Ben,” Rocko yelled as he passed me, “you’ve got to help protect me from these girls.”
“Yeah, Ben,” said Leif, “help us.”
I realized this was my chance.
My chance to join Leif in an activity, even if it involved Rocko, and, most of all, to chase down Serena Perl, though I had no idea what I would do if I caught her.
But I joined in. I caught up with Serena almost right away. All the other girls stopped behind her.
“Hey,” I said, blocking her from Rocko’s path.
“Hi, Ben.”
“What are you doing?”
“Chasing Rocko. I’m going to kiss him.”
“I don’t think he wants you to,” I said. “That’s why he’s running away. And yelling.” Serena smelled like cherry candy and lip gloss. I thought of how Monkeylad chases Angelina down to lick her lip gloss off.
Serena shrugged. She suddenly looked sad. Not just her eyes, which always looked a little sad, but her whole face.
Just then the bell rang and recess was over.
* * *
Why wasn’t Serena Perl chasing me? Why didn’t she want to kiss me? My misery led me not only to give up on Serena Perl but to give up on myself. I became Rocko Hoggen’s henchman.
Every day at recess for almost a week, the same thing happened.
Rocko and Leif would play handball, Serena Perl and her five friends would come over, and Serena would try to kiss Rocko. He and Leif would run away, and Rocko would call to me, “Hey, Ben, we could use a little help here, man,” and I would run after Serena Perl. I would get in between her and Rocko Hoggen, and she and I would say hello to each other very politely and then the bell would ring.
Rocko thanked me and held up his fist to bump mine. “You’re the man,” he said. I had to admit, it made me feel pretty good when he said that.
But on Friday, Mr. Garcia, the PE coach, noticed what was going on. He blew his whistle just as I was taking off after Serena Perl.
“Hunter, what are you doing?”
I skidded to a stop, and Serena and her friends ran off.
It was hard to see him—the sun was blasting off the blacktop into my eyes. “Nothing, Mr. Garcia.”
I couldn’t see him, but I knew he was frowning. “It looked to me like you were chasing the girls. You know there are no unsupervised chasing games allowed at recess.”
“Okay.”
“I expect more from you, Ben Hunter,” Mr. Garcia said. “You have potential as an athlete, and you’re wasting it in these silly games. You’re in fifth grade now. It’s a whole different ball game.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, what?”
“Okay, Mr. Garcia?”
“Okay, you won’t chase girls.”
I nodded.
“And speak up. I can hardly hear you.” He pointed to my Darters baseball jersey. “Do you think that guys who play for the Darters chased girls when they were in school? Or do you think they practiced to be great players from the time they were small boys?”
I thought they probably chased girls, but I couldn’t really say that. “Okay, sorry?”
“Don’t speak in questions. Say it like you mean it. I’ll have to speak to your teacher about this.”
No! I didn’t want him to tell Ms. Washington. She would think I was becoming a troublemaker.
* * *
“Ben, what happened?” she asked when I got back to class.
I shrugged.
“Were you chasing Serena at recess?”
I nodded and slumped into my Darters jersey. It was too hard to explain. What could I say? That I was trying to impress Leif Zuniga? That I was defending my enemy from being kissed by Serena Perl? That I did it to be closer to her?
Ms. Washington leaned closer. “You like Serena, right, Ben?”
I looked up into her eyes. For the first time, I realized her face reminded me of the pop star Nananna except with glasses. I didn’t say anything.
“I get it. She’s a nice girl. Just please don’t chase her. You can go up to her and say hello if you want to talk to her. I need you to write a paragraph about it, please.”
She handed me a piece of paper and touched my shoulder before she walked away.
At recess the next day, Joe Knapp was doing laps around the playground. He wasn’t very fast, and he was breathing hard. I slowed down so he could catch up. His legs looked super skinny in his shorts, and he had a Timmy the Train bandage on his knee, poor kid.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
“Wanna play handball?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“I saw what happened with Rocko Hoggen and Serena.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“He’s the one who should’ve gotten in trouble.”
While Joe Knapp and I played handball, we had a man-to-man talk.
“Do you like Serena?” Joe asked me as he tried to hit the ball down with both fists and his butt sticking out.
I caught the ball and held it in my hand, pointed to Joe and then to the ball. Then I slammed it against the wall with one fist. “Like this,” I said.
He nodded and rubbed his eyes behind his glasses. “Because I like Aurora Richards.”
Aurora Richards is the oldest and tallest kid in our class, and Joe is the youngest and shortest. Aurora is one of those December birthday kids who stayed back a year. Aurora Richards looks like a little Hellwig Plum, that model who hosts America’s Next OMG. There is no way in hellwig that she would like Joe Knapp.
“Oh, cool,” I said.
“I mean, I really like her,” Joe said, catching the ball in both hands and staring at it as if it were Aurora Richards. “Even her name is perfect. It means dawn, and it also means lights in the sky in high-latitude regions caused by a collision of atoms and particles in the thermosphere.”
Huh? That Joe Knapp is quite a character. I took the ball gently from his hands. “Yeah. I’ve liked Serena Perl since kindergarten.”
“Wow,” Joe Knapp said. “Maybe she likes you, too. But she just doesn’t want to admit it, so she chases Rocko.”
For one second I felt this warmth expanding inside my chest. Joe and I stood there looking at each other. I could tell by his little puppy eyes behind the smeared lenses of his glasses that he understood.
“Hit it like this,” I said, slamming the ball with my fist.
Joe Knapp clasped his hands together and swung lightly, hitting the ball directly back at the wall with only a slight lift of his butt.
“Good job, man,” I said. “But you need to tell your mom to get you a different bandage. Timmy the Train will get you laughed out
of class.”
Joe Knapp nodded and smiled. He still had baby teeth, more than I did. You gotta love that little kid.
We high-fived.
“Hey, I could use your help on something, too,” I said.
“Sure,” said Joe.
“Remember when I chased Serena around the yard for Rocko? Ms. Washington wants me to write an essay on why that’s not cool, and I know she’s right, but for some reason I can’t think of what to write.”
“Maybe you did it because you want Serena and Rocko to like you. And you chose Rocko over Serena because she was chasing him instead of you.”
That about summed it up.
MARCH
WHY IT’S NOT A GOOD IDEA TO PLAY UNSUPERVISED CHASING GAMES AT RECESS
by Ben Hunter
I’m sorry for the incident involving an unsupervised chasing game at recess. I believe I did this because I wanted to be liked by my classmates, but in the end, the classmate I wanted to like me the most was the one who could’ve gotten hurt. I will do my best to refrain from committing such a reprehensible action in the future.
The reason this should not happen again is that it could interrupt other students who are having a peaceful recess. Also, fellow students could fall and scrape their faces off. In addition, I could fall and scrape my face off.
This behavior will not happen again, because we want to keep our faces on our face.
CHAPTER 13
SPELLING BEE’S KNEES
In March we had a spelling bee. Ms. Washington called it “the Spelling Bee’s Knees.”
Everyone else messed up on their words except Rocko and me. We stood at the front of the classroom under the hanging solar system and in front of the instructions on how to write an essay. Rocko and I were supposed to each spell three words at a time until someone messed up.
Ms. Washington picked a word out of the basket.
“Rocko, how do you spell able? Use it in a sentence, please.”