New Creep at School

by Greyson Mann

  Do you know what happened right after Language Arts class? I discovered that my journal was MISSING. I thought I had put it in my backpack. In fact, I’m sure I did. But when I checked again in second period, it was gone—like it had sprouted legs and just walked away.

  Or . . . someone TOOK it. Like my “partner,” Connor Creeper.

  My journal was gone all weekend. It was so WEIRD not to have it. I felt like Sock the Sheep without his wool—which is growing back, by the way, in weird little patches.

  And you know what? My journal came back too. Mysteriously. Last night. It just showed up on my desk in Language Arts.

  I was relieved to see it, let me tell you. But I also had this sick feeling in the pit of my creeper stomach, like I’d eaten a spider eye or something. Because I knew that Connor had read my journal. Cover to cover. Every. Single. Word.

  That means he knows exactly how I feel about him right now. And how I feel about every other mob at Mob Middle School. Which is NOT good.

  See, Connor and I just went from being almost friends to DEFINITE enemies. And I’ve seen the kind of pranks that guy can pull on his enemies. I did NOT want to be one of them.

  Then I realized on the way to second period that it was already too late. There was this big crowd gathered around Ziggy’s locker, which is unusual because it kind of stinks. And at the front of the crowd, Ziggy was reading something out loud that was stuck to his locker.

  It was the rap I wrote about him! He read the WHOLE thing, and I swear when he got to the part about food falling out of his mouth, a chunk of something DID hit the hallway floor. But the mobs around him were falling all over themselves laughing.

  “Heeeeyyyyyy . . .” said Ziggy, finally realizing that someone was making fun of him. That zombie’s not too quick on the uptake. “Who wrote that?”

  “It says right here,” said some seventh grade witch, pointing at the paper stuck to Ziggy’s locker. “Gerald Creeper Jr.”

  “What?” I faked surprise. “No way. That’s not even my handwriting.” That part was true—Connor must have copied the rap onto a new sheet of paper in his OWN handwriting.

  “Oh yeah?” said the witch. “Then whose handwriting is it?”

  I should have said Connor Creeper. But then I caught him staring at me, and he kind of narrowed his eyes. I can’t read minds, but if I could, I’m pretty sure he’d be telling me not to say a word. OR ELSE.

  See, now that we’ve held up a vending machine together, he has some dirt on me—even dirtier than the dirt he has on Bones. And did I mention that I REALLY don’t want to go to jail? So instead of saying that Connor Creeper wrote the rap, I said the OTHER name that came to mind.

  “Sam,” I said quickly. “That’s Sam’s handwriting. In fact, I think I see a slime smudge on the edge of the page.”

  Well Sam was right beside me. Of course he was—he usually is, which is why he’s the first one I throw under the bus whenever I start to panic.

  Sam’s jolly eyes got wide, and he said, “Really? Let me see that.” He pushed his way to the front of the crowd and looked at the paper. “That’s not my writing,” he said. “See? I don’t make my B’s like that.”

  Now I didn’t think anyone would believe that Sam actually wrote that rap. He’s a TERRIBLE rapper. But as we walked farther down the hall, we ran into another crowd gathered around another locker. And judging by all the skeletons in that crowd, I wasn’t surprised to hear Bones’s voice rattle out.

  “Listen up, Bones,

  Sitting on your throne,

  You’re going down

  With a grunt and groan.

  “Listen up, yo,

  Watch your bony back,

  You’re going down—whatcha

  think about that?”

  Bones’s voice was pretty much a growl by the time he got done reading. He started cracking his bony knuckles. Then he read the very last line:

  GREAT. Just great. Connor had copied every rap out of my journal and was TAKING ME DOWN with my own words.

  But then someone said, “Gerald didn’t write that. It’s SAM’S handwriting!”

  “Yeah!” I heard the word come out of my own mouth. And then Sam whirled around and looked at me.

  “What? No it’s not!” But it was too late.

  Bones and his gang surrounded Sam and started throwing him around like a bouncy green ball.

  “Hey!” BOUNCE. “Wait!” BOUNCE. “Stop!” BOUNCE.

  Sam could barely eek out a few words in between bounces. Luckily, one of the skeletons had bad aim and sent Sam flying sideways down the hall.

  He rolled into a tight little ball and kept on rolling, right down the stairs to the first floor of Mob Middle School.

  He rolled into a tight little ball and kept on rolling, right down the stairs to the first floor.

  But he wasn’t speaking to me. AT ALL. Until he found a sheet of paper on HIS locker, too.

  He read it out loud:

  It was one of my nicer raps, I have to say. I mean, Sam DOES like cats and witches. And he DOES kiss his cat right on the lips. And he shares his mushroom stew with her ALL THE TIME. So on a normal day, Sam would have probably LOVED my rap.

  But today wasn’t a normal day. Because Sam had just been rolled down the hallway like a bowling ball by Bones and his buddies.

  So today, he tore that rap off his locker and said to me, “Are you gonna tell everyone I wrote THAT rap, too?”

  It was about as mad as I’ve ever seen Sam get—except for one time when I said something not so nice about his girlfriend.

  And that was the last I saw of him all night. He didn’t sit with me at lunch. Ziggy didn’t either. Maybe he decided to sit by someone who would actually appreciate all the junk falling out of his mouth.

  So I sat by myself at the lunch table for pretty much the first time in my whole Mob Middle School career. And I kept getting nasty looks from other kids. Because there were a LOT of rap songs in my journal. And most of them showed up taped to lockers today.

  Plus, by lunchtime, the mobs had pretty much figured out that Sam hadn’t written a word of those raps. Nope. They were all written by yours truly.

  So after lunch, I did something I’ve never done in my whole life. I skipped out of school. I pretended like I was going to Art class, but I snuck out the door instead. I figure it’s only a matter of time before I get busted for the vending machine thing. So I might as well start getting used to a life of crime.

  I crept home and slipped through the back door, hoping Sock the Sheep wouldn’t bleat out a really loud hello.

  And I snuck past the living room, where Mom sat on the couch knitting the longest scarf I’d ever seen in my life. It rolled right off the couch and down the hall. I practically tripped over it on the way to my room.

  You know, Mom knits ALL the time. But I don’t see her getting any happier, so I’m starting to wonder if that book she read was all a scam—if Aunt Constance had sent her down the wrong path, like Connor tried to do with me.

  Then again, my life isn’t exactly coming up roses, so who am I to judge?

  Anyway, I made it to my room without being seen. And now I’m buried under the covers. But I’m keeping one eye out. Because Sticky the Squid is staring at me, and right now, he’s probably the only friend I’ve got.

  DAY 21: WEDNESDAY MORNING

  “Mom, I have to switch schools.”

  I said it the moment Chloe walked in the door after Strategic Explosions class. I knew if I didn’t, she’d bust me for skipping school. The trick with Chloe is to beat her to the punch.

  Mom was standing at the stove burning bacon to a crisp, just the way I like it. And there was syrup or something bubbling on another burner. So maybe she was going to make us a REAL breakfast, which we really haven’t had since she started this whole knitting thing.

  When Mom looked my way, I could tell she was only half listening. She was probably thinking about her next knitting project. PERFECT. Some of my best conversations with
her happen when she’s not really listening, like when she’s cleaning or folding laundry.

  “I need to switch schools, Mom. Seriously. Because someone got a hold of my journal—my PRIVATE journal—and spread it all over school. And now all my friends hate me.”

  “Well don’t even THINK about blaming me,” said Chloe, snitching a piece of bacon off the plate. I guess she gets in trouble so often, she figures I’m going to try to pin this one on her.

  I just ignored her. “I have it all worked out, Mom. There’s that private Creeper Academy on the edge of town. I can start on Monday—after a couple of days off to clear my head.”

  “Okay, dear.”

  OKAY??? I couldn’t believe it. I shot Chloe a look of victory.

  Then Mom turned around and added, “But you’ll have to find a job to pay for it—that academy is really expensive. Oh, and you’ll have to wear a uniform. You know that, right?”

  Well, CRUD. I hadn’t thought that one totally through. For just a second, I pictured myself hitting up that vending machine ONE LAST TIME to get enough emeralds to pay for Creeper Academy. But it was already a miracle I hadn’t been busted after my first robbery. Another one would put me behind bars, for sure.

  Plus, there was just no getting around those uniforms at Creeper Academy. I’d seen them before—Cate went to the academy for like a month when she was having trouble at her public school. And I think it was those disgusting uniforms that sent her into her weird Fashion Queen phase.

  See, the uniforms are the color of silverfish. And they’re really stiff. They actually kind of squeak when you walk in them. Personally, I think I’d rather wear prison stripes.

  Anyway, after Mom harshed my mellow about Creeper Academy, I decided to put my Life Planning on hold and focus on breakfast. But that “syrup” on the stove turned out to be dye for turning sheep’s wool different colors. Mom made it with dandelions. Which means my next sweater is going to be dandelion yellow.

  Yup, I really have to come up with a new plan.

  A creeper like me has all kinds of options, right?

  Hmm . . . I gotta say, apart from that last one, I’m not really loving my options.

  Which is how I ended up agreeing to go back to Mob Middle School tonight.

  Wish me luck. This creeper needs all the help he can get.

  DAY 22: THURSDAY MORNING

  I’m starting to know what it must feel like to be an Enderman. I walked through the halls of Mob Middle School last night and NO ONE looked me in the eye. Not a single mob.

  I actually started thinking that maybe I was invisible—like Willow Witch had thrown a splash potion of invisibility over me when I wasn’t looking, and mobs really couldn’t see me.

  By lunchtime, I was ready to ASK her for a potion like that. Because it would feel a lot less lonely if I actually WERE invisible.

  But Sam still isn’t speaking to me. Which means Willow Witch probably won’t speak to me either. I’ll bet that if I went over to Sam’s house in the swamp, Moo wouldn’t even MEOW at me.

  I sure tease Sam a lot about all that love stuff, but he’s got two mobs in his corner. How many do I have?

  Zero. Zippo. Nada.

  I didn’t even see Eddy Enderman last night, and he’s the one mob I was pretty sure would at least acknowledge me. But then, it was raining out, which means he probably took a sick night at home. Endermen really don’t like rain.

  But thinking about Eddy made me remember the last time he spoke to me. It was on Mushroom Island, and he said something like “Be your own creeper, man.”

  I don’t really have a choice now. I’m on my own here at Mob Middle School. But I think Eddy might have meant something different—like maybe I shouldn’t let Connor tell me what kind of creeper to be.

  Maybe Eddy knew Connor was going to lead me toward a life of crime. He’s smart that way.

  I really should have listened to Eddy, but I didn’t. Sheesh. When I look back at the happy-go-lucky creeper I was two weeks ago, I barely recognize the guy. Boy, did he have things wrong.

  So I came home after school this morning, and I saw the strangest thing in the backyard. A YELLOW sheep. A dandelion-yellow–colored sheep. When he bleated at me, I realized it was Sock. But what had Mom DONE to him?

  I asked her, and she said she’d dyed his wool. And I was like, “Mom, I think you’re supposed to dye the wool AFTER you shear the sheep.”

  So she pulls out her Knit Your Way to Happiness book and says, “Nope. Says right here you can dye the whole sheep.” In fact, she already had another pan of bright pink “syrup” bubbling on the stove.

  POOR Sock. I wanted to open the gate in the fence and set that sorry sheep free. But his own herd would probably turn against him, now that he’s yellow as a dandelion. Kind of like how baby Mooshrooms turn against their mothers when their mushrooms get sheared off.

  So Sock was probably feeling all weird and yellow and alone—just like me (I mean, except for the yellow part). And as we both stood there, wanting to jump the fence, I figured it out. I suddenly knew EXACTLY what Eddy meant about being “your own kind of creeper.”

  I mean, I hadn’t turned myself yellow, but I’d pretty much turned myself into a whole different creeper trying to impress Connor. I stopped rapping in front of him. I put away my drawings. I pretended I didn’t like Kid Z, for crying out loud! AND I started breaking the law.

  Plus, I was mean to Sam, who—let’s face it—is pretty much the best friend I’ve got at Mob Middle School. At least he used to be. So it’s time for me to take a look at my 30-Day Plan. See, my old plan was all about getting a new best friend. But I sure don’t want THAT anymore.

  In fact, I really want my old friend back. I’m kind of missing the bouncy green dude. And he’s a WAY better friend than Connor.

  So my new plan goes something like this:

  I could just let Connor off the hook—walk away and hope he leaves me alone. But he probably won’t. I mean, he’s got dirt on me, with that vending machine thing. And I don’t want to spend my whole life watching over my shoulder for the C.I.A. (Creeper Intelligence Agency) to show up and pin that robbery on me.

  So I have a plan for teaching Connor a lesson, but I’m going to need Sam’s help. He might shoot me down. I might end up all yellow and alone in a field somewhere. (You know what I mean.)

  But, hey, a creeper’s gotta try.

  DAY 24: SATURDAY

  Sam ignored me at school last night. But that’s okay. See, I know where the slime lives.

  So tonight, I walked through the swamp toward his house. It’s a long way there, and REALLY wet. But I had a plan. And it had to do with a certain Cat Cam.

  Sam was out back on his trampoline. It’s this big block of slime, and a slime bouncing on slime is a really BOUNCY slime.

  Sam was sky high, but Moo was sitting on the ground. So I got as close to that cat as I could without feeling like I was going to have a panic attack. I actually sat down on the ground and looked at her. And I started talking to her, all mushy like the way Sam does.

  I wasn’t trying to win over the cat. I was trying to win over SAM.

  See, I know the way to Sam’s heart. If I were trying to apologize to Ziggy Zombie, I’d serve him a rotten flesh sandwich. But with Sam, it’s all about that cat. And it worked. Sort of.

  Sam got off the trampoline as soon as he saw me, but he was still pretty wiggly and wobbly when he came over to see what I was doing.

  “Hey! Why are you talking to Moo?” he wanted to know.

  I shrugged. “I’ve kind of missed her,” I fibbed.

  “Really?” said Sam. My plan was already starting to work. That’s what I like about Sam. He doesn’t hold a grudge for very long.

  I told him that I was actually hoping to see a couple of Cat Cam videos while I was over. Did he have any new ones?

  Well, THAT did the trick. He bounced into the house and came out with his camera. And the video he showed me was actually REALLY funny.

 
; See, Willow Witch had brewed a potion of invisibility. And I guess Moo got into the potion. And turned invisible. And when she started batting at Sam’s little brothers, the mini slimes, they didn’t know what was happening!

  One of them got a paw across the face. Another one got LICKED and started laughing hysterically. And the whole time, those mini slimes were bouncing around in circles trying to find Moo, the Invisible Cat.

  I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. So Sam played it again. And again.

  By the time the battery in his camera died, it was like we were best buds again. But I knew I still had some apologizing to do.

  So I put it to Sam straight. I said, “I’m sorry I didn’t treat you very well when Connor was around. And I’m sorry about the rap songs—about writing them, and then about saying YOU wrote them. And I’m sorry about teasing you about Willow Witch. And about Moo. Oh, and about the mushroom stew.”

  Man, my apology list was sure long. I probably should have written it all down to make sure I didn’t forget anything.

  Sam nodded, his green head wiggling. And he kind of sniffled a little. But when he went in for a hug, I had to dodge it. I mean, that’s where I draw the line. (Being hugged by a slime feels like drowning in a bowl of green Jell-o.)

  Anyway, Sam and I were good after that. PHEW. But I still needed his help to teach Connor a lesson. And it was kind of a dangerous mission—the kind of mission you could really use a witch for, plus her potion of invisibility.

  Sam said he’d talk to Willow. And with Willow Witch, things could go either way. See, unlike Sam, she DOES hold a grudge.