by Lenore Look
“Ewwwwww! Eeeeeeeek! Gross!” the girls screamed.
Quickly I opened my PDK.
The principal, who was also the lunch monitor, was headed our way. I pulled on my scary mask and my string of garlic and checked my escape route.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!” screamed the girls again.
“Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!” went the bell, and the entire cafeteria rushed outside for recess using the exact emergency escape route I had in my PDK.
It was a very close call.
“You pulled a good one on the girls,” said a voice behind me when I got to the monkey bars.
It was Pinky, and the gang was with him.
I said nothing.
I didn’t want any trouble.
I hooked my legs over the top bar and dropped into my sleeping-bat position.
“I’m having a party tomorrow,” said Hobson. “Be there or don’t be there.”
His party? Tomorrow? I didn’t know what to say.
“It’s at two,” said Hobson. “Bring me a present or don’t come at all.”
Really? That was so easy! I didn’t have to set a world record after all! All it took was spewing Goldfish innards on the girls!
But there was something else I needed to do tomorrow … what was it?
I scratched my bat head with my bat wing.
“Dress as an Indian or don’t bother dressing at all,” added Hobson.
That’s the great thing about boys’ parties—you don’t waste any time wondering what you’re going to wear.
The other great thing is that there’s no R.S.V.P. You get invited, and you go. You don’t have to Resume Standing Very Promptly. You can keep hanging upside down.
That was it! R.S.V.P. Flea’s party was also tomorrow. At two.
“Let’s go,” Pinky said to the gang.
Go? Go where?
Wait!!! I wanted to say. But I couldn’t. Nothing came out of my little bat mouth.
And the gang was gone, just like that.
But it was okay.
My life wasn’t going to the girls! I’d been invited to the right party after all, and now I wouldn’t have to go to the wrong one. I could hardly believe it. My wish had come true!
I could hardly wait to tell my mom.
She wouldn’t know what to say when I told her I’d like to have more mother-son time at the mall.
Maybe we’d have fries and lemonade again.
Then she’d take me to exchange the Deluxe Indian Princess for the Deluxe Indian Chief outfit and we’d buy something for Hobson. And that would be the end of that.
The problem with telling my mom the good news was that my mom wasn’t home. My dad was.
So there was quite a lot of explaining to do.
“You see, Dad, I had wished upon the stars for an invitation to a boys’ party …
“But the stars got it wrong, and I got invited to a girls’ party …
“And now, finally, I’ve been invited to the right party.…”
My dad looked at me through one eye, then he looked at me through the other eye. He put down his newspaper. He rubbed his quillery chin.
“You have a problem, son,” said my dad.
I nodded.
“Getting two invitations is a nice problem to have,” said my dad.
I nodded again.
“BUT,” said my dad, “you can’t go to two parties at once.”
“I don’t want to go to both,” I said. “I just want to go to the right party.”
My dad looked at me again. “You’re not caught in a dilemma?” he asked.
I looked at my feet. I didn’t know what a dilemma was, but it didn’t look like I was caught in anything, so I shook my head no.
“Then you’re a better man than I was at your age,” said my dad.
“You were a man at my age, Dad?” I asked.
“It’s an expression,” said my dad. “It means you know the right thing to do and you do it. No one has to tell you.”
I nodded.
“It’s moments like this that make me feel proud to be your father,” said my dad, giving me a pat on the back.
I looked at my dad. He had been working a lot lately and I’d hardly seen him at all.
So I gave him a hug.
And he hugged me back.
Then I said it back to him, “I’m proud to be your son, Dad.”
i popped out of bed the next morning before anyone else was awake and started putting together my BPDK (Birthday Party Disaster Kit).
You can put anything in a BPDK, but mostly it should be things that are useful at a party.
I wrote “BPDK” on a rolling suitcase, and I put in the following:
Name sticker. Better than shaking hands. Also useful for identifying your body in the event of a fire.
Permanent marker. For writing your name on the above sticker. Also useful for making a few bucks at a party by doing face-painting and tattoos.
Party hat.
Noisemaker.
Balloons.
Fire extinguisher. For the birthday candles.
Bandana. For preventing smoke inhalation.
Rope. For escaping out of a second-floor window in case the flames and smoke have gotten out of hand. Also useful for tying up someone who is winning all the games.
A shopping bag. For goodies and party favors.
Then I picked up my list, “How to Talk to a Girl.” I stopped.
“ ‘Show No Fear,’ ” I added to the bottom, remembering Bucky’s advice. Then I threw it into my BPDK, just in case.
“Calvin,” I whispered. “Could I borrow your Houdini straitjacket?”
Calvin turned over. “Grrrrrrrrrrr,” he growled. “Grrrrrrrrrrrr.”
It sure sounded like he said, “Go ahead, go ahead.”
“Thanks, Cal,” I said. Then I picked up his fantastic straitjacket off the floor and stuffed it into the Deluxe Indian Princess box, which I had emptied. It fit perfectly.
Another problem with going to a party is that you should be appropriately dressed. This means that you should dress like everyone else at the party. This is especially scary if you’re going to a girls’ party.
Lucky for me, I’d already been told what to wear.
I didn’t have the exact outfit I needed, but it was close enough.
“Use it up, wear it out, make it do or do without,” I rapped softly as I stood in front of the mirror. It’s one of my dad’s favorite sayings. It means don’t waste anything. Use whatever you have.
It’s good advice.
I turned this way. Then I turned that way. The sun peeped over my shoulder.
The Deluxe Indian Princess outfit didn’t look too bad on me. In fact, the longer I looked in the mirror, the less it looked like the Deluxe Indian Princess and more like the Deluxe Indian Chief.
Even the deluxe baby carrier looked like it was meant for carrying arrows, not a doll.
The only thing missing was the huge feather headdress that makes you look like a giant bird. If I had one of those, my outfit would be perfect!
Could I make one?
What would my gunggung do? He makes everything from scratch, even our Halloween costumes.
So I scratched around. And this is what I found: buttons, ribbons, glue and one hundred Popsicle sticks. It was perfect!
By the time I smelled eggs and bacon coming from the kitchen and heard Anibelly singing at the top of her lungs, I was hardly recognizable.
Looking back at me from the mirror was no Indian princess.
It wasn’t even Alvin Ho.
It was the best-looking Deluxe Indian Chief I’d ever seen!
“Wow,” I said to the mirror breathlessly.
I wanted to rush downstairs and eat breakfast in my amazing new outfit, then run and scream around the yard and dig holes. But I knew I couldn’t. The problem with dressing for a party is that you’re not supposed to do it until the very last minute on account of you can ruin it all before the party even start
s.
So I took everything off, folded it neatly and put it on top of my pillow.
Calvin turned over in his bed. He doesn’t pop out like I do. I have alarm clock noise phobia so I’m always up before the alarm goes off, but Calvin always waits for the BEEEEP—BEEEEP—BEEEEEP!
“Rise and shine!” I yelled at Calvin. “I’ve been up for hours!”
Calvin groaned.
“THOU ART A VERY RAGGED WART!” I screamed, jumping on his bed.
Calvin lifted an eyelid. But he still did not move.
“Thine horrid image doth unfix my hair!” he said. Then, suddenly throwing back the covers, Calvin screamed, “TRULY THOU ART DOOMED, LIKE AN ILL-ROASTED EGG, ALL ON ONE SIDE!”
Calvin lunged at me.
But I’d been up for hours and was more awake than a ragged wart, so he missed.
Then he chased me down to breakfast.
Saturday mornings are crazy at our house.
Even before breakfast was over, my dad was on the phone calling for a babysitter. He was taking my mom to a QRDO (quiet romantic dinner out) in the evening. None of my grandparents could come watch us and neither could my uncle Dennis.
My mom was busy too. She was making a grocery list and checking the refrigerator and cupboards.
Calvin was in his white lab coat. He had finally settled on a science project that Uncle Dennis suggested and he was working on it at the kitchen table. And Anibelly, Lucy and I were hanging out, watching Saturday-morning cartoons and multitasking—Anibelly was waiting for Calvin to turn her into a guinea pig, Lucy was doing her yoga ball routine, and I was busy wrapping my present for the party.
“Broccoli,” said Calvin. “Would you get me broccoli, Mom?”
My mom scribbled it on her list.
“Cauliflower too,” Calvin added. “And cabbage.”
My mom scribbled. Then she stopped. She looked at Calvin.
“Also green peppers and onions,” said Calvin.
My mom’s eyes grew big and round. “Whatever happened to candy, potato chips and ice cream?” she asked.
“Those too,” said Calvin. “The vegetables are for my science project.”
“I hope it requires you to eat them,” said my mom.
“It does,” said Calvin.
“Great!” said my mom. “My kind of science project.”
Then my mom looked at me. “Any requests from you, Alvin?”
I shook my head. “I like everything,” I said. It’s true. I eat whatever’s in front of me. I’m not a picky eater like Calvin.
“I like everything too!” said Anibelly.
“Are you ready for your party, sweetheart?” my mom asked me.
“Yup,” I said. “I can’t wait!”
“That’s a big change coming from you,” said my mom.
“Yup,” I said. “I had a talk with Dad.”
My mom nodded. “I’m glad you did,” she said, smiling at me.
I smiled back. I love my mom.
“He’s even got his outfit laid out on his bed,” said Calvin.
My mom looked very pleased.
“Alvin,” said my mom, “sometimes you really surprise me.”
I nodded. “Sometimes I really surprise me too,” I said.
“And that’s a good wrapping job, by the way,” my mom added, going out the door. “If I were the birthday girl, I’d be very happy to receive it.”
My chest filled like a large hot-air balloon and I floated up, up, up above my house. If my mom were the birthday girl, I’d give her a hundred and thirty-two kisses.
“Do Certain Foods Produce More Gas than Others?” Calvin wrote across the top of his display board.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“For this experiment you’ll eat different foods,” said Calvin. “And we’ll see which ones give you the most gas.”
“What foods?” I asked.
“The ones I asked Mom to get,” said Calvin. “Broccoli, cauliflower, onions, cabbage, green peppers. We already have baked beans. And if you’re lactose intolerant like Dad, there’s milk, cheese, yogurt, and ice cream.”
“Ice cream?” I screamed. “I love ice cream! When do I start?”
“Right now,” said Calvin. “Today is ice cream day. Tomorrow will be broccoli day, and the day after that cauliflower day, and so on.”
“Hooray!” I said.
“Hooray!” said Anibelly.
“Oooowwwoooo!” cried Lucy. She loves ice cream too, especially when she can lick it off of Anibelly.
We hurried to the freezer.
Calvin is a regular backhoe when it comes to scooping out ice cream. Someday he’ll work in an ice cream shop. He’s very talented in that way.
“Calvin,” I said, “you’re going to be the best ice cream scooper in Concord.”
“Yup,” said Calvin, making himself a hill of Dubble Trubble Chocolate Rubble. “But for today, I’m just going to be a guinea pig like you and Anibelly.”
“I love science,” I said, shoveling Mint Chocolate Cookie into my cheeks.
“Me too,” said Calvin.
“Is this going to turn me furry?” asked Anibelly.
“I can’t wait for baked bean day,” I said.
“I don’t like baked beans,” said Calvin. “They’re too sweet and slimy. But they do give you the most gas.”
“Bombs,” I said.
“Real bombs,” said Calvin. “Like the kind that blew up Concord in the old days.”
I laughed.
Calvin laughed.
My brother Calvin’s really great. He’s usually running around from karate lessons to baseball practice to Boy Scouts to something else. He does it all, which means he’s rarely in a talking mood. But when he’s in a talking mood, it’s like talking to my best friend.
“You’re going to be the greatest scientist in the world someday,” I said, slurping my ice cream.
“Yup,” said Calvin, also slurping. “I’ll build a spaceship and blast you off to the moons of Jupiter.”
“Can you put a tractor there too?” I asked. “I’d like to ride a tractor out there.”
“Sure,” said Calvin. SLUUUURP!
“And I just want to be a guinea pig,” said Anibelly.
“BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP!” I replied.
i got dressed and ready to go, all by myself.
“Wow,” said Anibelly.
“Thou hath more feathers than wit!” said Calvin.
“Lalalalalalala,” sang Anibelly, dancing around me. It made me feel like dancing too. So I did.
Then it was time for me to leave. I grabbed my present and my BPDK and headed downstairs.
Too bad my dad was underneath his car in the garage and my mom wasn’t home from shopping yet. If they had seen me, they would have taken pictures.
“Don’t stop along the way,” my dad called out to me from underneath his car, Louise. “And come home promptly. Your mother and I are going out and you need to meet the new babysitter when she gets here.”
“Okay, Dad!” I shouted, running around the back to inspect our kitchen tree.
Then I climbed into our apple tree.
Then I dug a couple of holes.
After that, I went to see an eagles’ nest in a neighbor’s yard, but when I got there, it was too far up (I have acrophobia), so I went to the little pond instead, where you could see a family of swans and turtle eggs and not have to climb anything.
An Indian chief’s got a lot to do!
“Hey, Alvin!” someone called as soon as I reached Mildred Circle.
It was Sam. The gang was dressed up and playing settlers and Indians right there in the cul-de-sac.
“You heading over to Hobson’s party?” asked Eli.
I nodded.
“It’s too early,” said Pinky. “So we’re practicing before we go.”
I shrugged. I hopped on my invisible horse and galloped around the circle with my present under my arm, pulling my BPDK behind me.
“Cool
outfit,” Nhia called out, shooting an invisible arrow at me.
I ducked. Then I gave a loud whoop.
Loud whoops went round and round.
Invisible arrows went up and down.
Indians fell.
Settlers fell.
Indians rose from the dead.
Settlers rose from the dead.
Loud whoops went round and round.
It was terrific!
Then I stopped.
I could hear my dad’s voice in my ears. “You know the right thing to do and you do it. No one has to tell you.”
I looked around. My dad wasn’t there.
Then I heard him again. “You’re a better man than I was at your age,” said my dad’s voice.
I looked around again.
“What’s the matter?” asked Jules.
“Nothing,” I said.
I began to gallop again.
I could hardly believe it. I was finally on my way to the right party. I was in my Deluxe Indian outfit. I was playing settlers and Indians with the gang. I was impressive.
But it didn’t feel like what I had expected.
I stopped again.
“Did you forget your PDK?” asked Pinky.
I shook my head no.
“What’s the matter, then?” asked Nhia.
“Maybe I’m not supposed to be here,” I said.
“Why not?” asked Nhia.
“Not sure,” I said.
I started to gallop again.
Wearing a Deluxe Indian outfit was fabulous!
Playing settlers and Indians was great!
The Popsicle-stick-feather headdress falling down my back was spectacular!
I loved it all.
So why didn’t I feel wonderful?
I stopped dead in my horse tracks again.
“My bones are marrowless and my blood is cold,” I cried.
Everyone stopped dead in their tracks.