Buttheads from Outer Space

by Jerry Mahoney

  “Hold on,” I said to Lloyd. “What if you don’t have to convince them? What if you just convince one annoying Earthling instead?” I waved for Lloyd to follow me, and I took off down the hall.

  Lloyd and I caught up to Quentin. It was pretty clear what his “few measured words” would be about today, unless we could stop him.

  “Quentin, you can’t tell anyone about what you saw yesterday,” Lloyd said.

  “It’s too late!” he replied. “I posted my picture all over social media, and my profile is skyrocketing. I’ve already been retweeted by The Area 51 Club, and the E.T. Truther Movement faved me! This guy @AlienzRSoReallyReal was messaging me all night for more information. So I called a press conference for tomorrow morning, and every news crew in town is coming.”

  “This has gone too far,” I said. “Because of you, the aliens are planning to come and take over the Earth!”

  Quentin snickered. “All the more reason I should tell everyone about them. I’m going to be the kid who saved the whole planet!”

  “Only if we win,” Lloyd said. “And if we lose, you’ll be the first one picking out toe jam.”

  “Huh?” Quentin said.

  “They’re going to enslave us all. If you want to be the kid who saved Earth, help us convince them to leave.” Lloyd was doing it. I could see him actually getting through to Quentin. “Forget those lists of kids who’ll change the world someday. You’ll be the kid who did change the world. The biggest hero in human history.”

  It was working. Quentin was deep in thought, nodding softly as he realized Lloyd was right.

  “Oh, Mr. President!” Principal Hartley stuck her head out of her office. “We’re ready for you.” She waved him inside and handed him a sheet of paper. “Here are today’s announcements, after your few measured words, of course. I can’t wait to hear what you have to share with us today!”

  Quentin followed her into the office. Lloyd and I waited outside to see what would happen. “Do you think he’ll do it?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Lloyd said. “We tried our best.”

  While we waited anxiously for Quentin’s announcements to start, we saw someone waving to us from down the hall. “Guys! Guys! Did you see?” Kaitlyn Wien-Tomita pushed her way through the crowd to reach us.

  “You mean the Instagram post?” I asked.

  “No, I mean my video report on the Smart-Off. It just passed a thousand views. My most ever!”

  “That’s fantastic!” Lloyd replied. Amid all our dread about Quentin’s picture, we had forgotten about the Smart-Off.

  Kaitlyn handed us her phone so we could see the video. “Look!” she said. “It’s getting linked all over the place!” She showed us a page which had posted the video under the headline: “Hotheaded Dweeb Goes Mental After Losing Brainiac Competition.” Underneath that was a still frame of Quentin standing on a cafeteria table after the Smart-Off tryouts, in the middle of a deranged scream.

  Lloyd burst out laughing. “Oh, man! He looks psycho!”

  It was exactly the revenge we had always wanted, but I couldn’t celebrate, because at that moment, the speakers crackled with feedback, signaling the start of morning announcements.

  “Attention, fellow students,” Quentin began. His voice was shaky and uncertain. “This is your president, Quentin Fairchild, speaking, and today, I’d like to say a few measured words about . . .” He took a deep breath. “. . . about aliens.”

  “Ooh!” Kaitlyn said, grabbing her phone back. “This story keeps getting better!” She held her phone and darted into Principal Hartley’s office to capture the moment.

  There was a long pause in the announcements right then. I could hear Principal Hartley whispering to Quentin in the background. “Quentin, are you all right? Quentin?”

  Quentin continued, his voice quivering. “You’ve probably seen my Instagram picture from yesterday and heard about my press conference for tomorrow morning. Well, I’d like to say now that . . . that . . that it was all a hoax. There are no aliens.”

  Lloyd and I high-fived. I suddenly felt what it was like to save a planet. It felt pretty good.

  “In other announcements . . .” Quentin continued sadly. I heard him rustle the paper Principal Hartley had given him, and he began to read. “The Smart-Off tryouts were yesterday. Congratulations to everyone who made the team, especially . . .”

  Another long pause. His voice started to warp with anger. “Especially the new Super Brain . . .” I heard him grumbling, and then he tore the paper into pieces. “No!” he shouted. “I can’t lie anymore! There are aliens! And they’re helping students cheat on the Smart-Off competition! I’m the real Super Brain! Me!”

  “Quentin, what are you—?” We could hear Principal Hartley scrambling behind him.

  “Aliens are coming to take over the Earth, and their first step was dethroning me as the Super Brain! We need to mobilize! Join me in the fight! Put down your textbooks and pick up your ray guns! THIS IS OUR PLANET, AND WE NEED TO DEFEND IT!”

  He sounded pretty insane at this point, screaming so loudly that every syllable he spat into the microphone was accompanied by horrible feedback.

  Then, suddenly, everything got quiet again. “I’m terribly sorry about that outburst,” Principal Hartley said. “Have a nice day. Oh, and please note that the chess team will meet in Room 233 today, as their usual room is being repainted. Thank you.”

  A weird hush fell over the hallway. All I could hear were the sound of footsteps—urgent, pounding against the linoleum, getting closer and closer. Quentin emerged from the principal’s office, tailed by Kaitlyn and her camera. He was absolutely seething at me and Lloyd. Then, a man rounded the corner. We saw his hair before we saw him, then his rainbow-striped pants and suspenders.

  “What do you know?” he shouted. Lloyd, Quentin, and me all looked at Mr. Mudd, as he grabbed Quentin by the shoulders and got right in his face. “Do they like video games? Do they fart conversationally? Where are their butts?” He shook Quentin, demanding an answer. “Where. Are. Their. Butts?”

  Lloyd and I shared a concerned look, but Quentin just thought Mr. Mudd had finally gone off the deep end.

  “What are you talking about?” Quentin asked.

  “I saw your picture on Instagram. I tried to message you all night!”

  “You’re @AlienzRSoReallyReal?”

  The bell rang and students filled the halls, heading to their first period classes. No one seemed worried about an alien takeover, which was a big relief. A few of them were snickering about Quentin’s weird rant, but at least no one was freaking out.

  “You fool!” Mr. Mudd shouted. “You’ve provoked them!”

  “You’re just going to have to come to my press conference!” Quentin snapped. “You, too, Kaitlyn,” he said, turning toward Kaitlyn’s phone. “If I decide to give you media credentials, that is.” He stuck his hand in Kaitlyn’s lens, and she turned the camera off.

  “That’s fine,” she said, putting her camera away. “I’ve got plenty for a new post! Thanks!” She skipped off down the hallway, happily, which only made Quentin angrier.

  More than anything at that moment, I wanted to talk to Mr. Mudd. Clearly, he had more information on the aliens than Lloyd and I previously thought. We would’ve asked him for a private chat, if Principal Hartley hadn’t come out of her office looking for us. “Come on in, boys. All three of you. Let’s talk.”

  She waved us in, and we shrugged at Mr. Mudd. We were curious to know what information he had, but that conversation would have to wait.

  Quentin showed Principal Hartley the picture he’d taken on his cell phone. “They’re in his house!” Quentin said, pointing his finger at me. He zoomed in on the image. “And if you look closely, you’ll see a butt crack on the back of his head!”

  Principal Hartley took the phone from Quentin for a closer look. “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she said. She actually seemed like she believed Quentin. Thankfully, Lloyd was read
y.

  “I don’t believe in aliens myself, Principal Hartley,” Lloyd lied. “And I think Josh would’ve noticed if there were creatures from another planet in his house. Right, Josh?”

  Principal Hartley put on her glasses and zoomed in on the alien in the picture. “It does look like a butt crack,” she nodded.

  “Well, it’s very easy to fake a picture these days, as you know,” Lloyd said. “It’s not as easy to fool a woman as smart as you.”

  “Hmmm . . .” Principal Hartley nodded. She took off her glasses and handed back the phone. “Quentin, are you sure you’re not just upset about losing the captain slot on the Smart-Off team?”

  Quentin leapt out of his seat, pointing his finger at me and shouting at the top of his voice. “He cheated!” he yelled. “I’m smarter than Josh! I should be the captain!”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Principal Hartley nodded. “That’s what I figured.”

  Things were going pretty well for me and Lloyd. Quentin was sounding like a certified lunatic. Principal Hartley shook her head, disappointed in him. “Quentin, I guess you had your moment as our local star. Now it looks like it’s time to give the spotlight to someone else.”

  “Uh . . . uh . . .” Quentin wanted to argue, but he couldn’t get any sound to come out. He looked like he might cry. I actually felt a little bad for him. I’d dreamed about this ever since Quentin made his first magazine cover and started treating me and Lloyd like inferiors. We’d beaten him. We’d taken down a giant.

  Technically, of course, everything he was saying was true.

  “Now, boys, please go to class.” Principal Hartley shooed us out of her office. From behind her closed door, we could hear her moan to herself, “I can’t wait for Spring Break!”

  After school, I wanted to rush right home and try to save the Earth, but Lloyd insisted we go to Smart-Off practice instead. “You’ve earned this, Josh,” he told me. “Don’t you deserve one moment on top before the planet is taken over by buttheads?” He had a point.

  As soon as I walked in, all the other Smarties stood up and applauded for me. Except Quentin, of course. He sat perfectly still, with his arms folded across his chest and a bitter scowl on his face. He’d been demoted to Science Smarty.

  It was fun being the leader of something for a change. I got to pick the color for our team uniforms: tie-dye. I got to choose our official team snack: Chocolatey-Flavored Gummy Grahams. And when I suggested the team name “The Number Twos,” everyone voted for it except guess who. (I thought it’d be so cool when we won and the announcer had to say, “This week’s number one is . . . The Number Twos!”) But the best part was watching Quentin grit his teeth and pout the whole time. I tried not to stare. After all, Kaitlyn was filming it, so I knew I’d be able to grab some sweet screencaps of his frowny face later on.

  It was all going great until we reached the part where we actually started practicing, and I had to answer some questions. I was hoping the method that worked so well for me during the tryouts would pay off again, but it turns out yelling the first thing that comes into your head is only a good strategy when an alien eyeball is beaming you the answers.

  “Eighteen?” the Language Arts Smarty asked. “You sure that’s your answer?”

  “Yeah, sure,” I said.

  “No, sorry,” she replied. “The correct answer is photosynthesis.”

  Each time it happened, Quentin got angrier and angrier, until finally, when I replied that the capital of China was Kung Pao Town. That was apparently the final straw.

  “AUUUUUGGGHHHH!” he shouted. He leapt out of his seat and gave me a huge shove that knocked me to the ground. “You JERK!” Then he dove to the floor and started attacking. It was a rapid volley of slaps and elbows, each one punctuated by a wimpy squeal. “I! Hate! You! Ehhh!”

  The other Smarties formed a circle around us to watch the melee. The Language Arts Smarty wondered if she should get a faculty member, while the Math Smarty kept pumping his fist and saying, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Kaitlyn was there, too, filming every limp punch Quentin threw. (She was the Tech Smarty.)

  All of them realized pretty quickly, though, that Quentin wasn’t actually hitting me. He was hitting my backpack, but he had his eyes closed, like it was too painful for him to watch his own meltdown, so he didn’t realize that I was quietly sitting next to him, watching.

  “Josh, you OK?” Lloyd asked.

  I shrugged and slid backward across the floor, as Quentin started kicking, blindly beating the crap out of my backpack.

  “You! Deserve! This!”

  “This is lame,” the Math Smarty said, and he walked away, bored. Others followed his lead, and the Smarties sat back down and peppered each other with trivia questions. Everyone seemed to know the fight was over, except Quentin, who was still kicking and swinging his arms at nothing in particular.

  Again, I felt sorry for him. He couldn’t even put on a fight that other kids were willing to watch. “Quentin, stop,” I said.

  “Never!” he yelled. “I don’t care if I get expelled! It’ll be worth it!”

  “Dude,” Lloyd said, yanking my backpack out of Quentin’s teeth. (I think he thought he was biting my arm or something.) “You’re squishing Josh’s homework.”

  Finally, Quentin opened his eyes. He looked around, as if snapping out of a trance. “I guess you’ve had enough,” he said, and he stood up to brush himself off.

  “Look, I don’t want to fight,” I told him. Lloyd and I pulled him aside, where no one else could hear us. “Not with you or the aliens. Can’t you just help us get rid of them?”

  “You mean, I can meet them?” Quentin said. He calmed down and stared at me hopefully.

  “Sure you can!” Lloyd jumped in. “Are you kidding? They’re dying to meet you!” He looked at me and winked. We should’ve guessed sooner that playing to Quentin’s ego was the way to go.

  “Really?” Quentin said.

  “Yeah,” Lloyd continued. “They have statues of you all over their planet. Your picture is, like, on their money.”

  “You’re making that up,” Quentin said. “How do they know what I look like?”

  “You’re on the cover of all our magazines!” Lloyd said. “They think you’re our leader.”

  Quentin smiled proudly, but he didn’t seem totally convinced. “I’ll believe it when I see it!”

  “Then come see it!” Lloyd said. “Come to Josh’s house and meet them!”

  “What?” I said. “He can’t come to my house!”

  “That’s right, I can’t,” Quentin replied defiantly. “I’m not going to come to your house so you can play another trick on me and humiliate me more. I’ll meet the aliens, and I’ll consider taking down my photo, but only if they come to my house.”

  “That’s impossible!” I said. “How are we supposed to get them to your house without anyone seeing them?”

  “We’ll do it,” Lloyd interrupted. “One hour from now, your place. Be ready.”

  Quentin smiled and reached out his hand. “Gentlemen, you have a deal.”

  We shook his hand. Then, he spun around and started marching away. He got only two steps before stumbling over his own backpack and nearly faceplanting on the floor. “Ow! I’m all right! I’m all right!” He regained his balance, picked up his bag, and left.

  “I don’t know, Lloyd,” I said. “We’re putting an awful lot of faith in Quentin to save the world.”

  “I’m not putting any faith in him,” Lloyd replied. “We’re going to take this to a higher authority.”

  “The FBI?”

  Lloyd shook his head. “Not quite.”

  15 See page 270 for our blog about aliens, or at least what we thought we knew about them before we actually met any.

  CHAPTER 15

  Mr. Mudd had his face pressed against his computer screen when we walked into class. There was a very blurry line running down the center, and that’s about it, but he was examining it like a dog checks out a turd, with his face shoved
in it, gazing from every possible angle. He kept pausing to take notes, as if each new glance gave him some deep insight.

  “What’s he looking at?” I asked Lloyd.

  Lloyd shrugged.

  “Amazing!” Mr. Mudd whispered to himself, as he jotted down another note.

  On the whiteboard, hea had already written up an assignment for tomorrow.

  ESSAY

  An alien attack is imminent.

  How will you plead for mercy?

  What is your plan to save the human race from utter annihilation?

  (500 words or less)

  As we were contemplating his essay question, he finally saw us standing in the room, and he waved us over.

  “You really think we humans can save ourselves by pleading for mercy?” I asked him.

  Mr. Mudd had a hearty laugh. “Oh no! Not anyone in my class, at least. It’s just busywork. Have a seat, boys.” He pointed to two chairs set up across from his desk. “I trust you know what this is.” He glanced back at his computer screen.

  “The Grand Canyon?” I asked.

  “A blurry line?” Lloyd guessed.

  “It’s from Quentin’s picture.” Mr. Mudd clicked on a few buttons, and the picture zoomed out wide. Sure enough, once it did, we could see that what he had been looking at was the back of IAmAWeenieBurger’s head.

  “Dude, that’s an alien butt!” Lloyd said.

  “Of course! I should’ve known!” Mr. Mudd said, slapping his forehead. “Had he been eating Oreos?”

  Lloyd and I shared an impressed look. “How did you know that?” I asked.

  “I think it’s time for you boys to tell me everything you know.”

  “Well, I know two plus two is four, and i before e except after c,” Lloyd said. “Now what do you know?”

  “I know more than you think I do,” Mr. Mudd said, ominously.

  I looked at Lloyd, and he nodded. I’d been longing for this moment, a chance to tell the story to someone who’d actually believe it and to get their advice. To warn them about the invasion and see if they had any last-ditch ideas to save humanity. To no longer have to carry this burden entirely on our own. I took a deep breath and thought hard about how to begin.