#4. DO NOT speak about this class OUTSIDE of this class.
“This one is simple. What happens in this class stays in class,” said Ms. Cane.
Wow again! I didn’t know we were going to school in Las Vegas! Just like the commercials. Was this legal?
“I want our time together to be easy. I don’t need headaches. And I certainly don’t need your parents sticking their noses in my business,” explained Ms. Cane. “If you are cool with me, I’ll be cool with you.”
Not knowing what to do, Banderson started to slowly shuffle his way back to his desk.
Smiling and giggling to the rest of the class, he almost made it . . .
“Did you find your answer, Mr. Funny?” asked Ms. Cane, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
“Y-Y-Yes?” stammered Banderson.
“Great! Please share it with the rest of the class,” requested Ms. Cane.
“Ummm . . . Don’t even ask you the one percent of the questions we don’t know the answers to?” said Banderson.
“That sounds about right! I told you the Question Rock would work. Thank you, Mr. Funny, for proving my point,” said Ms. Cane.
Typically, when we have a substitute, the kids in my class will push the envelope and take advantage of the situation. We’ll switch seats, pretend to be someone else, talk, text, and generally goof off.
That morning, there was NONE of that. You could hear a pin drop, and every kid sat at the straightest of attention. All eyes were forward. There was a new sheriff in town, and her name was Ms. Cane.
Thankfully it was Friday. Michael was sleeping over that night, and we had a lot to talk about.
Man, I was nervous! Sweat rolled down my back, and I started to breathe heavily. The pitch-darkness and eerie silence provided little comfort. From a distance, we could hear the lonesome cries of a chained hound.
It was a damp, humid night. Outside, light rain pattered on the driveway, making it difficult to hear footsteps. It wasn’t my first mission, but the old nerves started to get the best of me. Was I ready? Did we have all the right gear? We’d rehearsed and planned for weeks knowing there was no room for error. I didn’t know why, but I doubted myself.
Maybe because that time it was personal.
My night-vision goggles were snug, and the foamy end of a radio headset hung inches away from my mouth. Something wasn’t right. What had I forgotten? Ignoring my strict instructions, I broke radio silence.
“Ninja 44. This is LeBron6. Equipment check. Over.”
“Roger that, LeBron6. Solid copy. We are a GO. Maintain radio silence. Out.”
“Negative, Ninja44. Need to double-check on the N-Strike Elite Hail-Fire blaster. All clips ready and operational? Over.”
“Are you kidding, Jake? Sorry, I mean, Roger that, LeBron6. I’m all set. We got this. Relax! OUT!”
Michael was an ice cube. Cool under pressure with no worries. His confidence may have been his own worst enemy.
I’d been to this rodeo before. Many times! And always came away empty-handed. Sometimes severely bruised. Our target that night was deadly, and she was scheduled to arrive home at 8:00 p.m. It would be dark outside, and all the lights in the house would be off. The perfect ambush. Michael took up his position at the top of the stairs, while I was strategically hidden behind the couch. GOTCHA!
Michael decided to go with the Nerf N-Strike Elite Hail-Fire blaster that held an astounding eight clips with a 144-dart capacity. If his semi-auto barrage of darts didn’t finish off the target, I was there for reinforcements.
My weapon of choice was the Nerf Blazin’ Bow Blaster.
Call me old school, but I loved the feel of real bow action at my fingertips. It made hunting Alexis considerably more challenging. But just in case that failed me, I also had a Nerf Vortex Vigilon holstered to my leg. Poor girl, she didn’t know what was about to hit her.
Suddenly, headlights illuminated the dark house. A minivan loaded with girls pulled into the drive. Hearing a familiar voice and the obligatory “Thank you Mrs. So-and-So,” I knew it was go time.
“Ninja44. This is LeBron6. Target approaching hot zone. Over.”
“Roger that, LeBron6. I have a visual. Scanning with thermals. Over.”
“Solid copy, Ninja44. Lock and load. Let’s do this!” Hoo-ah!
Alexis bound up the front steps singing the same sound that only moments before had been blaring out of the van full of middle-school girls. Obviously practice had gone well.
Fumbling for keys, she dropped her oversize backpack. Thud!
Seconds later the dead bolt clicked and the door slowly swung on its hinges. With my night-vision goggles, I could see Alexis standing in the foyer trying to find the light switch. It was my idea to tape over it. Awkward darkness would provide the cover we needed to attack.
But as soon as she felt the tape, Alexis knew it was a trap. To her credit, she didn’t panic. Alexis quickly backed against the wall and then became motionless. She was thinking.
I knew Michael didn’t have a clear shot. The banister was in the way. Alexis was supposed to be standing directly under the light fixture, but she wasn’t cooperating.
My radio softly crackled with Michael’s voice.
“LeBron6. I have visual but no real shot. Permission to throw the Nerf football. Over.”
“Negative, Ninja44. NEGATIVE! ROE prohibits firing upon enemy in close proximity to Mom’s expensive lamp. Just wait. She’ll move. Over.”
Before I could hear Michael’s reply, my world lit up like a solar flare. Somehow Alexis had worked the switch free from the tape and flicked on the lights. Blinded by the incredible brightness, we ripped off our night-vision goggles and opened fire.
Michael laid down a semi-auto barrage of Nerf darts, and I followed with a flurry of Nerf arrows. After launching all ten of my spongy missiles, confused and still semi-blind, I reached for my side arm. But the iron grip of death grabbed me by the wrist.
“Nice try!” snarled Alexis as she flung me to the ground and jumped on my back. Before I knew it, I was begging for mercy. Alexis had me in her famous cross-face chicken-wing hold. She also had my gun and my headset. Not again!
“Hello, Michael,” whispered Alexis in the microphone. “I have your comrade. You’re next. If you lay down your blaster, I promise not to embarrass you as well.”
“Don’t do it, Michael. She’s LYING!” I shouted, only to have my arm thrust closer to the back of my neck.
Michael wasn’t an idiot. If Alexis captured us both, all future sleepovers would be forever ruined. We couldn’t live with the shame!
“Hold your fire. I’m coming out,” announced Michael. Walking down the stairs, Michael held his gigantic Nerf blaster above his head. I could see Michael standing safely behind the railing, considering his options.
“That’s far enough, Wild Boy. Now kick your gun over to the door, and I’ll let little Jakey go so you two big boys can continue your tea party,” Alexis said with a laugh.
“Okay, okay. Relax,” said Michael as his gun slid across the wood floor and banged against the door.
“MORON!” screamed Alexis, hopping to her feet, ready to blast Michael. But what she saw stopped her dead in her tracks.
Looking like a pro quarterback ready to throw the winning touchdown, Michael stared down Alexis with my multicolored Nerf football. In our game of make-believe Nerf war, Michael was holding a nuclear weapon. You don’t want to get hit with that thing. First, it really hurts. Second, since it had rained all week, the ball was waterlogged. Things would get very messy upon impact.
Alexis seethed with anger. But she wouldn’t surrender. Immediately she started spraying Michael with Nerf darts. As fast as she could pull the trigger, Nerf projectiles popped out of the blaster. But she wasn’t hitting him.
Slowly walking forward, Michael sidestepped, weaved,
ducked, pivoted, and jumped out of the way of Alexis’s full clip of darts. Apparently, years of Tang Soo Do training had useful benefits.
Quick and agile, Michael was impossible to hit. In an instant, he was standing directly in front of an out-of-ammo and frustrated Alexis.
“Drop it! Or I will whip this at your head,” said Michael.
“Dude! Hit her NOW! Don’t wait,” I yelled, getting to my feet and begging Michael to blow up Alexis with two pounds of wet, Nerfy destruction.
Instinctively grabbing me as a human shield, Alexis held me close, trying to defend herself from a sloppy Nerf ball to the head.
Michael faked her out and went for a side shot. Alexis, sensing danger, decided to abandon her position and shoved me into Michael’s line of fire. This brief instance of confusion was all she needed to escape into the hall bathroom.
With my dear sister locking herself inside, we had her exactly where we wanted her: unarmed, trapped, and ready to be taunted.
“Yes! Captured at last. How’s that feel, Alexis?!” I shouted through the door as I high-fived Michael. “Boo-yah! Don’t worry, I’m recording this glorious moment.”
Taking out my cell phone, I wanted video of Alexis emerging defeated and angry.
We had done it. Me and my best bro had defeated the previously undefeated world champion of Nerf war.
Just goes to show you what detailed planning, determination, and teamwork can achieve in life. While we stood victorious and gloating, I heard a distinct and confusing sound.
Was Alexis’s cell phone powering on? I could hear the unmistakable weird space music of her phone. Then she switched to speaker and made a call. Ring, ring, ring . . .
“Hi, Mom!” said Alexis in her sweet-angel voice.
“Hi, sweetheart. Where are you? Is practice over?” asked Mom.
“Yeah,” Alexis said sadly. “It’s over, but jerk Jake and his creepy friend Michael locked me out of the house. It’s so cold and rainy outside. Can you open the door?”
I could only imagine the thoughts that instantly ran through my mom’s head: pneumonia, stranger danger, wild animals!
“They did what?!” screamed my mom. “Honey, I’ll be right down.”
Suddenly, the whole house started to rumble. Our old wood floors creaked as Mom sprinted to the rescue. She wasn’t going to be happy seeing us upstairs amid the aftermath of our Nerf battle. Michael and I were supposed to be in the basement watching basketball. Not good!
“Retreat! Basement, now!” I screamed as we ran toward the stairs. Within seconds, we were once again stretched out on the couch with two giant bowls of popcorn. Nothing to see here!
Yeah, of course my mom was annoyed by our attack on Alexis. But since Michael was sleeping over, she couldn’t get that mad. My parents loved Michael. He was all “yes, sir” and “no, ma’am” when they were around.
I didn’t worry too much about Mom or the Heat vs. Celtics game I was supposed to be watching. Lacrosse tryouts were next week and I was panicking. Pacing around the basement, cradling my stick wildly, I was trying to practice my lax moves.
On the unfinished side of our basement, we have a lacrosse goal and netting. It’s where I practice shooting in the winter. But without a goalie, I can’t tell if I’m getting better.
“Michael, pause the game for a minute. I need your help,” I said.
“What? You know I don’t know how to play lacrosse,” said Michael.
“The fact that you grew up in Maryland and know nothing about lacrosse is crazy. Don’t worry, I don’t want to throw and catch with you,” I said. “Just stand in the goal and try to stop my shots.”
“No thanks!” said Michael.
“Come on, man! I have all the equipment. Helmet, chest protector, pads, goalie stick . . . everything. Don’t be a wimp,” I said. “I’ll even use a tennis ball. Don’t worry, you won’t get hurt!”
Michael knew I wouldn’t stop. With a heavy sigh he got off the couch and put on all the goalie gear.
After a few easy warm-up throws, he was all set.
“I don’t expect you to stop any,” I said reassuringly. “But this is super helpful. Just stand there and try to look like you know what you’re doing.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah . . . come on. Let’s get this over with,” said Michael, clearly annoyed at having to get up from the comfy couch.
I started him off with a few easy low shots. After the first couple bounced past him, Michael’s inner competitor awoke. He made a quick adjustment to the way he was holding the stick, moved forward, bent his knees, and before I knew it, he started making some saves.
“Wow. This is pretty cool. Easier than I thought,” said Michael.
“You’re good, man! Do you want me to start trying now?” I said sarcastically.
“Sure. Go ahead,” said Michael.
“Okay. Your wish is my command. But don’t get mad!” I said.
Rolling to my left, I ripped a sidearm shot as hard as I could. Sure, it was a jerk move, but he had all the protective equipment.
Lucky for Michael, I missed the goal completely. But he didn’t seem to mind.
“Sorry! That wasn’t cool. I shouldn’t have done that. I’ll slow them down,” I said.
“Why? Was that fast?” asked Michael innocently enough.
“Kind of a hard shot, yeah,” I said. “You didn’t think so? You’re okay with that speed?”
“Sure. Do it again. But this time, can you give me a chance to save it?” asked Michael.
I couldn’t tell if he was being a wise guy or not.
Backing up to the opposite wall, I grabbed another tennis ball and cranked an overhand blast, aiming at the top corner of the goal.
Michael instantly shifted his weight to the left, moved his feet slightly, and lifted the head of the goalie stick to block the shot. WHAT!?
Okay. Beginner’s luck. Scooping up another ball, I fired again. Getting off a low rocket, Michael effortlessly kicked the ball to the side. By this time, he was really into it.
After about ten minutes, it became clear that Michael was some kind of natural lacrosse-goalie freak. He had all the qualities required for the position: quickness, lightning reflexes, no fear, and a high threshold for pain.
“You’ve NEVER played before? Ever?” I asked.
“No. Never. I swear! This is really fun, though,” he said. “Come on, Jake, shoot some more!”
We soon forgot all about the basketball game. At some point during our practice, Dad came downstairs to check in on us. I didn’t know how long he’d been watching, but after one of Michael’s more spectacular saves, Dad had seen enough.
“Break time, you two,” said Dad from his darkened corner of the basement.
“Hey, Dad, you have to see this,” I said. “Michael is unbelievable!”
“I know. I saw. Michael! Wow! You’re incredible. Do you think you’d like to play lacrosse this season?” asked my dad.
It didn’t take much convincing to get Michael interested in playing. I had all the equipment he needed, and Dad suggested we go to the lacrosse fields in the morning.
“You guys look thirsty. How about a drink and a snack?” said Dad.
“Yes, sir!” said Michael. I nodded in agreement.
As Dad headed upstairs to get us our treats, I figured I’d give the impossible a try.
“Hey, Dad. How about a couple Pucker-Up Ice Lemonades and a few Galactic Brownies?” I asked.
“That’s funny!” My father laughed as he continued walking up the stairs. Even he wasn’t brave enough to do that.
Those were Alexis’s special “after-workout” treats. She bought them with her own money, and I wasn’t even allowed to look at them.
“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll ask Alexis,” I said.
Running upstairs, I saw her in the kitchen with Mom
.
“Hey, Alexis. You don’t mind if Michael and I have some of your special snacks, do you?” I asked.
“Yes, I mind. And NO, you cannot,” answered Alexis matter-of-factly.
“Oh. Okay. I understand. Still upset about being captured in the bathroom? Don’t worry. Happens to the best of us. You’re getting old. Slowing down. First Nerf wars . . . then maybe . . . I don’t know . . . lacrosse?” I said.
“Hilarious. The day you two little kiddies are better than me in lacrosse is the day I retire!” said Alexis.
“Really? You wouldn’t have to quit. Just give us two Pucker-Up Ice Lemonades and two Galactic Brownies. That would do nicely,” I said.
“What are you talking about? You stink at lacrosse, and Wild Boy breaks boards with his head. You guys have a long way to go before you’re in my universe,” said Alexis proudly.
“You’re right. Michael isn’t a big lacrosse player like you. But, I bet you can’t score on him,” I said.
“Michael? A goalie? Anytime. ANYWHERE!” crowed Alexis.
“Great! Right now . . . downstairs! You get one shot from the far wall. If he makes the save, it’s SNACK TIME!” I screamed, pointing my finger dangerously close to my sister’s face.
My attempt to anger her was successful. She immediately went to her room to retrieve “Tiger.” That’s the name of her game stick. Much like her drinks and brownies, no one was allowed to look at Tiger. He only came out for special occasions.
I told Michael to put the gear back on, and both my parents came downstairs to watch. Alexis smiled smugly as she saw Michael standing in the goal. She felt at home in the basement.
We had everything down there because of Alexis. She set up the whole thing and literally would spend all day in our cellar shooting, playing wall ball, and honing her game. She even saved her babysitting money and bought a radar gun to clock the speed of her shots. Let’s just say she shoots REALLY hard!
When I asked if she wanted to first warm up a bit, maybe get a few practice shots, she just rolled her eyes. Okay. Suit yourself.
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