Saving Mr. Terupt
Page 1
Praise for
the Mr. Terupt novels
Because of Mr. Terupt
An NPR Backseat Book Club Selection
An Indie Next List Selection
An E. B. White Read Aloud Honor Book
An Arizona Grand Canyon Reader Award Winner
An Indiana Young Hoosier Book Award Winner
A Minnesota Maud Hart Lovelace Award Winner
A Connecticut Nutmeg Book Award Winner
A Nebraska Golden Sower Book Award Winner
An Iowa Children’s Choice Book Award Winner
A Massachusetts Children’s Book Award Winner
Nominated for 17 State Book Awards
“Even the accident toward which this novel is inevitably headed is no accident; it is as masterfully set up and skillfully concealed as the rest of this riveting story.” —JOHN IRVING
★ “The characters are authentic and the short chapters are skillfully arranged to keep readers moving headlong toward the satisfying conclusion.” —School Library Journal, Starred
“This powerful and emotional story is likely to spur discussion.” —Publishers Weekly
“No one is perfect in this feel-good story, but everyone benefits, including sentimentally inclined readers.” —Kirkus Reviews
“Compelling….Readers will find much to ponder on the power of forgiveness.” —Booklist
Mr. Terupt Falls Again
“A surprising and totally satisfying sequel. The voices ring true.” —JOHN IRVING
“This sequel can be read on its own. Moving and real.” —Kirkus Reviews
“A skillful meshing of characters and story lines makes for another great read.” —School Library Journal
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2015 by Rob Buyea
Cover art copyright © 2015 by Harry Bliss
Interior photographs copyright © 2015 Shutterstock. Pencils: Preto Perola; lockers: Monkey Business Images; buttons: somartin; signs: albund.
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Visit us on the Web! randomhousekids.com
Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 9780385743556 (hc) — ISBN 9780375991202 (lib. bdg.) — eBook ISBN 9780449818299
Cover design by Sarah Hokanson
eBook design adapted from printed book design by Trish Parcell
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v4.1
ep
Contents
Cover
Other Titles
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Part One
Summer
Peter
Jeffrey
Jessica
Alexia
Danielle
Anna
Luke
September
Alexia
Jessica
Alexia
Peter
Jessica
Luke
Anna
Jeffrey
Danielle
Luke
Alexia
Danielle
October
Anna
Danielle
Jeffrey
Luke
Jessica
Peter
Jessica
Luke
Peter
Anna
Danielle
Alexia
November
Danielle
Luke
Alexia
Jeffrey
Jessica
Anna
Luke
Danielle
Peter
Part Two
December
Luke
Alexia
Peter
Luke
Peter
Jeffrey
Anna
Danielle
Anna
Danielle
Alexia
Jeffrey
Jessica
January
Alexia
Danielle
Anna
Jessica
Luke
Jessica
Alexia
Peter
Jeffrey
Luke
Peter
Danielle
Jessica
Alexia
Jessica
February
Danielle
Anna
Jessica
Alexia
Luke
Danielle
Alexia
Jeffrey
Peter
Luke
Anna
Part Three
March
Danielle
Luke
Alexia
Jeffrey
Peter
Anna
Jessica
Luke
Alexia
Danielle
April
Luke
Jessica
Peter
Danielle
Jeffrey
Alexia
Anna
Jessica
Jeffrey
Alexia
Anna
Peter
Luke
Danielle
Luke
Jeffrey
May
Luke
Alexia
Jessica
Luke
Peter
Jeffrey
Luke
Danielle
Anna
Jessica
Alexia
June
Jessica
Danielle
Luke
Anna
Jeffrey
Peter
Alexia
Danielle
Luke
Jessica
Peter
Junior High Survival Guide
Acknowledgments
About the Author
To my beautiful daughters, Emma, Lily, and Anya, who tell me stories, give me ideas and sentences—sometimes without even knowing it—squeeze me in the best hugs, and give me a reason to smile every day
All good things must come to an end, and when you’re on the receiving side of a really good wedgie, you want the end to show up in a hurry, even if it means having your underwear ripped clean out of your shorts. To say it was just a good wedgie would be a serious understatement, though. My tighty-whities were so far up my back I could feel the Fruit of the Loom tag scratching my neck. My underwear stretched so much that you could’ve put Jeffrey in there with me. No, it wasn’t just a good wedgie. I was the victim of one of the greatest wedgies of all time, one that deserved a place in the Guinness Book of World Records. Not the sort of thing you want to be known for, but, if I’m being honest, I’d asked for it.
My claim to fame happened at the two-week summer wrestling camp that Jeffrey and I attended together. The camp was definitely the highlight of my vacation. Mr. T had told us that he’d gone to his first camp as a rising seventh grader, and since we were planning to join the school team in the winter, he encouraged us to do the sam
e, and told our parents that it would be a good idea. Mr. T helped us pick the camp and even drove Jeffrey and me there on the day it started. It took place on a college campus I’d never heard of but featured some of the best coaches in the country.
After we were all checked in and settled in our room, Mr. T brought us back to his car and opened the trunk. “I’ve got something for each of you, now that you’re officially wrestlers,” he said. He pulled out a pair of his old wrestling shoes and handed them to me. “These babies aren’t used to losing matches, so you’d best take care of them,” he told me.
I couldn’t even get a thank-you out of my mouth. I held those shoes like Jessica cradles her books.
He passed his old headgear on to Jeffrey, who couldn’t manage to say anything, either.
“If you pay attention, I know you’ll learn plenty,” Mr. T promised us. “I discovered some of my best moves at camp. Have fun, work hard, and stick together. And stay out of trouble,” he added, looking at me. He closed the trunk and climbed into his car. “I’ll see you in ten days.” Then he drove away.
I did a pretty good job of following his advice. I paid attention, worked hard, and stuck with Jeffrey. But I did manage to get myself in a little bit of trouble—I couldn’t help it.
One of my favorite parts of camp was the dorm. I’d never been away from home like this before. It was great. There was no one harping on us to clean our room. Jeffrey and I kept the place as messy as we wanted. It was also really cool having other kids in the dorm with us. There were ten rooms in our hall, twenty boys total, and Jeffrey and I were the youngest. I used to think the bathroom at school was the best place for messing around, but the dorm was heaven. You could get away with murder.
We were at our morning session, sitting along the mats and changing into our wrestling shoes, when Max, one of the kids a few doors down from Jeffrey and me, started freaking out.
“Eww!” he yelled. “What the heck!” He yanked his shoe off and tipped it over. Shampoo dripped from inside it. Max tossed his sneaker aside, ripped his sock off, and chucked it at Matt, who was cracking up. Matt and his roommate, Josh, were the oldest kids on our floor, which made them the alpha males—or so they thought. I wouldn’t say they were mean, but they definitely liked pulling pranks and picking on the younger kids in the pack. They slapped high five and kept laughing their heads off. Poor Max had no choice but to wrestle that session in his bare feet. By the end of practice, they were covered in so many mat burns he could hardly walk.
Let the wars begin, I thought. Jeffrey must’ve seen my wheels spinning. “Don’t even think about it, Peter,” he warned me. “Remember what Terupt told you.” I might’ve taken his advice, but later that night, Matt left me with no choice but to get involved.
I had just finished in the shower and went to grab my towel, but it was gone. Someone had swiped it when I wasn’t looking and had left me a tiny little washcloth in its place. I was soaking wet, but what could I do? I held the washcloth in front of my waist like a matador and booked it down the hall. My front was covered, but my naked butt shone like a full moon. I thought I was going to make it, but when I reached my room I found the door locked. I pounded on it.
“Jeffrey!” I yelled.
No answer. Then I heard a door at the end of the hall open and close. I didn’t even have to look. I knew it was them.
“Hey, nice butt!” Josh yelled. “And cute towel. Perfect for a little guy like you.”
I pulled the washcloth tight to my front. “Some jerk took mine and left me with this,” I said.
“You don’t say. And now you’re locked out. Boy, that stinks,” he teased.
“Shut up!” I said.
“Tough words from a naked boy.”
“Out of my way, little man,” Matt said, shoving me as the two of them passed by. “The ladies await. It’s time for Matt’s Gun Show.” He flexed his biceps and strutted toward the exit.
There happened to be a field hockey camp also taking place at the college, so there were girls everywhere. One thing I know about girls is that they always go for the bigger, older-looking guys, and, for once, that was a relief. Thanks to the girls, Matt and Josh didn’t have time to torture me at the moment.
Jeffrey showed up a few minutes later, carrying a bag of chips from the vending machine. “Whoa! Where’s your towel?” he said.
“Just let me in.” I’d gone from relieved to annoyed.
While Mr. Biceps was outside schmoozing with the ladies, I rounded up Max and a few of the other guys on our floor. Even after I told him what they’d done to me, Jeffrey vowed that he was staying out of it. That was fine, but I wasn’t going to sit back and do nothing. It was time to get even. Those two had messed with the wrong kid.
At eleven o’clock, every camper had to be in his room for attendance check and lights-out, including the two big shots. At eleven-fifteen, a group of us snuck out and met in the bathroom. Max and I found the biggest trash barrel in the dorm and stuck it in the shower. It took us more than five minutes to fill that sucker with water. The thing must’ve weighed a gazillion pounds, but we lugged it down the hall and leaned it against Matt and Josh’s door. Then we knocked.
Matt must’ve been just on the other side because he opened it immediately. I was still standing there when the barrel fell and the wave of water rushed into his room like a tsunami, soaking him and drenching everything they had on the floor.
“You’re dead meat, little man!”
I took off down the hall. Matt came flying after me.
“Jeffrey!” I yelled.
He opened up just in time. I dove into our room, and Jeffrey slammed and locked the door behind me.
The next morning at session, all the guys kept asking Matt and Josh why their stuff was wet. “Did you get caught in a rainstorm?” Max teased. Jeffrey and I stayed on the far side of the mat, keeping as much distance between ourselves and Matt and Josh as we could. Still, it was only a matter of time.
It was just after lunch, in the middle of the quad, when Matt grabbed me. He lifted me high above his head by the waistband of my underwear as if he were doing shoulder presses. The field hockey girls were watching.
“Look!” one yelled.
“Oh my gosh!” cried another.
Every girl in the quad started laughing and pointing at me.
“Put me down,” I said, kicking and squirming.
“Yeah, and who’s gonna make me?” Matt challenged.
That was what I wanted to know. My underwear was already in my armpits. I could hear it ripping. And believe me, I felt it. My underwear wasn’t the only thing ripping.
“I’m warning you,” I said.
“I’d like to see you do something about it,” he said.
You really should be careful what you wish for. Turns out Jeffrey is even crazier than I am. Mr. T didn’t have any reason to worry. There was no doubt about us sticking together. That’s just how it was when it came to the old gang.
I swore I wasn’t going to get involved in Peter’s pranks at wrestling camp. I was there to learn, and I was determined to stay out of trouble. But trouble and Peter are drawn to each other like magnets. And sometimes you’re guilty by association, which is what happened to me.
Things were fine in the beginning. Coach Terupt dropped us off at camp, and before he left he gave us these incredible gifts. Peter got a pair of his old shoes, and I got his headgear. I spent all of the first day fiddling with the straps, adjusting them so that it fit me perfectly. Just putting it on made me feel like a serious wrestler, which I’d become. I remembered Terupt telling us about wanting to be the best when he was a kid, and that fire had been lit in my belly. I couldn’t wait to wrestle for the school team. My goal was to win every single match this season. I understood camp was important preparation if I truly wanted to make that happen, so I was focused at the sessions and learning a lot, as Terupt had promised we would.
One day, we spent two hours going over a position called “out the ba
ck door.” Imagine being on your hands and knees with your opponent draped across you, facing in the opposite direction and reaching for your ankles. You can easily find yourself like this in a match, especially if you take a shot and your opponent sprawls his legs back and falls on you. From there, if you scoot forward and pick your head up off the mat, you will come out between your opponent’s legs, and this is called coming out the back door. Believe it or not, there are about a million different ways to finish your move, and things that can happen from there, and we studied a bunch of them.