by Lenore Look
“Fauntleroy,” said Miss P. That’s Pinky’s real name, Fauntleroy, but no one ever calls him that except for grown-ups. “Would you please come up to the board and answer the first question?”
Pinky went up and wrote his answer, my answer.
“That’s very good, Fauntleroy,” said Miss P. “You’re getting quicker and better at math.”
Pinky beamed. Then he sat down.
Flea gave him The Eye.
Then Eli took his turn. And Miss P said he did a fine job.
But when he got back to his seat, he got The Eye too.
Next Scooter got his turn. And Miss P said he was great. Normally, he is not great in math, numbers are a mystery to him. He got The Eye.
Then before I knew it, math class was over.
In fact, school was over.
And I never got my turn! Only the apes of math got turns. It was not fair! I was as mad as a salmon swimming upstream.
And so was Flea. Her eye was big and round. “It’s really not fair you didn’t get your turn,” said Flea as we were leaving.
I nodded.
“After all, they were all your answers,” she added, just as we passed Miss P standing in the doorway saying good-bye to everyone. I was really glad that Flea let Miss P know.
Then we got on the bus.
“Hey, buddy,” Pinky said when I sat down.
Buddy? He was calling me buddy?
“You’re okay,” said Pinky, sitting down next to me. “But you gotta get rid of that girlfriend of yours.” He laughed and pointed at Flea, who had sat down in the seat in front of me.
I shrank. I knew that Flea took no nonsense. But Pinky didn’t know. He was this close to taking an uppercut from her.
“Maybe you could play with us sometime,” said Pinky.
“Really?” I could hardly wait.
The wheels on the bus went round and round. We bounced up and down.
“But . . . you’ll have to do a few things first,” said Pinky.
“Like what?” I asked.
“I’ll let you know,” said Pinky.
“Does everyone have to do them?” I asked.
“Just you,” said Pinky. “It’s a new rule, dude.”
I swallowed.
“Okay.” I swallowed. “Dude.”
the first problem with joining a gang is that the pressure starts right away.
“I dare you to stick your tongue out at the bus driver,” ordered Pinky. The gang followed us off the bus.
I stood in my driveway. I stuck out my tongue at the bus driver. She didn’t look too pleased. But Pinky did.
“I dare you to yell a bad word at the bus,” ordered Pinky as the bus pulled away. “Now!”
“ZOUNDS!” I yelled at the top of my lungs.
“What?” asked Eli.
“Behold thy mirror, thou spleeny, knottypated dewberry!” I added, for good measure.
“Okay, forget it,” said Pinky impatiently. “Whatever.”
The second problem with joining a gang is that Flea gave me The Eye, then turned and went down the street, swinging her cool peg leg and all, without a word.
The third problem with joining a gang is that you don’t know what they’ll make you do . . . but I had a feeling it would be scary. I thought about this as we walked up my driveway.
“I dare you . . . ,” said Pinky, looking up, “. . . to jump off the roof of your house!”
“I’m telling Mom,” said Calvin, who was right behind us. He ran into the house. “Mo-o-o-om!” I heard him yell. “Mo-o-o-o-om!”
My heart thumped like crazy. My mom is an ace rescuer. She would save me. She always does.
But my mom did not come out. And neither did Calvin.
So I scratched the old pox on my left side. Then I scratched the old pox on my right side. Then I looked up at the roof of my house. It was a long way up. I swallowed. It was all I could do not to cry. But it is important at moments like this to not show how you really feel. It is like playing poker. Even if you’re losing, you have to pretend you’re winning.
“Well?” said Pinky.
“Okay,” I said. But I was not okay. I could just about pee in my pants! One moment I am standing in my driveway, the next moment I could be on my driveway, dead, just like that.
“Well?” said Pinky. “What are you waiting for?”
“I gotta use the bathroom first,” I said. I ran inside, rushed up the stairs and used the bathroom.
Then I went into my bedroom and looked out the window.
It was a long way down.
Calvin and Anibelly were playing catch with GungGung in the backyard. Farther down the road, Flea was playing by herself in her own backyard, building something that looked like a pyramid. It was fabulous, even from far away.
“This is a fastball.” GungGung’s voice floated up into my ears. He is my grandpa from my mom’s side. When he is at my house after school, it means that my mom is at work and he is here to keep his eye on things.
I looked down at Pinky. He was shouting something at me and his face was very pink. He looked much smaller than he used to. In fact, from where I was, Pinky was just a pinky!
I went back downstairs.
“I’m not going to jump off my roof,” I told Pinky.
“Why not?”
“I have acrophobia,” I said.
“Huh?” said Pinky.
“Fear of heights,” I explained.
“Well, then . . . ,” said Pinky. “I dare you . . . to . . . watch a scary movie!”
I froze. I hate scary movies. They give me nightmares. After I watch one, I can’t eat, I can’t talk, I can’t walk, I can’t sleep, I can’t get it out of my head. But I supposed it was better than jumping to my death in my own driveway and then having Louise run over my dead body.
I wanted to cry like the end of a rain pipe on a rainy day. But I didn’t. It is important at moments like this to not show how you really feel. It is like marching to the doctor’s office for a vaccination. Even though the shot could kill you, you still have to look like you don’t know it.
So I began to march.
Fortunately, the longest path to the TV at our house is through the backyard.
“Hi, Alvin!” called Anibelly cheerfully. She is always happy to see me, especially after school. “Was that you cursing like an infectious, pox-marked measle at the school bus?”
I didn’t answer. Anibelly was wearing my mitt, the one with my name on it. And she was throwing my ball, the one that used to belong to Daisuke Matsuzaka, with her two fingers together on top. She snapped the ball into GungGung’s glove. Ffffppht. It was a fastball, all right, but it really wasn’t that fast. She was just pretending it was fast.
But the sound of Anibelly’s fastball smacking into the mitt is a little scary. It stopped the gang dead in their tracks.
“You want to throw, Alvin?” asked Anibelly. “I’ll catch.”
“No thanks,” I lied. “I’ve got something better to do.”
“Like what?”
“Like prove his bravery,” said Pinky, “so that he can play with us at school.”
Anibelly narrowed her eyes. She put out her Hokey Pokey foot and made a face that said they were going to have to deal with her first.
“Anibelly,” said GungGung. “If Alvin would rather not play catch, it’s okay.”
My gunggung loves baseball. He is an ace pitching machine. And playing catch with him is our favorite thing to do after school whenever he is around. So Anibelly and GungGung went back to throwing the ball and the gang and I stood there and watched.
“This is a knuckleball,” GungGung said, showing Anibelly and Calvin. He bent his two fingers at the knuckles so that they came up like two rabbit ears on the ball, and pitched it to Calvin. Ffffslurrruuullluuurpf. It was slow and tricky. Calvin hardly knew where it was going!
“This is a changeup,” said my gunggung. He shifted his middle finger and fourth finger to grip the ball from the top, with the index fing
er and pinky gripping from the sides and the thumb on the bottom, and snapped it into Anibelly’s glove. Ummmmph. It looked like a fastball but was a bit slower. Another tricky ball. It can fool you into swinging early.
Then my gunggung demonstrated the two-seam fastball and the four-seam fastball. Then the split-finger and its cousin, the nastier, slower forkball. They are baaaad, meaning they are fantastic!
I could hardly stand it. I love throwing with my gunggung. I love it more than digging holes. And I definitely love it more than doing dares from Pinky. To make matters worse, there was Anibelly using my glove and ball!
“I thought you boys had something better to do,” said GungGung.
No one moved. A breeze swirled crispy leaves up and around our ankles.
“Oh yeah . . .,” said Pinky finally. “We do.”
And that is the worst problem with joining a gang. Someone else speaks for you.
by the time we came up from the basement after watching Alien Babies Land from Outer Space, it was getting dark. The house was very quiet except for the wind weeping and wailing through the walls and the faint machine-gun sound of my mom’s sewing machine coming from upstairs. Besides being an ace pitching machine my gunggung also likes to sew.
“That w-w-wasn’t a very s-s-scary movie at all,” stammered Scooter.
“N-no, it wasn’t,” said Eli.
“I’ve s-seen s-s-scarier,” said Nhia, shuddering.
I said nothing.
“Let’s go throw some b-balls,” said Pinky.
“Okay,” said Hobson.
“Woohoo!” said Pinky, picking up my ball and glove, which Anibelly had left by the door. “We even have an autographed b-b-baseball by Alvin Ho!”
The gang slapped high fives.
I slapped nothing.
“I think there’s s-s-something wrong with Alvin,” said Sam.
I could hardly move. I could hardly blink. I could hardly breathe. I could hardly do anything but watch alien babies invade Earth and crawl around like zombies, over and over again in my mind.
But Pinky and the gang had already gone out, and so had my glove and ball. And so I followed, like a zombie myself.
Outside, it was a dark and shadowy night.
The tree reached its crooked fingers toward me. The garden hose slithered and hissed.
Usually, no one pitches at our house when it gets dark. You can’t see what you’re doing and if you miss, you could have a terrible accident.
“I’d like to learn the forkball,” Pinky said to me. “Show me.” He threw me the ball and backed up.
I froze. A forkball is a killer. It is slow and nasty. Even in daylight, you can hardly tell where it’s going. If Pinky didn’t catch it, the ball could smack him right between the eyes.
“C’mon!” said Pinky. “You waitin’ for retirement or something?”
I shivered. I squinted. It was hard to tell the gang apart from the other creepy shadows in the yard.
“I haven’t got all night!” screeched Pinky.
So I wound my pitch, leaned back on one leg, then fired it with all my might. . . .
There was no thud in the glove.
A thick, soupy silence poured into our ears.
Then CRAAAAAAACK! The sound of a window splintering into a million diamonds.
Oops.
“I think I hear my mom calling,” said Pinky. He tossed my glove and had started across the yard when . . .
A Horrific Thing emerged from the shadows . . . and came charging toward us. Half of it was green and the other half was black. Scales ran along one side, and warts ran down the other.
I was ready to pee in my pants. But I didn’t. At moments like this, it is important to have already used the bathroom, which I had.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAACK!” Pinky screamed a belly-button-piercing scream. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!”
The wind howled and hammered at the house. The fence groaned and creaked.
I wanted to scream my head off, but I couldn’t. Nothing came out.
My heart stopped.
My breath stopped.
My eyes shut. When I opened them again, I saw that Pinky had—peed in his pants!
I didn’t know what to say. And neither did the rest of the gang. What do you say when someone’s just embarrassed himself to death?
The Horrific Thing moved closer. “Lalala-lalalalalala,” it sang.
Pinky turned and ran. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!” he screamed.
“Hi, Alvin!” said the Horrific Thing. It was Anibelly’s voice . . . but it was not Anibelly. “Lalalalalalalalala,” it sang again.
Had the Horrific Thing swallowed Anibelly?
“Do you like my Halloween costume, Alvin?” said Anibelly’s voice. “GungGung just finished it!”
The Horrific Thing twirled menacingly one way and then menacingly the other way. It was uglier than any of the alien babies and scarier than the whole movie from beginning to end.
“Wh-wh-what are you?” I asked.
“Half witch and half dragon,” said Anibelly’s voice. “I couldn’t decide, so GungGung said I could be both!”
“Oh,” I said.
Then—surprise, surprise—I remembered to say something nice to Anibelly. “You look terrific!” I said, even though she was ugly enough to make you run.
“You’d better come in now,” called my gung-gung from the house. He was a dark shape against the bright light in the doorway. Anibelly and I ran toward the light.
“Lucky your mother wasn’t home,” my gung-gung said as I stepped past him. “You can tell her what happened in the morning.”
I nodded. Then I looked over my shoulder. The rest of the gang had disappeared. Our yard was quiet. The house next door was completely dark and quiet too.
Lucky the neighbors weren’t home either.
after breakfast the next morning, and after I had forgotten to tell my mom about what had happened with the gang, I dashed over to Pinky’s house as quickly as I could. Pinky was still in his pajamas watching cartoons. I was in my Firecracker Man outfit from head to toe. It was Saturday. The world needed saving and there was no time to waste. But first . . . I tapped on his living room window.
“I want a refund,” I said when Pinky came to the door.
“What refund?” asked Pinky.
“The Hank Aaron Rookie and the Carl Yastrzemski Rookie,” I said. “I want them back.”
“But I thought we were friends,” said Pinky.
I had thought about it all night, in between reruns of alien babies crawling around inside my head. And this is what I thought: playing with Pinky was not a good trade for the cards.
“I don’t like doing the things you do,” I said.
“Why not?” asked Pinky.
“I’m just not talented in that way,” I said.
Pinky shrugged. “Yeah, you’re right,” he said. Then he went back into his house. When he came to the door again, he handed over the cards.
The Rookies were okay. There is a good reason why baseball cards are in plastic pockets. It keeps them dry, in case of accidents. I breathed a sigh of relief.
“You sure you want to do this?” Pinky asked.
I nodded. I was very sure.
“If I don’t play with you, who will?”
I shrugged. I didn’t really know. But I knew I didn’t want to play with him.
Flea’s house was on the way home. It is not on the way to everywhere, like Jules’s house, but it is on the way to some things, some of the time.
And Flea was in her yard, swinging her arms wildly and kicking her peg leg and her regular leg equally wildly. “Ha!” she screamed, chopping her arms through the air. “Ha-ha!” She chopped the other way.
“Hi,” I said.
“Ha!” said Flea, kicking the air behind her.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Aggression for Girls,” said Flea. “Want to try? It’s fun!”
I shrugged. “Okay.” I squeezed through a
loose board in the fence.
Flea sliced her arm like a sword through the air. She added a kick to the side.
It was fabulous! I sliced and kicked too.
“Ha!” she screamed again. “Ha-ha!” “Ha!”
I copied.
“Ha-ha!”
We chopped and kicked until we were out of chops and kicks. After that we went inside and watched an action movie with Boatswain. He swam around like crazy during commercials, but he stayed fixed in one spot in his bowl during the action scenes, unblinking, watching the movie. It was the most amazing thing I had ever seen.
“I’ll trade you a Carl Yastrzemski Rookie and a Joe DiMaggio Rookie for your fish,” I said, holding out the cards.
“No way!” said Flea.
“How about the rookies and . . . a piece of gum!” I said. I reached into my back pocket, but the gum was not there. Then I remembered that I had traded it to Pinky long ago.
“This fish is not for sale,” said Flea. “He’s family. Isn’t that right, Boatswain?”
Boatswain nodded, I swear it. “Why, how now, putz . . .,” I began in a Shakespearean curse. Then I stopped myself. I cleared my throat.
“I have something to say,” I said.
“Okay,” said Flea.
I looked around. I didn’t really want to say it. It was something hard to say. It was much harder than cursing or insulting.
“Can I try on your eye patch?” I asked.
“Okay,” said Flea. She pulled it off and I pulled it on.
I blinked. It was fantastic!
Flea’s good eye blinked too. Her other eye looked as soft as a baby’s and stayed shut.
“You’re blind in that eye?” I asked.
“Yup,” said Flea.
“How come?” I asked.
“I come from a long line of pirates,” said Flea.
It was just as I’d thought. “Is that how you got a peg leg too?” I asked.
“Yup,” said Flea.
I nodded, speechless. Then I gave Flea her eye patch back.
“Was that what you wanted to say?” asked Flea.