by H. N. Kowitt
“Hey, Jasper,” I said. “What rides are you going to do at Big Kahuna?”
Sophie’s eyes strayed over to us.
“I dunno,” he said. “Maybe the Mega-Twister.”
I rubbed my chin. “I was thinking Honolulu Hurricane.”
Emma turned halfway around. “Who’s going to Big Kahuna?” she asked.
“We all are.” I tried to sound casual. “The whole seventh grade. Jasper and I are organizing a field trip.”
Ty stopped talking, and everyone looked at us.
“Do you have permission?” Kendra asked, sitting down. She was kind of a goody-goody.
“Not yet,” I admitted. “We have to raise the money first.” This was the haziest part of the plan. “We’re batting around a few ideas.”
“We’d get the whole class on board,” I continued. “You know, raising money for it.”
“Interesting.” Ty nodded. “If you need help fund-raising, I did a lot of that at my old school.”
“Thanks, but — we’re set. Except for the money part,” I added. Jasper kicked me under the table.
“Oh.” Ty looked confused.
“My older brother went to Big Kahuna last summer,” said Sophie. “They had to stop a ride ’cuz he barfed in the raft.”
“Awesome,” said Jasper.
“Hey, Donny,” Ty started again.
“Danny.”
“Sorry. About your, uh, idea — Can I make a suggestion?”
I shook my head, but Jasper said, “Sure.”
“Big Kahuna sounds neat,” he said. “I miss the ocean, and I’m up for any wave, even fake ones. But …” He paused. “Would you think about — doing a fund-raiser that has, um, more of an upside?”
“Up … side?” I stammered.
“There are so many things to do.” Ty’s words tumbled out. “How about renovating a playground in a poor neighborhood? My aunt teaches at P.S. 160 in the city. Their equipment is really run down, and if you could raise five thousand dollars, they’d be able to fix up the whole place.”
Jasper and I looked at each other. Outside, I tried to look calm, but inside I was cursing Ty.
“Gosh, Ty, that’d be so cool,” Kendra said. Emma and Sophie nodded admiringly, and I swear Morgan batted her eyelashes at him.
Ty smiled sheepishly. “Just a thought.”
“Awesome,” Sophie added.
“Seriously.” Morgan sighed.
But …!
But …!
But …!
The whole point was to go to the freakin’ water park! To give us something to look forward to, after a year of pie charts and decimals and Salute to Semicolons worksheets. A place where we could forget everything for a few hours, eat caramel corn, and get soaking wet.
Was that too much to ask?
After Ty’s little speech, saying no wasn’t even an option. Only the most petty, selfish, low-down person would choose the wrong one:
I gave Jasper a what-should-we-do look, and he gave me a don’t-ask-me shrug.
“Hey. Ty.”
It was Asia, stopping by our table! Today she was wearing a scarf as a headband, and carrying sheet music.
“Just letting you know,” she told Ty. “The article’ll be online Wednesday.” I remembered she’d interviewed him for the school paper.
“Thanks,” he said.
“Now, Danny …” Emma had turned to me. “About this playground …”
Asia’s ears seemed to prick up. “What playground?”
“A playground for poor kids,” Sophie told her. “Danny and Jasper are raising money to renovate one.”
“Really?” Asia looked over, blinking like she’d never noticed me before. “You’re doing that?” I tried to concentrate on the question, and not the citrus-y smell of her hair.
“Uh, yeah.” I stood up straighter. “We might … do that.”
“Renovate a playground?” Jasper gulped. “Gee, guys, I don’t —”
Ty, Asia, and the girls at the table stared at him.
“… rule it out,” he mumbled.
“Wow.” Asia nodded approvingly. “That’s amazing.”
Oh, man.
Ty stood up and shot me a look. “When you decide on a fund-raiser, let me know.” He stuffed his garbage into a paper bag. “I’ve got an F4F meeting.”
“What’s that?” Sophie asked in a singsong voice.
“Food 4 Folks.” Ty pulled on his backpack. “We use skateboards to bring meals to homebound seniors.” He held up his hand. “Ciao.”
Asia took off, and the girls at the table watched Ty roll through the lunchroom, until the glass doors swung behind him.
Jasper and I looked at each other.
What just happened? Somehow I’d just gotten guilted into throwing a fund-raiser for Ty’s cause. Why didn’t I say, “No! I’m sticking to my idea — a class trip to the water park”? What an idiot I was! Now I’d never get to ride the Honolulu Hurricane.
And — more important —
How on earth were we going to raise 5,000 dollars?
I had no idea how to raise money. Since middle school I’d successfully avoided being involved in any kind of Plant Sale or Bowl-a-Thon. I cursed Ty for getting us into this mess, but I knew it was my own fault for wanting to impress Asia. Walking home from school, Jasper laid into me.
“What now?” His face was all red. “The whole point was to go to the water park. And even that I wasn’t sure about! At least, not the fund-raising part.” He fumed some more. “This is way, WAY out of our league. This is crazy!”
I felt my stomach rumble. “Maybe if we don’t mention the playground, people will forget about it.”
“Well, I don’t care what they say. I’m not doing it.” Jasper was indifferent to public embarrassment, which I respected.
Usually.
I had other things to think about — like the upcoming art contest. Every year, Gerald Ford holds a school art contest called “Expressions”. The title’s lame, but there’s a prize — 500 dollars — and winning entries from each class get displayed at Fudge for Less.
The next day, before classes started, I checked out the competition. The entries were lined up in the Media Room until the winners were announced on Friday. Two days isn’t long to wait, but it felt like forever.
I scanned the room quickly, skipping past the sculpture to the paintings:
And then, finally, mine:
My cartoon stood out, but I knew that winning the contest wasn’t a slam dunk. The judges could easily pick “Still Life with Dishwashing Liquid” or Randy Castro’s “Mixed Media Porsche X-380”. I saw Brady Spitzer stopped in front of mine, and he held his palm up for a high five.
“Dude.” He slapped my hand. “This is deeply, deeply twisted.”
I nodded, pleased. A pair of girls wandered into the room, and a girl in a polo shirt pointed to my drawing and said, “Awesome.”
Wow — a compliment from someone who didn’t even know me!
I looked at Randy Castro’s Porsche again. He was the only guy in seventh grade who was a better artist than me, and I had to admire how realistic the car looked. But his painting was clearly taken from an ad photo; mine was more creative.
“Hey, Danny,” Emma said, coming up behind me. “Cool drawing.”
“Thanks.” I blushed.
This day was getting better and better!
I walked to class with a burst of energy, thinking about those compliments. I was the class artist. People thought my stuff was great. I’d probably win the art contest.
So why did I let Ty get to me? We were just good at different things. He rocked at do-gooder activities, making sappy speeches, and impressing girls. I was good at drawing. I could live with that.
There was nothing to be jealous of.
That day at lunch, I kept it together while Ty was talking about animal rescue activities. I even asked him a question — after being Art Star that morning, I could afford to be generous. The next day, he sat
at the soccer table, so it wasn’t even an issue. Maybe the Ty Problem was taking care of itself.
On Friday I woke up early, excited to hear the art contest results at our weekly assembly. Knowing I might be called up to the podium, I wore my best clothes.
What would I say in my acceptance speech? On the Grammy awards, winners were always thanking Jesus, and other artists who inspired them. I could talk about Krazy Karl, creator of Rat Girl.
And of course, I couldn’t help thinking about the prize money.
* FIVE DUMBEST WAYS TO SPEND $500
1. Solid gold backpack
2. Return 250 library books a week late
3. 2,000 quarters for video arcade
4. Bet whole thing on 7th/8th grade football game
5. Twizzlers
But what if I didn’t win? There was a very good chance, an excellent chance, that Randy Castro’s sports car would be decorating the restaurant, not my Cyclops.
When I met Jasper at the bus stop, he asked, “What’ll you do with the money?”
“It’s not a done deal,” I said. “Randy Castro could —”
“His stuff isn’t nearly as deranged as yours.”
Jasper rocked.
When I got to school, a few people wished me luck. Some just assumed I was going to win. Somehow I stumbled through the day, spacing out in English class, taking the wrong staircase to gym, and dropping papers all over the floor during Math. The art contest was all I could think about.
I couldn’t wait until 11:45, when the assembly started.
Sitting down next to Jasper, I tapped my pen against the armrest.
“Settle down, people,” Dr. Kulbarsh, the principal, boomed from the stage. He cleared his throat and gave us his we-can-take-all-day-if-we-need-to smile.
“First item on the agenda,” he began. “Positive Behavior During Pep Rallies.”
Everyone groaned, and I slyly took out my pen, like I was taking notes. Of course, I was really just doodling.
After listening to Kulbarsh drone on endlessly, I finally heard words that made my head snap up.
“Now, the part you’ve all been waiting for.” He paused. “There were over a hundred entries, each wonderful in their own way. Whoever participated, give yourself a hand.”
I tapped my pen halfheartedly on the armrest.
“And the winner is …” Kulbarsh looked at his index card and chuckled.
I shifted forward, bouncing on my toes. Jasper nudged me.
“Ty Randall!”
WHAT?????
I couldn’t believe my ears. Ty flew down the aisle, and I realized I was halfway to standing up. I sank back in my seat, mortified.
The principal held an oblong piece of junk with wheels on it. Ty shook his hand breezily, like he received awards on a daily basis.
“Ty,” said the principal. “Tell us about this.”
“Sure.” Ty’s voice got deeper. “It’s a scooter made out of recycled materials: cardboard, newspaper, water bottles, crushed cans.”
“Isn’t that something.” Kulbarsh nodded. “The jury was impressed by the message about reducing waste.”
Thunderous applause. “But this is an art contest!” I whispered to Jasper. “Not an environmental competition!”
I felt like my chest had dropped to the floor. I knew I might not win the contest, but I never thought I’d lose it to —
Ty.
I tried to paste a smile on my face, and clap with everyone else. When the assembly ended, I moved out of the auditorium like a robot. Just my luck, Chantal was one of the first people to talk to me.
“Danny, are you gonna let that soccer-playin’ string bean take away your prize?” She shook her head. “If I were you, I’d beat him up.”
“Ha-ha.” I chuckled awkwardly, aware people were listening.
Who even knew he did artwork? I thought he was busy saving the world! And since when is a heap of garbage glued together considered art? I hadn’t seen his entry, since I’d skipped past the craft projects in the Multi-Purpose Room. Usually they weren’t known for bold artistic statements:
Walking down the hall, Jasper gave me a sympathy punch. “You got shafted,” he said. “Those morons don’t appreciate comic art genius.”
I nodded, waiting for more outrage. We walked for a few moments in silence. Finally, Jasper spoke again. “I wonder what he used to attach the wheels.”
Even Jasper couldn’t help admiring Ty.
I almost blew off lunch that day, not wanting to hear any more about Ty’s brilliant project. But when I looked around the lunchroom, Ty was sitting with his soccer buddies. Good. I could sit at our usual spot without having to face him.
I’d still have to face everyone else.
When my lunch tray hit the table, Emma looked up. “Hey, Danny. Sorry about —” She swallowed. “You know.” I saw her and Morgan exchange glances. “The art contest.”
I managed a shrug. “’S okay.”
“Yours was good.” Emma nodded.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
No one said anything for a few moments.
Then Sophie sat down and looked around. “Did someone die, or something?”
Eventually, conversation started up again. Morgan talked about a scrapbooking slumber party she wanted to have, and Jasper and I debated Best Movie Explosions.
“Hey,” Ty said, joining our table. Conversation came to a halt.
My chest tightened up, watching him accept high fives. The important thing was to act normal. Jasper and I exchanged looks, and Ty nodded at us stiffly.
“I can’t believe you made a scooter,” Morgan gushed.
“What’ll you do with the money?” Sophie asked, letting her smile linger.
“Donate it.” Ty shrugged. “Greenpeace, maybe, or —”
I got up abruptly, not wanting to hear any more. Of course he’d give it away unselfishly, and let everyone know. I had planned to spend my prize money at the Apple Store. Once again, Ty had made me feel small.
My head was about to explode. Not knowing what to do, I headed for the vending machine and stood there.
“I recommend Reese’s Pieces.” Jasper was standing next to me.
My mouth tightened. I took a deep breath.
“Ty’s got to be stopped,” I said grimly. “Before he takes over the whole freakin’ school.”
Jasper stepped away from me and blinked. “Well, I wouldn’t say —”
“Green-a-palooza? The art prize?!” I was practically spitting. “He hasn’t even been at Ford two months! He’s become, like,” I searched for the right word, “a — disease, or something. He’s got to be taken down!”
“Whoa.” Jasper pushed back his glasses. “Aren’t you getting a little carried away? I mean, you should have won the art prize … but —” He shrugged. “He’s not this evil force, or anything. He’s okay.”
“OKAY????” I was boiling. “He’s INSUFFERABLE!”
Jasper frowned. “Really? I thought he was kind of a nice guy.”
ARRRRRRRRRRRRR RGGGHHHHHH!!!!
My face was burning up, and people were looking at us. I stormed out of the lunchroom and shoved my face into the nearest drinking fountain.
I found Ty infuriating. But apparently, that was something I’d have to keep to myself.
Ty’s name didn’t come up for a few days.
Jasper and I avoided the subject. Instead, we stuck to our usual topics: comic books, movies, video games. We were at his house after school, working on my new e-comic. Jasper was helping me put it online so I could post weekly installments.
“Congratulations,” said Jasper, pushing a button. We were at his house, after school. “The site’s live.”
“Excellent,” I said.
“Let’s take a break,” he said, stretching out. He started flipping channels. A Spanish soap opera, a car commercial, a Western in black-and-white, a news report …
“Hey.” I pointed. “That’s our school!”
What was i
t doing on TV? Jasper turned up the volume. “… new science lab at Gerald Ford Middle School. We’re talking to student Ty Randall about the facility.”
“TY?!” we both yelled.
“… state-of-the-art,” Ty said. “More sinks, more room. You don’t have to wait to use a microscope.”
“Of all people to interview …” Jasper frowned. “Why him?”
“What are you working on?” asked the newscaster.
“A solar oven.” Ty held up something cardboard. “Made out of a pizza box.”
“Wow!” The newscaster’s hair looked like a stiff, blond helmet. “What have you baked?”
“Chocolate chip cookies,” Ty said, looking sheepish. “My mom helped.”
“Are you entering the science fair?” the newswoman demanded. “Sounds like you’re the guy to beat!”
“Dunno,” Ty mumbled. “Haven’t thought about it.”
Oh, sure you haven’t.
The camera shot back to an anchorman at a desk, who whistled. “This kid is really going places. And he’s only in seventh grade! With their new facility, Gerald Ford Middle School is sure to turn out more stars like him.”
“Ron — what were you inventing at that age?” asked a co-anchor.
“Excuses to avoid homework!” he joked. “Let’s check weekend weather….”
“Why didn’t they interview me? Why wasn’t I there?” Jasper shook his head. “I could have shown Robot Dog.”
Jasper was the school’s best science student, hands-down. Teachers called him when they had computer trouble. He’d won the science fair last year, and would probably win it again with one of his wacky projects.
Robot Dog was Jasper’s latest invention, a mechanical hound that ate toy trucks and cars. Sometimes it got confused and chomped a stapler. I liked how Robot Dog’s eyes lit up when he sank his teeth into a Hot Wheels Humvee Power Set.