by H. N. Kowitt
“I dunno.” Now it was my turn to be calm. “Maybe they just showed up and he was there.”
“Ha!” Jasper snarled. “I bet he set it up.”
He was finally getting it! Now I wouldn’t be the only one with a Ty Problem. Feeling slightly guilty about how well this was working out, I chose my words carefully. “Could be. Who knows?”
“Solar oven,” Jasper snorted. “Like that would be hard to make.”
I rolled my eyes in solidarity, but actually, I was impressed. Only a genius like Jasper would scoff at a pizza box that baked cookies. But I could see he was feeling the same personal insult that I’d felt when they made that announcement at assembly. It burned, watching someone get what should have been yours.
“Maybe no one saw it,” I said halfheartedly.
The next day at school, the clip was shown in every homeroom. My teacher, Mrs. Forrest, played it twice. “I hope you’re all very, very proud,” she said. “Ty Randall was a wonderful spokesperson for this school. You should all feel inspired by him.”
I nearly barfed.
“How’d he get to be on TV?” demanded Chantal. “My milk carton bird feeder’s better than his stupid oven.” Even Chantal felt ripped off.
“He just happened to be in the science lab when Channel 8 came,” said Mrs. Forrest. “It could have been anyone.”
Yeah, but —
Somehow, it was always Ty.
It didn’t help that the girls were buzzing about it at lunch. Jasper and I were talking more at the table now, not just “Is that your fork?”, but actually joining in the conversation.
“Baking cookies in a pizza box!” Morgan whooped. “Get. Out.”
Jasper clenched his teeth. “It’s not that hard.”
“So cool!” Sophie wailed. “And I missed it!”
This time, Jasper was the one who cringed at all the Ty-worship. It was one thing to hear them gush about his looks or soccer moves. But his science chops?
That was just unfair.
After lunch, we strolled past the main office, passing the display case. Usually it had some boring diorama on Ancient Rome or “Our Friend Wheat.”
This time, there was a pizza box.
“Oh, no.” Jasper grunted, as we got closer. “Just say it isn’t —”
But it was. Along with the pizza box–solar oven, there was a photo of Ty and an index card explaining how it worked. In the photo, he looked like a guy on the cover of a teen mag under the headline, “Ty — You Know You Want Him!”
A low growl came from Jasper.
“It’s clobberin’ time.” He was quoting the Thing.
I felt a surge of hope. It meant Jasper was finally on board. “So you think —?” I started to ask, just to be sure.
“He’s got to be stopped.” Jasper’s voice was tight.
Yes! I was so ready for this.
“First, we need some intel,” I said, my heart already pounding. “Find something he isn’t good at.”
“On it.”
We sealed the deal with our secret handshake, fusing our pinkie fingers behind our backs with extra fury.
Ty Randall was going down.
“Oh, man,” Jasper announced the next Friday. “I got nothin’.”
We were at our “office”, a janitor’s supply closet we treated like a private conference room. I tried to get comfortable on a giant canister of barf powder; Jasper was slumped on a bucket. Ralph the janitor could show up at any moment, so we had to talk fast.
“What do you mean, ‘nothing’?” I couldn’t believe it. Jasper had been working on Ty’s background check for a solid week. I thought he’d be on this like a bloodhound, tracking down every clue and refusing to give up until he got answers.
“I called my contacts on the West Coast.” Jasper sighed. “I read online copies of his old school newspaper. I researched animal rights groups. Want to know what I found?”
His tone was freaking me out.
“Hit me.” I braced myself.
He took a deep breath. “It’s worse than we thought. At his old school, he started a model UN, a teen crisis hotline, and the Friends of the Planet Club. He organized a mini Live Aid, and a skateboard recycling drive. When he wasn’t winning the soccer cup, or running the San Francisco Marathon.”
My chest tightened. “Go on.”
“He had a 4.7 grade point average, won the Earth Science Medal, the Golden Frisbee, and topped the Best Speller List. He got eighth graders to donate a drinking fountain to a school in Latin America.”
“How ’bout — friends and stuff?” I asked, afraid to hear the answer.
“Captain of sixth-grade soccer. Had a house near the ocean that was great for parties.”
“Geez.” I felt nauseated. For a minute, I thought: Maybe he really is a superstar, one-in-a-million kid, and we all have to live with that. It was like he was some kind of national treasure, for God’s sake.
When I remembered him sailing up the aisle at assembly, I felt my stomach rumble. “Did he ever mess up?”
“Sure.” Jasper smiled darkly. “His Cultural Diversity Fair was underattended. And Recycle-a-Tricycle didn’t really go anywhere.”
“C’mon.” I was annoyed. “He must’ve done something.”
“Once he organized a rally to protest school budget cuts.” Jasper said. “But it was nonviolent.”
“Jasper,” I said, trying not to sound irritated. “After all that work — that’s ALL you came up with?”
I heard the clang of keys, and knew we had only seconds left.
“He reeks at archery,” Jasper said as Ralph burst in.
Thinking about Ty made my brain hurt, so I put him out of my mind. At computer graphics club, Phil Petrokis and I were working on an animation project about cyborg cheerleaders who destroy the captain of the football team.
After working for an hour trying to get the pom-poms right, I left the Tech Center to hit the bathroom.
The door wouldn’t budge. Forgetting they locked those bathrooms after school, I walked down the hall to the gym locker room.
Luckily, the place was empty — just rows of lockers and a forlorn tube sock. Good — I wasn’t in the mood for jocks whipping towels at each other. I did a routine check for new graffiti.
A noise by the shower stalls told me I wasn’t alone. I bolted for the exit, but a strange sound stopped me in my tracks. Somebody was talking — no, someone was singing. I tiptoed closer, trying to make out the words. Was it some kind of weird … rap song?
“’Cuz I’m mean
I’m green
I’m an eco-freak
I’m Super Teen …”
Why did that voice sound familiar? I stuck my head around the corner to look. His back was to me, but I could see a body jerking back and forth in wild spasms. It took a second to realize he was dancing.
And another second to realize it was Ty.
Holy crud.
With a towel tied around his waist, he was rapping to the mirror. His front teeth jutted over his lower lip, and his eyes had narrowed into slits. Using a water bottle for a mike, he was concentrating fiercely. My mouth dropped open.
“Global warming u gotta prevent it Let’s all write postcards to the Senate….”
This was the worst rap I’d ever heard! Being tone-deaf was bad enough. But now he was kicking and twitching with his thumbs turned out. I was staring so hard, I didn’t realize my backpack had slid down my arm. As I watched Ty strut, it dropped to the ground with a THUD!
“Hey!” Ty yelled. “Who’s there?”
I jumped back, startled. Ty flew around the corner before I could bolt. When he saw me, his eyes almost popped out.
“For God’s sake!” His cheeks reddened as he adjusted his towel. “What’re you doing here?”
“I was just —” My voice died.
“I didn’t know anyone was around,” Ty said with a scowl.
“I just got here,” I said.
Neither of us spoke for a few second
s. Ty kicked a gym locker, and I picked up my backpack.
“Did you, uh, write that yourself?” I dared to ask.
“Yeah.”
More silence.
“Rapping is just, like …” Ty looked away. “Kind of a goof.” He seemed a little embarrassed, but frankly, not embarrassed enough.
“Huh.” An idea was starting to take shape in my mind, like a distant speck on the horizon. “You have other songs too?”
“I’ve got one about renewable biofuels.” He shrugged. “Ethanol, propanol.”
“Wow,” I said. Ethanol is a word you rarely heard in rap songs, and for good reason. “I’d like to hear it,” I said.
“Yeah?” He disappeared behind a row of lockers, and came back with pants and a shirt on. He hopped on one foot, pulling on a sock. “I’m not sure if it’s too, I don’t know.” He frowned. “Weird.”
“Sing a few lines,” I suggested.
He shrugged. “If you want.”
I tried not to look eager.
“It starts out like …” Ty nodded to an imaginary beat. He put on a rapper’s scowl, and stuck his lower lip out.
“Mackin’ on a fuel … that’s renewable
C’mon, people … it’s way do-able!”
“Keep going,” I said, without taking my eyes off him. “Take all the time you need.”
“You guys are putting on a school talent show?” asked Morgan. The whole table was staring at Jasper and me. “How’d you come up with that?”
I couldn’t tell her that after Ty’s private rap concert I raced home to call Jasper.
An act that terrible had to have a wider audience. I came up with the talent show idea, figuring we could kill two birds with one stone: raise money to renovate the playground, and get Ty to publically embarrass himself.
It was a win-win.
“The idea just — came to me.” I coughed. “There’s, like, so much talent at this school.”
Silence.
“Yeah,” agreed Jasper, after I kicked him under the table.
Actually, I thought just the opposite. The big dance number in the fall musical was so disorganized, it looked like a fire drill. Other events, like the kick line in the Eighth Grade Dance-Off, were just as bad.
“Talent shows are great fund-raisers,” I continued. “We can charge twenty dollars admission.”
Everyone blasted us with questions.
“What’s the date?”
“When are tryouts?”
“Where will it be?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I held up my hands in front of my face, feeling totally overwhelmed. I wasn’t prepared for their questions — or excitement. “We’re still, uh, working out the details.”
That was an understatement. We hadn’t really gotten any further than “let’s have a talent show” and “yeah!” A grinding feeling in my stomach told me we should have waited to announce this. But the thought of exposing Ty’s rap skills was so exciting, I’d gotten carried away.
Suddenly, everyone was yelling out ideas.
“Maya makes shadow animals!”
“Cody does yo-yo tricks!”
“I could show my snow globe collection!”
Shadow animals? Snow globes?
“Have you guys ever put on a show before?” Morgan’s eyes narrowed as she turned to me. She was a big Drama Clubber. “I’ve never seen you at play tryouts.”
“I was Third Tree on the Left in The Story of Photosynthesis,” offered Jasper.
The table went silent again.
I gulped. “We’re not performers, we’re more like — producers.”
“What have you produced?” asked Kendra.
“Um …” I suddenly felt defeated. “Nothing, really.”
“Our goal is to renovate the playground,” Jasper reminded everyone. “And this seemed optimal.” I was grateful he jumped in, even if he sounded like he was pitching life insurance.
“That’s cool,” said Kendra, and the girls nodded.
“When are auditions?”
“Are there prizes?”
“What about —”
I stood up before they could ask more questions, pulling Jasper by the collar of his sweater. Thinking about the amount of work ahead of us made my head spin. “We have to go,” I told everyone.
“But I haven’t finished …” he pointed to his chicken wrap.
“Production meeting!” I explained, dragging him away.
“Say what?” Mr. Amundson, our assistant principal, stroked his chin and frowned.
“A talent show.” I shifted in my seat in his office.
“Talent show?” he asked. “I thought you were going to ask to use the color copier.”
We looked around his office. There was a poster of an MTV show on the wall and a giant bowl of popcorn on his desk, all part of a campaign to show how cool and kid-friendly he was. We were there after school during an hour he usually advertised as “Kickin’ It with the Assistant Principal.”
“It’s — we want to raise money to renovate a playground.” I tried to refocus. “For P.S. 160, a school in a poor neighborhood.” I looked at Jasper, who nodded.
“Okay, I’m down with that,” Amundson said. “When? Where?”
“In the auditorium next month —”
“Next month!” he shouted. “You can’t just have the school auditorium. You’ve got to, like, request it. You feel me?”
“Okay.” I shrugged. “We’re requesting it now.”
“Dawgs, the auditorium’s booked months in advance.” Amundson took a handful of popcorn and leafed through his calendar. “The Wood Shop Awards, the Geography Bee, Math Family Fun Night …”
I could only imagine how crowded that would be.
“You better think about next year,” said Amundson.
Next year! We had to jump on this thing, before Ty realized how terrible he was. We couldn’t wait a year!
“Isn’t there one free night?” I begged.
“Plus, you’d need approval,” Amundson said. “From the student council. Principal’s office. PTA….”
Oh, God. This was getting more and more complicated.
“Can’t we do it sooner?” Jasper asked. “Those kids would sure like a new playground.”
“And I’d like a Jaguar Supersport,” said Amundson. “But it ain’t gonna happen. And neither is —”
The door cracked open behind us.
“Greetings,” said a lordly voice.
Oh, no. It was Principal Kulbarsh. Without even thinking, I tucked in my shirt. Unlike Amundson, Principal Kulbarsh never tried to be cool. He moved down the hall like the King of England, rarely cracking a smile, eyes focused ahead in a Great Upward Stare.
* KULBARSH AT-A-GLANCE
Pet peeves: Nose rings, bad grammar
Favorite word: “Tomfoolery”
Went bald at: 10
“What brings you here?” Kulbarsh turned his death-stare on Jasper and me. “Gentlemen?”
“We, uh, want to hold a school talent show,” I stammered. My palms were sweating. “For a fund-raiser. To renovate a playground in a poor neighborhood.”
Amundson broke in. “Normally, I’m all over charity gigs, but the auditorium’s booked solid. We could shoot for next year….”
“Mmmm. I see.” Kulbarsh sat down on a chair next to us. “When did you want to do it?”
“Sometime next month,” I said. “Sir.”
“This show.” Kulbarsh spoke slowly, squinting at the ceiling. “The performers would be students?”
“Yeah. Yes.” I corrected myself. The room fell silent.
“Would there be room for …” Kulbarsh cleared his throat. “Faculty members?”
HUH?
Was it possible Principal Kulbarsh, the most stern, high-minded, unsmiling enemy-of-fun actually wanted to perform? It was so absurd, Jasper and I just looked at each other.
After a moment’s adjustment, we nodded frantically. “FOR SURE!” I sputtered. “Faculty members!
Definitely!”
“Glad to hear it.” Kulbarsh stood up. “Maurice, let me see the calendar.” Amundson handed it to him. “On the eighteenth of next month, can’t Chess for Success meet in the Multi-Purpose Room?”
“What? I suppose —” Amundson looked flustered. “But it would have to be approved by …”
“It’s a talent show,” barked Kulbarsh. “Not a moon launch. Make it happen!”
What? Did I hear him right? Jasper and I looked at each other, amazed. Kulbarsh was letting us do the talent show so he could perform? It was so crazy I could hardly believe it.
Amundson started to protest, and then stopped.
“On it,” he said glumly.
Woo-hoo!
My hand met Jasper’s in a high five.
We stood up and walked out with the principal. None of us spoke. Before heading to his office, he turned to us. “Best of luck with the talent show.”
We shook hands with him.
“Not many people know it,” he said. “But I’m an enthusiastic yodeler.”
I looked at Jasper. We were in for a wild ride.
We’d just finished watching the first set of auditions. I turned to Jasper.
If everyone was this bad, how was Ty going to stand out?
We were slumped in orange plastic chairs in the Multi-Purpose Room. That round of tryouts had started off with a sixth grader playing “We Will Rock You” on water glasses. Morgan did a dramatic reading from Gossip Girl. Someone else ate seven hot dogs in a row.
“Do we need more flyers?” I asked. “Maybe word isn’t getting out to the really talented.”
And who were those really talented kids, anyway? Since we posted the flyer, it seemed like every kid in school had told us about their fantastic monologue from High School Musical, or Justin Bieber tribute band. But the people we’d auditioned so far hadn’t been too impressive.