by Jeff Moberg
***
I asked my mom once about bullies and why they did what they did--and she told me about this thing called KARMA. According to my mom, if you were nice and kind and considerate to others, good things would happen to you. And conversely, if you were mean and rotten and horrible to others, not-so-good things would happen to you. That made a lot of sense to me and I decided that it was a good idea to be nice to people.
Just to be on the safe side.
(Plus, I knew it was the right thing to do).
5
Survival and the Agony of Defeat
Friday came and went without incident–at least for me. I was starting to think that maybe seventh grade wasn’t so bad and that I might actually survive it.
In other local news, a poor kid named Mike Mulligan was named the ‘Geek of the Week’.
6
Sacred Sleeping Time
For some reason, my alarm was ringing on a Saturday morning. I never–and I mean never--set my alarm for Saturday morning. That time is sacred. Sacred sleeping time. Time to not get up and go to school. Time to not get up and do anything productive. Time to sleep until noon. My eyes slowly peeled halfway open–and I could barely make out the numbers 6:00.
I was confused. How could my stupid alarm be going off at 6:00 A.M.? Then I got mad–really mad. I hit the snooze button—hard—and the small clock radio flew off my nightstand. It landed on the floor, and the battery fell out and rolled under my desk.
At least I could go back to sleep now.
But the alarm was still going off. My eyes peeled open again–this time all the way open. I was even more confused now. The clock radio was on the floor–and the battery was under the desk. How could the alarm still be going off?
Then I realized I wasn’t hearing an alarm sound. It was more like a horn sound—a car horn sound—and it was honking steadily over and over. Honk. Honk. Honk. Suddenly, I remembered everything. The Lukester was going to pick me up at the ungodly hour of six o’clock in the morning, so we could drive 20 miles to his house and work on the mysterious ‘tree’ project.
Honk. Honk. Honk.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Uh-oh.
It was my mom. She was knocking on my bedroom door, but it wasn’t the usual happy, ‘Good morning honey, time to get up!’ knock. It was the not-so-happy, ‘Why the holy heck is someone honking their horn over and over in our driveway at six o’clock on a Saturday morning’ knock. Apparently, this was sacred sleeping time for her also.
“OK, Mom. I hear it. I’m up.” I threw on my purple Rockies hoodie, pushed aside the bedroom curtain and waved to The Lukester. He was sitting in the front seat of… hmm… actually, I wasn’t sure what it was. It was sort of a Jeep-looking thing--with a pickup truck bed on the back. The Jeep part was blue and the pickup truck bed part was black and primer gray (and I thought I was embarrassed when my mom dropped me off at school in her beige Dodge Caravan). I remember when she bought it. “Are you serious?” I asked. “A beige minivan? Do you know how not cool that is? It’s a solid 10 on the not cool scale.” She just laughed. “Well, honey,” she said, unaffected by my insult. “First of all, I don’t really care about the cool scale. And secondly, I need a minivan–I deliver flowers.” The Lukester waved back from the Jeep-truck thing and suddenly, the beige minivan didn’t seem so bad.
I didn’t have time to take a shower and eat breakfast, so I just put on a baseball hat and slipped on my most comfortable pair of jeans and sandals. “Bye Mom,” I yelled as I grabbed two granola bars and slammed the front door behind me. “I’ll be home later this afternoon. Call me on my cell if you need me.”
The Lukester was now outside, holding the passenger door open for me. He was wearing a Yoda t-shirt that said, ‘READY I AM!’ “Good morning Sunshine,” he said, making fun of my tired, scruffy-looking appearance.
“Yeah, good morning.” I said, giving him a fake, happy to be up early on a Saturday morning smile. There was no back door or back seat in the Jeep-truck thing, so I sat in the middle of the front bench seat, next to The Lukester’s mom.
She smiled and stuck out her hand. “Hi Norma. I’m Luke’s mom. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She seemed genuinely nice, so I shook her hand and gave her a real smile.
The Lukester had told me that he and his mom lived on a tree farm in Mosely. I thought it sounded kind of cool to live on a tree farm–anything would be better than the small, dumpy, drafty, two-bedroom house that Mom and I had lived in since she and dad had gotten divorced five years ago.
Mosely was a small, rural town about 20 miles east of Haywood. I had never been there, but it sounded kind of nice--I liked the idea of being out in the country. The Lukester said it was mostly boring. We drove for about 20 minutes without saying anything. Finally, The Lukester’s mom broke the uncomfortable silence. “Did you have breakfast this morning, Norma?”
“Umm,” I stammered. “Actually this is my breakfast.” I took out one of the granola bars and looked at the wrapper. FRUIT AND GRAIN. Yuck! I had told my mom to buy the chocolate with chocolate chips (apparently, she never listened to me). I checked the other one. FRUIT AND SUNFLOWER SEEDS. Double yuck!
The Lukester’s mom saw the look on my face and laughed. “Well,” she said in a sweet voice, “We better take care of that.” She turned off at the next exit. There was an old, battered sign next to the highway that read:
DAN & DOT’S DINER
DANG good food!
DANG good service!
DANG good prices!
7
Dan and Dot’s Diner
A bell jingled above us as we walked in through the squeaky, faded, red door of the diner. “Well, well, well,” cackled the biggest and oldest-looking lady I had ever seen. “Look what the cat dragged in. Dan, come in here–it’s your girlfriend!” She laughed and gave The Lukester’s mom a big, grandma hug. The Lukester was next–I wasn’t quite sure he could survive it, since he was so small and frail. “Look at you,” she said as she released him from her vise-like grip. “I swear you get bigger and more handsome every time I see you!” The Lukester smiled. I was starting to like this old lady--a lot.
Then she saw me. “Oh my stars in heaven! Who in the world is this beautiful young lady?” Well, I can tell you it was my turn to give her a big, grandma hug. I had been called a young lady before–once--but never had the word ‘beautiful’ been used to describe me. She hugged me back and I said, “My name is Norma–and I’m your new best friend!” She laughed again and said, “It’s nice to meet you Norma. My name’s Dorothy, but you can call me Dot.
“And my name is Daniel, but you can call me Dan.” We all turned as Dan came from behind the counter. He was also big (even bigger than Dot) and also very old (even older looking than Dot)--practically ancient. He was in a wheelchair and his weathered face looked like it had been carved out of fossilized wood. But there was a kindness in his eyes that made you feel comfortable and like him right away. The Lukester’s mom hugged him and introduced me.
Dot seated us in a cozy corner booth and gave us menus. Dan and Dot’s Diner was a place right out of the past–complete with red and white checkered tablecloths, a stainless steel napkin dispenser, and real Coca-Cola glasses.
“Breakfast is on the house today, so order anything that looks good.” Dot leaned over and whispered to me, “try the strawberry pancakes–they’re to die for!” I wasn’t about to pass up an offer of free strawberry pancakes, so I nodded in agreement. The Lukester ordered waffles with extra bacon and his mom said she would be happy with just black coffee and toast. I could see her eying the grape jelly packets in the middle of the table.
“I wish she wouldn’t do that,” said The Lukester’s mom quietly after Dot left for the kitchen. “They are struggling to get by and yet they always insist on giving everyone they can a free meal.”
“Why don’t
you just offer to pay anyway?” I respectfully asked. The Lukester’s mom explained that that was a battle she had fought and lost many times. Dot returned after about 10 minutes with our breakfast and a big smile. And she was right–the strawberry pancakes were to die for.
As we drove away and left Dan and Dot’s Diner behind, I couldn’t help but think of how nice they were--and how they had treated me like family even though we had just met. I decided that I would ask mom to drive us out there every weekend for breakfast from now on. Besides, how could she resist? She liked toast with grape jelly too.
8
The Red, White and Blue Trailer
When The Lukester said that Mosely was a small town, he wasn’t kidding. We passed by the Mosely Post Office, the Mosely Town Hall, the Mosely Police and Fire Station, a Mexican restaurant called, ‘Casa Blanca’, the A Thru Z Grocery (We Have Everything You Need From A Thru Z!), and a Sinclair gas station--complete with a large, green dinosaur out front. After the dinosaur, there were only a few small, brick houses on each side of the street. At the end of town (which was the end of the block), we turned off onto a one-lane, dirt road and I saw a faded sign that said:
Eugene’s Tree, Plant and Sod Farm
If You Need It -- We Grow It!
Only 3 More Miles!
I was surprised when we pulled into the parking lot and drove past the very nice, blue and white, two-story farmhouse just inside the gates. We parked in front of a small–no, make that tiny--red, white and blue trailer. It was painted red on the top third, white in the middle third and blue on the bottom third. I figured The Lukester’s mom must have needed something from the trailer.
I was even more surprised when The Lukester hopped out and said, “Welcome to our home!”
The Lukester’s mom said she had to get to work right away, since Saturday was their busy day. She gave me a quick hug, grabbed some work gloves out of the back of the Jeep-truck and then disappeared into a small office. I looked over at the very nice, blue and white, two-story farmhouse again and then back at The Lukester. He was now holding the door of the tiny red, white and blue trailer open for me. “Entrez vous,” he said, trying to sound French.
The entire trailer was about the size of my bedroom. “Follow me,” said The Lukester as he gave me the grand tour. His room was in the back of the trailer and it consisted of a small twin bed, a small dresser, and a small desk in the corner. The middle of the trailer consisted of a small kitchen and a small table. And the front of the trailer was The Lukester’s mom’s room. It was very small. I glanced around quickly, looking for more.
“Umm…” I asked hesitantly. “Where do you… you know… go to the bathroom… or take a shower?”
The Lukester, smiling like it was no big deal, pointed to the office across the parking lot that his mom had just gone into. “Over there. The office has a shower and a bathroom.”
“Oh,” was all I could say. He may have acted like it was no big deal to him; but for me personally, I couldn’t imagine getting up in the middle of the night and walking across a dirt parking lot to go to the bathroom. And going back and forth in the early morning--in my robe--to take a shower? I don’t think so.
When I realized that this was how they actually lived, I wanted to cry. But for some strange reason--which I hadn’t quite figured out yet--The Lukester was still smiling.
9
Bob and Bob Jr.
During the next hour or so, I followed The Lukester around Eugene’s Tree, Plant and Sod Farm. The plants were all near the office where The Lukester’s mom was working. They had every plant, bush and beautiful flower that you could possibly imagine. The Lukester’s mom waved to us as she walked in and out of the seemingly endless rows--watering, pruning, and trimming. We waved back and headed out past the fields of newly growing sod.
“How long have you and your mom lived out here?” I asked The Lukester as we walked toward the rows of trees in the distance.
“Ever since I was born, I guess,” he responded happily. “I don’t remember living anywhere else.”
“And…” I swear I wasn’t trying to be nosy or rude, but I had to know. “Have you always lived in… the trailer?”
“Yep,” said The Lukester, unaffected by my question.
“Why is it painted red, white and blue?”
The Lukester laughed. “It used to be beige–but we decided that was too boring.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Yeah,” I agreed, thinking of Mom’s minivan again. “Beige is pretty boring.”
“Your house is really nice,” said The Lukester as he picked up a rock and tossed it down the road ahead of us. “How long have you lived there?”
“Five years.” I thought about the day Mom and I had moved in and how much I hated it. It seemed so small and so plain and so not like our old house–which was just my dad’s house now. My Dad’s house was built into the foothills near Chautauqua in Boulder. It was three stories tall--with an elevator, a movie theater, a gym, a sauna, and an indoor pool with a retracting roof on the top floor. The second floor was my floor. Can you believe it? I had my own entire floor.
My dad was a very successful doctor. Actually, he was a surgeon–a plastic surgeon no less. How was that for irony in life? The homeliest girl in school (that was me) had a plastic surgeon for a father. One time, I even made an appointment with his office to try and get him to fix my nose (it was sort of big and a little crooked). I made the appointment under a mysterious woman’s name--Gwendolyn de La Muthe. When he came into the waiting room and saw me sitting there, he just laughed and said, “Honey, your nose is just fine the way it is. Now run along home. I’m extraordinarily busy.” He was always extraordinarily busy—and never home--which is why things didn’t work out with him and mom I guess.
When we moved out, I remember saying, “Why don’t we stay in the house with the pool?” Unfortunately, my mom had this weird thing about being independent and making it on her own; so there was no fancy house, no alimony, no support–just her and me in our small, plain, two-bedroom house in Haywood (which now seemed like a mansion compared to The Lukester’s trailer).
“Well, here we are!” said The Lukester enthusiastically, bringing me back to reality.
I looked up and saw the most amazing sight. There were rows and rows and rows of the tallest, most beautiful trees I had ever seen. The Lukester explained what each kind was and how to take care of it.
“Do people actually buy these trees?” I asked, still looking up.
“Yep--contractors, landscapers, homebuilders, homeowners, developers–you name it. They come from all over. These trees are considered the best in the state.”
“Wow,” I said reverently. “How do they get them out of the ground? They’re huge!”
“Bob and Bob Jr.—the Burley brothers. They dig them out with a backhoe and load them on the flatbed trailer. They also deliver the sod and bushes.”
“How can they be brothers if they’re named Bob and Bob Jr.? Wouldn’t that make them father and son?”
“Nope,” said The Lukester. “Their father liked the first Bob so much, that when the little brother came along, he named him Bob Jr.”
“What about the flowers?” I asked, thinking suddenly of Mom and the boring beige minivan she used to deliver flowers. “Who delivers the flowers?”
“Hmm…” said The Lukester, thinking carefully. “I don’t think anyone does. I think people have to come and pick them up.”
10
The Positive Project!
“Actually,” The Lukester said, as I was still thinking about the flowers. “These aren’t the best trees in the state. The best trees are back here.”
The Lukester led me past the last row of pine trees to a small, fenced off area. There was a sign on the gate that read:
LUKE’S TREES! NOT 4 SALE!
“Are all these your trees?” I asked in amazement. I quickly counted
them–there were four rows of ten–40 in all.
The Lukester just nodded. He was looking at them like a proud father. They weren’t quite as tall or as big as some of the other trees, but they had brightly colored leaves and they were sturdy and full.
“Where did you get them?” I wondered out loud.
“My mom planted them for me when I was born. They’ve been growing here ever since–for the past 13 years.” Then The Lukester looked right at me. “That’s why we’re here. These trees are our project.”
We sat down on a soft, thick patch of grass and The Lukester explained to me how we were going to take 20 of his trees and plant them in front of our school.
“How in the world are we going to get 20 trees to Haywood and plant them all?” I asked.
We both answered at the same time, “Bob and Bob Jr.”
“Do you think the school will pay for them? Isn’t that going to be really expensive?” I was wondering if he had thought all of this through.
The Lukester had it all figured out. “The school won’t have to pay a thing,” he said matter-of-factly. “Mr. Scribner–Eugene–the tree farm owner–is going to donate the money to pay for Bob and Bob Jr. to deliver and plant the trees. He said it would be a good tax write-off. And I am going to donate the trees.”
I hated to ask my next question, but decided to anyway. “How much are 20 of these trees worth?”
The Lukester hadn’t thought about that. “20 trees? I don’t know… about two or three thousand maybe.”
I looked at him again like he was crazy. “But why would you give away $3,000 worth of trees? You could buy your own car with $3,000 in a few years.”
“I’m only giving away half of them. I’ll keep the other 20. Besides, I won’t need a car in a few years.” He replied calmly. “Mom is giving me the Scrambler.”
“What the heck is a Scrambler?” I asked, not knowing if I really wanted to hear the answer.
“The Jeep. It’s a Jeep Scrambler. You know–a Jeep with a truck bed.” He was having a hard time believing that I didn’t know what a Scrambler was.
“Oh,” I said, finally getting it.” You mean the thing–I mean car we came here in.”
The Lukester nodded. “Yep. In four years, that baby will be all mine.”
I had to smile thinking of The Lukester driving the black and blue and gray Jeep Scrambler around town. He’d probably get a Star Trek bumper sticker for the tailgate.
“Let’s head back,” he said grabbing my hand. We need to get started on our paper.”
I looked down at my hand in his and smiled.
11
A Day of Rest
Sunday morning came and went without me--or my mom appearing before noon. Sacred sleeping time remained sacred and it was not interrupted. The battery for my alarm clock was still under the desk in my room–and no one honked their horn in our driveway at 6:00 AM.
12
Progress Reports
Mr. Spinoza went through the list of partners in our class and each pair had to go up to the front of the room and give a progress report on their ‘Positive Project’.
Norma A and Derrick told the class how they were working on improving their respective volleyball and basketball skills, so that they could have a more ‘positive’ impact on helping their school teams win.
Norma P and Amanda were throwing a ‘positive party’, where everyone in the class was invited--including The Lukester and I. When Mr. Spinoza asked them how their party was going to be positive, Norma P said, “We’re not sure yet, but we are just positive that it will be great!”
The Lukester and I looked at each other and both of us rolled our eyes (but I was secretly thrilled to know that I was going to be invited to a party thrown by Norma P and Amanda).
Eventually, Mr. Spinoza got to the bottom of the list. “Norma L… and The Lukester. You’re up.”
We walked up to the front of the classroom and The Lukester spent the rest of the period going over our project in excruciating detail. He talked about how we went out to the tree farm together--and how we walked around together--and how we were going to donate the trees and plant them out front to beautify and improve our school. Finally, mercifully, the bell rang. I had hoped that The Lukester would be brief and not include all those details. I was mortified.
Mr. Spinoza was blown away. “That is, without a doubt,” he said before everyone was dismissed. “The most generous--and definitely the most positive idea for a project that I’ve ever heard. Nice job, you two.”
That did it. As we were going out the door into the hallway, I heard Norma B say, “Bye bye, you two! Aren’t they just the cutest couple?” Taylor laughed.
I wished that I could crawl under the nearest rock. Unfortunately, I had to go to Science instead.
Suddenly, everyone walking down the hallway veered off to a side and either slowed way down or stopped. Sperry and McGurk were on their way to eighth grade PE.
“Time to kick some butt in dodge ball,” said Sperry loudly.
“Oh yeah,” agreed McGurk, even louder. “I’m looking at my watch and it says time to kick some major butt!”
I was very thankful that they were eighth graders and not in any of my classes. I couldn’t imagine being in a class with them for 45 minutes–especially PE–especially playing dodge ball. I felt sorry for the other eighth graders who were heading to PE. As Sperry and McGurk walked by, I noticed that there was one lone student in the middle of the hall, who hadn’t moved to the side. It was The Lukester. He was so happy that Mr. Spinoza had liked our project, that he forgot rule number one at Haywood.
Rule number one was simple–if Sperry and McGurk were in the vicinity, GET OUT OF THEIR WAY!
The Lukester noticed at the last second and tried to step aside, but McGurk clipped his shoulder and sent him sprawling onto the floor. “Watch it, geek!” he said as stopped and stared down menacingly. He emphasized the word geek.
The second bell rang and Mrs. Floogle came out of her classroom. “Alright,” she said in a high-pitched voice. “Let’s get going. You’re all going to be late for your next class.”
The Lukester’s books had spilled out all over the floor and he was trying to stuff them back into his Battlestar Gallactica backpack. I helped him finish as Norma P and Amanda walked by. “Just look at the cute couple! They work so well together–and they are so adorable!” They giggled all the way to Science.
Where was that rock when I needed it?
13
Lunch of Doom!
Later that night, just before going to bed, I remembered that tomorrow was Tuesday. Thank God, I thought as I grabbed a paper lunch sack and opened the pantry door. Last Tuesday I had forgotten and was fated to face the ‘Lunch of Doom’.
Mom walked in the kitchen and noticed the things I was packing for my lunch. “Are you serious?” she asked as she sorted through the pile on the counter. She picked up each item, one by one, and inspected them like they were contaminated by radiation. “Let’s see,” she said sarcastically. “Mmm… a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos, a Chocodile, a half package of stale Ritz crackers, a foot long Super Spicy Slim Jim, and three Jolly Ranchers… apple flavor. Very nutritious!” Then she stared at me like she was interrogating a prisoner. “OK--what in the world is a Chocodile anyway?”
“Mom,” I said, knowing what was coming next. “It’s a chocolate-covered Twinkie.” She gave me the look I was expecting. “I got it at Dad’s house the last time I was there. He gave me a whole box of them. He said they were like gold.” Then she gave me the next look I was expecting—the ‘I cannot believe your dad’ look. I didn’t go to my Dad’s house very often (since he was usually extraordinarily busy).
“Honey,” she said, taking a few dollar bills out of her purse. “Instead of eating this junk, why don’t you just buy a lunch at school?”
“Mom,” I said for th
e millionth time since I had been at Haywood Middle School. “What day is today?”
She looked at me like I was crazy. “Monday.”
“And what day does that make tomorrow?”
She was starting to get irritated. “Tuesday--so?”
She wasn’t remembering. “Mom,” I said as I pointed to the school lunch calendar on the refrigerator door. “See for yourself.”
She walked over and read it out loud. “Tuesday… meatloaf.” She slowly turned her head, looked at me, and said in a sincere voice, “Oh, I’m sorry honey. I forgot.”
She used to think I was exaggerating about how bad the meatloaf was until the day I brought home a leftover piece in a napkin from school.
She was sick for a week.
I finished packing my ‘interesting–but not very nutritious’ lunch and hopped in bed. My last thought before falling asleep was, maybe I could make some interesting trades.
14
Just Another Day in Paradise
When you lined up for lunch at the Haywood Middle School cafeteria, there were five rules:
1.Line up in a straight line!
2.No talking!
3.No messing around!
4.Clean up after yourself!
5.Be respectful!
There was also an unspoken, unwritten, never talked about or discussed rule number six. It was the ‘Don’t throw food in the cafeteria at lunch, because if you do, you will surely die or possibly meet a fate worse than death!’ rule. You see, at Haywood, we didn’t have a nice, sweet, old, lunch lady. We had a lunch man. Mr. Murdock.
Mr. Murdock was no ordinary man. He was at least six foot ten, he had military tattoos on his muscles--and he had a flattop crew cut that seemed to say, ‘Don’t mess with me!’ Our lunch man was a retired U.S. Army Special Forces drill instructor. That meant that he had trained soldiers to shoot guns, fight in hand to hand combat, and jump out of airplanes. The last thing he was afraid of was a bunch of goofy middle school kids. When you walked into his lunchroom, you said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Murdock.” And when you left his clean, orderly lunchroom, you had better remember to say, “Thank you, Mr. Murdock.”
Nobody messed with Mr. Murdock. And nobody messed around in Mr. Murdock’s lunchroom. Even Sperry and McGurk were afraid of him.
Today was no different than any other day at lunch. Most of the kids had sack lunches on Tuesday; and a few unfortunate ones, whose mother’s had forgotten it was Tuesday, got in line for the ‘Lunch of Doom’. I secretly hoped--for their sake--that they all had huge bottles of Pepto-Bismol waiting for them when they got home.
If you had a sack lunch, you lined up in the cold lunch line. I said good afternoon to Mr. Murdock and took my rightful place at the ‘misfit’ table. Each table had an unspoken theme. There was the ‘popular’ table. If you were Norma P or Amanda or Taylor or one of the privileged few, you could sit there. Then there was the ‘jock’ table–types like Derrick, Norma A, and the Hoolik Brothers sat there. In the middle was Sperry and McGurk’s table. They were the only ones who ever sat there–and no one ever dared to join them.
Lastly, down at the dork--I mean dark--end of the cafeteria, was the ‘misfit’ table. The ‘misfit’ table–or as the eighth graders called it, ‘Dork Central’–consisted of people like Herman Smellnick (he was the president of the Chess Club), Lidia Hanrahan (she was the only member of the Accordion Club), Mike Mulligan, Henry Hathaway, The Lukester, me–and various other square pegs. You get the picture.
All of us ‘misfits’ were sitting there eating quietly, minding our own business, when an amazing thing happened. Someone touched me on the shoulder. I turned, a little startled since no one ever tapped me on the shoulder, and looked up, expecting to see anyone except the person I actually saw. It was Taylor. Taylor Johnson. Yeah, that Taylor.
He spoke to me. Me. “Hi… um… it’s Norma, right? Norma L?”
I tried to speak, but nothing came out, so I just nodded.
“Well, I hope I’m not bothering you, but I noticed that you have a Chocodile. I had one of those two summers ago in California and it was the best thing I ever ate. Man, I’ve been trying to get my mom to buy them, but she says she can’t find them anywhere. My dad says they’re like gold.”
I sort of heard what he was saying, but I was literally lost in his eyes. They were blue-green, with silver stars in the middle. I nodded again.
“So… I was wondering,” he said in a voice that sounded like an angel. “I was wondering… if you would consider trading.”
I could not believe that Taylor Johnson–the Taylor Johnson—was actually talking to me. Me. And he wanted my Chocodile. I still couldn’t speak, so I just stuck out my hand with the Chocodile in it.
He wasn’t sure what I was doing, so The Lukester helped him out. “I think she’s giving it to you, Taylor. She wants you to have it.”
I nodded again.
He took the Chocodile. My chocodile.
“Thanks, Norma,” he said in that heavenly voice again. “I owe you one.”
I decided from that moment on, that no matter what ever happened, I would always love my dad for buying me that Chocodile.
Just then, another amazing thing happened. Actually, an unthinkable thing happened. Maybe it was the full moon last night… or maybe the planets and stars suddenly fell out of alignment… or maybe it was just the Tuesday meatloaf Lunch of Doom. Whatever it was, there was no logical explanation for what occurred at that moment.
Someone broke rule number six.
Someone threw food in Mr. Murdock’s lunchroom.
The same Mr. Murdock who had once led troops into battle. The same Mr. Murdock who had jumped out of an airplane at 10,000 feet. The same Mr. Murdock who had landed behind enemy lines, with only a knife and a canteen of water. Yes–someone threw food in that Mr. Murdock’s lunchroom.
The Lukester said later that he had seen it all. First, someone from the ‘jock’ table–he thought it was Mitch Murphy--tried to throw a Fudgesicle at a friend of theirs over at the ‘popular’ table. There were three big problems with this plan:
1. Sperry and MrGurk’s table was in between the ‘jock’ table and the ‘popular’ table.
2. The person at the ‘jock’ table didn’t take into account that the Fudgesicle was half-eaten and therefore slimy and slippery.
3. This was Mr. Murdock’s lunchroom.
The Lukester said that the errant Fudgesicle landed directly on the top of McGurk’s shaved head. It had been unwrapped and licked already, so it was wet and sticky and it stuck to his head. He grabbed it off the top of his head, stood up, turned around with a look of complete disbelief and yelled, “Who the hell threw this Fudgesicle?” When he spotted the likely suspect–Mitch Murphy--he promptly picked up his half-eaten, ketchup-covered piece of meatloaf (which he actually liked)–and threw it–hard. Mitch ducked and it hit one of the Hoolik Brothers (they were the identical, insane, hockey-playing triplets) right in the face.
There was no stopping after that. It was on.
Someone yelled, “FOOD FIGHT!” and all three of the Hoolik brothers returned fire with various sack lunch items. The Lukester said he saw chips and cookies and sandwiches flying, a Hostess cupcake with a bite out of it, carrot sticks, a Tupperware container full of egg salad, and even an untouched apple that bounced off Herman Smellnick’s forehead. The eye of the storm seemed to be centered around Sperry and McGurk–who were loving every minute of it. It was like lunchroom dodge ball to them. They picked up anything that wasn’t nailed down and threw it in every direction. Within a few short minutes, the lunchroom looked like a war zone. And for those brief, few minutes, everyone forgot whose lunchroom they were having a food fight in.
The food fight ended abruptly when an open-faced, peanut butter and jelly sandwich landed on Mr. Murdock’s arm–directly on top of his Uncle Sam tattoo. It was the weirdest thing I had ever seen.
In that instance, the lunchroom went from absolute pandemonium–to library silence. By the time everyone had realized what had happened, it was too late.
Mr. Murdock slowly stood up (all six foot ten of him). He then peeled the open-faced, peanut butter and jelly sandwich from his arm, and spoke in an eerily quiet voice. “Who…” he barely whispered. It was like a death-whisper. “I repeat, who… is responsible for this?” He looked slowly and carefully around the battlefield (lunchroom) and everyone looked down or away--suddenly wishing they were far, far away in a distant galaxy.
He walked past the ‘popular’ table as he wiped his arm with a napkin. No one looked up. He walked on. He walked past the ‘jock’ table and looked suspiciously at Mitch Murphy and the three Hoolik Brothers. They all looked down. He walked on. Then he walked up to Sperry and McGurk’s table.
He stopped.
“Well, well, well,” he said as they tried their best to look as innocent as newborn babies. “Where’s Larry, gentlemen?”
Larry? Who’s Larry? Thought all 99 of us at the same time. Sperry and McGurk were confused. So was I.
Mr. Murdock continued. “Well I see two of the Three Stooges–Curly and Moe–so I was just wondering where the other Stooge was? You know–Larry.”
I suddenly remembered watching the Three Stooges at my dad’s house. He was obviously making a reference to their looks. Sperry had the same dark hair and bowl cut that Moe had--and McGurk had a shaved head like Curly.
“Well, I guess we just have the Two Stooges today.” He grabbed them both by the back of their shirts and yanked them out of their seats like they were two little kids. “Let’s take a trip to the office, gentlemen. I think Mr. Looney will want to discuss this matter extensively.” Mr. Looney’s office had a sign over the door that said:
WELCOME TO THE LOONEY BIN!
ENTER IF YOU DARE!
It was never a good thing to go to the Looney Bin on undesirable terms. Mr. Murdock walked slowly to the lunchroom door with his two unhappy prisoners and then turned to the rest of us. “I sincerely hope,” he said in the death-whisper again, “that this entire lunchroom is spotless by the time I get back.” He walked out.
You have never seen 97 middle school kids clean up a lunchroom so fast in your life. It must have been a Guinness World Record. When we were done, The Lukester looked at me sideways and said, “So… I guess Taylor owes you one, huh?”
I looked around at the lunchroom that had recently been a war zone. Now, only a few minutes later, the whole place was spotless, clean and orderly. Sperry and McGurk, barely escaping certain death, had been hauled off to see Mr. Looney (our principal). The rest of us—also hoping to escape the wrath of Mr. Murdock--were sitting quietly and patiently, waiting to be dismissed.
And Taylor Johnson owed me one.
Just another day in paradise, I thought to myself.
15
Breathless
Later that night, when Mom got home from work, she asked me the usual, “How was your day, honey?”
Usually, I gave the typical kid response to such obligatory parental questions, “Fine.” But today was different. She got much more than she bargained for. I spent the next hour or so actually telling her about my day. First, I told her about the food fight and how Sperry and McGurk were hauled off by Mr. Murdock to the principal’s office. Then, I told her all about what had happened with Taylor. I told her, in great and immensely important detail, how he had tapped me on the shoulder and asked about trading for my Chocodile. And I told her how I just gave it to him and that he had said he owed me one. That’s the part I was dying to get to. I was dying to tell her about it—and I was dying to know what she thought. “What does that mean… he owes me one?” I asked, now completely out of breath.
Mom gave me that ‘Uh oh, I’m worried about my little girl falling in love and getting hurt.’ look. “Honey, it could mean anything, really. Like…” She was searching for the right thing to say–or not to say. “He probably just meant that he owed you a favor. Since you had done something nice for him, he wants to do something nice for you.” She looked at me funny, like she was wondering if I had any idea what she had just said to me.
I heard what she said, and I understood what she was saying–I just didn’t want to believe that it could be that simple. I hoped it meant more than that. So I blurted it out. “Do you think he likes me?”
She gave me that look again. Mom knew who Taylor Johnson was. And she knew that every girl at my school was in love with him. And she knew I had no shot. But she was my mom, so she said, “Well, honey… it could. I mean… why wouldn’t he like you? You’re smart and funny and beautiful.”
There was that ‘beautiful’ word again. She tried her best to convince me that I had a shot.
I knew I didn’t.
In my dreams, Taylor Johnson did like me. But in reality–and I knew the reality option was much more likely--I didn’t think it was even remotely possible.
Still…
16
The Trees are Planted
The next morning, when mom dropped me off in front of the school, I saw The Lukester waving to me. It wasn’t a ‘Hi, how are you?’ wave. It was a ‘Hey, come over here! I’ve got something to show you!’ wave.
“Isn’t this great?” he asked excitedly as I hurried over.
I noticed right away what the big deal was. There was an old, green, Ford pickup truck parked in front of the school. On the driver door it said:
Eugene’s Tree, Plant and Sod Farm
If You Need It -- We Grow It!
There was a long, green flatbed trailer behind the truck. On the front half of the trailer, there were 20 of the most beautiful trees in the world. These were The Lukester’s trees. I realized then, as I looked at him watching Bob and Bob Jr. carefully take the first tree off the trailer, that these trees were his most prized and valued possession. And he was giving them away. I wondered how many of us would really give away the most valuable thing we owned. I wasn’t sure that I could do it.
A small crowd of students gathered in front of the school and watched as Bob and Bob Jr. lowered each tree into a hole in front of the school. After all the trees were in the ground, they filled around them with extra dirt, and finally, spread bark around each trunk.
The Lukester and I stepped back to admire our ‘Positive Project’. On each side of the Haywood Middle School sign, there were now 10 incredibly beautiful trees. All the students watching clapped when Bob and Bob Jr. finished the last tree and loaded the backhoe onto the trailer. Bob and Bob Jr. waved and then ceremoniously bowed to the crowd before getting into the pickup. The Lukester and I waved to them as they drove off and I noticed The Lukester mouth the words ‘thank you’ to Bob. Bob smiled and gave him the thumbs up sign.
Suddenly, we realized that someone was yelling at us--loudly. It was Mr. Jenkins, the Assistant Principal. He was waving his arms like crazy and yelling, “Come on! Hurry up! You’re late!” Apparently, we hadn’t heard the bell ring about 20 minutes ago and we were all late for first period. Considering the circumstances, I was sure that Mr. Spinoza would understand.
“Doesn’t it look awesome?” The Lukester asked me as we were walking in. I stopped and looked back. “It’s more than awesome. It’s awesome to the max!” He raised a hand for me to high five, but I left him hanging and gave a big, grandma hug instead. And I didn’t even care if anyone was watching.
17
A Standing Ovation
The first voice we heard in Mr. Spinoza’s class this morning was not Mr. Spinoza. It was Mrs. Wilma, the 89-year-old school secretary. Her full name was Wilma Stinson, but everyone just called her Mrs. Wilma. She couldn’t see or hear very well anymore, but she was as sweet as she could be--and no one in the district had the heart to get rid of her. Each morning, about 20 minutes or so into first period, her sweet, but scratchy voice
would come over the classroom loudspeaker with announcements.
It was quite a challenge to understand what she said each day. First, there was the lunch menu. Something about lima bean casserole. What? Are you kidding me? I thought. Asking a kid to eat lima bean casserole was like asking someone if they wanted to hike across the Sahara Desert in a winter parka. Everyone groaned. Then came the afternoon schedule of extra-curricular activities: Sewing Club in Mrs. Floogle’s room, Drama Club in Mr. Spinoza’s room (Hmm… I thought to myself), and football practice on the football field. A couple of the football players knuckled and said, “You got that right!”
After Mrs. Wilma had finished, we all heard Mr. Looney, the school principal, say, “Thank you Mrs. Wilma.” When Mr. Looney came on to speak, it could only mean one of two things:
1.Someone had been suspended. Mr. Looney liked to announce school suspensions. He felt like it kept the rest of the law-abiding school population from also becoming criminals.
2.Someone had done something great. He also liked to acknowledge when someone had done something extraordinary.
Today, it was both. First, he announced that our good friends, Sperry and McGurk, along with Mitch Mitchell and all three Hoolik brothers, had been suspended for one day (today), for their willing participation in the now infamous Haywood Middle School Food Fight. In fact, a few of the eighth graders were referring to it as World War Three. Mr. Looney added that throwing food in the lunchroom, or anywhere else for that matter, would not, and he repeated not, be tolerated at Haywood. There were several snickers, mostly from the boys, and Mr. Spinoza cleared his throat to get them back on track.
Then I heard The Lukester’s name–Luke Krattenmucker. And my name–Norma L. Mr. Looney thanked us for our hard work and dedication to the betterment of our school, by donating and planting the beautiful trees that now adorned our entrance. He went on to say that we were shining examples of what all students at Haywood should strive to be. I knew that comment was going to be trouble down the road. Oh well, I might have been embarrassed, but I was also proud. The Lukester and I gave each other the ‘way to go’ nod.
Mr. Looney also thanked Mr. Spinoza for his guidance and insight in coming up with such a wonderful project. He ended his part of the announcements by saying his usual, “Remember… (he paused for dramatic effect between statements) you the students of Haywood… make our school… the great school it is… that is all… have a good day.”
Mr. Spinoza echoed what Mr. Looney had said about us, and he even had the rest of the class stand and applaud for us. Wow, I never thought I would get a standing ovation–for anything.
The rest of the day was oddly calm and serene. There was no parting of the seas between classes, no fear or apprehension of accidentally getting in Sperry or McGurk’s way (and possibly getting on the ‘Geek of the Week’ short list). After all, tomorrow was Friday--and Sperry and McGurk would be back from their suspension. And I was still a little concerned about McGurk calling The Lukester a geek on Monday.
18
The Trees are Unplanted
The next morning, while I was getting ready for school, I got a text from a girl in my history class. Her name was Samantha and she had gotten a text from Emily, who had gotten a text from her boyfriend, Ryan, who had gotten a text from a guy he knew named Double G.
According to Double G, Sperry and McGurk had heard about Mr. Looney announcing their suspensions--along with a feel-good story about some do-gooders donating and planting trees in front of the school. And apparently, Sperry and McGurk didn’t like feel-good stories or do-gooders. So they decided to do something about it. And that something, according to Double G, involved chainsaws at midnight.
Why would they need chainsaws? I thought at first.
Then, suddenly, I knew why.
Chainsaws cut down trees.
19
Showdown--Part One
I grabbed my backpack and yelled upstairs. “Mom, we need to go now. Something’s happened at school.”
Mom asked me a lot of questions, but I didn’t say anything on the five-minute drive to school. All I could think of was the look on The Lukester’s face after he saw what those idiots did to his trees.
When Mom dropped me off in front of the school, she saw what I had been dreading. There were no beautiful trees on each side of the Haywood Middle School sign. On the left side of the sign, was a huge pile of broken, twisted and cut branches. And on the right side, someone had taken all of the tree trunks and larger branches and spelled out a message. From the drop-off lane curb, I could see clearly what it said:
TRIES R 4 GEKES!
My first thought was, how could those morons do something like that? My second thought was, how could they be such bad spellers?
There was a Haywood police car parked in front of the school sign and two officers were talking with Mr. Looney and Mr. Jenkins. I didn’t see The Lukester anywhere. As I walked up to the officers, one of them took out a digital camera and took several pictures of the crime scene.
I heard Mr. Looney ask Mr. Jenkins, “What does tries r 4 gekes mean?”
“I think it’s supposed to say trees are for geeks,” I said quietly, trying not to cry. “And I think I know who did this.”
Mr. Jenkins told me to go ahead and go to first period, and that the office would call me down later this morning to see what I knew.
“By the way,” asked Mr. Looney as I walked away. “Have you seen Luke Krattenmucker this morning?”
I could only shake my head. I wondered where he was and what he was thinking.
The Lukester was already in Mr. Spinoza’s first period class when I walked in. He was sitting in the back, no expression on his face, eyes staring straight ahead.
I cautiously sat down next to him. “Hey,” I almost whispered. “Did you see the trees?”
He just nodded.
“I’m really sorry.”
He nodded again.
“Are you OK?”
He shook his head no.
Mr. Spinoza told us that what had happened with the trees was–well, I can’t really repeat it here. Let’s just put it this way, it was the first time I had ever heard a teacher use swear words (he meant to say it was BS—but he didn’t abbreviate). And The Lukester and I, and no one else in the room, could blame him at all.
The Lukester didn’t say a word during the rest of the class. Mr. Spinoza tried his best to go over adverbs and subjunctive clauses, but his heart just wasn’t in it. He gave us free reading time until the bell rang.
As we started to walk toward science class, I noticed The Lukester doing something very odd. He walked to the middle of the hall, put down his backpack and rolled up the sleeves on his shirt. Then I noticed a couple of other things. He was wearing a normal shirt for the first time. It didn’t have any goofy sayings or pictures on it. And he had a new backpack. A plain, black backpack had replaced the old Battlestar Gallactica one.
He was looking down the south end of the hall–like he was waiting for something.
Or someone.
All the kids started moving around him, to the sides of the hall. Then I realized what was happening. They weren’t moving for The Lukester–the sea was parting–for Sperry and McGurk.
Before I could say or do anything, I saw them. Sperry was wearing a South Park t-shirt with Cartman on it, saying, “RESPECT MY AUTHORITY”. McGurk was wearing a Slayer t-shirt that said “REIGN IN BLOOD”. Nice. They were both laughing and punching each other in the arm, looking every bit like the cats that swallowed the canary, thinking they had gotten away with their heinous crime.
Suddenly, several of the kids walking by saw The Lukester–standing right in the middle of the hall. Sperry and McGurk’s hall. Sperry and McGurk hadn’t noticed him yet–they were too busy being complete jackasses–but they were heading toward him full steam. And The Lukester wasn’t budging.
; Oh my God, I thought. He’s going to get killed.
There was a small crowd gathering now, apparently noticing and thinking the same thing I was. I started to move toward him--to try and somehow save him–but it was too late.
Usually, if Sperry and McGurk were walking down the hall on a Friday, you might hear the beginning of the ‘Geek of the Week’ award being presented. But instead of hearing McGurk proclaiming, “Of all the nerds we’ve seen this week, you are by far, the biggest geek!”--it was The Lukester doing the talking.
“In all my life, I’ve seen some jerks,” he said slowly and loudly. “But none have been worse than Sperry and McGurk!”
Sperry and McGurk stopped dead in their tracks. And every kid in the hall felt his or her jaw drop all the way to the freshly waxed, black and white tiled floor. This scene was unprecedented. No one, and I repeat–no one--had ever had the nerve to stand up to Sperry and McGurk.
Sperry looked at McGurk and said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
McGurk shook his head in complete disbelief. “Should I kill him? Or do you want to?”
“Hmm…” Sperry looked at The Lukester, standing defiantly in front of them. “Let’s both kill him.”
But before either one of them could do anything, The Lukester punched McGurk right in the nose. Hard. It stunned him.
Stunned wasn’t the correct word for how the onlookers felt. It was more like complete and total shock. Not only had The Lukester stood up to the biggest, meanest and rottenest bullies on the face of the earth–but he had also just punched the bigger of the two right in the nose.
Now The Lukester was about to be truly annihilated. Sperry grabbed The Lukester from behind and McGurk raised his huge, balled-up fist. It looked like a sledgehammer. He had blood streaming down his face. But just as he was about to land the fatal blow, someone grabbed his arm.
It was Mr. Looney. “Well, well, well,” he said in a oddly calm voice. “Mr. Sperry and Mr. McGurk. I was just coming to look for you two. It seems we have a problem. A problem that involves the police. And some cut down trees. And some very poor spelling skills.”
Sperry and McGurk gave each other that quick, “Oh crap, we’re busted!” glance. Then McGurk pointed at his newly flattened, bloody—and quite possibly broken nose. “Whadda bout dis?’ he demanded. “Whadda bout my dose?”
Mr. Looney looked at The Lukester and winked. Then he looked back at McGurk. “Well, Mr. McGurk, I guess you’ll have to learn to be more careful. I saw you walk right into that open door--and it hit you right in the nose. That’s a shame.”
Mr. Jenkins came running down the hall and promptly joined Mr. Looney. Everyone was still in shock as the two of them escorted Sperry and McGurk toward the office.
It was completely silent for a few seconds and then a couple of eighth graders, who were watching the events unfold, began clapping slowly. It was a clap of respect and honor--and thankfulness. Everyone joined in because we all knew that this was probably the last we would ever see of those two idiots in our school. I guessed that they would be expelled and maybe even end up in juvie.
“Holy freakin cow,” said Tommy Hoolik (one of the insane, hockey-playing Hoolik Brothers). “I’ve seen a lot of brawls in hockey–but that punch was ridiculous. Way to go little man.” He looked around at everyone in the hallway and then raised The Lukester’s hand above his head, like a boxer who had just won a championship fight. “I guess we have a new sheriff in town!”
20
A Hero
I texted The Lukester that night after dinner to see how he was doing.
Me: Hey, are you OK?
The Lukester: Yeah, I’m fine. A little bummed about the trees still.
Me: Me too. I was amazed how you stood up to those morons, Sperry and McGurk!
The Lukester: Thanks. I wasn’t sure I had it in me–but I couldn’t just let it go. Hey, I was thinking about something…
Me: Yeah, what about?
The Lukester: Well, I still have another 20 trees. Maybe I could get Eugene to let Bob and Bob Jr. bring them out to school to replace the others.
Me: Wow, that’s very sweet of you, but you wouldn’t have any left. Your legacy would be gone!
The Lukester: Ha ha. I hope there’s more to my legacy than just a bunch of trees.
Me: I guess you could ask. What if they destroy the new ones, too?
The Lukester: Sperry and McGurk? I don’t think so. They’re in BIG trouble. My mom said that they would probably get charged with felony vandalism--and be expelled.
Me: That’s good. I think everyone will be happy that they’re gone. You’re a hero, you know.
The Lukester: Well, I don’t know about that (blushing). Sometimes you just have to stand up for yourself–and for what’s right.
Me: Well, I’m proud of you.
The Lukester: Thanks (blushing again).
The Lukester: Hey… guess what else?
Me: What?
The Lukester: I went to the hospital today--actually, the ER.
Me: What for? I thought you said you were OK.
The Lukester: Oh I’m fine. I just broke my hand on McGurk’s face, that’s all. I have a cast. Will you be the first person to sign it for me?
Me: I’d be honored.
And I knew exactly what I was going to write.
21
Closed?
Mom and I had a new tradition on Sunday mornings. We still had our sacred sleeping time on Saturday mornings, but on Sunday, we got up at exactly 8:00 AM. Ever since I had told Mom about Dan and Dot’s Diner, we had been going out there for Sunday brunch. It was the grape jelly that eventually talked her into it.
We both noticed something was wrong as soon as we turned into the parking lot. It was empty. And that just wasn’t normal for Dan and Dot’s Diner on a Sunday morning.
“Look, there’s a note on the door,” I said as I hopped out to investigate. I had to read the notice twice to understand what it was saying:
County of Mosely