by Greyson Mann
BOOM!!!
Gunpowder floated down like snowflakes, all over Mom’s “perfect” dinner. And, well, that was the end of that.
Mom practically shoved our guests out the door so that she could clean up the kitchen—or go have a good cry or something.
The good news is, I don’t think we’ll be “expanding our social circles” with any more of those awkward dinners. The bad news? Andrew is hiding out in the bedroom. He’s under the covers, probably plotting his trip back to Humanville. And who can blame him?
I didn’t exactly protect him from Ziggy Zombie. I was too busy protecting myself and my potatoes from Leggy the Spider.
I felt bad for the kid, so I told him through the bed covers that maybe we could start working on that hockey rink tomorrow night, after a good day’s sleep. He stopped sniffling for once, so maybe that made him happy.
And now? I’m going to go take a shower and try to stop itching. SHEESH.
DAY 7: MONDAY
Well, I found out what a hockey rink is last night. Or at least how BIG one is. It’s as big as our backyard. Yup, we used up every square inch of space—except for a patch of snow-covered grass that Mom said we had to save for Sock the Sheep.
We shoveled the ground flat and then poured out buckets of water, and after HOURS of waiting, that water started to freeze. Then we added more water. And waited for it to freeze. And added more water. And waited.
And then Andrew said it was finally thick enough and smooth enough to skate on.
He pulled these things called ice skates out of his trunk. They help him glide across the ice.
Personally, I don’t think I need skates. The second I stepped on that ice, I slipped and slid clear across the yard.
I was afraid I was going to fall and break my creeper neck, so I stepped OFF the ice and decided to build a snow golem instead.
But then Andrew said we needed something called “goals.” He’s got Dad working on them in the garage. I can hear all that sawing and banging right now, when we’re supposed to be sleeping.
And next to me, Andrew is so stuffy, he’s snoring up a storm.
And his glowstone is burning brighter than EVER, like hot lava in the Nether.
I kind of wish it WERE lava, because then it could burn up that ugly cactus plant sitting beside it.
So now I’m rethinking this hockey thing, and wondering why I didn’t let Andrew just pack his bags last night and head back to Humanville. I mean, I’m trying to give the kid a chance—I really am. But this is turning into an AWFUL lot of work. And I’m SOOOOO tired.
This creeper needs his sleepers, because tomorrow night?
Drippy and Itchy are heading back to Mob Middle School.
Ready or not.
DAY 8: TUESDAY
“BREAKING NEWS!!! A human steps foot in Mob Middle School!”
That’s what Emma Enderman’s headline read in the MOB MIDDLE SCHOOL OBSERVER. The paper came out last night, and there were copies of it EVERYWHERE.
A bunch of copies were taped to my locker. When I looked closer at one of them, I saw a giant photo of me and Andrew. Well, it was mostly of Andrew. (I was scrunched down so low beside him that Emma had pretty much cut me out of the shot.) And the caption had been scratched out and replaced by “Itchy and Drippy, BFFs.” So Bones was at it already.
He and his buddies had stuffed a bunch of tissues in Drippy’s—er, I mean Andrew’s—locker. When Andrew opened it, they fluttered out like a colony of white cave bats. He got so nervous, his nose started running, and he actually had to USE one of those tissues.
I started to rip the newspapers off my locker and crumpled them up, but then I decided I’d better read the article. I mean, what if it mentioned ME?
It didn’t—not a single word about Gerald Creeper Jr. But Emma sure had a lot to say about Andrew, and between you and me, she KIND of stretched the truth. Read for yourself:
At least Emma mentioned hockey. She didn’t call Andrew “dude,” but she DID make him sound kind of tough, calling him a “star player” and all.
But somehow, I had a bad feeling that newspaper article was going to stir up trouble. And I was right.
After second period, Andrew and I were walking down the hall. And then suddenly, he wasn’t beside me anymore. Some bony fingers had yanked on his cape and pulled him backward.
By the time I turned around, a couple of Bones’s buddies were dangling Andrew upside down. Then Bones rattled down the hall and said, “So, Drippy, are you challenging the spider jockeys to a game of HOCKEY?”
Aw, crud. This was going nowhere good.
See, Bones and his gang are super competitive. Mostly they compete in Archery and Spider Riding and stuff like that. But I guess when Bones heard some human brag about a new sport in a newspaper article, he felt the urge to challenge him to a game.
I stared at Andrew, sending him warnings with my mind—things like, “Be quiet!” “Don’t say a word!” “Don’t encourage him!” “Play dead!”
But I guess Andrew didn’t get the messages. When he heard “hockey,” he got all chatty and told Bones about the rink we had built—in MY backyard. Andrew said it was almost done, that we just had to finish the goals.
GREAT.
Bones knew where I lived, and his “friendly little visits” usually ended with something blowing up or being destroyed. So I tried to do some damage control.
“It’s not a very big rink,” I said. “And my dad probably won’t finish those goals for like, I dunno, a month. So, you know, it’s no big deal.”
“Yeah right, Itchy.” Bones flicked me away like a silverfish. Then he turned back to Andrew and said, “Game on, Drippy.”
When Bones snapped his bony fingers, his buddies dropped Andrew into a heap on the ground. Then they rattled off to find their next victim.
So … that happened. And now I’m going to have to either stall Dad on his goal-making project, or learn to play hockey. FAST.
DAY 9: WEDNESDAY
You know, I once asked Dad to build me an anvil in the garage. It took FOREVER. I think Dad was dragging his feet because the anvil gave him something fun to do. He just didn’t WANT the project to end.
But with the hockey goals? The project that I didn’t WANT Dad to finish quickly? Dad was done in a flash. OF COURSE.
By the time Andrew and I got home from school this morning, the goals were already set up on the ice. Andrew rushed out back to examine them. “Now we just need nets!” he said. “Something to stop the PUCK from going through the goals.”
The WHAT now?
He explained that a puck was like a piece of cobblestone, flint, or coal that you hit through the goals with hockey sticks.
Right away, I suggested spider webs. See, I’m no fan of spiders, but I’ve become a HUGE fan of spider webs. I once solved a mystery by stretching a spider web across a secret doorway to catch a culprit. But that’s a whole other story.
Anyway, I told Andrew that we could get Ziggy’s spider to spin us a couple of webs. But as soon as I mentioned Ziggy’s name, Andrew turned even more pasty white than he already was. He suggested that maybe we could come up with another idea.
So then I remembered that Mom had a ton of wool that we could use to “weave” webs. It was kind of genius, because it would take a LOT longer than stretching cobwebs across the goals. And I do NOT want those goals to be done too soon.
See, I know that Bones is keeping an eye on this rink. Somehow, he’ll know the second that it’s finished. And then he’ll show up to wipe the ice with me.
So after we got the wool from Mom, I wove my nets as s-l-o-w-l-y as I could. I even broke my wool string a couple of times, just to drag things out. Andrew finished his net before bedtime, but I told him I was going to need another night or two to finish mine—maybe more.
I may not be a star hockey player. But, hey, I’m no dummy either.
DAY 10: THURSDAY
You’d think Mom’s dinner with the zombies would have ended her s
ocial life—squished it like a silverfish.
But you know what she said at breakfast this morning? She said she was ready to try ANOTHER dinner party. Maybe with a different mob family this time.
“Cora Creeper’s family?” asked Chloe, even though Mom had already told her no on that one. Sometimes my twin isn’t the brightest torch on the wall.
But I couldn’t help asking again, “Sam and the Slimes?”
Mom ignored us both. “I was thinking about that nice boy Eddy Enderman. Isn’t his mother your history teacher, Gerald?”
My stomach dropped. I felt like I’d just fallen into a zombie pit—taken a step without looking and felt the ground crumble beneath me.
See, I like Eddy Enderman. Who doesn’t? He plays it cool at school. He doesn’t try to impress anyone. He doesn’t need to! He just does his own thing, and shows up every now and then by my side—usually when I’m stuck between a rock and obsidian and really need a friend.
So I’m all about hanging out with Eddy. But I’m not sure I want EDDY to hang out with my FAMILY. I mean, my sisters can be SOOO embarrassing!
So I told Mom I was gonna have to think this one through, but … she’s not really the patient type. I think she’s calling Mrs. Enderwoman right now, as I write.
Andrew’s not being very patient either. He’s outside finishing my goal net FOR me. So much for dragging things out … He even got Dad going on making a few extra hockey sticks. I guess you can make them out of old fence posts, which Dad had in his trash heap in the garage.
Throw in a puck made out of coal or cobblestone, and VOILA. We’ll have ourselves a hockey game any day now. Ready or not. (SIGH)
DAY 11: FRIDAY
Dad always asks, “What did you learn at school last night?” But the real question is, “What did I learn playing HOCKEY this morning?”
And the answer is, a WHOLE lot. I learned that …
• coal flies across the ice way better than flint or cobblestone.
• a SLIME slides across the ice WAY better than a creeper.
• hockey sticks shouldn’t be used like swords (even though I might have whacked Sam with mine a time or two “by accident”).
• wool nets are just as sticky as cobwebs (especially when you get tangled up inside one chasing a puck).
• Andrew is WAY less drippy outside than he is when he’s inside. And a whole lot tougher.
• hockey is not NEARLY as fun as rapping. Andrew can have his hockey stick and puck. I’m sticking to music.
I pretty much made that decision after my first and only try at scoring a goal. Sam was playing goalie, and his wiggly green body filled the WHOLE net, I swear. You can’t shoot a goal through a slime’s legs. You can’t shoot it around him or over him. So finally, I did the only thing I could do. I shot the puck AT him.
And it bounced right off him and flew clear across the rink, landing in MY goal.
“Own goal!” Andrew shouted. He pumped his fist in the air.
A few seconds later, Sam caught on. “You scored against yourself, Gerald! HA!!!”
Like I hadn’t already noticed that my puck had gone into the WRONG net. Thanks, Sam. Thanks for pointing that out, buddy.
When my insides started bubbling over, I made like a puck and flew off the ice.
Then Andrew said I couldn’t quit, because he wouldn’t have enough players. And I said, “Well, why don’t you ask your friend ZIGGY to play?” (I know—that was lame. I didn’t say I was PROUD of it.)
That’s when Chloe came out of the house and grabbed my stick. She’d probably been waiting all morning to take my place.
I almost stuck around to watch her play. But if I had, Chloe probably would have scored like a gazillion goals and made it look EASY. My Evil Twin has a way of kicking me when I’m down—making a miserable creeper feel even worse.
So I marched back to my room. For once, I had it all to myself. I threw a blanket over Andrew’s glowstone—and the poky cactus plant. And when I caught Sticky gazing toward the door, waiting for Andrew, I threw a blanket over his aquarium, too. I mean, the squid is kind of a traitor for getting all attached to a HUMAN when he already has a perfectly loyal creeper boy, right?
Then I did what I always do when I feel miserable. I rapped.
I think a hockey puck just hit my bedroom window. (Thank you, Chloe.) But I’m not going back out there. Not even if Bones himself comes rapping on my window, daring me to show him what I’ve got.
Let Chloe take on Bones for all I care. I’m done defending Andrew. With a hockey stick in his hands, the kid can defend himself.
DAY 12: SATURDAY
So when I woke up for school last night, I was feeling much better (thanks for asking). I even reread my last journal entry and thought I MIGHT have overreacted. (Mom says I can be kind of dramatic sometimes.)
But then I went to school. And Sam let it slip to his girlfriend Willow Witch that the hockey rink was done. And that means EVERYONE at Mob Middle School will know by Monday, if not before. Emma Enderman will probably even publish an update in the paper: “THE GAME IS ON!”
So I’ve got to either magically learn how to play hockey this weekend, or run for the hills before Bones and his buddies show up for a game.
I’m thinking it might be time to take another look at my 30-Day Plan.
See, it’s good to dust off the plan every now and then, because I TOTALLY forgot about the trunk. If there really is some kind of treasure in there, I MIGHT not have to run for the hills. Or play hockey. EVER. Andrew and I can just fling a few diamonds or emeralds in Bones’s direction in exchange for a little peace. Or we can buy Andrew a one-way ticket back to Humanville. Something like that.
Either way, I gotta get into that trunk, because a creeper’s gotta keep his options open.
It just hit me that I had the PERFECT chance to break into the trunk yesterday morning, when I was alone in my room. But instead? I pouted and felt all sorry for myself. I mean, I did get a good rap song out of the deal, but still …
Andrew is already out playing hockey with Chloe, so maybe I can find something to use to pick the lock RIGHT NOW. I’ll be back in a sec!
CURSES!!! Mom caught me snooping in the drawer for one of Cammy’s baby forks, and I got roped into helping her clean the house. I totally forgot the Endermans are coming over tonight. So … my lock-picking is going to have to wait.
Stay tuned …
DAY 13: SUNDAY
Sure, scoring an “own goal” in hockey is embarrassing. But having Eddy Enderman meet my family was downright MORTIFYING.
Every single thing I worried about CAME TRUE. And even a few things I didn’t see coming …
First of all, before dinner, Cate told Andrew NOT to look the Endermans in the eye. It’s just kind of a thing with them, she said—it makes them uncomfortable, and sometimes they get downright salty about it.
But Dad overheard and took the whole “don’t look an Enderman in the eye” thing to a whole new level. When we sat down at the dinner table, Dad tried passing the potatoes to Mrs. Enderwoman without looking at her—and ended up tossing those tots right in her lap. GREAT start to the night, Dad. Thank you very much.
Then Chloe started yammering, asking Mrs. Enderwoman about the history of the Overworld. She said, “Since you TEACH history, Mrs. Enderwoman, maybe you could settle an argument between my dad and Andrew.”
An ARGUMENT? That was kind of an exaggeration, if you ask me.
But Dad got all into it. He told Mrs. Enderwoman HIS version of the history of the Overworld—you know, where mobs were here before humans. And then Andrew kind of whispered his version (because I think he was freaked out by the Endermen at the table). And then Chloe stared hard at Mrs. Enderwoman and said, “SO, who’s RIGHT?”
I caught Eddy’s eye—I’m not afraid to do that anymore—and rolled my own eyes. I wanted to remind him that I’m NOT related to Chloe by CHOICE. But he just smiled and played it cool. No surprise there.
Then Mrs. En
derwoman said politely that none of us REALLY know how things went down so long ago. And Mom backed her up by changing the subject.
But Chloe would NOT let go of this history thing. She was like a wolf-dog with a bone. “Was Herobrine the first human to walk the Overworld?” she asked Mrs. Enderwoman.
I almost choked on my chop.
See, Herobrine is supposed to be the ghost of a dead miner—a HUMAN miner—who stalks the Overworld. He has glowing white eyes and a crooked, twitchy head. He’d be super scary—and maybe even an interesting thing to talk about at dinner—except for ONE problem: Herobrine is NOT REAL. Everyone knows that! Everyone except Chloe, apparently. No matter how many times I try to shut down the Herobrine thing, she brings it right back up.
“Herobrine is FAKE!” I said as I fake-coughed.
Chloe heard me loud and clear and kicked me under the table.
“Herobrine is just a legend, dear,” agreed Mrs. Enderwoman. “Could you please pass the carrots?”
Chloe passed the carrots. Then she tried again. “What do you think, Andrew?” she asked. “Have you ever seen Herobrine?”
Andrew shook his head and then blew his nose. Twice. Maybe he was hoping Chloe would take the hint and back off.