Elvin Link, Please Report to the Principal's Office!

by Drew Dernavich

Peter Zorber (why is it always the kids we don’t like who we call by their full names?) was standing at the end of the aisle, staring me down, almost like he expected me to be there. The Peter Zorber who had to go to summer school. Peter Zorber is big and talks a lot without saying much. Except he never talks to me—he only stares at me like I stole his dog or something.

  Peter Zorber is a bully known for giving guys massive wedgies. Really? Wedgies? Who does that? That’s a bully move my dad talks about from when he was a kid. Anyway, there is a rumor that he has a list with names on it and he puts check marks next to his victims.

  So far, I was not one of them. But would Peter Zorber try it here, at a public supermarket, in front of the ketchup?

  My heart rate jumped. I focused squarely on the hot sauce, pretending not to notice as Peter Zorber and his father wandered up aisle 6. I tracked their movements in my side vision. As they passed behind me, I could see Peter Zorber’s reflection in the hot sauce.

  “You’re next, Link,” he whispered in my ear as he passed by. I felt it more than heard it, because of his hot reptile breath. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to get you before school’s done. Be ready.”

  It was more chilling than being in the frozen-foods section.

  I had always been proud of the fact that I avoided him. How much longer could I do that?

  My journal was in the car, and I couldn’t wait to draw, so I snuck around the corner, sat on the floor, and used the store sales flyer. On paper, at least, I could defeat Peter Zorber.

  When I got home, Andrea was outside, staring at the centipede chalk outline on the sidewalk.

  “You wanna play flipdisc?” Since she didn’t call me Baby Bro again, I said yes. Andrea liked this game because it brought out her inner scientist. Plus,

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  “I think Mothy should be on the Gold Team for Field Day,” she said jokingly. “I bet he would be good at the relay. Killer hornets that disguise themselves as waffle cones!”

  No way I was catching that one.

  “If Mothy took my place, it wouldn’t be so bad,” I said.

  “Marshmallow Mount Everest!”

  “Aww,” Andrea said. “Well, we’d rather have you than that troll Walker Bundt. Twenty-four hours when everything is made of chocolate!”

  “Speaking of Walker Bundt, guess who threatened me in the ketchup aisle of the grocery store today? Three-headed history teacher!”

  I didn’t have to tell her that it was Peter Zorber. Everyone knew that Walker Bundt was Peter Zorber’s accomplice. He never gave wedgies himself, but somehow he made them happen. Wherever Peter Zorber was, Walker was close by.

  “Oh no! I am so glad I’m not a boy.” Then came the voice of Amanda from inside the house, calling us in to eat … in the form of a song.

  Andrea and I ignored her.

  “Unfortunately, your other sister has a mad crush on that Zorber creep. I don’t get it,” she said as she zipped the Frisbee at me. “Quesadilla with its own elevator!”

  “How is that possible?” I said. “Pooper-scoopers instead of hands!”

  “Crushes are weird, Baby Bro. I do know that.”

  “Oh, we didn’t hear you the first time,” Andrea said as we both headed inside.

  CHAPTER 12

  It was the Monday morning of the last week of the school year: a worry-free week filled with the anticipation of Field Day and thoughts of summer. Right?

  Not for me.

  A loud and crowded hallway was the perfect setting for Peter Zorber to sneak up, undetected, and wedgie his victims while they were facing their lockers. I did my locker business quickly and stood with my back pressed up against the door, talking to my friend Felipe on one side and Clay—a kid who smells like he took a bath in vinegar and dried himself off with a used diaper—on the other.

  Talking to Clay was a small price to pay for not getting humiliated by Peter Zorber in front of the whole school.

  There was no sign of Zorber this morning. But in the last few seconds before the opening school bell rang, I saw Andrea running up to me. Great, I thought—she’s coming to offer another layer of protection.

  Then I saw the scowl on her face. Uh-oh.

  “I set Mothy down in my locker, but when I went to get him, he was gone. Instead, there was this note:”

  “Who left this?”

  Andrea shrugged. “Mai Lin said that it was Walker Bundt who took Mothy.”

  In other words, it was Peter Zorber.

  “I’ve been working on Mothy McMothface for a week, Elvin! And I have to turn it in tomorrow. You have to get it back.”

  “I can’t meet him alone! He’ll yank my underwear right off my body!”

  “Remember last year when you made the toilet into Mr. Trinkle’s office?” Andrea asked.

  It was one of my finest creations. Mr. Trinkle had commented that he sometimes likes to read when he’s in the bathroom, so naturally I turned one of the stalls into an office for him.

  “I said that you couldn’t have done it, because you were in the lab helping me,” Andrea reminded me.

  She was right. Principal Weeks probably would have suspended me, but Andrea had covered for me. I owed her a big favor.

  “Thanks, Baby Bro.”

  I had to do this, but it wasn’t going to be fun. My body tensed. My teeth clenched. My head hurt. When the bell rang, it felt like the bell at the beginning of a boxing match.

  CHAPTER 13

  Ten minutes later, I was sitting at my desk, listening to the pitter-patter of the rain on the classroom windows, wondering how I could possibly get Andrea’s project back from Peter Zorber without also becoming his last wedgie victim.

  The loudspeaker crackled with an announcement.

  Carlos! I was so preoccupied with Peter Zorber that I had forgotten about my best friend. He was going to get in trouble because of a drawing I did. Would he ever speak to me again?

  The loudspeaker crackled another time.

  Really? Well, at least I wouldn’t have to wait to see whether I still had a best friend.

  When I got to Principal Weeks’s office, she motioned for me to sit next to Carlos. “I stopped Carlos in the hallway this morning and asked if this was him,” she said, holding up my drawing.

  “Carlos mentioned that in all the excitement of last Friday, he probably ran into someone, but he kept running and didn’t see who it was.”

  Carlos and I looked at each other. This was an unpleasant moment. If we were playing flipdisc, getting your best friend in trouble would be right up there with screaming jellyfish that pulls your ears off.

  “Carlos said he was sorry, so I’m not going to prevent him from participating in Field Day,” Principal Weeks said. “However, Mrs. English’s glasses did break as a result. So I’m asking that Carlos do something for her in return.”

  “Elvin, I explained to Carlos that you were only being helpful when you volunteered to do that drawing. I know you guys are good friends. There shouldn’t be any bad feelings. I’ll leave you alone for a minute to talk.” She walked across the hall into the teachers’ lounge.

  “I had no idea it was you!” I blurted out. “I was drawing what they were describing to me. I didn’t even know you were there.”

  “I know,” Carlos said frustratedly. “But now I wish you weren’t such a great artist. When you knew it was me, why didn’t you draw somebody else?”

  “That’s not how it works,” I said. “But it’s not so bad—I mean, she’s still letting you participate in Field Day, right?”

  “Yeah, I’m glad. But I don’t like that suddenly you’re narcing me out on stuff.”

  That’s a law enforcement term. A narc is an undercover officer who catches someone doing something illegal and turns them in to the authorities.

  “That’s not what I was doing,” I said. “If you were me, you would have done the same thing.”

  Carlos paused for a second. “And if you were me, you’d help your friend o
ut. Like, maybe you could draw something cool for Mrs. English? Something that says ‘I’m sorry’?”

  “I don’t really think they want to see any more of my drawings. Why don’t you volunteer to clean her whiteboard or something?”

  “I’m just saying, if you helped out, it would make it even between us.”

  In the middle of our discussion, Principal Weeks came back into her office. “You guys don’t look too happy. Come with me.”

  What happened next was a surprise: she led us across the hall and into the teachers’ lounge.

  Students are not allowed in the lounge for any reason. I’ve always wondered why the teachers’ lounge is off-limits. Are there secrets in there? Things that kids aren’t supposed to know? Hidden clues to lost civilizations? Trolls? Giant piles of money? I had only gotten momentary glimpses of the teachers’ lounge when the door opened, so the principal bringing us inside was a big deal.

  It didn’t take long for me to realize why students are forbidden to enter: it was kind of a dump. Empty coffee mugs, a bin with a bunch of ratty umbrellas, boxes of half-eaten donuts—who knew teachers were this messy?

  There was nothing interesting in the whole room, except for a box against the wall, presumably the Field Day shirts. And there was an electric guitar in the corner, which I assumed was Mr. Trinkle’s.

  There was also a vending machine.

  “Here you go,” Principal Weeks said as she handed us each some quarters. “You can treat yourselves to anything you’d like. You can eat it here or at home, but not in class. Our little secret. Deal?”

  “Deal!” we both said.

  My favorite candy was Caramel Whale Eggs, but I could see that I was not the only one who liked them, because they were sold out. The machine only had the regular chocolate Whale Eggs.

  No Cookie Comets, either. I put my coins in and went for the Tolhurst Fudge Crunch Bar. Carlos bought himself a roll of Jelly Jamz.

  Carlos and I were eating candy in the forbidden teachers’ lounge instead of sitting in class. It’s funny how many problems are fixed with candy!

  “Here are your hall passes,” Principal Weeks said when we had finished. “You can head back to class now.”

  That’s when I remembered Mothy and Peter Zorber.

  CHAPTER 14

  “I’m real sorry, Elvin,” Carlos said after I told him my situation. “But I can’t help you with Zorber.”

  “You’re just mad about the drawing,” I said.

  “If I show up with you, you’re not getting Andrea’s project back,” Carlos said. “He’ll give you a giant wedgie, and then he’ll give me one, just for fun. No way. You should make sure that you’re not alone with him.”

  “Nobody is going to come with me to get wedgied by Peter Zorber.”

  “You have to make sure someone is there. It would be even better if it was a teacher, maybe.”

  “There’s nobody near the gym after school.”

  “Draw your way out of it, E. Draw something that will make a crowd observe what you created.”

  “Are you crazy? And get sentenced to summer school?”

  “Make it look like someone else did it! Write someone else’s name or something! If anyone can pull that off, it’s you.”

  “But who else in this school draws on walls? They’re just going to assume it’s me.”

  “What’s going to be easier: talking your way out of that, or talking your way out of Peter Zorber humiliation?”

  Certain summer school or total embarrassment: a choice that nobody should have to face. If only I could turn my pen into a magic wand and wave myself to a desert island!

  “I’m not showing up with you after school, but if you draw something right now, I’ll be your lookout,” Carlos said. “Plus, you’re the only guy he hasn’t wedgied, right? You’re kind of the last hope of the fifth grade. If he gets you, he’s won.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The plan was hastily thought out and executed.

  The idea was that I would make two signs

  and stick them to the door of the boys’ locker room. It was somewhat believable. I would show up with Carlos, and since we couldn’t go into the locker room, I wouldn’t be alone inside with Peter Zorber. He’d just have to give me my sister’s project outside the locker room. There would be teachers walking by, and he wouldn’t dare give me a wedgie in front of one of them.

  But there were ways this plan could go wrong, including the janitor realizing that the sign was fake and ripping it down before we got there.

  Still, it was the best plan I could come up with. I had to make this sign look convincing.

  I took some copy paper and a giant marker out of my bag. I placed the paper against the wall and began blocking out the letters while Carlos kept watch.

  I had barely gotten started when he shouted “RUN!” and bolted in the opposite direction. I scrunched up the paper, jammed the marker into my bag, and took off. By the time I got to my classroom, I was walking calmly, but my heart was beating outside my body.

  So much for that plan. Peter Zorber was finally going to get me, and he would probably get me good.

  I didn’t even have a chance to enjoy the teachers’ lounge candy for very long.

  CHAPTER 16

  Right before the final school bell rang, the loudspeaker crackled:

  I hadn’t done anything wrong. What was it this time?

  I arrived to find Principal Weeks with her arms folded, a row of angry teachers, and the janitor holding up cleaning supplies. A scene that was as familiar to me as my own face. “We’d like you to come see something,” Principal Weeks said.

  She and the janitor led us down the hall until we came upon some letters scrawled on the wall:

  In the exact spot where I had been drawing the sign. The marker must have bled through the paper and onto the wall. And, of course, I’d never gotten a chance to finish.

  “Were you drawing on the walls again?” Principal Weeks asked.

  I knew what she meant, but technically, I’d been drawing on the paper.

  “I was not.”

  “I want to believe you, Elvin, but you have drawn on the walls before.”

  “Honestly, Principal Weeks, if Elvin had wanted to do this, he could have done it way cooler,” said a voice from behind us. It was Carlos. He was about to save me. “What the heck is CLOS? It’s almost like someone was writing ‘CLOSED’ and then ran out of time.”

  Carlos was about to unsave me.

  “You mean, someone who was roaming the halls when they should have been in class?” the principal said. “I know two boys who did that today.”

  We were all but busted.

  “Is there a kid named Clos here? At least Elvin’s stuff makes sense,” Carlos argued.

  “Maybe someone was trying to write ‘Carlos.’”

  “I know how to spell my own name,” he said, with less energy this time.

  “You have a point, Carlos,” replied Principal Weeks. Carlos was back to saving me again.

  “We didn’t do it, but how about we clean it up,” Carlos offered.

  “That’s fine with us,” the principal said.

  I couldn’t believe my best friend was signing me up for cleaning supplies AGAIN.

  Suddenly we sensed the presence of Peter Zorber. He must have heard the commotion and now stood behind us with a resentful look on his face and Mothy in his hands.

  Right behind Peter? You guessed it: Walker Bundt.

  I sensed the perfect opportunity. “My sister said you had her project,” I blurted out.

  “Right,” muttered Peter as he reluctantly placed Mothy McMothface near my feet.

  “I’m staying here until the wall is glistening,” interrupted the janitor, handing Carlos and me the towels and spray. “No matter how long it takes you guys to clean it.”

  We both took the supplies and started scrubbing the wall. This was not a fun activity, but it beat getting bullied. Somehow our botched plan had worked. We tried not to
smile as we scrubbed, waiting for Peter Zorber to slither away in defeat.

  After we were done and the janitor had left, I heard soft singing from behind me:

  I recognized it as the tune that Amanda loved to sing. But it wasn’t Amanda singing.

  “Looking forward to seeing you at the recital tomorrow night, Elvin,” Peter Zorber said before walking away.

  This saga wasn’t over.

  CHAPTER 17

  As if the day hadn’t ended bitterly enough, my mother made brussels sprouts for dinner. Can somebody explain brussels sprouts to me?

  I mean, they’re basically miniature lettuce heads. But it’s almost like somebody said, “Lettuce is a vegetable, but it doesn’t taste horrible enough. How can we make it more disgusting?” They decided to put a head of lettuce in the dryer and shrink it down into a little ball, so there would be no juiciness or crunchiness left in it. Along with the lettuce, they also put into the dryer a bucket of dirt and a pile of year-old gym socks, so that the shrunken lettuce would taste gritty and bitter when it came out.

  The only thing that can possibly make brussels sprouts better is—

  Well, I haven’t figured that out yet. I’m still testing it.

  “You don’t put ketchup on brussels sprouts, Elvin,” my mom said.

  “You don’t,” I answered.

  “Whatever it takes to get ’em down,” added my dad. “And we’re all getting them down,” he continued, looking at my sisters.

  Amanda pushed the food around on her plate for five minutes before getting up from her seat.