I Funny: A Middle School Story Page 4

  “Don’t talk to her that way,” Mom said. “Georgia, honey, this is between Rafe and us. Go on, now.”

  Georgia disappeared again, but I knew she was just standing in the hall listening where we couldn’t see her. At least I’d have witnesses if Bear killed me, which he looked like he wanted to do.

  “You’re grounded for a week!” he said, standing over me now. “And no more touching the answering machine. You got that?”

  “Hang on a minute,” Mom said. “I want to hear Rafe’s side of this. Carl, sit down. Please.” Bear sat, and Mom looked at me again. “Rafe—talk.”

  Unfortunately, my side of the story wasn’t worth much. I told them all about the scooter in gym class, and detention, and how I’d erased the message on the machine. Even without saying a word about Operation R.A.F.E., I’d still been just as bad as Bear thought I was.

  When I was done, Mom took a deep breath.

  “Rafe? I’m going to ask you something else now, and I want an honest answer,” she said. “Does Leo have anything to do with this?”

  I probably would have told her the truth, but Bear decided what he thought about it before I could even open my mouth.

  “Again with the Leo thing?” he yelled at me. “I’ve had it up to here with that! I don’t want to ever hear the name Leo in this house again, understand? You… freak!”

  “YOU’RE THE FREAK!” I shouted back.

  “That’s enough, both of you!” Mom said, standing up between us. “Rafe, you’re grounded until further notice. Carl… you go cool off somewhere. I don’t want to talk to either one of you right now.”

  I was already headed back to my room anyway. Our little “talk” was over.

  I found Georgia in the hall, no surprise, but I didn’t bust her. I just pushed her back toward her own room and then slammed my door behind me as hard as I could.

  I wanted to throw something, hit something, and exterminate Bear, all at the same time.

  “You know, there are ways of getting back at him,” Leo said.

  “You shut up!” I told him. “You’re not even real!”

  I picked up this old ceramic turtle I’d made in second grade and threw it against the wall. It smashed into a million pieces, but I didn’t care. I didn’t even care about being grounded. It’s not like I had two dozen friends waiting to do stuff with me after school every day.

  In fact, I had only one friend, and technically he didn’t even exist.

  “I’m just saying,” Leo told me, “I know a way you could get revenge on Bear and maybe even earn some points at the same time. If you’re interested.”

  It took me a while to calm down, but once I thought about it, I realized I definitely was interested.

  “Just so you know, this one could really get you into trouble,” Leo said.

  “Who cares?” I told him. “I’m already in trouble. Keep talking.”

  TIME OUT…

  Okay, time out for a second.

  I just want to say, it’s not like I was trying to hide Leo from you—or at least the part about his not exactly being real.

  I know, I know—what kind of sixth grader still has imaginary friends? But I don’t really think of him that way. It’s just that he’s always been around, and there’s never been a reason to stop talking to him.

  Hmmm… maybe I’m not doing too good a job at explaining this.

  It’s not like I think Leo’s really there. It’s more like, what if someone was there, talking back and helping me figure out stuff? Someone who’s always on my side, you know? Like I said before, I’m not exactly popular, so I’ll take my help where I can get it. If that makes me weird, or whatever, I guess I can live with that. I hope you can too.

  For what it’s worth, I’ve told you way more than I’ve ever told anyone else (except Leo, of course). You know about Operation R.A.F.E. and my stupid point reward system. You know about my problems with my future stepfarter… I mean future stepfather. And, most embarrassing of all, you know about my impossible and very ridiculous crush on Jeanne Galletta.

  Here’s one more secret, just so you know we’re friends: Jeanne Galletta is not going to be my girlfriend by the end of this story. I’m not saying that because I don’t have confidence or something. I’m saying it because it’s my book and I know how it all turns out. So if you’re the type who likes the romantic stuff, and you’re waiting around for her to start liking me “like that,” I’m just saying—don’t hold your breath.

  Okay? Now you know all this stuff about me, and I still don’t know anything about you. I don’t even know if you’re still there.

  Are you?

  And if you are, can I trust you with the rest? I still want to know—are you a good person?

  Maybe that’s not fair of me to ask, since I haven’t even figured out whether I’m a good person or not. I guess you can be the judge.

  Here’s the deal. If you’re okay with me so far, then keep reading. But if you’ve gotten this far and you think I’m the lowest of the low and I don’t deserve to have my own book, then maybe you should stop right now.

  Because it only gets worse from here. (Or better, depending on how you look at it.)

  Signed, your friend (?),

  RK

  REVENGE FOR SALE

  The next day at school, I put our new plan into action.

  It took until about fourth period for word to get around. By lunchtime I had a whole line of kids from every grade waiting at my locker for a nice, refreshing can of Zoom, right out of Bear’s smaller-than-it-used-to-be, not-such-a-secret-anymore stash.

  Hills Village Middle School is a “sugary drink–free zone,” so something like Zoom is pure gold around there.

  I made it BYOC—Bring Your Own Cup—so there wouldn’t be any marked cans floating around. One dollar filled the cup of your choice or emptied the can, whichever came first. Then I could take the empties home, put them back in their cases, and wait to see if Bear ever got to the bottom of his stash. (And if he did, I had a plan for that too.)

  My customers kept saying how cool this was, and “Thanks, Rafe,” including a bunch of people who I didn’t even think knew my name. I guess Miller the Killer was right about one thing: I was starting to get a reputation around here.

  Business was good too. I’d made sixteen bucks (not to mention 35,000 points) by the time lunch was almost over. I didn’t see Jeanne Galletta at the end of the line until she was there at my locker.

  Let me say that again—JEANNE GALLETTA WAS AT MY LOCKER!

  “Thirsty?” I said, trying to stay cool.

  “You know, this is totally against the rules,” she said.

  “That makes it taste better,” I said. (Good line, right?)

  Jeanne just looked at me, the same way Mom does sometimes, and even Donatello. It was like she was trying to figure me out.

  “Why does it seem like you’re always trying to get in trouble?” Jeanne said. “I don’t get that.”

  What I did next was probably stupid, but to tell you the truth, I didn’t know what else to say.

  “Can you keep a secret?” I asked. I took out the HVMS Code of Conduct and showed her how I’d already crossed out a bunch of rules.

  “Yeah?” Jeanne said. “So what?”

  “I’m going to be the first person to break every single one of these,” I said. “One rule at a time.”

  “Oh, great,” she said. “Thanks for telling me. Now I could get into trouble too.”

  “No, you can’t,” I said. “That’s my policy. Whatever happens, I don’t let anyone else get hurt. You can even turn me in if you want to.”

  She just stared at me, but not in a totally bad way. It was more like she hadn’t made up her mind yet.

  “Go ahead,” I said. “Make my day.”

  Then Jeanne Galletta did something she’d never done before. She smiled right at me. I know this will sound corny, but it was a really, really nice smile. I think Leo was right. She liked that No-Hurt Rule.

  O
f course, the stupid bell had to ring for fifth period, and that smile disappeared faster than a can of Zoom out of my locker.

  “Oh, my gosh, I’m late for science!” Jeanne said.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said.

  “No, that’s what you do,” she told me, and now she was just annoyed. By the time I said bye, she was already going up the hall as fast as she could go without actually running—because, you know, that’s against the rules.

  “What just happened?” I asked Leo after she was gone.

  “I’m not sure about this,” he said, “but I think you just got a step closer to Section Four, Rule Seven.”

  CRACKING THE DRESS CODE

  When Halloween rolled around, it seemed like the perfect time in the game to take on Section 1, Rule 1: The Hills Village Middle School Dress Code.

  Normally this would have been an easy one, but Leo liked it when I upped my game, so he laid down all kinds of challenges and chances for me to earn some extra-big points. Forget the fire alarm. Forget about detention with the Dragon Lady. This was definitely going to be the scariest thing I’d done so far.

  The first challenge was just getting out of the house without Mom finding out about it.

  “No costume, Rafe?” she said at breakfast.

  Georgia was eating a bowl of Cheerios standing up because she couldn’t sit down—she was already wearing her big pink wings. I was just wearing jeans and a regular shirt. “Are you already getting too old for Halloween?” Mom asked.

  I answered her with one of my not-quite-lies. “It’s middle school,” I said.

  In fact, everything was already in my backpack, and I changed in the bathroom when I got to school—black shoes, black pants, black turtleneck, black ski mask. My backpack was dark blue, but that was close enough. I also had a pocketful of Cheerios for throwing stars, and nunchucks made out of a couple of paper towel rolls with a piece of rope knotted at both ends. It would have been nice to have a sword too, but just try fitting a mop handle in your backpack sometime.

  It was only a matter of time before some teacher nabbed me, so Leo said he’d give me 10,000 points for every fifty yards of ground I could cover inside the school. I came tearing out of that bathroom at full speed and just kept running—through the first floor (10,000!), up the stairs (10,000!), down the second-floor hall past the lockers (10,000!), throwing Cheerios and swinging my nunchucks like crazy.

  If there were a highlight reel, the number one play would have to be when I saw Miller the Killer in the hall. I made sure my mask was pulled down tight over my face. Then I took a big windup as I went by, and beaned him upside the head with one of the chucks (10,000!).

  “What the—?” Miller turned the wrong way just as I passed him. By the time he’d figured out where I came from and where I was headed, I’d already left him in the dust. He was twice as big as me, but I was twice as fast. Eat it, Miller!

  And then—splam! I ran right into Mrs. Stricker. Literally.

  Let’s just say she wasn’t in the mood for wrestling.

  “What in heaven’s name is this?” she said, grabbing me by the arm.

  “I’m a ninja,” I told her.

  “You’re a nincompoop,” she said. “Take off that mask immediately.”

  I pulled off the mask.

  “Rafe,” she said. “I might have guessed. You absolutely may not run around the school in that costume.”

  “There’s no rule against ninjas,” I said. “And believe me, I checked.”

  “Consider it our newest regulation,” Stricker said. “No ninjas allowed, at Halloween or anytime. You’re going to have to take that off.”

  “Okay, okay,” I said, like it was a big deal, but this was actually the part I’d been waiting for. Phase two: double points!

  I went into the bathroom and came out a minute later without my ninja costume, running just as fast as before.

  “RAFE KHATCHADORIAN!” Stricker shouted after me, but I was already gone.

  Some kids got out of my way. Some even ran in the other direction. A few of the girls screamed when I came through, but I don’t think they meant it. And a few people even yelled stuff like “Go, Rafe, go!” and “Don’t let ’em get you!”

  Because, like I said, I wasn’t wearing my ninja costume anymore. In fact, I wasn’t wearing much of anything at all.

  Just sneakers, a pair of boxers, and a big old smile.

  KICKIN’ IT, DUNGEON-STYLE

  I thought for sure I’d land in Stricker’s office for this one. It turned out I wasn’t thinking big enough. Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, welcome to: THE DUNGEON.

  I’m not the only one up for execution today. It’s Halloween, after all, so there’s a whole dungeon full of people waiting to hear what their torture is going to be.

  “Hey,” the prisoner next to me whispers. “Aren’t you Rafe Khatchadorian?”

  I’ve seen his face before, but I don’t know his name.

  “That’s right,” I say.

  “I’ve heard about you,” he says. “What did you do this time?”

  “I broke the dress code,” I tell him. He doesn’t look very impressed.

  “QUIET!” yells one of the guards. “No talking, under penalty of death!”

  I’m getting ready to ask what the difference is, since we’re all about to get death sentences anyway, but just then the door to the inner chamber swings open. It’s too late for me now. They carry out the body of the last victim, and the Lizard King himself beckons me inside with one long, green, sticky finger.

  HIS MAJESTY, THE LIZARD KING

  The inner chamber is cold and wet. The Lizard King slides back into his place, across from which I’m supposed to sit. It smells like… I don’t know what in here.

  He takes a lid off a jar of something that looks like white jelly beans, and holds it out for me. “Would you like one?” he says.

  That’s when I see that they’re not jelly beans, but they are moving.

  “I’ll pass,” I say.

  He shrugs and pops a couple in his mouth. Something blue runs out over his chin as he chews them.

  “It seems you’ve been making a name for yourself around the kingdom,” he says. “My spies tell me you’re quite the show-off.” When a fly lands on the wall, his tongue shoots out about three feet, and he nabs it. I’m telling you, this guy never stops eating. “Do you have anything to say in your own defense before I pronounce your sentence?” he asks me, around a mouthful of fly.

  “I think you’re confusing me with my twin brother,” I say.

  Wrong answer. The Lizard King reaches over and flattens a hand (or is it a foot?) against my face. Either way, it’s like Velcro and superglue combined. He picks me up by my head and slams me into the wall. I can barely breathe anymore, and the smell of his breath is so bad at close range, I barely want to.

  “Guilty as charged!” he tells me. Then he peels his grip off of me, and I drop to the floor like a load of concrete.

  The Lizard King runs up the wall and across the ceiling. He hangs there, upside down, ready to deliver my sentence.

  “Three rounds in the detention chamber with the Dragon Lady!” he yells. “Or until someone ends up dead, whichever comes first!”

  WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL?

  Rafe, are you listening to me?”

  I looked up at Mr. Dwight and nodded.

  “You need to get your act together, young man. Keep up this kind of behavior and it’s going to be more than just detention for you. Understood?”

  I knew I couldn’t talk my way out of this, so I didn’t even try. “Understood,” I told him, and got up to leave.

  At least my trip to the principal’s office was worth 30,000 points, on top of everything else I’d earned for my little “wardrobe malfunction.” Pointwise, it had been a pretty good day. But Dragon Lady–wise? I felt like I was already dead.

  After I left the office, guess who was the first person to come up to me in the hall? (I’ll give you a hint:
It’s not who you think, and it rhymes with Beanie Balletta.)

  “What the heck was all that?” Jeanne asked me.

  “I got three detentions with Donatello,” I said.

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” she said. “I mean, why would you want to run around school in your underwear? This whole rule-breaking thing of yours is getting kind of… stupid, to tell you the truth.”

  “You’re right,” I told her. “It is stupid. Just as stupid as some of these rules.” I don’t know why Jeanne was talking to me, and I don’t know why I always told her everything I was thinking. Still, she didn’t walk away, so I kept going. “No hats? No sunglasses? No pants that are too big or shirts that are too small? Do you really think all these rules do anything to make the school a better place?”

  “That’s not up to me,” she said.

  “But that’s exactly what you said in your student council speech,” I told her. “You said you wanted to make the school a better place, right?”

  “I do, but—”

  She stopped suddenly and looked at me like she’d just thought of something. “That speech was two months ago. You still remember what I said?” she asked.

  Oh, man. Capital O.O.P.S.!

  Admitting something like that to a girl who would probably go out with a fire hydrant before she went out with me was even more embarrassing than the fact that she’d seen me running around in my underwear.

  And I wasn’t done either. The next thing to come out of my mouth went something like this:

  “Yeah, well, uh… you know. It’s not like… you know. I just, uh… well… uh… yeah. Okay… I probably need to, uh… I better… go now.”

  And then I did go—right out of there and into the Geek Hall of Fame.

  One of these days, I was going to have a regular, nonembarrassing, just-be-myself, don’t-do-anything-stupid conversation with Jeanne Galletta.

  But today was not that day.

  DINNER FOR THREE AT SWIFTY’S DINER