Irwin laughed as if Chad had just told the funniest joke ever created by humans. But I wasn’t laughing. I was watching Daisy, who was pretending not to listen but whose face was slowly turning deep red.
“If I didn’t know any better,” Baxter said, observing the whole thing, “I’d say that Chad and Daisy were flirting.”
Daisy looked horribly offended. “That’s ridiculous!” But I could tell by her face that it wasn’t ridiculous at all—in fact, it was the opposite of ridiculous. It was true.
I suddenly got that weird feeling again—the same one I got when I first saw Daisy cheerleading. But this time, it was about a hundred times stronger. Because now I had proof, right in front of me.
Daisy liked a boy who wasn’t me.
I suddenly had this feeling that I had to get away from there as quickly as possible. I stood up so abruptly that my chocolate milk fell over, spilling onto Baxter’s tray. “Hey!” he protested.
“Sorry,” I said. “But I just remembered I have to go do something. Plus, I’m not hungry.” And without another word, I got up, whirled around, and left.
Or, I would have left, if Clarice hadn’t been in my way.
Clarice, who runs the cafeteria at school, is the nicest person in the world. She does everything from make the pizza to refill the napkins in the napkin dispenser. At that exact moment, she was bringing a large tray of lasagna out from the kitchen.
Or, she would have brought the lasagna out from the kitchen, if I hadn’t been in her way.
But as it turns out, we were both in each other’s way. And so, we smashed right into each other, and her entire tray of lasagna went flying—all over her, and all over two tables full of kids.
The only one who escaped lasagna-free was me.
Immediately, kids started screaming things like “EW! GROSS!” and “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” and “MY SHIRT IS RUINED!” I noticed that Chad was covered in tomato sauce, and Daisy was picking noodles out of her hair.
FACT: Lasagna is not a good look on a person.
“Oh my goodness!” Clarice exclaimed. “What a mess! I am so terribly sorry!” She immediately started trying to help all the kids who were doused in lasagna, but I just stood there, frozen. She looked up at me. “Jimmy? Are you okay?”
“This wasn’t my fault,” I said, which wasn’t an answer to her question.
Ms. Owenby, my math teacher, was on lunch duty that day, and she came running over. “What happened here?”
“It wasn’t my fault,” I said again.
A few of the school custodians came over and started cleaning up the mess, and other teachers came over to get kids cleaned up. I made sure not to look at any of them. “Nobody said it was anyone’s fault,” Ms. Owenby said. “But you know you’re not supposed to get up in the middle of lunch, right? And there’s absolutely no running in the cafeteria, ever.”
“I wasn’t running. I was just—I had to go to the bathroom.”
Ms. Owenby looked at me intently. “Honestly?”
I glanced up and saw Chad and Daisy whispering something to each other. Irwin and Baxter were standing next to them, and they looked like they were trying not to giggle. My ears started to burn, and the next thing I knew, I blurted out, “I don’t care if you believe me or not! And besides, Clarice shouldn’t have been walking behind me like that! Forget all you guys!” I could feel tears start to form behind my eyes, and I prayed they wouldn’t start to leak out.
Ms. Owenby stared down at me. “I’m quite sure that blaming Clarice is not the solution here, young man. I think it might be a good idea if you went to Mr. Klondike’s office to cool off for a little while.”
I blinked at her. “Mr. Klondike’s office?”
“Indeed.”
I noticed I was breathing hard and tried to make myself calm down. Mr. Klondike is our vice-principal, in charge of misbehaving students. I actually get along with him pretty well, ever since we discovered we both had rescue dogs, but still—his office wasn’t a place you wanted to visit, if you could help it.
“Okay,” I muttered.
“Do I need to walk you down there, or can I trust you to go by yourself?”
“I can do it.”
As I walked slowly out of the cafeteria, I could sense someone coming up behind me, and then I felt a hand on my arm.
I turned to see Daisy standing there. She still had a few noodles in her hair, but she didn’t seem to care about that.
“Are you okay?” she asked me.
“Oh yeah,” I said. “I’m fantastic.”
And then I went to find out how much trouble I was in.
WHEN YOU’RE SITTING outside Mr. Klondike’s office, the first thing you see is a giant poster of a kitten sitting in a bathtub filled with milk. The slogan reads, SOMETIMES ENOUGH IS ENOUGH.
I waited there for a few minutes, staring at that kitten, until his assistant, Mrs. Crowley, said, “You can go ahead in, hon.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Crowley,” I said, extra politely, since I was pretty sure Mr. Klondike could hear me.
I walked into his office, but Mr. Klondike was busy writing something, and he didn’t look up.
“Jimmy,” he said. “How very nice to see you as always. Take a seat.”
I did as I was told, then waited for about three minutes as Mr. Klondike finished what he was doing.
FACT: When you’re sitting in the vice-principal’s office, three minutes feels like three hundred and thirty-three minutes.
Finally he lifted his head. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”
“Clarice and I bumped into each other, and the lasagna spilled,” I mumbled.
“I see.” Mr. Klondike put his pen down. “That sounds like an unfortunate accident. But from what I understand, you then decided to blame everyone except yourself. Including Clarice, who may be the most beloved employee at the entire school.”
The way he described it, it sounded like I’d acted like a total jerk.
Which was the moment I realized that I had acted like a total jerk.
“I—It was—”
Mr. Klondike waved his hand at me. “I’m not interested in your explanation, only your apology, which you should offer to all those involved.”
I hung my head. “I will.”
“Good. Then that’s settled.” I waited for Mr. Klondike to either punish or dismiss me, but instead he got up and looked out his window for a second. Then he turned around and sat down in the chair next to me. “Jimmy, I’ve known you for a while now, and I’ve always thought of you as one of our most mature students.”
You’re the only one, I thought to myself.
“This kind of behavior seems completely out of character for you,” Mr. Klondike went on. “So maybe you can tell me what this is really about. Is there something else going on?”
“No,” I said, without thinking about it. “Everything’s fine.”
“Okay, then. You can go.”
I stared up at him. “Really? I’m not in trouble?”
“No, you’re not in trouble, as long as you make sure to apologize.”
“I will; I promise.” I grabbed my backpack, leaped up, and headed to the door. But then I stopped and turned back. At first, I wasn’t even sure why.
“Mr. Klondike?” I asked.
He was already writing again, but he stopped and looked up. “Yes, Jimmy?”
I took a breath. “You know how sometimes you can really believe something? And you’ve believed in it for a long time, even though it’s usually, like … well … something that maybe only a little kid would believe in?”
“You mean like Santa Claus?”
“Kind of, I guess, yeah.” I took another step back into his office. “Like, the thing is, everyone thinks you’re crazy for believing it, but still, deep down, you’re convinced it’s true, you know? Until one day you realize that maybe all those people might have been right all along, and you were wrong? Has that ever happened to you?”
“I’m not sure tha
t it has, Jimmy, but I can imagine that it’s not a great feeling.”
“Yeah, it’s not.”
“Do you want to tell me what it is that you’re talking about?”
I thought for a second and then shook my head. “Not right now if it’s okay. Maybe someday though.”
Mr. Klondike took his glasses off for a second and rubbed his eyes. “The only thing I can tell you, Jimmy, is you need to give yourself every chance to prove that you are right. Do your homework, do your research, and I promise you will be satisfied. Possibly not with what you discover, but with the fact that you did everything possible to know the truth, one way or the other. That’s why knowledge is so important in this world.”
“Thank you, Mr. Klondike. I will.”
“Please say hello to Abby for me,” he said. For a second I thought he knew exactly what I was talking about, but then I realized he was just being friendly.
FACT: Having a nice vice-principal is something that takes getting used to.
THE FIRST THING I did when I got home after school on Monday was google “how to tell if your dog is a vampire.”
It’s very possible that I was the first person in history to do that.
But you know what the amazing thing about Google is? In .46 seconds, there were 2,580,000 results. Of course, most of the results had nothing to do with finding out if your dog is a vampire. Most of them were jokes, or vampire chat rooms, or websites that tried to sell you weird stuff like pills that help you grow fangs. (Do they really work?) I was about to give up when I saw one result that caught my eye. VAMPIRE DOG TEST, it said. IS YOUR DOG A VAMPIRE DOG?
I clicked on it.
Your dog has huge fangs, it said. She’s wide awake at night and might even have a bit of a biting problem.
I couldn’t believe what I was reading. Yes, yes, and yes, I said to myself.
So naturally you’re asking yourself: Is it possible my dog is a vampire? Well, guess what? You’re not crazy.
I’m not crazy! I said to myself. You hear that, world? I’m not crazy! But of course the world couldn’t hear me, because I was talking to myself.
Well, you’ve come to the right place! Just click here to discover the easy test that can help you find out once and for all: IS YOUR DOG A VAMPIRE?
Yesssssssssssss!
I clicked.
THE WORLD’S FIRST DOG VAMPIRE TEST—JUST $49.99! We accept all major credit cards and PayPal.
Noooooooooooo!
I started clicking like a madman, trying to figure out a way to get the test without having to pay for it, when I heard the front door open and close. “Jimmy?” called my dad. “Are you home? What are you up to?”
I was running out of time, but I wasn’t about to give up. There had to be a way in! I needed to get this test! My reputation depended on it! It was the most important thing I’d ever—
There was a knock on my door. “Hey, buddy, there you are. Whatcha doin’?”
I slammed the computer shut. “Oh, hey, Dad. Just looking up last night’s Knicks score.”
What, you thought I was going to tell my dad the truth? Ha!
“Oh, they lost, as usual,” he said. “Being a Knicks fan is no fun these days, that’s for sure.”
“Yeah,” I said, my fingers itching to get back to my online mission.
“Well, let’s go,” said my dad.
“Huh?”
“We need to get Irwin a present, remember? The party is tomorrow.”
I slapped my forehead, just like you see in cartoons. “Oh yeah!” I quickly considered my options, then realized I didn’t have any. “Okay, great. Can we stop by The Super Scooper? I’m starving and I never had my after-school snack.” The Super Scooper was my go-to treat spot before Isaac’s came along. Now it’s pretty much fifty-fifty.
“Hmmm, we’ll see,” said my dad, but he was winking when he said it.
I shot to my feet, the vampire test all but forgotten. “Cool! I’ll be ready in two minutes.”
Never underestimate the power of ice cream.
LATER THAT NIGHT, I walked into the family room.
“Mom, Dad? Can I borrow fifty dollars?”
FACT: The best time to ask your parents for money is after a long day when they’re relaxing on the couch and watching their favorite TV show.
“Absolutely not,” my mom said.
CLARIFICATION: I said it was the BEST time to ask, not a GOOD time to ask.
“Please? I’ll pay you back, I swear!”
My dad put the show on pause. “What on earth could you possibly need fifty dollars for?”
Well, I knew one thing. I wasn’t going to say, “For a vampire dog test.” So instead I said, “I want to get Irwin another present.” Which didn’t make a lot of sense, since we’d gotten him a really nice telescope.
My parents looked at each other. “Well, that’s very thoughtful,” said my mom. “But I think one present is quite enough, even for your best friend.”
“Okay, great,” I said, even though what I meant was, That’s not great at all.
I went back to the kitchen, where Abby was hanging out on her favorite chair. She liked to chill out in the kitchen, in case anyone stopped by for a snack. She saw me coming and gave her tail a thump.
“Hungry, Ab?”
Another few whacks of the tail, harder this time.
As I looked at her, her tail wagging and her eyes bright with the hope of a treat, I had an idea. So what if I couldn’t afford the online test? I could make up my own test!
“Mom! Do we have any garlic powder?”
“Huh?”
“The garlic powder! Where is it?”
“What the heck do you need the garlic powder for?”
“I just do!”
There was a brief pause, during which she must have decided that telling me where to find the garlic powder was less dangerous than lending me fifty dollars.
“In the cabinet to the right of the stove.”
“Thanks!”
I opened the fridge and got out a few pieces of sliced turkey, which was Abby’s favorite. Then I took some garlic powder and sprinkled it on top of the turkey. As I was preparing the experimental snack, I thought back to the first time Abby came across garlic, when Mrs. Cragg made me eat garlic muffins for breakfast. Poor Abby couldn’t sprint out of the kitchen fast enough.
“How do you feel about garlic, Abby?” I asked. She cocked her head at me but refused to answer (dogs are like that). “Like all vampires, you’re against it, right? I really hope you’re against it.”
As I put the extra turkey away, I called out, “Delicious treat!” which was her cue to jump out of the chair and start salivating and licking her lips.
Then I paused, thought a few good thoughts, and placed the snack on the ground.
Abby waited, just the way she was trained.
“Okay, go!” I announced.
She scampered over to the garlic turkey and gobbled it down in about zero seconds flat.
Then she looked up at me and asked for more.
My heart started to pound as I sat down at the kitchen table. I’d given Abby my homemade vampire dog test, and she’d failed miserably! It was time to face the facts: Abby was looking less and less like a vampire.
It was very possible she was just a dog with big fangs who liked to stay up late.
“Okay, Abby,” I said. “Even if you’re not a vampire—and I’m not saying you’re not, I’m just saying it’s possible you’re not—it doesn’t matter. I still love you, and you’re still the greatest dog in the world.”
She looked up at me, thumped her tail once, lay down under the table, and was snoring in about five seconds flat.
Abby definitely wasn’t losing any sleep over it, that’s for sure.
THE VERY FIRST birthday party I ever went to was my cousin Eddy’s. I think he was turning five, and the party consisted of him, me, a girl named Melinda who had a habit of picking her nose and wiping it on her arm, and Eddy’s neighbor
Norman, whose laugh sounded like a hyena battling stomach problems. We played a few games, ran around outside under a sprinkler for a while, and then had a piece of vanilla cake with vanilla icing. (I hate vanilla.) It was lame, quiet, and over in about forty-five minutes.
Boy, times have sure changed.
As I walked down the street toward Irwin’s party, I could already hear music blasting and see a big yellow jumping tent in his front yard. There were about fifty balloons strung around the front yard—I guess his decision on which colors to go with ended up being “all of them.” In the driveway, there was a giant purple trailer that said AMAZING ANDY AND HIS AWESOME ANIMALS! on the side, with a painting of a jungle covering the whole thing.
Mrs. Cragg, my babysitter, was with me, holding Abby on a leash. “Holy cannoli,” she said, whatever that meant. “This is some shindig.”
We walked up to the side of the trailer, and Abby’s tail shot straight up into the air as she caught a whiff of something wild. She started barking, and I immediately got excited that maybe she was showing some of her old spunk, but then I remembered that animals always get excited when they smell other animals.
Mrs. Cragg was struggling to control the leash as Abby kept lunging toward the trailer. “We better head back to the house before she breaks my arm.”
I bent down and gave Abby a kiss on the top of her head. “See you guys in a few hours.” Abby gave me a wag, Mrs. Cragg gave me a wave, and off they went. My babysitter and my dog, who used to be archenemies, were now great pals. Who woulda thunk it?
FACT: Of all the wacky CrimeBiters stories, there might be none wackier than the story of Agnes Cragg. If you don’t believe me, look it up!
I went inside, and the first thing I saw was Irwin and Baxter, holding cupcakes, with frosting smeared over most of their faces. I was worried that they might still be mad from The Lasagna Incident (that sounds like a book title, doesn’t it?), but as soon as they saw me they came racing over.
“Isaac made special peanut butter frosting just for me!” Irwin exclaimed. “It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted ever!”
Fangs for Everything Page 5
