by Steven Banks
“Hey? What’s the name of our band going to be?” asked Capri.
I really wished Capri hadn’t said anything about our band. I was hoping Tanner Gantt wouldn’t find out about it.
“You guys are starting a band?” he said, laughing.
“Yeah. We are,” said Annie, proudly. “With Tom and Abel and Dog Hots—I mean Landon.”
“I’m the roadie!” said Zeke.
“What’s the name of your band?” sneered Tanner Gantt. “The Losers?…The Lame-O’s?…The Dorks?…The World’s Worst Band?…Barstow and the Weirdos?…The Band That Sucks?…Freak Boy and the Freaks?”
This went on for the whole bus ride to school.
8.
Donuts, Ants, Dogs
Abel Sherrill, the kid who wears a suit and tie to school every day, was at our locker when I got there.
“Good morning, Mr. Marks. I hope your weekend was a restful one after the previous eventful week?”
Abel and Martha Livingston sounded the same. I wanted to tell him about her, but a blood oath is a blood oath.
“It was okay,” I said. “I went up to my grandmother’s house.”
I kept my science and history books, and put my other books in the locker. Abel had put up a dry-erase board that he wrote stuff on each day. Today it said:
“How come you put that up today, Abel?”
“I am a great fan of Benjamin Franklin. A true genius.”
Now I really wanted to tell him about Martha.
“I hope you don’t mind me inquiring,” he said as he put a book inside his briefcase, “but have you had any luck with transformation and flying?”
“No. Not yet.”
He nodded. “Those must be extremely difficult skills to achieve. How unfortunate you don’t have someone skilled in that art to personally instruct you. Well, be seeing you!”
* * *
Mr. Prady, my Science teacher, snapped his fingers to get everybody’s attention. “Sixth-Grade Science Fair will be in two weeks, for those of you interested in participating. It is not mandatory. You may do it solo or with a partner.”
Zeke and I have always done our science fair projects together.
“T-Man! I have the BEST idea for our science project!”
He says that every single year.
We never win.
In first grade we did one called “What Happens When Skittles Dissolve?” You put Skittles in a circle on a plate and then pour hot water in the middle, and you’re supposed to see a really cool rainbow. It looked amazing on the Internet. But Zeke ate all the Skittles on the way to school and we had to use his sandwich instead. We changed our project name to “What Happens When a Peanut Butter Sandwich Dissolves?” It was one of the most disgusting things I’ve ever seen, and we came in thirty-eighth place.
One of the worst ones we did was called “What Music Does My Dog Like Best?” We used my dog, Muffin. We played a bunch of different types of music, but we couldn’t tell what he liked best because he just sat there and drooled. Zeke wanted to change the name to “What Music Makes Dogs Drool?” I didn’t let him. Then, Muffin ate Maren Nesmith’s project, which was right next to ours, called “Which Food Will Mold Fastest?” Muffin ate Maren’s rotten banana, a green piece of bread, and some disgusting cheese. We had to take him to the vet to make sure he didn’t get sick. We got twenty-seventh place, which was the highest score we ever got. I think we got it because one of the judges thought Muffin was cute.
“What Is the Healthiest Donut?” was another bad idea. Zeke thought we’d win if the judges got to eat donuts. But he left the donuts on his back porch and a million ants showed up. We changed our sign to “Do Ants Like Donuts?” We got thirty-second place. As we stood there, watching the ants crawl all over the donuts, Zeke got an idea for the next science fair. He’d seen a movie about these guys that escaped from a prison, so he wanted to do “Can Ants Escape from an Art Farm?”
I said, “No!”
* * *
“What’s your idea this year?” I asked Zeke.
He took a deep breath and tried to make a sound like a drumroll. Except it didn’t sound like a drum roll. It sounded like a noisy car. For some reason, Zeke can’t do sound effects. When he tries to do a dog bark, it sounds like a chicken. His airplane noise sounds like a trombone, and his bomb noise sounds like a toilet flushing. It doesn’t matter to him; he thinks they’re all great.
“Zeke, what’s your idea?”
He stopped making the noisy car sound. “You!”
“Me?”
“Yes! The World’s Only Vam-Wolf-Zom!”
“I don’t want to be a science project.”
“I would love to be a science project!” said Zeke.
“No way!”
“Think about it, T-Man. Nobody else will have anything as cool. We can make charts and you can stand there and I’ll point at you with a pointer and say sciency stuff! Then, at the end, you can turn into a bat and fly around the gym! We would totally get first place!”
I wasn’t sure I’d be good enough at flying by then.
“Zeke, I’m not going to be a science project.”
“Okay,” he sighed. “What’re we gonna do, then?”
“Nothing stupid or crazy or anything using food or dogs or ants.”
9.
The Longest Tale
As soon as I walked into History class, I remembered that I had forgotten to write the My Favorite American report. It wasn’t my fault. I had been busy learning how to turn into a bat and fly that weekend.
After the tardy bell rang, Mrs. Troller said, “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Now, I don’t want you to turn in your My Favorite American papers today.”
I wanted to give her The Greatest Teacher of All Time Award. I let out a big sigh of relief. But then, like every time you think things are going great, she went on.
“What I would like each of you to do instead, is this; read your papers aloud, so everybody gets to hear them.”
I immediately took away her Greatest Teacher of All Time Award. Surprise oral reports should be illegal.
“Let’s begin,” she said.
Teachers usually go in alphabetical order, so I knew Mrs. Troller wouldn’t call on me right away. Maybe I could write the report while everybody whose last names started with A through L were doing theirs. Zeke was so lucky. His last name is Zimmerman, so he always went last.
“Also,” said Mrs. Troller, “I dislike going in alphabetical order.”
What? I love going in alphabetical order.
“It’s not fair,” she added.
Yes, it is!
A kid I didn’t know raised his hand and said, “I agree, Mrs. Troller, it’s not fair at all.”
“I thought you’d agree, Mr. Aasen.”
Maybe she’d start at the end of the alphabet, and Zeke would have to go first? That would still give me some time.
“Mr. Marks, why don’t you start us out?” she said. I had to go first. I couldn’t believe it. I just sat there. I was hoping for a surprise fire drill or earthquake drill or tornado or hurricane or flood or blizzard or snowstorm drill, but nothing happened.
“Mr. Marks?” she said. “Do you have your report?”
I stood up. I grabbed a piece of paper that I had started making a list on, called “Band Names,” because I needed something to pretend to read from. Hopefully, Mrs. Troller wouldn’t make me hand the paper in.
I walked to the front of the room and pretended to read. I decided to speak super slowly, so my report would seem longer.
“My favorite American…is…Benjamin Franklin…. He was a man…. He was famous and did a lot of stuff…. He made up famous sayings like, ‘Three can keep a secret if…if you kill two of the people.’…And he invented a stove that cooked food, which he called The Ben Franklin Stove….
He also invented bifocals, so people could see two things at the same time, and, uh, he proved that lightning had electricity in it when he flew a kite with a key attached to the string.”
I looked over at Mrs. Troller and smiled.
“Go on,” she said.
I cleared my throat even though I didn’t need to. I tried to remember what else Martha had said about Franklin.
“Ben Franklin was a tall man…and he lived in Philadelphia. He liked to go to a place called the City Tavern…. His favorite waitress was a girl named Martha Livingston. She was thirteen years old and had green eyes and pale skin and long red hair, about the same length that Annie Barstow had before she cut it over the summer.”
Why did I say that? I glanced over at Annie, who gave me a weird look.
“Um…. One night Ben Franklin left his glasses on the table, and Martha said, ‘Oh, no! Ben Franklin left his glasses on the table! I better return them or he won’t be able to see clearly and invent more cool stuff!’ ”
Now Mrs. Troller was giving me weird looks.
“So, she ran after him and she gave him his glasses. He gave her a tip of two pennies and said, ‘Thanks, Martha. Now I can go invent more stuff.’ And then she headed back to her job and took a shortcut through a dark, scary-looking alley and this man jumped out at her and she screamed.”
Some of the kids leaned forward in their seats.
“Ben Franklin heard her scream and so he ran into the alley and saw that she was being attacked by…”
Mrs. Troller leaned forward in her chair.
“…attacked by…”
I couldn’t say “vampire.” What else could she be attacked by? A dog? A robber? A ghost? I looked over at Zeke. He scrunched one of his eyes closed, then he lifted his hand and made a hook with his finger.
“A pirate!” I said. “And Ben Franklin got into a fight with the pirate, who had a hook for a hand…and Franklin hit the pirate with his cane. Then, the pirate pulled out his sword. So, Ben Franklin pulled off the top of the cane and it had a sword hidden inside it—he invented that too—and he cut off the pirate’s other hand and Martha escaped…. And…and she lived happily ever after and the pirate got a hook for his other hand and—all the other pirates called him Captain Two Hooks—and the next day Benjamin Franklin signed the Declaration of Independence and America was born, and that’s why he is my favorite American. The end.”
Zeke clapped.
I walked back to my seat as fast as I could and sat back down.
“That was…quite interesting, Mr. Marks,” said Mrs. Troller. “Benjamin Franklin is also one of my favorite Americans. I’ve never heard the story about his fight with the pirate. Where did you read that?”
“Uh…Martha Livingston, the girl…she…um…wrote a diary and I read it.”
“I would like to read that diary. Can you bring it in tomorrow?”
“Uh…it was online. I’ll see if I can find it again.”
I could tell that Mrs. Troller didn’t believe me. I was going to get an F.
“All right,” she said. “Next up let’s have Zeke Zimmerman.”
Zeke jumped up from his desk and practically ran to the front of the room. I knew that Zeke’s favorite American was either the person who invented Rabbit Attack! or the banjo. He loves banjos. I was betting Mrs. Troller would give him a bad grade too.
For some reason Zeke bowed when he got up there.
“My favorite American is my best friend, Tom Marks, the Vam-Wolf-Zom.”
I wanted to turn into a bat and fly out the window. I could have done it. But, I didn’t.
Mrs. Troller folded her hands on top of her desk.
“Zeke, the assignment was supposed to be about a person from American history.”
“I know, but Tom is an American and he’s part of history because he’s the only Vam-Wolf-Zom in the world.”
Mrs. Troller thought for a second. “I believe you’re right. Go on.”
Zeke talked about me for ten minutes until Mrs. Troller made him stop. I kept thinking he was going to say I could turn into a bat and fly, but luckily he never did.
Zeke got a B on his report.
I got a C minus.
Life is so totally unfair.
10.
The Masterpiece
Today you will be drawing portraits of each other,” said Mr. Baker, my Art teacher.
He showed us some famous portrait paintings. First was the Mona Lisa, by a guy named Leonardo da Vinci. Mr. Baker said they keep it in a special sealed box with bulletproof glass. Who would want to shoot a painting? That’s crazy.
There was a self-portrait by a woman named Frida Kahlo that was kind of creepy. You could see her heart, inside her body, and a little tube went out to her lap. Some blood was dripping on her dress. The blood made me a little thirsty.
I liked a painting by a guy named Vincent van Gogh. He wore a furry hat and was smoking a pipe and had a white scarf tied around his head. Mr. Baker said Van Gogh was his favorite artist.
“Is Van Gogh the guy who cut his ear off?” asked Elliot Freidman, a kid with thick glasses.
“Ew!” said some kids.
“Actually, he only cut off his ear lobe,” said Mr. Baker.
“Why’d he do that?” I asked.
“Van Gogh had serious mental-health challenges. Sometimes he felt angry or sad or depressed and couldn’t control himself. He had an argument with his friend, another painter named Paul Gauguin, and attacked him with a razor blade. Then Van Gogh cut off his own ear lobe. Some people think it’s because they lived near a bullfighting arena, where matadors cut off bulls’ ears. But that is only part of Van Gogh’s story. He worked very hard during his short life, producing over two thousand artworks. Unfortunately, he sold only a few paintings when he was alive. Today he is regarded as one of the greatest artists of all time and his art hangs in famous museums around the world. One of his paintings sold for over eighty-two million dollars.”
I felt sorry that Van Gogh never knew he got famous. I wish they had real time machines, so I could go back and tell him.
“Mr. Van Gogh?”
“Ja?”
“Do you speak English?”
“Yes. I speak Dutch, French, and English.”
“My name’s Tom Marks. I came from the future in this Time Machine. I wanted to tell you not to be sad and depressed because no one wants to buy your paintings. You’re going to be super famous. Your paintings will be in museums, millions of people will love your art, and one of your paintings will sell for eighty-two million dollars.”
To prove it, I’d take an iPad along and show him pictures of his paintings in museums. I bet he’d be surprised.
“This—this is unbelievable! When will this happen?!”
“In about a hundred thirty years.”
“A hundred thirty years?! I will be long dead and gone! I want to be appreciated and rich and famous now! Take me to the future in your Time Machine!”
“Oh…. Sorry, I can’t. It’s a one-seater.”
“Now I am even more sad and depressed!”
“Can I buy one of your paintings, Mr. Van Gogh?”
“Yes…I guess so.”
“How much for the one with the sunflowers?”
“Eighty-two million dollars.”
“What?! I don’t have eighty-two million dollars. I’m just a kid.”
“Well, that’s the price! Go back to the future in your stupid Time Machine! Leave me alone!”
Maybe it’s better that we don’t have real Time Machines.
Then, Mr. Baker said, “As sad as his story is, Van Gogh left us many wonderful works of art. So, let’s honor his memory by making our own works of art.”
Everybody wanted Capri to do their portrait, because she’s the best artist in the class, but she said she wante
d to draw me. I guess I was lucky for once. Nobody wanted me to draw their portrait because they all know I’m the worst artist in the class. I ended up drawing Elliot. I did it fast, because I wanted Capri to have plenty of time to draw me. He didn’t like it.
“That doesn’t look like me! It looks like my dad!”
“Well, give it to your dad for his birthday or Father’s Day.”
Since I’m one-third vampire, I can’t see myself in a mirror. It’s just blurry. Vampires don’t cast a reflection for some reason. And you can’t take a picture of a vampire either. I should have asked Martha why.
Anyway, I had no idea what I looked like since I became a Vam-Wolf-Zom, but now I would.
Capri started sketching me with her pencil.
“Make it super realistic,” I said.
“Okay,” said Capri.
“I want to know exactly what my face looks like.”
“Got it.”
“And use some colored pencils, so I can see what my skin looks like.”
“I will!”
“And show my fangs and get my ears right.”
For no reason, she started yelling at me. “Stop talking and hold still! I can’t draw you if you’re going to talk the whole time!”
Capri is a very temperamental artist.
I sat there and started to think. Was this a good idea? Did I really want to know what I looked like? What if I looked as horrible and disgusting as Emma said I did?
Mom and Dad said I didn’t look bad, but parents have to say their kids look good. Zeke said I looked awesome, but he’s my best friend, and, well…he’s Zeke. He thinks Randee Rabbit, a character in the video game Rabbit Attack!, looks awesome. Trust me, he doesn’t.
