Funny Kid #3

by Matt Stanton

  I haven’t been breathing.

  My armpits have gone soggy all of a sudden.

  I look up from my soggy armpits and see Pip standing in the doorway. She’s holding a cardboard box in front of her. It seems to have notebooks and a pencil case and different-colored markers sitting inside it.

  Jeepers! I haven’t said anything yet. I raise my eyes again and open my mouth. “Aa-ugh.”

  What was that? Why did those words not come out right? That was supposed to be, “Hey there, Pip – how are you doing?” Quick. Try that again!

  “Ugh-ah-cough!”

  Oh, man! I just coughed right in front of her! I get my hand up over my mouth in time, but that means my soggy armpit is showing. Aarrgghhh!

  What’s going on? My mouth is completely dry. I can’t even talk. How did that happen?

  Pip chuckles. “Are you okay there, Max?”

  I nod and then manage: “You don’t have a glass of water, do you?”

  Cough! Splutter! Cough!

  Pip nods slowly. She looks like she’s trying to work out why this kid from her new school has just turned up on her doorstep, behaved like a bumbling idiot in front of her dad, and then coughed all over her while showing off his sweat-soaked armpits. Oh, and he’s desperately pleading for water. Nothing weird about that!

  She disappears back inside.

  Okay, Max, I think. You have a moment to pull yourself together and give yourself a pep talk.

  “Come on, Max!” I whisper. “You’re the funny kid! You’re famous all over Redhill! What’s gotten into you? Talking is your thing! You were born to talk. When Pip comes back, you’re on. Let those words flow, buddy. Even better, choose something you’re going to say before she comes back so that you’re all ready. Look at this box she’s left behind. Ask her about what’s in it. Excellent. All right. You’re ready. Let’s do this.”

  “Do what?”

  It’s Pip. She’s back with the glass of water and heard me talking to myself. I can’t possibly think of a good way to answer that, so I do what any normal person would do and completely ignore her question. Instead I take the water.

  “Thank you,” I say, and drink. Pip doesn’t say anything. I don’t say anything. And suddenly I realize . . . we’re having an Awkward Silence!

  And then – you’re never going to believe this – Pip says, “Are we having an . . . Awkward Silence?”

  * * *

  THE

  AWKWARD SILENCE

  THE THING ABOUT AWKWARD SILENCES IS THEY BECOME EVEN MORE STRESSFUL WHEN YOU REALIZE YOU’RE HAVING ONE, BECAUSE EVERY SECOND YOU SPEND DESPERATELY TRYING TO WORK OUT WHAT TO SAY, THE WORSE IT GETS!

  PLUS, WHILE YOU’RE SPENDING ALL THIS TIME THINKING ABOUT THE AWKWARD SILENCE, STILL NO ONE IS TALKING.

  * * *

  Arghhh! Pip named it. She said the words “Awkward Silence”! That makes it SO much worse. Now I can’t convince myself that she hasn’t noticed! This is terrible.

  “Ah . . . no, I don’t think so.” Sometimes denial is the only option.

  Pip smiles. “I think we were. It went on for a really long time.”

  “It was a while, but I was just about to say . . .”

  “Oh, sorry if I interrupted!” Pip’s grin gets bigger.

  “Um. I was just wondering . . . well . . . I was just heading to the park and I thought I’d see if you . . . wanted to come . . . too.”

  “Oh, that’s so sweet, Max. Thank you.”

  I almost give myself a high five, but that would be really strange. I think I’ve probably used up all my strange points today already.

  “Unfortunately I need to keep unpacking,” Pip says, pointing down at the box. “I have lots to do before we go camping tomorrow.”

  “Oh . . . yeah, sure. No problem.” I’m really glad I didn’t do the high five.

  “Who’s that boy near the tree?” Pip asks, looking over my shoulder.

  “That’s just Hugo. He follows me around mostly.” I don’t want to talk about Hugo right now! He’s supposed to be hiding behind the tree!

  Pip looks at my empty glass. “Would you like some more water before you go?”

  Before you go. Bummer. I was just getting warmed up.

  “Yes, please,” I say, thinking it will at least give me a reason to hang around a bit longer. I hand her the glass and no sooner has she taken it from my hand than . . .

  It hits me like a cold, wet rhinoceros falling on top of me from a great height. Or maybe just from the second-floor balcony. It takes me half a second to realize I have not been squashed by a soppy rhino, but rather that I am completely soaking wet and standing in a giant puddle.

  “TYSON!” Pip yells.

  I stare at her. She looks furious. She also looks like she’s trying not to laugh.

  I don’t understand.

  I think I’m in shock.

  What just happened?

  Why am I drenched?

  I look up at the balcony above and that’s when I lock eyes with the kid who must be Tyson. He’s laughing hysterically and holding an empty bucket in his hand. I decide, without even getting a good look at him yet, that his face looks like a butt. You would have to have a butt-face to pour water over a complete stranger!

  He manages to say that in between fits of laughter. He’s got one of those annoying hiccupy laughs too. I don’t know who this punk is, but I know already that I never want to see or hear him again.

  Pip has her hand over her mouth, but when I look more closely, it’s like her eyes are laughing all by themselves. She sees me looking at her and starts shaking her head as if she’s trying to make herself stop laughing! How could she?

  “I’m . . . so . . . so sorry,” she whispers.

  I look down at my clothes, my shoes, my hands. It’s like I’ve just climbed out of the washing machine! And I’m freezing!

  But I don’t feel cold for long. Something starts to warm me up, from my tummy to my ears. Pure, red-hot rage!

  I look back up at Tyson, who is still shaking with laughter as he climbs over the railing, grabs on to a nearby tree branch, and swings across before sliding straight down the tree, hopping over the garden and suddenly standing right next to me. Yep, his face does look like a butt.

  Oh, I’m going to have trouble working out which end to kick when I send him to Jupiter and back.

  “What?” I splutter. My fists are clenched tight. I’m about to explode.

  “My twin brother,” Pip repeats. “He didn’t mean it. Did you, Tyson? You didn’t mean it.”

  She must be able to see the lasers that are about to shoot out of my eyes and make her brat-brother disintegrate.

  “Of course I meant it!” Tyson laughs. “You don’t pour water on someone by accident!”

  “Tyson!” Pip exclaims.

  He looks at me, chuckling. “You did ask for more water.” Then. He. Shrugs.

  I’m about to grab Tyson by the ears, swing him upside down over my shoulder, and throw him in the recycling bin (even when you’re mad, it’s important to recycle) when I suddenly realize I have a problem.

  As much as I have never disliked anyone more than I dislike Tyson right now, he is Pip’s brother. If I do to Tyson what I want to do to Tyson, Pip probably won’t talk to me. I may want to pulverize Tyson, but I want to be able to talk to Pip more.

  One look at Tyson’s grinning face and it’s obvious he knows this. Oh, this little thug is smarter than he looks. It seems I’m going to have to give this some more thought.

  I turn to Pip. “I’ll see you tomorrow for camp,” I say.

  “See you tomorrow, Max!” sings Tyson.

  “You’re coming to camp as well?”

  “Of course I am, buddy!”

  “Bring it on,” I grunt.

  As I walk away, I hear Pip ask her brother, “Why do you always have to prank people?”

  “You’re just mad because you suck at pranks. That was a good one,” he replies.

  “I do not suck at pranks!” Pip
says.

  “Of course you do. You’re a girl,” Tyson says, laughing.

  I leave them to their sibling fight and slosh down the path, all the way back to Hugo and Duck.

  I’m delighted to see Hugo wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

  “So I take it she’s not coming to the park with us?” he asks.

  Tread very carefully, Hugo. I might still put someone in the recycling bin before this day is over.

  I would like to pause the story for just a moment, because I’m not sure you’re quite appreciating how mature I am.

  Most kids, if they’d just had someone pour water all over them, would have done something extreme – you know, like put the person in a shopping cart and push them down a very large hill.

  On the other hand, they might have been so embarrassed they just ran away . . . all the way to the airport, where they got a one-way ticket to Antarctica.

  In my case, it was even worse. See, in my town, I’m pretty much as famous as Spider-Man at this point. And when you insult someone who’s actually a really big deal, there should be consequences. At least some jail time.

  So I had every right in that moment to do something a little undignified to the twin-from-hell. But I didn’t and the reason is not just because I was flipping freezing cold!

  I didn’t because I am a mature and wise eleven-year-old.

  The sun hasn’t been up for long when Duck and I meet Hugo in the school parking lot with all our stuff for camp. We have backpacks, pillows, sleeping bags, and a tent that we’re going to share. Plus, we have a few extra emergency supplies, like my entire collection of Captain Kickbutt comics and many, many cans of beans. Hugo likes to pack beans when he goes to things. Poor kid can get very hungry.

  We walk over to the Redhill Middle School bus. Apparently this rust bucket is going to take us camping.

  Some of the other kids have already arrived. Pip and Tyson don’t seem to be here yet.

  “They look sort of similar,” I say.

  “Max, twins aren’t supposed to look similar. They’re supposed to look the same.”

  “But Pip’s a girl and Tyson’s a boy, Hugo,” I reply. “They couldn’t look exactly the same.”

  “Not all twins look the same. Only identical twins.”

  “Looking the same is what makes them twins,” Hugo says, shaking his head. “That’s why I always keep an eye out whenever I’m anywhere new in case I see someone who looks exactly like me and I realize I’m a twin! You never know!”

  Sometimes I feel sorry for Hugo. Life’s going to be tough for him.

  “Good morning, idiots!”

  I don’t need to turn around to know who that is. Have you heard of Yin and Yang? Don’t worry, it’s not another set of twins. It just means that for every good thing, there’s an opposite bad thing. There’s even a symbol for it that looks like this:

  Basically, for every light, there’s a shadow. For every hero, there’s a villain. For every ray of sunshine, there’s a puddle.

  For every Max Walburt, there’s an Abby Purcell.

  “Morning, Abby,” I say.

  “How did you manage to get the water out of your ears, Max?” she asks. Oh, no! How did Abby hear about Tyson’s prank? It’s like Abby can hear my thoughts, because she explains, “Pip called me last night. Did you forget we’re friends, Maxy boy?”

  To be honest, I had forgotten. I have trouble understanding how someone as cool as Pip could be friends with my mortal enemy.

  “It sounds like Tyson got you so good!” Abby says.

  “There’s no need to feel sorry for me,” I reply. “I’m fine.”

  “Playing pranks is harder than you think, Abby.”

  “Yes, I can see that,” she replies with a thick layer of sarcasm. “A real intellectual challenge.”

  “What’s even harder, though, is being the bigger kid,” I continue. “Of course the first thing you want to do is get back at the person who pranked you, but it takes someone pretty special to rise above the silliness and not get revenge. I’m kind of like that Gandhi* guy. You should tell Pip that.”

  “You’re way too short to be the bigger kid, Max,” Abby says.

  “Watch me.”

  Once everyone has arrived with their stuff, Miss Sweet explains that we have a long bus trip ahead of us. She says we should put our tents and pillows and sleeping bags in a pile so Mr. Bert, the bus driver, can store them in the compartment underneath the bus.

  “Miss Sweet, I have a question,” Abby pipes up next to me. “I’m thinking about safety, and I’m sure you and Mr. Bert will do a great job looking after us, but I think it would be good to bring my dog, Steve, along on this trip. He’s a police dog, so he’ll be able to help protect us. Is that okay with you?”

  Oh, no! I can’t stand that giant, disgusting dog.

  “He’s not a police dog, Abby,” I say. “Just because your mom is a police officer doesn’t mean that horrible mutt is a police dog. He’s just your dog.”

  “Abby, you can’t bring your dog on our camping trip, I’m sorry,” Miss Sweet says as she starts looking down a list to check everyone is here.

  “But who will keep us safe?” Pip asks. My ears prick up at that. This is my chance.

  I make my voice a little lower so I sound more manly.

  Abby bursts out laughing.

  “Are you girls worried about something in particular?” Miss Sweet is choosing to ignore me, it seems. “Why don’t you think you’re going to be safe?”

  What?

  Miss Sweet looks confused, as though she’s trying to work out what’s going on.

  “Gunker what?” Mr. Bert asks.

  Abby and Pip glance at each other, their eyebrows shooting upward.

  If the girls looked nervous before, they look slightly terrified now.

  “I don’t think I want to go on this trip, Miss Sweet,” Pip says.

  “Yeah, I have a headache,” Abby says.

  “Is it a migraine?” Pip asks.

  “I think it’s a migraine,” Abby confirms. “Miss Sweet, I need to go home.”

  Miss Sweet squats down in front of them. “Girls, what’s going on here? Who told you about Gunker Dragons?”

  “Google,” they say together.

  Miss Sweet begins to explain that you can’t believe everything you see on the internet (which is stupid, because of course you can – that’s where I learned about the cockroaches that race each other by riding miniature Russian hippopotamuses). I find myself getting quite excited about doing some Gunker Dragon research myself, once we get back from camping. I’m not normally interested in learning stuff, but in this case, Abby and Pip seem genuinely scared, and that could prove quite useful for me.

  Maybe I should offer to stay up at night and keep watch. I mean, I would probably fall asleep, but that’s all right. Pip wouldn’t need to know that. All I’d have to do is stay up a little longer than her.

  “Excuse me, Miss Sweet?” Pip interrupts the teacher’s little speech. “Why is there a duck standing there?”

  I turn quickly and sure enough, Duck is standing right behind me. I really need to teach him to get a bit better at not being seen.

  “He’s mine,” I say.

  “You have your own duck?” Pip asks.

  I decide to play it cool. “Sure! Doesn’t everybody?”

  She laughs. “Is he coming camping with us?”

  “Of course –”

  “Not,” Miss Sweet interrupts. “Come on, Max. If I’ve just said Abby can’t bring her dog, I’m not about to let you bring your duck on the bus.”

  “But what if Duck can help keep Abby safe by fighting the Gunker Dragons for her?” I ask with a grin.

  Abby scowls at me.

  “Ducks are my favorite!” Pip says.

  The hair on my arms stands up. Did she really just say that?

  I turn to Duck and he winks at me as if to say, “Oh. Yes. She. Did.”

  This is amazing! Ducks are her favorite ani
mal and I have my own duck! That settles it. Duck has to come camping with us.

  I turn to Miss Sweet. “At least let me say goodbye?”

  “Quickly,” she replies, and faces the rest of the class. “Everyone else, line up for Mr. Bert, please.”

  I take Duck over behind the bus.

  Duck points his beak at my T-shirt.

  “You want to hide inside my T-shirt?”

  Duck nods.

  “It’s going to make me look pretty fat,” I say.

  Duck looks cranky.

  “I’m not saying you’re fat. I’m saying that if I hide you in my T-shirt, it’s going to look like I suddenly got a very big tummy. Miss Sweet might have some questions.”

  Duck seems satisfied with that.

  “What if I hide you under the bus with the tents and stuff?” I suggest.

  “Don’t worry. It’s safe under there.”

  Duck scowls at me and crosses his wings. I didn’t even know ducks could do that!

  He nods to my backpack.

  “You want to hide in my backpack?”

  Duck shrugs as if to say, “It’s not ideal, but it’s better than your last insane suggestion.”

  I unzip my backpack and we both look inside to see if there’s room.

  “I guess I don’t really need to take all those undies.”

  I join the line for the bus. My backpack wriggles. Poor Duck. I’ve left a crack in the side zipper so he can breathe. Pip was quite impressed by Duck. I’m beginning to think that Duck might be my secret weapon.

  I want to show Pip I’ve hidden Duck in my backpack and the best way to do that will be to sit next to her on the bus.

  But who-sits-next-to-who is a complicated business. It’s time for a plan.

  The first question is who should get on first. An inexperienced bus-sitter would tell you that the best strategy is to let Pip get on first. Then I can simply sit next to her. Right?