by Nancy Krulik
“You know what we need?” Alex asked George.
“A new friend?” George suggested.
Alex shook his head. “No. What we need is a clubhouse.”
“Yeah!” George smiled. “That’s a great idea. Every club needs a clubhouse. Where should ours be?”
“Well, you have that shed in your backyard,” Alex suggested. “That would make a good clubhouse.”
“No way,” George said. “My mom hasn’t let me in the shed since I tried raising hamsters in there. She’s still mad that one of them ate through her sweater.”
“Yeah, that was pretty bad,” Alex agreed. He thought for a minute. “How about we build a clubhouse? We could make it somewhere else in your backyard.”
“We don’t have any wood or anything,” George said. “The only thing in my backyard right now is snow.”
“We could build a clubhouse out of snow,” Alex suggested. “Kind of like an igloo. Then when the snow melts, we could get some wood and build a real clubhouse.”
“That’s a good idea,” George agreed.
“And we don’t even have to make a big clubhouse,” Alex continued. “After all, there are only the two of us in the club.”
“Yep,” George agreed. “And that’s just how it’s gonna stay!”
“Well, this isn’t exactly a clubhouse,” George said an hour later as he looked at the lumps of snow he and Alex had shoved together in his backyard.
“It’s more like a snow fort,” Alex said. “Kind of.”
George shook his head. “It doesn’t look like any snow fort I’ve ever seen.”
“Chris would have been able to build a real clubhouse out of snow,” Alex admitted. “And he probably would have made a few ice sculptures to decorate it.”
George knew that was true. Chris made great ice sculptures. He was an amazing artist.
An amazing artist who draws bad guys with giant gassy butts and huge heads.
“We don’t need Chris,” George told Alex. “We can make this better all by ourselves.”
He picked up a big pile of snow and started forming it into the shape of a brick.
Alex frowned. “Can we work on it later?” he asked. “My hands are freezing.”
George’s hands were ice cold, too. So were his feet. And his nose. Even his tonsils felt cold.
“Let’s go inside and have some of my dad’s famous double-chocolate hot cocoa,” George suggested. “He just bought a huge bag of mini marshmallows.”
“Yum!” Alex exclaimed. “Maybe while we’re inside we can come up with a secret club handshake.”
“Sure,” George agreed. He tried wiggling his fingers inside his cold, wet gloves. “As soon as I can move my hands again.”
“So, what kinds of things should we do in our club?” Alex asked George a few minutes later as the boys sat in George’s kitchen.
George took a sip of his hot chocolate. “I know one thing we’re not doing,” he said. “We’re not going to that stupid party Rodney is throwing for Chris this Saturday.”
“Agreed,” Alex said. “We’re boycotting!”
George gave him a funny look. “What does being a boy have to do with anything?” he asked. “And why would you need a cot? You have a bed.”
Alex laughed. “No,” he said. “Boycotting. It means we’re not going because we’re protesting what Chris did.”
Oh. That made more sense.
“You want to stand outside the store and protest?” George asked. “Like with signs and everything?”
Alex shook his head. “I’m mad, but that would be too mean,” he said. “Like something an evil genius might do.”
“And you don’t want to be anything like that Dr. Alex character in the Toiletman comic,” George agreed.
“Just like you don’t want to be gassy all the time,” Alex added.
“You can say that again,” George said. He thought for a minute. “I have an idea. Instead of going to the party, we could go see the scary-movie marathon at Beaver Brook Movie Theater. I saw the poster last week. They’re showing five freaky flicks all in a row.”
“I can afford to go to the movies this weekend,” Alex said. “I still have plenty of money left from when we were shoveling.”
“Me too,” George said. “And since Louie paid for my pizza the other day, I even have enough for soda and popcorn.”
“Perfect!” Alex said. “We’re gonna have more fun than we would have had at that party.”
“Much more,” George agreed. He tried to sound like he meant it. But part of him wasn’t so sure.
“So how was work?” Alex asked George as the boys left Mr. Furstman’s Pet Shop together on Saturday afternoon.
George worked at the pet shop every Saturday. Mr. Furstman was probably the only store owner left in Beaver Brook who was happy to see George when he walked into his shop. (Except George’s mom, of course.) Sure, the magical super burp had shown up at the pet shop once or twice. But Mr. Furstman had never gotten angry with all the trouble the burp caused. He actually thought George was funny.
“Same old stuff. Stopped a fight between two hamsters. Fed crickets to the lizards. Cleaned poop out of the parakeet cage.” George smiled at Alex’s grossed-out expression. “It’s a tough job, but somebody has to do it. And besides, now I have enough money to get chocolate-covered raisins with my popcorn.”
“Excellent,” Alex said. “I read the schedule this morning. The first scary movie is a really old one called Tentacles of Terror.”
“I love that movie,” George said. “There’s this giant octopus that comes out of Lake Michigan and squirts black gunk all over Chicago.”
“I’ve seen it before, too,” Alex said. “The octopus has got eight really strong green arms. He yanks a giant skyscraper out of the ground with just one tentacle.”
George laughed. “Yeah I remember seeing it on TV one night while I was having a sleepover at Chr—” George stopped himself. “I mean, at you-know-who’s house.”
“Yeah, you know who is lucky to have a TV in his room,” Alex said. “Sleepovers are—I mean were—always great at his house.”
George frowned. “It’ll be better to see those giant tentacles on a big movie screen, anyway,” he said, forcing a smile.
“Definitely,” Alex agreed.
“Everybody loves scary movies,” George said. “We better hurry if we want to get good seats. I bet half the school is going to be there.”
“Where is everybody?” George asked Alex a few minutes later as they stood in the lobby of the movie theater.
The place was almost empty, except for a couple teenagers who were buying popcorn.
“There’s no one here from our grade, that’s for sure,” Alex said.
“You think everyone went to the party for Chr—I mean, for you know who?” George wondered aloud.
“Could be,” Alex said. “But they could have gone for one of the other artists, and not for you know who.”
“I thought at least Louie would be here,” George said, looking around the lobby. Then he stopped himself. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
“Yeah, things are really bad when you’re actually looking for Louie to show up,” Alex added sadly.
“It doesn’t matter what anyone else is doing today. We’re here. And we’re going to have a great time,” George insisted.
“Exactly,” Alex agreed.
“You want to get some popcorn?” George asked Alex.
“Good idea,” Alex told him.
The boys got in line behind a group of teenage guys.
“I’m going to buy the super-ginormous bag of popcorn,” Alex said. “It’s got to last through five super-scary movies. Or I could get a box of gummy worms and a small popcorn. Or . . .”
George didn’t hear the rest of what Alex said. He
wasn’t paying attention. He couldn’t. Because at that very moment, there was something super-scary going on. And it wasn’t inside the movie theater.
It was inside George.
Blink-blunk. Slink-slunk. There were bubbles in his belly. Hundreds of them!
George was starring in his own movie—The Battle of the Burp. And it was a battle George was losing.
Jing-jang. Cling-clang. The bubbles were wiggling around his waist and ricocheting from his rib cage.
George wanted to ask Alex for help, but he didn’t dare open his mouth. The burp might slip out if he did.
George had no idea what the burp would do if it burst out right here in the middle of the movie theater. All he knew was it would be ba-a-ad!
George tried to get Alex’s attention. He rubbed his head and patted his belly at the same time. That was the secret signal Alex had come up with to let him know there was a burp coming.
But Alex wasn’t looking at George. He was too busy studying the candy boxes behind the counter.
Some of the teenagers in line were looking at George, though. And they were laughing.
“Neat trick, kid,” one of them said.
“It’s harder than it looks,” another teen said as he tried patting his head and rubbing his belly.
George couldn’t believe it. Alex was the only one in the whole line who didn’t see what he was doing
Flonk-flink. Glonk-glink. Now the bubbles were parachuting from his palate and licking at his—
Uh-oh!
“Nice burp, kid,” one of the teenagers said.
But George knew there was nothing nice about this burp. It was already making George do some really rotten stuff. Like climb right over the candy case in the middle of the lobby of the movie theater.
“Get down from there!” the person behind the counter shouted at him. “Customers aren’t allowed back here.”
But the burp wasn’t a customer. It was a burp. And burps go wherever they please.
“Dude, no!” Alex tried to grab George’s shirt and pull him back over to the customer side of the counter. But Alex was no match for the super burp.
George’s hands grabbed a box of red-hot cinnamon candies from behind the counter.
They ripped open the box, tossing the candies in the air.
George opened his mouth wide and started to catch the candies as they fell.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
The teenagers all started cheering. “Go, kid! Go, kid! Go, kid!”
George caught some more red-hot candies in his mouth.
Plop. Plop. Plop.
“Owwwww!” George shouted. Those candies were really, REALLY hot!
The next thing George knew, he was racing over to the soda fountain. He stuck his head under the orange-soda faucet and opened his lips. Then he pulled on the lever. Orange soda gushed into his mouth. Aaaaahhhhh!
The manager of the theater rushed out of his office, shouting, “What do you think you are doing?” He started racing toward the candy counter. “Catch that kid!” the manager yelled to the girl selling candy.
The candy seller started to chase George. She was pretty fast.
But the burp was faster. It made George run away from the candy seller.
The manager circled around the other side of the counter. He blocked George from leaving. George turned and tried to run the other way. But the candy seller blocked his path. George was trapped.
Burps don’t like to be trapped.
So the burp made George do the only thing it could.
“COWABUNGA!” George shouted as he dove headfirst into the giant popcorn machine!
Pop! Pop! Pop! Kernels of yellow corn popped all around George’s head.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Pop!
That last pop wasn’t a kernel of corn. It was something bursting inside George’s belly. It felt like someone had stuck a pin in a balloon down there. All the air rushed right out of him.
The magical super burp was gone.
But George was still there. With his head in the popcorn machine, and his feet sticking up in the air.
Ugh.
George wasn’t going to be seeing any movies today. That was for sure. The stupid super burp had ruined things for him, again.
“Well, at least you only had to pay for the candies, and not the soda or the popcorn,” Alex said. “That’s something.”
“We paid for the tickets, too.” George frowned and pulled a piece of popcorn out of his hair. “And we didn’t get to see even one of the movies,” he groaned. “This burp is really a pain.”
“I’ll find you a cure, I promise,” Alex told him. “It’s just taking longer than I thought. None of the usual burp cures seem to work.”
“This is no usual burp,” George said sadly.
“So what do you want to do now?” Alex asked him.
“We can go to my house and watch a movie there,” George suggested.
“Sure,” Alex agreed. “Why not?”
The boys walked a few more blocks. Suddenly, they heard music and laughing coming from the comic-book shop down the street.
“That must be the party,” George said.
“Sounds like everyone is having a lot of fun,” Alex said.
George thought about that. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess a lot of people showed up to celebrate Chris’s comic being published. He probably doesn’t even miss us.”
“I kind of miss him, though,” Alex admitted.
George gave him a look. “You do?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Alex said. “Don’t you?”
George nodded. “I didn’t want to say anything because I thought you were still mad at him.”
“Nah.” Alex shook his head. “I mean, those drawings were kind of mean. But they were funny, too.”
“Gassy isn’t the most horrible thing anyone’s ever said about me,” George admitted. “Louie’s called me a lot worse.”
“We weren’t so nice to Chris, either,” Alex pointed out. “We could have gone to his house for cookies after school instead of the pizza place. Or treated him to a slice.”
“Yeah,” George admitted. “And we did kind of brag right in front of him about how much money we earned shoveling.”
Alex smiled. “Chris has worked hard on this comic. He’s been our friend for a long time—” he began.
“Are you saying you want to go to the party?” George asked him.
Alex nodded.
“Me too,” George said. “Let’s go.”
“You made it!” Chris shouted excitedly as George and Alex walked into the Made for Mutants Comic Book Shop.
“We couldn’t miss this,” George told him. And he meant it.
Alex looked around the store. “It seems like all the kids made it.”
“Yeah,” Chris said. “And not only that, Rodney told the newspaper about it, and they sent a reporter out to interview all the local artists.”
“Wow! You’re gonna be famous, dude,” Alex said.
Chris smiled. “I guess.”
George pointed to the stack of Toiletman comic books on the counter. “These are the finished copies?” he asked.
Chris nodded. “All twenty-two pages.” He picked up another copy and turned to the last page. “This is how it ends,” he said.
George opened to the last page of the comic. His eye went right to the pictures of Gassy George and Dr. Alex. He frowned . . .
. . . And then he smiled.
“Check this out,” he told Alex. “We weren’t the bad guys at all. We were heroes.”
“I told you it wasn’t finished yet,” Chris said. “Gassy George and Dr. Alex were double agents. They were just pretending to be bad to help Toiletman capture—”
“Mean Mr. Moneybags!” Alex and George shoute
d at the same time as they read from the page.
“He’s the real bad guy,” Chris said. “He steals from poor people and hides their money in his tarantula-shaped safe.”
“He looks like Louie,” George said.
“Can you think of a better model for a bad guy?” Chris asked.
“Definitely not,” George said with a laugh. “So what did Louie say when he saw it?”
“He hasn’t,” Chris said. “He won’t even look at any of the comic books. He’s just standing there in the corner with Max and Mike.”
George glanced over to the corner of the store. Sure enough, Louie was there looking miserable—the way Louie always looked when he wasn’t the center of attention.
Just then, a man walked over to where George, Chris, and Alex were standing. He held up a pad and pencil and smiled at Chris.
“So these are the friends you were telling me about,” the man said. “The ones who inspired Toiletman’s fellow superheroes.”
“Yep,” Chris said. “George and Alex are my best friends.” He smiled at his pals. “This is Jimmy Lane. He’s a reporter for the Beaver Brook Gazette.”
“How do you two feel about being used as characters in a new comic book?” Jimmy asked.
“Pretty good,” George said. And he meant it.
“It’s an honor,” Alex added.
“Especially because the characters help put Mean Mr. Moneybags away,” George added.
“Speaking of Mean Mr. Moneybags,” Jimmy Lane said to Chris. “Was that character also inspired by someone in your life?”
Chris grinned. “Well,” he said. “Now that you mention it . . .”
George chuckled to himself. He knew what was coming. This was about to get good. Really good.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, I’M THE BAD GUY?” Louie shouted from across the room.
Everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to stare.
