by R. L. Stine
Would she say yes, she'd come? She had to. Had to!
“Hannh hannh.” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
Why does that happen every time I see her?
“Hannnnh. Hannnnh.”
I poked two fingers into my mouth and pulled my tongue free. Then I took a deep breath, worked up my courage, and started pedaling toward Traci.
5
I WAVED TO TRACI, but she was looking the other way, watching for the bus. As I pedaled closer, I heard a shout behind me.
I turned —and saw Nicky and Tara riding toward me on bikes. “Oh noooo,” I groaned.
I put on the brakes. They rode in circles around me. “What are you doing here?” I cried. “Where did you get the bikes?”
“Borrowed them,” Nicky said. “We'll return them. Really.”
“We'll help you impress Traci,” Tara said.
“No. Please —” I said.
“Show her how cool you are,” Tara said. “Do a few X Games moves on your bike. Some awesome wheelies. She'll beg you to let her come to your party!”
“No. No way,” I said. “I'm begging you two: go away. Don't try to help me.”
“Of course we'll help you,” Tara said. “What are friends for, Maxie?”
“Hannnnh. Hannnnnh.” My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth again. I turned and saw Traci staring at me, her eyes bulging.
She let out a scream. “Max! Those bikes — they're moving by themselves!”
Think fast, Max.
“Yes,” I said. “They're dirt bikes.”
Traci's mouth dropped open. “Huh?”
“They're looking for some dirt,” I explained.
She squinted at me, confused.
“Let's really impress her,” Tara said.
“Yeah. Let's give her something to scream about!” Nicky said.
The two ghosts were off their bikes now. Tara grabbed my handlebars. Nicky grabbed the back of the seat.
“No. Wait —” I begged. “Please —don't do this!”
“Don't do what?” Traci asked.
“I'm not talking to you,” I said. “I'm talking to my bike.”
“Here we go, Max,” Tara said. “Hold on tight.”
“Max, you're totally weird. Why are you talking to your bike?” Traci asked.
“Y-you'll see,” I stammered.
And then the two ghosts f loated into the air, carrying me and my bike with them.
I heard Traci gasp as she watched me f ly off the ground. I sailed across two parked cars, just barely making it over their roofs.
Tara flew higher, pulling up my top wheel so it looked like I was doing an awesome wheelie in midair.
Traci squealed in shock.
So did I.
“She loves it, Max. This is really impressing her,” Tara said. “Hold on!”
The two ghosts spun the bike around.
“I … I'm getting dizzy up here,” I moaned.
“Don't worry. We're bringing you down now,” Nicky said.
I felt the bike start to dive. My stomach lurched into my throat. I took a deep breath, leaned forward, and gripped the handlebars tighter.
“Traci will love this perfect landing,” Tara said.
The front of the bike dipped hard.
“Hey, Tara! Watch out!” I heard Nicky scream. “Watch where you're going!”
“Oops,” Tara replied.
I felt a hard bump. It took me a second to realize my front wheel had smashed onto a car roof.
In the next second, I went flying off the bike, sailing through the air. Screaming all the way.
“Oof!” I landed hard —on top of Traci!
She let out a cry as we both collapsed in a heap on the ground. I couldn't move. There I was, sprawled on her back.
She was stuck under me, her face in the dirt. “Get off! Get off me!” she sputtered.
“Uh … would you like to come to my birthday party?” I asked.
6
THE NEXT NIGHT, MY friend Quentin came over to rehearse our magic act. Quentin has straight blond hair and shiny blue eyes. He has dimples in both cheeks when he smiles. Girls at school think he's cute.
Tonight he wore a long-sleeved black T-shirt over baggy khaki cargo pants, torn at one knee.
I juggled three duckpins. For once, I didn't drop any. Quentin watched with a smile on his face. His eyes were so round and blue, they looked like they were made of glass.
He took the duckpins from me and pulled three red rubber balls from his magic kit. Then he juggled the duckpins and the red balls at the same time.
“That's excellent!” I said, touching knuckles with him and slapping a high five. I liked having Quentin over. It took my mind off the creepy guy in black.
“It's not so hard,” Quentin replied, dropping the balls back into his black suitcase. “I'll teach you how.”
“Cool,” I said. “Did you work up some new tricks for the party?”
He nodded. His smile faded. “Too bad about Traci Wayne,” he said. “She really said she wouldn't come?”
“Well, I probably asked her at a bad time,” I replied. “I mean, I fell on top of her, and her face was buried in dirt.”
“Too bad,” Quentin murmured. “If she doesn't come, none of the cool kids will come.” He started pawing through his magic kit.
“Tell me something I don't know,” I said, sighing. “Hey, I just remembered something I wanted to ask you.”
He let go of the suitcase and turned to me.
“Remember a few weeks ago when my brother came in here while we were doing magic? He was giving me a hard time, and you wanted to get him out of here? So you pulled out your eyeball and held it out to him? And he totally freaked and heaved up his lunch?”
Quentin grinned at me. “An awesome moment!” he said. “You probably wonder how I did it.”
“Well, yeah,” I said. “It looked so real. I —”
“Watch,” Quentin said. He raised his hand to his left eye, plucked it out, and held it up in the palm of his hand. The blue eye stared at me.
“Yikes!” I said. “It totally looks real.”
Quentin nodded. He opened his left eye. The eyeball was still in there. He'd only pretended to pluck it out.
“This is why magicians always wear long sleeves,” he said, raising his arm and tugging at the shirt cuff. “I always carry an extra eyeball with me. You never know when it will come in handy.”
We both laughed.
“Now I'll show you my newest trick,” he said. “We'll need a real rabbit for the night of the party. But for now I brought a stuffed rabbit.”
He put the stuffed bunny rabbit into a shiny black top hat. “This trick is called the Flying Rabbit,” he said. “Watch carefully, Max.”
He set the top hat upside down on my computer table. Then he began to wave his hands slowly back and forth over the hat.
“Whoa, dude!” I cried out as the bunny slowly rose up from the hat.
Quentin waved his hands in the air, and the bunny floated up … higher … higher …The bunny rose up to the ceiling and just hung there. Then Quentin gave a fast signal with one hand — and it came shooting back down. It dropped with a thump back into the top hat.
“Wow,” I said. “I mean, wow. That's totally awesome, Quentin.”
He grinned at me. “You liked it?”
“I'm pretty good with basic hand stuff,” I said. “But your tricks are like … amazing!”
His grin grew wider. He brushed his blond hair off his forehead. “It isn't that hard, really.”
“Let me show you a water trick I've been practicing,” I said. I started toward the bathroom to get a glass of water —but Colin stepped into the doorway and blocked my path.
“Let me out,” I said. “Quentin and I are practicing for my party.”
Of course my brother didn't step out of the way. Instead, he bumped me backward with his chest. Then bumped me again until I fell onto my bed.
“Hey, Blubber
Butt, what's the theme of your party?” he asked, pinning me on my back.
“Theme?”
“Every cool party has a theme,” Colin said. “Oh, I know. I've got the perfect one for you. How about‘armpits’?”
“I don't think so —” I started.
“Yeah. Armpits. It's perfect,” Colin said. He grabbed me, dug both hands deep into my armpits, and started tickling.
“Unh unh unh!” A horrible choking sound came out of my mouth. He was tickling me so hard, I couldn't breathe.
“Ow! Stop! Owwww!” I pleaded and begged. But Colin kept tickling, digging his fingers in deeper and deeper.
“Owwwwww!” I shrieked in pain.
Finally, he stopped. “Maxie, you don't like that party theme?”
I glanced over at Quentin. There was something wrong with him.
He stood beside the desk, totally frozen. Not moving. Not blinking. Arms straight down. Face straight forward. Frozen still, as if he was in a trance.
I pushed Colin away and leaped off the bed. My heart pounding, I ran to my friend. “Quentin?” I cried. “Quentin? What's wrong?”
7
I GRABBED HIS SHOULDERS and shook him. “Quentin? Hey —Quentin?”
Colin came up to me and bumped me from behind. “What's up with your friend?”
“Something is wrong,” I said. I shook him some more. “Quentin?”
Finally, Quentin blinked. He wrinkled his nose. He squinted at me.
I let go of his shoulders, and he staggered back a few steps.
“Quentin? What happened?” I asked.
“I … I'm painfully ticklish,” he said finally. His hand shook as he brushed a thick strand of hair off his forehead. “It's crazy. But if I even see someone getting tickled, I panic.”
Colin giggled. “You're joking, right?”
“It's true,” Quentin insisted. “I'm so ticklish, I can't even stand to think about being tickled. And if I see someone else being tickled, I … I freeze. It's like I go into a trance state.”
Colin gave me a hard shove. “Whoa, dude. Your new friend is as weird as your old one, Aaron.”
“Hey —cut me some slack,” Quentin said. The poor guy was still trembling.
Colin raised two fingers in the air and pretended to tickle me.
“Stop it!” I shouted. “That's not funny!”
Shaking his head, Colin trotted out of the room.
I turned back to Quentin. “Are you feeling okay now?” I asked.
He nodded. “Yeah. I'm all right. But I'd better get home. It's kinda late.”
I glanced at the clock. Only a little after eight. “Just let me show you my new trick,” I said.
“Sorry. I'm outta here,” Quentin replied. “I'm working on a project at home and I want to get back to it. You know, I build things too.”
“Cool,” I said. I walked him downstairs to the front door. “Sorry about Colin,” I said. “He's kind of a jerk.”
“Kind of,” Quentin murmured.
We both laughed. My armpits still burned as if they were on fire.
I said good night to Quentin and climbed back upstairs. I could hear the TV on in Colin's room at the end of the hall. When I walked into my room, Nicky and Tara were waiting for me.
“There's something strange about Quentin,” Tara said. She was pacing back and forth, pulling at her long earrings. She does that when she's stressed or when she's thinking hard about something.
“Don't pick on Quentin,” I said. “He had a rough night.”
“That's just my point,” Tara replied. She stopped pacing and stared at me. “There's something totally weird about how he just froze like that. Like he's a robot and his circuits blew out.”
“You've been seeing too many dumb movies,” I said. “He explained what happened. He's just very ticklish.”
“Hel-lo. No one is that ticklish,” Nicky said. He was sitting on my bed, juggling one duckpin between his hands. “No one goes into a trance because someone else is being tickled.”
“Quentin does,” I said, frowning at him. “Since when are you a tickling expert?”
“There's something else very strange about him,” Tara said. One of her earrings had gotten tangled in her floppy hat, and she struggled to free it.
I rolled my eyes. “What else?”
“His magic is too good,” she replied. “Way too good.”
“I hate to say it, but Tara is right,” Nicky said, tossing up the duckpin. “There's something very suspicious about Quentin.”
I let out a long sigh. “You two are just jealous,” I snapped. “You're jealous because he's my best friend now.”
Tara laughed. “Us? Jealous? You're joking, right?”
“Hel-lo,” Nicky said. “We're just looking out for you, Max. You've already got that weird boy in black following you.”
“Whoa. Wait!” Tara stopped pacing and clapped her hands together. “That's it! Quentin is working with that weird ghost in black. They're pals, and they're working together.”
Nicky nodded. “One outside the house and one inside,” he said.
“Stop it. You're both crazy!” I cried. “Quentin is my friend. He isn't a robot or a ghost. He's a kid who's very ticklish and very good at magic. That's all.”
“He's up to no good,” Nicky said. He dropped the duckpin and jumped to his feet. “I know he is. Tara and I are going to prove it.”
“Leave him alone,” I shouted. “I mean it. He's my friend, and he's a good guy.”
“We'll see …,” Tara said.
I started to reply, but Colin's voice boomed from his room down the hall. “Max, get in here! Hurry!”
Uh-oh. Now what?
8
COLIN WAS LYING ON his bed with a big bag of potato chips cradled under one arm. When I walked up close to him, he spit a mouthful of chips at me, then laughed.
“Is that why you called me in?” I asked, wiping the glop off my face.
He jammed another handful of chips into his mouth. When I reached for the bag, he swiped it away from me.
“Give me a break. What do you want?” I asked.
He chewed loudly and pointed to the TV. It looked like some kind of news show.
“What are you watching?” I asked.
“It's The Best News Bloopers of the Year on Channel 600,” he said. “Watch what's next.”
Channel 600 is our local TV station, and I knew what was coming up next. A heavy feeling of dread swept down over me as I watched the next news blooper.
Because there I was. Last month, at the dedication of the new swimming pool at my school. I was chosen to give the school trophy to Mayor Stank. It was supposed to be a big day for me, but it got messed up.
It got messed up because of Nicky and Tara. They showed up and tried to help me, as usual. They tried to help me give the trophy to the mayor.
Instead, things got a little out of control. I clonked the mayor in the head with the trophy by accident, and he fell into the pool.
That's bad luck, right? Want to hear more bad luck?
Mayor Stank didn't know how to swim.
So he was spluttering and sputtering and screaming his head off, bobbing around helplessly in the water.
The teachers were all frozen in shock. So I reached in to try to rescue him —and accidentally pulled his pants off.
Ha, ha. Funny blooper, huh?
No one has let me forget it. Colin teases me about it every day. Billy and Willy, the Wilbur brothers, acted the whole scene out at the talent show at school last week.
And now there I was on Channel 600, knocking Mayor Stank into the water again. And again. And again. One of the best news bloopers of the year.
“Hey, thanks for sharing that,” I told my brother.
He laughed. “Face it, Maxie. Your whole life is a blooper.”
I started toward the door. “Just leave me alone, okay?” I snapped. “I'm not in a good mood.”
Colin's smile faded. He sat up. “Hey, come back,”
he said. “Here.” He tossed me the bag of potato chips.
I caught it in both hands. “Thanks,” I said. I pulled out a few chips and shoved them into my mouth. “Did you spit on them?”
“No way,” he said. He slapped the bed. “Come here. Sit down.”
“You've injured me enough today,” I said, backing away. “I'm going to have to sleep with ice cubes in my armpits.”
“I'm not going to hurt you,” he said, raising his right hand to swear. “Sit down. Let's have a talk. Why are you in a bad mood?”
I stopped with a handful of potato chips halfway to my mouth. “You're kidding, right? You want to have a talk with me?”
The last time Colin and I had a “talk,” I was black and blue for a month.
“Sit down, Max,” he said. “I'm your big brother. Maybe I can help.”
He looked totally serious. I inched my way back over to him. I tensed up, waiting for him to jump me and punch my lights out. Or maybe dump the potato chip bag down the back of my shirt.
But no. He sat there on the edge of the bed with his hands at his sides. “What's up with you, bro?” he asked. “Tell me what's wrong.”
I sat down next to him. “No way can I tell you,” I said. “If I tell you something, you'll just go running to Mom and Dad to tell them I'm still making up crazy ghost stories. You know what Dad said. He said he'd ground me for life if I don't give up the ghost stories.”
“I know,” Colin replied. He didn't laugh at me. His expression was serious. Thoughtful.
“I won't tell on you, Max,” he said softly. “I just want to be a big brother to you.” He gave me a gentle shove. “Hey, you're turning twelve. It's time for you and me to be buddies.”
Was I dreaming this?
“Okay,” I said. “I'll tell you why I'm in a bad mood.”
I took a deep breath, then told him about the boy in black. “He's been watching me for weeks,” I said. “He follows me everywhere I go. And I've seen his face change. From young to old, then back again. I'm really scared. He must be some kind of ghost, don't you think?”
Colin stared at me for a long moment. A smile slowly spread over his face.
He jumped up, using my shoulder to hoist himself to his feet. Then he ran out into the hall. And I heard him running downstairs, yelling at the top of his voice:
