Lights, Camera, DISASTER!

by Gordon Korman

  “We may not speak it,” replied Jordie, dead serious.

  The Headmistress did a double take. “Are you — royalty?”

  Bruno put an arm around Jordie’s shoulders. “Let’s just say that millions of people know him and love him.”

  “Your Highness!” exclaimed Miss Scrimmage, dipping into a low curtsey. “Girls!” she cried. “This boy is a prince in his home country!”

  “Miss Scrimmage,” said Mr. Sturgeon quickly, “perhaps we should allow the young man an evening away from all the attention.”

  “Yes, yes, of course.” She curtseyed her way out of their path. “It is a great honour, Your Highness. An honour and a privilege. Our school will always remember this day …”

  She continued to rant and rave as the Headmaster led them into the gym. As soon as the music came on again, he turned to face the actor in the turban.

  “Jones, what is the meaning of this?”

  “Shhh, sir!” hissed Bruno. “If the girls hear you, we’ll have a riot on our hands!”

  “Perhaps you should have considered that possibility when you concocted this absurd scheme,” returned Mr. Sturgeon.

  “Well, sir, we didn’t think anybody would recognize him. How did you do it?”

  The Headmaster sighed. “The makeup is excellent, the voice and mannerisms convincing. But think, Walton. Who else could he possibly be?”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” said Jordie, shamefaced. “It’s just that I’ve never been to anything like this before. But you’re right. I’ll leave.”

  Mr. Sturgeon regarded the movie star’s downcast eyes. Here was a boy who had what every child — and a good many adults — only dreamed of, yet he was the loneliest boy in the world. He had fame and fortune, but the simple things — friends, school dances, a normal childhood — were out of his reach. In a strange way, the Headmaster felt sorry for him.

  “I don’t think Miss Scrimmage could stand the loss of prestige that your departure would bring about,” he said sardonically. “You may stay for now, Jones. But if you feel that someone suspects your true identity, however slightly, you must leave immediately. Is that clear?”

  “Yes sir!” grinned Jordie, and ran off in search of someone to dance with.

  Bruno faced his Headmaster. “That’s a wonderful thing you just did,” he said heartily. “You know, sir, you’re a really nice guy!”

  Mr. Sturgeon stared furiously at him, his steely grey eyes burning twin holes in Bruno’s cheeks. Then he adjusted his chaperone’s button and walked away, fuming.

  Bruno shrugged, annoyed. “You give a guy a compliment, and he bites your head off.”

  Boots pointed to Wilbur, who was attempting to cut the line for the buffet table. “Come on. Let’s eat while there’s still something left.”

  They waited patiently in line as Wilbur ravaged the selection of cold meats and cheeses, mounting up a quadruple-decker sandwich so big that Mark recorded it for posterity on videotape.

  “Stay away from the chicken salad. It’s deadly!” Bruno and Boots wheeled to see Cathy and Diane bearing down on them.

  “Well, well,” Bruno greeted them. “The Cutesy Newbar Fan Club.”

  “Hey,” said Cathy. “What’s the deal with this kid in the turban?” She pointed to Jordie, who was dancing with one of Miss Scrimmage’s younger students.

  “Exchange kid,” said Bruno. “In his home country he’s some kind of prince.”

  Cathy shrugged. “Prince Schmince. He’s a creep.”

  “He’s a nice guy,” put in Boots.

  “It’s all a matter of charisma,” Cathy lectured. “He doesn’t have any. Now, take Jordie Jones, for instance. Jordie with a bag over his head would still have more charisma than that guy.”

  Bruno and Boots stared at Cathy and then at each other.

  “Look,” said Diane. “Here he comes.”

  The song had ended, and Jordie was on his way over. Bruno jazzed up the introduction to the girls, calling the stranger, “Your Most Exceedingly Royal Majesty,” “Great One” and “Beacon for All Humankind.”

  “You’ll have to forgive us for not being totally blown away by your royalness,” Cathy told the newcomer flatly. “We’re pretty big Jordie Jones fans, and he’s right across the street.”

  “Ah,” said Jordie. “I understand he is a very fine actor.”

  “Actually,” giggled Diane, “he can’t act for beans. But with a face like that, who needs talent?”

  Jordie was taken aback.

  “Don’t get us wrong,” put in Cathy. “We love him. We love his movies. It just doesn’t have anything to do with acting, that’s all.”

  * * *

  By nine o’clock, the dance was going at full force. The lights were low, and the girl acting as DJ had replaced Miss Scrimmage’s disc, Great Dance Tunes of the Forties and Fifties, with the one Bruno had slipped her — Electric Catfish’s Filet of Fire album. Bruno and Boots were dancing with Cathy and Diane and, a short distance away, Jordie was paired with Vanessa Robinson. Mark circulated on the crowded dance floor, sticking his video camera into everybody’s business.

  Calvin Fihzgart still hadn’t found himself a partner and was so distraught that he had taken to bopping up to groups of girls who were dancing together. This created a traffic jam on the floor, since everyone was moving in the same direction — away from Calvin. Soon gyrating bodies were packed like sardines on the left side of the floor. On the right was Calvin, all by himself, boogying his heart out.

  Something was going wrong, and for Calvin there was only one possible explanation. His aftershave must have worn off. Without interrupting his dancing, he pulled out his bottle of cologne and gave a mighty push on the plunger. But because he was moving at fever pitch, he missed his face. A large perfume cloud drifted straight over his shoulder and settled around Jordie and Vanessa, two metres away. Vanessa covered her face, but Jordie caught a snootful. He began to sneeze violently.

  Suddenly, over the heavy pounding beat from the loudspeakers, came the half-demented voice of Cathy Burton. “Stop! Stop the music!”

  There was an eardrum-popping scratch and then silence. Cathy surveyed the room like a bounty hunter. “I know that sneeze! That was the sneeze from the pillow-fight scene in Camp Calamity! Jordie Jones is here!”

  There was a gasp, followed by frenzied shuffling as the girls scoured the gym for the source of the sneeze. Then Cathy’s eyes fell on the red-faced, runny-nosed royal prince, making his way quietly to the door.

  “Freeze!”

  Boots grabbed Cathy by the arm and tried to steer her attention from Jordie. “Aw, come on. He’s just an exchange student —”

  He was interrupted by another loud sneeze. This time there was no question. It had come from the Beacon for All Humankind, and it was a very famous sneeze indeed. The next one blew the turban right off Jordie Jones’s head.

  Total chaos was the result. A high-pitched shriek rose up in the gym, followed by a stampede for Jordie. There was an incredible crunch as the girls strained to reach him and the boys rushed to protect him. On the floor, Sidney scrambled madly to get out of the way, but he was trampled underfoot. The centre of a giant shoving match, Jordie was buffeted to and fro, unable to control his own movements. Mr. Sturgeon and the other Macdonald Hall chaperones tried in vain to disperse the students, but the girls would not be denied a shot at their movie idol.

  “Girls! Go to your rooms!” ordered Miss Scrimmage. “Young ladies do not behave in this unseemly manner! Girls!” Unable to control her star-crazed students, she did the next best thing and fainted right into the reluctant arms of Mr. Sturgeon.

  “Hang on, Cutesy!” bellowed Bruno. “I’ll save you!” He pitched forward, almost losing his balance, then looked down to see a bedraggled figure under his right foot. “Get up, Sidney!” he snapped in annoyance. “What’re you trying to do — kill somebody?”

  Sidney rolled over, his face bruised and dirty. “Oh, hi, Bruno,” he said sleepily. “How come you’
re way up there?” Suddenly he remembered where he was and sprang to his feet, vaulting up Bruno’s back to perch on his shoulders, above the throng.

  “Get off me! I’m busy!” Bruno cried. “I’m trying to rescue Cutesy.” No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he had the solution. Carrying Sidney with him, he pushed through the crowd to Jordie, who was caught in a tug of war between Wilbur Hackenschleimer and Wilma Dorf.

  “Climb on Wilbur!” cried Bruno.

  “What?”

  “Climb on Wilbur!”

  The young actor scaled the big boy like a ladder. There were twin cries — victory from the boys and outrage from the girls — as he seated himself on Wilbur’s shoulders, teetering dangerously.

  “Oh, boy, this is great!” crowed Mark, holding his camera above the sea of students and filming blindly.

  Mr. Sturgeon, helpless with Miss Scrimmage fainted away in his arms, could only shout, “Hackenschleimer, be careful!”

  “Now what?” called Jordie.

  “We’re going to die!” quavered Sidney.

  “Exit stage left!” Bruno shouted.

  They began to move gingerly toward the gym door, Jordie and Sidney swaying with each step like twin towers of Jell-O. Their progress was slow but sure, and the Macdonald Hall boys began cheering wildly. Led by Larry, a line of blockers formed to clear a path to the exit.

  “Ten feet to the door!” cried Jordie excitedly. “We’re going to make it!”

  But the way was blocked by one last obstacle. There, in front of the exit, teetered another human skyscraper — Cathy, on top of Diane.

  “Hi, Jordie!” Cathy waved. “Remember me?”

  “Terrific!” muttered Wilbur under his breath.

  “Aw, no!” moaned Bruno. “Come on, Cathy, give us a break!”

  The opposition stood its ground, ready to do battle.

  “All right, you asked for it!” steamed Bruno. “Ramming speed!”

  “No!” shrieked Sidney.

  Mark climbed onto the buffet table for a better camera angle.

  Gritting his teeth in determination, Bruno stepped boldly forward, but Diane deftly spun around him and moved in on Wilbur. High above the floor, Cathy made a grab for Jordie, who pulled away, tipping himself backward. For one agonizing moment, he hung there, waving his arms frantically to regain his balance.

  “What’s going on up there?” cried Wilbur, feeling himself being pulled back.

  “That’s it,” groaned Bruno in resignation. “We’re dead!”

  At last, the actor could remain upright no longer.

  He and Wilbur went down like a house of cards. At the last second, Jordie reached out and grabbed the rim of the basketball goal by the wall. Wilbur fell heavily to the floor. Jordie hung on the hoop, feet dangling above the crowd.

  “AAAAAAAAGH!!!”

  The bone-chilling shriek silenced the entire gymful of people. There at the far entrance stood Boots with Seth Dinkman, Goose Golden and three burly security guards. It was not hard to locate the source of the scream. The manager’s face was the colour of an overripe tomato, standing out like a sunrise against the white of his clothes.

  Cathy jumped down from Diane’s shoulders. “Boots brought the cavalry,” she said dejectedly. “That guy’s getting to be such a nuisance!”

  By this time, Miss Scrimmage had revived and was moving under her own power, so Mr. Sturgeon stepped forward with his customary air of command and declared the dance officially over. The three security men set about getting Jordie down from the basketball hoop.

  “Mr. Sturgeon,” called the star as soon as his feet touched the floor. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

  “Yes, I know,” said the Headmaster wearily. “This is all your fault.”

  Seth Dinkman spotted Bruno and cast him a look that would have melted lead. “Stay away from my star!” he rasped. “Stay away from my crew! Stay away from my movie! Just stay away!”

  Bruno watched him storm out the door, fuming. “Boy,” he said mildly. “What a crab.”

  The procession of Macdonald Hall boys crossing the highway back to their own school was in agreement on one thing: The dance had been a major success.

  “It was great,” agreed Pete. “But there’s one thing I just can’t figure out. Who was that guy with the towel on his head?”

  Chapter 7

  Fred the Goalie

  “… And then he gave me the fish eye and said, ‘Walton, if you can honestly say to my face that smuggling the Jones boy into the dance wasn’t your idea, you will walk out of this office with no punishment whatsoever.’”

  A few boys were sprawled comfortably on the grass watching the movie set decorators building a three-metre-high model of the Faculty Building.

  “He let you off scot-free?” asked Sidney incredulously.

  “Nah, I confessed. You know what it’s like when you’re face-to-face with The Fish. You think up all these great lies, but the words won’t come out of your mouth.”

  Boots shuddered. “We should be grateful we got off as easy as we did.”

  “How’s this?” said Pete, reading from a steno pad he’d been working on. “Dear Miss Scrimmage, How are you? I am fine.”

  “What kind of stupid letter is that?” exploded Mark. “We’re supposed to be apologizing for wrecking the dance.”

  “I’m working up to that part,” said Pete. “Besides, I didn’t do anything to her stupid dance. I didn’t even know that prince guy was Jordie Jones.”

  “If you had stayed here with me, none of you would be in this predicament,” said Elmer seriously. Since Mark was busy writing, Elmer had been called into service to keep the videotape rolling for the documentary.

  “Just keep shooting,” said Mark irritably. “Hey, what are you doing?” Elmer now had the camera pointed up at the sky. “The film crew’s over there, remember?”

  “Yes, but there’s a very fascinating formation of cumulonimbus clouds —”

  “This isn’t a documentary about clouds! I have to have footage of them building that model!”

  “What do they need a model of the Faculty Building for, anyway?” put in Pete. “They’ve got the real thing right here.”

  “Because it has to blow up at the end of the movie,” Mark explained. “Remember?”

  “I’m with Pete,” grumbled Wilbur, his letter to Miss Scrimmage already smeared with Cheez Whiz. “Let them blow up the real one.”

  “You guys complain too much,” said Bruno. “You just put, Dear Miss Scrimmage, Sorry we trashed your dance. Better luck next time, Yours sincerely, and sign it. It’s better than having to sit through a dull dance. This one was the best ever!”

  “No one minds a little excitement,” said Boots. “Within reason. It just stings to have to write an apology when any idiot could see that the riot was caused by Cathy, Diane and the girls.”

  “The Fish is just trying to calm Miss Scrimmage down,” said Larry. “After last night, she bumped up her lawsuit by another twenty-five G’s.”

  “Yeah, well, tell The Fish I’ll testify,” said Boots feelingly.

  “I can’t understand why those girls go so crazy when they see Jordie,” commented Sidney, checking the security of his assorted Band-Aids.

  “They’re in love with him,” said Larry.

  “So what?” challenged Boots. “My mother’s in love with my father, but she doesn’t bust up the house every time he comes home from work.”

  Bruno shrugged. “They’re sick.”

  “It makes you think, though,” said Mark. “I always dreamed of being a big star like Jordie Jones. But that poor kid lives like a prisoner. He can’t even go out to a third-rate dance.”

  “Without turning it into a first-rate dance,” laughed Bruno.

  “Mark’s right, you know,” said Boots thoughtfully. “What good is it to have looks, talent, money and fame if you can’t go out of the house to enjoy it because some nut like Cathy is going to tear you limb from limb?”

&nbs
p; Bruno was skeptical. “Before you rev up the pity party, just remember that if Cutesy didn’t like all this stuff, he could just quit. He’s pulling in millions! And don’t forget, he gets to be in the movies.”

  “And you don’t,” Boots laughed. “I knew we’d come to that part sooner or later.”

  “It’s not over till that film crew’s packed and gone.”

  “You’d better hurry,” Larry reminded him. “We’ve got nothing but hockey practice until the big game, and then comes the wilderness survival trip.”

  Bruno covered his face with both hands. “I forgot! This is our term for Die-in-the-Woods!”

  “And by the time we get back, Academy Blues will be done,” added Boots.

  “Well,” said Bruno, “I’ll just have to figure out some way to get excused.”

  “Are you kidding?” exclaimed Larry. “Nobody gets out of Die-in-the-Woods! I’ve seen The Fish hold back diplomas for guys who missed it. They actually had to come back just to go on the trip!”

  “Hah!” said Bruno. “Sidney got delayed once before he finally went.”

  “That was pure luck,” Sidney put in. “I broke my leg.”

  “See?” said Bruno. “It’s that easy.”

  “The wilderness survival trip is a required element for every student,” lectured Elmer, who was back filming clouds again.

  “I don’t get it,” grumbled Wilbur. “All they ever care about around here is grades and averages and academics. Why are they so big on sending us into the bush to starve?”

  “Wilderness survival has been a tradition at Macdonald Hall since the very beginning,” Elmer explained. “And while it is not as important a part of student life as it was in the early days, it is still considered character building and essential to a well-rounded education.”

  “Says who?” said Bruno.

  “Says The Fish,” supplied Boots. “And the Board. And our folks. We’ll go, and we’ll get it over with, and we’ll shut up about it. It could even be fun.”