“But first,” said Beefer, grabbing me by the collar and marching me toward one of the bathroom stalls, “I’m going to show you the new and improved KiBeVaUl-Swi.”
“The what?” I said. “Oh, right.”
“Like any good innovator I’m always trying to improve my product,” said Beefer. “Pancake batter in the toilet bowl was a good idea. But this is better.” He hefted a twenty-pound bag of fast-drying, powdered cement and gave me a sickening smile.
“Come on, Beefer. You can’t be serious.”
Beefer flushed the toilet and emptied the bag into the bowl. I watched as the cement powder dissolved and the water slowly thickened into a churning gray goop.
“Oh, I’m serious,” said Beefer. “A thousand years from now, when people hear the name Vanderkoff, I want them to remember a true pioneer in the field of toilet-based bullying.”
“Please. Don’t put my head in there, it’s—”
Beefer punched me in the stomach, and I doubled over, gasping for air.
“What’s that, Sam?” he said, yanking me toward the toilet. “Can’t hear you, buddy. Were you about to say something?”
I opened my mouth and then came the loudest sound I’ve ever heard—even louder than one of my mom’s sneezes! It was a booming roar, so powerful that it shattered one of the bathroom mirrors. But the noise hadn’t come from me—it had come from Hamstersaurus Rex!
Beefer’s smug, ugly face instantly became a mask of terror. He stumbled backward and tripped. To catch his balance, he put his foot right into the cement-filled toilet.
With a squeal—well, he looked like he was squealing; I couldn’t really tell because my ears were still ringing from Hammie Rex’s roar—he realized his foot was stuck in the goop.
Now Beefer frantically tried to pull his foot out to get away from me. He yanked once, twice. But the cement was hardening quickly, and the toilet wouldn’t release its grip. With one final pull, Beefer broke the toilet right off the wall. He flew backward and somehow—to this day, I’m not quite sure how—he managed to fall so that his head landed inside a urinal.
Beefer’s left foot was still stuck in the hardened cement bowl of the now-liberated toilet; his head was wedged tightly inside the urinal.
I stared at him for a minute, unsure what to do. Water gushed from the broken pipe, spilling onto the floor of the bathroom.
“Do you need help?” I said at last.
At this Beefer shrieked and began to quake with fear. It was like he thought I was going to murder him or something. In his wild flailing, he somehow swung his heavy toilet foot up and broke the handle off the urinal. This started a continuous flush pouring over his the top of his head.
I heard the sound of the door. Other boys from my class stood in the doorway now.
“Holy crap,” said Omar Powell. “Sam beat up Beefer.”
I rushed past him out of the bathroom. Inside my pocket, I heard something that sounded a lot like mutant dino-hamster laughter.
CHAPTER 13
A GOOD DAY for me might involve getting an extra piece of cinnamon toast at breakfast. Maybe buying a new pair of shoelaces. But winning a class-wide fitness competition and getting revenge on the bully who has tormented me for years? That was a whole different category of good day for Sam Gibbs.
It eventually took four custodians and the school nurse to extricate Beefer from his predicament. (They had to use the Jaws of Life to break the urinal off his head!) But he wasn’t rescued before every single boy (and most of the girls) at Horace Hotwater Middle School paid a visit to the second-floor boys’ bathroom to witness the humiliation of Beefer Vanderkoff. Some of them took pictures.
I came to school the next morning feeling like a king. When I got there, a crowd of students stood around my locker. Everyone wanted to talk to me.
“Nice work, Sam,” said Jimmy Choi, shaking my hand. “I’ve hated Beefer ever since kindergarten, when he broke all my crayons.”
“It was nothing,” I said.
“I’m never giving another cent of lunch money to that guy,” said Omar Powell. “I knew he wasn’t really a karate master.”
“Hey, maybe you earn the clear belt for eating corn chips?” I said.
And everyone laughed. Seriously. They laughed. At one of my jokes!
“Sam, can you teach me how to do more knuckle-ups?” said Drew McCoy.
“Sure, no problem,” I said. “It’s all about proper form.”
“Any plans this weekend, Sam?” asked Julie Bailey, smiling brightly.
“Just kind of playing it by ear,” I said. “Um, speaking of ears, you’re not still mad about the caricature?”
“No way! That’s ancient history. Besides, we can call it even. In first grade I told everyone that you, um, had an accident.”
“Wait, that was you?” I said. So Dylan hadn’t spilled the beans about that one. Maybe she wasn’t as big of a blabbermouth as I thought.
“Anyway, Sam,” said Julie, “if you’re free Saturday maybe—”
“Maybe you could come over and see my snails,” said Wilbur Weber, edging her out.
“Yeah, maybe, Wilbur,” I said. “You know, I actually think I have something on Saturday. And also on Sunday. But—”
“I like to smear glue all over my face and then peel it off like skin!” said Jared Kopernik.
“Uh . . . cool, Jared,” I said.
“Hey, speak of the devil,” said Omar.
Down the hall I saw Beefer Vanderkoff, eyes on the ground, slinking toward his locker. As he passed, other kids whispered and pointed. Somehow, Beefer looked six inches shorter than he had yesterday.
Someone in the crowd called out, “What’s up, Toilet Foot?”
Beefer flinched but didn’t respond.
Someone else yelled, “Nah, he goes by Urinal Head now!”
Toilet Foot? Urinal Head? In my opinion, they were both great nicknames for Beefer. Maybe a good compromise would be “Toilet-Urinal Foot-Head”? My mom says it’s wrong to take pleasure in the misfortunes of others, but I will admit, I giggled. For five minutes straight.
The bell rang, and I waited for the crowd to disperse before I opened my locker.
Hammie Rex was inside looking just as happy as I felt. He was wagging his tail and kicking sand all over the place.
“All aboard,” I said, holding my shirt pocket open.
With a growl, Hamstersaurus Rex leaped into the air, did a flip, and landed in my pocket.
“Hamsterrific!” I said.
Class was a breeze. I doodled all morning, mostly pictures of a fifty-foot-tall Hamstersaurus Rex stomping on a regular-sized Beefer. I even threw caution to the wind and let Hamstersaurus Rex sneak a peek at my artwork. He approved (burped). Mr. Copeland surprised me once by calling on me in class. He expected that I wouldn’t know the answer. And I certainly didn’t. But I happened to guess “Wampanoag Confederacy,” which turned out to be correct. Mr. Copeland was very impressed. I did get a few more bad grades in science and again somebody mentioned something about Science Night, but I wasn’t really sweating it. Nothing could bring me down.
“Way to finally stand up to Beefer,” said Dylan at lunch.
“Please. No need to call me a hero. I’m just a regular guy who was pushed too far,” I said, chewing my ham and cheese sandwich.
“I didn’t call you a hero,” said Dylan. “So I guess that means you’re not worried at all?”
“Worried about what?”
“This,” said Dylan. She slid a poorly photocopied note across the table. It read:
ANONIMUS, huh? It looked like it had been written by a preschooler. That’s how I knew it was Beefer.
“He put these in everyone’s lockers,” said Dylan. “What do you think he’s up to?”
“No idea,” I said. “But I guess I’m going to find out.”
“You don’t have one, do you, Sam?”
“One what?”
“A secret.”
I squirmed, feeling guil
ty. “What? No way. I’m an open book.”
Her face looked pained. “If you need help, Sam, I could help you. Just like in preschool when you had the sand pail stuck on your head. We’re best friends. That’s what we do.”
“Look, I already told you, I don’t know where Hamstersaurus Rex is!”
“I didn’t mention Hamstersaurus Rex,” said Dylan.
At recess, a crowd had formed near the monkey bars. They were whispering and joking among themselves. It seemed like people were expecting Beefer to somehow make a bigger fool of himself than he already had. Everyone except Dylan, that is. She stood apart with her arms crossed, her face unreadable.
“Oh no!” said Tina Gomez, feigning fear as I approached. “It’s Sam ‘Terribal Secrit’ Gibbs.”
“I’ll admit it,” I said. “I know what the cafeteria shepherd’s pie is really made of.”
People laughed—for the second time that day—at something I said. Man, I could get used to that!
“Guys, I told all of you not to tell him!” came a shrill cry from behind me.
As I turned, the crowd parted to reveal Beefer Vanderkoff. He stared at me wide-eyed, no less terrified than yesterday.
“You’ve got something to say, Beefer?” I said throwing out my chest. “Say it to my face.” My best effort at tough-guy talk. It seemed to impress everyone.
“Yeah, what’s the big secret, Urinal Head?” said Tina Gomez to Beefer. “The suspense is killing me.”
“I’ll tell you, but once I reveal it, you have to promise to protect me from him,” said Beefer, pointing in my direction. I looked over my shoulder. No, he really did mean me.
“Sure, we promise,” said Omar Powell, snickering.
Beefer cleared his throat. “Well, Sam’s been acting extra weird lately. Sure, he’s always been weird—and also a dumb baby and a total jerk—like when he drew me with the stink lines—”
“Spare us, Beefer. Two years ago, you snipped off one my pigtails. So in my book, you’re the jerk,” said Julie Bailey. “Just get on with it, will you, Toilet Foot?”
Beefer frowned. “First off, I’ve seen Sam getting all this extra food in the cafeteria and bringing five sandwiches in his lunch box, too.”
Beefer had seen that? I guess I’d been less sneaky than I thought. I noticed Dylan looking at me.
“Plus other snacks have been going missing from other people’s lockers,” said Beefer, “and it wasn’t even me who stole them this time!”
“So Sam eats a lot,” said Drew McCoy. “You do, too, Beefer. So what?”
“I know, but overeating is, like, normal for me,” said Beefer.
“The big secret is that Sam likes sandwiches?” said Jimmy Choi. “La-a-aaame.”
“No, wait!” said Beefer. “That’s just part of it. Think about how all of a sudden Sam wins Little Mister Muscles. How did he do it? Look at him. He’s still a puny little nerd!”
The crowd murmured now. It seemed like a few of them were actually starting to consider what Beefer was saying. I tried to look less puny.
“And yesterday, when I was about to stick his head in a toilet full of wet cement,” said Beefer, “he roared at me.”
At this, the crowd went quiet.
“Sam roared at you?” said Dylan.
“Yes!” said Beefer. “It was the scariest sound I’ve ever heard. No human could make a noise like that. No, it was more like an animal or a—a monster.”
Everyone was staring at me now. Some of them looked uncertain. Unconsciously, my hand went to my shirt pocket. It was empty.
“I know that what I’m about to say is going to sound strange,” said Beefer, taking a deep breath, “but please keep an open mind. The world is more complex than—”
“Spit it out, Beefer,” said Drew.
“I believe that Sam Gibbs,” said Beefer, pausing as he pointed at me dramatically, “is a werewolf!”
Everyone turned to stare at Beefer again. Then they all burst out laughing.
“You watch way too many horror movies, dude!” said Omar.
“I think that urinal waterlogged your brain,” said Julie Bailey.
“I’m so glad I showed up for this,” said Jimmy Choi, hugging Beefer’s note.
“No!” cried Beefer. “Think about it: Super strength! Increased appetite! Roaring! It all adds up!”
“Werewolves don’t roar,” said Tina Gomez. “They howl.”
“Sometimes they roar,” cried Beefer desperately.
“Aaaaaaaaaoooooooooooooo!” I howled.
Everyone laughed.
“Come on, now he’s faking not being a werewolf,” cried Beefer. “That’s the oldest werewolf trick in the werewolf book! Watch Wolfsplosion II, people! I don’t get why nobody is taking this seriou—”
At that moment, Beefer’s sweatpants fell down around his ankles, revealing his pale legs and a dingy pair of tighty-whities.
The laughter tripled as Beefer struggled (unsuccessfully) to pull them back up.
“This is a conspiracy!” he cried. “Somebody sabotaged my drawstring to make me look like a dummy!” He pulled the string out of his waistband, and sure enough it had been gnawed into two pieces. A flash of orange fur darting behind the slide left me with little doubt as to who had done it. Hamstersaurus Rex had escaped from my pocket to deal a deathblow to Beefer’s credibility!
“Hey, Beefer, if you really need to hold up your pants,” I said, “you can always use your clear belt.”
This got another huge laugh.
“He has you all tricked!” cried Beefer. “He was just a regular, smart-mouth dweeb, but now the curse of the wolf is upon him! Beware! None of us are safe!”
“Come on. What am I going to do?” I said. “Eat you?” And I lunged toward Beefer, baring my teeth. He shrieked and ran as fast as he could across the playground and back toward the school. To the delight of the crowd, his pants fell down six or seven times along the way.
My own smile faded as I turned to see that Dylan was peeking behind the slide. Had she seen Hammie Rex, too?
“Dylan, wait!” I cried, running toward her. “You shouldn’t—”
“Shouldn’t what?” said Dylan.
Relief! Hamstersaurus Rex wasn’t there.
“You shouldn’t, uh, go down this slide,” I said. “It . . . has ants on it.”
I tried to smile. The bell rang. Recess was over.
“You’re not telling me something, Sam,” said Dylan. “You do have a secret. It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”
“No, I’m being honest. I—I promise!”
Dylan squinted at me but didn’t say anything as she turned and walked back toward the school.
I found Hamstersaurus Rex gnawing on the base of the monkey bars. He didn’t understand why I didn’t feel like playing.
CHAPTER 14
THAT FRIDAY AFTER school, I placed Hammie Rex into my locker dino-habitat for the weekend.
“You know the drill, little buddy,” I said, scratching his scaly spine. “I leave a bunch of extra sandwiches for the next two days, and then I see you bright and early on Monday morning.” I unloaded ten PB and Js from my backpack and stacked them in the back of the locker. Hammie Rex gurgled.
Things felt a little safer since Beefer hadn’t shown his face at Horace Hotwater for two whole days. Perhaps he feared the “curse of the wolf.” Maybe he was just too embarrassed to return. The annoying thing was, I felt kind of guilty about it. Sure his comeuppance had gone a little far, but he deserved it. Didn’t he? I tried to joke about it with Dylan the day before, but she didn’t laugh.
I sighed. “Okay. Don’t eat these sandwiches all in one sitting,” I said, knowing Hamstersaurus Rex definitely would.
Despite the food, the little guy seemed glum, too. He kicked a toy stegosaurus and made a kind of whining grumble as he stomped around in circles. His eyes looked moist. His tail drooped. He didn’t want me to leave.
“That’s really touching,” I said. “I’ll miss
you, too. But I can’t stay at school, and you can’t come home with me. Here.”
I pulled out a new drawing and taped it to the inside of my locker.
“If you get lonely, just look at this picture.” It was me, but as a caveman, so it would fit in with the prehistoric decor. (Look, of course I know that humans and dinosaurs lived millions of years apart, but Hamstersaurus Rex didn’t!) He glanced at the Cave Sam I drew and then started gnawing my finger. For an ugly little mutant, he sure was cute.
“You’re not making this any easier,” I said.
“Who’s not making what easier?” said Martha Cherie.
I slammed my locker shut. “Sorry,” I said. “I was just, uh, talking on the phone.”
“But you don’t have a phone.”
“I was practicing. For when I get one.” I pantomimed answering. “Hello? No, this isn’t Ethelbert Papageorgiou the Third. You must have the wrong number. Good-bye.” I pretended to hang up. “How was that?”
“Good, but you probably should have asked what number they were trying to call,” said Martha.
“Thanks,” I said.
We stared at each other for a minute.
“Is there something I can help you with?” I said.
“When do you want to leave?”
“Leave?”
“For the Antique Doll Museum.”
My heart sank. “That’s today?”
Martha nodded.
“You know what, I’m actually feeling a little beat. Big week. Not sure if you remember, but I won Little Mister Muscles and singlehandedly defeated Beefer.” I flexed. “Anyway, maybe we could reschedule. I’m thinking . . . June. Of next year.”
Martha frowned. “The ADM is closed for the whole month of June for renovations. Besides, I already had my parents cancel conversational Portuguese and taxidermy and tap, just so we could do it today.”
“Wow. You know how to tap-dance? I tried it once, and it’s really hard,” I said, feeling guilty. Martha was right, I had promised.
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