by R. L. Stine
“Steven—please stop,” Ava said. “Really.”
I tossed the eggs higher. I liked to see the tense look on her face. Courtney froze by the sink. Her eyes followed the flying eggs.
“Have you ever seen me juggle five eggs at once?” I asked.
“Please don’t try it,” Ava begged.
I tossed the eggs up nearly to the ceiling. My hands were moving so smoothly. Toss. Catch. Toss. Catch.
I had two eggs high in the air when Ava’s mom walked into the kitchen.
“NOOOO!” Her scream startled me.
I tossed an egg too high. It splatted against the ceiling.
Two eggs came hurtling down. They both landed on Ava’s head.
Splat. Splat.
I’ll never forget that cracking sound.
Ava groaned as gooey yellow egg yolk oozed down her hair, then over her ears and down the sides of her face.
Ava’s mom was shaking her head and sighing.
Courtney rushed to Ava and began plucking chunks of broken eggshell from her gooey hair.
I laughed. “Not my bad!” I cried. I pointed at Mrs. Munroe. “She made me do it!”
How come I was the only one in the room laughing?
The gooey stuff ran down Ava’s cheeks, down to her neck.
Courtney wrapped her arm around Ava’s shoulders and led her from the room. “Don’t worry,” she told Ava. “We can shampoo it out.”
She flashed me a dirty look and led Ava away.
I shouted after them, “Does this mean you don’t want to rehearse?”
No answer. Then Courtney called from the hall: “Expect major revenge, Steven.”
Revenge? Ha-ha. Revenge?
That made me laugh even harder. How could those two ever get revenge?
5
I found a surprise waiting at home.
Mom and Dad were huddled in the den. They were clucking and cooing at a creature on the windowsill. They were so intense, they didn’t even see me walk in.
I stepped past Dad’s big black leather lounger chair into the center of the room. They were fussing over a brown bird.
“Is that a parrot?” I asked.
My parents both spun around. “Oh, hi, Steven,” Mom said. “We’re not sure. It’s the size of a parrot. But it looks more like a baby hawk.”
“It flew in the window,” Dad said. “It must belong to somebody. It probably flew the coop.” He petted the bird’s brown feathered head with one finger. “It’s very tame.”
“Pretty bird,” Mom chirped. “Pretty bird. Pretty bird.”
I groaned. “Are you two going to talk bird talk from now on?”
“I wasn’t talking to the bird. I was talking to you,” Mom said.
I told you. Everyone in my family is funny.
Mom looks a lot like me. She’s short and has round cheeks and dark eyes, and she has straight black hair like mine.
She played jazz piano when she was younger. She says she was a pretty good singer, too. But she gave it up before I was born.
I guess I get a lot of my talent from my family.
Dad is tall and blond, with pale blue eyes. He’s kind of rugged looking with broad shoulders and a tough-guy walk.
Mom says he should have been an action-movie star instead of a pediatric surgeon. (Dad operates on children and babies.)
Sometimes he talks about his operations at the dinner table. And Mom and I both cover our ears and scream for him to shut up.
Now they were both sitting on the window seat, cooing at the brown bird perched on the ledge.
“We have to find him a cage,” Dad said. “You know—we might have an old one in the basement.”
I tossed my backpack on the couch and stepped closer. “You mean we’re going to keep him?”
“Your dad has already named him,” Mom said. “Bugsy.”
“Excuse me?” I said. “Why Bugsy?”
“Because he hunts for bugs and eats them,” Dad replied. “Don’t you, Bugsy? You love bugs, don’t you?”
“But he must belong to somebody,” I said. “He’s not a wild bird—right?”
“We put a lost-and-found notice online,” Mom said. “Someone will probably claim him.”
“Maybe there’s a reward,” I said. “Maybe he’s worth a million dollars or something.”
Dad flashed me his lopsided grin. “Dude! I like the way you think!” He bumped knuckles with me.
I bent down and smoothed my finger down the bird’s back. The feathers felt soft and warm.
Bugsy made a sound deep in his throat. It sounded a little like a cat purring.
His little black eyes gleamed. He turned his head, opened his yellow beak, and started to nibble my finger.
“OWWWW!” I jerked my hand back hard. “He BIT me!” I shrieked. “He BIT my FINGER off!”
6
Mom and Dad both gasped. Their mouths dropped open in horror.
I tossed back my head and laughed. “Gotcha both that time!” I cried. I waved my perfectly okay finger in front of them. “Suckers!”
“You’re about as funny as a cold sore,” Mom said, shaking her head. “Look. You terrified poor Bugsy. He almost fell off the windowsill.”
“There, there, Bugsy,” I said. I petted his feathers some more.
He warbled again. Then he turned his beak and licked the tip of my finger.
“Wow! He has a tongue!” I cried. “I didn’t know birds had tongues.” I laughed. His tongue was dry and scratchy. Like sandpaper.
“Having a pet is very educational,” Dad said. “I’ll go downstairs and see if I can find that old birdcage.”
An idea suddenly flashed into my mind. I gazed at the bird, and a smile spread over my face. “Hey, Bugsy,” I said, “I think I have a job for you.”
The bird stared up at me as if he was thinking about it.
“Wash your hands before dinner,” Mom said.
That night, I locked my bedroom door and practiced my magic act. I always lock the door. If I don’t, Mom and Dad come in and give me suggestions.
Sometimes their suggestions are okay. But I really like to plan my own act. Also, a lot of the time, Dad takes my magic wand or my cards or some other stuff and starts doing his own act with them.
I know he does it to be funny. But it’s a real pain when I’m trying to rehearse.
Anyway, I practiced until I could barely keep my eyes open. I went through all my usual tricks. And I juggled duckpins for a while. Then I decided not to bring them to the talent assembly. They’re too heavy to carry to school.
Later, I had trouble getting to sleep.
Maybe I was too psyched about the show. Or maybe it was my stomach rumbling and grumbling because of Mr. Pinker’s big cookies.
I made a promise to myself that at my next piano lesson, I would say no thank you to the cookie. Or maybe eat only half of one.
I finally fell asleep after midnight. And I had the stupidest dream.
I dreamed about Bugsy. The brown bird was trapped in a house. For a long time, I couldn’t figure out what house it was.
But then I realized it was a little wooden dollhouse.
Was it one of those little dollhouses I saw at Mr. Pinker’s house?
In the dream, I bent down and tried to pull him from a little window. But the house started to shrink. And then it was too tiny, maybe an inch or two tall. Too tiny to see Bugsy inside it.
“Bugsy, where are you?” I called in the dream.
Then I woke up and it was morning. Yellow sunlight poured through my open bedroom window. The air smelled fresh and sweet.
The dream quickly faded from my mind. I jumped out of bed and stretched my arms above me. This was talent show day, a day I’d looked forward to for weeks.
I hurried into my clothes. I flew down to breakfast.
I was so excited, I could barely sit still.
How was I to know the day would be a complete disaster?
7
Some days, the magic just
works.
You ever have those times when you know you can’t do anything wrong? When everything you do is smooth and easy and wonderful?
That’s how the talent assembly started out for me.
The principal gave me a loud, enthusiastic introduction. “Here he is—the Amazing Steven-acious Steven!” The school band played a fanfare. And I came strutting onstage wearing my top hat and twirling the magic wand.
Sure, it’s cornball. Sure, it’s old-fashioned.
But the kids in the audience ate it up.
And they went wild when Ava and Courtney came following me onstage in their glittery silver tops and shiny leggings.
The act was a total sensation. Even my simplest tricks made the whole auditorium laugh and cheer.
Sometimes my wand sticks and the flower bouquet refuses to pop out. But not today. I swung the wand in front of me—and the flowers appeared. Like magic! Ha-ha.
I took a big sheet of newspaper. I cut it into strips with a scissors. Then I cut the strips into tinier strips. When I unfolded the strips, the paper magically appeared whole again!
Ava and Courtney moved around the stage in time to music by the band. They handed me props and stepped back as I performed the tricks.
Why did they keep grinning at each other?
I thought maybe they were glad the tricks were working and the act was such a hit. I mean, the whole school was watching and loving it.
But their grins were mysterious. I couldn’t figure out what they were thinking.
I saw my friend Duncan in the audience. I called him onstage and did a card trick with him. The trick where every card in the deck is the ace of hearts.
Big applause.
Then the two girls paraded around some more. They wheeled in a little table. I got ready to do my new trick. I knew the audience would love this one.
My heart started to race. I don’t really get nervous onstage. I’ve never had stage fright. I just love being in front of an audience.
But new tricks always make me a little tense. And I’d practiced this trick for the first time only last night.
The table had a black cloth spread over it. I stepped up to it.
I raised my hands for the band to stop playing. Silence now. I kept my hands raised high over my head.
“Bird of Flight, I summon thee!” I shouted. Silence.
I glanced out into the auditorium. I had everyone’s attention.
Ava and Courtney stood at the sides of the table.
“I summon thee from distant airs!” I shouted. “Bird of Wing, I summon thee to us today!” Silence.
I lifted the cloth off the table. I raised it high and blocked the table from view.
Then I snapped the cloth away—and there stood Bugsy.
I lowered my hand, and the brown bird jumped onto my arm. I raised the bird high as kids cheered and clapped.
I turned and caught Ava and Courtney smiling. Of course, they’d never seen my Bugsy trick. I could tell they liked it.
I held Bugsy high so everyone could see him. The bird lowered his head and licked my cheek. More than once. I guess he was giving me a kiss. I felt a chill. His tongue felt so dry and scratchy against my skin.
I handed him to Ava and told her to put Bugsy in the cage backstage.
Now it was time for my big finish.
Courtney handed me four red rubber balls, my juggling balls. This was the hardest stunt I’d ever tried.
I planned to juggle the four balls, keeping two in the air the whole time. And to drink a cup of water while I juggled them.
The three of us had practiced this day after day. Some days, it worked very well. Sometimes, I dropped the balls when I started to drink. A few times, I choked on the water.
But today everything was working. Everything was perfect.
I never felt so much in control. So much confidence.
The Steven-acious Steven was a winner!
The band played a fanfare. I stepped to the edge of the stage and started to juggle. Three red balls at first, slowly. Then, as I picked up speed, I added the fourth ball.
Two up. Two down. Two up. Two down.
I had the balls going in a perfect rhythm. I felt like a machine, a juggling machine.
A drumroll by the snare drummer.
Courtney stepped forward. She carried the paper cup in front of her. The cup was filled halfway up with water.
I shouted to the audience: “In a trick that only the Steven-acious Steven performs, I will now juggle and drink a cup of water at the same time!”
I could see everyone’s eyes on me. No one moved or talked.
Two up. Two down. Two up. Two down.
I kept the rhythm going. The red balls made a snapping sound as they slapped into my moving hands.
Courtney stepped closer. She raised the blue paper cup to my lips.
Two up. Two down. Two up. Two down.
Courtney tilted the cup to my mouth.
I took a long sip.
A bitter liquid burned my tongue. A horrible sick taste filled my mouth.
“AAAAAAAGH!” A hoarse scream burst from my throat.
I batted the cup away. Courtney leaped back.
The four red balls bounced all around me. They thudded on the stage floor and bounced into the audience.
The sharp sour taste in my mouth made me sick. My stomach heaved.
“I’ve been POISONED!” I screamed. “Somebody—help! I’ve been POISONED!”
8
The sour taste puckered my lips. I started to gag.
I knew I was going to hurl. With another cry, I turned and ran off the stage.
I could hear the roar of laughter in the auditorium. Kids were shrieking and laughing their heads off.
It was a riot back there. I could hear teachers shouting for everyone to get quiet. A few teachers came running to help me.
I cupped my hand over my mouth and ran to the bathroom backstage. But by the time I got there, my stomach had settled down a little. I didn’t feel like puking anymore.
I leaned against the wall, trying to settle myself. Trying to think clearly about what had just happened.
My act was going beautifully, perfectly—and then it was ruined.
But how? Why?
Then I saw Ava and Courtney come staggering toward me. They were hugging each other, slapping high fives, laughing.
Why were they celebrating?
“Wh-what happened?” I stammered. I still felt queasy. The burning sour taste lingered in my mouth. I kept swallowing. Swallowing. Trying to get rid of it.
“What happened? What was in that paper cup? What did you give me?”
I lurched to the water fountain on the wall and gulped down about a gallon. Then I turned back to them. They were still giggling and enjoying themselves.
I grabbed each one by the arm. “Tell me. What did you put in that cup?”
They finally stopped giggling.
“Just something we mixed up in the chem lab,” Courtney said.
“Huh? Are you serious?” I shrieked.
They both nodded.
“You gave me chemicals to drink?” I cried.
They laughed.
“We just poured in whatever we could find,” Ava said. “You know. We pulled bottles off the shelf and poured them in.”
I grabbed my throat. “But—but—why?” I sputtered.
“You deserved it,” they both said at the same time. Then they spun away and took off, running to the backstage door.
“I — I’ve been … poisoned,” I murmured. I stood there, my heart pounding, my brain spinning.
I could still taste the bitter chemicals on my tongue. My stomach lurched again.
I forced myself to move. I picked up Bugsy in his metal birdcage. And I ran out the back door.
Into the sunny, cool afternoon. I ran across the empty playground. I flew across the street without checking for traffic.
I ran without seeing, without thinking. Ran all the way home.
And started to shout: “Mom! Dad! Help me!”
9
No one home.
I swallowed some more. I tried to fight down my panic.
I’m okay. I’m okay, I told myself.
I’ll brush my teeth, I decided. That will get rid of this putrid taste.
I ran to the stairs—and stumbled into a bucket and mop. Water sloshed over my sneakers and made a soapy puddle on the floor.
Mom or Dad must have been mopping the floor and left the mop and pail at the bottom of the stairs.
I stepped around it and pulled myself up the stairs two at a time.
The upstairs hall felt warmer than downstairs. It smelled piney up here. Someone had definitely been cleaning. Probably Dad. He’s the big cleaner in our family.
I passed the guest room, then my room. The bathroom was at the end of the hall.
“Hey!” I let out a startled shout. And stumbled into the wall.
I pushed both hands against the pale pink wallpaper and spun around.
What just happened? It took me a few seconds to realize. I was standing barefoot on the dark purple carpet.
I’d stepped right out of my sneakers.
But—how? They were tightly laced.
I left them in the middle of the floor and walked down the hall.
Nearly to the bathroom, I tripped over my jeans.
Huh? Why are my pants falling off?
I hitched them up with one hand. I felt strange, a little dizzy. I blinked a few times. The wallpaper seemed to be rising up on both sides of me.
I glanced up. That made me feel even dizzier. The ceiling suddenly appeared much higher than usual. The bathroom door rose a mile over my head.
Was something wrong with my eyes?
My tongue felt dry. Kind of itchy. I could taste the sour chemicals on the roof of my mouth.
It’s going to take a lot of toothpaste to get rid of this taste, I thought.
I stepped up to the sink and reached for my toothbrush.
“Whoooaaa!”
What’s up with this?
Why did I have to stand on tiptoe to reach over the sink?
My arms weren’t long enough to reach the toothbrush in its cup. I had to jump high to grab it.
