by Alan Katz
The students (except Nathan, who, if you remember, hates singing) stood up and sang:
Let’s all hail Screamersville Slightly Northeast Elementary School
It’s a good place to learn
A whole lifetime long
Yes, let’s all hail Screamersville Slightly Northeast Elementary School
And now, let’s stop singing this song!
All the students knew that the song hardly made sense, but Mrs. Peyser had written it, and no one wanted to hurt her feelings. So they sang it at every assembly.
“Okay, everyone,” Mrs. Peyser announced. “Please welcome David and Nathan to the podiums.”
The boys went to their assigned spots. David looked out at the sea of faces—pretty much everyone he’d ever met—and gulped hard. Instead of thinking of a ton of worthwhile things to say, he felt his mind go 100 percent blank.
At the other podium, Nathan was experiencing the same sensation of panic.
Nathan looked at David and smiled nervously.
David looked at Nathan and smiled nervously.
David was sure that when he opened his mouth, he’d only make creaks and squeaks.
Nathan was sure that he was about to drool out a whole bunch of gibberish. In fact, for some reason, the phrase “Me like mashy potatoes” kept repeating in his head, and he was pretty sure that was going to be his opening line. And his second line. And his whole speech.
Fortunately (well, sort of), right before either boy could speak, Mrs. Peyser said something rather incredible.
“Oh, boys,” she said. “I almost forgot! Someone named Martin came by this morning and gave me these folders with your speeches in them! In your excitement, you both left them home this morning!”
With that, she handed each boy a folder. Stapled on the cover of Nathan’s folder was a sheet of paper that said:
Hey, Nath,
I was afraid to let you speak without having anything prepared. So here’s a real speech, much like the one I wrote for President Bill Clinton, though he never knew anything about it.
Love,
Martin
And on David’s folder was a sheet of paper that said:
Hey, Davy Wavy Gravy,
You were too lazy to write anything down, and that made me worry about ya. So here’s a real speech, much like the one I wrote for my own pal Jim Gooberman on the night he was elected prom queen.
Admiringlylylyly,
Martin
Mrs. Peyser smiled and said, “Okay, Nathan, based on the fact that I have a cousin whose next-door neighbor’s middle name is Nathan, I have selected you to speak first.”
Nathan knew that there was no turning back. He stared at the crowd, then opened the folder and read what Martin had prepared for him.
“Good evening, ladies and germs. If elected, I promise to change this school in many thrilling ways. First, I will start a free—yes, free—pencil-sharpening service. Also, there will be no more homework. Everyone will get double desserts after lunch. We’ll have four-day weekends every week. Summer will be eight months long. The gym will be turned into a 3-D movie theater. And, best of all, there’ll be live rock concerts during tests. Thank you.”
As Nathan reviewed the last few minutes in his mind—wondering, What did I just say?—the entire crowd cheered for an incredibly long time, and Mrs. Peyser didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“Settle down, students,” she called. Once they were quieter, she gestured to David. “David, you are next,” she said, with a look in her eye that some students, though not David, might have seen as a warning.
David took a deep breath and read what Martin had crafted for him.
“Hello, fellow students. It is an honor and a privilege to be considered for the position of president in this most excellent school. I am humbled and honored by the chance to speak to you about how we, as students, might work alongside the wonderful faculty here to make this school an even more special place to learn.”
A few kids snickered. A few others booed. But Mrs. Peyser smiled a wide smile and heaved a deep sigh of relief.
David continued, “And it is with that goal in mind that I offer the following campaign promises: If elected, I vow to insist that all answers to multiple-choice tests be ‘A,’ and the answers to all true-false questions be ‘true.’ I will also convince the teachers that anyone who spells any word right at any time gets to skip two grades. And from now on, the school day on Wednesdays will only be seven minutes long, with a recess break after three minutes. Furthermore—”
But Mrs. Peyser stood up and stopped David before he could get to his furthermore (which, by the way, was the promise that he’d put a video arcade in every school bathroom).
Mrs. Peyser addressed David and Nathan with fire in her eyes. “Boys, these campaign promises are ridiculous, nonsensical, and unacceptable. I am asking you to leave the stage. I am asking you to leave the election. And you’re lucky I am not asking you to leave the school.”
“But . . . ,” said David.
“But . . . ,” said Nathan.
“I do not want to hear your ‘buts’!” said Mrs. Peyser.
That statement, of course, was met with the loudest laughter ever heard in the auditorium at Screamersville Slightly Northeast Elementary School.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
“Martin tricked us!” David said to Nathan when they were alone in the lunchroom after the assembly.
“Yeah, he tricked us!” Nathan agreed.
“Those ridiculous campaign promises cost me the election!” David said.
“Yeah, they cost me the election too!” Nathan agreed.
David continued, “Man, if Martin the Super-Spy hadn’t dropped off those folders, I’d, I’d, I’d . . .”
“Yeah, I’d, I’d, I’d too . . . ,” Nathan agreed.
“Who am I kidding? I hadn’t prepared anything, and I was crazy nervous up there. No matter what Martin wrote, at least it gave me something to say,” David admitted.
“Yeah, me too,” Nathan told him. “The only thing I could think of was ‘Me like mashy potatoes.’ ”
David snickered and said, “I’m not sure I would have even come up with that. So we probably both would have frozen and lost anyway, huh?”
“I guess so,” Nathan said. “But why did Martin give us such ridiculous campaign promises?”
“Well, the kids loved them,” David said. “Mrs. Peyser, not so much. And it was our fault that we weren’t prepared.”
“So in a way, Martin did us a favor?” Nathan wondered.
“Maybe. Yeah. No. I don’t know,” David offered. “But next time, I think we’d better do our work before he has to do it for us.”
“You know, David,” Nathan said, “sometimes you’re not as stupid as you really are.”
“And, Nathan,” David answered, “sometimes you make me glad I have an annoying twin brother.”
There was a long silence (which was rare for those guys).
“We almost had a nice moment of maturity there, didn’t we?” asked Nathan.
“Yeah, almost,” David said as he started to walk away. “Think it’s because we’re getting older?”
“Maybe,” Nathan said. “But mostly I think it’s because Martin’s making us pay closer attention to stuff. The other nannies always just let us act as crazy and irresponsible as we wanted to, and then they’d leave. But Martin is different.”
“Totally different,” David said. “Look, he’s even got us agreeing with each other and doing things together to protect the ski trip.”
“Weird,” Nathan said.
“Yeah, weird,” David said as he took his tray and Nathan’s and began walking toward the trash.
David had never done anything like that for his brother. When he realized what he was doing, he almost went back to put the tray down. But he kept going, turned his head, and called to his brother.
“Hey, Nathan,” David yelled.
“Yeah?” Nathan
asked.
“Me like mashy potatoes too!” David said.
Later that afternoon, when the election was held for school president, Nathan and David Wohlfardt didn’t get a single vote. Instead, the winner of the election was the one and only Bobby Likpa—not because everyone thought he’d make a great leader, but because they were all so impressed he’d been able to make it through the whole assembly while sitting in row seven, seat three.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Whenever the boys were in school, Martin was all alone and sad inside the Wohlfardt residence. Like a sheepdog anxiously looking for its master, Martin simply couldn’t wait for the boys to come home. He filled his time with his personally trademarked Find a New Activity Every 36 Minutes™ rule, spending pretty much every day with a series of extremely creative household chores. In fact, they were so creative, Martin was thinking of writing a book of household chores called The Martin Healey Discount Book of Extremely Creative Household Chores.
At 11:03 a.m., Martin prepared a meat loaf shaped like his head for the family dinner.
At 11:39 a.m., he vacuumed the den, then emptied the contents of the vacuum onto the living room floor and re-vacuumed.
At 12:15 p.m., he tested his “It’s better to wash the dishes and the laundry in the same machine” theory.
At 12:51 p.m., he picked the broken glass and china out of the washing machine.
And at 1:27 p.m., he unraveled Mr. Wohlfardt’s favorite wool scarf and then re-knitted it, this time as a sweater.
Exactly thirty-six minutes later, realizing Mr. Wohlfardt might not like short-sleeved sweaters, he knitted it back into a scarf and wrapped it as a surprise gift.
Exactly thirty-six minutes after that, realizing that Mr. Wohlfardt might not think receiving his own scarf was much of a gift, he unwrapped it and put it back in the closet. Then he made a fresh, lemony tuna salad and washed the windows with it—after which he called it a day.
Martin was bored. And lonely.
“You know, Marty old boy, old chap, old man, old boy, old socks,” he told himself, “you need a hobby. Perhaps you could discover a new chemical element. Or paint a painting. Or paint the deck. Or deck the halls. Or haul out the trash. Or learn to ride a bucking bronco while carrying a soufflé.”
After considering many options, Martin finally decided that he didn’t need a real hobby after all; hearing his own voice made him happier than any activity possibly could. So he kept talking to himself about many strangely fascinating topics until the boys came home.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
At three fifteen, Martin was crouching on the floor by the front door, peering through the mail slot and waiting for Nathan and David to arrive. The tuna had made the windows a bit foggy. And not surprisingly, it had also made them smell like tuna fish. By the time the boys finally got home, Martin had excitedly eaten up all the milk and cookies he’d put out for them.
“Hey, guys! Welcome home!” Martin greeted them. “Which one of you is president?”
“Neither of us,” David told him.
“Yeah, neither of us,” Nathan echoed. “Martin, about those speeches . . .”
“Don’t thank me, gents! My pleasure!” Martin said. “And sorry about the election, boys. But I’m proud to announce something more important than winning a school election and basking in the admiration of your whole student body!”
The boys couldn’t wait to hear what Martin was going to say next.
“Boys, put the vote out of your cute little minds, because . . . it’s playtime! Playtime! Time to play! Plaaaaaytime!”
“Can’t,” Nathan informed him.
“Me either,” said David.
“Why not? What else do you guys have to do?” Martin wanted to know.
“Homework!” they both told him.
“We have math, science, spelling . . . ,” Nathan said.
“. . . and reading. We have to read for twenty minutes,” David added.
“Guys, are you feeling okay? Where’d this sudden sense of responsibility come from?” Martin asked.
“After what happened with the election speeches, we figure we gotta pay more attention to our work,” Nathan said.
David nodded in agreement, adding, “We can play after.”
“Nooooooo!” whined Martin. “I wanna play now!”
“Not now!” the boys said together.
Martin whined. A lot.
The boys ignored Martin and began unpacking their backpacks.
Then Martin slumped down on the couch and turned on the TV. “You’re no fun at all!” he moaned.
But then he cheered up when his favorite show on the Challenge Channel—So You Think You Can Beat This?—appeared. He made the TV louder. And louder. And louder.
“Record yourself setting a world record and you could win five thousand dollars!” the host boomed.
“Did you hear that?” Martin exclaimed.
“They heard it in Kansas,” Nathan said, though no one could hear him.
“Turn it DOWN!” David screamed even louder than the TV host was talking. “We are trying to do our homework!”
So Martin hit the mute button.
“Men, five thousand dollars could put you both through college and buy you each sports cars and HDTVs!” he cried.
“No it couldn’t,” Nathan informed him.
“Not even close,” said David.
“Okay, you’re right. Then I’ll keep all of the dough. The important thing is that we win, right?”
“Today’s not exactly our day for winning,” said David.
“Kid, this time victory is so close I can smell it. I can touch it. I can hear it. I can see it. And I can . . . wait—smell, touch, hear, see . . . um, um, um . . . ,” Martin said, trying to figure out the fifth of the five senses.
“Taste it,” Nathan offered.
“No thanks, I just had a ton of cookies,” Martin said, totally missing the point.
Next, Martin ran to his room and returned with a video camera on a tripod. He scurried around to set it up.
“I won this sweet video setup on America’s Fuzziest Videos,” Martin said.
“You mean Funniest, right?” David asked.
“Oh, no,” said Martin. “There was a prize for fuzziest video. And I won!” Then he lowered his voice. “I covered the camera lens with underwear.”
Then Martin hit the record button, stepped back, and began addressing the camera. . . .
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
“Hello to all of my television fans, this is Martin Healey Discount, TABASCO extraordinaire, and the caretaker of Nathan and David Wohlfardt—don’t worry, I’m working on a new last name for them—and we’re here to set a world record and win that five thousand dollars. As you know or could probably guess, I am the world record holder for cross-country crawling. I’ve also high-fived everyone in Rhode Island, caught seven thousand, seven hundred and seventy-seven fish in four minutes with my teeth, and read every book—except one—in the Cleveland Public Library.
“And now . . . my greatest feat! Right before your eyes, these boys and I will set the international record for . . .”
The boys moved closer to hear.
“. . . tossing a ball back and forth. The current record is twenty-three thousand, seven hundred and twenty-three times, set by two people named Schmutz and Schmear in a town so far outside Cleveland that it’s actually in Texas. And the Virginia record is just over nine thousand. Here goes!”
Martin then tossed Nathan’s ball to David, who continued to do his schoolwork as he tossed it to Nathan, who continued to do his schoolwork as he tossed it to Martin, who tossed it to David, and so on and so on. Martin counted the tosses and catches by fives, so it would go faster.
And when they reached ten thousand consecutive catches—having broken the state record and a lamp, two picture frames, and a wicker thing—Martin dashed into the kitchen to see how much whipped cream he could spray into h
is mouth in sixty seconds (not to achieve a world record—he just liked whipped cream). Then he came back in time to rejoin the boys in the toss for the record.
When they reached 23,724 throws, Martin called the TV station to claim the five-thousand-dollar prize. But unfortunately, he had been watching a very old episode that was being rerun, and the cash prize had been given away in 1975.
Also unfortunately, the living room looked like a war zone. And Mr. and Mrs. Wohlfardt would soon be home.
“Men, according to the time on my always precise Time-Up watch—personally handed to me by the presid—er, gover—er, mayor—er, salesclerk—you have exactly nineteen minutes to glue, paint, undent, and generally fix this extremely probably unfixable mess.”
“Us? Why us?” David asked. “It was your idea. Your ball. Your world record . . .”
But Martin had left the room. The building. And maybe even the town. So the boys sprang into action. In a great panic, they glued and swept and wiped and stapled like mad.
There was so much to be done. And when Nathan checked the living room clock, the big hand was on the twelve and the little hand was on the floor, which meant . . . doom.
Martin returned to the scene when they had just a minute left to clean up the mess. He clapped his hands three times, stomped his left foot twice, pulled on both earlobes, and said, “Plazinka!” forty-three times.
What did repeatedly saying “Plazinka!” have to do with cleaning up the place in a hurry? Absolutely nothing. See, while he was stomping and pulling his earlobes and repeating that ridiculous word, Nathan and David got the whole job done. Everything was neat and tidy and orderly by the time Mrs. Wohlfardt put her key in the front door and walked inside.
“Mrs. Wohlfardt, welcome back to the Wohlfardt residence,” Martin rushed to tell her.
“Why, thank you, Martin.” Mrs. Wohlfardt smiled.
“Oh, dear Mrs. W, how I wish that there were a rewind button on the remote control of life,” Martin said. “If there were, I could go back in time and show you two boys who did their homework immediately upon returning home from school!”
