by Anne Kalicky
Then the principal demanded:
“The students responsible for this tasteless joke must turn themselves in by the end of the day or you will all be forbidden from attending the big party for the English pen pals at the end of their stay.”
That was the punishment for our class, but I’m sure the principal had loads more in his head for the entire school. . . .
The bell rang, and as soon as we left the classroom, I went over to Tom. I realized that this old slug had dialed a cell phone number! Huge mistake—everyone knows it’s way easier to trace a call from a cell phone. We hesitated to turn ourselves in, since this party could be HE ONLY CHANCE IN MY LIFE to get closer to Naïs and maybe even ask her to dance.
I wound up convincing Tom to go see the principal with me.
We explained to him that we’d made the calls because Mrs. Boulet, the French teacher, had advised us to improve our dramatic skills, which was a total lie. The principal grumbled an endless lecture—like usual—on the importance of respect, values, and “all that jazz,” as my dad would say. Then he wanted us to call the lady back and apologize. He had written her number down on a slip of paper but couldn’t find it. Our lucky break! He’d lost it. We escaped with only a note for our parents and a paper to write on the question, “Does too much joking kill the fun?”
As I was leaving, I noticed a piece of paper on the ground. On it was written the woman’s number. I picked it up discreetly and put it in my pocket. On the way home, this stupid joke and the poor family deprived of vacations kept running through my mind.
When I got home, I looked up her address and pulled the shoebox out of my closet to take stock of my savings. There wasn’t much left since I bought the cane for Lisa. . . . Then I got an envelope ready, put all of my money inside, added a note, and I left to go mail the package.
Wednesday
This morning a guy came and took away the phone booth. . . .
Monday
The students from England arrived last night and . . . Conrad was with them. (He’s sleeping right now, so I’m taking the opportunity to tell you about the first day.)
Mr. Schmitt and Mrs. Boulauche had told us to meet in the parking lot of the local stadium and stressed that we all had to be ON TIME. But we ended up waiting for the bus for two hours. The English class was coming from Hastings, in the south of England. They’d spent eight hours marinating in two buses and one boat, and let’s just say they weren’t smelling fresh when they arrived. Mr. Schmitt welcomed them, and then after talking with Mr. Smith they started dividing up the students.
Conrad was a lot bigger than I’d imagined, and at first—from the front—it looked like he’d cut his hair . . . but it was actually in a ponytail! Each pen pal took his or her bag, and each one of us took our partner.
When Conrad got to my house, I brought him to my room and tried to start a conversation. But I have to admit, my average in English is close to a D, and I’m pretty sure his French wasn’t any better.
Then he unpacked his stuff—I’d been considerate enough to give him a little space in my dresser—and he pulled some little jars of homemade jelly from his bag. He gave one to me and then went to pass out the others to the rest of the family. I was afraid that dinner was going to be an epic failure, but fortunately, once we sat down, my dad monopolized all of the conversation. He thought it was a good opportunity to practice his English.
Tuesday
I slept horribly last night. Since Conrad was coming, my mom and dad went to AllSports to buy an inflatable mattress, like one for camping. That thing made a terrible racket every time Conrad turned over. It squeaked so much that I dreamt there was a pig in my room.
We found Tom and Wilson in the secret passage and went to school. The inscription “The Redcoats are coming” was still there—nothing had changed. Tom explained to them that it was a kind of “welcome sign,” made by the city’s famous anonymous graffiti artist. Wilson and Conrad seemed really impressed. Raoul wanted to bring Alison on his bike, but because of the weight of two people, his chain came off and they had to finish on foot. Conrad came with me to my classes all day long. In the beginning, he wouldn’t let me out of his sight. Clingier than an orangutan. He wouldn’t stop talking to me and asking all sorts of questions about the school:
“Where is the cantine?” and “Where is your class?” and “Mrs. Boulauche, it’s a funny name, isn’t it?” and “Do you have a stylo for me?” and “The weather is too bad,” and blah blah blah . . . all of it in English, in a totally INCOMPREHENSIBLE accent.
Frankly, he didn’t really try to make himself understood, and that put the pressure on me! I ended up finding tricks to avoid him: I stayed locked in the bathroom stall for all of recess; during lunch I sat at the first table with only one seat left; and during biology, when we had to team up with our pen pals to dissect a rabbit’s foot that smelled like cheese, I ran to the nurse’s office and declared that I was an active member of the AARDA (Albino Angora Rabbit Defense Association) and that I was abstaining from participating in such a slaughter.
I think Conrad took his role as a pen PAL a little bit too much to heart. But at home I was stuck. . . .
I’m going to ask him to play Zombieland 2 to pass the time.
Wednesday
Today Mr. Schmitt and Mrs. Boulauche took us to see the Eiffel Tower. As soon as we got there, Mr. Schmitt wanted to flip a coin to decide whether we were going to take the stairs or the elevator. Louison Toinou said “tails” for the elevator, and it fell on heads. . . . On top of that, in order to impress the English kids, Mr. Schmitt had chosen tickets for the very top.
. . . I honestly thought Enzo Danleau was going to kick the bucket. He kept puffing on his inhaler every twenty steps, and he was as red as a tomato. Conrad DID NOT stop taking pictures: the Eiffel Tower as seen from below, as seen from above, zoomed in on the bolts, the view from the top, the view from the bottom. He even took a selfie. Raoul acted like a hotshot in front of Alison. Damien Chico and the idiots were also showing off in front of Diana, Naïs’s pen pal. They kept bowing in front of her and yelling, “Your Majesty, Your Majesty.”
But Raoul didn’t appreciate the fact that they were trying to one-up his “flirting” schemes. So he tripped Damien, who fell and almost ended up as flat as a crepe hundreds of feet below. Too bad for Raoul, since Mr. Schmitt wasn’t far and noticed their little game. Raoul had to recite his six double-sided pages on the history of Mr. Eiffel and his inventions for the World Expo in 1889 that the principal assigned to him . . . all of it in English. Since he has a brain the size of a pea, that doesn’t leave him a lot to work with.
Tom and I were really happy to be there—it was something different from the four walls of our middle school. Then we went back down and had a picnic in a park not far away. My mom had made us some supposedly “healthy and balanced” sandwiches . . . made with jelly and cucumbers. She must’ve been trying to make Conrad happy—or at least get rid of one of the little jars—but I have to say it was disgusting.
Conrad and I looked at each other, and we threw the sandwiches in the trash. Luckily, we had salt and vinegar chips . . . I have a serious weakness for salt and vinegar chips. Classes were already over by the time we got back to school.
Oh! Dear future human, I forgot to tell you that Conrad is crazy good at Zombieland 2! So I invited Tom and Wilson to come over and play a round. Conrad and Wilson showed us loads of tips and tricks to win more food, to get more lives, to avoid being bitten by the living dead, to build a fortress in case of a pandemic, and to take out zombies. We went from level three to level five in no time.
Saturday
Sorry I’ve been gone for two whole days—I was making the most of them to play Zombieland 2 with Conrad. It was an opportunity I couldn’t mi
ss! First, Conrad helped me get to level nine (my ultimate dream) and, second, my parents left us totally alone because they were convinced that my “friendship” with Conrad was beneficial for my English. On the other hand, I think that the only phrase Conrad learned in French is “I demolished you, old slug!”
We found out the so-called party organized by the middle school for the English pen pals is nothing but a little “get-together”! I should have known. Teachers are first-class con artists! Dear future human, one thing’s for sure: they’ll never get me to turn myself in to the principal again for a simple get-together.
Evidently, Enzo Danleau wasn’t allowed to go out that late, because Garry came by himself. At first I thought it was fun to be at school on a Saturday night, but Mr. Schmitt, Mr. Smith, and Mrs. Boulauche couldn’t come up with anything better for us to do than have a “garbage garb” competition. It’s this totally ridiculous game where you get into teams and the teachers give you big trash bags filled with recycled junk: empty cans, egg containers, toilet paper, tape, etc. Each team has to create a costume for one of its randomly assigned members and then parade him or her in front of a jury. . . . I found myself on a team with Naïs and Diana, Louison and Jane, Emma and Kim, and Lise and Tracy. Basically, except for Conrad, I was the only boy on my team. Still, guess which sucker was picked to be dressed up? Well, duh, ME! On the other teams Titouan, Rami, Wilson, and . . . Raoul were the lucky ones chosen for trash duty.
As soon as Mr. Schmitt gave the signal, I found myself surrounded by a hoard of overexcited girls who, in less than five seconds, had already slipped a trash bag over me (of course making sure they didn’t suffocate me while putting my head inside)! Then they decorated my head with toilet paper. They made all sorts of things, like bracelets with paper towel rolls that they glued together. . . . Conrad couldn’t do anything to protect me; he was forced to pass them scissors, glue, and anything they needed to make me look ridiculous. Naïs was laughing the most. . . . I didn’t know what to make of that. Anyway, I was totally stuck. Once finished, they all seemed pleased with the result.
When I turned around, I could finally see what everyone else looked like!
Rami pretended to chase the other students and bite them, but because he’s such a klutz, he tripped on his trash bag cape and had to end his night in the emergency room.
Raoul was apparently really proud of his costume, especially since it was a lot less ridiculous than mine. But Wilson’s costume was by far the best! He won the “garbage garb” contest hands down. Then we snacked on what everyone had brought. The principal came “expressly” to give a never-ending speech thanking the English students for coming and telling them how we would all be “exceedingly delighted” to come and see them in England next year. Then my dad came to get Conrad and me. Evidently, when I got home, I was still wearing the trash bag, and, of course, in the hallway I passed Marion, who exploded with laughter.
Conrad and I escaped to my room. I was fuming. This evening was a total disaster; I made an absolute fool of myself in front of Naïs, and Marion—SHE’S SO ANNOYYYYYING! Conrad could see that things were not going well, so he told me that his big sister was even more “boooooring!” Then he went to the kitchen and came back with another big trash bag. He cut out a hole and put it on like me. Then he started jumping on the squeaky mattress and yelling, “boooooring!” “boooooring!” “boooooring!” I did the same—it blew off some steam, and we had a good laugh! Conrad heads back home tomorrow morning. We promised to send each other texts and emails. I won’t go as far as to say that I’ll miss him, but it wasn’t half as bad as I’d imagined.
Sunday
Dear future human,
For the last ten days I have been on spring break, but guess what? We couldn’t go to Grandpa Joff and Grandma Ragny’s this year for the simple reason that they decided to “treat themselves” to a “little vacation” to Africa . . . no big deal!
And to think that I was the one who was beginning to find our vacations in Brittany boring!
Instead we stayed home. After the whole unfortunate incident with my math homework sticking to the inside of the car windshield (and after my last report card), my parents had decided to make me do some extra work to “catch up.” One night my mom came home from the lab with a surprise.
I thought that she’d brought me a book of Pietro stickers, because I saw the word “goal” on the cover, but no!
Luckily, I found out that all of the answers were in the back of the book. I jumped right into it, making sure to show my intense focus, and finished the workbook in two days . . . and my mom didn’t suspect a thing.
Wednesday
Dear future human,
To be honest, school has felt empty since Conrad and all the other pen pals left. It’s back to painful reality for me.
After the dance night turned out to be just a little “get-together,” Raoul Kador decided to spare no expense and set things straight. This morning he gathered the entire class in the courtyard to tell everyone he was organizing a HUGE PARTY at his house at the end of June. Well, at least you could say his announcement wasn’t last-minute. . . .
But this was another one of his nasty stunts.
Basically, he told us that all of the girls were automatically invited but that us boys had to take a series of tests to have THE RIGHT to come. Then he took out a large paper with all of the trials, and I realized it wasn’t going to be a piece of cake.
Raoul explained that, because he was “so generous,” he was going to give us at least two weeks to practice, so we could stack all the odds in our favor to complete the tasks and come to his party. Dear future human, you must think I’m pretty pathetic—and under normal circumstances you’d be right. Ordinarily, I would never allow myself to be reduced to such blackmail . . . but Naïs will be there! I’d already missed my chance to get closer to her at the “big party” with the English students. No way I’d miss this one too.
First party + Naïs = Guaranteed super night
Also, I don’t think I really have a choice.
Monday
In the middle of Mrs. Boulet’s class, Raoul Kador passed me a note to give to Célia to give to Naïs. Just my luck—Mrs. Boulet caught me and took the piece of paper. Then she read it to the entire class.
The class howled with laughter. I wasn’t just roasted; I was burnt to a crisp. In the hallway, Raoul and his clique made little hearts with their fingers at me. Raoul is really starting to tick me off, and I don’t want to take his stupid test. . . . Suddenly, Tom had a brilliant idea. He remembered this old TV show, HypnotiK. People in the audience let themselves be hypnotized by this guy who waved all sorts of talismans under their noses while really intense music played in the background.
It seemed to really work, because apparently this guy made people do everything: eat grass-hoppers, imitate a pig rolling in mud . . . and he only had to snap his fingers for the people to wake up. One time, though, Tom heard on the news that a guy was hypnotized at home in front of his television as he watched the show. His wife, his kids, and the emergency services all tried to wake him—but they couldn’t. The next day, he disappeared into the woods. An entire search party went looking for him, but the guy was nowhere to be found. Then the news went on to something else, and we never learned what happened to him.
And so the great idea is:
WE HAVE TO FIND A WAY TO
HYPNOTIZE RAOUL!
With a little luck, no one will be able to wake him up, and he’ll disappear into the woods FOREVER. Either way, Tom and I were game to give it a try. We had nothing left to lose.
Wednesday
This morning when Tom and I were going to school, we passed by the secret passage and HYPNOTIK was written on the wall. . . . W
e were completely freaked out. Tom quickly pulled me away toward the library, because we were on a mission: become professional hypnotists and get rid of Raoul. We only found a workbook with exercises for self-hypnosis. But at least it was a start.
We went home, and I started by practicing on Tom. It was really technical! You had to do personality tests, take an “introspective” quiz. . . . Pfff! What a pain. Then we went and typed “hypnosis session” in my dad’s computer, but what we found on the Internet wasn’t at all like TV. For starters, there wasn’t a video—just a static image of a black-and-white spiral with totally depressing music playing in the background. The hypnotist, who had a terrible Southern accent, told us to hold out our hands and bring them closer and closer together as if they were magnetic.
At first we tried to play along, but the “video” lasted over a half an hour. We turned it off and went to sleep.
Then I woke up to Tom calling me Pietro, like my favorite football player. He was begging me for an autograph and wanted to take a selfie with me. I thought that the hypnosis worked on him, and I was totally spooked.
