by Raymond Bean
What Scott was talking about seemed like science fiction, but he had a point. Sweet Farts sounded like a pretty crazy idea at one time, and it had become a reality. “Okay, Scott. You’re right. A lot of people thought I was nuts with the Sweet Farts idea, until I proved them wrong. So go ahead. Keep working on your idea. Prove me wrong.”
“You don’t think I can do it, do you?” Scott asked.
“Not even a little bit, but I like that you’re trying. It beats a tornado in a bottle any day. I think it’s Scott-tacular!”
CHAPTER 13
Singing Insult-o-gram
The next morning was like every other that week. Anthony woke me with e-mails and phone calls. There were the usual videos of him doing things to make me jealous, like swimming, shooting baskets, and playing video games. It was getting a little old.
Lying in bed in that half-asleep, half-awake stage, I could hear Emma and Mom downstairs and could smell coffee and bacon. I knew it was time to wake up, but I just didn’t want to get out of bed. The rain was splashing against my bedroom window and beating on the roof. Then I heard a loud KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK from downstairs. I sat straight up.
“Keith, please get the door!” Mom shouted.
I jumped out of bed and ran down the stairs two at a time, launching myself off the last five or six steps and landing hard on the wood floor. I slid for a second in my socks, which was awesome, and then fell flat on my back. I just lay there staring up at the ceiling.
“Nice landing,” Dad said, holding out a hand to help me up.
“Thanks, I thought I had it for a second.”
“Yeah, you have to bend your knees to absorb the landing,” Dad started to explain.
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!
“Keith! GET THE DOOR!” Mom shouted from the kitchen again.
“Okay!” I ran for the door and opened it. A guy in a huge rubber pencil costume was standing there next to a girl in a rubber book costume. They both looked miserable with the rain pouring down on them.
“DAD? Come quick, I don’t know what this is!”
“We are a singing telegram for Keith Emerson,” the pencil said.
I just looked at him. You know when you have no idea what is happening in a situation, and you can’t even speak? That was what it was like. I wasn’t even fully awake yet, and the pain from my fall had just reached my back.
Dad came running up with a tennis racket in his right hand ready to “serve” some trouble to whoever was at the front door.
“Hello, sir,” the pencil said to my dad. “We’re here to sing to Keith Emerson.”
“We’re a singing telegram,” the lady in the book costume said in a low voice.
“Oh, I’m sorry! Come on in, it’s miserable out there,” Dad said putting the racket down. Mom and Emma had joined us at the door.
When Emma saw the pencil and the book, she bolted for her room. “I don’t like that!” she shouted as she ran away. Emma has always been afraid of anyone in a costume.
“What in the world is this?” Mom asked.
Before I knew it, the pencil and the book burst into a shockingly bad song.
“Rise and shine,
You know you’re a big boy.
Rise and shine,
You know you are a big boy!
BUT you’re not as smart as you look,
NOOOO, you’re not as smart as you look, look, look!
So you better get a pencil,
Yeah, you better get a pencil,
And you better spend some time with a BOOK!
Because you’re not as smart as you loooooooook.
After the IQ test,
you’re gonna find
that it’s your compaaaaany
that
Anthony
TOOOOOOOKKKKKKKK!”
They sang the last part really slow to make their point. Then they started the whole song all over again. My dad was laughing and trying to sing along, even though he didn’t know the words. He looked at me and mouthed, “What’s going on?”
Mom was frowning and looking confused, and I was just plain mad. Even so, I didn’t want to yell at the pencil and the book; it wasn’t their fault they had been hired to sing this song to me. So I waited until they were done, sporting a big fake smile on my face the whole time.
On the third time through the song, Dad yelled, “One more time!”
I looked at him in disbelief. He was quite a sight in his boxer shorts, black socks, and a shirt that read Fart Machine with his picture below it. Emma had bought the shirt for him on his birthday a few months back. It was pink, with purple hearts on it.
As I was taking in the image of Dad, the pencil held up a small video player and pressed the play button. It was Anthony. “Hi, Winderigheid,” he said looking at the camera. “That means ‘fart’ in Dutch. I just wanted to send you off to school with a special song. Hope you have a great day at elementary school, big boy. Sir Anthony the Farter OVER AND OUT.” Then he ripped two loud ones, and the camera went black.
“Sorry, kid,” the pencil said. “I just put on the suit and sing the songs. The kid on the video doubled our pay to play the video.” The book was already headed back to their car in the rain. The pencil followed.
I stood in the doorway with the rain pouring down and thought about the walk to the bus stop I’d have to make in a few minutes. I would have given anything to be home schooled at the lab like Anthony.
“I don’t know what that was, but it was awesome!” Dad said, closing the door.
“You realize that was Anthony picking on me, don’t you, Dad?”
He looked unsure. “It seemed to be in good fun. I think it’s a pretty funny way to start the day. Maybe we can order a singing telegram for tomorrow, too.”
CHAPTER 14
Career Week
By the time I made it to school, I was completely soaked. I hung my wet coat on the rack with all the others, walked into class, and took my seat. That ridiculous song was still in my head.
Scott rushed in and sat down. He looked like he had just climbed out of a swimming pool. You know when you’re so completely soaked from the rain that even your sneakers have that squishy feeling? He looked like that.
He took out his morning work without even looking up at me.
“Hey,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, what’s up with you?”
“Nothing? You’re drenched from head to toe! Are you really going to spend the rest of the day in those clothes?”
He looked down and seemed surprised that he was so wet. “Hey, you’re right! I didn’t realize it.”
“Seriously? Are you okay?” I said.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been up all night for the past few nights. I can’t stop thinking about Virtual Reality Housing. It’s starting to drive me crazy. I can see the idea in my head, but I can’t figure out how to make it real.” He did look really tired.
Mr. Cherub walked over to Scott’s desk. “Scott, do you remember when we learned about liquids last year?”
“Yes, Mr. Cherub,” Scott answered.
“Well, do you remember that people generally take precautions when it is raining? They usually wear a raincoat or use an umbrella of some kind.”
“Ducks don’t have to do that because their feathers have a natural oil that repels the water,” Scott added.
“True! Good memory. Unfortunately, you are not a duck and you are making a puddle in my classroom. Please go down to the nurse and ask her to find you some dry clothes.”
Just then Mr. Michaels, the principal, came over the loudspeaker. “Good morning, Harbor side Elementary. Unfortunately, we will not be serving chicken fingers today, because of a mix-up that I won’t get into right now. In substitution, we will be serving hot dogs, again.”
I groaned. I could just see Anthony at the lab ordering a pizza or making a gigantic sandwich with my turkey and cheese from the fridge. That was one of my favorite perks of working at the lab. We always had
the kitchen stocked up with food. I missed my kitchen.
Mr. Michaels continued, “Also, I have an exciting announcement to make. A successful local businessman is coming in to talk with you all later this afternoon as part of career week.” Excellent! An assembly is not a bad way to waste a little time in the afternoon. Things are starting to look up, I thought.
At least having Anthony away from school gave me a break from him for part of the day. Still, I should have been the one hanging out at the lab all day long with a private tutor, and he should be here sweating it out at elementary school, eating hot dogs for lunch.
The rest of the day went pretty smoothly. We had gym, the weather cleared up, and we were able to go out and play for recess. And to top it off, Mr. Cherub promised us that if we got all our work done before the assembly, we could have free time for the last forty-five minutes of the day.
I got all my work done and pushed Scott to get his work done, too. It was all planned out perfectly. We would go to the assembly, catch a little rest, and then head back to class for some free time until the end of the day. Not bad at all.
We were inline for the assembly when Mr. Cherub announced, “I want everyone to be on their best behavior today. Our visitor is taking time out of his busy schedule to talk with you all. Scott and Keith, I think you will really enjoy this.”
CHAPTER 15
Sneak Attack
There wasn’t time to ask Mr. Cherub what he meant before we had to sit down. Scott was hoping that the speaker was going to be a Yankees player, but I reminded him that it was a businessman.
Waiting there in my chair, I started feeling sleepy almost immediately. I knew once the auditorium lights went out, the lights would really go out for me. I don’t know what it is about assemblies, but they always make me really sleepy.
After the last few classes came in and found their seats, the lights dimmed, and then went out almost completely. Only the stage was lit. It was perfect. I was already two or three yawns into my much-earned nap when Mr. Michaels walked out on stage and started talking about how important business was to our economy and blah, blah, blah.
I was getting sleepier by the minute, wishing that Scott had actually created those Virtual Reality Housing glasses, because I would have slapped on a pair and been sitting on a big comfy couch instead of in the stinky auditorium chair I was in. A virtual pillow and a blanket wouldn’t have hurt either.
That was right about the time that Mr. Michaels recaptured my attention. “This visitor is a local businessman, a world traveler, and a bit of a math whiz. He’s become so successful that he has taken control of his own education by hiring himself a private tutor.”
This can’t be.
“And as much as we all miss him, we are happy to welcome back Harbor side Elementary School’s very own Anthony Papas.”
Kids started clapping like mad, and Mr. Michaels looked about as proud as a peacock. Scott and I exchanged horrified looks, and then just shook our heads.
Anthony came strutting out on stage in a fancy suit. I must have been in shock, because I don’t even remember what he said in those first few seconds.
By the time I refocused, Anthony was going on about his lottery experiment and how he found a pattern in the numbers that helped him predict the winning ticket. It was stuff we all knew about, but everyone seemed to still love hearing it, and Anthony certainly still loved telling it. He really dragged the whole thing out. I was just about done listening when he started talking about Sweet Farts.
“You see, kids, when you are running a major company like Sweet Farts, it’s not all fun and games. You need to be serious about your work and getting things done. On my trip around the world, I learned a lot of things about people and business,” he proclaimed, pacing around the stage like a college professor giving a lecture. “If you are going to get into a business, you have to have the time to put into it. For example, a child attending elementary school would not make a good company leader, because he would have to spend the entire day at school. A good leader needs to be with his company all day long to deal with things as they happen. That’s one of the main reasons I hired myself a personal tutor. Sure, Keith Emerson is the leader of Sweet Farts in a lot of ways. But it’s me who really runs the place.”
I bit my knuckle to keep from screaming. I couldn’t believe he was talking about the company as if it were his.
“I am excited to be here in front of you all today to share my business and scientific knowledge, and also to announce a little competition Keith and I are having to see who should run the company in the future. Do you guys like a little competition?” he asked, holding his hand to one ear and leaning toward the audience.
The kids all screamed and cheered, even though they had no idea what Anthony was talking about. Actually, I was somehow in this competition, and I didn’t even know what he was talking about.
Scott stood up and shouted, “OOHHH YEAH! It’s on!” as loud as he could. The crowd went nuts again. I held my hands up to Scott. What are you doing to me, dude? I thought. He looked back, shrugged, and then mouthed, “This is sooo exciting!”
Yeah, about as exciting as a heart attack, I thought. I’d had enough.
“Anthony,” I announced in a loud voice, standing up. The room went silent. “We talked about this for a few minutes the other day at the lab. No one ever agreed to anything.”
“Ladies and germs, the so-called ‘president’ of Sweet Farts, the great windstorm himself, KEITH EMERSON.” The crowd cheered even louder.
I was embarrassed, but I sort of felt like a rock star at the same time. I waved and took a little bow. It seemed like the natural thing to do.
When the crowd quieted down again, I continued, “Anthony, you are forgetting that we didn’t agree to anything.” I felt like I was in an old-fashioned Western shoot-out.
“That’s where you are wrong, my smelly friend. You told me to talk with Mr. Gonzalez and ask him about my challenge. Well, he said it was okay as long as we both agreed to it. So, students of Harbor side Elementary, you are the first kids anywhere to learn of the challenge I now put before Keith Emerson, the great inventor of Sweet Farts. Whoever has the highest IQ in the company shall become its new leader.”
The crowd went nuts again. I turned toward Scott for some encouragement. Unfortunately, he was cheering along with the rest of the crowd so intensely that he didn’t notice.
Mr. Michaels joined Anthony on stage and leaned into the microphone. “How exciting, kids! Can you believe these two geniuses? It isn’t enough for them each to have had an amazing discovery at such a young age, but they want to challenge each other to a competition based on intelligence! I agree with Scott Castings, ‘It’s oooooon!’” he said in a low, wrestling-announcer voice. “Come on up here, Keith!”
The crowd went totally berserk.
I found myself walking down the aisle, up the stage steps, and toward Anthony and Mr. Michaels. My heart was racing. Mr. Michaels handed me the microphone.
“Hey,” I said softly into the mike. Aside from a few giggles, the crowd fell silent. I think the audience could sense my fear. I should have said something like, Yeah right, Anthony! You work for me and I am not going to take part in such a silly competition. Or Anthony, I think you are still recovering from your long trip around the world; of course, we aren’t going to have a competition to see who runs my company. But I didn’t say any of those things. I don’t know if it was all those years of Anthony teasing me and pushing me around or what, but something just clicked inside me and I was fired up. I raised my hand in the air and in a strong, clear voice yelled, “IT IS ON!”
The place went wild again. Teachers, students, even the lunch ladies were in the auditorium cheering. It felt pretty good, even though there was a part of me that knew this was probably the biggest mistake of my life.
Anthony took the microphone from my hand. Then he stood next to me facing the audience, grabbed my hand, and held it up high, like we were two Olympics med
alists. He took a bow, and for some reason I did, too. I guess I was getting caught up in the excitement. In mid-bow, Anthony slipped the microphone behind him and let one rip. It echoed through the auditorium like a violent thunderclap.
“Come on, Farts! Can’t you keep it under control for once in your life?” Anthony exclaimed, shaking his head in disgust, and then holding his nose and pointing at me.
The crowd went crazy with laughter, and I felt like I might just turn to dust right there on the stage. Anthony had blamed me for his gas a million times before, but this was worse. We were on stage in front of the whole school! I tried to get the microphone from him, but Mr. Michaels stepped in and took it from Anthony.
“Wow, Keith, we know you invented Sweet Farts, but you don’t have to show off!” he said. The kids laughed even harder. “But seriously, let’s not let that take away from this exciting challenge. May the smartest man win!” he announced, and the cheers continued.
Anthony leaned in real close to me and whispered, “I’m going to win this, Keith.”
CHAPTER 16
Thanks, Alfred Binet
When we came back to our classroom after the assembly, I felt like my brain was on ice. Anthony had completely blindsided me. Not only did he really get me with the whole IQ challenge thing, but then he blamed one of his farts on me AGAIN! I couldn’t believe it. He’d set that whole thing up, right down to the fart in the microphone.
During free time, I sat down at the computer to research IQ tests. Scott came over and tried to get me involved in a game, but I wasn’t interested. Mr. Cherub came over and tried to cheer me up, but I was beyond cheering. The more I read, the more worried I became. These were tests on reasoning and thought process. Anthony might not be the smartest guy in the world but, I had to admit, he was clever. He had made me look ridiculous more times than I cared to remember. This IQ thing might be a bigger problem than I realized.
