by Raymond Bean
School Is A Nightmare - Quadzilla (Books 1 - 4)
#1 First Week, Worst Week
#2 The Field Trip
#3 Shocktober
#4 Yuck Mouth And The Thanksgiving Miracle
Copyright © 2011 Raymond Bean
All rights reserved.
www.raymondbean.com
Other books by Raymond Bean
School Is A Nightmare Series
School Is A Nightmare #1 First Week, Worst Week
School Is A Nightmare #2 The Field Trip
School Is A Nightmare #3 Shocktober
School Is A Nightmare #4 Yuck Mouth And The Thanksgiving Miracle
School Is A Nightmare - Quadzilla (Books 1 - 4) Special Edition
Sweet Farts Series
Sweet Farts #1
Sweet Farts #2 Rippin’ It Old School
Sweet Farts #3 Blown Away
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School Is A Nightmare - Quadzilla (Books 1 - 4)
#1 First Week, Worst Week
#2 The Field Trip
#3 Shocktober
#4 Yuck Mouth And The Thanksgiving Miracle
1
I’m Too Busy For School
If you ask me, school’s a nightmare. I know you probably think your school is pretty bad, but trust me, it’s nothing compared to mine. The biggest problem I have with mine is I don’t want to be there. I’m a busy guy. There are about a trillion other things I’d rather be doing with my time.
My mom always says, “You’d be bored out of your mind if you didn’t go to school during the day.” She’s wrong. If I didn’t have to go to school, I’d be free to pursue my many hobbies, such as mastering my favorite video games, relaxing on the couch, playing sports, riding my bike, skateboarding, making cartoons, playing computer games, watching TV (yeah, I consider it a hobby), and so many more. I’ve already got too many interests to waste my time with school.
Unfortunately for me, Mom was in full-blown back-to-school mode earlier than ever this year. All summer long she was talking about my class list and all the things she needed to buy from the store. Every time she brought school up, I covered my ears and started to hum. “Don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “You’re destroying my summer bliss.”
It never worked, of course, because both of my sisters absolutely love school. They’re even worse than my mom. About three weeks before school was scheduled to start, on a beautiful summer Wednesday, they were arguing over who could look at the back-to-school supply catalog from the office supply store. I’m talking about a full-on tug-of-war and tears over who got to look at the new folders and notebooks on sale!
If it were up to me, I’d show up to school on the first day with nothing but my snack, my lunch, and a football to play at recess. I also wouldn’t mind a pillow so I could sleep through the boring parts. The problem, of course, is it’s not up to me. I’m still a kid, and when you’re a kid, you just have to suck it up.
2
Shoes
The thought of going school shopping causes me major stress. I’m not a fan. When we go shopping for shoes, it’s not a ten-minute trip to the store. It’s hours and hours of shopping. It’s never just one store. It’s always lots of stores. The reason it takes so long is the girls take up most of the day deciding on their shoes. They don’t get just one pair of sneakers. They get sandals, open toe, closed toe, rain boots (which must have a matching jacket), regular boots, slip-ons, slip-offs, and the list goes on.
I pride myself on picking a pair in under five seconds. If you can’t pick a pair of sneakers in under five seconds, you’re thinking too hard. The way I do it is I walk up to the boys’ section and scan the wall once and only once. The pair that jumps out at me is the pair I pick. There is no second-guessing, no wondering if I should pick the pair next to it—no, one pick, one time, and done! I bet if I was on my own I could be out the door and wearing my new shoes in under two minutes.
But the girls and Mom have to talk about which pair they think is right for me. This year, I picked out a pair of regular skate sneakers. They were black with neon green on the bottom. They were comfortable, and they were cool. Of course, my sister had to tell Mom that William who lives down the street from us had the same pair in the spring and sprained his ankle.
“He sprained his ankle because he jumped off a six-foot-high loading dock behind the supermarket,” I told Becky, who’s ten and only a year older than me, but acts like my second mother. But the damage was done. I could see the worry on Mom’s face.
“Why don’t we try something else?” she said. “How about these?” she said holding up a pair of solid white sneakers that looked like they were made fifty years ago.
“No way, Mom,” I said.
Becky and Mindy gave each other this sneaky little smile that told me they were out to convince Mom to buy me the lame sneakers. Mindy said, “Those are cool, Mom.” Mindy is eleven, but thinks she’s a teenager.
“They are pretty awesome,” Becky added.
“Mom, they’re messing with me. They don’t think those sneakers are cool,” I said.
“Girls, are you trying to help or make this harder than it has to be?” Mom asked.
The girls looked at Mom with their sweetest smiles and told her they just wanted to help. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if Justin sprained his ankle wearing the same shoes that William was wearing?” Becky said.
“Or worse!” Mindy added. “What if he broke his neck!” She winked at me as she said it.
Mom is always worried about me breaking my neck. No matter what it is that I do, she always says, “Please be careful, Justin. I don’t want you breaking your neck.”
I would understand if she knew a whole bunch of people who had actually broken their necks, but she doesn’t know any.
Mom said, “They look pretty sturdy. Put them on for me. Let’s have a look.”
I told her I didn’t want to try them on, but it was too late. In her mind, it was a matter of safety. The cool sneakers were dangerous, and the white ones were going to keep me safe. I tied them up hoping she’d change her mind.
“I like them,” the girls said at the same time.
“I do too,” Mom added. “They have a nice strong heel. They make you look taller.”
I took a few steps. They did make me taller. The heel was much bigger than on normal sneakers. “Mom,” I said, “I think these are too high. I feel like I might break my neck in them.”
“Nice try, Justin. These are perfect. I like the high heel. You look very sturdy on your feet.”
I wondered what that even meant. How did I look sturdy on my feet? “Mom, I really feel a little wobbly in these,” I said. “It’s like I’m on stilts.” I wasn’t kidding. They were much higher than my old ones, and I kept dragging the bottoms on the ground.
“Justin, these are safer. I need to know you’re safe. You said yourself that you don’t care what pair you get. So I’m picking this pair for you. It’s the safest pair here.”
She put the pair of bright white ones in the cart and said, “We’re getting these, Justin. I can’t take the risk of you breaking your neck wearing those crazy trickster sneakers.”
3
Supply List
Shopping for the school supply list is the purest form of torture. Unfortunately, there’s no getting around this cruel ritual. Mom always takes us bright and early in the morning on the last Monday before school starts. You know how you hear about these people who go shopping at four in the mornin
g so they can get the best shopping deals around the holidays? My mom does it with school supplies.
The store doesn’t open until nine thirty on Monday, but she takes us all to breakfast at seven, and then it’s a quick trip to the supermarket that’s right next door to the office supply place. She’s usually done with her shopping around nine, and then we wait at the front door of the store until it opens.
This year it was raining a little bit. “Come on, Mom,” I said, “this is crazy. We’re standing in the rain so we can save a few bucks on folders!”
“You know full well that today is one-cent folder day. One-cent folder day happens once a year, and since you all need at least five folders each, I’ll save about fifteen dollars on just the folders. Who knows how much I’ll save on the other deals?”
“Relax, Justin,” Becky said.
“You’re so unappreciative,” Mindy added. They shook their heads at me, and Mindy whispered loud enough for all of us to hear, “Unbelievable!”
“Give me a break, Mindy,” I said. “You wouldn’t be all smiles if we were on line for something I wanted to do, like go to a football game or something.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t be all smiles if I was on line for a football game because football is ridiculous and violent. Waiting on line with my mother so she can buy my school supplies is a privilege,” Mindy said.
“Seriously! Do you know how many kids in the world don’t have any school supplies?” Becky chimed in.
We argued back and forth until the doors opened. This year, Mom was calmer than usual. It was as if she had accepted that we would argue on school supply list day. All she cared about was getting those one-cent folders. She didn’t seem to mind if her one and only son was tortured in the process.
By the time the doors opened, there was a line of women waiting to get in the door. I noticed most of them had the sense to leave their kids at home. Only the truly crazy people were there as a family.
Once we were inside, Mom gave us each our own list, a highlighter, and a cart. “This year,” she said, “you’re going to do your own school supply list shopping. You’re all old enough to read the list and pick your own supplies now, so, you’re on your own. I’ll be waiting in the front of the store if you have any problems.”
“This is soooo awesome!” Becky said.
“I know. It’s like we’re in college and we’re living on our own,” Mindy yelped.
They scurried off so fast that if they had been driving cars, the tires would have screeched.
I didn’t move. “Aren’t you going to go and get your supplies?” Mom asked.
“No,” I said, “I don’t want to.”
“Justin, you have to get your supplies so you’re ready on the first day.”
“I don’t want to be ready on the first day. I want to take this list and light it on fire.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say. Do you know how many kids around the world don’t even have the chance to go to school?”
“Yes, I do. I wish I could give one of them my spot. In fact, I think we should do that. You’re always telling us about the importance of giving. What better gift than to give a child in need the gift of education? Can’t we e-mail the president and tell him I’m volunteering my spot?”
“That’s very sweet, but then you wouldn’t learn anything.”
“Mom,” I said, being as serious as I possibly could, “I know enough. I know how to read, I know how to write, and I know how to use Google! What else do I need to know?”
“You’re being ridiculous. Please go pick out your supplies.”
“I think we should call the White House. Think about it, the story of a boy sacrificing his education for someone less fortunate. It’s beautiful!” I said. “You might even get to meet Oprah!”
“Justin, I’m losing my patience,” she said.
I could tell she had lost her sense of humor and that I was pushing my luck. I wasn’t kidding, though. It would be amazing if I could actually give my education away to some other kid. I’d pay the kid to go to school for me if I had the chance. If I gave my education to some needy kid, all the moms would be gushing over me and telling me what an amazing person I am. Oprah would probably give me a bunch of money, season tickets to the Jets, and I could write a book about how awesome I am.
I was picturing it all in my head when Mom shouted, “Go get your supplies!”
4
Clothes
After surviving supplies, I was about ready to hitchhike my way to Canada. In the movies, whenever some guy is trying to hide out so no one ever finds him, he heads for Mexico. I always thought that was kind of foolish because you need to know Spanish in Mexico. Since I don’t speak Spanish, when I hit the road, I’m headed for Canada. They speak English and love hockey. It’s perfect for me.
Mom always loves to tackle back-to-school clothes the day after back-to-school supplies day. It’s always a Tuesday, the last day before school starts. She says there are great deals on the last day because everyone else has already done their shopping.
This year I was only about fifty bucks short for a bus ticket to Canada. Maybe next year I’ll head for the border when I have enough money. I’d rather let my sisters throw darts at me from close range than go back-to-school clothes shopping on the last day of the summer.
It always takes my sisters about a hundred and fifty thousand years to pick out everything, from sweaters to socks. They try on so many things they might as well just go into the store and take everything off the rack and drag it to the dressing room. Instead, they take one thing off the rack at a time. They try it on, look in the mirror, decide they don’t like it, and go off to get something else. By the time they’re done, the dressing rooms look like a tornado touched down. And one of them always ends up crying. It usually happens somewhere between picking out their jeans and their dresses. Sometimes it’s because they both want the same thing. It’s endless, and I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.
This year I brought along Night of the Space Face for my game system to play while I waited. The game was brand new, I’d never played it before, and I was able to beat the entire game before they finished shopping! At one point, around two in the afternoon, I thought I might start crying, but I think I fainted instead.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” my mother said when I told her that we’d been in the store so long that I didn’t think my friends would recognize me when I got home.
“Stop it,” she scolded, “girls need more time to pick out their clothes. You should be happy you’re a boy.”
“I am,” I said confidently. “I’m just not happy I’m a boy with two sisters. We’ve been in here so long, I need a shave,” I tried to get Mom to feel my face for facial hair.
“Give me a break, Justin. You’re going to want just as much time when we get to the boys’ section.”
“No, I won’t. Not if you let me pick my own stuff like you did with the supplies. Just give me the list, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“Okay,” she said. “When the girls are done, you can pick out your own clothes this year.”
I couldn’t believe it. I’ll have us out of here in no time, I thought.
When the girls were finally done, we went to the boys’ section. I spent exactly twelve minutes picking out my clothes. I timed it. We walked in at 3:42 and were on line at 3:54. It was a personal record, and I was as happy as a clam standing on line with my pile of clothes. I couldn’t wait to get home and was thinking about meeting up with the guys on the block for a game of hockey, when Becky said, “All his clothes are the same color.”
My mom, who was perfectly content to let me pick my own stuff for once in my life, decided to take a closer look.
“She’s right, Mom. All his clothes are green,” Mindy said.
“I like green,” I said. “I don’t mind, and neither should all of you. You said I could pick my own stuff, Mom.”
“Oh no, mister,” Mom said. “You can’t wear al
l green every day.”
“It’s not all green, Mom. I just picked out a bunch of things that I like.”
“Honey, everything you picked is Jets clothes.”
“I know,” I said. I don’t see what’s wrong with supporting my team every day, I thought.
“You can’t wear Jets clothes every day,” Mom said. The girls were snickering behind her.
“Mom, I’m old enough to decide what to wear each day. Let me get this stuff. Please!”
“I can’t allow this, honey. I’ll tell you what. You can pick out one Jets shirt, and then we can get you a green collared shirt and…”
She lost me at collared shirt. I knew once the collared shirt was in the mix, my battle was lost. I could resist all I wanted. The girls and Mom were about to dress me just like they had every year before. I was about to get collared shirts, striped shirts, tight jeans, colored socks, and boxer shorts that looked like they were made for a nine-hundred-year-old man. I was like one of those dress-up dummies they use at the clothing stores, only miserable.
“We’re going to make you look fabulous,” Mindy said.
“You’re gonna love it,” Becky added. She had some kind of clip in her mouth. She loves those fashion reality shows where they make clothes. They always walk around with clips in their mouths while they’re making the clothes. I don’t know where she got it.
“No, I’m not!” I argued.
It was too late. They were dragging me off to the dressing room. “Mom, help,” I pleaded, looking back at her.
“Remember, he gets to pick one Jets shirt, girls,” she reminded.
I tried to resist, but my sisters are surprisingly strong.
5
Back-to-School Eve
The last few days of summer vanish before your eyes like the sand through an hour-glass. One day the summer feels like it will go on forever, and the next, it’s what I like to call “Back-to-School Eve.” In my opinion, Back-to-School Eve is the scariest night of the year.
