“Well, well – how’s it all going?” Boomer elbows her way to the front of the circle. Gosh, she takes up a lot of room. “Getting late, you know. After nine o’clock. You younger campers will have to be getting back to your cabins.”
Muted rustling from the circle of green and yellow.
Boomer’s eyebrows go up as she looks at the table. “So, this is the big hand, hey? Are the team captains here? Oh, there you are, Trixie, I didn’t see you behind all the poker chips! And Zinta. Good. Seems like this year’s games day depends on Alan and Oliver.”
I weigh the bag of chips in my hand. Calculator – it’s impossible to think of him as Oliver – says nothing. Boomer waddles away. “I’ll be in the kitchen if anyone wants me,” she says over her shoulder.
Trixie’s on her feet, glaring across the table at Zinta. And Zinta is glaring right back.
“You can’t buy the hand, Trixie, the way you buy everything else.” Zinta crashes her fist onto the table. The stacks of chips quiver.
“Careful, dear!” says Trixie. “You know how violent you can be!”
The growling goes around the circle ring. There are a few counselors around. They seem uncomfortable. “Um, let’s go,” says the referee. “Alan, do you want to bet or fold?”
– On Jupiter, says Norbert, I’d fold this hand like linguine!
“Huh?”
– Do I mean linguine? You know what I mean.
“No, I don’t.” I don’t have to look at my hand again. I slide the bag of chips into the center of the table.
“Call,” I say.
Silence.
– Origami, says Norbert. That’s the word. Linguine is something else.
So what does he have? The room is silent as Calculator turns over his cards one at a time. “Three jacks …,” he says. There’s an exhalation from the crowd. “… and two tens.” His fingers are trembling.
There’s his full house! A good hand. A really good hand. Wow. His jacks are worth more than my fours.
The crowd surges forward.
“Ha-ha!” crows Trixie. Her jaw stretches out when she laughs. It elongates her face, making her look even more, well, horsey.
“Can you beat it?” Zinta demands. “Can you beat the full house, Alan? Can you?”
Again, silence. Christopher and the nurse are part of the crowd. I look away. I can’t deal with that now. Eric and Derek are standing side by side, frowning anxiously, fists raised to shoulder level, willing me to win.
I’m surprised to see that my hand is shaking too. This really matters to me. I take a deep breath to calm myself, and smile up at Trixie. It’s Calculator’s hand, but it’s Trixie I want to beat. She’s the one who punched me. “I have two pair –” I begin.
“What?” interrupts Zinta from behind me. “Were you bluffing?”
Trixie’s face puckers. “Two pair? Ha!”
“-of fours,” I finish.
“Two pair of …” They’re working it out. I turn over my hand. Four fours. And a queen, but who cares? Four fours is great. I was hoping for a full house, but I did even better.
The crowd reacts like a big wave hitting the pier, leaping high, their shouts raining down on us. “Lumberjacks win!” cries Zinta, shaking me back and forth from behind. “We win! Way to go, Alan!”
Calculator sags forward onto the table. Trixie turns white beneath her tan. She gasps for breath. “Ahh!” she cries, shaking her long head back and forth, blowing out with her lips like a motor boat. No, not a motor boat. More like a …
– Whoa, Misty! Norbert makes a very convincing whinnying noise.
Yeah, that’s it. More like a horse.
“You!” says Trixie.
– Long mane and horseshoes, we win and YOU LOSE!
Trixie lunges forward and grabs me by the throat.
– Oh, no, you don’t! shouts Norbert. You are going DOWN! Come on, Lumberjacks!!
I hear a confused roaring from all over. Without using my hands, I break Trixie’s hold on my throat. My head snaps up towards her as if it’s spring-loaded. I drift between sleeping and waking, this world and some other one.
I’m back in the garage, at the space shuttle launch, staring at the mirrored helmet of the second astronaut. I lift my left eyebrow and so does my reflection. But that’s wrong. In the mirror I’d be lifting my right eyebrow. I take a clumsy step back. And I realize the second astronaut is me. I’m watching myself board a spaceship. So who’s the other astronaut in the garage – the one hopping ahead of me? I take another clumsy step. The space suit is so awkward.
The other astronaut turns around.
– Remember I said that one of these days I might ask you for help? says a familiar voice.
It takes Boomer and the counselors more than half an hour to clear up the riot in the dining hall. That’s what Boomer calls it: a riot. She’s angry. No one’s seriously hurt, but there are an incredible number of contusions, abrasions, bruises, cuts, and scrapes. Dr. Callous and the nurse are run off their feet, patching and wrapping, poking and stitching well into the night. The infirmary looks like a small-scale version of that scene in Gone with the Wind, with the wounded spread out in all directions.
Did I say there were no serious injuries? Well, none except Christopher’s. His ankle was crushed in the rumpus. He has to go to the hospital in Peterborough for X rays and maybe to have a pin put in.
One by one the campers leave the infirmary to go back to their cabins. Boomer stands grimly in the doorway. “I hope you’re sorry for the way you behaved!” she says, as the yellow and green shirts leave. Or, “You deserve your sprained wrist!” or, more often, “I’m surprised at you!” No one has a comeback. Boomer is right, and they all know it.
The campers come over to say good-bye to me and Victor, when they find out we’ll be leaving tonight. Boomer made the phone call to Cobourg. “I told your mom she could come and pick you up tomorrow, but she wanted to come right now.”
“My mom said that?” I ask. Doesn’t sound like her.
“I was talking to Mrs. Grunewald. She misses you, Victor.”
He rolls his eyes.
“You guys should come to camp here next summer,” says one of the Trailblazers. There’s blood on his T-shirt, and his hand is bandaged. “This was the best games day ever!”
The Owls and Beavers shake my hand on the way out. “Thanks, Alan,” says Eric. “You won the games for us. You are one heckuva player.”
No one has ever said that to me before.
The doctor spends more time on Trixie than anyone else. She is one of the last to go. The counselors found her on the floor of the dining hall, underneath a pile of bodies, with her hands over her face. Now her nose is packed with cotton, and she breathes through her open mouth. She comes out of the treatment room and marches up to Boomer.
“You wait until I tell my daddy –” she starts.
“Be quiet!” The CAMP DIRECTOR button on Boomer’s hat jiggles in indignation. “I spoke to your father already, Trixie. He’s as disappointed in you as I am. I still can’t understand how you – a senior girl, a camp leader – could have started this riot.”
“It wasn’t me!” screams Trixie. With her packed nose, it sounds like she has a cold. Id wazid be! I look away, so I won’t laugh. “It wasn’t my fault. It was the new guy – Alan. He started it.”
“What do you mean, Trixie? Everyone says you grabbed him first. And Zinta was –”
“Zinta? ZINTA?” Of course it comes out ZID-DA? Trixie is mad enough to spit nickels.
Zinta is sitting with me and Victor. Trixie glares at her. “Just wait til next year, you trash!” she says.
Dext year.
“Go to your cabin, Trixie,” says Boomer. “Don’t threaten anyone. I doubt we’ll even have a games day next year!”
Trixie goes out, slamming the door.
Zinta’s unhurt, except for a scrape on her arm, from pulling me out of a pileup of bodies. She crosses the room, puts her hand on the camp director�
��s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Boomer,” she says. “I’m glad Alan beat Trixie at cards, and I’m glad we won the games. But I didn’t want any of the rest of this.”
“I know, dear,” says Boomer.
Zinta thanks us both again. “I’ll never travel without a safety pin, Victor,” she tells him. He blushes and looks away. “And I’ll never forget that last hand, Alan. What a player!” She takes something out of her pocket and flattens it on the table. “Would you … sign my Master Tripper Scroll?” she asks.
What can I say? “Sure.” I sign. She shakes my hand. I stare up into her face.
“Hey, your eyes are brown!” I say. “Dark brown, like maple syrup. I never noticed anyone else’s eyes before.”
She smiles uneasily, and releases my hand.
The ambulance arrives for Christopher. It’s a two hour trip to Peterborough. I wonder how bumpy it will be. The night is warm and dark. I can see lots of bugs in the infirmary floodlights. The moon is yellow, and almost full. I can’t tell if it’s waxing or waning.
Before Christopher goes, there’s something I have to tell him. I march over. He’s sitting up on his padded stretcher on wheels. His eyes are level with mine.
“I know what’s on your mind,” he says.
“Do you?”
“It’s about your mom, isn’t it? We had a long talk last night. She’s okay with it, I think. She understands how much Bernice means to me. She’s a wonderful person, don’t you think?”
My head is whirling. “Who?”
“Bernice, of course.”
The nurse is fussing over Christopher, helping the ambulance guys strap him onto the stretcher. She stands up now, flushed and sweaty and tired. There are dark stains on her uniform. She’s had a busy night.
“Hi,” she says, with a shy smile.
Christopher puts his arm around her waist. She doesn’t fight him off. “We’re going to get married,” he says.
I don’t know what to do. Shake hands, I guess, and congratulate him. She looks happy. So does he, though I notice that his eyes are still straying around the room.
“I thought you were living with Mrs. Dingwall,” says Victor, with a frown. That’s Victor, always saying what he means. Bernice’s face darkens a shade.
“What’s this, Christopher?” she says.
The ambulance guys pick up the stretcher and slide it into the back of the ambulance.
“No, no, Vic. Not living with her. Sure, I used to spend time with her. But I’ve explained all that to Bernice.”
“Christopher?” she says again.
The doors close from the inside. Victor leads me away.
“Hey!” Bernice pounds on the outside of the ambulance. “Hey!! Christopher Leech, answer me!”
The ambulance drives off.
Mrs. Grunewald is early. She sniffs, and wipes her eyes, and hugs us both for a long time.
I sit back in my seat and look out the window of the minivan. The telephone poles fly past. The moon hangs in front of the van like a Ritz cracker with a bite out of it. Mrs. Grunewald doesn’t say anything about Camp Omega. She doesn’t ask about Christopher. How much does she know?
She digs into a small picnic hamper. “You boys must be hungry,” she says. “D’you fancy one of these, now? They’re advertised on the television. Supposed to be that good for you.”
She’s holding out two health bars, in their familiar gold wrappers. We both decline.
“Your ma wanted to come up with me, Alan,” she says. “But she’s busy throwing his things away. There’re clothes all over your front lawn.”
“Christopher – Leech’s clothes?”
“Aye. And papers and other things too.”
I think back to our conversation a few days ago, when my mom accused me of not accepting the olive branch of friendship. Here she is, scattering personal stuff like breadcrumbs.
I think of my house with no trace of Christopher. I think of him and Bernice the nurse. I can’t help it. I start to smile. I settle back against the cushioned seat, and smile and smile, while the night zooms past and the broken lines on the highway lead all the way to the moon.
I’m in the spaceship now, in my clumsy suit. I hear Norbert’s voice again. He’s singing one of Christopher’s army marching songs. Only with new words.
– Milky Way is shining bright.
Jupiter is on the right.
Cocoa’s in your special cup.
Come on, Dingwall, buckle up!
Honey, disconnect the phone.
Norbert Nose is coming home.
What on earth? I can feel my stomach heaving, the way it does on a roller coaster. Skin on my face is pulling away. We’re moving really fast. The front window is huge, and rounded. The stars look so bright, so close. I feel I can touch them. Then they disappear into a blur of light. Next thing I know, we’re approaching a giant planet ringed in cloud.
– If my mother asks you, remember to tell her I’ve been wearing my bed socks.
No. Wait. I’m ahead of myself again.
Information about other Norbert books by Richard Scrimger:
The Nose from Jupiter
(the first book in the series)
Alan isn’t brave or strong, and he’s not much good at soccer. What’s more, he seems to be a bully magnet. Everything changes one day when Norbert, a tiny alien from Jupiter, takes up residence in Alan’s nose. Alan’s new condition baffles medical science, but it gives him a whole new and hilarious way to solve his problems.
Winner of the Mr. Christie’s Book Award
Kid’s Pick of the Lists – American Booksellers Association
A Nose for Adventure
(the second book in the series)
Alan is off to New York to meet his father for some “quality” time. There are some snags, though. First, his father isn’t at the airport; and then he’s kidnapped, with his seatmate Frieda. Sally, an abandoned mutt, joins the scene, and then, finally, Norbert returns. Alan had been an unwilling host to Norbert, but when you’re lost in New York City, being chased by bad guys, you need all the help you can get! A Nose for Adventure is another wild ride on Richard Scrimger’s hilarious, rollercoaster of a novel.
The Nose from Jupiter ISBN 0-88776-428-2
A Nose for Adventure ISBN 0-88776-499-1
Copyright © 2002 by Richard Scrimger
Published in Canada by Tundra Books,
75 Sherbourne Street, Toronto, Ontario M5A 2P9
Published in the United States by Tundra Books of Northern
New York, P.O. Box 1030, Pittsburgh, New York 12901
Library of Congress Control Number: 2002101142
All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher – or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency – is an infringement of the copyright law.
National Library of Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Scrimger, Richard, 1957-
Noses are red
eISBN: 978-1-77049-044-4
I. Title.
PS8587.C745N68 2002 JC813’.54 C2002-900774-7
PZ7
We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program.
We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program for our publishing activities.
v3.0
yscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
Noses Are Red Page 14
