“I’m sure they do.” His mother, drawn from her desk by his cry of dismay, shakes her head in sympathy. “Dozens of them. Maybe you should have started a month earlier and set up a breeding operation in the garage so you’d have all the mice you needed. But hindsight’s 20/20.”
“It was a stupid idea. I wish I’d never even thought of it.”
“It was a good idea, Spencer. It just needed a little more setup time.”
“I was busy.”
“You were too busy. I was afraid you’d get overcommitted with Youth Court and glee club, and it looks like you did. Next year, you’ll have to set some priorities and—”
“I don’t want to do this next year. I don’t want to do anything!”
“Come on, sweetie. Every scientist has setbacks. Genius is one part inspiration and—”
“I’m not a genius!” Spencer throws his jacket, which catches the mouse cage by one corner and knocks the lid askew. Then he picks up the maze and slams it on the table top, jarring some of the walls loose.
“Spencer! What’s gotten into you?” his mother yells. “Stop that right now! It’s not like you have all the time in the world to put it back together.”
“Who says I’m putting it back together?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I am not entering this inane project!”
“Yes, you are!” She throws herself between him and his maze, her red hair blazing. Along with the rest of her. Though he’s tall enough now for them to see eye to eye, she more than matches his determination. “I did not raise a quitter!” She’s practically screaming. “This was your idea, and what you start, you finish!”
This is more excitement than the mice have seen in all their short, experimental lives and much more than Spencer wants. After realizing he can’t punch his mom, he unclenches his fists. “Okay. Okay. I’ll finish the stupid project, but I’ll probably get a C on it, and I don’t even care.”
“Don’t use that snarky tone with me, young man. Go to your room!”
She hasn’t sent him to his room since he was ten. He rolls his eyes as he goes, and an hour later, he refuses to come out for dinner. “Fine!” snaps his mom, flouncing away from the door. The soles of her Nikes, which must have picked up something sticky in the kitchen, squelch angrily down the hall. Spencer tunes them out as he lies on his bed, staring up at the phosphorescent stars he and his mom stuck on the ceiling years ago.
Reputations are hard to lose once you have one. For instance, everybody labels Bender as a bully, not without reason. But Bender also has an amazing number sense that people don’t see because they’re not looking for it. Or Igor is supposed to be dumb because his grades are poor as dirt. But he can strategize with the best, as Spencer knows from playing World at War with (and losing to) him. And Jay’s the typical average student, but since his grandfather taught him to play chess, he’s won two school tournaments and beats Spencer three times out of four.
“Everybody is smart in their own way,” his mom likes to say, even though she obviously thinks his way is the best: letter-, number-, book-smart. Straight-A-smart. But not genius-smart. In fact, genius probably has nothing to do with the kind of smart Spencer is. How much longer can he get away with it?
A knock comes about seven o’clock. “What?” Spencer says.
“What yourself?” says the voice outside.
Spencer sighs, sitting up on the bed. “Come in, Dad.”
The doorknob turns and his father glides in, one hand gripping the neck of an acoustic guitar—a Martin, not top of the line, but close. He closes the door behind him. “So what’s the drama queen scene around here?”
“Didn’t Mom tell you?”
“Well, yeah—if you want to call it ‘telling.’ With all the dashes and exclamation marks and hah!—hah!—” Here his dad imitates perfectly the sharp, angry sighs Mom uses for punctuation when she’s upset. “With all that, I’m not sure I got the whole story.”
Spencer has to smile, a little. “You probably got most of it.”
His dad ambles across the carpet and sinks down on the bed. Chuck Haggerty is still good-looking, as dads go—Shelly, who takes guitar lessons from him, once told Spencer his dad was hot. Which is not a word that should apply to a parent, but that’s just Shelly. Chuck tosses a lock of wavy brown hair out of his eyes with a sideways jerk. “Mind if I tune while we talk?” Spencer shrugs, and his dad plays a soft chord, frowning at the sour tone. Tightening one of the keys, he asks, “So what’s the deal, genius?”
“Don’t call me that!”
“Whoa, man.” (Twannnng! goes a string.) “What’s the matter, pushed your hot button? You find somebody smarter than you?”
Spencer is so startled he answers honestly. “Uh, yeah. Maybe.”
His father nods, plucking the opening bass riff from “Heartbreak Hotel.” “Right. Word of wisdom from your old man: get over it.”
Spencer swallows. “That’s three words.”
“Who’s counting? Listen, I was just a few years older than you when I decided I was going to play the greatest guitar since Jimi Hendrix.”
“Who?”
Chuck shakes his head. “Kids today. You’re talkin’ guitar hero?” He hunches over the Martin, and his right hand swoops down on the strings, ripping out a series of chords. “That was Jimi. My one ambition: good as him. Or better, that would be okay too.”
“Is there some kind of…Jimmy Henderson Guitar Olympics you could compete in?”
“Hendrix. As a matter of fact, there is. The annual Hendrix Last Man Standing Play-offs in Seattle. Jimi’s hometown.”
Sometimes Spencer suspects his dad is making stuff up. “Let me guess. You were not the last man standing.”
“Buddy, I didn’t even get to Seattle.” Absently, Chuck strums a series of bluesy chords. “Bunch of us got together in Des Moines to put a purse together for the winner to go to the big show. All-night jam in the Rough House Club, winner by acclamation. I came in third. In Des Moines.” His fingers still strumming, his eyes go somewhere else.
“That’s tough,” Spencer says after a minute.
The faraway eyes return. “That’s life, buddy. Win some, lose some.” (Ta da! sing the strings.) “And there’s always compensation. Like you.” Chuck Haggerty reaches forward, claps a hand on Spencer’s head, and tousles his red hair, something he hasn’t done since Spencer was maybe nine. “Hey, now I’ve got her tuned, you want to take her for a ride?” He means the guitar.
“I don’t think so. Not now—”
“Yes, now. Music hath charms, y’know. To soothe the savage beast.”
Chuck hands over the instrument, and Spencer has to take it. Sighing, he plays a G chord. Then plays it again, note by note. “The C string sounds a little off.”
“Good ear.” His dad nods. “See if you can get it back on.” Spencer tightens the key, plucking the string continuously until it sounds right to him. “That’s it. Now wing off.”
Spencer plays a succession of C, G, and D—all the chords he knows. He plays them again in a different order, then allows his dad to show him an easy fingering pattern for stepping between the chords. It’s kind of fun, actually.
“Cool!” says Chuck. “Let me grab the Gib, and we’ll jam.” The Gib is his prize Gibson that only he is allowed to play.
Spencer quickly hands over the guitar. “Not now, Dad. I’ve got a big algebra test tomorrow, and I’m so behind I’ll probably have to study for it.”
“Yeah…okay.” Chuck takes the instrument reluctantly, remembering what he came in for. “And this science fair thing? Think you ought to finish what you start ’n’ all that?”
“Yeah. I’ll finish it.”
“Rockin’.” His dad socks him gently on the shoulder before standing up. “Next year? Do something without mice. They stink, man. And remember we s
till love ya, even if you don’t turn out to be a boy wonder.”
Spencer kind of smiles as his dad shuts the door behind him, but he doesn’t feel much better. It isn’t his mother’s standards he’s trying to meet, not anymore. It’s his own.
• • •
“There!” exclaims his mom. “I don’t know about you, but I think it looks very professional!”
Once they’ve set it up in the junior high gym, his project looks better than he thought it would. His display board catches the eye in a way that distracts from how boring the results are. He’s also made a little booklet with biographies of all the mice—some details invented—including epitaphs for the ones who had died in the line of duty. (“Cute!” his mother says. “Imaginative—the judges’ll like that.”) The maze occupies the space in front of the display board, with a fresh coat of spray paint to disguise the patched holes. Tomorrow he’ll bring his two best-performing mice and run them through as part of his presentation.
This might not be so bad after all.
The other exhibits are mostly run-of-the-mill. Bender has not come through with a shrunken head—no surprise. Igor’s supersecret project turns out to be a display board about snakes. Spencer doesn’t take time to read it; though neat enough, he doesn’t expect it to win more than a participation ribbon. Alice’s project makes him pause—it’s about spinal cord injuries and how they affect the motor skills of victims, especially with walking. She used a naked Ken doll, its back discreetly turned to the passersby, to show the connection of nerves and muscles in the lower spine. She also made a booklet of rehab exercises. He takes a minute to thumb through the booklet with its carefully drawn pictures and handwriting that slopes downward on the page. Behind him, passing kids snigger at Ken’s plastic butt.
Spencer sees a few more projects likely to win first and second-place ribbons, but his chances of winning best of show, and maybe going on to regionals, are looking pretty good.
On the way out, they meet Matthew and his mother coming in. With a box and a display board. Instantly, Spencer feels his confidence take a dive from a thirty-foot tower without a bungee cord.
“Hi, Camille,” says his mom. “So Matthew has a project this year?”
“Just barely,” replies Ms. Tupper. “He finished it less than an hour ago. And if it weren’t for my being an obnoxious nag about it, we wouldn’t be here at all.”
“I know the feeling,” Maureen Maguire Haggerty says, and Spencer grimaces. It’s the first time he’s felt any kinship with Matthew—mother trouble—though Matthew’s face doesn’t show anything.
“What’s your project on?” he asks.
Matthew looks up in that quick, defensive way he has, as though startled anyone would notice him. “Physics.”
“Better go,” his mom says. “We’ll barely have time to set up as it is.”
With a round of “see you’s,” they part company. “Well,” says Mom, once they’re out of earshot, “I didn’t notice any competition, did you?”
Spencer shakes his head, but now he’s not too sure.
• • •
Loading the bus next morning takes longer than usual because of extra baggage—all the bits and pieces of projects that didn’t get set up the night before, especially among the littles. Also, it’s stuffed animal day for the kindergartners, meaning an argument between Mrs. B and Igor’s little brother Al over whether his giant gorilla should be allowed to take up a whole seat. “Okay,” she finally allows. “But if the bus is full on the way home, the gorilla stays behind. Comprende?”
Spencer brings Lucy and Linus, his best runners, in a small plastic cage. Kaitlynn thinks they’re adorable. “Please, can I hold them?”
“Sure.” He doesn’t care if she takes them home, once they’ve done their run for the judges. He never wants to see another mouse. “Just don’t open the cage.”
“Of course not!”
“Did you see my project last night?” Igor asks eagerly. “What do you think?”
“Um, looks nice.”
“Wait’ll the judging comes up.” Igor hugs his backpack. “Just wait.”
“O-kaay.”
“Everybody sit down!” Mrs. B yells. “Bender, are you staying there?”
Bender, who is three seats from the back instead of his usual rear-most position, just nods. While taking a seat beside Jay, Spencer notices a little smile on Bender’s face and wonders what he’s up to. Shelly and Miranda are two seats in front of him and Jay, Igor just behind Bender, Kaitlynn in the middle of the bus, Matthew in the second seat from the back, as usual. Spencer eyes Matthew before sitting down: no apparent extra equipment for his project. Get a grip, he tells himself. Just because Matthew was reading that book one time doesn’t mean squat. He could have lied about understanding it. And a project about “physics” could be anything, like a solar system model made of Styrofoam balls.
Alice boards last and takes a seat by herself, just in front of Kaitlynn. “Want to see some adorable mice?” Kaitlynn asks her.
“Don’t open that cage!” Mrs. B calls back.
“I’m not!”
The bus pulls away from the subdivision, rolls down Farm Road 216, pauses at the corner, and pulls out on the highway.
“Attention, people! I have another service project,” Shelly announces.
“You’re moving to Alaska?” Bender asks. “As a public service?”
Shelly ignores him. “It’s a canned food drive. Tomorrow I’m going—”
“We’re going,” Miranda corrects her.
“Miranda and I are going around the neighborhood with a bag for each house. Put any canned goods you can spare in the bag, and we’ll be back to pick them up on—”
Bender takes something out of his backpack—something a little smaller than a baseball. “Here, catch!” he calls, throwing it in Shelly’s direction.
At that point, all heck breaks loose.
She catches the object, turns it, and screams, throwing it back without aiming. It lands on Igor’s lap.
Igor jumps up, spilling his backpack to the floor. “A shrunken head!” he yells. “Bender made a SHRUNKEN HEAD!” He kicks the object behind him, where it rolls in front of Matthew, who jumps up with a strangled cry and kicks the head down the aisle.
“WHAT THE SAM HILL IS GOING ON BACK THERE?!” yells Mrs. B. Except she doesn’t exactly say Sam Hill.
“Bender did it!” Shelly screams. “He threw that thing at me!”
“It’s a shrunken head!” Igor yells over her.
“No, it’s not!” Bender shouted. “It’s just a—”
“Bender! You are in big trouble—”
Kaitlynn lets loose with an absolutely every-hair-on-your-arm-raising scream: “SNAKE! There’s a snake on the floor! I saw it!”
It should be illegal to yell such a thing on a school bus. But it’s apparently true—little kids are now screaming, “Snake! Snake!” and climbing up on their seats. And Igor is shouting, “Don’t hurt her! She’s mine—don’t stomp her, please!”
Spencer seems to be the only one sitting still. Jay is on his feet, peering ahead, shouting “Where? Where?” Almost everybody is shouting by now, except Mrs. B. Spencer notices the bus turning right and bumping down the familiar half-mile of Farm Road 152. Just like old times, the bus pulls even with the shed then backs into the crossroads. Mrs. B jerks the gearshift, swings the door lever, and charges down the aisle. She grabs Alice by the upper arm and pulls her back toward the front, yelling, “Everybody off! Now! Except you, Igor. And Bender. You two stay and catch the snake.”
“Can I stay too?” Jay asks.
“Everybody! Don’t argue with me!” Mrs. B has pushed Alice through the door—Spencer is wondering why start with her, unless Mrs. B thought the girl was too quiet and inconspicuous to even move on her own—and now the driver is practically shoving the
hysterical littles after Alice, one by one. Snakes are cold-blooded, Spencer remembers, and would head for the heat, like somebody’s pant leg. That thought makes him want to get someplace cold, really quick.
Jay is grumbling behind him, “I’ll bet I’m the best snake catcher on this bus.”
Meanwhile Igor moans, “She’s harmless! Don’t step on her, please.” The girls are pale as marshmallows but at least they’re quiet, even Kaitlynn.
Evacuating a bus on a January morning, with shreds of gray cloud spitting snow, turns out not to be fun. The littles huddle together in the bus shed, guarded by Mrs. B, who keeps yelling at them to “Stay right here! Don’t wander off! Right here!” Spencer, Jay, and the girls are closer to the bus door, where Jay keeps trying to see in.
“Don’t even think about it, Jay!” Mrs. B calls.
“Think about what? Dude,” he mutters, “I just want to know what’s going on.” They can hear the thump of feet inside and the muffled voices of the two boys shouting at each other: “I see her!” “Get over by the emergency window—no, the other one!”
“Hey, Shelly,” says Jay, “you want to see what Bender threw at you?” He takes it out of his jacket, a roundish object on a string. One side of it is covered with coarse black hair that turns out to be a patch of fake fur. The other side looks somewhat like a face, with a piggish nose and black beans for eyes, one of which has fallen out.
“It’s just a dried-up apple,” Jay says.
“That is so lame,” Shelly sniffs.
“Bender might get expelled for this,” says Miranda.
“Igor should too,” says Shelly. “Who’s insane enough to bring a live snake on a bus?”
Kaitlynn still hasn’t said a thing. When Alice asks her, “What kind of snake is it?” she just stares.
“Where’s Matthew?” shouts Mrs. B.
“I’ll look,” Spencer volunteers. Earlier he noticed Matthew wandering to the back of the shed, so he follows. Coming around the corner, he sees the other boy bending to pick up something from the ground. Spencer notices lines that look like bike tracks in the sandy soil. Or like two bikes running parallel. Or like a wheelchair? Curious.
Somebody on This Bus Is Going to Be Famous Page 12
