Wendell bowed, and Ike jumped up and down, going, “HOO HOO HOO HI-YAH!”
That’s when I turned around and saw Spud and Dick. They were taking turns throttling some poor sixth grader from Roosevelt on the other side of the stairs. At Ike’s outburst, they turned around and looked over, deep frowns on both of their faces. Dick dropped the kid and shook his head slowly, like he couldn’t believe this.
Then he spotted me.
He nudged Spud, whose eyebrows shot up, and they both started walking over. I felt my blood turn to ice in my veins. No no no, I thought furiously. Not them. Get out of here, Butroche, you fool!
But I was too late.
Spud grabbed Wendell by the ear. “What the heck is going on here?” he demanded, pulling Wendell over beside him and sticking his other finger right in Duddy’s face.
“Buttrock,” said Dick, “you part of this loser convention?”
I tried to swallow, but my throat had gone dry. “Uh . . .”
Duddy was trying to put on a brave face, but I could see he was trembling. “Todd is my best friend,” he said, like that explained everything.
Dick’s face erupted in a huge, fake grin. “Is that right?” he taunted.
Spud released Wendell and got right up in Duddy’s face. “Ohhhh, are you two BFFs? Do you paint each other’s nails and listen to boy bands together? What are you, girls?”
Dick turned back to me. “I asked you a question, Buttrock. Are you part of this?”
I was shaking too now, but I tried to hide it. I looked from Ike to Wendell to Duddy. His eyes were huge and shiny, fixed on me like he was about to be washed down a river and I had the world’s last life vest.
“I—”
Dick grabbed the front of my shirt and yanked me toward him. “Answer me!”
“No!”
As soon as the word left my mouth, he let go, sending me sprawling down the stairs.
“Chill,” said a commanding voice. Spud and Dick stepped back, and I looked up to see that out of nowhere, Max had appeared. He pushed Duddy out of the way. “Buttrock says he doesn’t know you, dude,” he said.
And then he held out his hand.
I took it and he lifted me to my feet.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, trying to avoid Duddy’s eyes.
Max shrugged. “That’s what friends are for, dude.”
I got lucky then. The bell rang, sending us all scrambling into the building before I could so much as meet Duddy’s eyes. I ran into the bathroom and hung out in a stall for a few minutes to avoid having to talk to Duddy, then slid into my seat in science class just in time for Mr. Katcher to start talking about science projects again. Ugh.
“I’m going to go down the rows—thanks so much for sitting in different seats than you were in yesterday, by the way—and get a quick line about what you’ll be working on for your presentations. It’s still possible to change your topic, but since this is only a weeklong project, time is tight, and you should really be getting started.”
As Mr. Katcher checked off each pair’s topic, Max glanced at me, mouthing, “Sorry about that.”
I nodded.
Max whispered, “Spud and Dick are just big jokesters, but I made sure they know you’re part of the crew. Won’t happen again, I promise. Remember, you can trust me.” At that, he motioned to the backpack slung on his chair, as if to underscore the fact that the Toddlians were inside, safe and sound.
I sighed—Max’s methods might be rough, and I’d still need to apologize to Duddy, but it did seem like he was really trying to be nice to me. And if he was willing to take my side against his friends—first at my house and now at school—then he was probably also trying to take good care of the Toddlians.
Or at least that’s what I hoped.
Either way, our interaction had clearly attracted the attention of Mr. Katcher because it was at that moment that he chose to call on Max. “Mr. Loving,” he said. “What will you and Mr. Butroche be working on?”
Max winked at me, then proudly announced, “We call it Flea Circus Redux! But that’s all I can tell you about it for now. It’s top secret.”
Mr. Katcher looked puzzled, but he nodded slowly and wrote down our topic. “Very well. Now, what does our next pair have in store for us . . .”
I attempted to catch Duddy’s gaze as Mr. Katcher jotted down each presentation topic, but I couldn’t get his attention—he seemed too wrapped up in whatever he was doodling in his notebook. That is until Mr. Katcher called his name. “Mr. Scanlon, what will you and Mr. Buchenwald be working on?”
“An ant farm,” Duddy replied listlessly. I turned around and noticed that he looked less excited about ants than I’d ever seen him. He sighed and cast a forlorn glance at Ernie, who was sneaking homework from the backpack of an oblivious Katie Sharkey.
I felt really bad for Duddy. But then I looked up and saw Max grinning from across the room, waving my sock. He winked again, and I must’ve yelped out loud, ’cause Mr. Katcher asked what the matter was.
“Hiccups,” I said and burped a couple of times. That sent Mr. Katcher into a big speech about the scientific cause and cure of hiccups, which was totally lost on me. All I could think about was the Toddlians, and how it probably felt like a tornado being waved around like that, and what worse things awaited them at Wakefield. If middle school was rough on me, a regular-sized kid, how brutal would it . . . I couldn’t even finish the thought.
Max must have a plan, I told myself. He’d promised to protect the Toddlians, and as our science project depended on them being actually alive, surely he’d keep them safe.
I didn’t have a chance to talk to Max until lunch. But before I could find him, Duddy, Ike, and Wendell cut me off. “Todd, have you seen what we’re having for lunch today?” Duddy was so excited his voice squeaked.
He was still speaking to me? I was so surprised it took me a minute to understand what he’d said. Then I quickly examined the contents of someone’s bowl as they passed me. The brown glop had a nuclear green film on top. Yummy.
“Can you believe it?” Duddy said, way too loud. “That chili looks exactly like the radiated sludge Mongee-Poo sneezes out of his nostrils to defeat Vespa in The Rage of Mongee-Poo! And Ike says he actually shoots stuff out his own nose all the time! So we can sneak some of it to the courtyard and have a real Dragon Sensei battle.”
Ike nodded. “I once shot spaghetti out one nostril and a meatball out the other side. HOO HOO HOO HI-YAH!”
Max and his friends walked up before Ike could say anything else. “Ahem,” Max said. “Hate to interrupt, Buttrock, but the Zoo Crew awaits you.” He pointed toward the window tables, then jabbed the same finger into Dick’s arm.
“Sorryaboutbefore,” Dick said in a rush.
“Yeah, sorry,” Spud echoed.
“Think of it as an initiation rite,” Max added. “The boys are just excited to have a new member of our group.”
“That’s right—just a little friendly initiation,” Spud concluded. “Come sit with us.”
I gulped. Duddy and I tried to sit at a window table on our first day and had nearly gotten cremated. I made the mistake of glancing at Duddy now—his head hung down so low I couldn’t see his eyes.
I had a choice to make. On one side was Duddy, the best friend a guy could ever have—but he came with a lifetime of swirlies and humiliation. On the other side was Max, who, I was beginning to think, might not be such a bad guy deep down. And if I was friends with him, I’d have an easy ride though middle school. Maybe even an easy ride through high school. Maybe even an easy ride through life.
If I picked Duddy now—went to sit with him and the dorks—I knew Max would never have anything to do with me again. And that meant I’d never get the Toddlians back.
“Uh, you go ahead, guys,” I said, glancing briefly at Max’s backpack. “I still need
to get my lunch.”
Max nodded in understanding. “All right,” he said, “let’s give our boy some space.”
Once they’d left, I turned to Duddy. “Hey bud, I’m sorry.” Duddy met my eyes and gave me half a smile. “It’s just that I made plans to eat lunch with him yesterday.”
Ike and Wendell had the sense to split. They watched us from the back of the lunch line.
Duddy said softly, “It’s okay, Todd. I get it. You wanna be cool. Max and his friends are cool. I’m not.”
“I . . .” How could I respond to that? “Maybe Max can protect us from Ernie,” I finally said. I couldn’t look him in the eye as the words came out of my mouth. Max might protect me, but he sure wasn’t going to help Duddy.
“It’s cool, Butroche. We’ll still be friends outside of school, right?”
I looked at him then and smiled. “Of course!” I forced out, a little too loudly.
Duddy’s face lit up, making me wince. “Great! Don’t forget we’re getting together this afternoon to work on the Dragon Sensei costumes for my party. Those glow sticks and doll heads I ordered off the net have finally come in, along with that gold crushed velvet for making Saki’s cape. BEST COSTUME EVER, man!”
“Yeah, I’ll be there after school . . .” I murmured, glancing distractedly at the hot food buffet. Ernie Buchenwald had gotten in line for milk by himself, pushing other kids out of the way, which only made me cringe even more. “Sorry you got stuck with Ernie for your science project,” I added.
Duddy shrugged. “It’ll be okay. I’ll work it out and use my Saki Salute to warp his brain.”
I grinned, ignoring the twisty feeling in my gut, and punched Duddy’s arm. “You’re the man, Dud.”
“Yep. And who doesn’t love ants? See you after school, Emperor.” He punched his fist in the air. “Oo-ra! Oo-ra! Oo-ra!”
I nodded goodbye and hoofed it toward Max’s table. I was just about to mutter a hello to the Zoo Crew when I realized that I’d forgotten to get my lunch. Great.
I turned and got in line even though I didn’t really feel like eating.
CHAPTER 10
Life was a lot different on the other side of puberty. The Zoo Crew guys were loud and crude and didn’t care what anybody thought, and being with them was kind of awesome. Max told me they’d had an on-going, lunchtime-only food fight since third grade. Today, Dick Nixon seemed to be winning, because he was big enough to block the action from the teachers while using his mouth to shoot chili like a lawn sprinkler. But I impressed them all with my remarkable Twinkie-as-a-grenade move, which left bright white filling sprayed all down the front of Spud’s shirt.
“Nice one, New Dude!” Spud yelled, and gave me a high five.
Awesome.
But a couple things were nagging at the back of my mind all through the food fight. One was that I was kinda hungry, because eating the food seemed to be frowned upon. The other was that I hadn’t talked to the Toddlians once since I’d let Max borrow them. Every time Max focused on lobbing pudding or macaroni salad at someone, I snuck a peek at his backpack, trying to figure out whether I could unzip it to check on the Toddlians while he wasn’t paying attention. (I didn’t want him thinking that I was planning to show them off to our classmates after promising not to tell anyone.) But Max was keeping his backpack really close, and even when he was throwing stuff, he would touch it with his foot, like he was afraid someone was going to grab it. It looked like I was going to have to wait for my chance.
At one point Ernie Buchenwald walked by us, spotted me, and glared. He walked up to the foot of the table, and my heart sank. Is he going to ruin this for me?
“Hey, lother,” he said, spraying spit all over Dick’s corn bread.
“HEY, MAN!” Dick cried, standing up to his full height of a million feet tall. (At least that’s how he looked to me. He was only a few inches taller than Ernie.) “What the hot sauce?”
“Let me handle this,” said Max, also rising to his feet. He glowered at Ernie, leaning over the table like a hyena ready to pounce. “Who do you think you are, making fun of our new friend Todd?”
Ernie just looked at him, clearly not understanding. “I’m Ernie Buchenwald,” he said, more spit flying out on the ch part. “Thuperthar of Roothevelt Elementary? I ran that thow.” He nodded at me. “That one ith a huge dork, bee-tee-dubth.”
Spud cackled. “Bee-tee-dubth?” he repeated. “Was that the real cool lingo at Roosevelt? Talk about dorks, man.”
Dick snorted. “Yeah, loser. I think you’ll find the culture of us Newton Elementary kids a little more refined.”
As he said that, Spud lobbed what was left of his chili at Ernie, and it made a loud glop as it landed right on top of his huge block of orange hair, like the icing on a cake.
Ernie looked like he was getting panicky now. Like, world-not-making-sense panicky. “What are you thaying, dude? Do you not underthand?” He pointed a fat pink finger at me. “That guy dretheth up in cothtumes from thome Japanethe comic book! It’th tho thupid!”
As Ernie was getting more charged up, he was talking faster and now the spit was really flying. Max and the Zoo Crew looked disgusted.
Dick reached out and pushed Ernie back a couple steps. “Dude. Say it, don’t spray it.”
Max nodded. “Yeah. I think we see who the thupid one is—and it’s not Todd.”
I couldn’t believe what was happening.
I, Todd Butroche, was cooler than Ernie Buchenwald.
Horrible recognition dawned in Ernie’s eyes, and he shook his head, backing away. I suddenly saw the perfect use for my second Twinkie and launched it at Ernie’s shoulder. It made a perfect arc before exploding near his ear, splattering sponge cake and cream through his hair, down his neck, and over his shoulder.
The Zoo Crew erupted in laughter. “NICE ONE, NEW DUDE!” Spud yelled, high-fiving me again. Max looked at me and grinned. Now his grin didn’t seem all that scary.
“Good job, Buttrock,” he said. “If I didn’t say it before, let me say it now: Welcome to the crew.”
Ernie grimaced and walked away. I followed him with my eyes to an empty table in the back, where he plunked down a carton of milk and his brown bag (his mom made him a chopped liver sandwich every day, I knew—it was part of why his breath was so horrible), slumped over, and sucked on his retainer.
For a second I almost felt bad.
Almost.
At last the good guy wins. I looked around automatically, jumping out of my chair before I could even pause to consider who I was searching for or what I was doing.
Suddenly, a piece of corn bread hit me in the head.
That’s when I realized it. Duddy—that’s who I was looking for. It was too weird that he hadn’t been here to see what had happened.
“Come on, New Guy, show us that Buttrock magic!” yelled Spud, jolting me from my thoughts of my former best friend.
And then, as if to underscore his point, he threw a doughnut of his own.
I turned and saw that while I’d been temporarily focused on Duddy, the food fight had escalated, and now food was flying beyond our table to a nearby group of eighth graders, who were all girls. The teacher on duty marched over and threatened everyone with a week’s detention, but even that didn’t stop the ruckus.
The chili tornado went on until a few minutes before the bell when Max, having, I assume, gotten bored of buttering up the eighth-grade girls (literally, they were throwing buttered rolls at them), announced, “Let’s go throw rocks at that squirrel family in the big tree.” He turned to me and asked, “You coming?”
I shook my head. “Nah, I think I’m gonna check on”—I nodded at the backpack—“you know.” Before he could say anything else, I whispered, “Don’t worry—I’ll be careful.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, shrugging.
As soon as the Zoo Cr
ew disappeared around the corner, I unzipped Max’s backpack, prepared to strike up a friendly conversation with Lewis and the gang—albeit one where Lewis and the gang were slightly nauseated—when I heard a tiny familiar voice call out, “Save us, Great Todd!”
Heart pounding, I fished around in the pack until I found the sock and spread it on the table, bending down to eye level. “Lewis, is that you?” I couldn’t see his features without the micro-glasses.
“Yes, Great Todd, and we need your help!”
Wait a minute . . . I turned toward the wall and bent over so no one would see me talk to my filthy sock. “How on earth did you learn English overnight?”
“Max left us in front of a sixty-inch plasma flat-screen TV that has full ten-eighty-p HD like the ones that QVC has on sale FOR THREE DAYS ONLY for nine ninety-nine ninety-nine. Just call 1-888-945-7777!” Lewis said in a deep announcer voice. “Great Todd, what is a credit card?”
Wow. Lucy was right: they were smart! “I thought you said you needed my help.”
“We do,” he shouted over the cafeteria chatter. “And so does Ashley on The Bachelorette. We had to know what happened to her, so we paid close attention and learned your tongue by watching for context clues. But Ashley should not marry Jordan. She should marry Alex. Will you please warn her? She’s throwing herself away!” The crowd of Toddlians behind him suddenly began chanting, “Save Ashley! Save Ashley!”
Let’s see. I was cool now, and yet I was talking to a bunch of miniature people on my nasty baseball sock about The Bachelorette. Could this day get any weirder? I shook my head. “I thought you needed my help.”
“You have to rescue us, Great Todd! Do not let Max have us back. We are suffering terrible injustice and humiliation.”
“Save us, Great Todd. Save us!” echoed the Toddlians.
“Why do you keep calling me ‘Great Todd’?”
“Because you are our supreme leader!”
Right. Some leader.
“Max is selling us as slaves to his friends,” Lewis continued. “He says we’re ‘butlers,’ but we watched enough television last night to know that butlers have different accents and work in a beautiful place called Downton Abbey. Slaves are mistreated and live in a windy, war-torn land called Tara. Besides, he sold Herman to Max’s friend with bad hair.”
By the Grace of Todd Page 6
