Beware the Ninja Weenies

by David Lubar

  “Perfect!” he shouted.

  I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t even open my mouth to do that. Or to breathe.

  I remembered something our art teacher always said in school. She even had it printed on one of her coffee cups: ART IS LONG, LIFE IS SHORT.

  She had no idea how true that was.

  BEWARE THE NINJA WEENIES

  “Die!” Jimmy Butafesko screamed as he leaped out of a Dumpster to my right and hurled a fistful of shuriken—ninja throwing stars—directly at my chest. This was definitely not what I wanted to run into on the way home from a long day of school.

  “Fool! You fell into our devious trap.” Isaac Swadman dropped from a tree to my left and rushed forward, swinging his katana.

  Fortunately, the shuriken were cardboard, and the katana was plastic. Unfortunately, Jimmy and Isaac were real. And real annoying. Even with his face wrapped in black cloth, I had no trouble identifying Jimmy, thanks to a unibrow that could have been mistaken for a climbing rope. As for Isaac, no amount of fabric could disguise his huge nose.

  “Go away,” I said.

  “In a flash!” Jimmy threw something at the sidewalk. It made a tiny popping sound. No flash. No smoke. But Jimmy and Isaac squatted, pivoted away from me, and duck-walked off as if they were hidden by vast plumes of dense smoke. They headed down Talmadge Street, where they joined a half dozen other black-hooded kids waiting for them on the next corner.

  “They were so much less annoying last month,” my friend Kyle Hashimoto said as he caught up with me.

  “Yeah. The pirate stuff was a pain, but this is a lot worse.” Back then, all we had put up with was hearing, “Arg!” a whole bunch. Arrrrgument. Barrrrgain. Tarrrget. You get the idea.

  But I guess the pirates were lost at sea because, for the past week or so, Jimmy, Isaac, and all their friends had become total ninja weenies, crawling, leaping, skulking, sneaking, attacking, and generally being more annoying than a swarm of horseflies on a hot day.

  “At least it won’t last long,” Kyle said. “Those guys have the attention span of puppies.”

  “You’re right. They’ll get bored with it soon enough.”

  I went with Kyle to his place. His folks both work, but his grandfather was there. He doesn’t speak much English. That didn’t matter. I liked him, and he seemed to like me. He always gave us snacks.

  “Did you ever meet a ninja?” I asked him when he brought us a plate of ginger cookies.

  He laughed. “No ninjas.” Then he walked off to tend his garden. He grew all sorts of plants and flowers behind the house. Once, when I had a cold, he rubbed some crushed leaves on my chest and I felt a whole lot better.

  “You sure he’s not a ninja?” I asked Kyle. “I’ve never seen anyone make so little noise when he walks.”

  “Right—he’s a ninja. I’m a ninja. My cat is a ninja. Even the goldfish are ninjas. It’s bad enough Jimmy is obsessed. Don’t you start. Let’s think about important stuff, like your party.”

  “Good idea.” My birthday was next month, and my parents were letting me throw a big party for all my friends. Kyle had already come up with a lot of great ideas.

  On the way home, I passed the place where the Twirly Tykes Dance Studio used to be. It had closed more than a year ago. There was a new sign over the door announcing MASTER O’ROURKE’S NINJUTSU ACADEMY. According to a flyer in the window, they were having a grand opening on Saturday.

  I snorted and walked on. I’d done some research last year for a history report on ninjas. Most of the stuff you saw about them was totally wrong. Ninjas were more like spies than superfighters. They’d disguise themselves as craftsmen or soldiers to infiltrate enemy armies. They’d start fires to distract people, and then do sabotage. They were experts in poisons and chemical weapons. But they couldn’t float through the air, or perform any of the other superhuman stuff people see in movies.

  Kyle and I stayed away from the grand opening. Not only did all the ninja weenies go, but as I found out on Monday in school, they’d all signed up for lessons.

  “This is definitely getting out of hand,” Kyle said as we walked to our class.

  “For sure.” I watched Jimmy try to do a wall run. He managed to go two steps before he fell. He wasn’t wearing his ninja outfit, since the school had rules about that, but he’d pulled his black T-shirt up so it covered his mouth.

  All around us, the ninja weenies were dashing, sneaking, slashing, and generally turning the hallways into a pathetic version of an even more pathetic video game—the kind you can find heaped up in a bin at the bargain store for three dollars.

  “What beats a ninja?” I asked after Jimmy and Isaac leaped out at me from a pair of lockers, pelted me with fake darts, and scurried away.

  “Nothing I can think of,” Kyle said. “Except maybe a superhero. Why?”

  “I don’t know. It would just be nice to see all of them whacked back into the real world, so they stop acting like ninjas.”

  “Won’t happen,” Kyle said. “Not now that they’re taking lessons.”

  “I know, but it would be nice. Doesn’t it bother you that they’re stealing your culture?” I figured, being Japanese, Kyle would have a special attachment to ninjas.

  “My culture? I was born in Grand Rapids, just like my dad.”

  “But your grandfather came here from Japan. Right?”

  “Right. But even way back when he was a kid, there was no sign of ninjas. At least, not real ones.”

  The ninjas might have vanished ages ago, but the ninja weenies were far from gone. And they were learning some dangerous things. I guess even fake ninjas can do damage. Two weeks later, I saw Jimmy putting Dale Wertner in some kind of headlock behind the school. It looked like it hurt.

  “Stop that!” I said.

  “Ninjas do not take orders,” Jimmy said. He let go of Dale and leaped toward me. I put my hands up to protect myself. Jimmy grabbed my arm and put me in a wristlock.

  “Ouch! Let me go!”

  “Pledge your allegiance to the Black Mask Clan of Master O’Rourke,” he said.

  “Knock it off.”

  He twisted harder. “Pledge!”

  “Okay—you have my allegiance.”

  Jimmy loosened his grip. But then he bore down again. “And invite me to your party.”

  Oh, man. How did he know about that? I’d been real quiet about the invitations. I had plenty of friends at school, but there were some kids I just didn’t want to hang out with. So I’d emailed the invitations. I guess kids at school were talking about the party because it was just a day away.

  Jimmy twisted harder.

  “Okay—you’re invited.”

  He let go and dashed off.

  I told Kyle the sad details on the way home from school.

  “The last thing you want is Jimmy at your party.”

  “I know. He’ll ruin it. And he’ll bring all his friends.” I didn’t see any easy way out.

  “Maybe you can talk to that ninjutsu guy,” Kyle said. “He can’t possibly want his students acting like this. It brings him dishonor.”

  “It’s worth a try. Will you come with me?” I was nervous about going there by myself.

  “Sure. I’ve been kind of curious about the place.”

  When we went into the ninjutsu school, there was a pale redheaded guy sitting behind a counter facing the workout area. I guess it was Master O’Rourke.

  “Ah, new students. Excellent. Would you like to sign up for a single year or buy a lifetime membership?”

  “Uh, actually, I wanted to talk to you about some of your students, like Jimmy Butafesko and Isaac Swadman. They’re causing a lot of trouble at school.”

  “Wonderful!” he said. “I’ve taught them well. Troublemaking is one of the seventy-five secret ninja arts I teach my students.”

  I glanced over at Kyle, who shrugged. I tried again. “They’re going to crash my birthday party.”

  “I’m so proud of them,” he said. “Crashing i
s another of the seventy-five secret ninja arts that I teach. We call it infiltration. So, now that you boys know two of the secrets, would you like to sign up so you can learn the other seventy-three?”

  I could see this wasn’t going to do any good. Before I could leave, Kyle said, “Who taught you to be a ninja?”

  “I taught myself,” the man said. “I have a natural gift for martial arts. I’ve read a lot of books and watched all the best ninja movies.”

  “How interesting.” Kyle smiled at the man and walked out.

  I hurried to catch up with him on the sidewalk. “Doesn’t that guy make you angry? He’s a total fake.”

  “Anger is a waste of energy. Forget about him. It’s not worth worrying about.”

  I tried to forget about it, but the next day at school, all the ninja weenies kept sneaking up behind me and whispering, “See you tonight.”

  By lunchtime, I was ready to call home and tell my folks to forget about the party. “I give up,” I told Kyle.

  “Hey, don’t be a quitter,” he said.

  I sat there and stared at my spaghetti. That’s what they had on Fridays. And it was actually pretty good for cafeteria food, as long as you remembered not to eat the sausage. But I wasn’t hungry.

  I stared to my left, at the table full of ninja weenies. Past them, an old lady was mopping the floor. That was weird. The custodians always wait until after lunch to start mopping. I didn’t recognize her, and I hadn’t seen her come in. I knew all the custodians. Maybe she’d just gotten hired. As I was watching her, she dropped the mop and pointed out the window.

  “Fire!” she shouted.

  I raced over to the window with the rest of the kids. A pile of leaves along the curb was on fire. One of the regular custodians ran out with a fire extinguisher. He blasted the leaves with a jet of CO2, and the fire was history.

  As I walked back to my seat, I noticed the cleaning lady was moving away from Jimmy’s table. There was something familiar about her walk. It was smooth and silent. I watched as she slipped into the hall.

  “I’ll be right back,” I told Kyle.

  I stepped into the hallway just in time to see the lady slip something onto her hands and climb the wall—yeah, she went straight up the wall, clinging to it like a lizard. She pushed aside a ceiling tile and vanished like chimney smoke in a sudden breeze.

  “What in the world…”

  I thought back through everything that had happened in the cafeteria. A stranger. A disguise. A fire.

  “Oh, no!” I raced back to the cafeteria and ran over to Jimmy’s table.

  He and his friends were about to wolf down their spaghetti.

  “How dare you disturb us?” Isaac said. “Ninjas do not mix with common peasants during meals.”

  “What do you want?” Jimmy asked. “Speak quickly or suffer.”

  “Nothing.” I took my seat and stared at my spaghetti. Next to me, Kyle was halfway finished with his. He didn’t seem worried. If my suspicion was correct, he knew a lot more than I did about what was going on. I picked up my fork and took a bite. It tasted fine. For the next two minutes, all I heard was normal cafeteria noises. Then a scream rose above the chatter.

  “Aiiieee!”

  I spun to my left, expecting to find a ninja weenie leaping at me. But Jimmy wasn’t launching an attack. He was launching his lunch. And his breakfast.

  He wasn’t spewing alone. The rest of the ninja weenies were on their feet, too. Or their knees. Isaac was flat on the table, with his head hanging over the edge. Something had made them all sick—and only them. All around the cafeteria, I didn’t see anyone else throwing up. But I saw a lot of smiles. I think Jimmy had annoyed most of the kids in school.

  I put down my fork. The smell in the cafeteria had killed my appetite. I joined the rest of the kids and hustled outside, where the air was a lot fresher.

  “Wow,” Kyle said. “I don’t think they’re going to any parties tonight. I wonder what happened to them?”

  “You know what happened to them,” I said. “Your grandfather disguised himself as an old woman, created a distraction with a fire, and poisoned their food.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” Kyle jabbed a finger at my forehead. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “He’s a ninja! I know he is.” I said, “They’re still around. He’s one. I’ll bet you’re training to be one, too. You’re way too calm for a normal kid.”

  “Now you’re getting even more ridiculous,” Kyle said.

  “Yeah, you’re right,” I said. “My imagination flies out of control sometimes.” I started to turn away from Kyle, then spun back and threw a hard punch right at his head.

  My punch didn’t land. Kyle deflected it with a move so fast, it was a blur. Somehow, I was flying through the air. Kyle had flung me over his head like I was no heavier than a single-serving-size bag of potato chips.

  “Sorry! You caught me by surprise. You okay?” he asked after I’d bounced to a landing on my back.

  “I’m fine. But you’re a…”

  His stare cut off my words. “I’m a what?” he asked. His fingertips twitched, like he was thinking about forming fists.

  “A great friend,” I said. And I was happy to leave it at that. If Kyle was training to be a ninja, that was his culture, his business, and his secret. I was just happy to have him, and his grandfather, on my side. And I was happy to have the ninja weenies out of action for the moment.

  On the way home from school, I saw a sign written in shaky marking pen on the door of the ninja school. Closed due to illness. I guess Master O’Rourke had eaten the wrong thing, too.

  That night, at my party—which was totally awesome in all ways—Kyle handed me an envelope.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “Your present.”

  I wanted to point out that he and his grandfather had already given me a present, but I’d promised not to talk about that. I opened the envelope. “Wow—thanks!” It was a gift certificate for karate lessons.

  “This place teaches traditional karate. The real stuff. My grandfather picked it out,” Kyle said. “A couple months of this, and you can stand up to the ninja weenies. Not that they’ll still be a problem. I’m betting they’ll start acting like zombies or Martians pretty soon, now that the fake school is closed. And I’m pretty sure it won’t open back up.”

  “What about real ninjas?” I asked. “Will I be able to beat them?”

  “Dream on,” Kyle said. He gave me a playful punch on the shoulder, then headed across the room toward the snacks, walking silently.

  LITTLE BREAD RIDING HOOD

  Little Bread Riding Hood—we should probably call her LB, or maybe even Ellbee, for short—was taking a basket of piping hot dinner rolls to her grandmother, who was currently on a fashionable high-carb, low-protein diet that had been made popular by her favorite skinny-as-a-toothpick celebrity spokesperson.

  “Be careful in the woods,” her mother said as Ellbee headed off.

  “I will,” Ellbee said, since that was the only acceptable response. Ellbee knew she couldn’t reply with something sassy and sarcastic like, “Careful? What fun is that? I plan to gorge myself on highly toxic mushrooms and roll down steep hills covered with poison ivy and sharp rocks. And then I’ll rub noses with a rattlesnake and dance the tango with a grizzly bear.”

  She headed along the familiar path through the woods, enjoying the musical chirps of birds, the gentle touch of the warm breeze, and the tantalizing aroma of hot rolls. When she reached her grandmother’s cabin, she knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” her grandmother called in a hoarse whisper.

  “You sound funny,” Ellbee said as she opened the door.

  “I have a cold,” her grandmother said.

  “Where are you?” Ellbee asked.

  “Up in my bed.”

  Ellbee went upstairs to her grandmother’s bedroom, where she found her grandmother tucked beneath a huge pile of quilts, with her head nestled deep in
a stack of fluffy feather pillows.

  “Grandma!” Ellbee exclaimed as she noticed the flaring network of scarlet capillaries that ran through the whites of her eyes. “What red eyes you have.”

  “All the better to see you with, my dear,” her grandmother said. She blinked. Then she gasped and wheezed.

  “And what wheezy lungs you have,” Ellbee said.

  “All the better to—uh, wait, let me think—inhale the delicious aroma of the freshly baked rolls,” she said.

  “And what a pale complexion you have,” Ellbee said.

  “Uh, all the better to…” The words drifted off.

  Ellbee realized there was a medical crisis happening. “Too many carbs,” she muttered as she tossed the basket of rolls to the floor. She ran outside, hunted down some red meat that was conveniently stalking through the woods not far from the cabin, and made her grandmother a tasty meal of meaty stew.

  “Ah, that’s better,” her grandmother said as she finished her dinner. She reached toward the basket, which was still on the floor. “One roll?”

  “Sure,” Ellbee said. “Life is all about balance. Just don’t overdo it.”

  “Butter?” her grandmother asked.

  Ellbee nodded again. “Not too much.” She knew how nice a roll was with a bit of butter.

  Right then, the door burst open and the woodcutter raced in, holding his ax high over his head. “Be careful. I heard there’s a killer wolf on the prowl.”

  “Everything is fine. I don’t think the wolf is prowling anymore,” Ellbee said. “We’re just finishing dinner.” She pointed toward the kitchen. “Want some stew and a roll?”

  “Sure. But just the meat,” the woodcutter said. “I’ll skip the roll. I’m on a low-carb, high-protein diet, just like my favorite reality show cohost.”

  Ellbee and her grandmother laughed at that, but they didn’t explain to the woodcutter why they found this so amusing.

  He’ll figure it out sooner or later, Ellbee thought. But she reminded herself to pay the woodcutter a visit the next time she walked through the woods with a basket of rolls for her grandmother, just in case his diet made his eyes too red or his lungs too wheezy. Adults didn’t always pay enough attention to what they ate. But Ellbee was always happy to come to the rescue.