Elrod McBugle on the Loose

by Jeff Strand

  "Yes, sir."

  "I see. And have you perchance noticed any particular...side effects that seem to have resulted from the chewing of that gum?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, Elrod, I don't mind telling you that you're in a great deal of trouble. We may have to cancel school until these hiccups go away. If they go away. I don't know about you, but I haven't witnessed such a mass display of student hiccuping in twelve years. And that other time was just two students who cured themselves by drinking water upside-down, so there's really no comparison."

  "Elrod, my name is Dr. Larson," said the other man. "I need to know exactly what ingredients are in McBugle Chew, so we can start searching for a cure."

  I'd anticipated this, and handed him my lab notes. "It's all here. I just put each of these mixtures into one big beaker, and then dropped in a piece of gum."

  Dr. Larson looked over my notes. "Hmmmm. Hmmmm. Hmmmm. Odd. Hmmmm. Hmmmm."

  "You may go back to class," said Principal Botkin. "But I want you to think twice the next time you try and sell something you made in science class. I understand that worm dissections are coming up, and I don't want you getting any ideas."

  THE HICCUPS DID not go away, and they had to cancel school the next day. This should have made me more popular, except that we were going to have to make up the lost time over Christmas break. And, let's face it, if you're hiccuping non-stop you're not going to enjoy the day off anyway.

  "I hiccup hate you," Scoopy told me, as we sat up in my room. His hiccups were really starting to get on my nerves, but since they were my fault I couldn't exactly tell him to go hiccup someplace else.

  I unscrewed the lid of my Slurpy Gulp and took a drink. "Do they feel like they're going away at all?" I asked.

  " Hiccup No."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Of hiccup course I'm hiccup sure! These hiccup stupid hiccup hiccups hiccup haven't stopped hiccup for two hiccup days!"

  "Want some Slurpy Gulp?"

  Scoopy glared at me and snatched the bottle out of my hand. "If hiccup these things don't hiccup stop in—" he took a quick drink, "—the next couple days, I'm going to make sure that you...hey, I think they're gone!"

  He took a deep breath. No hiccups were forthcoming.

  "It's Slurpy Gulp!" I proclaimed. "Slurpy Gulp is the antidote!"

  And indeed it was. We called the principal, who spread word of the cure to all of the affected students. Everyone with hiccups was administered a bottle of Slurpy Gulp, and their misery was brought to an end.

  Then Dr. Larson decided that, as a preventative measure, everyone who'd been exposed to the hiccuping students should be given some Slurpy Gulp as well. And so it was Slurpy Gulp for everyone in Greenwater!

  The McBugle Chew curse was now over. Of course, everyone still hated me, but at least classes would resume normally.

  A COUPLE WEEKS LATER I got a letter from the Slurpy Gulp Beverage Manufacturing Corporation.

  "Good work," it said. "You're off the hook."

  Chapter Seven Quiz

  1. Without looking back, what is the first word in this chapter?

  2. Okay, if you look back, then what's the first word?

  3. Name ten really good cures for hiccups. Try them on somebody who doesn't have hiccups just to annoy them.

  Chapter Eight

  "ONLY TWO WEEKS until the 17th Annual Greenwater Junior High talent show!" the sign in the cafeteria announced. "Win prizes! Have fun! Show your school spirit!"

  Scoopy and I were seated at one of the tables, eating some yellow stuff they served us. "Do you have any talent?" I asked.

  "No," he replied. "Do you?"

  "No. But maybe our lack of talent will be less than everyone else's lack of talent. We could win prizes. We could have fun. We could show our school spirit."

  "We could disgrace ourselves for the rest of our lives."

  "Cool! No, wait, I've already done that. I guess there's no reason to bother with the talent show." I took another bite of the yellow stuff. It kinda tasted like meat loaf.

  Andy, the tallest member of the Bully Trio (you can go back and look it up if you don't believe me), walked by our table. "What are you looking at, Gum-Boy?"

  "He's looking at something really gross on your lunch tray," said Julie, who was seated at the next table. "Oh my gosh, it's your reflection!"

  A couple of kids laughed. Andy glared at me. "You think that's funny?"

  "No," I said. "Her delivery wasn't very good. Not a long enough pause after ‘oh my gosh.'"

  "So what if he did think it was funny?" asked Julie. "It's not like you could beat him up or anything. Elrod could knock you out in less than six punches."

  "Yeah, right," said Andy. He walked off, making what I'm pretty sure were genuine snarling noises.

  I got up from my seat and sat down next to Julie. "You know, I wish you'd quit doing that."

  "Doing what?"

  "Trying to get me killed. Badly killed."

  "I'm not trying to get you killed. I honestly think you could beat him up."

  "No, you don't. Nobody thinks that. Not even I think that, and I'm really good at deluding myself."

  "You need more confidence."

  "No, I need fewer people who want me dead."

  "I think you could take him out in under a minute."

  "You can't be serious! One punch from Andy and I'd be bleeding for the next three weeks. Stop trying to make him mad, all right?"

  Julie sighed. "All right."

  "You promise?"

  "No."

  "I'm serious, Julie. This isn't funny, so knock it off."

  "Oh, if you insist," said Julie. "I'm only trying to help you reach your full potential, but if that doesn't interest you I'll just have to help somebody else."

  "Good! Help somebody else! Help anybody else!"

  I went back to my table and rolled my eyes. Scoopy grinned.

  "She likes you."

  "She does not."

  "She does so. She's trying to make you defend her honor. I think you should ask her to marry you and get it over with."

  "I don't even want to ask her to go to the movies."

  "Why not? Movies are dark. You guys can sit in the back row and kiss for two hours." Scoopy made kissing noises at me.

  "Shut up."

  Scoopy made louder kissing noises at me. Then he glanced over at the other table and noticed that Julie and her friends were giving him the kind of look you usually give somebody who is making an idiot out of himself by making loud kissing noises. He quit.

  "Seriously, she has a crush on you," he said.

  Well, maybe she did. It was understandable. I'm quite a handsome guy every once in a while. But that didn't matter, because I didn't have even the tiniest bit of a crush on her.

  At least, I didn't think I did.

  No, no, I definitely didn't. Not a bit.

  Okay, maybe a tiny smidgen of a bit. But that was all. And she only earned that much because I was feeling generous at the moment. Otherwise, there would be no crush whatsoever for her!

  "So when are you going to ask her out?" Scoopy asked.

  "Never."

  "How come?"

  "Because I don't want to."

  "Ah, but you're admitting that you would if you wanted to! That means there's a chance!"

  "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "That's because true love has clouded your mind."

  The bell rang, and we picked up our trays to empty into the garbage can. I looked over at Julie as she threw away her own trash, and she smiled at me. Okay, okay, maybe a speck more than a smidgen of a bit, but that's all.

  I SLAMMED MY NOTEBOOK shut on my thumb as Scoopy walked to my desk right before Pre-Algebra started. It stung like mad, and I practically had to blink back tears.

  "Are you okay?" he asked.

  I nodded.

  "What were you writing?"

  "Nothing."

  "You were writing something. I saw your
pencil touching the paper and moving. What were you writing?"

  "Nothing."

  "You lie!"

  Scoopy grabbed the notebook away from me. Had my thumb not hurt so bad, I would have been able to stop him. He opened it to the page that I was especially keen for him not to read, and read it. His eyes widened.

  "Is this a love poem?"

  "No!"

  He closed the notebook and handed it back to me. Since he was my best friend, he was going to respect my right to not be mocked in public. But once we were alone, I was doomed.

  "THAT WAS A LOVE poem," Scoopy said as we walked home from school.

  "It was not," I insisted.

  "The first line was ‘Julie, Julie, will you be mine?' That sounds like a love poem to me."

  "You're wrong. I didn't mean ‘mine' in a lovey-dovey way."

  "Then how did you mean it?"

  "In a different way. A non-lovey-dovey way."

  "Uh-huh. What about the line ‘Your eyes sparkle like blue diamonds?'"

  "I meant that they're jagged."

  "Face it, Elrod, you like her."

  "No, I...okay, maybe a little. Barely any."

  "If you barely like her, why are you writing a love poem?"

  "It's not a love poem! It's just a regular poem! I was thinking about becoming a poet when I grow up, so I was getting in some practice. That's all."

  "You lie, lie, lie."

  "I'm serious!"

  "Lie, lie, lie, lie, lie."

  "Okay, fine, believe whatever you want." I was getting mad, and I was also embarrassed. After all, it really was a love poem I was writing. For some sick, twisted reason (possibly the flu), I hadn't been able to get Julie out of my mind since lunch. I could always see her face, smiling at me. I could always hear her voice, singing a bunch of annoying songs that I couldn't get out of my head no matter how hard I tried.

  I think maybe I was in love.

  "I don't know much about girls," Scoopy admitted. "But I can give you one piece of advice. If you want to win Julie's heart, find somebody to help you write a better poem. The one in your notebook stinks."

  VERY FEW THINGS in life can match the great joy of having gym class right after you've pigged out at lunch. Let me tell you, a brisk five-lap run will digest those Ho-Ho's real good, especially if you don't mind an energetic vomiting session afterward.

  My teacher, Mr. Torrance, never really wanted to teach physical education. He wanted to be a poet. But I guess there aren't enough opportunities for professional poets in today's job market, so he was stuck writing in a notebook while he shouted out instructions for us to run faster, climb the rope higher, and quit cheating at flag football.

  "Mr. Torrance, can I talk to you for a minute?"

  He continued to fold up the gym mats that we'd been doing sit-ups on for what felt like the past eighteen years. "Sure, but aren't you going to be late to your next class?"

  "Yeah," I said, "but this is important. You write a lot of poetry, right?"

  "I write some. Why?"

  "If I needed to write a poem to a girl...for an English assignment...and it had to be romantic...for that English assignment...how would I go about doing it?"

  Mr. Torrance smiled. "Elrod, a love poem isn't something you can just whip out between classes. It has to come from your heart and soul. Are you able to stay after school?"

  "Sure."

  "Great. Come down here at the end of the day and we'll sit down and see what we can come up with. We'll do everything we can to win the heart of that girl."

  "You mean, get me an A on the English assignment."

  "Yes, that's what I meant."

  Chapter Eight Quiz

  1. Have you ever been making really loud kissing noises in a cafeteria then suddenly realized that a bunch of people were staring at you?

  2. Have you ever had a dream where you were standing in your underwear making really loud kissing noises in a cafeteria then suddenly realized that a bunch of people were staring at you?

  3. Have you ever actually been standing in your underwear making really loud kissing noises in a...you know the rest. And on second thought, I don't want to know the answer.

  Chapter Nine

  I ALMOST WIMPED OUT, but then un-wimped out at the last second and went to see Mr. Torrance after school.

  "Now," he said, as we sat on the gym bleachers, "I want you to close your eyes and picture her in your mind."

  I closed my eyes. Julie's face appeared before me, her features twisted into the expression of disgust she'd wore at that special moment when Andy spit his gum into our beaker of chemical reactions. "Okay."

  "Now tell me, what's the first thing that catches your eye?"

  "Her face."

  "What about her face?"

  "The front part ."

  "Her eyes...her nose...her smile...?"

  "Yeah."

  I was not very good at this, which is really kind of amazing. I mean, it was so easy for me to draw a comic about Mrs. Webster being a student-torturing demon, yet a simple love poem was beyond my abilities.

  And why did I have a crush on Julie all of a sudden, anyway? I hadn't felt anything for her while we were making the gum. Maybe I only liked her now because I thought she had a crush on me, so I felt obligated to have a crush on her in return. An obsession just to be fair!

  Or maybe I was just being an idiot.

  What should I do? What should I do? What should I do?

  "This is a bad idea," I said. "I should go home."

  "What about your English assignment?"

  "Come on, you know it's not an assignment. I don't think I even like her that much. And she's got really freaky hair."

  "Oh, is it Julie Gelder?"

  I nearly choked on my teeth. "Uh, yeah."

  "We don't have to give up quite yet. If you really want her to know how you feel, a poem can be a wonderful thing."

  Maybe, but I was having very serious doubts about this whole idea. What could I possibly write? What rhymed with Julie?

  Julie, Julie

  You're so cool-ie.

  You're no fool-ie.

  You make me drool-ie.

  All over the school-ie.

  Ummmmm, no.

  I was ready to get up and leave, but then it occurred to me that I didn't actually have to give her the poem. What harm could it do just to write it? Even if I chose not to deliver it to Julie, it might be helpful to have a spare love poem handy should I ever need one on short notice. For example:

  MUGGER: Give me your money and a love poem!

  MAN: I don't have a love poem!

  GUN: Bang!

  MAN: Aaahhh! I'm dead!

  MUGGER: You! Give me your money and a love poem!

  ME: Here you go.

  MUGGER: Thank you very much.

  ME: Whew! I'm not dead!

  See? It could be useful.

  "Okay, Mr. Torrance," I said. "I want whatever help you can give me. Let's get this poem written."

  BEFORE YOU ASK, no, I'm not going to share my poem with you. I know it's unfair, and you probably feel cheated for having read all this way hoping to catch a glimpse of the poem it took Mr. Torrance and I nearly two hours to write. But the simple truth is that it was a terrible poem, and I just couldn't handle having anyone else read it ever again.

  I mean it, it was really lousy. I don't know where Mr. Torrance came up with the idea that he could write anything resembling a real poem. I don't know how I managed to convince myself that it was a good poem, if only for a very short time. Mere words can't express just how bad this poem was, unless I put them in all caps, like this:

  It was a REALLY BAD poem!

  But we wrote it, and I thanked Mr. Torrance, and I decided that the next day I was going to give it to Julie and let her know how I felt, if I still felt that way the next day.

  When I woke up the next day, I wasn't sure if I still had a crush on her. I ate some cereal and thought about it. Okay, yeah, I still had a crush on her. I'
d give her the poem.

  But I wasn't going to put my name on it. I wasn't that stupid. I'd slip the poem (which I'd typed on my computer so she couldn't recognize the handwriting) into her locker and see how she reacted before I revealed my identity. And nobody else was going to know about it, not even Scoopy.

  I was very calm, cool, and collected. As I walked past Julie's locker on my way to study hall, I quickly slipped the poem through the slot at the top. I didn't think she'd dust for fingerprints or anything, so I was safe. I went to study hall, thought about her instead of doing my homework, went to home economics, thought about her instead of paying attention in class, went to English, got in trouble because I was thinking about her instead of paying attention in class, and so on.

  Then came lunch.

  I sat with Scoopy in our usual spot. We were eating cafeteria food again, which was a color I didn't recognize. Julie was seated in her usual spot, with her usual friends, acting unusual. She had a goofy grin on her face, and her eyes were lit up with what can only be called one hundred percent pure love.

  She was holding the poem in her hand.

  She looked at me and smiled.

  I smiled back.

  "Why are you smiling like that?" asked Scoopy, nervously. "Did you put something in my food? What did you put in my food? I'd better not get sick."

  "Your food is fine," I said. "I'm just smiling because I'm a happy person."

  "Oh. Why are you happy?"

  "No reason."

  "Is it because Andy is standing right behind you, and you're in the mood to get beat up?"

  I turned around. Andy stood there, holding his tray of food. "You guys are done with that table, right?"

  "No."

  "Let me say this again. You guys are done with that table, right?"

  "Why don't you just shut up?" said my true love. "You know he can beat you up with one hand tied behind his back."