The Awesome, Almost 100% True Adventures of Matt & Craz

by Alan Silberberg

  Matt gave his dad a fist bump and then closed the door and waved as the two-seater sports car sped away from the school.

  “Hey, guys,” Matt said to Sammy and Craz as he walked over to the flagpole.

  “That car,” said Sammy. “Fancy-shmancy.”

  Craz squinted at his friend. “Things look pretty chummy with your dad. What’s up with that?”

  Matt hesitated. “He, uh, moved back home. In fact it’s almost like he never left.”

  “Must’ve gotten a big raise, too,” Craz said somewhat suspiciously. “That was some car.”

  Matt just shrugged as the first bell rang and the groups of kids hanging out in front of the school started to move, sluglike, through the front doors.

  FOR CRAZ THE SCHOOL DAY BEGAN WITH A MAJOR brain fail in his French class, where the verbs seemed to gang up on him. He managed to ask to go to the bathroom in a future-perfect tense that made the other kids in class laugh—so that was a plus, even though he didn’t get to use the toilet until after the period ended.

  The morning dragged on, and both boys suffered through a health class where the lesson plan centered on the perils of pimples.

  As the PowerPoint images of different zits flashed on the smart board, Craz finally brought up what had been on his mind all morning. “Listen, about your dad . . .”

  “I know.” Matt bit his thumbnail and wouldn’t make eye contact with his best friend. “Showing up and patching things up at home. Crazy, right?”

  Craz didn’t buy it. “You used the pen, didn’t you? You drew your father. And that car. Man, that was a nice ride.”

  Matt looked at Craz. “I had to. It’s just . . .” He paused. “It was so easy to do. Just like that, there we were. A whole family again. And yeah, the car. He always wanted one like that, so I figured why not sweeten the deal? Make him happy so that we all can be happy.”

  “Hey, no harm, no foul from me. I think it’s kind of awesome he’s back,” Craz said.

  Matt smiled. “You know, we had the best time yesterday. All four of us. Batting cages. Barbecue ribs. A movie. Even Ricky kind of smiled. We’re planning a winter vacation. The Bahamas. My mom’s been dying to go there forever, and now . . . it’s looking real.”

  Matt took the pen out of his shirt pocket and tapped it against his open palm. “Who knew fixing a family could be so easy?”

  24

  TROUBLE

  “I STILL DON’T UNDERSTAND WHY THEY DIDN’T just nuke the Hispaniola.” Barry Higgins was once again complaining that the Treasure Island pirates would make terrible Navy SEALS and that Jim Hawkins, Captain Smollett, and Dr. Livesey were total wusses.

  “For the last time, Barry, Robert Louis Stevenson has crafted a work that reflects the times in which he lived,” Mrs. Bentz said through clenched teeth. “There were no nuclear weapons. And I think you’ll ultimately find the actions of Jim Hawkins rather heroic.”

  “Fat chance,” Barry Higgins said under his breath.

  The bell rang and kids immediately gathered books and backpacks. Mrs. Bentz held up her hand, which froze all activity. “Chapters twenty-seven and twenty-eight for tomorrow,” she said. “And Mr. Crazinski and Mr. Worfle, please see me after class.”

  Diesel McKenzie snickered from his seat behind Matt. “Whatever it is, I hope it’s trouble.”

  “Yeah, big trouble,” echoed Skip Turkle.

  Mrs. Bentz turned her back to the class and quickly wrote out the homework on the blackboard. Craz poked Matt on the shoulder.

  “What’d we do?” he asked.

  “Beats me. But whenever she calls you by your last name, it’s never good.”

  Matt and Craz stayed in their seats as the rest of the kids practically ran for freedom. Diesel stood in the doorway and used his finger to make a slow cut across his throat. He laughed as he joined Skip in the hallway, leaving Matt and Craz alone with the dreaded Mrs. Bentz.

  The first thing she did was close the door. Not a good sign.

  “Rules exist for good reason,” she sternly began. “Would you agree, Lawrence?”

  Craz knew they were doomed but thought he’d better play along. “Yes, Mrs. Bentz. I totally agree.”

  “Good,” she said, and then turned her attention on Matt. “And why do rules exist, Matthew?”

  Matt felt some sweat drip down from his armpit. He hadn’t thought he was nervous, but all of a sudden he was sure that he was. “Um . . . Well, for one thing, rules keep order separated from chaos.” He didn’t know if she’d accept his answer, and suddenly felt like he was on a game show. A game show he was going to lose.

  Mrs. Bentz made the “tut-tut” noise that pinched her puckered face even more, signaling that she was not pleased with the answer. Both boys watched as she walked behind her desk and opened her file drawer. She reached inside and pulled out a piece of paper, then showed it to them. It was the “Cartoon Kings” original drawing. The one Craz just then realized he’d forgotten under the copier lid in the teachers’ lounge.

  “I’m glad you take so much pride in your shenanigans that you sign your own work.” She tapped at their signa­tures with her sharp fingernail and paused long enough for Matt to feel more sweat dripping inside his shirt. He really needed a better deodorant.

  “I found your handiwork in the teachers’ lounge copy machine on Friday. How many rules do you think you broke?”

  Craz jumped at the answer. “Well, we’re not supposed to go into the teachers’ lounge, so that’s obviously one rule. And we kind of used the copy machine, so that’s two.” He should’ve quit talking right there but kept going. “But if you multiply that by Matt and me, I guess the correct answer’s gotta be . . . four.”

  Mrs. Bentz sneered at Craz. “Do you think this is funny, Mr. Crazinski?”

  Craz knew what to say, but the logical part of his brain was put into a choke hold by the wise-mouth part. “No, ma’am. What I think is funny is how you read us Treasure Island every day and don’t even try to add any sound effects or do different voices.”

  Matt froze in his seat.

  Craz put on a cockney accent. “Aye, I’m Jack ’awkins and I’m stuck on a bloomin’, bleedin’ borin’ boat with scallywags and ’oodlums, I am.”

  Matt was breathing hard and kept his hands folded tight on the desktop. It was one of those moments when he wished his best friend wasn’t so weird, but that ship had sailed a long time ago.

  Mrs. Bentz stood totally still. Her eyes became tiny and the red-raged anger rose from her neckline all the way up to her forehead. If Matt drew the cartoon of her, there’d be steam coming out from her ears.

  “That’s it,” she said, slamming her file drawer shut. “Detention would just give you two the time to draw more of your insipid cartoons.” She waved the “Cartoon Kings” comic like it was dirty laundry. “Rules, gentlemen, need to be followed. One, you snuck into an off-limits school area, and two, you used school machinery without permission. What do you think should be done?”

  Matt knew to say nothing, and he also knew Craz was incapable of silence.

  “If you ask me,” Craz blurted out with one eye squinted shut like an eye-patched pirate, “make us walk the plank. Eh, matey?” And then he made believe he was a parrot and squawked, “Walk the plank! Walk the plank!”

  Matt put his head in his hands while Mrs. Bentz seethed from behind her huge desk. She opened her file drawer and slid the drawing back into a hidden folder.

  “Wonderful performance, Lawrence,” she said as a tight smile spread on her lips. “I think I know a proper punishment that should suit you both just fine.”

  25

  THE PUNISHMENT

  “LOOK, I’M SORRY, OKAY? HO
W MANY TIMES DO I have to say it?”

  It was between periods and the guys were hanging out in the second-floor boys’ bathroom, which was the one where the stalls actually locked. Washing his hands at the bathroom sink, Matt was so mad he couldn’t even look at Craz. “How about you just stop talking for once? How does that sound?”

  Craz caught Matt’s eye in the mirror and opened his mouth to respond, but then quickly shut it. He made a Zip my lip move with his fingers and smiled meekly.

  “A twenty-page research paper? Tough break,” said Sammy, who combed his hair again, trying unsuccessfully to look anything but geeky.

  “Twenty pages. Each!” Matt stared at his friends. “And we have to analyze the main characters’ motivation for wanting the buried treasure. What does that even mean?”

  “Stiff sentencing, if you ask me,” added Len, who was leaning against the wall that had once again just been painted to hide the scribbles and graffiti kids always added there. “Bentz is just evil.”

  Craz listened to the conversation with his lips pursed tightly. He was fighting the urge to jump into the conversation, but the frequent glares from Matt kept him mute.

  Sammy nodded. “That’s a whopper of an assignment. When’s it due?”

  “Friday,” Matt moaned. “This Friday!”

  Len and Sammy shared a look. Craz silently shrugged. They all knew that it would be a ton of research on top of all that writing. No fun at all.

  “You need a couple of extra days at least to tackle this puppy,” Len said. “Too bad she won’t call in sick. Mrs. Bentz hasn’t missed a day of school in three years.”

  “That’s true,” added Sammy. “Rumor is that last year she came to work with a hundred-and-four fever. Taught class in a plastic bubble.”

  Matt shook his head. “We’re doomed.”

  “Hold on,” said Len. “Just because she never gets sick doesn’t mean she couldn’t have a little ‘accident.’ ”

  “An accident?” Matt stared at his friend. “I’m not putting a hit out on Mrs. Bentz. I just want enough time to get this lame assignment off my back.”

  Craz had stayed silent long enough. “Maybe she could just go on a sudden vacation,” he blurted out. “You know, like to an island.” Craz looked directly at Matt. He had an idea that would solve all their problems.

  “An island?” Matt looked worried.

  Craz grinned. “Yeah. Maybe she should go visit Treasure Island.”

  Sammy and Len laughed. “Treasure Island! Bentz would love that, wouldn’t she?”

  “Just her and the pirates,” Craz said with a wink that only Matt caught.

  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing. That would definitely get you a substitute teacher,” joked Len. “Definitely.”

  THE GYM WAS DECORATED WITH YELLOW AND black streamers, and a ton of colorful helium balloons had been arranged to create an archway over the boys’ locker room door. It was a schoolwide pep rally, and the bleachers were packed with kids ready to cheer on their team. The last-period class had been canceled so that the Killer Bees football players could know just how much Kilgore Junior High wanted them to beat down the Brimley Tigers in that afternoon’s big football game.

  “Who’s got the stuff?” shouted the cheerleader squad from the center of the gym.

  “Killer Bees!” shouted most of the kids and all of the teachers. “Killer Bees!” they shouted again when the cheerleaders put their hands to their ears in a cheesy I can’t hear you move.

  “Killer Bees!” shouted Coach Arakanian, who felt total devotion to each and every member of his squad . . . as long as they won. When they didn’t, he screamed at them until he lost his voice.

  The cheerleaders broke off into a pattern of tumbles and flips as Principal Droon walked onto the court. He wore an oversize Killer Bees jersey on top of his suit coat, which made him look ridiculous.

  Principal Droon took the microphone off the stand and put it up to his lips. “Bzzzzzzz!” He made the familiar sound of swarming bees.

  “Bzzzzzzzz!” responded most of the kids and all of the teachers, so that the gym filled with the imagined threat of a few hundred bee stings, which made Matt touch his EpiPen nervously.

  Since the beginning of the rally, Craz had waited in his seat alone at the top of the bleachers, but finally he pushed his way down four rows and past a bunch of kids, who all gave him dirty looks. He stepped on several kids’ toes before squeezing in next to Matt. “So, Matt-man. What do you think?”

  Matt was still mad at Craz. He answered coolly. “What do I think about what?”

  “Treasure Island. Mrs. Bentz. It would make an awesome cartoon.”

  “You were serious?”

  “One hundred percent,” Craz said. “You said it yourself. We just need a little more time to write the assignment. Besides, think of it from her perspective. How much would she love going there? We’d be giving her a dream come true.”

  Matt remained skeptical. “You sure that wouldn’t be a nightmare?”

  Craz looked down at Principal Droon now high-fiving the football players as they ran out from the locker room to the center of the gym.

  Craz turned back to Matt. “Look, I know I don’t always think things through and that my mouth gets me in trouble sometimes.”

  Matt fumed. “It isn’t just you, Craz.”

  “Right. My mouth gets us into trouble. But we’ve got our hands on something amazing. Don’t you think we should use it to help us out?”

  Paulie Frick, the Killer Bees quarterback, took the microphone from Principal Droon. “Thanks, Principal Goon,” he said, to the cheers of most of the kids but none of the teachers. “Let’s kick some Tiger butt today!”

  Matt turned to his friend. He sighed. “Truth is . . . I think you have an awesome idea and there’s nothing I’d like more than to send Bentz to that stupid island.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about!” Craz shouted above the cheers of the crowd. “I’m telling you, she’s going to go nuts about this.”

  Matt sighed. “And we’ll still write the papers?”

  “Of course we will. She goes away for a couple days and we get more time. It’s a win-win situation.”

  The pep rally had hit critical mass. Cheerleaders were jumping and screaming while the football players butted heads and grunted like animals. Coach Arakanian was actually on his hands and knees making believe he was a Brimley Junior High Tiger that the players should try to tackle.

  Matt took the pen from his backpack. “Just a little trip to Treasure Island, and then she comes back.”

  “Yeah,” said Craz. “Comes back with a tan and as many doubloons as she can stuff in her girdle!”

  While the gym erupted in shouts of “Killer Bees! Killer Bees!” Matt and Craz slipped down the row and out of the gym. They didn’t care about a silly football game.

  They had a cartoon to create.

  26

  A SKETCHY GETAWAY

  WITH THE WHOLE SCHOOL CONSUMED BY THE PEP rally in the gym, it was easy to slip into the empty library and spread out at one of the back tables to secretly create a quick comic. Craz paced in a tight circle as he carefully crafted the details that Matt drew to guarantee that Mrs. Bentz would become part of the Treasure Island story.

  “I hope she knows what she’s in for,” said Matt, inspecting the last panel, where he’d drawn his terrible teacher discovering she was on her beloved island.

  “Dude. She’s got the book memorized,” said Craz. “If anyone knows what she’s in for, it’s her!”

  Matt signed the cartoon and then handed the special pen to Craz so he could add his name too. “All we need now is to make a copy.”

  The guys knew they couldn’t
risk using a school machine again, so Craz took the cartoon and promised to stop by Copy-Copy on his way home and use the self-serve machine there.

  “And then it’s an island vacation for her and a Bentz-free week for us!” Craz beamed.

  The final bell of the day rang, and Matt quickly loaded up his backpack so he could rush off to catch his bus home. “I want to be there when my dad gets off work,” Matt shouted as he ran out of the library. “He promised to shoot hoops.”

  “Laters,” said Craz, who stayed behind to clean up the mess they’d made. The table was littered with balled-up sketches and several empty bags of barbecue chips that had fueled their creative session. Craz scooped up the mess and tossed everything into the garbage but stopped short when he heard a loud thunk of something obviously not paper landing in the metal basket.

  “Uh-oh,” he said as he immediately saw that he’d just thrown Matt’s pen into the trash. It must’ve been hiding under the scraps of paper, Craz thought as he bent down to rescue it. He slid the pen into his pocket and then slung his backpack over his shoulder before leaving the library.

  Craz headed down the hallway, where kids were busy trying to get out of school as fast as possible. Lockers were slamming shut. Kids were shouting to their friends. It was chaotic, and Craz liked the wild vibe. He passed Mrs. Bentz’s classroom and saw his teacher bent over her desk, correcting a stack of papers with her nasty red pen. He stood by the door watching as she slashed and hacked at essays and then, with a chuckle, drew a huge F on the paper in front of her. She seemed to be enjoying herself too much, Craz thought before pulling the new cartoon out of his backpack and looking at it again. A sly grin spread on his face.