Allergic to Babies, Burglars, and Other Bumps in the Night

by Lenore Look

  Fifth, things are knocking around outside like aliens have just landed and are about to kidnap you for human experiments.

  Sixth, the lights go out.

  Then FLASH!

  Aliens are beaming you up!

  “A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​C​K!” I cried, covering my eyes.

  “Here,” said an alien, beaming me with a light. “Take this.”

  It was Calvin. He thrust a flashlight into my hands and I clicked it on.

  “A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​C​K!” I zoomed upstairs as fast as my legs would go. I squeezed into my Firecracker Man outfit, then hurried back downstairs.

  “A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​R​R​R​R​R​R​R​R!” I roared, racing at face-peeling speeds with Lucy by my side.

  I LOCKED ALL THE DOORS.

  It was the most dangerous mission Firecracker Man and Lucy had ever been on! The Dynamite Duo used to save the world every day, but now that I have to save myself at school, my superhero was a little out of practice.

  And a lot out of breath.

  Huff. Huff.

  Puff. Puff.

  Sput.

  The floor pinwheeled beneath Firecracker Man. His flashlight swung from his belt.

  “Thank you, Alvin,” said my mom, shining her flashlight at me. “You’re taking good care of us.”

  Alvin? Who’s Alvin?

  I puffed out my chest.

  “I mean, thank you, Firecracker Man,” said my mom, kissing the top of my helmet.

  “Hooray for Firecracker Man!” said Anibelly, giving me a hug.

  C​R​R​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​A​C​K!

  Lightning flipped the inside of our house eyeball white.

  BOOOOOM!

  Thunder grabbed the floor.

  C​R​A​A​A​A​A​SH!

  What was that?

  Did something just leap past the window?

  Was Firecracker Man the only one to see it?

  “G​r​r​r​r​r​r​r​r​r​r​r,” growled Lucy. “G​r​r​r​r​r​r​r​r​r​r​r​r.”

  It was then that Firecracker Man got the bad, sinking feeling superheroes and dogs get when loved ones need to be protected and great danger lurks right outside their lair—that it was only the beginning of the most dangerous mission of his life.

  this is how you know winter has arrived.

  You eat more.

  You move less.

  The heat hums in your house.

  Your blankets are warm.

  But the air is cold.

  You don’t pop! out of bed in the morning like you used to.

  Worse, you can’t even tell it’s morning.

  You could swear it was nighttime.

  But if you did swear, your mom would have a few words for you.

  And she’s already saying hurry, it’s time to go to school.

  But relocking all the doors over and over again and keeping an eye on things the night before had left me weak and in despair. My breathing was shallow. My pulse, faint.

  My room faded like a chalk drawing on the sidewalk.

  Soon the priest will arrive to give me Last Rights, which is the last chance you get to raise your right hand and blink your right eye and bend your right knee. If everything works, you get a pass to go to heaven. Then you go.

  Poor Alvin, everyone will say.

  Poor me.

  But it’s the perfect way to avoid school!

  Too bad death and school were in the hands of the nurses in charge, Lucy and Anibelly. And they were busy and bossy, as usual.

  First I had to pass the Nurse Lucy inspection (easy).

  Then I had to pass the Nurse Anibelly inspection (not so easy).

  She put her ear to my chest.

  She held a mirror to my nose.

  “Mom!” yelled Anibelly. “Alvin’s not dead … and he’s not sick … but he’s still in bed!”

  I groaned a little.

  I kept my eyes shut.

  I rolled over.

  “Oh dear,” said my mom, coming into my room. She put her lips to my forehead. “Could this be Unfinished Homework Syndrome?”

  I groaned again.

  “Lost Report Card Disorder?”

  I clutched my stomach and moaned.

  “Hmmm,” said my mom, turning me over and inspecting me like a bellied-up goldfish. “Groaning, moaning, shallow breathing, memory loss, lethargy, increased appetite, and enormous tummy growth.”

  I went limp in her arms, just in case.

  “Urrrrrgh,” I moaned, just for her.

  “Strange,” said my mom, giving my belly a rub. “Maybe you have a sympathetic pregnancy!”

  A what?

  I bolted up in bed.

  My eyes popped out like bananas.

  “It can be really rough,” my mom said. “All of the suffering and none of the glory. But it’s not a medical excuse for staying home. So rise and shine!”

  My mom was particularly cheerful.

  She gave me a hug.

  She gave me a kiss.

  Then she went to pack my lunch.

  I ran to the mirror. I turned this way. Then I turned that way.

  Eeeeek! I looked like I was in a fun house mirror!

  Why hadn’t I noticed a baby growing in me before? But there it was, as round and glowing as a cha-siu-bau in the oven. I couldn’t believe my mom was sending me to school in my condition! If I was simply pathetic pregnant, shouldn’t I stay home and eat?

  Through my window I could see that Calvin was already at the bottom of our driveway waiting for the bus. He’s always the first one there, and I’m always the last.

  “HURRY, ALVIN!” my mom shouted from downstairs. “YOU’RE GOING TO MISS YOUR BUS!”

  Hurry? How do you hurry when you’re … gulp … pregnant?

  I waddled out.

  I grabbed a croissant in the kitchen and got to the end of our driveway just as the bus pulled up and everyone rushed on. Everyone, that is, except me. I’m allergic to school. So I’m always the last one on. But today I nearly missed the bus altogether—I couldn’t see my feet, or the step! In fact, I probably wouldn’t have gotten on at all if it weren’t for my mom watching me from her car in the driveway with Anibelly in her car seat waiting to go to day care.

  “Bye, Alvin!” I read Anibelly’s lips. She was smiling and waving wildly from the back. She’s always so happy to see me come home, but she’s also extremely happy to see me go. It’s very strange. I can’t figure it out. Girls are a mystery, my dad says. That’s for sure.

  And maybe boys are too.

  I mean, HOW did I end up you-know-what???

  I bit into my croissant.

  I teetered like a bowling pin.

  Then I tripped on the top step.

  “Watch yourself there, sonny,” said the driver.

  “W​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​a​h!” I wailed down the aisle, clutching my PDK (Personal Disaster Kit), which was filled with all sorts of emergency equipment like floss, a bandana, a mirror, a scary mask, disaster plans and escape routes to help me survive school, but nothing to help me survive—gulp—a pregnancy.

  The noise on the bus went round and round.

  The money in my pockets went clang, clang, clang.

  I could hardly walk. My pockets were heavier than my legs!

  So I sat down. The only seat left, as usual, was the one next to Flea, which wouldn’t be so bad if she weren’t a girl. But she is. And the problem with girls, as everyone knows, is that they’re not boys. They cry too much. They smell like cooked broccoli. Not like boys. We don’t cry much—well, okay, I cry a lot, but I don’t cry like a girl, that’s for sure. And we certainly don’t smell like anything you could eat.

  “That burglar was right outside our house last night,” I heard someone say.

  “He was at ours too,” said Nhia. “But I scared him away wit
h my ninja moves.”

  “You might have scared ’im away,” said Sam. “But I nearly bagged ’im and hauled ’im to the cops.”

  “Well, I kicked his butt,” said Eli, “and sent him flying.”

  The gang laughed nervously.

  “How ’bout you, Alvin?” asked Pinky. “Did Firecracker Man scare him away?”

  Pinky’s the biggest boy in my class and the leader of the gang. He hardly ever speaks to me except to point out something embarrassing.

  Normally, I would brag like crazy too. But I was not feeling normal.

  I took another bite of croissant.

  I sure wished I had some butter …

  And jam …

  Then I wished I had grabbed a second croissant!

  “Look, he’s still wearing his Firecracker Man costume!” said Pinky, pointing. “And the ‘F’ is for ‘FAT’!”

  Fat?

  I looked. And sure enough, I’d forgotten to change from last night. And yup, my outfit was kind of … tight … around the middle.

  I stuffed the rest of the croissant into my mouth.

  G​R​R​R​R​R​R​R​R​r​r​r​r​r​r​r​r​r​r! went my belly again.

  Flea’s eye fixed on me.

  If there’s anything good about Flea it’s this: She’s a pirate. She has only one good eye and wears a patch over the eye that she lost in a sea battle in Boston Harbor. Also one of her legs is shorter than the other, which makes you wonder if it met with some misfortune at the jaws of a monster on one of those frightful expeditions off Nantucket. The problem is, she sees more out of her one good eye than most people see out of two. And the problem with sitting next to a pirate with a single eye who survived a whale attack on the high seas is that you might as well be sitting next to a surveillance camera.

  And the problem with surveillance cameras is that they see everything.

  “You were sick yesterday,” said Flea. “And now you’re sick again today.…”

  Her eye was really roving now.

  Worse, her brain was moving right along too. That’s the problem with girl brains; they’re plugged in and working all the time. Not like boy brains, which run on battery and need to shut down now and then to recharge and to preserve battery life.

  “I’ve been watching you, Alvin Ho,” Flea said. “And there’s something not normal about you.…”

  “I’m simply pathetic pregnant,” I squeaked.

  Flea’s eye grew big and round.

  “You’re pregnant?” she asked.

  The word hung.

  The wind howled.

  Everyone turned and stared.

  “Alvin’s pregnant?” Pinky shrieked. “But he’s a boy!”

  “Boys don’t have babies,” said Nhia. “Do they?”

  The eyes of the gang looked back and forth.

  My belly went up and down.

  “Well, maybe it’s a miracle!” Flea cried. “Like Christmas! Instead of the Virgin Birth, he’s the … the … the Colossal Watermelon Birth!”

  Oooh. I could hurt her. Seriously.

  But I didn’t. Flea takes Aggression for Girls, which has taught her a great many things, and me one thing: Don’t hit a girl, even if she has only one good eye and one leg longer than the other and walks unevenly. Don’t even think about it.

  So I wished I could disappear. But I couldn’t. I thrust my hands into my pockets instead.

  Clang-clang-clang went all my coins.

  My paper money went chrrrr-sssssss-chrrrr.

  “Sounds like you used an ATM,” said Pinky, suddenly impressed.

  I was impressed too, but not with Pinky. He should know that ATMs only give out twenties—but I had emptied my entire jar of money that I’d been saving for a long time into my pockets right before leaving the house, which is much more remarkable.

  Then Flea’s mouth opened again—I didn’t have to see it, I could hear it vacuuming all the air from in front of my face the way girls do when they have something to say.

  “Do you think it’s such a good idea to bring so much money to school?” Flea asked.

  “You could lose it all,” Sara Jane said.

  “Or it could all fall out of your pocket on the playground,” added Esha.

  Oooh, girls are so annoying. Don’t they ever listen? Don’t they know what’s going on?

  “DON’T YOU KNOW THERE’S A ROBBER ON THE LOOSE?” I said. “IF I LEFT MY MONEY AT HOME, IT COULD ALL GET STOLEN!”

  The eyes on the bus grew big and round.

  The heads of the gang floated like alien space ships.

  Then, one by one, they exploded.

  “OH​NO​I​SHUDDA​BROUGHT​ALL​MY​MONEY​WITH​ME​TOO!” Pinky screamed.

  “MEETOOOO!” Scooter hollered.

  “WHY​DIDN’T​I​THINK​OF​THAT???!!!” Sam cried.

  Then the entire gang bawled like it was the end of the world.

  Because it was.

  When you don’t know where your money is, then that’s it for you. It’s worse than being a watermelon in spandex.

  the bad news about being pregnant is that there is always an announcement.

  “Miss P, Alvin’s pregnant!”

  Flea declared as soon as we walked into class. “It’s a miracle!”

  Miss P stopped.

  She smiled.

  “Actually, sympathetic pregnancies are very common,” said Miss P. “But they can also be really rough. It’s a time of many changes for everyone in the family.”

  Miss P gave me a wink. “I had a sneaking suspicion about you yesterday,” she said. “I hope you’re feeling better today.”

  Then she looked at the gang.

  “It’s a good thing Alvin has you guys for support,” Miss P said to them. “Maybe some of you have babies in your families and know what Alvin is going through.”

  I put on my run-over-by-a-truck face.

  I stuck out my muffin-top belly.

  Miss P’s very nice, and there’s always hope that she’ll send me home.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, I had to get in line like everyone else and march to the library.

  Normally, I like library hour. Our librarian will read something to us and then let us find a book to borrow. If you make too much noise, you can end up in the principal’s office. If you’re quiet, like me, you can get a free bookmark when you check out.

  But this was not normal.

  Clang​clang​clang! went all the money in my pockets.

  Flea’s one good eye followed me, stuck like a gumball to my hair.

  Worse, Miss P now had her eyes on me too. Worser, she likely has a second pair of eyes in the back of her head, just like my mom. She guessed right away that I had my entire life savings in my pockets and said that maybe I should give it to her for safekeeping until it was time to go home.

  “I’m just saying,” said Miss P.

  I kept my eyes down.

  I clutched my PDK.

  But the problem with having your entire life savings in your pockets in the library is that it’s very noisy.

  And the library is very quiet.

  “Sounds like someone robbed a bank,” said the librarian as I walked past. “Don’t try to hide from the police in my stacks.”

  Lucky for me, I had my PDK, so I put most of my money into it for safekeeping and for keeping it quiet.

  Also lucky for me, Eli, who has been abducted by aliens twenty-eight times over the past two years, is better than anyone else at using the Dewey decimal numbers to find exactly what he needs in the library. The Dewey numbers, as everyone knows, are an alien plan to organize our books for transport into outer space. And you need someone who can read alien to use it.

  So I let him find what I was looking for.

  “Look here,” he said, bent like a curly fry over a book. “This is what a baby looks like inside your belly when it’s two months old.”

  The gang looked at the picture.

  Then they looked
at me.

  “That doesn’t look like Alvin,” said Sam.

  “It’s too small,” Scooter agreed. “Alvin’s baby is nearly as big as the baby I have at home!”

  “ ‘Having. a. baby. changes. everything,’ ” Eli read like a robot. He had been reading like this since his last abduction. It was super-duper! “ ‘Your. body. changes.’ ”

  The gang looked at me.

  I looked at my belly.

  “ ‘Your. emotions. change,’ ” Eli continued. “ ‘You. could. be. happy. one. minute. and. sad. the. next. You. might. cry. more. easily. than. usual. Your. sense. of. smell. will. also. change.’ ”

  Then Eli flipped through the pages until he came to “Your Baby at Eight Months.”

  Eyes popped.

  Snot ran.

  Jaws fell.

  The baby looked … well, it looked like a plucked chicken in a paint can.

  And the outline of the belly was … well, it looked a lot like mine.

  “That’s you,” said Pinky.

  “That’s your baby,” said Jules.

  “Alvin Two,” said Nhia, breathless.

  Then the gang got very, very quiet.

  No one said anything.

  No one knew what to say.

  What do you say when the belly of someone you know is in the pages of a book?

  Nothing.

  You should be polite.

  You should notice other things.

  You should talk about something else.

  “Hey, that looks like Pinky’s baby,” said Nhia, turning the pages back to the baby at five months.

  “My baby?” asked Pinky. “I don’t have a baby!”

  But if you looked at the drawing of the baby at five months and then you looked at Pinky’s belly, anyone could see that they were exactly the same.

  “And that’s Hobson’s baby there!” cried Jules, pointing at the baby at seven months.

  “Whaaaat?” Hobson shrieked. “I don’t have a baby. I’m just chubby.”

  “Indoor voices, please,” said the librarian.

  “Right, guys?” Hobson whispered. “My mom says it’s just baby fat.”