by Lenore Look
Calvin clicked again.
“Did you know that the speed of blood is 2,540 miles per hour?” Calvin asked.
“WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH BEING PREGNANT?” I cried.
That’s the problem with Calvin. He likes to look at everything.
“A hamster gestates for sixteen days,” Calvin read. “A rabbit for thirty-one.”
“Oooh, I like hamsters and rabbits,” said Anibelly. “They’re cute.”
“What’s gestate?” I asked.
“It means to carry something important inside of you,” Calvin said. “Like a baby or an idea.”
Then Calvin whistled. “An elephant gestates for twenty-two months,” he said. “That’s nearly almost TWO years!”
“I’M NOT AN ELEPHANT!!!” I cried.
Then I really cried.
“Ooooowooooo!” Lucy howled with me.
“Okay, okay,” said Calvin. “A dog gestates for sixty days. And a normal human pregnancy lasts nine months.”
“Nine months???!!!”
“But a sympathetic pregnancy can last an indefinite, unspecified amount of time,” Calvin added.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Not exactly sure,” said Calvin. “Symptoms come and go, and can be more acute than an actual pregnancy.”
“I love cute,” said Anibelly.
“I hate cute,” I said.
“Are you constipated?” Calvin asked.
“What?”
“You know, can you poop?” Calvin asked again.
“That’s gross and personal,” I said.
“It’s the pregnancy test,” Calvin said. “Answer yes to one or more of these questions and you pass. I heard Mom say that taking the test is the only way to know for sure whether you’re pregnant.”
Oh.
“Do you have to pee all the time?” Calvin continued.
“Yup, he sure does,” Anibelly answered before I could. She smiled. “He always makes it in time too!”
Oh brother.
“Do you have gas?”
Silence.
“Not the kind you put in your car,” Calvin said.
“Sometimes,” I said.
“Have you gained weight?” Calvin asked. But he knew that I knew that he knew that he didn’t have to ask.
“Do you have constant fatigue? Dizziness, moodiness or foot growth?”
“My feet will grow?” I asked.
“The belly isn’t the only part of you that will expand,” Calvin read. “Your feet will grow too.”
I looked at my feet. They looked the same as they had that morning.
“Will they get hairy too?” I asked. “Like Hobbits’?”
“It doesn’t say anything about that,” said Calvin.
“Too bad,” I said.
“Yeah,” said Calvin. “I wouldn’t mind having feet like that.”
“It’d be nicer if you got a merboy’s tail instead,” said Anibelly. “Then we can play mermaids.”
“Grrrrrr,” I growled. I hate mermaids. And Anibelly is always trying to get me to play mermaids with her.
Then Calvin looked me smack in the eye. “You pass,” he said. “Everything that happens to Mom will happen to you.”
But Calvin didn’t have to say. In the pit of my muffin top, I already knew.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom’s Grocery Getter screeching up our driveway. She was home early! I love it when she comes home early. It was the best thing to happen all day.
I popped the last piece of donut into my mouth and ran downstairs.
my mom was panting in the kitchen.
It was not a good sign.
I’d seen it on TV. When the panting starts, the baby is fast on its way! Then a commercial comes on.
“Is the baby coming now?” I asked, picking a mochi cake off the table and popping it into my mouth.
“I hope not,” said my mom, putting a hand on her tummy, which made me put my hand on mine.
“I didn’t come home early for the baby,” she said breathlessly. “I came home early for you.”
“Me?” I swallowed.
“I have a surprise planned for you,” my mom said.
A surprise? Mochi cake crumbs shot out of my nose.
“Hooray!” said Anibelly. “A surprise!”
I hate surprises. They freak me out. But Anibelly loves them.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I know! I know!” Anibelly shrieked. “But I’m not going to tell.”
“I think it would be really nice if you had something that was all your own before the baby came,” my mom said. “Something that would be fun, with lots of physical activity.”
“Physical activity?” I asked. “In my condition?”
“Well, that’s exactly why,” my mom said. “You’ll feel more like your old self again when you’re in better shape.”
Huh?
“Your brother has karate and baseball and all his after-school clubs,” my mom continued. “And Anibelly has circus arts and thriller lessons. But you’ve just been hanging with me, running errands, and not complaining.”
“But that’s what I like to do,” I said.
It’s true. Running errands with my mom is not just running errands. She always tells me something about herself that I didn’t know before, such as, “Did you know that I’ve walked across the Mississippi River on foot?” while pushing a cart at the grocery store. Or “Did you know that I’ve stood within inches of the right arm of John the Baptist?” while picking up Anibelly at day care. Or “Did you know that I held an original manuscript of Thoreau’s at the library yesterday?” while throwing laundry into the wash.
My mom put her arm around me.
“I know, darling,” she said. “I like it too. And I appreciate that you’ve been helping me and watching out for me even though you didn’t know I was pregnant. You have good instincts. You’re a great helper and protector.”
I nodded. I love it when my mom has a good word for me.
“But you’re a growing boy,” she said. “You need to run around and let off steam.”
“A surprise, a surprise!” Anibelly sang. “Alvin’s going to play hockey! Alvin’s going to play hockey!”
HOCKEY?
HOCKEY???!!!
Why didn’t she just sign me up for sudden death? And bury me immediately afterward?
“It’s a great winter sport,” my mom said. “Many kids your age are getting involved. You’ll love it once you give it a try.”
“But—” I started to say.
But it was too late.
“I got such a bargain on your equipment,” my mom said, dragging a large bag from behind the door. “One of the moms at yoga said her son Dominic outgrew his gear and that it was the perfect size for you. She said if you want to play, you can have it.”
Dominic? His real name is No Teeth. He’s in the third grade.
He lost a few teeth playing hockey.
So his smile looks like a checkerboard.
And he finks he’s funny when he can’t say Fanksgiving or somefing.
I used to think he was funny too.
Super-duper funny.
Until … my mom pulled out his equipment from the bag and started putting it on me.…
On went his long underwear.
On went his socks.
On went his cup.
On went his shin guards.
On went his garter belt.
On went his hockey pants.
On went his outer hockey socks.
On went his skates.
“When you learn to dress yourself,” my mom said, “remember to put your skates on before putting on the top part or you’ll have a hard time bending over.”
Then on went the top part:
Shoulder pads.
Elbow pads.
Jersey.
Neck guard.
Mouth guard.
Helmet.
Glo
ves.
Stick.
“Wow,” said Anibelly. “You look like a marshmallow!”
“He’s a Mite,” my mom said. “The youngest hockey players are called Mites.”
I was a mite in a marshmallow, puffy and quiet.
How they ever shoved me into the car, I have no idea.
“Did you know that I used to play on the women’s hockey team in college?” my mom said as we drove away.
I said nothing.
How can you say anything when your teeth are stuck together in one place where they can all be knocked out in a single crack?
If you want to play hockey, you have to know how to skate.
First I skated forwards.
Then I skated backwards. (I’ve had lots of practice on Walden Pond.) The coach was very pleased.
Then he asked me to skate with a stick.
Skating with a stick is tricky.
It’s longer than your legs.
It’s way longer than your arms.
It feels like you’re pushing around a very long, dangerous weapon.
And it gets in the way, a LOT.
You could impale yourself on it (marshmallow on a stick).
You could impale someone else on it (two marshmallows on a stick).
How you’re supposed to pretend it’s only a broom for sweeping a puck, I have no idea. There aren’t even bristles to hide the fact that it’s a skewer for roasting marshmallows, which made me feel hungry again.
“Every time you go out there, I want you to do one thing better,” the coach said.
The team nodded.
“We play as a team,” the coach said. “We practice as a team. Help each other out. Help the new kid out.”
That’s me. I’m the new kid.
If there’s anything I like about hockey, it’s this: It’s a silent game. No one talks, or screams or yells. All the players’ teeth are stuck together.
If there’s anything else I like about hockey, it’s this: The spectators are not silent at all. They’re very loud!
“Skate, Alvin, skate!” my mom yelled.
“C’mon, Alvin!” Anibelly screamed. “Skate fast!”
It was super-duper!
But if there’s anything I don’t like about hockey, it’s this: There’s a girl on my team.
“Hi, Alvin!” she said with her one good eye.
It was Flea.
But her helmet said “FEARLESS,” which is EARLESS with an “F” in front.
Yikes!
Why hadn’t I ever noticed that about her before?
I wondered where she had lost her ears!
“Do this!” she said with her eye. She controlled a puck down the rink like it was attached to her stick.
Then she crashed into the boards and fell, hard.
But she’s not delicate. She’s a pirate. She got right up and practiced again.
But the worst thing about hockey is this: Hockey, as everyone knows, is death by multiple choice. You can die by:
a. puck
b. blade
c. stick
d. Zamboni
e. all of the above
But not me. I died by:
f. humiliation
“He’d make the perfect goalie,” the coach told my mom. “He’s got good instincts … and his size covers most of the goal mouth.”
My SIZE?
It was the worst ending to the worst day of my life.
embarrassing news travels fast.
By the time it was recess the next morning, I was the goalkeeper for a soccer game on the playground.
“Alvin’s a wall!” cried Nhia.
“Nothing gets past him!” said Scooter.
“Amazing,” said Pinky. “He just stands there!”
How the gang found out, I have no idea.
I wanted to cry!
But you can’t cry and eat at the same time. And I’d rather eat. So I popped one of my pohpoh’s mochi cakes into my mouth. I had an emergency supply of them in my pocket, just in case.
“Hey, guys, listen to this,” said Eli, who was the only one not playing. He was reading his book.
“ ‘Naming. your. newborn. baby. is. one. of. the. most. important. decisions. you. will. make. for. your. child.’ ”
Wham! The ball came flying and hit him on the head. The gang rushed over.
“Ow!” Eli said, without looking up. He didn’t even rub the spot. He kept his finger on the page, and he kept reading. “ ‘A. name. affects. the. way. we. think. of. ourselves. and. the. way. others. see. us.’ ”
“I’m naming my baby Mario,” said Sam.
“Mine is going to be Sonic,” said Nhia.
I like Tiger, I wanted to say, but nothing came out of my mouth.
“I like Tiger,” said Pinky.
“Name him something else,” said Hobson, who always gives you a choice. “Or don’t name him at all.”
“Tiger’s mine,” said Pinky.
“MINE!” Hobson said.
Before he could see it coming, Hobson fell on top of Pinky, like a house sailing out of the clear blue sky and landing right on top of the wicked witch. It was super-duper!
Too bad the end-of-recess bell rang just then and we had to hurry in.
Miss P had some good news for us after lunch.
“Guess how much we collected in donations for earthquake relief yesterday?” Miss P asked.
I had no idea.
I made no eye contact.
But I eyed my PDK that was sitting on top of her desk.
“One hundred twenty-two dollars and eighty-four cents!” said Miss P, clapping her hands.
Everyone clapped.
“Almost all of that was Alvin’s money,” Flea said proudly.
“Indeed,” said Miss P. “Alvin’s an inspiration to us all.”
I sat a little taller.
“When the other classes heard about our collection,” Miss P continued, “they made their own Personal Donations Kits, and have already collected nearly three hundred dollars.
“You should be very proud of yourselves,” Miss P said. “You started something that could help a lot of kids.”
Everyone sat taller.
“In fact, your principal thought it was such a good idea that she wants to get other schools involved,” Miss P added. “She called the local TV station, and emailed your parents for permission for a news crew to do a story on us this afternoon.”
Everyone squealed with excitement.
Everyone, that is, except me.
Who wants to be on TV?
Not me!!!
My dad says when you have that much money sitting around, drawing attention to it is a ticket to trouble with a capital “T.”
This is how to know you are on the express train to Trouble.
You can’t hear your lessons.
You ask for the bathroom pass.
You can’t see your lessons.
You ask for the bathroom pass.
You can’t taste your emergency mochi cakes.
You ask for the bathroom pass.
“Alvin,” said Miss P. “Don’t you think that’s enough of going to the bathroom for now?”
Miss P’s very nice. She smells like fresh laundry and lets you use the bathroom pass as often as you need, just in case.
But the look on her face said that using the pass every three seconds was pushing your luck, mister.
So I sat down.
I didn’t ask for the bathroom pass.
But now I was sure I needed to go, not like the other times when I only thought I needed to go.
Gulp.
Worse, I had no idea why the girl next to me was smiling at me. It was the same girl who was FEARLESS. Only now she had ears. And you know when a girl who can regrow her ears just like that smiles at you, it’s Trouble.
“Alvin,” she said.
Was she talking to me?
“I made you something,” said Flea.
She held out a basket. It looked like i
t could be a picnic basket (good). Or it could be a basket for girl things (bad). It was hard to tell.
“It’s your new PDK,” she said.
I could hardly believe it! I’ve had to use my pockets ever since my PDK became the Personal Donations Kit.
“Your Pregnancy Disaster Kit!” Flea whispered.
Heads turned.
I had no idea what lesson we were doing, but Flea, as usual, was already done with her assignment. She opened the basket and pulled out:
A blankie.
Hand sanitizer.
Diaper cream.
An old stuffed tiger.
Cheese ’n’ crackers.
A diaper.
A Mozart CD.
An emergency plan:
I ignored her.
I ignored the basket, which was not a PDK, but a BDK—a Baby Diapering Kit! I wanted to tell her this, but my mouth felt like it was filled with diaper cream.
I ignored Pinky, who was snickering.
I ignored everything except the screaming voice inside that was telling me how frightful being on TV was going to be.
I was so good at ignoring things that I almost missed the first snowflake at 12:57, just as Miss P was handing out another worksheet.
Then I saw another flake at 1:01.
Then two flakes at 1:06, one right after the other. It was super-duper!
It was practically a nor’easter! And it was about to save us from being on TV!
The brakes on the fast train to Trouble squeal to a stop.
I look out the train window.
An avalanche pours from the sky, like oatmeal flakes from the overhead food bin at the grocery store.
The school is buried by the storm of the millennium!
Bulldozers arrive.
Parents cry.
Policemen panic.
Mammoths roam the earth.
“Alvin,” a voice said. “Are you still with us?”
