by Rob Vlock
Alicia scowled at me. “Take that back! Dix is amazing!”
“Yeah, you must be the only person on Earth who doesn’t love him!” Will added.
“A few weeks ago you didn’t even know who he was!” I countered.
It was true. A month ago, nobody on the planet had heard of Dixon Watts. Then he burst onto the scene like a mushy jack-o-lantern in December, the biggest teen-pop-mega-superstar in the history of music. His song, “Girl, You Are My Shredded Wheat,” was at the top spot on every chart in the world. And spots two through twelve on those charts were filled with the other songs from his first album. You couldn’t go anywhere without hearing one of those ear-manglers. It was a total nightmare.
“How can you listen to this?” I pressed. “He sounds like blender full of quarters! No, you know what he sounds like? A garbage disposal full of forks. He’s the worst singer—”
I didn’t get to finish the sentence. Because that was the moment Alicia’s anvil of a fist smashed into my face.
• • •
The only good thing about being knocked out by Alicia Toth was that I was unconscious for the rest of Dixon Watts’s song. When I opened my eyes a few minutes later, I was relieved to hear to the DJ’s voice excitedly droning in that slick, plasticky tone pop station radio announcers all like to use.
“That was Dix Watts’s mega-super-hit ‘Girl, You Are My Shredded Wheat.’ But don’t you dare turn your radio off! Because we’ve just gotten a brand-new surprise release from Dix! Here is ‘Babe, You Are My Scrambled Eggs’!”
One of the worst things I’d ever heard came warbling out of the RV’s speakers.
Babe, you are my scrambled eggs!
I love you and your bacon legs!
I got unsteadily to my feet. “Oh, man! Not another one! Haven’t I suffered enough?” I blurted through a fat lip, instantly wishing I could bite back the words as I thought about Alicia’s fist and its run-in with my face.
So just relax and don’t put up a fight.
’Cause you know it’s gonna be all right.
But Alicia didn’t respond at all. No one did. Alicia, Will and Sam all just sat perfectly still, frozen in concentration. Like the tentacles of that awful tuneless abomination playing on the radio had wormed their way through the woofers and tweeters to burrow directly into my friends’ brains.
It was almost like they were in a trance.
I cleared my throat. “Uh, guys?” I said tentatively.
They ignored me.
“Guys!” I shouted. “Are you okay?”
Will turned and fixed a pair of glazed eyes on me. “Okay? Yeah. Better than okay. Amaaaaazing.”
He said the words flatly, mechanically, drawing out the final A like it was an ice cream cone he was savoring.
“Will? What’s going on? A few minutes ago you were about to have a total freakout about the other Ticks out there. Now you’re amazing?”
“Ticks?” Alicia intoned emotionlessly. “You know, I’ve been thinking they’re not all that bad. I don’t know why we were all worried about them.”
Something was definitely wrong with them! Alicia’s parents died at the hands of Ticks back when she lived at the Settlement in the Chernobyl exclusion zone. And you saw how she got when I insulted a song she liked. So there was no way the Alicia I knew would say Ticks weren’t all that bad. What was going on here?
Yeah, don’t hate, don’t fight, don’t push, don’t shove.
Just have a stack of pancake love.
The song! That horrifically awful song! It was doing something to the others!
I grabbed Will by the shoulders and shook him. “Will! Come on! Wake up! Hey!”
But he just stared straight ahead with a half-smile on his face.
“Alicia!” I cried. “Alicia, are you with me?”
I slapped her. Normally, something like that probably would have resulted in one or more of my bones being broken. But all Alicia did was sing along with the chorus:
Babe, you are my scrambled eggs!
I love you and your bacon legs!
Oooo-kay.
Let’s try plan B.
Turn off the radio.
I reached for the volume knob.
Without warning, Junkman Sam sprang from his seat and tried to wrestle me away from the radio, his sweat-stained armpit pressing damply against my ear as he clamped me into a headlock.
I’d had just enough time to realize that this left nobody driving the motorhome when the vehicle swerved to the right, plowed through a guardrail, bounced its way down an embankment and slammed directly into a tree.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ROB VLOCK writes fun, funny, fast-paced kids’ books that are perfect for reluctant readers. Sven Carter & the Trashmouth Effect is his first novel. When he’s not writing, you can usually find him somewhere in the greater Boston area trying to make his trumpet sound like something other than a dying goose. It’s a work in progress.
If you liked Sven Carter & the Trashmouth Effect, then check out The Wild Bunch.
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ALADDIN MAX
Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
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First Aladdin MAX edition October 2017
Text copyright © 2017 by Rob Vlock
Cover illustration copyright © 2017 by Steven Scott
Also available in an Aladdin hardcover edition.
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Cover designed by Karin Paprocki
Interior designed by Mike Rosamilia
The text of this book was set in Adobe Caslon Pro.
This book has been cataloged with the Library of Congress.
ISBN 978-1-4814-9014-6 (hc)
ISBN 978-1-4814-9013-9 (pbk)
ISBN 978-1-4814-9015-3 (eBook)
