by Dan Gutman
Dedication
To Daniel Christie
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
1. Cheese Doesn’t Have Ears
2. Say Cheese!
3. It’s a Tough World Out There
4. Whip Whap Willie
5. Not Fair!
6. Mr. Dummy
7. The Middle of Nowhere
8. The Universe Is Boring
9. Bear Attack
10. Saving Miss Blake
11. The Big Surprise Ending
About the Author and Illustrator
Back Ad
Copyright
About the Publisher
My name is A.J. and I hate getting my picture taken.
Why do we always have to say “cheese” when somebody takes our picture? What does cheese have to do with anything?
I guess it might make sense if you were taking a picture of a piece of cheese. But why would anybody take a picture of cheese? And even if you were crazy enough to take pictures of cheese, why would you bother saying “cheese” out loud? The cheese can’t hear you. Cheese doesn’t have ears.
Anyway, the guys and I had just finished lunch in the vomitorium, and we scraped off our plates. Our plan was to go out on the monkey bars during recess and play with our Striker Smith action figures. Striker Smith is a superhero from the future who fights crime. As I was taking Striker out of my backpack, I noticed a flyer taped to a table. It said . . .
We all got excited. It said there was going to be a meeting in the vomitorium on Friday night.
“I always wanted to be a Beaver Scout,” said Neil, who we call the nude kid even though he wears clothes.
Beaver Scouts are cool. My friend Billy who lives around the corner is a Beaver Scout. He gets to wear a uniform and win cool badges and stuff. Billy’s always going on camping trips, and he told me Beaver Scouts get to do cool stuff like shoot bows and arrows, make rockets, and blow stuff up.
I’m not sure Beaver Scouts really get to blow stuff up. But I do know that they get to make campfires. Burning stuff up is almost as cool as blowing stuff up.
And the best part about being a Beaver Scout—no girls are allowed!
“I’m joining up,” I said.
“Me too,” said Michael, who never ties his shoes.
“Me three,” said Ryan, who will eat anything, even stuff that isn’t food.
But you’ll never believe who walked by the table at that moment. It was two girls from our class, annoying Andrea and crybaby Emily.
“Shhhhh!” Ryan whispered as the girls approached. “Don’t tell Andrea and Emily we’re going to be Beaver Scouts! They’ll be jealous.”
I sat on the edge of the table so Andrea and Emily wouldn’t see the Beaver Scout announcement.
We all started whistling to let the girls know we weren’t hiding something. Because when you’re whistling, you can’t be hiding anything.*
“Whatcha doing, Arlo?” asked Andrea, who calls me by my real name because she knows I don’t like it.
“Nothing,” I said. “Hanging out. We’re not hiding anything.”
“Why are you sitting on the table?” Emily asked. “It’s recess. We get to go outside.”
“None of your beeswax,” I replied. “We’re just playing with Striker Smith.”
“Fine,” Andrea said as she scraped her tray into the garbage can. “Have fun playing with your doll, Arlo.”
“It’s not a doll!” I shouted at her. “It’s an action figure!”
“Call it what you want,” Andrea said, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Emily. Let’s play in the playground.”
We had to wait a million hundred days for the Beaver Scout meeting. But it was okay, because the flyer said we needed to wear the official Beaver Scout uniform. So my parents and I went on the official Beaver Scout website to buy an official Beaver Scout uniform.
On the website, they sell all kinds of stuff Beaver Scouts need—official Beaver Scout sleeping bags, official Beaver Scout tents, official Beaver Scout bug spray, and even official Beaver Scout toiletries.*
Finally, we found the page with the uniform. It’s cool. It’s brown, with a Beaver Scout patches and stripes on the sleeves. It comes with a cap that has a B on it and an official Beaver Scout neckerchief. A neckerchief is a lot like a handkerchief, except you wear it around your neck and you don’t blow your nose into it.
My parents ordered all that stuff. It cost them a million dollars. Plus shipping. I guess that means a ship delivers the stuff to your house. No wonder it costs so much money.
We were afraid the Beaver Scout uniform wouldn’t arrive in time for the first meeting. But that morning, we got a package in the mail. The regular mailman brought it. There was no ship.
I ran upstairs to try on my uniform. It looked cool. I came downstairs and made a grand entrance for my parents and my sister, Amy.
“You look soooo handsome, A.J.,” my mom said. She was getting a little choked up as she took pictures of me in my Beaver Scout uniform.
“What a dweeb,” commented my sister.
We drove to school. When I got out of the car, I saw Ryan, Michael, and Neil in their Beaver Scout uniforms.
Ryan’s mom is really emotional, and she was wiping tears from her eyes. “You boys are getting so big,” she blubbered. “Look at my baby Ryan. It seems like only yesterday that you were in diapers.”
“You were wearing diapers yesterday?” I asked Ryan.
“We need to take pictures!” my mother said, pulling out her cell phone.
“Yes!” agreed all the parents.
Ugh. Parents love taking pictures.
“Do we have to?” I asked.
“Of course we have to,” my mother said. “This is a milestone.”
With grown-ups, everything is a milestone. You could burp and my mother would act like you graduated from college. When grown-ups want to take pictures, there’s no stopping them.
“Say cheese!” my mom ordered, pointing her phone at me.
“Cheese,” I grumbled.
After that, she took a picture of my dad and me together. Then she took a picture of me and my sister. Then she took a picture of me and my dad and my sister. Then she took a picture of my dad and my sister. Then she asked my dad to take a picture of me and her. Then she asked me to take a picture of her and Dad. Then she asked me to take a picture of her and my sister. Then she asked Ryan’s dad to take a picture of our whole family.
I thought I was gonna die of old age. When grown-ups take a picture, they have to get a shot of every possible combination of people. That’s the first rule of being a grown-up.
Finally, we finished the picture-taking and went into the vomitorium.
“I wonder who your Beaver Scout leader will be,” my dad said.
And you’ll never believe who walked through the door at that moment.
Nobody! You can’t walk through a door! Doors are made of wood. But you’ll never believe who walked through the doorway.
You probably think it was the Beaver Scout leader. But it wasn’t. So nah-nah-nah boo-boo on you.
It was Andrea, Emily, and Alexia! And they were wearing Beaver Scout uniforms!
“Eeeeeeeek!” I screamed. “Girls! Who let you in here? Girls can’t be Beaver Scouts!”
“They can too!” Andrea replied.
“Can not!” I said.
We went back and forth like that for a while.
“They changed the rules, Arlo,” Andrea said. “Boys and girls can be Beaver Scouts. This is the twenty-first century, you know.”
I knew perfectly well what century it was. What did that have to do with anything?
I was going to say something mean
to Andrea, but I didn’t have the chance. Because you’ll never believe who poked her head into the door at that moment.
Nobody! Poking your head into a door would hurt. I thought we went over that in Chapter 2. But you’ll never believe who poked her head into the doorway.
“A ten . . . shun!” a lady shouted.
I had no idea what that meant, but everybody else did, because they all stood up straight, the way soldiers do in the army.
“I’m Miss Blake,” the lady barked. “I’m your Beaver Scout leader.”
Miss Blake was wearing a Beaver Scout uniform like mine, but with a cooler shoulder patch. She looked mean.
“Hello, Miss Blake,” my dad said, sticking out his hand to shake. “We’re so happy to—”
But my dad didn’t have the chance to finish his sentence.
“All parents out of the room!” barked Miss Blake.
“Can we just stand in the back and take a few pictures?” my mom asked.
“No!” barked Miss Blake.* “Parents, get out!”
The parents made a beeline for the door. That was weird, because I’ve never seen bees get in a line. They usually just fly around every which way.
“Are we going to learn how to blow stuff up?” I asked after all the parents were gone.
“No!” barked Miss Blake. “Line up for inspection, in size order!”
We all pringled up. I had to stand in front of Andrea, who’s the tallest kid in our class. Emily is the shortest. She looked like she was going to cry, as usual.
Miss Blake walked down the line, looking everybody over.
“Disgraceful!” she barked at Emily. “Stop whimpering like a jellyfish!”
“Filthy!” she barked at Michael. “Tie your shoes!”
“Disgusting!” she barked at Neil. “Comb your hair!”
“Slovenly!” she barked at Ryan. “Trim your fingernails!”
“A mess!” she barked at Alexia. “Neatness counts!”
Miss Blake was standing in front of me. She looked me up and down. I was shaking with fear. I thought I was gonna die. She stuck her face about two inches from mine.
“I heard what you said when I came into the room, buster,” she barked at me. “Do you have a problem with girls?”
“Uh, no, sir,” I said. “I mean Miss . . . I mean ma’am . . . I mean—” I didn’t know what to call her.
“You’d better not!” Miss Blake barked in my face. “Your mother was a girl once, you know.”
“Just once?” I asked. “I thought she was a girl all the time.”
Everybody giggled even though I hadn’t said anything funny.
“Are you trying to be smart, buster?” Miss Blake sneered at me.
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. Don’t we go to school to be smart? Isn’t being smart a good thing? “Yes” seemed to be the answer. But from the look on her face, she didn’t want me to say I was trying to be smart. And if I said I wasn’t trying to be smart, that would mean I was trying to be dumb. I didn’t know what to say.
“I’ve got my eye on you, buster,” Miss Blake said.
What did I do? And why was she calling me buster?
Miss Blake moved on to Andrea, looking her up and down.
“Very nice,” she said. “This girl is neat, her hair is in place, her fingernails are trimmed, her posture is good, and she looks confident. I’m going to give you a sticker.”
The sticker said BEST LINER UPPER on it.
What?! That’s not fair! Nobody lines up better than me.
Actually, I didn’t care, because stickers are lame. Grown-ups always think they’re doing us a big favor by giving us stickers. They’re just pieces of paper with sticky stuff on the back. If you want to give me something, give me a video game.
But Andrea acted like Miss Blake had just given her a million dollars.
“Thank you, Miss Blake!” Andrea said. Then she smiled the smile that she smiles to let everybody know she got something that nobody else got. Why can’t a truck full of stickers fall on Andrea’s head?
Miss Blake wheeled around to face the group.
“The rest of you are pathetic!” she barked. “But I’ll whip you kids into shape. By the time I’m done, you’ll be spitting nails.”
That sounded kind of cool, actually.
“Excuse me,” said Alexia, raising her hand. “I thought we were going to sell cookies, and do arts and crafts projects.”
“Cookies?” snorted Miss Blake. “Arts and crafts? That stuff is for wimps. It’s a tough world out there, and the sooner you get tough, the better. Did I tell you about the time I was attacked by a bear?”
“Uh, we just met like a minute ago,” I said quietly.
“I was on a fifty-mile hike,” said Miss Blake, “and I suddenly noticed a bear was stalking me. He was getting closer and closer.”
“What did you do?” asked Andrea.
“I punched his face in!” barked Miss Blake. “That’s what I did! It was a matter of survival!”
The thought of Miss Blake punching a bear was funny to me. I peeked at Ryan. He was peeking at me. He made a funny face, and I started giggling. I couldn’t help it. Miss Blake wheeled around and glared at me.
“You think this is funny, buster?” she barked. “You think I’m joking? Well, since you like jokes so much, I’ll tell you a joke. Why did the chicken cross the road?”
“Uh, to get to the other side?”
“No!” barked Miss Blake. “That brave chicken crossed the road to save his injured buddy, who had just been run over by a train. It was lying there, dying. That chicken risked his life to save his friend. Never leave your buddy behind. That’s my kind of joke.”
It didn’t seem like a very funny joke to me.
Miss Blake is a flake.
“I call this meeting of the Beaver Scouts to order,” barked Miss Blake. “We begin and end each meeting with the Beaver Growl.”
What? Cows moo. Ducks quack. Pigs oink. Beavers . . .
“What sound does a beaver make?” Ryan whispered.
“Beats me,” I whispered back. “I didn’t even know they made sounds.”
Miss Blake got down on her hands and knees and started to scurry around on the floor, making weird noises.
“Get on the ground!” she barked. “Growl like a busy beaver!”
We all got down on the floor and growled.
“Okay,” Miss Blake said as she jumped up. “It’s time for the official Beaver Scout promise. It’s very simple. Three little words.”
Miss Blake held up her right hand, closed her eyes, and announced, “Do your duty.”
We all giggled because Miss Blake said “duty,” which sounds just like “doody.” It’s okay to say “duty,” but we’re not allowed to say “doody.” Nobody knows why. They should really have two different-sounding words for those things. It would make life a lot easier.
Next, Miss Blake handed each of us the Beaver Scout Handbook.*
“I want you to take this home and memorize it word for word,” she barked. “This book could save your life one day.”
Books? Ugh. Books are boring. I don’t even know why you’re reading this one.
I leafed through the handbook. It had lots of activities in it—making campfires, tying knots, studying insects, learning about astronomy, tracking weather, boating and canoeing, spelunking . . .
Spelunking?
“What’s spelunking?” I asked.
“Spelunking is exploring caves,” said Little Miss I-Know-Everything.
That’s a weird word. Why don’t they just call it exploring caves? Why did they need to invent some dumb word that nobody knows?
“As you master activities in your handbook, you earn awards,” barked Miss Blake. “First you get a sticker just for trying a new activity.”
“I love stickers!” shouted Andrea.
“Then, as you get better, you’ll earn a decal,” said Miss Blake, showing us a page in the handbook that had pictures of decals.
“Decals are cool!” said Emily.
“After that, you’ll earn a ribbon,” said Miss Blake.
“I like ribbons!” said Alexia.
“Then you can earn a badge,” said Miss Blake.
“I’ve always wanted a badge!” said Ryan.
“Then you’ll earn a belt loop,” said Miss Blake.
Belt loops are metal loops that you put on your belt, so they have the perfect name.
“Then you’ll earn a certificate,” said Miss Blake.
“I can put that on my wall!” said Neil.
“Then you’ll earn a medallion,” said Miss Blake.
“I can hang that around my neck!” said Michael.
“Then you’ll earn a plaque,” said Miss Blake.
“I have that on my teeth!” I said.
“Not that kind of plaque, dumbhead!” said Andrea.
“Oh snap!” said Ryan.
All that stuff sounded like a bunch of junk to me. I’d rather win nothing, stay home, and play video games.
“Finally,” said Miss Blake, “I will award the trophy for the Busy Beaver of the Year.” She showed us a picture of a big trophy.
“Ooooh,” we all oohed.
The whole time, Andrea was taking notes in a notebook. She carries a notebook everywhere. Andrea loves winning stuff. She doesn’t even care what it is.
“Okay,” said Miss Blake, “it’s time for us to sing the Beaver Scout song. Turn to page twenty-three in your handbook.”
“I love singing!” said Andrea.
“The official Beaver Scout song is ‘Whip Whap Willie,’” said Miss Blake. “Whip whap is the sound of a beaver tail hitting the water. We sing it to the tune of ‘Old MacDonald.’ Ready? Sing!”
We all started singing . . .
Whip Whap Willie had a tail,
E-I-E-I-O.
And with that tail he whacked a snail,
E-I-E-I-O.
With a whip whip here,
And a whap whap there,
Here a whip,
There a whap,
Everywhere a whip whap.
Whip Whap Willie had a tail,
E-I-E-I-O!
