Aliens for Dinner

by Stephanie Spinner

“Henry!” said Richard. “Aren’t you at least going to throw the cup in the trash?” Richard couldn’t believe he was saying this. Henry was always the one who was telling Richard to eat right and clean up after himself.

  Henry looked at him without saying anything. His face, usually so friendly, looked dull and suspicious.

  “I mean, we should clean up after ourselves, right?” Richard added weakly.

  “Duh. What for?” sneered Henry. Richard took a step backward. For once, he couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

  Art was the last class of the day. Usually it was Richard’s favorite. He always had a good time drawing spaceships and creatures from other galaxies. But not today. Today he caught himself sketching a flabby guy wearing a funny hat. What am I doing? he thought. I hate the Dwilbs! He threw down his pencil.

  Just then the public address system came on with a loud screech. There was a violent thump against Richard’s chest. “What was that?” boomed Aric. He was in Richard’s shirt pocket.

  “Probably Principal Felshin.” Richard sent the thought to Aric. “He likes to make announcements.”

  “Goo-oood … afternoo-ooon, girls and boys.” The principal’s voice was unhurried and dull, and he always took a really long time between words. Richard thought he sounded as if he was talking in slow motion.

  “There are … a few important points … I would like to review with you this afternoon,” said the principal. “The first … has to do with the use of the halls … as a meeting place. The halls, as you know, … are passageways designed for travel from one classroom to another. They are not … clubhouses … and they are not … living rooms. They are … conduits. And I hope you will look that word up.

  “At any rate … to get back to my original point, I would like to … discourage any and all students … from passing time in the … hallways when they should be spending it to better effect. That is … moving briskly along to their next class, asking … pertinent questions of their devoted teachers, or, most important of all, … studying.

  “My next point … is about the copy machine. As you know, a paper clip … left in the copier can do it … serious harm. It can jam the machine, thus … incapacitating it. I hope you will look that word up. This, in turn … can affect the workings of the en tire … school. For what is a school without … a copy machine?

  “I will answer that. It is a ship without … a sail. A car without … an engine. A refrigerator without … an ice-cube maker …”

  Principal Felshin droned on and on. Richard, like most of the other kids in his class, didn’t pay him any attention. Principal Felshin made two or three announcements a day, and they were all incredibly long and incredibly boring. Richard sometimes thought the principal should have a radio show late at night for people with insomnia. He could put anyone to sleep. The kids all called him The Sandman.

  Richard felt his eyelids getting heavy. He looked around the art room. A few kids were yawning. And Felshin had been talking for only two minutes!

  Aric stirred in Richard’s pocket again. “There is something about the way this man speaks …” he said. Principal Felshin’s droning voice finally stopped and the PA system shut off with a loud buzz.

  “You mean Felshin?” asked Richard. “What about him? He’s totally boring.”

  “By the Great Gazook!” boomed Aric. “Boring! That’s it!”

  “What’s it?” asked Richard. “What do you mean?”

  Just then the bell rang. School was over for the day. Suddenly the art room was wide awake again. Richard grabbed his pack, jumped out of his seat, and joined the crowd that was rushing out of the building.

  “What’s going on?” he said to Aric as soon as they were off the school grounds. “The suspense is killing me.” He pulled Aric out of his pocket.

  “I have just remembered something about the Dwilbs. Something crucial!” declared Aric.

  “What is it?”

  “There is a disease they catch very easily.”

  “A disease? What kind of disease?” asked Richard.

  “It is called boredomitis,” said Aric. “And it is fatal.”

  “I’m not sure I understand,” said Richard. “You mean if they get bored they get sick and die?”

  “In a nutshell, yes,” said Aric. “They have very short attention spans. So they get bored very easily And as soon as they do, they get boredomitis. But they don’t die right away,” added Aric. “The disease has four distinct stages.”

  “What are they?” asked Richard.

  “Bored silly. Bored to tears. Bored stiff. And bored to death,” said Aric.

  “Really?” said Richard. He found himself grinning at the little alien. Suddenly he felt hopeful again. It was a great feeling.

  “Really,” said Aric. He grinned back.

  “Then all we’ve got to do is bore them to death!” said Richard. “Right?”

  “No!” said Aric. “We must bore them stiff. Then we can ship them back to Dwilb. Once they recover they will tell everyone on Dwilb how boring Earth is. No Dwilb will ever want to come here again.”

  Richard imitated the Dwilbs. “Too boring! Too boring!” he squawked.

  “If I may say so,” said Aric, “it is the perfect solution.”

  “Except for one thing,” said Richard. “How are we going to do it?”

  At seven o’clock that evening, Richard heard his mother calling him down to dinner. “Coming, Mom,” he called back, putting Aric in his pocket. He charged down to the dining room. There, to his surprise, was Bob. He was setting the table. Richard’s good mood whooshed away like air out of a balloon.

  “Hi, Richard. Good to see you! Good to see you!” said Bob.

  Richard felt a twinge of fear. Sorry I can’t say the same, Mr. Alien Head, he thought. He tried to smile politely. It came out like the face you make when you accidentally sit on something wet.

  Bob just smiled back. His smile widened when Mrs. Bickerstaff came in carrying a huge bowl of spaghetti with tomato sauce.

  Bet you’d like spaghetti with sludge sauce even better; thought Richard. Then he had a brilliant idea. If Bob was really a Dwilb, he could get boredomitis. All Richard had to do was bore him! Richard tried to keep a grin off his face. How can I bore him silly? he wondered.

  “Try talking like Mr. Felshin,” suggested Aric, from Richard’s pocket. “That might work.”

  Great idea! thought Richard. He cleared his throat. “A really interesting thing … happened to me at school today,” he began. “I thought I might … tell you about it.” He spoke very slowly, just the way Mr. Felshin did.

  “Sure, sweetie,” said his mother. “What?”

  “I was on my way to … homeroom,” said Richard, dragging out every word. “And I got … really thirsty. So I decided to get a drink … of water. At the water fountain … in the hallway. But … when I got to the fountain … the bell rang …” Richard let his voice trail off. He twirled some spaghetti around on his fork.

  “Well, so?” asked his mother.

  Richard took a bite of spaghetti. “Well … there was hardly any water … coming out of the fountain,” he said slowly. “Just a tiny … drop. A … weeny… little … dribble. It went drip … drip … drip …”

  Richard stole a glance at Bob. Bob just smiled at him and kept on eating. But his mother was looking at him really oddly. Her eyelids were drooping a little.

  “Richard!” she said, yawning. “Get to the point!”

  “Well …” Richard sucked a few strands of spaghetti off his fork as slowly as he could. “I guess the point is … that I didn’t get a drink of water … before homeroom. So I was … really thirsty … all during homeroom. And after homeroom …” Richard looked at Bob again. He was still busy eating.

  Then he looked up. “Excuse me,” he said to Richard. “But could you pass the spaghetti?” He turned to Richard’s mother. She was yawning again. “This is delicious, Harriet,” he said, beaming. “Delicious.”

  Look at them
! Richard sent the thought to Aric. My mom’s falling asleep, and he’s not bored at all!

  “Try something else,” came the little alien’s voice. “Ask for money. On Ganoob we consider that very boring.”

  I’ll give it a shot, thought Richard. He cleared his throat again. “Mom,” he said, in an extra-whiny voice. “Remember that sale I told you about at Mutant Splendor?” Mutant Splendor was a store in the mall that sold sci-fi stuff. Richard spent most of his allowance there. “It’s a really great sale,” Richard went on. “Three comics for the price of two.”

  “Richard! You have every comic book ever published!” said his mother. “Don’t tell me you want more.” His mother let Richard buy comics, but only one a week. He had a huge collection.

  “Back issues of Space Lords of Gygrax!” said Richard. “I’ve got to have them, Mom. They’re collector’s items.” Richard forgot about being boring. There really was a sale at Mutant Splendor, and he really wanted those comics. “And they’ll be really valuable someday. I know they will.”

  His mother gave him a sharp look. She seemed wide awake now. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked.

  “I just need a little of my allowance in advance,” said Richard. “Only a few dollars, Mom. Please. Please?” His mother frowned, but for some reason Bob was smiling.

  “Sorry,” said his mother. “You’re going to have to live without them. Now eat some more of your dinner, please.”

  “I used to love those Space Lords comics,” Bob said to Richard. “They were really fun. Really fun. I collected them, too.”

  “You did?” asked Richard. On Dwilb? he almost added, but he stopped himself.

  “I did,” said Bob. “As a matter of fact, I still have a few.” He grinned. “The first Space Lords comics were so great. So great. Especially numbers one to six. So I kept them.”

  Richard stared at Bob. “You mean you have the very first Space Lords comic ever published? The Space Lords Creation Myth?”

  Bob nodded. Richard could hardly believe it. Even Mutant Splendor didn’t have that one. It was really old.

  “How about the second one?” asked Richard. “Conquest of the Drams?”

  Bob nodded again. “I think so,” he said. He took another bite of spaghetti. “I could bring them over sometime if you like.”

  “Wow! That would be great!”

  “It’s a deal,” said Bob. Then he turned to Richard’s mother. “This is a wonderful meal, Harriet,” he said. “Just wonderful.” He and Mrs. Bickerstaff smiled at each other for a long time.

  Richard put down his fork and sent a thought to Aric. “Aric! Maybe he’s human after all! He didn’t get bored. And besides, how could he have those comics if he was from Dwilb?”

  Aric’s voice came into Richard’s head loud and clear. “Face it, Richard,” he said. “Bob is not an alien. He is just a man who says things twice—and who is in love with your mother.”

  Richard let the thought sink in. By the time his plate was clean he’d decided he was glad Bob wasn’t a Dwilb. Maybe he did say things twice. Maybe he was a little boring. But someone as old as Bob who still had his Space Lords comics couldn’t be that bad. He might even be okay.

  As they finished up their spaghetti, Richard and Bob traded Space Lords stories. It was a lot of fun. When Bob came to the end of one called Fearella, Space Empress, Mrs. Bickerstaff stood up.

  “It’s getting late,” she said with a yawn. “How about some dessert?”

  “Sure, Mom,” said Richard.

  “Harriet! I guess this has been kind of boring for you,” said Bob.

  Mrs. Bickerstaff yawned again. “A little,” she said. Then she smiled. “I’ll get us some ice cream.” Bob jumped up to help her.

  Over dessert she mentioned that she and Bob were going out on Thursday. “The new recycling plant opens that night,” she told Richard. “Bob is on the board of directors.”

  “I’m giving the guided tour,” said Bob.

  “Oh, is it open to the public?” asked Richard.

  “Definitely,” said Bob. “Definitely. We’re having speeches, a tour, and a demonstration of the new equipment. I’m hoping we get a good turnout.”

  Aric had been quiet for a long time. Now he spoke up. “The Dwilbs hate recycling,” he said. “If they know of this event, they will show up. They will try to wreck the place!”

  Suddenly Richard knew what had to happen Thursday. He and Aric had to give the Dwilbs boredomitis!

  “Can I come to the opening, too?” he asked his mother.

  “Why, of course, sweetie,” said Mrs. Bickerstaff.

  “We know we’ve got to bore them,” said Richard. “But that’s all we know.”

  It was later that night, and Richard and Aric were still trying to figure out how to trap the Dwilbs. Richard was lying in bed. The only light in the room came from Aric, who gave off a faint pink glow in the dark.

  “Bore them … bore them,” mused Aric.

  Richard smiled. “Speaking of boring, did you see my mom when I was talking like The Sandman? She practically fell asleep!”

  “Yes,” said Aric. “Your imitation of Mr. Felshin was not bad.”

  Suddenly Richard sat up in bed. “That’s it!” he exclaimed. “I mean, he’s it! Mr. Felshin!”

  “Mr. Felshin?”

  “Our secret weapon! The most boring talker on the planet! If we can get him to talk to the Dwilbs—”

  “By the Great Gazook!” said Aric. “You are right!” He was so excited that he glowed bright pink, like a neon sign. “That man can bore anyone into a deep, deathlike coma. His power is fearsome! The Dwilbs will not know what hit them!”

  “So we’ve got to get him to the plant on Thursday,” said Richard. “Because the Dwilbs will be there, right?”

  “We will make sure of it,” said Aric.

  “How?” asked Richard.

  “A mere detail,” snapped Aric. “The important thing is to get Mr. Felshin to speak to them.” He sat down in Richard’s baseball glove.

  “He must deliver a speech,” said Aric. “A long, long speech. One that will give the Dwilbs a sudden, severe case of boredomitis. Once they are bored stiff,” he went on, “the Brigade can ship them back to Dwilb. And Earth will be saved.”

  “Sounds great,” said Richard. All at once he felt really tired. It was getting very late. “Can we figure the rest of this out tomorrow?” he asked sleepily.

  “It has already been figured out,” boomed Aric. “By a certain Ganoobian warrior of truly superior intelligence. Once again he has faced terrible odds on his mission. A ridiculous budget. Faulty communications. A ruthless enemy force. And once again he has overcome them—”

  Aric was interrupted by a loud snort. Richard was sound asleep.

  The next day Aric told Richard his plan. Phase One, he said, consisted of two phone calls. The first was to a woman named Marge La Farge, president of a recycling group called the Use It Againers. She was supposed to be the first speaker Thursday night.

  On Tuesday after school, Richard dialed her number. Aric spoke into the telephone, doing an amazing imitation of Bob’s voice.

  “Marge. Marge,” he said. “It’s Bob. Listen, there’s been a last minute change in the program on Thursday. Can you speak after the tour, instead of before?”

  “Of course,” said Marge, in a high, fluttery voice. “That will give me more time to get ready. Public speaking makes me so nervous.”

  “Great, Marge. Great. See you then.” Aric signaled to Richard to hang up. Then he had him dial Bob’s number.

  “Hello, Bob. This is Marge,” said Aric. Now his voice sounded like Marge crossed with a bullfrog. “I have some good news and some bad news, Bob. The bad news is that I won’t be able to speak on Thursday. I have the flu.” Aric honked loudly when he said this.

  “Gee, that’s a shame, Marge. A real shame,” said Bob.

  “The good news is that my wonderful friend Phil Felshin has agreed to take my place,” croaked Aric.
“You must have heard of Phil. He’s the principal of the elementary school. And he’ll be more than happy to open the evening with a few words. I’ve already asked him.”

  Richard held his breath. Had Bob heard what a terrible speaker Mr. Felshin was?

  No. “Marge! Thanks! Thanks!” said Bob. “It’s great that you got a pinch hitter. And on such short notice, too.”

  “Oh, think nothing of it,” honked Aric. When he got off the phone he and Richard smiled at each other. So far, so good.

  “And now, Phase Two,” Aric said to Richard in his normal booming voice. “Are you ready to visit your principal?”

  “I will make any sacrifice to save Earth,” said Richard. “Even if it means talking to The Sandman. Let’s go.”

  A few minutes later Richard and Aric were at school. The building was shadowy and quiet. Richard’s footsteps, in his hightops, made a loud scrunching noise as he walked down the empty hallway to Mr. Felshin’s office.

  The principal seemed very surprised when Richard knocked on his door.

  His jaw dropped when Richard told him why he had come.

  “The board of directors wants me to speak? Really?” Mr. Felshin flushed, and his voice shook just a little. Richard realized he was very pleased.

  “They’ve heard about the talks you give over the PA system,” said Richard. “And how all the kids like them so much.” Richard crossed his fingers inside his pockets. He wasn’t used to lying.

  “They heard you talk about important stuff,” Richard went on. “Like not being wasteful and respecting the environment and stuff. So they thought you’d be perfect. It’s Thursday night at eight.”

  “Thursday?” Mr. Felshin frowned. “Goodness … I don’t know. My wife, Edwina, and I … attend our ballroom dancing class on Thursdays.”

  “Oh, no!” gasped Richard. It had never occurred to him that Mr. Felshin might not be able to make it. This was a disaster!

  He beamed a thought to Aric. What do I do now?

  But Aric was silent. Richard was on his own.

  “But—this is for such a good cause,” said Richard. He started sweating. “It’s important. I mean, it’s important in a major way, sir. The board members know what a good influence you are on your students. I think they’re depending on you. I really do!” Richard’s voice broke. He was ready to get down on his knees.