by Bill Doyle
Also by Bill Doyle
Attack of the Shark-Headed Zombie
Stampede of the Supermarket Slugs
Invasion of the Junkyard Hog
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2016 by Bill Doyle
Jacket art and interior illustrations copyright © 2016 by Colin Jack
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Random House Children’s Books, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
Random House and the colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
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Educators and librarians, for a variety of teaching tools, visit us at RHTeachersLibrarians.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Doyle, Bill H., author. | Jack, Colin, illustrator.
Title: The Prizewinners of Piedmont Place / by Bill Doyle ; illustrated by Colin Jack.
Description: First edition. | New York : Random House, [2016] | Summary: “Eleven-year-old Cal must convince his lovably wacky family to compete in a contest where the winners are granted twenty minutes to grab anything from King Wonder’s world-famous shop”—Provided by publisher.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015029585 | ISBN 978-0-553-52177-1 (hardback) | ISBN 978-0-553-52178-8 (hardcover library binding) | ISBN 978-0-553-52179-5 (ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Family life—Fiction. | Contests—Fiction. | Stores, Retail—Fiction. | Humorous stories. |
BISAC: JUVENILE FICTION / Humorous Stories. | JUVENILE FICTION / Family / General (see also headings under Social Issues). | JUVENILE FICTION / Action & Adventure / General.
Classification: LCC PZ7.D7725 Pr 2016 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015029585
ebook ISBN 9780553521795
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
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Contents
Cover
Also by Bill Doyle
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
For the Macatawa crew and racing backward up the hill
—B.D.
To my lovely wife, Michelle
—C.J.
When the pancake hit the fan, Cal Talaska wondered if he’d gone too far.
The pancake was still raw, like watery pizza dough. So when the eleven-year-old tossed it up at the ceiling fan, it exploded. Splith! Splith! Splith!
As gooey globs of batter rained down in the kitchen, Cal ducked. But the family dog bounced straight in the air like a mini pony on a trampoline. Butler’s long tongue snagged falling pancake drops while his tail whirled like a propeller. Cal’s little brother, Bug, tried to reach the batter first as it splattered on the kitchen table and the counters. But the four-year-old was half the size of Butler, and the dog kept beating him to the prize. Finally, they crashed into each other, knocked over a chair, and tumbled to the floor.
A smudge of pancake had dripped onto Butler’s back. The dog spun around and around on his side, trying to lick it off his fur. Trapped against Butler’s belly, Bug spun with him and giggled hysterically. They were a swirling, slobbering ball of nuttiness. It was exactly the kind of noisy chaos Cal wanted.
Just as he knew she would, their mom pushed open the kitchen’s swinging door. “What the cheese is going on?” Mrs. Talaska demanded.
“The Butler did it!” Cal cried.
“Not funny, Cal.” Mrs. T. switched off the fan, but not before a glob of pancake flew onto her forehead.
Cal didn’t want her to be mad. He pushed back his black hair and put on his most adorable face. “Surprise! I’m cooking pancakes for dinner! In the microwave!”
Mrs. T.’s green eyes softened. “Honey, I was thinking of making baked chicken and a salad.” She bent over to untangle Bug and Butler. Bug reached up and dipped his finger in the blob on her forehead.
“Gron’t!” Mrs. T. said, saying “Gross!” and “Don’t!” at the same time.
Too late. Bug popped his finger in his mouth. His eyes lit up as he got a taste of the pancake goo. It was like giving a drop of water to a man dying of thirst. He had to have more—and if he didn’t get more, a tantrum would be on its way.
Bug was going through a phase. He didn’t really talk except to bark with Butler. Mrs. T. said he would grow out of it in a few weeks or so. His tantrums, though, had become epic. When cranky, Bug might dig a hole in the backyard with Butler for hours. Or he might twirl in the kitchen for half an hour until he threw up.
Holy Aristotle, Cal thought. He and his mom shared a look across the room.
“Get your dad and sister in here,” Mrs. T. said. “STAT!”
“Dad!” Cal yelled at the top of his lungs. “Imo!”
“Criminy, Cal, that’s not what I meant—”
Mr. Talaska burst into the kitchen. He was even taller than Cal’s mom, and his broad shoulders barely fit through the door. His glasses were slanted across his face. He turned them diagonally when he wrote music. He said it helped him see the notes better.
“We’ve got a BTA on our hands,” Mrs. T. told him.
At the code for Bug Tantrum Alert, Mr. T.’s eyes darted to the door, as if he might run for it.
“No, you don’t,” Cal’s mom commanded. “We need pancakes—”
“—and we need them now!” It was Imo. Cal’s nine-year-old sister ran into the kitchen and opened a drawer next to the sink. “Ground Control to family: Why are you just standing there?” Imo said, tucking a whisk and measuring spoons into the pockets of her overalls. “Don’t you see what’s about to happen?”
Cal did, and he was suddenly nervous. His plan had been to gather his family and eat early. That way, he could get them out the door to a top-secret spot by seven PM. But he was playing a dangerous game. If he didn’t get Bug a pancake, they wouldn’t be going anywhere but Meltdown Town.
The tiny batch Cal had made in the microwave was useless. They had to start from scratch.
“Talaskas together!” Cal said. “Let’s make pancakes!”
Mr. T. manned the griddle as if it were one of his favorite musical instruments. Imo took charge of the kitchen tools. And Mrs. T. looked through her box of recipes until she found just the right one. Cal moved like lightning around the kitchen. He cracked the eggs, gave advice on the right time to flip, and kept everyone on track.
Six minutes later—a Talaska record—the first pancake hit Bug’s plate. Everyone took a seat with a plate of pancakes. The family waited. Bug didn’t move. In fact, he looked more ready to blow than ever.
“What’s with the look?” Mr. T. asked. “It’s perfectly cooked!” He rhymed when he was excited or nervous.
“Oh!” Cal realized what was up. He rushed to the dishwasher and grabbed Butler’s dog bowl. He slid a cool pancake into it and put the bowl at Bug’s feet. Once Butler had a flapjack, too, Bug grinned…and stuffed an entire pancake into his mouth.
“Disgusting,” Imo said.
“Better not laugh, Bug,” Cal said. Which he knew
was the worst thing to say to someone you didn’t want to laugh.
Bug’s pancake-filled cheeks quivered, ready to explode.
“Stop!” Imo yelled at both Cal and Bug.
“I’m serious, Bug,” Cal said. “Don’t laugh.”
Bug’s lips stretched into a smile, and a tiny pancake glob slid out, like air seeping from a balloon that was about to pop.
“Quick!” Cal said. “Distract him. Somebody say something sad!”
“Like what?” his mom asked.
“Homework!” Cal yelled.
Imo looked offended. “That’s not sad.”
“I don’t know what to say, then,” Cal said. Actually, though, he did know. This was going just the way he had hoped. “Let’s talk about something not funny. Say something you want. Mom, you start.”
Mrs. T. seemed anxious, watching Bug’s mouth like it was a ticking bomb.
“Mom?”
With a distracted shrug, she finally answered, “I want to get in shape.”
“How? Specifics, please!” Cal said. More pancake drool slid down Bug’s chin. “Like, for instance, I want the Wonder World Video Game System—”
“That costs almost eight thousand dollars!” Imo protested.
“Dream big!” Cal said. “Now you guys go, fast!” He pointed to his mom.
“I want a home gym,” she said.
“Great,” Cal said, and pointed at his dad.
“I want a new piano,” Mr. T. said. “No, wait, I want an orchestra!”
“I want a laboratory to make spacecraft,” Imo said without hesitating.
Bug mumbled something like mmmph, which shot a small spray of pancake juice out of his mouth. Butler barked in agreement. And then the pancake slid down Bug’s throat, reminding Cal of a boa constrictor swallowing dinner.
Bug thanked the family with a happy thumbs-up. Everyone breathed easier as Mrs. T. put another pancake on his plate. This time, she cut it up for him.
“Could there be anything better than breakfast for dinner?” Mr. T. mused, sopping up the syrup on his plate with his last forkful.
There might be, Cal thought, glancing at the kitchen clock. But they’d have to hurry if they were going to find out. He needed to get his family to the secret spot in under half an hour.
“Whipped cream might’ve made it even better,” Cal said, knowing this would get his mom thinking about walking.
“True,” Mrs. T. said. “But all that extra sweetness would’ve meant an even longer walk after dinner, and I have so much work to do tonight.”
Mrs. T. was always busy. Her job was bringing sports stars to their small town in Michigan. The athletes gave speeches at the auditorium about reaching goals and staying healthy. Cal’s mom sometimes laughed that she should practice what they preached. She was always trying new fitness routines. The latest one involved a lot of walking.
That walking could work into Cal’s plan. He just needed to plant an idea. “The park, the park, the park,” Cal mumbled softly.
“What, Cal?” Mr. T. asked. “Did you say ‘the park’?”
“The park?” Cal repeated at full volume, as if his dad had just come up with the best idea. “The park it is! We can all walk with Mom once we’re there. Here we go!” He grabbed the family’s plates in a big stack and put them in the sink.
Before anyone could protest, Cal rang the small bell they kept on the kitchen counter. The Talaskas rang it when someone had a good idea or wanted to call a family meeting. Once Cal had their attention, he herded everyone toward the back door. His mom went in the other direction, toward the griddle. “I need to clean this—”
Cal gently steered her away. “I’ll clean up everything when we get home.”
Mrs. T. stopped. “Hold on, mister. What’s going on here?”
By offering to do something for nothing, Cal had gone too far. He needed to tone it down. “I mean…,” he said, “I’ll clean up for a small fee.”
That seemed to satisfy his mom, and they hustled out the door. On the driveway, Bug and Butler were already in the back of the Flying Monkey. That was what the family called their beat-up car. Imo poked at the compact’s front-right tire, which had sprung a leak a few days earlier. “The patch I put on is holding up pretty good,” she said. “In my opinion, I’m one awesome mechanic. Probably the best in the world, don’t you think, Cal?”
Cal bit his tongue. He didn’t have time to argue. “That’s right!”
Imo frowned. “Why are you agreeing with me?” she asked. “What are you up to, Cal?”
Cal didn’t answer. He squeezed into the front with his mom and dad, and Imo got in the back.
“Buckle up, kids,” Mrs. T. said as she turned the ignition. Then, as the car wheezed out of the driveway, she added, “Tight.”
The Flying Monkey trundled down Piedmont Place. “We Are Family” played on the car’s stereo…as always. The CD was stuck in the Flying Monkey’s old-fashioned CD player and ran on a loop whenever they turned on the car. Imo had offered, and sometimes begged, to get it out, but Mr. and Mrs. T. always shook their heads. “It’s our song now,” Mrs. T. would explain.
They were driving past Palmer’s Farm when they spotted a group of cars and people at the side of the road. Mr. Palmer had rented out space along the road for a giant billboard for the new Wish Shoppe superstore. And the crowd was clustered between the sign and the cornfield.
“What’s going on at Palmer’s?” Mr. T. asked.
“It looks like a rally or something,” Imo said. “The Donegan Diner’s food truck is there. And so is the mayor’s motorcycle.”
Cal looked at his watch: 6:57. Just in time. “We should check it out,” he suggested. “We can walk to the park from here.”
They pulled in next to the other cars and piled out of the Flying Monkey. Over the heads of the crowd, they could see a bald man with a megaphone jump up onto a small stage.
“Hello, folks!” the bald man said with a big grin. “I’m Paddy Vance, Vice President of Fun at Wish Shoppe. Welcome to the first stage of our Great Grab Contest!”
The crowd clapped and cheered.
“King Wonder is opening a Wish Shoppe in your town that will have over five acres of amazing products,” Mr. Vance announced. “One lucky family will get twenty minutes to run through those acres and grab whatever they want! But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First, families need to pass through today’s elimination round!”
“Wow,” Cal said to his parents. “Sounds cool, doesn’t it? Want to take a closer look?” Without waiting, he squeezed by people toward the front of the group.
“Hold on a second, Cal,” Mr. T. said, trying to pull him back. “I think that’s my boss, Mr. Wylot, and his family over there. I don’t want to see him right now.”
Cal kept leading the Talaskas through the crowd. People shook their hands and patted Butler on the head. A neighbor, Constance MacGuire, reached out to squeeze Mrs. T.’s shoulder. “Good luck!” she said warmly.
“Uh, okay, thanks,” Mrs. T. replied, confused. “We’re just going for a walk in the park.”
“There’s a space right here.” Cal moved them into an empty slot in a line of other families.
Once they were in place, the Talaskas had a clear view of Mr. Vance.
“Hello to those of you who are just joining us!” Mr. Vance said through the megaphone. “As a child, King Wonder, the founder of Wish Shoppe, was inspired by his pet butterfly. The flapping wings made him want to soar. Today, your challenge is to capture your own butterfly!”
Mr. Vance pointed dramatically to thirteen wooden poles that were lined up along Palmer’s cornfield. They were twenty feet high and looked like telephone poles. Each one had a stuffed purple butterfly the size of a toaster stuck on the top and a treasure chest at the bottom.
“Which three families will get the butterfly off their pole first and become finalists in the contest? Let’s find out!” Mr. Vance took a breath. “Ready?”
The audience hooted an
d applauded, some yelling out different family names.
“Why are people cheering?” Imo asked nervously. She looked down at the white line on the grass at her feet. “And what’s this?”
“That’s a starting line,” Cal said. No point in trying to trick anyone anymore.
“Set?” Mr. Vance cried.
“Uh, Cal,” Imo said. “Why are we standing at a starting line?”
Cal shrugged. “Because we’re about to run a race.”
This caught Mrs. T.’s attention. “Wait, what the goat cheese is going on?” she said in a panic.
As if to answer her, Mr. Vance shouted, “Go!”
KA-BLAM! A starter cannon fired. And, just like that, the Talaskas had entered their first contest.
The other families around the Talaskas raced off. Cal sprinted a few steps toward the pole meant for them, but he realized his family wasn’t moving. He turned back. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”
His parents looked more stunned than mad. But not Imo. She was just mad. “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, driving the heels of her sneakers into the ground. “You tricked us.”
“For your own good!” Cal shot back. He glanced over his shoulder. The other families had already reached the poles with the butterflies. “If we win today, we’ll be in the running for the Wish Shoppe Great Grab! We’ll get whatever we want in the store for free!”
Imo dug her heels deeper and wouldn’t budge. “You just want the world’s biggest video game.”
That’s not all, Cal thought. But he said, “Absolutely! And you want stuff, too.” Cal turned to the rest of his family. “You said it yourselves. A home gym, an orchestra, a spacecraft laboratory, and…” Cal pointed at Bug and Butler. “You two want mmmph or whatever.” Butler wagged his tail and barked, “Rabbo!”
Mrs. T. lightly tapped Cal’s forehead. “We’re not puppets,” she said. “And you’re not a puppet master.”
