by Rachel Vail
That’s why I threw up.
I tried to explain that to the nurse but she didn’t understand. That’s why she pulled out my emergency contact card and I got picked up from the nurse’s office by Gingy and Poopsie.
May 20, Thursday
I have to go to the science museum trip.
It is, like, the biggest trip of the whole school year.
Gingy called Mom and Dad in Bermuda to let me talk to them about it. I told them I have a little headache. That’s all. I can’t miss the trip. I forgot to ask them about the pants issue, because of thinking about this trip.
We are supposed to bring five dollars and we can go to the gift shop. Noah says it is the coolest gift shop ever.
And I promised I would sit with him on the bus.
I have to convince Gingy to let me go.
I CANNOT miss this trip today.
May 21, Friday
I should have missed that trip.
The bus ride to the science museum was terrible. My skull was squishing down on my brain the whole time. Then we had to pull over on the side of the road while a kid threw up onto the side-of-the-highway grass.
The kid was me.
I rested my face against the cool window for the rest of the trip, and Noah got to be seat buddies with somebody else because I had to be up in the front row.
Then at the museum there was a tour, and the tour leader’s voice was very squealy. It made me feel like my eyes were different sizes from each other. I had to sit down for a few minutes to stop the floor from bobbling.
By the time I stood up my group was gone.
I tried to follow them, but that museum has a lot of doorways and choices of which way to go. I saw some interesting stuff like chairs stacked up higher than my head and a vending machine that had nothing in it but empty metal spirals. Also some exhibits. But nobody from my school.
So finally I sat down near some rocks from the moon.
That’s where Ms. Burns found me.
Everybody else was already on the bus, and there I was, next to pieces of moon.
And then we had another long pukey bus trip ahead of us.
Gingy should not take advice from a third grader. I don’t know what is wrong with that grandmother.
May 22, Saturday
I stayed home from Little League. Apparently I have something called a concussion. That is a brain bruise.
All my stuffties stayed quiet and stared at me. I think they were very worried. None of them had ever heard of a brain bruise before.
Gingy made me Jell-O.
I accidentally admitted to her that I actually do not enjoy food that jiggles. She was very surprised and then very amused. She said she has a horror of jiggly food, too. She’d be happy never to make Jell-O again. She only did it because she thought I loved it. She said, “Why didn’t you ever tell me? We could’ve avoided so much unpleasant jiggling!”
She sent Poopsie and Elizabeth out to buy ice cream, instead. They came home with four quarts plus six containers of toppings.
We tried to gobble it all up before Mom and Dad get home tonight. Poopsie said that is known as eating the evidence.
It was not possible to eat all that evidence.
But I don’t think Mom and Dad will be mad anyway.
May 23, Sunday
Mom and Dad brought us T-shirts and key chains from Bermuda. It’s not that I missed them so much, it’s just that I was really happy to have them home. That’s why I let them do all that cuddling. They missed us a lot.
They said nobody wanders around in just underpants. Poopsie tried to explain his way out of what he told us, but Elizabeth and I know the truth. When I grow up, I want to be a grandfather like him, full of nonsense and laughing.
Mom wasn’t sure Gianni would like the present I picked out, but I was. I think she was worried my brain bruise was dementing me a little.
The laser tag would have made me dizzy even with a totally unbruised brain. The party was in a huge dark place with big, hanging, heavy bags that kept wapping into us and it was all the boys in third grade.
On the way home, as I sorted through my loot bag in the backseat, I told Mom it was kind of fun especially getting picked first, but that my heart almost crashed out from being scared of getting killed with a laser.
She said, “You wouldn’t actually get killed, Justin.”
I said, “I know. Not actually killed. Just pretend. I was pretending.”
She smiled all loving at me and said I have a great imagination.
I told her, “Yeah, well, my heart would sometimes love a break from being stuck inside somebody with such a great imagination.”
“I bet,” she said.
May 24, Monday
I think the reason Gianni picked me first for his laser-tag team yesterday even though I had never played laser tag before is not what he said, that I am the fastest boy. Xavier Schwartz is just about as fast, really, and he’s also Gianni’s best friend. I think he chose me first because when I handed him his present, he recognized the size and shape of the box and realized I’d gotten him what he had been wishing for but not telling anybody he wanted for his birthday.
This is how I know that:
We bumped into each other hiding behind a bag about halfway through the party. We were holding our lasers up and both of us had sweaty heads. Catching his breath, he said, “Did you give me what I gave you?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“What’d you name yours?”
I so wished in that second I had named him Chip, like I had been planning to. I almost lied. But lying makes my stomach hurt and if I threw up in front of everybody one more time this week, I would probably never get invited to a birthday party again in my life. So I shrugged and mumbled, “Schicci.”
Gianni smiled his huge smile that made his dimples sink in. “I’ll name mine Case,” he said.
May 25, Tuesday
The second-worst thing about the recital:
The sweat ball that dripped off my nose onto my violin.
The second-best thing about the recital:
Gingy and Poopsie gave me a king-size pack of Twizzlers, after
The worst thing about the recital:
Playing “How Ya Doin’ ” with very few of the actual notes The best thing about the recital:
Fishing Montana C.’s retainer out of her cello before the concert
Tied with:
The nice thing Montana C. said about me after I held up that huge cello over my head and caught the retainer with my hair, right above my bruised brain:
You’re my hero,
Justin Case!
May 26, Wednesday
Xavier Schwartz said that he is going to get me.
He said that I am a Girlfriend Stealer.
I have no idea what it means that he is going to get me, or why I am a girlfriend stealer, but I know neither one is good news.
Less than a month until the end of school. If I don’t climb up the rope to the white tape line, which I can’t anyway, I won’t be in Xavier Schwartz’s class next year.
That is the only bright side I can see in the world right now.
May 27, Thursday
He thinks I stole Montana C.
That’s what Gianni told me.
How could I steal a whole Montana C.?
May 28, Friday
At lunch Xavier and Gianni walked over to me and Noah. I thought for sure they were going to beat us up.
So before they got a chance, I said, “Before you beat me up, there is something I have to say.”
“Okay,” Xavier said. They waited. Noah waited. I waited, too.
“What I have to say is this,” I said, wishing for my bruised brain to please come up with something.
“Is what?” Xavier Schwartz asked.
“Is,” I said. “There is no such thing as boyfriends or girlfriends in third grade. There is only friends. You can have girl-space-friends but not girlfriends. So I can’t be a Girlfriend Stealer, be
cause there’s no girlfriend to steal.”
All three of them stared at me.
“Like from another planet?” Gianni asked.
So we all stared at him.
“You said, ‘girl space-friends,’ ” Gianni explained.
“Yeah,” Xavier said, shoving him. “If you meet a girl martian, you can ask her out.”
“What?” Gianni asked. “Justin Case said . . .”
And while they argued, Noah and I slipped away, and then the bell rang for the end of recess.
Luckily it is a long weekend so we don’t run the risk of getting clobbered for three full days.
May 29, Saturday
We’re going to Gingy and Poopsie’s beach condo.
No worries about Jell-O this time.
Just sharks.
Also, snoring.
May 30, Sunday
No sign of sharks so far.
I think the snoring is scaring them off.
(Looking on the bright side.)
May 31, Monday
Elizabeth has a new loose tooth.
I learned to dive for coins.
Poopsie learned to not cannonball into the pool, because even though it makes Elizabeth and me laugh, it annoys the grown-ups.
June 1, Tuesday
The thing I hate even worse than getting beaten up by Xavier Schwartz and Gianni Schicci is wondering if they actually will beat me up, and how bad it will feel if they do, and trying to figure out what to do just in case they come toward me with we are going to beat you up looks on their faces.
Of course, I haven’t gotten beaten up yet so maybe that will turn out to be even worse than worrying about it.
Maybe we will get lost on the way to school this morning and end up in Guatemala, which is in Central America, which is very, very far away.
June 2, Wednesday
The Good News:
1. Xavier Schwartz and Gianni Schicci apparently forgot about beating me up
2. I let lots of people cut in the rope line in gym, which had two good results:
a) People seemed to like me for that
b) I didn’t get a turn to try climbing the rope
3. I am apparently good at outlining, which is what we are learning, so
a) I got a Superstar
b) I got a check plus
c) I got to go relax in the library corner instead of reviewing outlining
The Bad News:
1. Even Bartholomew Wiggins climbed up to the white line on the rope
a) He was my best hope for another kid failing
b) I was rooting against him. That is a lot like a), I know, but if you put a), you have to put a b). Trust me, I am an outlining Superstar. Just not a rope-climbing Superstar
2. There’s always tomorrow for all the bad things that didn’t happen today
June 3, Thursday
Elizabeth’s tooth seems to have tightened up. I told her not to worry, sometimes that happens, but eventually it reloosens and then it will fall out with less problems than when it goes straight loose-looser-loosest out.
She smiled and said, “Thanks, Justin. Phew!” like I was so wise.
I was actually just making that up. I have no idea if it’s true.
June 4, Friday
At recess, Xavier Schwartz came over to where I was wedging twigs into the fence and asked, “You know why I hated you, right?”
“Because you think I am a Girlfriend Stealer or something, but I—”
“No,” Xavier interrupted. “Because I like Montana C.—well, I mean, everybody likes Montana C., but I have liked her liked her since kindergarten—and now Montana C. likes you.”
My whole body started sweating in one big burst.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay,” he agreed.
“Do you still hate me?”
Xavier thought about it for a few seconds. “Nah,” he said. “I’ve moved on.”
“Phew,” I said.
Then we went down to the lower playground together and joined the new game: Perilous Penguins from Pluto. Everybody played, including Gianni and Montana C. and the other girls and even Noah, because he loves penguins even more than he hates runny-aroundy games.
Gianni said I didn’t tag him when I absolutely did, but I was just like, okay. Because, considering everything, I felt really overflowingly good.
June 5, Saturday
We have to plan my birthday party, for two weeks from now, when I might be a third-grade graduate plus one day, or else a third-grade repeater who just likes to keep his feet on the floor where they belong, thank you very much.
The Three Big Questions Are:
1. What will be the theme/activity?
2. Who should be invited?
3. Will some of those from (2) be girls?
The Three Big Answers So Far Are:
1. I don’t know.
2. I don’t know.
3. I don’t know.
4. I don’t know.
I know there is no fourth question, but if there were, I’m sure I would not know the answer to that one, either.
June 6, Sunday
Elizabeth had a nightmare last night. She came climbing up my ladder. To wake me up, she placed her hand on my cheek. I jolted up.
“I think a bad guy is in the house,” she whispered.
“Bad Boy?” I asked, my heart starting to pound against my ribs.
“Who?” she asked.
I took a deep, calming breath like Mom always says to do, in for five, out for five. “Why do you think there’s a bad guy?”
“I heard him,” she whispered.
“Where?” I asked. “In the Way-Back of the basement? Near The Boiler?”
Elizabeth’s eyes opened wide. “I don’t know,” she said.
“Well,” I said to her as patiently as I could, “what exactly did you hear?”
“Kind of a splurching sound,” she whispered with her hand over her mouth.
“Oh,” I said, relieved. Bad Boy does not make any splurching sounds. He is more of a clomper. I realized right away Elizabeth had just had a nightmare. “I think I know what it is.”
“What?” she asked.
“I think it is a bad guy named Splurch,” I told her. For a second I thought maybe I made a bad choice, because her face turned whitish-bluish, and her eyes reddened. That was a bad combination of colors for Elizabeth. But I had a plan, and for some reason I was pretty sure it was going to work. “The good news,” I told her, “is that I know how to defeat Splurch.”
“You do?” she whispered. “How?”
“You have to call Mr. Magoolicuddy.”
“Who?”
I was totally making this up as I went along but I nodded like it was as easy as 3× 8=24. “You just say three times fast, ‘Mr. Magoolicuddy! Mr. Magoolicuddy! Mr. Magoolicuddy!’ and he comes, and he’ll get rid of Splurch.”
“Really?” She didn’t look at all convinced.
“Absolutely,” I said, as confident as I could. “Try it.”
“Okay,” she said. “Mr. Magoolicuddy! Mr. Magoolicuddy! Mr. Magoolicuddy!”
Then we sat still in my bed, listening to the silence.
“Justin,” she said. “I think Mr. Magoolicuddy is imaginary.”
“Of course Mr. Magoolicuddy is imaginary,” I told her. “He has to be. Splurch is imaginary. If Mr. Magoolicuddy weren’t imaginary, how would he fight and defeat an imaginary bad guy?”
I watched Elizabeth consider this for a minute. Slowly she lowered her hands from her face and said, “Good point.”
Then she smiled.
And she curled up like a little question mark at the foot of my bed and went right to sleep.
Today, twice she said to me, “Mr. Magoolicuddy,” and we both cracked up but we wouldn’t tell Mom and Dad the secret.
June 7, Monday
Mom says I have to finalize my birthday party list and theme.
It is hard to finalize something you haven’t started.
Maybe my theme could be: There are no ropes you have to climb, no bad guys in the world, and The Boiler was removed from the Way-Back of our basement.
Maybe they don’t make paper plates and napkins to match that exact theme, but at least we wouldn’t have to have a piñata massacre.
June 8, Tuesday
I tried.
I really did try. I don’t care what Mr. Calabrio says. Or how squinched Ms.Termini’s eyebrows are at me. Or what the other kids think. I tried to get up that rope. I honestly don’t want to be a third-grade failure.
I held my hands one on top of the other like Mr. Calabrio said to (a billion times). When I tried to get up one foot at a time, the rope kept swaying away and almost dumped me right on my butt on the gym floor. But I held on tight. I heard Montana C. yell, “Just jump!” So I just jumped.
Both feet caught the rope and for a minute, okay, maybe a second, I was swinging across the gym on that rope.
And then my hands gave up.
If I could control the rope, make it just hold still, maybe I could do it. But when there is no earth beneath my feet and I am loose and swinging across in the world, I panic. I can’t help it. I just feel like, Get me down! I’m not safe! Help! The last thing I could possibly do is pull myself up higher.
I feel too loose and swinging across the world in general. Why would I add to the problem on purpose? That is what I don’t get and never will.
