Mind If I Read Your Mind?

by Henry Winkler

  “You don’t know what they’ll be thinking,” Billy answered. “What are you, a mind reader?”

  “As a matter of fact, that is one of the many talents I possess. But with a twist. My friend Ezra and I used to pretend we could read each other’s minds to impress the ladies. Once when we were at the Fried Chicken Basket Social, I held my hands up to my head and told Madge Perkins that Ezra was sending me messages from —”

  The Hoove suddenly stopped talking and his face lit up like a lightbulb had gone off in his head.

  “Wait a minute, Billy Boy. This is genius. I’ve got to kiss myself.” The Hoove actually leaned over and planted a kiss on each of his knees.

  Billy scratched his head. “I don’t get it, Hoove. What in the world are you talking about?”

  “Your speech tomorrow … for, you know, that shoelace competition thing.”

  “Can’t you get anything right? It’s not called the shoelace competition. It’s the SOC. As in Speak Out Challenge.”

  “Shoelaces, socks, what’s the difference. They both go on the feet. What’s important is that I just got an idea that’s going to get you a first-place medal … or whatever there is to win.”

  “Better than reciting the alphabet backward in less than fifteen seconds?”

  “Trust me, Billy Boy, this is not just the best idea in the world. It is interplanetarial. What you are going to demonstrate, with the help of a certain fascinating ghost I know, is your ability to read another person’s mind, just like Ezra and I used to do.”

  “Hoove, that is impossible. I can’t read minds.”

  “That was so true, Billy, until you met me. I am your vision into other people’s thoughts. All you have to do is stand up in front of the class, ask a question, and listen carefully.”

  “Listen to what?”

  “To me, my friend. Don’t you see? I’m going to be there, being the eyes behind your head. Your audience can’t see me, but I can see them and tell you what I’m seeing.”

  “Wait a minute. That’s cheating.”

  “And your point is?”

  “I don’t know about how it was in your day, but nowadays kids get in big trouble for cheating.”

  “If they get caught,” the Hoove shot back. “And might I remind you, Mr. Small Thinker, you will be the only one who can see me or hear me. Are you going to turn yourself in? I don’t think so. Once again, Hoover Porterhouse the Third has come up with a foolproof plan. As in, you win.”

  Billy thought about what the Hoove was suggesting. Little by little, he felt his hesitation about cheating melt away as it was replaced with an image of his victory. He saw himself standing in Mr. Wallwetter’s class, with thirty-four sets of eyes on him. He would wow them with his ability to read their minds. Sure, it was a trick, but did that really matter? For a brief and shining moment, he would be a winner. He could actually see the possibility of triumph flash before his eyes.

  And he liked it. He liked it very much.

  “Who wants to go first?” Mr. Wallwetter said as soon as the bell rang. His intense eyes scanned the classroom like an eagle searching for a big, fat snake to eat. “Do we have a volunteer?”

  “I nominate Cheese Sauce here,” Rod Brownstone blurted out, pointing to Billy with his beefy index finger. Some of the kids in the class snickered, but Billy ignored them. Growing up with the last name of Broccoli, he had gotten very good at ignoring cheese sauce jokes.

  “How about it, Billy?” Mr. Wallwetter said. “Want to be our first speaker in the Speak Out Challenge? SOC it to ’em, if you get my pun!”

  Billy gulped. The Hoove still hadn’t shown up, and without him, Billy’s new speech wouldn’t work. The Hoove was now the main ingredient in his mind-reading demonstration. Billy was going to have to stall until he arrived … that is, if he ever did arrive. He hoped the Hoove wasn’t pulling another disappearing act like he’d done the night before.

  “Thanks so much for the offer, Mr. Wallwetter,” Billy said, using his most charming voice and sociable smile, “but I’d rather go last, if that works for you.”

  “It doesn’t,” Mr. Wallwetter answered tartly, tugging on his skinny little mustache.

  “Then how about next to last? I can make that work.”

  “Come right up to the front of the class now, Billy,” Mr. Wallwetter said in a way that didn’t leave room for argument. “Show us all your demonstration.”

  Billy looked around desperately for signs of the Hoove, hoping that he had floated in and was hovering somewhere above the fluorescent lights. No such luck. Billy’s heart raced with a combination of anger and nerves. The Hoove had sworn he’d be there when the opening bell rang. Promised. On his honor.

  “The Hoove’s Rule Number One Hundred Forty-Three,” he had declared just that morning. “When you count on the Hoove, you can count on the Hoove.”

  Yeah, right, Billy thought. I’d do better counting on my fingers and toes.

  As Billy shuffled reluctantly to the front of the class, Rod made farting sounds with his mouth in time to Billy’s steps. Mr. Wallwetter didn’t seem to notice, though. He was busy writing Billy’s name on the board, along with the topic Billy had handed him just before class.

  A DEMONSTRATION OF MIND READING BY WILLIAM C. BROCCOLI.

  “Check it out,” Brownstone snorted. “I bet that C stands for Cheese Sauce.”

  “Honestly, Rod, why don’t you knock it off already,” Ruby whispered to him. “It wasn’t even funny the first time.”

  Billy smiled at Ruby and she smiled back. Enjoy it while you can, he thought. In about two minutes, that great smile of hers was going to vanish when he made a total dork of himself trying to demonstrate mind reading and coming up with zippo.

  “Are you ready, Billy?” Mr. Wallwetter asked, putting down the chalk and walking over to his desk.

  “We were born ready, weren’t we, Billy Boy?” came a ghostly voice from the back of the room. Billy looked up and there, sailing through the door in his hyperglide mode, was Hoover Porterhouse!

  “I was about to give up on you, pal,” Billy said aloud before he could stop himself.

  Mr. Wallwetter, not knowing there was a ghost in the room, thought Billy was addressing him.

  “Well, I’ll never give up on you, pal,” he whispered, coming over to Billy and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Show us what you got, young man.”

  “Let’s do this,” the Hoove said. “We’re going to make their heads spin.”

  And just to emphasize the point, he made his own head spin, doing exactly eleven three-sixty turns in one second flat.

  Billy took a breath and began, just as he and the Hoove had practiced all night.

  “Many people think mind reading is a mysterious art, but for me, it has always come naturally,” he said. “Just by looking deeply at someone, I can tell what they’re thinking.”

  “You know what I’m thinking, Cheese Sauce?” Rod shouted out. “I’m thinking your demonstration is going to stink up the place.”

  “That does it,” Hoover said to Billy, his ghostly face turning red with anger. “We’re going to put this mega-mouth in his place. Just watch what I can do.”

  The Hoove zipped to Rod’s desk and peered over his shoulder. Rod’s notebook was open to his English divider, but hidden in back of the first page, right under a practice paragraph on the proper use of semicolons, was a copy of Modern Law Enforcement magazine. The Hoove moved in closer to see exactly what Rod was reading. Rod shivered, never suspecting for a moment that the cold breeze he felt was caused by the presence of a ghost.

  “Oh yeah, I got gold here,” the Hoover hollered to Billy. “This knucklehead is actually reading an article on how close you can park to fire hydrants. Can you believe people write articles about that?”

  Billy smiled. This was just the piece of information he needed.

  “Let’s use Rod Brownstone as an example,” he continued. “It looks to everyone like Rod is thinking about the Speak Out Challenge
. Is that right, Mr. Brownstone?”

  “You got it, Snooze Head,” Rod answered.

  Billy closed his eyes and suddenly put his hands to his temples.

  “I am concentrating on your thoughts,” he chanted. “Send me your thoughts, Rod Brownstone.”

  “You are so lame,” Rod snickered.

  With great drama, Billy opened his eyes wide, and stared at Rod as if he had just seen a ghost (which, by the way, he actually had).

  “Aha,” he said. “I see your thoughts. You are thinking about … about … fire hydrants!”

  Everyone laughed.

  “My dog thinks about fire hydrants, too,” Amanda Bickman said. “Just before he pees on them.”

  “Very funny,” Rod said. He wasn’t laughing at all.

  Billy grabbed his head again, even more dramatically than the first time.

  “Shhhh,” he whispered. “I am inside the brain of Rod Brownstone. His thoughts are racing toward my mind. Getting louder. Taking over my own thoughts. Coming closer … closer … closer …”

  Suddenly, Billy threw back his head with a snap.

  “I have it!” he cried out. “Rod, you are thinking about fire hydrants and how close you can legally park to one without getting a ticket.”

  Everyone laughed again. They all knew Rod enjoyed law enforcement, but no one suspected how totally obsessed he was. It was preposterous to think that anyone at Moorepark Middle School would concern himself with the rules and regulations involved in parking near fire hydrants. They weren’t even old enough to drive a car, let alone park one.

  “Yeah, right,” Rod said. “Fire hydrant parking. Like that’s something I think about.”

  The Hoove got really close to Rod and, with a sudden movement, knocked his notebook off his desk. It fell on the floor, and the issue of Modern Law Enforcement dropped out, open to the article about fire hydrant parking.

  “Look at what he’s reading,” Amanda said, picking up the magazine article and holding it up to the class. “It’s about fire hydrants!”

  Everyone in class gasped. And so did Mr. Wallwetter.

  “Billy, that’s amazing,” Amanda said, uttering out loud what the others were thinking.

  Rod’s face turned bright red, his expression a combination of anger and embarrassment. He grabbed the magazine and stuffed it back into his notebook.

  “How’d you do that, Cheddar Breath?” he growled, squinting at Billy with his beady, suspicious eyes.

  “Very well,” Billy answered with a mysterious smile.

  And giving a little thumbs-up to the Hoove, Billy took his seat as the class applauded.

  “Thank you very much,” the Hoove said, taking an invisible bow. With a jaunty wave of his cap, he did a backflip in the air, and zoomed effortlessly out of the window.

  It took a while for Mr. Wallwetter’s class to settle down. The kids were buzzing about what an incredible feat Billy had pulled off. Everyone had a million questions.

  “Have you always been psychic? Do you talk to dead people? Can you tell what I’m thinking right now?” they all asked at once.

  The buzzing continued until Mr. Wallwetter put an end to it by rapping three times on the edge of his desk with a ruler. That was his signal that everyone had to be quiet or he’d start writing names on the board. If you got your name on the board more than three times, you got sent to detention. Mr. Wallwetter did not like a noisy classroom.

  “You should have your own TV show,” Ava Daley whispered to Billy.

  “I could loan you my cape and turban,” offered Miles Galbraith. “I was a mind reader last Halloween.”

  “Thanks, guys, but I’m not good enough to be on TV,” Billy whispered back modestly, though he was secretly thrilled with all the praise. His speech had done exactly what he’d hoped it would. His classmates were impressed. Very impressed.

  Mr. Wallwetter put down his ruler and continued with the presentations, but everyone agreed that the rest of the SOC speeches couldn’t compare to Billy’s. Alex Flannigan demonstrated how to shoot a bow and arrow, but since Mr. Wallwetter did not permit him to use an actual arrow, he had to use an unsharpened pencil, which immediately slipped off the bowstring, flopped into the wastebasket, and disappeared. Reshma Patel demonstrated how to make an Indian curry, but her eyes watered so much when she shook the cayenne chili powder into the mixing bowl that she had to be excused to go to the girls’ bathroom to splash water on her face. When she returned half an hour later, her eyes were as red as the cayenne pepper.

  The other demonstrations were more average than average. Cecilia Gomez showed how to crochet a miniature cow, which looked more like a squirrel without a tail. Stephen Lowry did a Rollerblading demonstration up and down the aisles until he crashed into Mr. Wallwetter’s model solar system, splitting Saturn in half. Jenny Yee showed the class how she puts in and takes out her contact lenses, which went fine until looking at her inner eyelids made Bobby Belenchia so nauseous he had to put his head between his knees.

  The biggest surprise was Ricardo Perez’s demonstration. Since he was the star player on the baseball team, Billy was positive that he would demonstrate his batting techniques or his knuckleball pitch. Instead, Ricardo showed the class how to make a carrot raisin salad. And when he passed out samples to the class, Billy was amazed at how delicious it was. Ruby Baker did something equally amazing when she showed everyone how she warmed up for cross-country or track and field events. She was so flexible that when she twisted herself around in her bright yellow warm-ups, she looked like a pretzel covered in mustard.

  The lowest point of the hour was Rod Brownstone’s demonstration of how to crawl behind enemy lines without becoming a blip on the radar screen. He slithered along the classroom floor like a reptile, and no one could see him unless they stood up, which no one bothered to do. There was one positive outcome of his demonstration — he did leave the classroom floor a lot cleaner. He even managed to pull a stuck piece of gum off the linoleum. A bunch of the girls snickered at the gum and dirt and grime on his belly. But in his usual overconfident manner, he strutted by them and said, “You’re laughing now, but wait until I take first place in the finals.”

  That wasn’t going to happen, though, because Mr. Wallwetter selected the three finalists right then and there. They were Ricardo, Ruby, and none other than … yes … Billy Broccoli!

  Billy was overjoyed. On his way out of class, all the kids gave him a fist bump and told him how great his speech was. Everyone wanted to know how he did the mind reading, and for a fleeting second, he felt a little guilty. But the feeling didn’t last long because everything he ever wanted at Moorepark Middle School was happening.

  Ricardo invited him to sit with the baseball team at lunch, not as the assistant scorekeeper who sat on the end of the bench, but next to him, as the cool guy who had amazed their class. Michael Andrews said that maybe they could catch a movie sometime, especially if Billy could tell him the ending before they actually saw it. Reshma Patel asked him to dinner at her family’s Indian restaurant, and said she was sure her father would give him free chicken tikka masala if he would do a little mind-reading demonstration for their customers.

  Billy felt great, like he belonged and was finally being accepted. He couldn’t wait to tell the Hoove.

  In the hall on the way to math, he passed Breeze, who was standing at her locker with Ruby’s sister, Sofia, and the other members of her band, the Dark Cloud. Word of Billy’s dazzling feat had traveled fast, but Breeze couldn’t believe that the amazing Billy everyone was talking about was the same Billy who made frog noises in the shower.

  “Look who’s here, the new school hero,” she said, stepping away from her friends. “How did you manage that?”

  “I have my talents,” Billy said. “You don’t know every single detail about me.”

  “Well, the one detail I do know is that you’re not a mind reader.” Breeze turned back to her locker and popped it open. Billy blinked twice when he looked inside. Ther
e, hanging on the coat hook next to Breeze’s red velvet hat was Hoover Porterhouse. That guy was everywhere.

  “I don’t suppose you want to tell her the truth,” he said to Billy. “That it’s me who’s the mind reader. Me who should be the new school hero.”

  Breeze sniffed the air. The pungent smell of oranges wafted out of her locker. Sofia shot her a strange look.

  “Smells like somebody’s orange juice carton sprung a leak,” she said.

  “That’s not possible,” Breeze answered. “I didn’t pack any orange juice in my lunch.”

  Hoover Porterhouse laughed. “I love driving the girls crazy,” he said. “It’s what I do best. Other than mind reading, that is.”

  Breeze, who was a little embarrassed by the aroma coming from her locker, slammed the door shut.

  “By the way,” she said to Billy, “I’d appreciate it if you could make yourself scarce after school today. Sofia and I are working on some new songs for the band, and sixth-grade brothers are not invited.”

  “Oh, he can come,” Sofia said. “Maybe he’ll show us some of that fancy mind reading he does.”

  “No, he can’t come,” Breeze insisted. “I have dibs on the basement.”

  “That’s fine with me,” Billy said. “It’s important for everyone’s mental health that we keep your music down there anyway. Last time you hit that high note on your guitar, you nearly broke every glass in the kitchen cupboard.”

  Billy heard a hollow voice shouting at him from inside Breeze’s locker.

  “Turn around, Billy Boy,” the Hoove called out. “You’re going to like what you see.”

  Billy whipped around and saw Ruby approaching him with that great contagious smile of hers.

  “I have a good idea,” she said to Billy. “Want to hear it?”

  “My ears are ready.”

  “How about if the three of us get together after school today?” she suggested. “You and me and Ricardo. We can plan how we’re going to work together at the SOC finals on Monday. I was thinking maybe we start by introducing each other.”