Marty Pants #1

by Mark Parisi

  “I don’t want to be a human credenza!”

  I run to the front door, but Parker pulls me back. “He’ll see you! Climb out the window!”

  “Good plan!” I dart to a back window and struggle to open it as the footsteps get closer and closer.

  “It won’t budge!” I say in a panic.

  Parker reaches over to unlock the latch and the window flies open. I don’t have time to escape gracefully, so I just dive out headfirst.

  At least it’s a soft landing.

  Turns out it wasn’t her dad after all. It was the mailman.

  I stay put until he leaves, just to be safe. In the meantime, I notice a perfectly good Twinkie that someone threw out. The next thing I notice is someone staring at me from across the lawn.

  It’s Analie, the girl my sister thinks I’m in love with! I try to act cool, but am not sure I’m pulling it off.

  CHAPTER 8

  a lot to digest

  Analie’s the new kid in class. She wears purple and sits in back, where no one pays much attention to her.

  Whenever I do anything embarrassing, she always seems to be there to witness it.

  My sister thinks I’m crazy about Analie because she found an innocent drawing I did.

  Ericaaa thought those were hearts around my head, but that’s what a rube would think. I’m obviously being attacked by a swarm of bloodthirsty moths.

  “What’s that stink?” my dad asks when I walk in the door.

  “Probably Erriccka,” I say as I run upstairs. Then I take a long shower to wash off the smell of garbage.

  Unfortunately, shame doesn’t wash off.

  I sink into my beanbag of solitude and unwind.

  As the stress leaves my body, I see something sticking out of one of the beanbag creases.

  I found the note! Parker advised me not to talk to anyone about it, though. Does she think I’m making it all up? Nah.

  I reach over to grab the note, but it’s gone! It vanished into thin air!

  No, wait. There it is.

  Jerome! I shouldn’t be surprised. Jerome has strange ideas of what counts as food.

  The note is gone, but that’s okay. I have it memorized.

  That’s not right. Focus, Marty!

  That’s it!

  But before I try to figure out who the alien is, I need to answer one question.

  Do aliens really exist?

  CHAPTER 9

  gooooooals

  I’m having trouble concentrating because I have too much mind clutter.

  If I hope to get anything done, I need to organize myself. My mom gets organized by writing lists. She’s obsessive about them.

  Here’s one she wrote:

  That’s right. It’s a list of her lists.

  I hate to admit it, but my mom is right. Making lists has really helped me become organized.

  Tonight I’m making a list of my goals.

  My mom says you should put one easy thing on your list so you can cross it off right away and feel productive.

  So, I start with the easy thing.

  Art Heist is my favorite video game. You break into museums, steal paintings off the walls, and replace them with forgeries. You draw the forgeries yourself with the controller. Like this:

  Okay, not my best work, but on level one you only have to fool the security guards, and that’s not hard. They’re rubes.

  I rule at this game! I grab my marker.

  Now, on to something harder. Homework. McPhee wants us to do a report on our favorite president. I like Washington and Lincoln but can pick only one.

  I pick Lincoln.

  I spend all evening on my paper, and when I’m done, it’s a masterpiece. Even a rube like McPhee will love it.

  Two items crossed off already. I’m on a roll! What’s next?

  That’s more of a long-term goal.

  Honestly, that may never happen.

  I’ll do that tomorrow. I have a plan. But there’s one more thing I can accomplish before bed.

  CHAPTER 10

  manic monday

  “You’re always covered in cat hair,” Roongrat says as we walk to school.

  “That’s my look,” I say, making the decision at that moment. Every great artist has their own unique look.

  (Tried it. The neighbors thought I was an escaped convict.)

  (Tried it. Took my mom all day to get the marker off my face.)

  (Tried it. Just kidding. I don’t even like cutting my nails.)

  “Cat hair is a weird look,” Roongrat declares.

  “Weirder than Spider-Man underpants?” I shoot back.

  “I . . . but . . . that was a deadly wolverine spider on me and I had to . . .”

  “Roongrat,” I interrupt. “Do you believe in aliens?”

  He seems glad I changed the subject.

  “Excellent question. Aliens do not exist,” he answers. “It’s a fact. Earth is the only planet in the universal galaxy that supports the functionality of respiratory life based on the carbon sciences. Why?”

  “No reason.”

  I reach into my backpack and pull out my list. I make an update.

  Whatever Roongrat believes, I usually believe the opposite.

  So, I believe in aliens now.

  We walk to school with our thoughts.

  CHAPTER 11

  i’m a believer

  Roongrat sits at his desk, but I pause a moment. I wonder if someone in this room is the alien.

  The bell rings, so I rush to my seat. As I sit down, the pencil in my pocket breaks and stabs me in the thigh. I twitch and make a weird noise.

  Luckily, the bell was still ringing so no one noticed. Well, almost no one.

  Sitting up front is my teacher, Mr. McPhee.

  McPhee reminds me of a sleepy tortoise, only less exciting.

  But this is his lucky day. My Lincoln report will add a thrill to his sad, misguided, rube existence.

  I hand him my homework, but I’m not sure what to make of his expression when he looks at it. It was probably something he ate.

  “Marty, can I see you after school?”

  Why would McPhee want to see me after school? I bet he wants to buy the rights to my Lincoln report and claim he wrote it himself and sell it for billions of dollars to a Hollywood producer and get rich and famous off my hard work!

  Uncool, McPhee! Uncool!

  It turns out McPhee wants to play hardball.

  “You have to redo this report,” he tells me after school. “It’s not factual.”

  “It’s called creative writing,” I explain.

  “This is not a creative writing class,” he says. “Hand in a proper paper by the end of today or you’re getting a D.”

  I can’t believe this!

  “And Marty,” he adds, “stick to the facts.”

  I did stick to the facts! I just stuck in some artistic license.*

  CHAPTER 12

  do not open

  I don’t like being in school after school hours.* It feels wrong. Besides, I have better things to do.

  “Hey, Mr. McRube, how can I redo my report when the class computer isn’t working?” is exactly what I would say to McPhee if he hadn’t just left the room. But he did.

  So now it’s up to me to problem solve.

  I look around and notice McPhee’s personal computer is unattended on his desk.

  Perhaps he knew the class computer was on the fritz so he left his laptop there for me. He probably wants me to take the initiative. Yeah, that’s it.

  I accept the challenge and sit at his desk. The chair is still warm.

  Gross. I’ll stand.

  The first thing I notice is that his computer screen background is a picture of the solar system. Interesting. That’s where aliens come from, I’m pretty sure.

  Then, as I poke around a little more on his computer, I come across a file that catches my eye.

  Hmm.

  I remember the last time I opened something labeled DO NOT OPEN! />
  Things did not go well.

  So, I’ve learned it’s a bad idea to open something marked DO NOT OPEN!

  I open it.

  Yikes! McPhee snuck up on me! He’s quick for a sleepy tortoise!

  “Yuba . . . hoba . . . whaba . . .” He sounds like me when I try to talk to Analie.

  “WHAT DID YOU SEE, MARTY?!”

  “Nothing!” I lie.

  “Why were you snooping on my computer?! Go home! You’re getting a D, and I’m calling your parents!”

  I’ve never seen him this way before. The sleepy tortoise turned into a snapping turtle!

  As I pack up to leave, one thing’s crystal clear. McPhee has something to hide.

  I told him I saw nothing, but I did see one word.

  Annihilate

  It sticks in my head. When I get home, I ask my dad for his opinion.

  “Dad, what does the word annihilate remind you of?”

  “A great name for a rock band,” he says. “When I was growing up, rock bands had the best names. For instance . . .”

  “Time out, Dad! I’m looking for a one-word answer!”

  “One word. Can you make it multiple choice?”

  “Fine,” I sigh. “What does the word annihilate remind you of? Aliens, bongos, or celery.”

  “I’ll go with aliens,” he answers.

  Aliens! That’s exactly what I was thinking!

  CHAPTER 13

  what’s the buzz

  I meet Parker at the common. We used to play here when we were younger, but these days we just hang out on the swings and talk.

  “I think I know who the alien is,” I tell her.

  “Alien?”

  “The alien from the note,” I remind her.

  “Of course.” She nods. “Assume the position, Marty.”

  “So, Marty, tell me. Who do you think . . .”

  “McPhee.”

  “Our boring teacher is an alien?”

  “I’m sixty-eight percent sure.”

  “How so?”

  “It makes sense. The note said the alien is observing me. McPhee observes me.”

  “Did the note ever turn up again?”

  “Yeah, but then my cat ate it.”

  “I see.”

  “I also snuck onto McPhee’s computer,” I tell her.

  “No way!” Parker seems impressed.

  “I saw the word annihilate. Aliens love that word.”

  “Your mind is an exciting place, Mr. Marty.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Have you mentioned your suspicions to anyone else?”

  “Not yet, but . . .”

  Roongrat shows up so I switch topics. I mention that McPhee hated my Lincoln report and he’s going to call my parents.

  “Next time you should have Simon show you how to draw,” Roongrat says.

  “Next time you should have Simon show you how to wash a monkey!”

  I wish I’d had time to think of a better comeback.

  Roongrat considers Simon Cardigan to be the school artist. Everyone seems to, but Simon’s a complete rube. He doesn’t have a creative bone in his body.

  He only draws one character. It’s a famous cartoon character that, for legal reasons, we’ll call AnemoneBob TrapezoidShorts.*

  He shamelessly draws it all the time, especially on girls’ notebooks. Parker has an AnemoneBob on her notebook. Roongrat has about twenty. I suspect Roongrat’s trying to move up the popularity ladder by cozying up to Simon.

  Talking about Simon makes me angry, so I start swinging.*

  Parker turns it into a competition and starts swinging higher. She knocks Roongrat on his butt.

  From the ground Roongrat says, “Swinging was invented by ancient Egyptians. It moves stomach food into the intestines to make room for dessert. It’s a fact.”

  “Beat this!” says Parker, as she swings dangerously high.

  “BLAAARGH!” I say.

  And that’s because a fly went up my nose!

  I don’t know if you’ve ever had a buzzing insect in your nostril before, but it immediately takes precedence over whatever else you’re doing.

  I jump off the swing and run around in circles trying to blow it out. Parker thinks it’s hilarious.

  Roongrat just makes things worse. “It’s a fact certain bugs tunnel up your nose and lay eggs in your brain matter.”

  Thanks, Roongrat!

  When blowing it out doesn’t work, I try something else. Digging in.

  “IT’S A BIG ONE!” I say. “I ALMOST GOT IT!”

  At that moment, I lock eyes with someone across the street.

  I sneeze and the fly shoots out. The traumatized bug takes a moment to recover, and then buzzes off home.

  The traumatized Marty does the same.

  CHAPTER 14

  bushwhacked

  I step in the front door just as the phone rings. I run over and look at the name.

  I think fast and answer it in my English accent. “Hallo, guv’nah! Wrong numbah!” Then I hang up. That will buy me some time.

  The phone rings again, and my mom grabs it before the ring is even finished.

  “Oh, hi, Mr. McPhee . . .”

  Gurk! My only hope is it’s a completely different Mr. McPhee. I mean, what are the odds it’s the same Mr. McPhee I’m thinking of? There must be dozens! Hundreds! Gazillions!

  The expression on my mom’s face says it all. Of all the Mr. McPhees in the world, it’s the only one I didn’t want it to be.

  Either that or it’s something she ate.

  I step outside so I won’t be around to hear this conversation.

  Over by the bushes, where Roongrat had his pants scared off, I notice Shermy the Spider already made a brand-new web. And trapped a fly!

  I begin to wonder if it’s the same fly I met earlier.

  Suddenly, I’m pushed face-first into the bushes. Without looking, I know who it is.

  “Yer clumzy, Weddy!”

  Peach Fuzz calls me Weddy. He means Wetty. Get it? Wetty Pants? Ha ha. I get up and brush myself off. And try hard not to weddy my pants.

  “I owe ya sumthing,” Peach Fuzz says as he holds up his fist. I hope he’s about to open it and give me back years of lunch money, but I doubt it. I defensively put up my fists and brace myself.

  Peach Fuzz looks scared and backs off. Ha! He didn’t expect me to fight back! He’s not so tough after all. I feel braver and step toward him. He almost trips over his own feet trying to get away from me!

  A small movement catches my eye, so I look down and everything suddenly starts to makes sense.

  I feel a rush of terror. I can see Peach Fuzz is scared, too. If I can keep my head, I can use this to my advantage.

  “Th-This is my new poisonous wolverine spider,” I say in a voice higher than usual. “His name is Shermy. He can jump six feet. Wanna see?”

  Peach Fuzz takes two steps back. “Get away frum me wid dat.”

  “C-Come on, pet him,” I say.

  “I’ll katch ya later, Weddy,” Peach Fuzz growls. He turns away and spits on the ground. “And I WILL katch ya later.”

  Whew. Another close call.

  With Peach Fuzz gone, I can now act like I normally would in this situation.

  My heart is beating a million times a minute!

  I played that perfectly, though. Things could not have gone better!

  Before I head inside for dinner, I spot a familiar face on the corner.

  So I wave.

  Then I realize this is what Analie is seeing.

  I’ll be able to retrieve my shirt, but not my dignity.

  CHAPTER 15

  letter man

  I go inside and it’s almost dinnertime. My mom is telling Eriqa how proud she is of her. Apparently, Ericcca got an A+ on her test, scored two goals in soccer, and cured every disease known to mankind. Not really, but that’s what it feels like.

  When my mom runs out of awesome things to say to Errika, she shifts her attention to me. In
her lecturing voice, she tells me I need to do my assignments “correctly.” She says I’m “underachieving” and I’m really “smart.”

  This makes Errickaa snort food out her nose.

  A lot of things seem to be going in and out of noses lately.

  “Are you listening to me, Marty?”

  Oh yeah, my mom’s still talking.

  “Avidly,” I say. As I listen, there’s one thing I don’t hear. There’s no talk of me snooping on McPhee’s computer and opening that file named DO NOT OPEN! Apparently, McPhee didn’t bring up any of that when he called the house.

  He’s definitely hiding something.

  My dad says he liked my report and Mr. McPhee’s a rube.

  Then my mom and dad get into a discussion. My mom seems to be winning this discussion.

  I leave the table unnoticed and take a handful of crackers to my room. Time to skim the words for tomorrow’s vocabulary test.

  Annihilate

  Protagonist

  Imminent

  Absurd

  Feeble

  Assumption

  Deprive

  Terminate

  Exasperate

  Industrious

  Wisdom

  As I go over the definitions, I notice something. These words may seem innocent to the average mind, but I notice things others don’t. I’m a noticer. It can be a curse to be a noticer. It would be easier to be blissfully ignorant like everyone else and not notice things, but there it is, plain to my noticer eyes.