by Raymond Bean
“Good night, Dad. Maybe tomorrow.”
As I said that, he leaned on his left side and put another one into the couch.
“Then again, maybe not,” I said.
“Come on, bud. It slipped out!” he exclaimed through his laughter.
CHAPTER 5
Grandma
The next day was Saturday, and I woke up late. The clock next to my bed read ten fifteen. I never sleep past eight, because my sister Emma always comes running into my room to wake me up. I sat up and turned the plastic stick on my blinds. The bright sunlight immediately filled my room, and I felt very hot. I got out of bed and pushed the window open. A nice breeze came through the slots in the blinds. What a relief it was to have fresh air for a change. Yesterday really stunk. I was ready for a new day.
I love Saturdays, especially Saturdays when I have nothing to do and nowhere to be. I got dressed and left my room to see what I was missing. I couldn’t believe how quiet it was. My house is never that quiet. Usually I hear my sister making all kinds of three-year-old noise: her toys that talk and giggle, her organ that has a microphone she loves to sing into, and her electric guitar that she plays by pressing buttons. But today there was none of that. It was silent.
As I slowly walked down the stairs, I heard sounds coming from the kitchen. My grandmother was cooking something on the stove and listening to the stereo. My grandmother is not your average grandmother. She likes to listen to the same music I listen to. She was listening to my CD of the Milkheads and singing along.
“Hi, Grandma,” I said.
“Hey, Rock Star. You sure slept well last night.”
“Yeah.”
“Where is everybody?”
“Your mother took your sister to her friend Emily’s birthday party at Fun Explosion. Your dad went with them. They were going to wake you up to go, but I figured you would rather sleep in.”
“Thank you. Do you have any idea how annoying those parties are?”
“I’m not there, am I?”
“No, you’re not. Thanks for saving me, Grandma.”
“That’s what I’m here for, my boy. I would do anything for you. You know that, right?” She always says this to me. And when she does, she always gets a real serious look on her face to make sure I understand that she would do anything for me.
“I know, Grandma. You’re the best.”
“Yes, I am. I also made your favorite breakfast: eggs and salsa.”
“Thanks.”
“So how are things going, sweets? Everything okay at school?”
“Not exactly,” I began.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
I love my grandma, but this was a touchy subject to talk about. She’s really cool and all, but we are talking about farts here. I didn’t want her calling the school if I told her my new nickname was S.B.D. and making things even worse for me. I could just imagine the announcement on the loudspeaker on Monday morning. “May I have your attention, Harborside Elementary School! Keith Emerson’s grandmother just called, and it turns out that he did not, in fact, fart in class on Friday. Please do not call him S.B.D. anymore.”
“I’m fine,” I said.
She looked at me with disbelieving eyes. “Okay, but if you decide to tell me, I’m all ears,” she said as she kissed me on the forehead. As good as my grandmother made me feel, I knew Monday was sure to bring a whole new batch of trouble at school.
CHAPTER 6
What to Do? What to Do?
Sunday night, I couldn’t sleep. I just lay there in bed thinking about what I would do for my science project. I wanted to do something amazing. This project had to shift the focus off of my S.B.D. reputation. It had to be something that everyone would be talking about. Something that would make people go, “Wow!” And, of course, it had to be something easy. Not that I was being lazy, which I was, but I’ve got a life, you know? I can’t lock myself up in the basement and experiment for a month straight. I had just gotten Death March Dread for my game system. I wondered if Mr. C. would let me do an experiment using Death March Dread. Maybe I could see how long I could play it until I had to stop.
Maybe I could see how many bags of Cheesy Nacho Chips I could eat before I would stop liking them. There’s something strange about Cheesy Nacho Chips. I can’t eat just one. And I can’t stop eating them once I’ve started. I can be thinking, Okay, just one more. But then I always end up eating one more and then one more until my mom says something like, “Keith, you’re making me sick. Put those away before you turn into an orange triangle.” I know I’m not the only one who can’t stop. Every time Cheesy Nacho Chips are at a party, they’re always gone before any other chip. People are always picking at the little crumbs at the bottom of the bowl and hoping the host will fill it up again. When they are all gone, people move on to other chips, but there is only one Cheesy Nacho Chip.
Maybe I can experiment with what magical ingredient makes people eat Cheesy Nacho Chips nonstop. There must be some secret ingredient to be discovered. Mr. C. said to do the science project on something you know about, something you’re already interested in, with the bonus that “If your experiment attempts to make something in the world better, it will earn extra points.”
I would get better at Death March Dread if I played it for two days straight. I would have to stay home from school in the name of science. An experiment on video games was definitely the way to go! Cheesy Nachos are delicious, but video games are the best. I couldn’t wait to tell Mr. C. the next day.
Monday, when I mentioned it to Mr. C., he had one word for the project: no.
He didn’t feel that my getting better at Death March Dread would help the world. I made the argument that I would be able to help the military in the future with the skills I was learning today. He said I had to help the world in a positive way without using video games.
On Tuesday, I tried again. I couldn’t get the idea of playing video games for school out of my head. He said no again.
He told me to find something in my life that bothered me, and then figure out a way to make it better. “Chances are, if it bothers you, it bothers other people. Make lemons from lemonade,” he said.
Whatever that means.
Mr. C. told us that we would have to get his approval before we could actually do our experiment. Wednesday would be the first day for preapproved presentations.
Wednesday morning Maggie Mender went first, showing off her environmentally safe cleaning supplies that, I think, were just bottles of water with lemon juice squeezed into them to make them smell good. But Mr. C. loved it.
Then Peter Jameson presented his experiment for trying to breed bees that don’t have stingers, which is totally lame because we all know his grandfather is a beekeeper and would do the work for him. And finally, Clara Nasbaum presented on making clothes from garbage. Both of which Mr. C. approved and seemed to love.
I couldn’t understand why Death March Dread was being discriminated against. All Mr. C. said was scientists pay attention to their surroundings and that is what drives their experiments.
As I sat there feeling sorry for myself, I noticed Anthony lift. He acted like he was just leaning over to get a pencil from the floor, but there were no pencils on the floor. Before I could raise my hand to ask to go to the bathroom or to get a drink or anything that would save me from the certain nostril assault heading my way, it was too late. I got tagged again.
Anthony slowly turned around and looked right at me. He shook his head back and forth like he was saying no, like he couldn’t believe it had just happened.
“It wasn’t me, Anthony. Don’t even try…” I began.
“That’s disgusting, S.B.D.,” he said and turned back around.
“It wasn’t me and you know it,” I shot back. I was proud of myself. I had actually stood up to him.
“Oh yeah, then why are you so red in the face? You’re embarrassed. You need to see a doctor. Can’t you control yourself? You’re like an animal in a zoo. We a
ll know it was you.”
“It was not,” I shot back. I was doing pretty well.
“Come on, Keith. You look so guilty. If I farted, I would say so. Everybody knows that. This time, though, it was you. Just admit it.”
Mr. C. interrupted us. “Hey, guys, let’s focus on the science fair.”
“But, Mr. C.,” I began.
“Keith, if you’re not feeling well again, just go down and use the bathroom. We talked about this the other day.”
“But it wasn’t me.” Now I was starting to get angry.
I looked around, but there were no friendly faces. Kids were moving their chairs away from me.
Anthony was turning me into a monster. This couldn’t be happening…again.
CHAPTER 7
That Night
That night Mom had made vegetable lasagna for dinner. I don’t really like veggie lasagna, as she likes to call it. I ate it, though. I picked out all the carrots and celery, and afterwards I went and played video games for a while. Then she said it was homework time. My only homework was to decide on a topic for my project. I sat at the kitchen counter and rocked back and forth on one of the high chairs. They aren’t high chairs like for a baby. They are chairs that are high. It’s tricky because the floor in the kitchen is slippery, and the chair can easily slip. I have never slipped, and I take great pride in this accomplishment.
My mom caught me rocking out of the corner of her eye from the living room. I always find it interesting how she watches TV, but I have to do my homework. Sometimes I watch TV from the kitchen because I can see the TV in the living room. She got up and came in.
“Don’t rock on that chair!” she said in a tough tone.
“I…”
She walked over and stood next to me.
“You’re going to fall and break your neck one day, you know!”
“I wish I would break my neck. Then I wouldn’t have to work on this lame science project,” I said.
“I don’t know much about science, but I’ll help.”
“I have to pick a topic by tomorrow. It’s already a day late because my idea keeps getting rejected. I’ve been thinking about it for almost a week, and I can’t come up with anything else. Mr. C. says we should follow in the footsteps of the great thinkers. We should try to change something in the world for the better.”
“Hmmm. Well, what do you want to change about the world?”
“I don’t know. I’m nine. Things seem pretty good in the world, except for science.”
I knew that Mom was about to give me some suggestions that I would not like, but it meant a lot that she was trying to help. So I waited for the ridiculous ideas that were about to come out of her mouth. She thought hard for a few minutes. She looked like she was solving the riddles of the universe.
“How about seeing if you can create a new fertilizer for my roses? We can try different things mixed together and see which one helps the roses grow better.”
“No. I don’t think soooo. Kinda boring.”
“How about you make me bigga?” my sister piped in from below.
“How will I make you bigga?” I asked, looking down on her smiling face.
“You can stretch me out,” she said and held her arms out wide.
“How?” I asked, giggling.
“Hang me by my ankles until I’m bigga,” she shouted.
“Now that I like,” I said rubbing my chin.
“Thank you for trying to help your brother, Emma dear, but I think you’re just right the way you are,” my mom said, pinching her on her plump, pink cheek.
“I like being hunged upside downeee,” she said.
My little sister was obsessed with being hung upside down. I didn’t realize I was that strong, but I could hold her up for a few seconds by the ankles. It was fun at first, but I was getting kind of tired of it. I did it for the first time about a week before. Now she asked me to do it all the time. She has taken to begging and whining until I give in. To make matters worse, my mom thinks it is the cutest thing she’s ever seen.
“Take a break and hang your sister upside down. I’ll go get the video camera,” Mom suggested, running off to the living room. I heard her footsteps climbing the stairs to her bedroom.
I really didn’t want to hang Emma upside down again, but if it would get me out of my homework for a little while, so be it. I got a good grip on her ankles and was ready to yank her up just as Mom returned with the camera.
“Okay, let me get it ready,” she said. “Okay, go, but be careful. Don’t lift her too high—just a few inches from the ground. Accidents happen, you know.”
I slowly pulled up on Emma’s ankles. She was laughing hysterically and facing the camera. Mom turned around the little screen on the camera so Emma could see herself, focusing in real close so Emma could get a good look. She was laughing about as hard as I’d ever heard her laugh. My mom was laughing, too. I was just happy not to be working on my project.
My sister’s laugh kept getting more and more intense. It was one of those deep belly laughs that, when you hear it, you can’t help but crack up yourself. There we were, all in the kitchen, my sister hanging by her ankles and all of us cracking up, when it happened.
I quickly realized why my sister went from laughing hard to laughing harder than she had ever laughed before in her life. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. She had dusted me.
“Dusted” is another term my father uses for farting. Emma’s didn’t make a sound. It just crept up into my nose like a thief in the night. I didn’t see it coming. I could not believe it. I’d been called S.B.D. at school more times in the last few days than I could remember, and now my own three-year-old sister was farting right on me.
My sister was now laughing so hard that tears were streaming down her pink cheeks. I felt myself getting very angry, angrier than I have ever been in my life. I didn’t know what to do.
Here I was holding my sister by the ankles so she could have a good time, and this was the thanks I got! I don’t know if I was that mad at her or if it was because of Anthony and all the S.B.D. stuff at school, but this was the last straw. I did the only thing I could think of…
I let her go.
CHAPTER 8
Eureka!
The next day, I woke up so early the alarm clock hadn’t even gone off. I was so rested because Mom sent me to bed at seven o’clock after I dropped Emma on her head. All night long, all I could do was think about my experiment. I was having nightmares about being the only one at the fair without a project. When all of a sudden, I opened my eyes and sat up in bed.
It was perfect! It was genius! I rushed over to my backpack and took out the assignment page. I read all the steps of the scientific method. It was perfect. I knew what my experiment would be.
I started typing it out on the computer so fast my fingers could hardly keep up. I filled out every section of the scientific method with ease. I had never been more excited about a school project in my life.
Scientific Method
1. Question: Can I discover something that people can eat that will make their gas/farts smell good?
I wondered whether I could use the word fart in a science-fair project. I probably could because I know they use that word on TV, and if they use it on TV, it’s usually okay to say. But then again, there are words on TV that are not okay to say so I decided to go with gas instead. It sounded more scientific anyway.
2. Hypothesis: I think I can create something that people can eat and it will make their gas smell good because people have already discovered things that make cars, bathrooms, and armpits smell good. It should be possible to make human gas smell good, too.
This was great. I was on a roll.
3. Materials: An assortment of pleasant-smelling things that can be eaten. Fruits, vegetables, herbs, flower petals.
4. Procedure: First, I will create a rubric from 1 to 4 that determines how offensive a person’s gas is. The rubric will be like a score. A score of 1 will
be the worst-smelling gas; a score of a 2 will be bad, but not the worst; 3 will be better, but not good; and 4 will be good. For a person to get a 4 the gas will have to actually smell good.
I will need volunteers to be a part of the experiment. They will have to eat different mixtures that I create and help me to see if their gas smell improves. I will record my findings and create a chart that shows my results.
5. Results:
I couldn’t fill that in yet because I hadn’t done the experiment. So I saved my work on my computer and printed out a copy to take to school.
I could smell bacon frying downstairs, which meant my mom was up. It also meant that I would have to leave for the bus in twenty minutes. I couldn’t believe nearly two hours had passed since I sat down.
I waited anxiously as my printer hummed out my brilliance. Looking in the mirror as I waited, I wondered if this was what Einstein felt like when he figured out that E=MC2 thing or how the Cheesy Nacho Chip guy felt the day he got the cheese just right. This was clearly a turning point in my life. I was now a great thinker.
I would be remembered two hundred years from now! I would be long dead, of course, but all people would remember me for would be my inventions and discoveries. Statues of me would stand in major universities and science museums around the world. Children would be reading about me in textbooks in the future. Only, in the future, I imagined textbooks would be made out of edible paper, so the kids would read about me and then eat the pages. I think I’d like my page to be nacho-cheese flavored.
“Keith! The bus will be here in ten minutes. What are you doing up there?” my mom yelled.
I shook my head and saw my reflection in the mirror over my desk. My eyes focused, and I noticed something move under my blanket.
