Mob School Swap

by Greyson Mann

  “What’s he allergic to?” asked Sam. “Mushrooms?”

  “Mushrooms?” I hissed. “Seriously, Sam?” I mean, who’s allergic to mushrooms? But then I saw Andrew’s face nodding off in that stew again, and I started to wonder. I mean, it’s pretty much ALL Mom’s been feeding him since he got to our house. And he just gets stuffier and sneezier. So … who knows?

  Anyway, when Ziggy Zombie sat down next to us, Andrew woke right up—and screamed like a ghast in the Nether. Did I mention that he’s TERRIFIED of zombies? It’s the weirdest thing. I mean, Ziggy is as harmless as a silverfish. He’s gross, for sure—and totally annoying. But scary? No way. I just don’t get it.

  But every time Ziggy made a move, Andrew flinched. And Ziggy thought that was HILARIOUS. He moaned and groaned, trying to spook Andrew even more. I gotta say, I saw a whole other side to that zombie last night. And it wasn’t pretty.

  But enough about Ziggy. He was the least of our problems. Because as soon as Bones and his buddies rattled into the cafeteria, Bones zeroed in on Andrew. He was beside us in a flash—faster than a teleporting Enderman.

  I kicked Andrew’s chair, trying to warn him to sit up straight, or stop sniffling, or SOMETHING. But you know what that boy did? He looked up at Bones, smiled wide, and … sneezed.

  I’m pretty sure he sprayed Bones right in the eye socket, because next thing I knew, Bones was grunting and growling.

  “This is Andrew,” Sam said super-fast, as if that slime stood a chance at defending ANY mob against Bones.

  “AN-drew?” spat Bones, wiping his face again. “More like DRIPPY Drew. Nice friend you got there, Itchy.” And with that, he walked away, his bones clattering and clanking with each irritated step.

  So somehow, in three seconds flat, Bones gave me and Drippy Drew our first and ONLY thing in common: bad nicknames.

  SUPER.

  At least we got through day one. Only a month left, right? Mom is always telling me to look on the bright side (which is pretty much all I CAN do now that a glowstone lights up my bedroom like a ginormous torch).

  So I tried to put on a happy face at breakfast. Until Mom served up more mushroom stew. AGAIN???

  I mentioned to Mom that maybe Andrew was allergic to stew and that she should try something NEW. (You know, like MEAT.) But Andrew pretty much dove into that stew, and when he came up for air, he said that he was definitely not allergic to mushrooms. “We grow them at home,” he said, all sniffly like.

  Then Dad started telling the story of how mobs and humans came together over mushroom stew a gazillion years ago. He usually saves that story for Thanksgiving, but I guess Andrew and the mushroom stew inspired him. So I recited the story along WITH Dad. Why not? I’ve got every word of it memorized.

  “… In the olden days, only mobs roamed the Overworld, then miners came, and battles broke out. But today, we eat mushroom stew to celebrate the time when mobs and miners finally came together in peace.”

  Andrew looked up from his stew and wiped his nose. “Huh?”

  Turns out, Andrew had learned a DIFFERENT story about the olden days, when only HUMANS roamed the Overworld. I guess that’s what they teach the kids at school in Humanville anyway.

  When Dad’s pie hole dropped open, I fought the urge to fling a roasted potato into it. He looked like he was going to argue, but he didn’t. “That’s a very interesting story, Andrew,” was all he said.

  I’d never seen anyone or anything stop Dad once he got going on the Story Train. But somehow, Andrew did.

  I couldn’t decide if that made him an enemy to my family, or my new hero. Then he coughed up a phlegm ball, and that settled that. Definitely not my hero.

  Anyway, Mom took that opportunity to change the subject. “Speaking of coming together,” she said, “I was thinking we should invite some friends over for dinner this weekend. Some NEW friends. You know,” she said, nudging Dad, “expand our social circles.”

  NEW friends? Well, that set off nervous fireworks in my chest. Was Mom on some kick now? First, she invited a human to live with us. Was she going to invite EVERY family in Humanville to come dine at our table?

  “Ooh,” hissed Chloe, “let’s invite Cora’s family!” Cora is Chloe’s best friend. I could take or leave that creeper, but I guess I’d rather eat chops with a family of creepers than a town full of humans.

  But Mom shot Chloe down. “I said NEW friends,” she repeated. “Different kinds of mobs.”

  “Like slimes?” I suggested. “We haven’t had Sam and his family over in a while.” I crossed my toes, hoping that suggestion would fly.

  But it didn’t. Mom was really on a mission here to “expand our social circles.”

  Then Cate, in her red wig, piped up and said, “How about zombie pigmen?”

  I think she was joking, but Dad started hissing. Did I mention Cate went out with a zombie pigman once?

  Anyway, Mom lit right up and said, “Yes! How about zombies? That Ziggy Zombie has you over for sleepovers, Gerald. Should we have his family over here?”

  “NO!” I hissed. I’d eaten dinner with Ziggy’s family, and it’s enough to kill a creep’s appetite, let me tell you. Rotten flesh everywhere. Moaning and groaning. BLECH.

  But somehow, it was already settled. Mom had inked up the calendar and was back at the table in a flash. So now we had something extra special to look forward to on Saturday night. Woo-hoo.

  The only thing that made me feel better was spotting snowflakes falling outside the window.

  Because snow means sledding.

  And snow golems.

  And snowball fights. YAAASSSS!!!

  For Dad, it means something TOTALLY different. “Looks like we’ll be shoveling the creeper cul-de-sac tomorrow, Gerald,” he said cheerfully.

  I was about to protest when Andrew cleared his throat. “I’ll help you, sir,” he said. “I shovel our hockey rink all the time at home.”

  HUH?

  Now don’t get me wrong. I’d do just about anything to creep out of shovel duty. But watching Andrew step into my shoes and take over that job felt, I don’t know … weird. Especially when Dad said, “Great, son! And maybe when we’re done with the driveway, we can build you one of those hockey rinks in the backyard!”

  Suddenly, the two of them were in the living room, sketching out a rink and figuring out where to put it so that it wouldn’t disturb Sock the Sheep. (Did I mention we have a sheep living in our backyard? Don’t ask.)

  Anyway, this creeper was suddenly feeling like the odd mob out. I even hissed a little, which I tried to pass off as a burp or a cough.

  And that’s how I ended up volunteering to HELP Dad and Andrew build that hockey rink. And I don’t even know what a hockey rink is.

  SHEESH. This is going to be one LONG month.

  DAY 4: FRIDAY

  Did I mention that Andrew and my squid Sticky are already besties?

  Yup. I walk into the room, and Sticky barely looks my way. But when Andrew walks in? Well, you’d think he was Santa Squid himself. Sticky’s eyes get bigger than ever, and he floats to the edge of his tank, and he gazes lovingly at Andrew. And Andrew adores Sticky right back. (Sometimes I have to tug on Andrew’s cape, just to break up the love fest.)

  So I’ve learned something about Andrew. He loves animals, including Sock the Sheep and even Sir-Coughs-a-Lot, the hissy cat that lives next door. That got me to thinking: maybe Andrew is allergic to CRITTERS.

  See, my buddy Sam found out one day that he’s allergic to cats, which is a REAL problem when you love cats as much as Sam does. But then the doctor gave him some medicine, and now he can love up on his cat Moo as much as he wants (which is a LOT, by the way).

  So if Andrew is allergic to critters, maybe we can get him some of those miracle meds that stop the drip. See where I’m going with this?

  But I had to test out my theory. I didn’t really want to hang out in the garage with Sock (which is where Mom puts our sheep when it gets too cold outside). Lucky for me, we
have plenty of Sock’s wool INSIDE. Mom used to love to knit, and now that it’s cold out again, all the sweaters and blankets she knit last year are popping up left and right.

  So I asked Mom if she had a wool sweater for Andrew to wear when we went out shoveling snow after school this morning. And of course, she was happy to hurry down the hall to find one. But boy, did that backfire.

  Mom came back with the Mooshroom sweater she’d knitted for me. Yup, I actually own a sweater with mushrooms all over it—thanks to Mom.

  I thought I’d given that sweater a decent burial in the back of the closet, but Mom found it and helped Andrew wriggle into it. And here’s the weird part. Andrew was THRILLED. I guess he’s always wanted to see a Mooshroom. So I rest my case—the kid loves critters, and maybe THAT’s why his eyes and nose are always oozing.

  Anyway, Mom tossed me an old sweater too, which immediately made me itch. But I wasn’t worried about my own itchy skin right now. I had my eyes plastered on Andrew, waiting for him to start sneezing or coughing or wheezing, now that he was wrapped in sheep’s wool.

  But he didn’t. I watched and waited for half an hour, while we shoveled. The whole time, he rambled on about hockey rinks and hockey sticks and hockey pucks. And he didn’t sneeze at all. Not even ONCE. That’s gotta be a new record for him.

  So … there goes another theory, shot down like a blaze in the Nether. Andrew is NOT allergic to critters—at least not to sheep.

  And I did NOT stop the drip. (SNIFF, SNIFFLE, SNEEZE)

  DAY 5: SATURDAY MORNING

  I was hoping Ziggy and his family would already have plans this weekend—maybe to stagger over to the nearest town to spook villagers or something. But they didn’t. They’re definitely coming to dinner tonight. SIGH.

  I’m not loving the plan, but Andrew is FREAKING RIGHT OUT. I guess eating lunch with a zombie at school is about all he can handle. Dinner with a whole FAMILY of zombies might put that poor kid right over the edge.

  Turns out, Andrew heard about some humans who were attacked by zombies and turned into ZOMBIE VILLAGERS. Well, that sounds like a made-up story—the kind my Evil Twin would spread just to freak out mobs at school. I’ve tried to tell Andrew all week that Ziggy is harmless.

  But Ziggy sure isn’t helping things, with his moaning and groaning. I guess the zombie enjoys not being the lowest man on the totem pole anymore. Instead of playing nice, Ziggy has been sneaking up behind Andrew every chance he gets. And Andrew squeals and jumps sky high. Every. Single. Time.

  He actually unlocked his trunk this morning for the first time in days. I held my breath and crept over beside him, trying to peek inside. But Andrew was WAY too fast for me. He pulled something out of the trunk and then dropped the lid back down.

  Man, that kid is really holding out on me!!! What’s he got in there? Secret weapons? A diamond sword? A coat of armor?

  He did pull out something shiny, but it wasn’t a diamond sword. It was an iron golem, like the kind that tower over villages to protect them from nasty mobs. Except this was a MINI golem. And I guess Andrew got it out of the trunk to protect himself from—you guessed it—ZOMBIES.

  That’s when I knew he was REALLY scared.

  But let’s face it, every mob is scared of something. I mean, I’m no fan of spiders. Or cats—especially ocelots, wild cats that lurk in the jungle just waiting to gobble up creepers like me for dinner.

  But Andrew isn’t scared of ANY of those things. He loves critters! He thought I was LUCKY for running into an ocelot in the jungle last summer. (That’s a whole other story. Don’t even ask.) Instead, Andrew is scared of the goofiest, grossest mob at school—zombies. Go figure. I don’t think I’ll ever understand humans.

  But here’s one thing I know: that iron golem probably won’t do much to protect Andrew tonight. So if Ziggy gets out of line, I’m going to have to be the one to step in and do the job.

  DAY 5: SATURDAY NIGHT

  Mom wanted dinner with the zombies to go perfectly. I tried to tell her that she wasn’t being REALISTIC. (It’s one of her favorite words. I figured she’d appreciate me using it.) I said there wasn’t a single perfect thing about zombies. So why would a dinner with a table FULL of zombies go perfectly?

  That’s when Mom told me to go clean my room.

  Meanwhile, she cleaned the whole house from top to bottom. She arranged the living room just so, with every cushion and cactus in its place. Personally, I don’t think cactus plants have ANY place in a creeper’s house, but Mom got on this plant kick last fall. So now, a creeper can barely turn around without getting a pricker in his rear.

  She even moved a cactus plant into my BEDROOM, next to Andrew’s glowstone. Poor Sticky the Squid is getting squeezed right out—I can barely see the little dude in his aquarium behind all that other stuff.

  Anyway, after cleaning the house, Mom made burnt pork chops and roasted potatoes. AND mushroom stew and apple crisp. AND a bowl of carrots—for Andrew, the vegetarian.

  I wondered how Mom’s menu would go down with Ziggy and his family. I mean Ziggy is all about rotten-flesh sandwiches and rotten-flesh dogs and rotten-flesh fajitas. What was Ziggy going to do with a CARROT?

  I found out soon enough. The doorbell rang, and the Zombie Parade began.

  Zoe trotted in first. She’s a baby zombie and super-fast. Plus, she kind of loves me—the way Sticky loves Andrew.

  See, Zoe and I have had some good times. We’ve played hide and seek, and rode chickens together—well, she rode a chicken and I rode a pig, but that’s a whole other story. (We MIGHT have even had tea parties and rapped nursery rhymes together, but if you hiss a word of that to ANYONE, I will deny it.)

  Baby zombies are pretty cute, if you ask me. Too bad they have to grow up and turn into blister-picking, flesh-chomping zombies like Ziggy.

  Anyway, Ziggy barely said hello to me. He staggered right past and searched the house for Andrew, who was taking an AWFULLY long time to get dressed in the bedroom. When he finally opened the door, Ziggy was standing RIGHT there, moaning and groaning. Which sent Andrew back inside the bedroom. SLAM!

  I would have given Ziggy a talking to, except I was having a freak-out fest of my own. Why? Because Ziggy and his family hadn’t arrived alone. They’d brought their family pet.

  A SPIDER.

  Yup, Leggy strode in right with Mr. and Mrs. Zombie, as if he’d been on the VIP list or something. As if he owned the place.

  Did I mention I’m not a big fan of spiders?

  Leggy and I kind of have an understanding when I’m at Ziggy’s house. I stay out of his way and he stays out of my way—mostly. But having that spider scuttle across MY living room floor was a whole different thing.

  Even Mom eyed that hairy-legged critter with wide eyes. But Mom’s the perfect host, right? So she just called everyone to the table and said dinner was ready.

  By the time I convinced Andrew to come eat, we had one full table, let me tell you. Six creepers, four zombies, and a human. Oh, and a miniature iron golem. It was like the first Thanksgiving feast that Dad is always talking about, when mobs and miners came together in peace. Except it WASN’T very peaceful.

  First, Mr. Zombie got all excited about the burnt pork chops. “Chops? What a nice surprise!” he said, loading up his plate. “Gerald told us that creepers didn’t eat meat on the weekends!”

  HUH?

  Then it all came back to me—a little white lie I’d told the last time I had dinner at Ziggy’s house. See, I was trying to get out of eating rotten flesh, so I’d pretended to be a weekend vegetarian. And it worked! I mean, till now. Lies have a way of sneaking up on a creeper and taking him down.

  I started to sweat, which always happens when I get busted. And when I start to sweat, I start to itch.

  When Mom saw me scratching my back against the chair (a sure sign of guilt), she shot a few arrows at me with her eyes.

  Then she said something to Mr. and Mrs. Zombie about serving meat because tonight was a “special occa
sion.” And she got a few more chops out of the oven.

  Leggy must have smelled the chops, because he crept into the room. And I suddenly lost my appetite.

  Then I realized Andrew wasn’t eating either, because Ziggy was making weird faces at him. Andrew looked miserable—all sniffly and goopy. Maybe his allergies were like my itching. The more stressed out we were, the worse things got.

  Then I saw that Cate and Chloe weren’t eating either—maybe because this was their first dinner with zombies, and they were disgusted by all the chunks of food spraying out of those gaping zombie mouths. Me? I’m used to that. I sit by Ziggy every day at lunch. But Cate’s face was especially green. She looked like she was about to hurl.

  Mom kept pushing the food bowls closer, trying to get us all to eat. But even Mom looked grossed out when Mrs. Zombie started picking at a scab on her cheek, right there at the table.

  As for Dad? He and Mr. Zombie were having a good old time—chomping away at those chops. In fact, they cleared the chops right off the plate. When Mrs. Zombie asked for more, they were all gone. And Mom looked mortified.

  Then Leggy got too close to the table—WAY too close. Like, I saw one of his legs reach for a chunk of potato on MY plate.

  I’m not gonna say I screamed, but I might have jumped a little. And for some reason, my baby sister Cammy thought that was hilarious.

  She started laughing. Then Zoe the baby zombie started laughing. Then Cammy laughed harder. Then Zoe laughed harder. And then, before anyone could stop her, Cammy blew sky high. The Exploding Baby is the only creeper I know who blows up when she’s HAPPY.