“I didn’t think I was gonna make that basket in the last quarter,” Cole says. Pfft.
“Me neither,” Ellie says. “You were pretty heavily guarded.”
“Yeah.” Cole scratches his elbow. “Well, I should probably go change.” He lifts his arms and leans in for a hug. Gross. Ellie wouldn’t want to be covered in all that sweat.
She hugs him back—probably just to be polite—and my stomach clenches. Now she’ll smell like his nasty BO.
Ellie lets go first. “See you in math!”
“Yeah, for sure!”
Wait, math? No way is Cole in the upper-level math class with Ellie. She must have switched into the lower level or something. I’ll ask her about it tomorrow.
Coach spots me and marches up to pat my shoulder. “Good work, son. I loved the whole knocking-over-the-cheerleaders routine.” He chuckles to himself. “That really got the crowd going, didn’t it?”
“You know I didn’t do that on purpose, right?”
He winks. “Just play it off like you did. Nice touch starting the wave, by the way. It’s not easy running in that costume. I’m proud of you for not giving up.”
My face breaks out in a huge smile. Normally, I’d try to play it cool, but Coach can’t see me under the headpiece anyway. I’m feeling the same warm rush I used to get after conquering the half-pipe at the skate park. Tonight wasn’t perfect, but I did a heck of a lot better than last time. At least I made the fans laugh and want to high-five me back.
If I can do this well next game, maybe I won’t mind if people find out who I am.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be known as Spudboy after all.
12
Salami King
Once everyone leaves, I enter the dim hallway, squinting to make sure I don’t ram into anything. Light from the janitor’s closet spills into the hall as Mitch pulls out a monster-sized push mop that could swallow him whole.
“Hey, Mitch,” I say. Now’s a good chance to make up for ignoring him during class the other day.
He looks surprised. “Ben! What’s up?”
I take off the headpiece. “Did you see the game?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I never go.”
“Well, you’re not gonna believe this.”
I let it all spill out. I tell him about the moonwalk, the Mashed Potato, the laughter, the cheers, the wave, and of course the human bowling-ball routine. I don’t know why I’m telling him all this. I guess I want someone—anyone—to talk to about my personal victory, and he’s my only option. Plus, Mitch turns out to be one of those people you can tell is really listening and not judging you for everything you say, or thinking you’re a loser because you watched a dance tutorial led by an otter.
“And then the whole pyramid came tumbling down,” I say, nearing the end of my story.
Mitch cackles so loudly I do a double take to make sure no one else is in the hall.
“And then Jayla Marden fell on top of me and called me a stupid potato,” I continue.
“Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” he says. “I mean, it’s Jayla.”
I cock my head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
His smile vanishes and his eyes shift. “Oh, um, I don’t know. I guess she just never struck me as very nice.”
I cross my arms. “She’s always been nice to me.”
“Except for today, like you just said.”
“That doesn’t count. She didn’t know who I was.”
“Isn’t that the point? It’s always easier to be mean to someone when you don’t know who’s behind the mask.”
I remember laughing at Wyatt tripping over the hot dog. That was before I even knew who he was. Mitch has a point, but I’m still annoyed he’s insulting my date. “Well…well, I’m going with her to the dance, so…”
“Wait,” he says. “I thought you were going out with Ellie.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “Why would you think that?”
He shrugs. “Guess ’cause I always see you guys together.”
I laugh again, but Mitch just stares at me instead of joining in. “Well,” I say after an awkward silence, “it’s getting pretty late. I have to change and get home.”
He shuffles his mop across the floor. “Yeah, okay.”
I start to leave, but hesitate. “Do you…do you need help cleaning or anything?” It seems unfair he has to stay when I get to go home. It’s like that awkward feeling of putting a dish in the sink while someone else is doing the dishes.
He grins with one side of his mouth. “Nah, this is my job, remember? If you helped, I’d have to pay you. You’re not getting any money out of me.”
I laugh. “How much left until you can get the quadcopter?”
“Probably like six more hours of work.”
I wonder how many hours of work a stuffed Hedwig would cost. I suddenly feel bad I never had to find out. “How long are you going to be here? I really can help.”
Mitch twirls the mop. “That’s nice, but I think we’re good. My dad’s already sweeping up the gym, and I just need to take a quick pass around the halls.” He grins evilly. “Now, if you want to take toilet-scrubbing duty next game, I wouldn’t object.”
“Ha! You’d have to pay me big-time for that.”
He snickers and heads down the hall. “I’ll see you in English.”
“Yeah.” My stomach gets all squirmy at the mention of the class where I refused to acknowledge him. It’s admirable he’s even talking to me after how I’ve treated him during school. I’ll make sure to say hi to him tomorrow. Maybe I can start building up some good karma. I really need it.
* * *
My alarm rings at six-forty-five on Thursday morning, and I only snooze it once. I have to get to school early to talk to Ellie. I want to ask her a couple of questions that have been bothering me. Before first period, she and Hunter usually hang around the bench outside the media center. I don’t usually join them there due to a condition I have called perpetual lateness.
Most days, my morning routine is to grab a handful of cereal on my way out the door, speed-walk to school as fast as I can without looking like I need to pee, and slip into first period two seconds before the bell. I’m considering competing in the Olympic speed-walking event since I’ve gotten so much practice.
Today, however, I arrive at school five minutes before the bell. It’s strangely calming to be here early. Ellie sits cross-legged on the bench, right under a poster that says YOU ARE WHAT YOU READ. She leafs through some sheet music, and Hunter paces nearby. Sitting isn’t really his thing.
“Well, if it isn’t the salami king himself!” Hunter says before I get the chance to speak.
Ellie translates. “A bunch of kids are walking around eating sticks of salami. He thinks it’s because of you.”
“There’s one!” Hunter points to a boy leaning against a pillar. “Look what’s in his hand.”
I squint.
“Salami!” Hunter swivels his arm to the right. “And the dude by the band room with the red beanie?”
“Yeah?”
“Salami!”
“So?”
“So? I gave you my salami on Monday. Now everyone’s eating salami. You, my friend, have single-handedly started a salami-eating trend.”
“Sweet!” I’m starting trends? If California Ben could see me now! But in case I look like I’m bragging, I add, “I mean, it kind of sells itself. It’s portable meat.”
“Maybe if you wore the game-day shirt, that would catch on too,” Ellie says. I keep forgetting to buy that thing. Oops.
“Dude, let’s see what trend we can start next!” Hunter says. “Maybe we can bring back those slappy-hand toys. Know what I’m talking about?” He scans the hallways for more salami, giving me a chance to ask Ellie my first que
stion. I take off my backpack and sit next to her on the bench.
Ellie turns to face me, and her hair swoops in front of her eyes. She tries to brush it away, but a stubborn strand stays put. I want to tuck it behind her ear or something…but that would be super weird.
I scratch my ear. “So, Ellie—did you get my text yesterday? I said I’d be late to the bike racks after school.”
She takes care of the rogue hair herself. “Oh, I just figured you weren’t gonna show, so I left. And my phone doesn’t work. Want to explain, Hunter?”
“Not really,” Hunter says. He points frantically into the distance. “Look, salami!”
Ellie crosses her arms. “It was the milk.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
She huffs. “When Hunter threw my phone in the trash, some milk spilled all over it, and now it’s broken. I can’t text or call.”
Hunter crouches in front of the bench so he meets Ellie at eye level. “I’m so sorry.” He places both hands over his heart. “I honestly forgot I was holding it.”
Ellie faces me, not flattering Hunter with a smile. “Sorry if you waited for me, though.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry for you! My mom took my phone away for a week once, and it was torture. I use it to look up nine thousand questions a day, like ‘Who’s the star of Ninja Piglets?’ or ‘How do you make slime?’ ”
She laughs. “I think I’ll survive. I already know how to make slime.”
Hunter’s face lights up. “Hey, I was gonna tell you—I hung out with Lucy after the game last night! I invited her to my house and everything!”
“Lucy as in…”
“As in Ellie’s friend. The one who likes cats.”
“Oh, right. Nice.” I slap his hand. “How was it?”
“Incredible! I showed her the horses, and then we played Jenga.”
“Jenga?” I ask. “Like the game where you pull out the—”
“The little wooden blocks, yeah.” He mimes a Jenga pull. “I rock at that game!”
“It’s true,” Ellie says. “I’ve only beaten him once.”
The five-minute bell echoes through the halls. Ellie stands to leave. Would it be weird to ask her my other question?
My curiosity wins.
“Hey,” I say. “Did you switch into the lower-level math class?”
She adjusts her side bag. “No. Why?”
“Oh. There was just this person and he said he was in your math and…you know, never mind.”
I’m giving myself away. I have to get out of here. But is it true, then, that Cole’s in her advanced class? There’s gotta be a mistake.
“Who said they were in my math?” She narrows her eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“I’m gonna be late for class,” I blurt, and book it without answering. I’ll have to be more careful with what I say from now on.
13
The Invitation
It’s impossible to focus in math. Daydreams are much more interesting than geometry—and, likely, just as important. Who’s to say I won’t become famous off one of these mental movie masterpieces?
Here’s what I’ve got so far:
AN UNEXPECTED HERO
Written and Directed by Ben Hardy
SETTING: Grocery store checkout line. JAYLA waits patiently as CASHIER rings up her food. Suddenly ROBBER, dressed in black, barges through the front door.
ROBBER: (waving baseball bat at cashier) Give me all your money!
CASHIER: (panic in her eyes) Please, sir, put the bat down. I’ll get what you want.
CASHIER rummages through cash box as JAYLA backs away in fear. Meanwhile, BEN emerges from the next aisle over, looking quite muscular in a white V-neck.
BEN: Not on my watch!
BEN snatches an abandoned cart and shoves it at ROBBER. ROBBER flips backward into cart and rolls away.
ROBBER: (legs dangling in the air) Gahhh!
Cart rams into tower of soup cans. ROBBER tumbles onto the floor, buried in soup!
JAYLA: (rushing to Ben with open arms) My hero!
“Ben!”
“Huh?” I snap out of my daydream to see my math teacher, Ms. Meyers, hovering over my desk. As always, she looks like her bun is stretching her face out a little too tight.
I’ve had trouble concentrating all period. Earlier in the halls before class, Jayla walked up to me and asked for my phone number. Five minutes later she texted me a smiley emoji and a peace sign. I can’t believe things are getting so serious.
“I said, could you please remind the class what the Pythagorean theorem is?” Ms. Meyers says.
“Oh, uh, yeah. It’s like, when you have the triangle thingy and the side thingy and the thing thingy.” I don’t feel like thinking of math terms today.
The class chuckles, but Ms. Meyers glares.
“Sorry.” I straighten my spine and force myself to focus. “A squared plus B squared equals C squared.”
“That’s right.”
* * *
After school, I sneak into the empty gym to try my handstand in the potato suit. We have a game next Tuesday, and I gotta top my performance from last night. Coach will be counting on it.
I feel more balanced than usual as I walk across the court. Turns out, walking in a potato suit is an acquired skill, just like anything else.
It’ll be easiest to do the handstand against the wall to start. I find a spot next to the bleachers and attempt to bend over, but my hands won’t reach the floor. I need a running start.
I back up a few feet, run at the wall, and dive forward. My potato head hits the floor, and my feet flop up in the air. I wobble against the wall for a few seconds before crashing down.
This isn’t gonna work. If I don’t wanna break my neck, my feet need to stay firmly rooted on the floor. Or slightly above it…
An idea hits me. It’s genius! How did I not think of it before? It would require a lot of work, but, if I pull it off, it’d be the most epic superstunt South Fork Middle has ever seen.
I gotta get home and start practicing right away.
* * *
The next day, I forget to bring my superstunt prop to school. I really need to practice in the gym, since half the challenge will be my execution in the suit. I’ll have to go home after school to grab my stuff and then come back to train.
At least I’ll get to walk home with Ellie for the first time in three days.
I meet up with her by the bike racks and we head out. It’s freezing, and that’s saying something when you live in Idaho. It’s the kind of cold that burns your eyes, seeps through your boots, and turns your fingers into stiff, frozen sausages attached to your palms. Walking home always feels less cold, though, when I have someone to talk to, like the vibration of my vocal cords can warm up my body.
Halfway home, I tell Ellie how Mitch—who, it turns out, is in her Sunday-school class—thought we were going out. She laughs so hard that she slips on some ice. I grab her arm to steady her and slip too, nearly dragging her down. After a few heart-stopping, arm-flinging seconds, I find my balance. “You okay?” I ask, short of breath.
She laughs and clutches her chest. “What were you trying to do? Kill me?”
“Yes. I specialize in murder by ice slippage.”
She stuffs her hands in the pockets of her blue coat. “So, you talk to Mitch now?”
“Yeah, why?” The suspicious expression on her face is making me nervous.
“Oh, I just didn’t…” She pauses. “Didn’t think you’d talk to him, is all.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. He’s…”
I can guess what she’s thinking. “Weird?”
“Not what I was gonna say.” She tilts her head. “I mean, I guess everyone’s weird. Some people are just better at hiding it than othe
rs.”
“So what you’re saying is I wouldn’t talk to the weird kid. You think I’m too stuck-up.”
“Noooo.” She bumps into my arm. “Don’t get so offended.”
“You know,” I say, wanting to disprove her impression of me, “Mitch is a really cool guy. He actually reminds me a little of how I was at my old school.”
Ellie bundles up her face in her woolly yellow scarf, so her words come out muffled. “How so?”
I suck in the cold air, wondering if my little confession will impress her. “Like, I don’t know. I was different then. I didn’t have a ton of friends. I was kinda quiet.”
Her lips pop out above her scarf. “You? Quiet?”
“Yeah, I know. Shocking. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
“Why? It’s not a big deal.” Ellie’s gloved hand clinks against the chain-link fence we’re passing. “I mean, you see how I am in Spanish. I don’t talk much. So what?”
“Yeah, but that’s because you’re busy reading or something. I would always just sit there feeling awkward.”
“Why didn’t you speak up?”
“I don’t know. It would’ve been weird.”
“Why?”
I bite my cheek. “It’s hard to explain. It’s like, at the beginning of the school year everyone decides who’s who for the rest of the year. Who’s gonna be the quiet kid. Who’s gonna be the funny kid. Who’s gonna be the teacher’s pet.”
Ellie looks like she’s trying to understand.
“If you try to break out of your label, it just feels weird. When I moved to Idaho, I knew I couldn’t get stuck being the quiet kid again. No one at my last school even knew who I was.”
“Well, your plan worked. I mean, you single-handedly started a salami-eating trend. People definitely know who you are.”
My Life as a Potato Page 8
