Allergic to Birthday Parties, Science Projects, and Other Man-made Catastrophes Read online

  I read it out loud:

  Oops.

  How could so many stars—and a hairball—have gotten it so wrong?

  “How nice!” said my mom.

  Nice? At a boys’ party, you duke it out. At a girls’ party, you dress up fancy and act strange.

  “Tea parties are especially delightful,” said my mom. “You’ll get to eat finger sandwiches and scones and drink tea.”

  Finger sandwiches?

  I curled my fingers out of sight.

  “Do I have to go?” I asked.

  “Why wouldn’t you want to go, dear?” my mom asked. “Sophie’s a good friend to you.”

  “You mean she’s his girlfriend,” Calvin yelled from the living room. It was after school and he was battling to the death with Anibelly in a video game when he should have been working on his fourth-grade science fair project.

  “She is not!” I shouted.

  “Is too!”

  “Is not!”

  “Is too!”

  “Is not!”

  “That’s enough, boys,” said my mom. “Alvin’s lucky to be invited.”

  “That’s right,” chimed in Anibelly. “Birthday parties are fun.”

  Birthday parties are scary, especially a girl’s birthday party. Anything can happen.

  You might be dressed for bowling … But everyone else is dressed for swimming. You could get mistaken for the piñata … Or worse, the donkey for the pin-the-tail game!

  Someone might say hello … And expect you to say hello back. You could break a window. You could eat too much cake. You could throw up.

  If I had to go to a birthday party, I’d much rather be going to a boys’ settlers and Indians party. It would be all-out war with no chance of girls.

  “I’ll take you shopping, and we can pick out something nice for her,” said my mom, smiling. “We haven’t done a mom-and-son outing in a long time. Wouldn’t that be special?”

  Special? I’m allergic to shopping! Whenever we go shopping, my dad and Calvin and I sit like three lobsters in a pot, waiting for the ladies to try on clothes. Why do they have to try on everything anyway? Look at me and Calvin. We don’t know what we’re going to wear until we get up in the morning and our clothes practically jump on us and we look just fine!

  The only good thing about shopping is that if I don’t cry too much, I get a treat for being “a patient little gentleman.” Usually, I’ll pick an ice cream cone, or a new Matchbox car, or an action figure with movable parts.

  I blinked.

  That’s it!

  If I agree to go to Flea’s party …

  And I go shopping …

  And I’m a patient gentleman-in-waiting …

  I could ask for the Deluxe Indian Chief outfit, instead of an ice cream cone!

  And once I get my Deluxe Indian Chief outfit, complete with bow and arrow and the feather headdress that makes you look like a giant bird, Hobson will be sure to invite me to his party!

  My heart skipped a beat.

  “Okay,” I said quickly. “I’ll go.”

  My mom wrapped her soft arms around me and pulled me close. I love it when she does that. I imagined that the deluxe feather headdress wrapping around my head and falling down my back would feel just as nice.

  “Alvin’s going to a girls’ party,” I heard Calvin singing from the living room. “Alvin’s going to a girls’ party.”

  “Lalalalalalalalala,” sang Anibelly.

  “Bam! Bam! Bam!” went the video game.

  I ran to my room.

  I closed the door.

  I sifted through the rubble and found my notebook. Then I sat in the golden sunbeam coming through my window and made a list. I didn’t want to forget anything.

  I stopped. I remembered something I’d heard about girls’ parties. There are always cupcakes. I love cupcakes. So I added:

  Eat cupcakes.

  I looked at the pink invitation in my hand.

  The sun was warm on my back.

  Why didn’t I get an invitation from Hobson?

  I blinked.

  A tear plopped onto my list.

  Then another.

  Then I cried my eyes out.

  Later that night I told Calvin all about the cosmic mistake.

  “That’s too bad,” said Calvin. He was very sympathetic, not like he is during the day when he’s wide awake.

  “Have you ever been to a girls’ party?” I asked.

  “Yup,” said Calvin. “Twice.”

  “What’s it like?” I asked.

  We were tucked in our beds waiting for our dreams to begin. It’s the best time to talk to Calvin. He’s actually paying attention, like at the cinema when the previews are over and we’re just waiting for the real movie to start.

  “You get to eat cupcakes,” said Calvin.

  “What else?”

  “There’ll be lots of girls,” said Calvin.

  “What else?”

  “The scariest thing is that you have to have special manners,” said Calvin.

  “Like what?”

  “Not really sure,” said Calvin. “It’s like a secret code or something. You have to know which fork to use for cake and how to pick up the sugar with fancy tweezers, and how to sip your tea with your pinky up and how to hold the saucer thing when you spit it out.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “If you don’t know all that,” Calvin added solemnly, “they’ll ship you out to sea.”

  Out to sea?

  “What else?” I asked.

  “You could be the only boy.”

  “The only boy?” I said.

  “Yup,” said Calvin. “It’s a girls’ party, isn’t it?”

  I breathed in.

  I breathed out.

  I didn’t feel so good.

  “Anything else?” I asked.

  Silence.

  “Cal?”

  The trouble with talking to Calvin when we’re both in bed is that he’s on very low battery and I’m on AC/DC current. It’s a great time to get advice from him, but you have to do it fast. Once he’s in shutoff mode, there’s no telling whether he’s talking to you or talking in his dreams.

  “Cal!” I shouted. I turned on my flashlight.

  “Yup,” said Calvin, turning over.

  “How am I ever going to survive a girls’ party?” I wailed.

  “Hmmmm,” said Calvin. “Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.”

  “Calvin!” I screamed again.

  But it was too late. Calvin was fast asleep.

  if there was anyone who could tell me how to survive a girls’ party, it was my cousin Bucky. Her real name is Lizard Breath. She’s a girl. She’s eight-going-on-eighty-eight, which means she was born with a teacup in her hand and a purse on her elbow. She goes to an all-girls school, which is where no boys are allowed on account of they might ruin things. She just started the third grade but she’s already graduated from a special class where she learned all her manners. She even has a certificate on her wall to prove it.

  So I ran over to her house after school.

  “Bucky!” I rapped on the door of her playhouse in her backyard, which is home to Bucky’s Veterinarian Hospital and Bucky’s Tea House. I could see her through the window. I was in luck. It was teatime. “It’s me, Alvin.”

  “Hi, Alvin!” Bucky waved. “C’mon in.”

  I went in.

  There was scary hospital stuff all over the place: a stethoscope, an otoscope, hammers for testing your reflexes, pliers for pulling out teeth, cotton balls, tongue depressors and ready-to-go shots on a tray, just like in a real hospital.

  My liver flipped.

  My head spun.

  My eyes closed.

  I’m allergic to hospitals. Fortunately, this is an animal hospital, and Bucky’s pet chinchilla, Chilly, is the only patient. So I slipped into a chair and petted Chilly’s soft gray fur until I felt better. Then I opened my eyes.

  “For tea came you today says Chilly he’s glad,” said Bu
cky, whose words don’t always come out in the right order, especially when she’s excited. But I understand her perfectly. It’s like understanding a foreign language!

  “I’ve been invited to a tea party,” I said, pulling the invitation out of my back pocket to show her.

  “Oooh,” said Bucky. “R.S.V.P. That’s French for Resume Standing Very Promptly, you know.”

  “No,” I said. I didn’t know.

  “You have to do it if you want to go,” said Bucky. “It’s to tell them you’re coming. You can’t just show up.”

  I looked at the certificate on her wall. It was fancy, with a gold seal.

  “Calvin says I need to know the special rules, or they’ll ship me out to sea!”

  I said. “Can you teach ’em to me?”

  “Sure!” said Bucky. “No problem.”

  “Do you have any finger sandwiches?” I asked, looking around.

  “No,” said Bucky.

  “Good,” I said. “I’m allergic to those.”

  I looked at the table. Bucky had set it with so many napkins and plates and glasses and forks and cups and spoons that you couldn’t see the table.

  “Rule Number One,” said Bucky. “Show no fear.”

  “Grrrrrr,” I growled. Then I thumped my chest. “Grrrrrrr.”

  “That’s good,” said Bucky approvingly.

  “Rule Number Two,” Bucky continued. “Shake hands and introduce yourself.”

  I stopped.

  “Can’t I just wear a name tag?” I asked. “I’d rather wear a name tag.”

  “No,” said Bucky. “Name tags are for Neanderthals.”

  “Oh, I wish I were a Neanderthal,” I sighed. “Or an Indian chief.”

  Bucky stuck out her gloved hand. She had on a fancy hat, and a little purse swung from her elbow.

  “How do you do,” she said.

  I took her gloved hand and pumped it like an old-fashioned water pump.

  “How do you do,” I said. I knew what to say on account of I’d done the handshake before with Bucky. Many times before. It’s Bucky’s thing. But I’d rather wear a name tag.

  “That’s perfect!” said Bucky, looking very pleased. “Isn’t this fun?”

  A squeaky sound like the kind Chilly makes when he’s unhappy slipped out from me.

  “Rule Number Three,” said Bucky. “Make eye contact.”

  “I’m not good at that,” I said.

  “No problem,” said Bucky. “Just practice.”

  She held a doll up to my face. I made eye contact.

  Then she held Chilly up to my face. I made eye contact again.

  “See?” she said. “Better you are than you thought.”

  Bucky was right. I made eye contact, just like that!

  “Rule Number Four,” Bucky continued. “Drink, eat and talk at the same time. No crumbs allowed.”

  “How do you do that?” I asked.

  “Do like me,” she said. She passed me a saltine. Then she took one and popped it into her mouth.

  “ChU careFULLWE and SPEEH norMUL,” said Bucky. Crumbs shot out of her mouth like water spraying out of a hose. It was great! Then she coughed. “Hak! Hak!”

  “Into tissue a cough,” she said, reaching into her purse and pulling out a wad. “Rule Number Thirty-eight.”

  “How many rules are there?” I asked.

  “Seventy-nine,” said Bucky.

  Seventy-nine??? My saltine showered like confetti into the air.

  “I only need to know about using forks and fancy sugar tweezers and when to spit the tea into my saucer,” I said. “Do you know anything about those rules?”

  “Yup,” said Bucky. “That’s lesson two, next week.”

  “Lesson two?” I said.

  “Yup,” said Bucky. “The sequel—tableware, utensils and napkins.”

  “The sequel?”

  “Lesson three is dinner conversation.

  “Lesson four is how to dress.

  “Lesson five is telephone skills and thank-you notes.”

  Bucky smiled.

  “Today’s only introductions,” she added. “You can’t hurry tea.”

  “But Flea’s party is only a few circles away on the calendar,” I said. “I can’t come for five weeks.”

  Bucky put down her teapot.

  “No problem,” she said. “You can do the fast track. Learn all your lessons today.”

  The fast track? Normally, I’m not a fast tracker. But this was not normal.

  “I’ve got to warn you,” said Bucky. “It’s ugly.”

  “Ugly?” I squeaked.

  “Tea will spill,” said Bucky. “Biscuits will fly.”

  She picked up her teapot again.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Do I have to drink tea?” I asked.

  “No,” said Bucky. “There’s juice too.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll have juice.”

  Bucky poured, fast.

  I looked at what was coming out of her teapot. It was spilling, all right. But it wasn’t juice. And it wasn’t tea.

  “That’s just plain water,” I said.

  Bucky blinked.

  “It’s pretend juice,” said Bucky. “Pinky up!”

  Bucky sipped quickly and noisily, her pinky up.

  I’d barely gotten my pinky up when Bucky barked, “Smile!”

  I made fish lips.

  “Show no fear!”

  “Shake!”

  “Put your napkin in your lap!”

  “Sit up straight!”

  I sat up straight, but I could hardly keep up.

  “Time for dim sum!”

  “Dim sum!” I said. “I love dim sum!” I was looking forward to flying biscuits, but dim sum was even better! My stomach growled at the thought of it. My mouth watered.

  Bucky reached over and put a rock on my plate.

  “Dim sum,” she said.

  “That’s not dim sum,” I said. “That’s dim rock! I can’t eat dim rock!”

  Bucky looked at it.

  Then she looked at me.

  “Okay,” she said. “Wanna play hospital now? Big old elephant you are and your doctor I am and tooth hurts your.…”

  i was out of Bucky’s Tea House and Veterinarian Hospital faster than an earwig out of an ear. When I got home, I told Calvin all about fast-track tea and how scary it got in the end.

  Calvin was not really listening to me. He had just come home from karate and was still in a karate mood. He kicked his legs and chopped the air with his hands. “Ha!” he said. “Ha! Ha!”

  “What am I going to do?” I asked.

  “Ha!” said Calvin. His leg swung over my head.

  “I wish I could just disappear,” I said.

  Calvin stopped.

  He looked at me.

  “That’s it!” said Calvin.

  “What’s it?” I asked.

  “You just gave me an idea for my science fair project!” said Calvin. He ran upstairs. Anibelly and I ran after him. He took out his clipboard and scribbled something.

  “What is it, Cal?” I asked.

  “Well, if you agree to be my guinea pig,” said Calvin, “I can make all your troubles go away.”

  “Really, Cal?” I asked. Usually Calvin never even lets me near his projects. “How?”

  “I’ll make you invisible,” said Calvin. “That way you can go to the party and not be seen. Out of sight … out of trouble.”

  “Hooray!” I cried. My brother Calvin is practically a genius!

  “Not so fast,” said Calvin. “I’ll have to do a bunch of experiments. It might not work at first … you might have to be a guinea pig for a while.”

  “Can I be a guinea pig too?” asked Anibelly. “I’ve always wanted a guinea pig, but now I can be one!”

  “No way,” I said. “Calvin said I’m the guinea pig.”

  “You can be a guinea pig too, Anibelly,” said Calvin, who always has a good word for Anibelly. “I need to test stuff on more
than one person.”

  “I don’t want to test anything,” said Anibelly. “I just want to be a guinea pig.”

  “Great!” said Calvin. “C’mon.”

  We followed Calvin downstairs, past GungGung, who was supposed to be watching us after school but who had fallen asleep on the couch, straight to the refrigerator.

  “If there’s anything I’ve learned in Boy Scouts it’s this,” said Calvin. “Lemon juice makes good invisible ink.”

  Calvin took out a bunch of lemons that were already cut up for tea and we squeezed the juice out of them. Then we smeared the juice all over me and Anibelly.

  “Lemon juice will make your freckles disappear too,” Calvin said to Anibelly. “Want some pulp for extra strength?”

  “Yup,” she said, “so long as I grow fur and whiskers over ’em like a regular guinea pig.” Calvin stuck pulp on the little freckles on her cheeks.

  “Extra strength works for me too,” I said. I took the lemon peels and stuck them all over myself with duck tape. If there’s anything I’ve learned from my dad it’s this: Duck tape is the most useful thing in the house. But I have no idea why it’s for the ducks.

  Then we waited.

  “Are we faded yet?” I asked.

  “Nope,” said Calvin.

  “Are we halfway faded?”

  “Nope.”

  “How ’bout partly faded?”

  “Nope.”

  GungGung stirred on the couch.

  “Oooowwwwooo!” howled Lucy.

  “Lucy says it’s time to try something else,” said Anibelly.

  “Okay,” said Calvin.

  “Okay,” I said. Then we peeled off the lemons, tiptoed past GungGung and hurried back upstairs.

  “Miracle in a Jar,” said the label on the little jar in my mom’s medicine cabinet. “Makes wrinkles disappear overnight. Makes fine lines invisible.”

  “This may be just the thing,” said Calvin, climbing down from the sink. “Do you ever see wrinkles on Mom?”

  “No,” said Anibelly.

  “Do you ever see fine lines?”

  “No,” I said. “She’s just plain. No lines, no tattoos, nothing.”