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

  “That’s because this cream makes everything disappear,” said Calvin. “It’s Miracle in a Jar. It’s on TV all the time.”

  Calvin was right. I’d seen it on TV too.

  So we rubbed it on. It was cool and felt like whipped butter.

  There was only one problem.

  There wasn’t much cream in that tiny jar. It barely covered two foreheads.

  But my mom never runs out of anything. She plans ahead. She buys stuff on sale. So we checked the closet. On a middle shelf, where it was easy to reach, there were quite a few jars of Miracle in a Jar, next to the extra toilet paper and the extra shampoo and soap.

  “It’s a good thing Mom’s a good shopper,” I said.

  “If she were a Boy Scout,” said Calvin in the quiet voice that he uses when he’s turning over a rare baseball card, “she’d make Order of the Arrow.”

  This time we slathered it on as thick as mayonnaise. The only problem was having to open so many of the little jars just to get enough.

  When we finished Anibelly’s face, she closed her eyes and smiled peacefully, just like the lady on TV.

  When my face was done, I put some on my neck. Then I put the rest in my hair, just in case.

  “Lalalalalalalalala,” sang Anibelly. She was really happy.

  “It’s sticky,” I said. I was not so happy. “But I can feel it working already,” I added.

  “Really?” said Calvin. “But the box says it works overnight, and it’s not overnight yet.”

  Anibelly blinked. She looked pretty invisible to me. Only her eyes showed and the little dark holes that were her nostrils.

  “It’s working!” I screamed. “It’s working!”

  Calvin looked closely.

  Then he stepped back.

  Then he stared straight through us.

  “This is going to win me the science fair prize,” said Calvin, stunned. “I can only see your eyes!”

  “Hooray!” I cried.

  “Hooray!” cried Anibelly.

  I looked in the mirror. I was so covered with Miracle in a Jar that I was practically headless! It was terrific!

  So we put away the leftover jars. Calvin said I should use them right before the party.

  It was the perfect plan.

  My brother was practically a genius!

  So I asked him about something else.

  “Once I get my Deluxe Indian Chief outfit, Hobson will invite me to his party, won’t he?” I asked Calvin.

  “Can’t be sure about that,” said Calvin.

  “Why not?”

  “Girls will invite you for no good reason,” said Calvin, “but boys invite you only if you’re worth inviting.”

  “Worth inviting?” I asked.

  “You have to either be impressive or do something impressive,” said Calvin.

  “Like what?”

  “Well, for starters, it would help if you got all that cream off your face,” said Calvin.

  “Okay,” I said. I ran to the bathroom and washed off the Miracle in a Jar. Then I ran back to Calvin.

  “That’s better,” said Calvin, inspecting me. “Now you can work on doing something impressive.”

  “Like what?” I asked.

  “Like … set a world record,” said Calvin.

  “A world record?!”

  “It has to be an impressive one,” said Calvin. “Like … most apples split in a minute in midair with a samurai sword. That’ll get you invited for sure.”

  “I can do that!” I said. “No problem!”

  I ran downstairs and grabbed an apple from the refrigerator, and then I ran back upstairs. Then I grabbed Anibelly’s gold plastic samurai sword, because I couldn’t find my own, and I started to practice.

  Whoooooosh! went Anibelly’s samurai sword.

  Thunk! went the apple on the floor.

  Whooooosh! went Anibelly’s sword again. Bonk! went the apple on my head.

  “That looks like fun!” said Anibelly, who’d been relaxing on my bed with cream on her face.

  “It is!” I said.

  “Can I try?” asked Anibelly.

  “Sure!”

  I said. So then Anibelly set about slicing apples in midair with a samurai sword. It was great fun!

  But it was really hard. None of the apples actually got split. They didn’t even get thwacked.

  Fortunately, I’m good at making lists. So later that night … after everyone had gone to bed …

  My flashlight was on.

  My eyes were wide open.

  I opened my notebook.

  Next to my old list:

  I began a new list:

  How I was ever going to come up with world records, I had no idea. It was going to be a long, sleepless night.

  by the time I got on the bus the next morning, my luck had changed. I was closer than ever to doing something really impressive and getting myself invited to the right party:

  “Wow,” said Flea, who was sitting next to me. “I didn’t know you could juggle.”

  I kept my eyes on my page. I didn’t know I could juggle either, but it had taken me all night to come up with the list and I wasn’t about to start erasing just because I couldn’t do something.

  “Are you really going to do all that?” asked Flea.

  I nodded.

  “They look really hard,” said Flea.

  I nodded again.

  “Do you want some help?” asked Flea.

  Help? From a girl?

  I wanted to say no way, but instead, my head dropped forward unexpectedly and then rolled like a wheel on a roller skate. I was really sleepy.

  “Great!” said Flea. “I’ll come over after school to help you.”

  Flea’s my desk buddy and she’s always trying to help me. It’s so annoying.

  But going to school without any sleep is the only good reason the buddy system exists.

  This is how to use a buddy on a bad day:

  Put her in front of you during dodgeball.

  Keep her in front of you during dodgeball.

  Hold her in front of you during dodgeball.

  Piggyback on her going down stairs.

  Stick like a static-cling sock on her going through doors (to avoid going through a closed one).

  Normally, Flea likes being my buddy. In fact, she volunteered for the job. But today, she squirmed quite a lot and got away from me a few times. In fact, she was acting like a sea captain scraping a barnacle off the side of her boat. I couldn’t figure it out. It was a strange way for a buddy to act.

  “Miss P,” I heard Flea say. “Alvin’s acting very strange today.”

  “Alvin?” said Miss P. “Are you okay?”

  I avoided eye contact, which was easy to do because I could hardly keep my eyes open anyway. I kept my hands in plain sight.

  “You look a little pale,” Miss P said. “Do you need to go to the nurse?”

  I kept my head down. I swung my feet; it was a sign to show that I was okay.

  Miss P is very smart. She doesn’t need to hear my voice to know what I’m saying.

  Slowly Miss P turned around and went back to teaching.

  “How do we learn about people living long ago?” she asked.

  “Google them,” said Ophelia.

  “Watch TV,” said Eli.

  “Visit their homes,” said Sara Jane. “Get the tour.”

  “We can also look at old photographs, they tell us a lot,” said Miss P. She dimmed the lights. She flipped a switch and an old photo flashed on the screen. It was brown and faded in places like an old sneaker. Creepy girls in creepy dresses sat staring at us from a table. I yawned. My eyelids hung low.

  “What does this picture tell us?” asked Miss P.

  “Girls wore pretty dresses in the old days,” said Flea.

  “They look like they’re about to have a party,” said Sara Jane.

  “With cupcakes and lemonade,” said Esha.

  I yawned again. My head felt like a bowling ball about t
o roll away.

  “The title of this photo is ‘A Girls’ Party,’ ” said Miss P.

  My eyes popped out like peas. THAT’S a GIRLS’ PARTY??? Yikes! Everyone looked completely bored to death! No one was even smiling.

  “Psssst,” said Flea into my ear. “Did you get my invitation?”

  I froze.

  “You’re supposed to Arrrr. Esss. Veee. Peeeeee,” said Flea.

  R.S.V.P.? What’s that? I wanted to ask. But I couldn’t. A thousand splinters filled my mouth.

  Suddenly I remembered what R.S.V.P. meant. Bucky had told me—it was French for “Resume Standing Very Promptly.” You have to do it if you want to go to the party. I didn’t really want to go to a creepy girls’ party, especially after seeing that photo! But I sure did want to get that Deluxe Indian Chief outfit with all the works … and I would be invisible at the party anyway, thanks to Miracle in a Jar … so I stood up.

  But it didn’t feel like I was standing at all. I wobbled this way. Then I wobbled that way. Then I felt my feet leaving the floor, and my body starting to float up, up, up …

  “Alvin?” I heard Miss P say. “Are you okay?”

  A giggle went through the room.

  “Pssssst,” hissed Flea. “Sit down!”

  My butt lowered itself into my seat, like lava in a Lava lamp.

  My head turned slowly from left to right, like a summer fan set on LOW.

  I could feel Miss P’s eyes on me. She’s very nice. But she has a habit of keeping her eye on you when you don’t want her to.

  Fortunately, Miss P did not ask me again if I needed to see the nurse. Instead, she switched off the overhead projector, switched on the lights and switched the subject.

  “Diaries,” said Miss P, “are another way to learn how people lived.”

  My eyelids drooped heavily again. I leaned one way in my seat. Then I leaned the other way. It felt like I was on a swing.

  “Henry kept a diary,” I heard someone say.

  “That’s right,” said Miss P. “Henry Thoreau used to carry a notebook and a notched stick with him on his daily walks.”

  “Henry wrote about the animals and plants and other things he saw,” said another voice.

  Then Miss P began to read from Henry’s journal. “ ‘I once set fire to the woods …,’ ” read Miss P.

  I knew that story. Henry and a friend had wanted to catch fish and cook it “Indian-like,” in the woods, but they ended up burning down the entire forest!

  “ ‘At the shoemaker’s near the river, we obtained a match …,’ ” Miss P continued. “ ‘… The earth was uncommonly dry, and our fire … suddenly caught the dry grass.…’ ”

  “ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzz …” I floated up, up, up, out the window, over the school, through the woods … until I saw young Henry cooking his catch Indian-like, on the shores of Fair Haven Pond!

  “Hey, Henry!” I called out. “I’m going to play Indian too … as soon as I get my Deluxe Indian Chief outfit … zzzzzzzzz … complete with a huge feather headdress … as a reward … for going shopping and buying something for a girl, and then going to the girl’s scary party … where there better be cupcakes! Zzzzzzzzzzzz.”

  “What did you say???” said a voice. Then I felt a hard shove.

  I opened my eyes.

  It was Flea. She takes Aggression for Girls after school, and was looking at me—aggressively—through her one good eye. She was not happy.

  And everyone else was very still, even Miss P.

  Had I said something? I didn’t think so. I can’t talk in school. I can’t even grunt or squeak.

  Had I fallen asleep?

  Uh-oh. Did I mention that sleep talking runs in my family?

  What secret could have possibly slipped out?

  I had a bad, sinking feeling it was something I should be taking to my grave.

  if ever i had both feet in the grave, it was now.

  “Alvin Ho,” said Flea when we got off the bus after school. “We need to talk.”

  Gulp. The gang turned and stared. I clutched my PDK to my chest.

  “But I’m going home first to let my mom know where I’ll be. Then I’m coming over … after I feed my fish … and after I practice my Aggression for Girls.”

  The gang snickered.

  I shrank.

  Then Flea turned and hurried down the street on her uneven legs.

  And I hurried into my house … and straight into the bathroom. There’s nothing more important than using the bathroom first when you’re about to really get it.

  Then I ran to find Calvin.

  “Calvin,” I said, breathless. “What does it mean when a girl says she needs to talk to you?”

  Silence.

  Calvin was at the computer, surfing the Internet as usual, but he should have been working on his science project. And Anibelly was on my bed, reading. Calvin’s eyes were glued to the screen, his body frozen except for his mouse finger. And when Calvin’s like that, it’s hard to get any information out of him.

  “C’mon, Cal,” I said. “It’s an emergency.”

  “What kind of emergency?” asked Calvin.

  “She’s coming over right now,” I said.

  “Then you’re dead meat,” said Calvin, without taking his eyes off the computer screen.

  “Dead meat?” I said.

  “It’s a secret code,” said Calvin. “Girls are not like boys. If a boy wants to kill you, he says, ‘I’m going to kill you.’ If a girl wants to kill you, she says, ‘We need to talk.’ That’s the code.”

  I gasped. “Has a girl ever wanted to talk to you?” I asked.

  “Yup,” said Calvin.

  “How come you’re still alive?” I asked.

  “I vomited,” said Calvin.

  “Vomited?”

  “Lucky for me I had the flu,” said Calvin.

  Unlucky for me, I didn’t have the flu.

  But lucky for me, I had … MIRACLE IN A JAR! I ran and grabbed the supply.

  “Quick, Calvin,” I said. “Help me with this!”

  “Aren’t you saving that?” Calvin asked. “Don’t you need to be invisible for the party?”

  “But it’s an emergency NOW,” I said. “Hurry!”

  Calvin and I opened the last jars of my mom’s face cream, just like that. Then he helped me spackle it all over my face and head and neck.

  “Wow!” said Calvin when we were done. “You’re completely headless”

  I looked in the mirror.

  I was a headless stump. It was terrific! My head was gone except for two black marbles that were my eyeballs floating in midair, a couple of nostrils and a few tufts of hair, poking like grass out of snow.

  I grabbed Anibelly’s samurai sword and hurried outside. When Flea sees a headless samurai slicing apples in midair, she’ll scuttle away screaming, that’s for sure.

  Whoooooosh! went Anibelly’s samurai sword.

  Thwaaaaaack! went the apple.

  “Raaaaowwww!” I yelled. “Raaaaaaowwww!”

  I was fierce. But the wind was even fiercer.

  “Oooooooooooo,” howled the wind. “Ooooooooooo.”

  Whooooooosh!

  Thwaaaaaaaack!

  Setting a world record was still harder than it looked. None of the apples actually split. They just got thwacked.

  And there was no sign of Flea.

  And it was kind of boring without anyone to scare … or impress.

  So I ran back to my room. Calvin was still sitting at the computer and Anibelly was still on my bed with a book. No one looked up.

  So I looked out the window. And there coming up the front walk, finally, was Flea!

  “Eeeeeeeeep!” I cried.

  She was swinging her peg leg as fast as she could go. Both her legs appeared to get shorter and shorter the closer she got, until she was directly under my window, where they disappeared altogether and I could see only the top of her head and her pigtails sticking out. It was the perfect target.

  I r
aised the window.

  Dingdong! went the doorbell.

  I bent over. If I could have vomited an entire watermelon on her, that would have been the end of that. But nothing came out.

  “Aaaaaaaalvin!” yelled my gunggung, who was babysitting again. “Someone’s here to see you.”

  I closed the window. I didn’t feel so good.

  “Coming, GungGung,” I yelled.

  But I wasn’t going anywhere fast.

  I took out my PDK.

  I put the whistle around my neck.

  I tied the bandana for preventing smoke inhalation around my neck.

  I put the mirror for signaling (but also good for blinding your enemies) in my pocket, just in case.

  I grabbed Anibelly’s samurai sword and stopped to admire myself in the mirror. The trouble with invisibility, as everyone knows, is that it doesn’t last. One minute you’re as hidden as earwax, and the next minute you could be as plain to see as a booger on your lip.

  Actually, the booger wasn’t on my lip … my whole head was a booger! The wind had blown Miracle in a Jar around so much that large patches of my hair were showing and my skin was bare in spots. I pushed the cream around until I was faceless again, but there wasn’t enough to make me headless.

  So I pulled on my chain mail.

  “I thought that was for slaying dragons, not for talking to girls,” said Anibelly, who had appeared behind me.

  “It’s the same thing,” I said.

  But the problem with chain mail is that it’s heavy. And my Roman gladiator outfit with breastplate, shield and helmet, on top of the chain mail, didn’t help either.

  I looked in the mirror again. I blinked. Who wouldn’t be frightened by a faceless gladiator samurai knight?

  I clanked down the stairs.

  Then I clanked into the kitchen.

  “Alvin?” said Flea. She was practicing her Chinese calligraphy with my gunggung, who likes to teach everyone how to write their Chinese names.

  GungGung lifted his brush and peered at me over the tops of his glasses, but said nothing.