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

  And when we got on the bus, there was a hushed silence as I marched up the aisle.

  Heads turned.

  Seats shifted.

  “Man,” said Pinky.

  “Dude,” said Eli.

  “Hey,” said Scooter.

  Normally, none of them says anything to me and all the seats with the gang are taken and I have to sit with the girls.

  But today, things were different. There was a police car in my driveway. It was my lucky day!

  I slipped into the seat next to Hobson. He was so impressed by everything that he was still craning his neck to look out the window when the bus pulled away.

  Hobson whistled. “Man,” he said. “I wish I could get a police car in my driveway.”

  I swung my feet.

  I held up my chin.

  Then out of the corner of my eye I saw Flea. She was shooting eye darts in my direction from her non-pirate eye. Then she looked down and began reading a book. I have no idea what that meant. Girls are strange. One day they make all sorts of plans to talk to you, and the next day they ignore you completely.

  So I ignored her too. And I pulled out Calvin’s stopwatch. It sure was marvelous. Press the green button and the seconds flash by. Press the red button and everything stops.

  “What’s that for?” asked Hobson.

  “You can’t set a world record without a stopwatch,” I said.

  Then I showed him my list:

  “You really gonna do all that?” asked Hobson.

  “Yup,” I said.

  Hobson turned and stared out the window again.

  I was this close to getting an invitation to his party!

  The backpacks on the bus went thumpity-thump.

  The lunch boxes on the bus went clickity-clack.

  The _______ on the bus went ______________.

  Oops. Something was missing …

  Something that’s usually rattling on the bus wasn’t rattling … it wasn’t even there.

  What was it?

  I scratched my ear.

  I picked my nose.

  WHERE WAS MY PDK???

  “OH NO!” I cried. I was so excited to see the police car in my driveway this morning that I’d forgotten my PDK!

  I’ve never gone to school without my PDK! “STOP THE BUS!!!” I cried. “TURN AROUND!!! IT’S AN EMERGENCY!!! I FORGOT MY PDK!!!”

  But the noise on the bus went round and round.

  The fighting on the bus went back and forth.

  No one heard me.

  No one even turned around.

  And our driver, who yells, “SIMMER DOWN OR IT’S STRAIGHT TO THE PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE FOR YOU!” when someone’s having an outburst, said nothing.

  My head spun.

  My saliva dried up.

  My liver shriveled.

  What was I going to do without my PDK?

  Cry.

  I bawled full blast. I howled and wailed.

  My nose ran like soup.

  My eyes puffed out like marshmallows.

  Crying is really terrific. Usually everything is better afterwards.

  But not this time.

  Phooooomp! I tripped coming off the bus.

  Swat! A door swung open and flattened me like a fly.

  Oooomph! A backpack knocked me over.

  By the time I staggered into Miss P’s classroom, it was no longer my lucky day.

  Miss P took attendance and then she said something about going straightaway to the cafeteria. So I grabbed my lunch box and got into a line behind her and followed everyone down the hall.

  When we got to the cafeteria, there was a lot of shuffling and pushing. Kids were standing in long, snaky lines.

  “What’s the matter with Alvin?” asked Jules as we were standing there.

  Heads turned.

  “He forgot his PDK,” said Nhia.

  Silence.

  “He doesn’t have the right shirt on,” said Sam.

  More heads turned.

  My head turned too … and I noticed something funny.

  Sam, who usually has a bad hair day, was having a good hair day. A very good hair day. His hair was parted on one side and slicked down with gel.

  In fact, quite a few of the guys had gel in their hair. And they were all wearing shirts with collars. And khaki pants, just like the guys who deliver packages.

  I didn’t know why I hadn’t noticed it on the bus.

  Or the girls in their nice outfits.

  Even Miss P looked different. She had on her best hair, fresh from the beauty parlor. Her shoes were shiny, and her smile was lovelier than usual. She might have even brushed her teeth.

  “Miss P,” yelled Flea, who’s always trying to be helpful. “Alvin needs a shirt.”

  Miss P rushed over. “Oh, Alvin,” she said, bending down to look at me. “Did you forget it was picture day?”

  Picture day??? I had no idea it was picture day.

  “Don’t worry,” said Miss P. “After one of the boys gets his picture taken, you can borrow his shirt.”

  “You can have mine,” said Eli as soon as Miss P walked away. Then he took off his shirt and gave it to me, just like that.

  But then Eli didn’t have a shirt on.

  So Nhia said that Eli could borrow his shirt.

  Then Nhia was shirtless.

  Then Sam tore off his shirt and gave it to Nhia.

  Then Sam was shirtless.

  This made Scooter rip off his shirt so fast a button went flying. “You can borrow mine,” he said to Sam.

  “Thanks,” said Sam, putting it on and buttoning up the remaining buttons.

  Then Scooter was shirtless.

  Then Jules said Scooter could borrow his or her shirt as long as Scooter didn’t wipe his nose on the sleeve, on account of Scooter had a cold, as anyone could see.

  Then Jules was shirtless.

  But no one knows for sure whether Jules is a boy or a girl. So then the girls began trading shirts and dresses and a shirt got passed to Jules, who put it on.

  But then Flea was shirtless.

  So then I took off my shirt, which wasn’t really my shirt, and gave it to Flea. I think it was the gentlemanly thing to do since I hadn’t been so nice to her the day before and never did call to apologize. And giving her the shirt off my back, as everyone knows, is a very good apology.

  “Thanks, Alvin,” said Flea.

  “No problem,” I said with my eyes. Then I looked at Calvin’s stopwatch. It said “00:29,” which was probably a world record for borrowing shirts. It was terrific!

  But Miss P was not impressed.

  And neither was the lady with the camera.

  Several of us were shirtless, including me, and it took quite a while for us to get our pictures taken on account of there was a silly new rule that Miss P made up on the spot. If you had a shirt on, you had to keep it on, which meant that only one shirt was passed around to the shirtless and we had to wait our turn. This took 32:54.

  Finally, it was time to sit for our big class picture, the one that we would treasure forever, where everyone is in it including our teacher, Miss P, who is very nice.

  First there was a mad scramble for shirts.

  Then there was a mad shuffling of bodies.

  “Tall kids in the back,” said the lady with the camera. “Medium kids in the middle. Small kids in the front.”

  Shuffle, shuffle.

  Push, push.

  “What’s the matter with Alvin?” I heard someone ask when we were all finally in place.

  Nothing was the matter with me. Someone was just jealous. I was in the front row holding the sign in my hand that said, “Miss Pestalozzi, Grade 2,” which is like holding your prisoner number on your chest.

  Then I looked down.

  My shirt was kind of weird. There were strange little ribbons on it, and something frilly.

  Worse, it was PINK.

  Oh no! Somehow I was wearing a girl’s shirt! If I hadn’t forgotten my PDK, none of this wo
uld have happened.

  My head hung low.

  And that’s when I saw: I wasn’t in a shirt at all—I was in a dress!

  “Smile,” said the lady with the camera.

  Then everything went white.

  time was running out.

  It was time to take me shopping for Flea’s present after school.

  My mom was very talkative in the car.

  “You know, Alvin, I can’t remember the last time we went out together, just you and me,” she said, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

  I smiled. I liked being alone with my mom too. Calvin and Anibelly had gone to the library with my uncle Dennis, who’s our babysitter in a pinch, to work on Calvin’s science project, and I had my mom all to myself.

  “We should do this more often,” said my mom, flicking on the radio.

  I nodded. I really wanted to be a gentleman to my mom on account of that’s what she’s used to from my dad, but I didn’t know what a gentleman should say when a lady says they should be together more often.

  So I said nothing. I didn’t want to mess things up.

  Then we arrived at the mall.

  My mom looked at this.

  Then she looked at that.

  And she chatted away about this and that …

  But I said nothing.

  The mall is a very scary place.

  You know you’re in a mall when there’s no sun and no moon and no sky, but everything’s still brightly lit all the time.

  Worse, children get lured away at malls, which means that they get kidnapped, which means that aliens go shopping too.

  “Alvin?” said my mom, bending down and taking my hand. “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head, but nothing moved.

  “Oh dear,” said my mom. “You probably need some food.”

  My mom knows exactly what I need even before I know what I need. And fortunately the food court is the only place in the mall that’s not so scary, on account of aliens don’t eat, as everyone knows.

  “It’s very thoughtful of you to come and pick out a present for Sophie,” said my mom when we sat down with our snack.

  I stuffed fries into my mouth and nodded.

  “A gift should say, ‘I thought of you,’ ” said my mom.

  I tipped my head to one side. Then I tipped my head to the other. I tried to imagine a baseball bat saying, “I thought of you,” to me on my birthday. It would freak me out!

  Sometimes my mom says the strangest things.

  My mom sipped her tea. Then she took a fry and nibbled it delicately, like a squirrel tasting an acorn.

  “Did you have parties when you were a girl?” I asked her.

  “Sure,” said my mom. “I had all sorts of parties.”

  “What’s a girls’ party like?” I asked.

  “Well, it’s fun, just like any other party,” said my mom. “I had tea parties, jigsaw puzzle parties, makeover parties, dim sum parties and, once, a scavenger hunt party. Your gunggung typed out clues and we followed them to find the prizes he had hidden all over the house.”

  “What’s a makeover party?” I asked.

  “That’s when you do each other’s makeup,” said my mom.

  “Eeew,” I said.

  “It’s not so different from boys putting on war paint,” said my mom.

  “But boys look great!” I said. “And girls just look stu … I mean silly.”

  “Alviiiin,” said my mom.

  I had more to find out, and my mom was the perfect person to ask, so I took a big sip of lemonade, stuffed myself with more fries and was getting ready to ask more questions when—I saw something out of the corner of my eye.…

  I blinked—I could hardly believe it—but there she was, Miss Louisa May Alcott from Orchard House, walking in the flesh, right inside the mall!

  She wasn’t dressed like she was three hundred years old anymore.

  She was dressed like a teenager!

  And she was with a couple of other teenage ladies, who—gulp—were the clones!

  My eyes popped out like golf balls.

  My mouth opened in an O.

  I froze. And when you freeze with your eyes and mouth wide open like that, you’re just asking for trouble.

  Our eyes met.

  Then they locked—like four magnets. Click!

  Then she looked away, but my eyes were stuck following her as she came closer … and closer …

  AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK! I wanted to scream, but nothing came out of my mouth.

  And nothing came out of my mom’s mouth either. Her lips were moving, but the audio portion of her program was suddenly dead. All I could hear was the laughter of the teenage Louisa May and her clones as they walked past.

  “Alvin?” My mom’s voice finally came in again. “Are you okay?”

  Okay? Can you be okay when you’ve just been eye-locked by a dead author who’s finally escaped her house where she gives tours and is roaming the mall disguised as a teenager?

  By the time my mom dragged my cold, stiff body over to the toy store, she had to read my mind about what to buy.

  “Would Sophie like to grow crystals?” she asked.

  Silence.

  “Would she like a detective kit?”

  Silence.

  “How ’bout a karaoke kit?”

  Silence.

  Then my mom dragged me past the dolls and their clothes.

  “Maybe she would like a doll?” said my mom.

  Silence.

  “Hi, Mrs. Ho,” said a voice.

  It was Pinky.

  I was roast duck.

  “Hello, Fauntleroy,” said my mom, calling Pinky by his real name. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here with my mom,” said Pinky. “We’re shopping for a birthday present.”

  “Are you shopping for Sophie too?” asked my mom.

  “Sophie?” asked Pinky. “Who’s Sophie?”

  Silence.

  Pinky looked at me. Then he looked at the dolls on the shelves.

  Then he smiled his evil, wicked smile.

  “We’d better be on our way,” said my mom, dragging me into the next aisle.

  I was glad that Pinky didn’t follow. Down the next aisle, my mom and I stopped in front of the costumes.

  “Now, that’s an idea,” said my mom. She reached up and took down a large box. “Sophie likes to dress up, doesn’t she? Wouldn’t she look absolutely adorable in this?”

  I was staring straight into the plastic window of the Deluxe Indian Princess outfit with fringe, complete with baby carrier and explorer map and moccasins.

  It wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.

  It was the girl kit.

  And I wanted the boy kit.

  “Alvin,” said my mom, “I don’t understand why you’re not cooperating anymore. This was supposed to be fun.”

  This was supposed to be my Once-in-a-Lifetime Chance to get the Deluxe Indian Chief outfit, complete with a huge feather headdress that makes you look like a giant bird!

  It was right there on the shelf next to the Deluxe Indian Princesses.

  “Buy One, Get Second at Half Price,” said the sign.

  But it stayed on the shelf.

  Meanwhile the Deluxe Indian Princess got tucked under my mom’s arm, and I got tucked under the other.

  I was missing my Once-in-a-Lifetime Chance.

  Forever.

  I wanted to cry my eyes out. It’s the best thing to do when the thing you wanted most in your life slips away, just like that …

  And your mom is sweating from dragging you through the mall, and giving you that look that says she should have just ordered something on the Internet.

  “Remind me,” my mom said breathlessly when we finally got out to the car, “the. next. time. I. want. to. take. you. shopping. that. it. would. be. easier. just. to. go. to. the. gym.”

  My poor mom.

  my life was going to the girls.

  This is what happens when you�
��ve gone shopping for a girl and everyone has heard about it by the time you get on the bus the next morning.

  You sit with the girls.

  At recess, you go with the girls.

  At lunch, you eat with the girls.

  You listen.

  You smile (if you can).

  You don’t burp.

  You don’t fart.

  You talk about fashion.

  “What are you wearing to Flea’s party tomorrow?” Esha asked Sara Jane between bites of her egg salad on wheat toast.

  “My yellow dress,” said Sara Jane, “with my yellow purse and my yellow shoes. It’s my favorite.”

  “I have new cowboy boots that I’m going to wear,” said Ophelia.

  I kept my eyes on my leftover pad thai. I kept my hands in plain sight. I was sitting at their table, but I was not one of them. I was a bootless, dizzy-eyed puttock.

  “I’m going to wear my princess outfit,” said Flea.

  “I’ll wear my fancy hat,” said Esha.

  I stuffed my cheeks full of Goldfish crackers and made a loud CRUNCH.

  “How ’bout you, Alvin?” asked Ophelia. “What are you going to wear?”

  “Are you coming, Alvin?” asked Flea. “I didn’t get an R.S.V.P.”

  I Resumed Standing Very Promptly once again!

  The girls giggled.

  Oooh. They really crunch my crackers. I sat back down.

  CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH.

  A man wears steel-toed boots. A man wears work gloves. A man wears war paint. A man wears an enormous feather headdress that makes him look like a giant bird. A man doesn’t talk about what he’s going to wear. He just wears it. I wanted to say all this, but I couldn’t. I was in school, where I can’t make a sound except for …

  CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH.

  CRUNCH. CRUNCH. CRUNCH.

  BUUUUUUUUUUURP! Goldfish eyes and Goldfish bones flew out of my mouth. COUGH. AAAAACHUUUUUUUUUUU!!! Orange flecks of unrecognizable fish innards spewed and landed all over the table, on the egg salad sandwich, and on cheeks, foreheads and hair.