Desmond Pucket Makes Monster Magic Page 2

  My father is a serious man. And like all serious men, he became a dentist. A well-respected dentist.

  That cracks me up. I mean, “well-respected” and “person who puts his hands in other peoples’ mouths”? Always makes me laugh.

  And they say I’m weird?!

  Don’t get me wrong. I love the guy, and having a dentist dad isn’t all bad. For someone in my line of work, a dentist’s office is a treasure chest of plastic tubes, latex gloves, rubber bulbs, and all sorts of dental sculpting stuff great for molding made-to-order fangs. It’s a monster-effects man’s dream!

  And you want to talk about jagged, monstery teeth?! My dad has plaster casts of his patients’ teeth that make the goblins in The Lord of the Rings look like supermodels!

  Anyway, in our gabby little town, a well-respected dentist (I just giggled again) doesn’t need a weirdo monster-loving son messing things up for him. So Dad is the first to suggest something serious has to be done about “The Desmond Situation,” as he lovingly refers to me.

  And my luck is only getting better. One of the girls running from Rachel’s pajama party fell and chipped a tooth. In a small town like ours, that makes me almost an accomplice to murder.

  Plus, another girl had an asthma attack, so it’s like a double homicide. Oh, and did I mention that other girl just happened to be . . . Leesa Needles?

  That’s right, Mr. Needles’s daughter!

  9

  mom to

  the rescue

  Before Dad can figure out the perfect punishment, Mr. Needles jumps into action. Mr. Needles finally has the proof he needs. And he’s so serious this time, he has “The Desmond Situation” brought before the school board! Yes! The board!

  OK, I’m not exactly sure what “the board” is, but it’s pretty dang serious when the board has something brought before it. The board gets cranky when things are in front of it. And this particular board has had enough of me.

  Now it’s up to Mom to save the day!

  Mom is the only person who understands what my weird hobby means to me. So she battles it out with the cranky school board and Mr. Needles and all the sweatery officials, and even the town’s most well-respected dentist . . .

  . . . and comes up with a Mom solution to “The Desmond Situation” that makes everyone happy.

  Everyone except Mr. Needles.

  See, Mr. Needles really just wants to boot me out of school for good. His goal is to ship me off to Wood Hook Junior High on the other side of town. That’s where they send all the Cloverfield rejects.

  And since he didn’t get his way this time, he makes me a vow . . .

  OK, he didn’t say that exactly, but it was something witchy like that. And I know from now on, Mr. Needles will be watching me closer than ever before.

  But who cares about Mr. Needles? Thanks to Mom, I get to stay at Cloverfield! And that means I get to go on the sixth-grade field trip to Crab Shell Pier! Woo-hoo!

  Still, I know some kind of punishment is coming. And even though Mom and the school board and all the school officials agree on what to do about me, Dad volunteers to be the one to tell me.

  Which means I have to listen to a giant speech.

  “. . . a good time to reflect on the misery that all this monster nonsense of yours has caused,” Dad says in his important-politician voice. “A chance for you to consider an attitude adjustment. Is that clear, Desmond?”

  I nod as I always do at Dad’s talks, wondering if I’ll ever figure out what “taking stock of yourself” truly means. And for the billionth time, I wonder why the way his mustache moves when he speaks annoys me.

  I see Dad’s mouth continue to make shapes, and I hear sounds, but I’m not listening anymore. Because whenever Dad starts a speech with “Son, this is an opp-ortunity . . . ,” I just know things are about to get bad.

  10

  oh, it's bad

  Yep, I’m being forced to participate in extracurricular activities.

  You could be a space alien from a galaxy light-years away and know just by the sound of those two words that it’s something you don’t want to do.

  Only teachers invent phrases like “extracurricular activities.” It’s their tricky way of hiding the truth.

  And believe it or not, there are kids who volunteer for this stuff. They actually like extracurricular activities. And they join many. This, of course, is where all teachers and dentists come from.

  So now I’m signed up for three extracurricular activities. The only ones that had openings: A/V club. Newspaper club. And the worst . . . drama club.

  Even the chess club kids torture the drama club kids.

  “Your mother talked the school into giving you three more chances with these clubs, Desmond,” Dad says sternly. “But this should keep you out of trouble, son,” Dad continues confidently.

  “You obviously have too much time on your hands. And idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

  Add that to the list of junk Dad says that makes no sense.

  So tomorrow is my first day of A/V club. And I want to make a good first impression. I’ve already picked out what I’m going to wear . . .

  11

  the phantom

  of the a/v club

  It’s only my fourth day of forced extracurricular activities, and already I’m the number-one outcast of the A/V club. Which is really low, because everyone in the A/V club is an outcast.

  “A/V club” is short for “audio/visual club,” or as everybody else calls it . . .

  Basically, the A/V club is a bunch of guys standing around in the school audio/visual room arguing about the best way to connect the audio/visual equipment. What wires to use, what inputs are fastest, what’s the best video file type . . . Guh! After about fifteen minutes of that, I’d rather be back listening to the blabber of Rachel’s friends. At least those girls know the importance of underarm deodorant.

  The one real job the A/V club has is to run the morning announcements school TV show.

  First it’s the flag salute, and then the day’s breaking school news . . .

  . . . and other important stuff like that.

  The show always ends with something fun, like a fun song from the girls’ chorus or a teacher’s fun knock-knock joke . . .

  Obviously, when I say “fun” I mean “really stupid.”

  The morning announcements show is always the same. Nobody in the A/V club ever tries to do anything new. They’re all too busy high-fiving one another for connecting the equipment right. But I want to try something different. And I have an idea.

  There’s only one problem: Brent Dungler.

  Brent is captain of the A/V club.

  Brent has all the power.

  Since I’m the new guy, Brent gave me the lowest job: wire wrapper. It’s my job to wrap up all the microphone and video wires.

  And then Brent yells at me for not wrapping them right.

  He loves yelling at me about my amateurishly wrapped wire.

  Especially if other people are watching.

  Nothing goes on Cloverfield Memorial Junior High TV without Brent’s say-so.

  Brent is the guy in charge of pushing the buttons in the control room.

  And the most important button is . . .

  . . . the “LIVE” button.

  When this button is pushed, the morning announce-ments show is sent to every homeroom in the school.

  So like I said, Brent has all the power.

  I want that job.

  I want the magic finger-pushing power.

  So I have to get Brent out of the way.

  And I know just how . . .

  Now, nobody in his right mind would ever think that the cutest girl in the sixth grade would have any interest in Brent Dungler.

  Unless you’re Brent Dungler. Giant-ego-head, captain-of-the-A/V-club Brent Dungler. He fell for the note instamatically.

  So before Brent skips off to meet Tina Schimsky behind the gym, he turns the button-pushing job over to his second-i
n-command, Richard Lipnik.

  But there’s no way that Richard is ready for that kind of responsibility. Everybody knows that. And so ...

  Yes! Let the magic begin!

  Showtime arrives. Everybody stands up. Richard Lipnik holds his breath as I push the “LIVE” button. And right on cue . . .

  . . . the flag salute goes off without a hitch.

  Richard looks at me with relief and wipes pretend sweat from his forehead.

  Then I switch cameras for the school news . . .

  Sarah Ragguglio blabs on about changes to the girls’ field hockey schedule and observing Keep Your Locker Sweet Week and other stuff nobody cares about.

  The show is going perfectly.

  It’s perfectly dull, and everyone is perfectly bored.

  Just like always. Richard Lipnik gives me the thumbs-up.

  At last, it’s time for the “fun” segment of the show!

  My fingers fly over the buttons of the control room switchboard like I’m playing some giant nerd organ . . .

  . . . and I go into full Phantom mode.

  I press the final button to launch my “special presentation” . . .

  My first large-scale, mass-media, special-effects-monster-induced scream-a-thon!

  The whole school . . . screaming!

  At one of my creations!

  To me, it’s the sound of cheers.

  And as I take my bow, I’m sure that somewhere out back behind the gym, Brent Dungler is still waiting patiently for Tina Schimsky to show up, and wondering what all the noise is.

  As it turns out, not everybody appreciates my original programming . . .

  12

  one down

  In some weird way, I think Mr. Needles is the only person who really gets me.

  He seems to be the only one who truly understands the awesomeness of my monster magic. How else do you explain his hour-long lecture describing everything I did in perfect detail? And that goofy, evil smile on his face the whole time he’s talking?

  “Congratulations! You just got kicked out of the A/V club! And now you’re one step closer to getting the boot from my school!”

  OK, maybe that explains his creepy smile.

  “Next up is newspaper club,” he hisses, filling out an assignment slip. “Your second chance to prove you can adapt to a normal scholastic existence, which I obviously do not believe is possible.”

  Sometimes I think Mr. Needles was sentenced to life as a school disciplinarian for saying things like “normal scholastic existence.”

  “Report to room 417 after school,” says Mr. Needles, waving the new assignment slip at me. “The Wickerstool twins, Jasper and Jessup, they run the show at the school newspaper. They’ll tell you what to do.”

  I reach for the yellow piece of paper, but Mr. Needles holds tight, making me tug. He pulls me close to his face with a jerk.

  “Your mother talked the school board into giving you three chances! They actually think you can change! But I’m about to prove them all wrong! Don’t disappoint me!”

  If it’s possible for coffee breath to kill a person . . .

  . . . Mr. Needles’s should be registered as a lethal weapon.

  I open my eyes (as if closing them could shut off my nose). I’m still alive. Mr. Needles finally lets go of the wrinkled slip and slowly leans back in his creaking chair, glaring at me the whole time.

  Then he returns to his work, leaving me just sort of standing there.

  “But this is your office, Mr. Needles. Don’t you want to stay?”

  “No, no, I mean, you should say ‘may’ instead of ‘can’ because—oh, never mind! Off with you!”

  And he turns his head and waves me away, like a king sending a servant back to the castle kitchen.

  A little tiny closet office with no windows must make you mad at the world. I’ll have to remember that when I’m an adult.

  13

  the cloverfield

  platypus

  No, that’s not the name of the monster that lurks in the swamp behind the baseball field. The Cloverfield Platypus is our school mascot. And it also happens to be the name of . . .

  Yeah, pretty creative, right?

  Like Mr. Needles told me, the Cloverfield Platypus school newspaper is run by the Wickerstool twins, Jessup and Jasper. Which makes sense, because if there are any two guys who totally look like a couple of duckbill platypuses, it’s them . . .

  But I have to admit, I’m pretty excited about working on the school paper. What better way to show off my cartooning skills than a newspaper comic strip? I talk Ricky into joining the paper with me, and we both walk in and present our first team effort, ready for publication.

  I wonder if Jessup and Jasper would someday let me make a mold of their reaction faces, because . . .

  . . . they would make sick monster masks.

  “Great Jehoshaphat,” sputters Jasper. “We can’t print this stuff! You all must be dumber than stumps!”

  The Wickerstool twins are from out of state and are always saying weird stuff like that, but don’t let the goofy talk fool you. These guys are sharp and sneaky, and they know the dirt on everybody in school . . . and the whole town. They were born to be newspapermen.

  Jessup and Jasper may be smart newspaper guys, but they don’t know crud about comic strips. Are they afraid of printing something that’s too awesome?

  “Look, you bozos already got an assignment, and it ain’t a-making cartoons. Follow?”

  It isn’t what me and Ricky expected, but it’s not like we have a choice. Like Jasper said, I can’t screw this up. I don’t want another strike.

  Ricky wants to quit, but I agree to let him be the “action illustrator” for my report, and we mope off to the bleachers to cover the girls’ soccer team.

  Still, I can’t help but wish we were heading over to the baseball field. I could easily write a thousand words about the swamp monster.

  14

  of soccer and

  sloppy joes

  OK, I take it back. There really is something worse than covering girls’ soccer for the school newspaper. Covering girls’ soccer for the school newspaper under a wet blanket in the rain.

  It’s only a lunchtime practice, and the girls are taking turns missing free shots at the goal.

  We’re waiting for practice to end so we can interview Becca Krumpf, the star player . . . and when I say “star player,” I mean “least bad.”

  Ricky and I would be totally bummed if it weren’t for our Sloppy Joe sandwiches and tater tots. And since the soccer action is about as exciting as watching paint dry, it isn’t long before our minds start to wander . . .

  Dang, I walked right into that!

  “No, I mean, it’s pretty obvious where the ‘Sloppy’ comes from. But did you ever wonder about the ‘Joe’ part?”

  That gets us laughing and joking, and before you know it, this story almost writes itself . . .

  Ricky and I are so wrapped up in our Sloppy Joe tale that we almost miss getting the real newspaper story.

  But we do finally write and illustrate the soccer report and interview Becca Krumpf like we’re supposed to and drop off the pages before deadline, and everything seems fine. Boring, but fine. And we forget all about Sloppy Joe Smeed and his sandwich.

  Until the next day, when the whole school sees the story . . .

  . . . splattered across the front page of The Cloverfield Platypus News!

  15

  strike

  two

  Once again, I have the school screaming and gagging. Only this time, I did it without even trying!

  “Yeah, and lucky for you! Now I’m the only one who’s gonna get in trouble!”

  How did this happen?!

  OK, let’s backtrack: I wrote a lame-o story about the girls’ soccer team, with lots of embellishments. (“Embellishments” is a fancy newspaper way of saying I lied about how good they are.) And Ricky did a bunch of action illustrations . . .

  Then I
put the finished soccer story in a folder . . .

  . . . and dropped the pages off with Jessup Wickerstool.

  Only, I must’ve given him the wrong folder—that’s the only way I can explain the switcheroo!

  And those goofball Wickerstools printed it!

  Now, of course, I’m right back in Mr. Needles’s office, trying to explain the mix-up.

  Is it me, or does his little room get tighter every time I come in? Even the desk and chairs look like they’re shrinking.

  As I make my excuses, Mr. Needles slowly bounces in his squeaky chair and then holds up his hand for silence.

  “Once again, Mr. Pucket, you exceed my expectations and create an even greater commotion than the last!”

  I know Mr. Needles is supposed to be lecturing me, but again, he sure sounds like he’s enjoying what I did.

  “That Sloppy Joe story was a joke, Mr. Needles! I didn’t mean for the Wickerstool twins to put it in the paper! Aren’t editors supposed to watch out for these things?—”

  “You can’t expect the editors to read everything that goes into the newspaper, can you? It’s the responsibility of the writer to make sure what’s what!”