Morgan Gets Cracking Read online

  Morgan Gets Cracking

  Ted Staunton

  Illustrated by Bill Slavin

  Formac Publishing Company Limited

  Halifax, Nova Scotia

  1 - Chicken Big

  Aldeen Hummel is like a chicken.

  I don’t mean she is a chicken: Aldeen is the Godzilla of Grade Three. But she’s also like a chicken. I never thought of this before, but our class has never gone on a field trip to a farm before, either. There are chickens all around us. They twitch and scuff the dirt while the farm lady talks; so does Aldeen. Their necks are long and their heads bob around; same with Aldeen. Okay, Aldeen has witchy hair and smudged up glasses, which are not like a chicken, but she does have a noogie knuckle that pecks as hard as a chicken beak. I know, because she’s noogied me twice today.

  The farm lady is showing us this big rack of eggs. It’s making me hungry. I want to ask my dad what he made us for lunch. He’s helping on our trip. Dad is way over by Mrs. Ross, our teacher.

  Aldeen is beside me. Her head keeps jerking toward the new kid in our class, Curtis. Jerking is the right way to say it, too, because Curtis is a jerk. Curtis and his spiky hair came to our class three days ago

  and all he’s done so far is show off. First day, he showed off his karate moves until Mrs. Ross told him to stop. Second day, he showed off with his yo-yo. Today, on the bus, he kept showing off his cell phone and the games on it, until Mrs. Ross made him put it away. Curtis said he had to check for texts.

  Right now, he’s by the eggs, making bored faces at everyone while the farm lady talks. Kids are giggling. The farm lady doesn’t notice. Mrs. Ross does. She looks around and Curtis turns into Mister Perfect. Mrs. Ross looks away. Curtis makes a face at her, too. I look at my best friend, Charlie. Charlie rolls his eyes. Beside me, I hear “bek-bek-bek,” like a chicken cluck. I look: it’s Aldeen giggling.

  Geez, Curtis isn’t even funny.

  Aldeen sees me looking. Her eyes go squinchy and her noogie knuckle comes up. Just then, the farm lady says, “Let’s all go this way,” and our class starts to move. Aldeen’s knuckle goes down. Whew.

  As soon as the grown-ups go by, Curtis says, “Watch and be amazed!” He scoops up three eggs. You’re not supposed to touch them. Then he starts to juggle. We all stop and stare. The eggs sail up and around. Curtis really can juggle; it is amazing.

  Then Curtis says, “This is so easy it’s boring. Here, catch Aldeen.” And zoop, zoop, zoop, the three eggs sail at Aldeen Hummel. Splat. Splat. Splat. Before you can squawk, Aldeen is covered with egg.

  There is total silence. Then Mrs. Ross’s voice sounds behind us: “Aldeen! What are you doing?”

  2 - Super Noogies

  You don’t mess with the Godzilla of Grade Three. Will Aldeen push Curtis into the pig pen? Stuff him into a pumpkin? Stampede cows over him? Nope, nope and nope. Aldeen bumps Kaely into a puddle, squishes Mark’s lunch and knocks over the apples.

  When we finally pile on the bus she noogies me and growls, “Move over.”

  “Hey,” I rub my arm, “I’m saving this seat for Charlie.”

  “Tough bananas.” Her knuckle pops up. I move. Aldeen plops down and starts scraping the bottom of her running shoe on the back of the seat in front of us. Something smells bad. I look at what she’s scraping off her shoe. I remember the cows and how they ... I can’t get the window open. Dad can’t either. “Won’t be long,” he says. “What smells in here?”

  “You smelt it, you dealt it,” Curtis says from across the aisle. Dad looks around. Aldeen noogies me again as if it’s my fault. There are still egg bits on her glasses. Why does she have to sit here?

  When we get back to school, moms and dads are waiting. Aldeen’s granny is by the cab she drives, smoking a little cigar. Beside it is a red sports car with its top down. A tanned guy in surf shorts and sunglasses is juggling a soccer ball. He heads it so it goes behind him, then he kicks it with his heel so it sails back over his shoulder again.

  “Who’s that?” Charlie says.

  “Haven’t you met Superman?” says Curtis. “My father.”

  “Let’s say hi,” says Dad. We go over. Superman kicks the ball to Curtis. Curtis dekes around Charlie. Charlie goes after him; he’s good at soccer.

  My dad introduces us. “Cal,” says Superman, shaking Dad’s hand. He puts his sunglasses on top of his head and looks even cooler.

  “Quite the car,” says Aldeen’s granny, leaning against her cab.

  “Summer only,” says Superman. “Have to get out the Hummer for winter soon.”

  “For sure.” Aldeen’s granny blows out cigar smoke. It drifts towards Superman’s face. He waves it away and puts his shades back down.

  My dad is rubbing his shaking hand as if it hurts. “Nice to meet you,” he says. “Ready, Morgan?”

  Behind us comes, “AHHH!” I look. Aldeen is rubbing her butt. She kicks the soccer ball away. Curtis is laughing. His hair hasn’t moved at all.

  “Man, I have good aim,” says Curtis.

  This is it, I think. Instead, Aldeen shoves me out of the way and stomps to the cab.

  “If you want,” Curtis says to me, “I’ll teach you how to box.”

  3 - A Safe Mix

  After supper, Dad and I bake. There is a neighbourhood party on Saturday and Dad is in charge of the dessert table. Mom is helping with games. She goes to the mall to get stuff for that, while we make cupcakes.

  I like baking — especially if I get to scoop nibbles from the mixing bowl.

  After, as we clean up, I pick three eggs out of the carton. If Curtis can do it, maybe I can too. Back when I was new kid in our class, I said I could juggle. And play bass guitar and do magic. I couldn’t do any of it. Well, I did magic trick Aldeen once by making a dime disappear, but that was by accident. I haven’t thought about that stuff in a long time.

  I have three eggs and two hands. How do you start? By throwing them all in the air, I guess. Dad is at the sink. I get set to toss. Dad says, “Watcha doing, sport?”

  I stop. “Ummm ... Juggling?” I feel silly.

  Dad looks at me. He looks at the eggs. Then he says, “Just a sec.” He leaves the kitchen. A minute later Dad calls me to the living room. He’s at the couch. He’s holding three socks. He squishes each one up into its stretchy part to make three little lumps. “Watch,” he says. He has two lumps in one hand and one in the other. He tosses one of the two in the air, then the one from the other hand, and as the first starts to fall he tosses the third one. He’s juggling!

  “Cool!” I say. I still have the eggs. I put them on a chair and move closer to watch. Dad drops a sock. It lands on the couch. “Your turn,” he says. He shows me how to start with two lumps. “Socks don’t break,” he says, “And if you practice over the couch you don’t have to pick them up off the floor.” I try it. It’s tricky even with two. “Why do you want to juggle?” Dad asks.

  “Curtis did it today,” I say, “At the farm. Then he egged Aldeen.”

  “Hmm,” Dad says. “Why am I not surprised? Here’s another little tip. If you ever do juggle with eggs, make sure they’re hard-boiled, huh?”

  I drop a few socks. Dad says “Good,” anyway.

  “Will Curtis be at the neighbourhood party?” I ask.

  “I don’t think so,” Dad says, “Where do they live?”

  I shrug. “I don’t think I want to know,” I say.

  “I think I get what you mean,” Dad says. He rubs his hand again.

  The front door opens. Mom comes in with a shopping bag. “Guess who I ran into at the mal
l?” she says. “And invited to the neighbourhood party?”

  I drop the socks. Dad starts to sink into the chair. Then he stops — and picks up the eggs. Then he sinks.

  4 - The Winning Goal

  “My guitar is a Stratocaster,” Curtis is saying, “And my amp is as big as ...”

  I don’t care how big it is. It’s only lunch time and I’m already sick of Curtis. “Maybe I’ll bring it to the party,” he’s saying, “Then I’ll have something to do.”

  Oh, man. Why did Curtis have to come to our table? Charlie and I sat here first to try and get away from him and now there’s no place left to move. We’re stuck here at the table until the bell for going outside rings.

  Beside me, Aldeen is pounding up her cookies in a baggie. I don’t know why; I’m just glad it’s cookies, not me. Curtis is still blah, blah, blahing. How can I at least stop listening? I stick my hands in my pockets. There’s money there; I had to buy milk today. I pull it out: three dimes. I have an idea. “Hey, Charlie,” I say across the table, “Want to play finger hockey?”

  Finger hockey is a game where one player hooks his first finger and little finger onto the table top. That’s the goal. Then the other player dumps the dimes onto the table. You have to flick one dime between the other two with each shot to work across the table and shoot on goal. If you miss shooting between the other two, or your shot on goal, it’s the other player’s turn. I taught everyone how to play, back when I was new kid.

  “Sure,” says Charlie. We clear away our lunch stuff. I make the goal first. Charlie shakes the dimes and dumps them on the table. Flick, flick, flick, he goes. He takes a last shot, at my goal. It goes wide and the dime falls off the table.

  My turn. Charlie makes the goal with his fingers. Flick, flick, flick, flick. My last shot ends up short.

  Charlie’s turn. His second shot doesn’t go between the other dimes. My turn: this time I score in three flicks. “Yessss!”

  “That’s so easy,” says Curtis.

  “Oh yeah?” I say, “Want to try?”

  “Sure,” he says.

  Finger hockey isn’t as easy as it looks, and I’m pretty good at it. It’s the only game I can beat Charlie at. Maybe I’ve found something to beat Show-Off Man Curtis at too. I look at Charlie. He smiles and lets Curtis take his place. Curtis is shaking up the dimes when, “Move over, tubby,” Aldeen pushes me out of the way. “It’s my turn.”

  “Wha —?” I say. It’s too late. Aldeen is kneeling down and making a finger goal. Curtis starts flicking the dimes. Aldeen leans in. Her face is right down at the edge of the table. Her eyes are squinched and her mouth is hanging open,

  she’s watching so hard. Curtis lines up one last shot. He flicks, hard. The dime zooms across the table, misses the goal, and sails into Aldeen’s mouth instead. I hear a gulp. Aldeen swallows the dime.

  5 - Gulp

  Curtis jumps up, pointing and hooting, “She swallowed it, she swallowed it! What a shot! You owe me a dime, Big Mouth!”

  And then something amazing happens. For the first time in the whole history of the world, kids start laughing at Aldeen Hummel. Hummel the Bummel. Queen of Mean. The Godzilla of Grade Three. Aldeen turns as purple as her sweat suit. This time for sure, I think. She spins around to me. “It’s your fault, Morgan.” She whacks me with her bag of cookies, grabs her stuff and stomps out of the lunch room.

  Oh-oh time. It doesn’t matter that it’s not my fault, if Aldeen says it is. Plus, she is coming to my house after school, like she always does when her mom and granny are both at work. There’s no escape.

  Sure enough, first thing she says on the way to my place is, “You owe me a dime.”

  “I do not. It was my dime.”

  “Yeah, but I swallowed it, so I didn’t get to keep it.” Aldeen glares as if it’s my fault.

  “You weren’t supposed to get to keep it.”

  Up pops Aldeen’s noogie knuckle. Why even argue? When we get to my place I get money out of my piggy bank. Aldeen takes it and goes to talk to Mom. She’s in the kitchen getting us a snack. I start for the kitchen but then I see Aldeen’s backpack by the door. It’s even messier than Aldeen’s hair, and a paper is sticking out of it. I can see part of a picture. Aldeen is good at art, so I sneak a peek. It’s a pencil crayon drawing of a guy. He’s pretty busy; I think he’s supposed to be juggling and kicking a soccer ball at the same time and he’s got a guitar strapped on and a superhero cape. He’s wearing clothes like the ones Curtis had on. And he has Curtis’s spiky yellow hair. And ... Oh no, I think it is Curtis.

  I figured if Aldeen was going to draw him she’d give him horns and a tail. She made him a superhero. What’s going on? Aldeen doesn’t like Curtis, does she? How could she? Besides, Aldeen doesn’t like anybody. But imagine if they teamed up: Godzilla and Show-Off Man. The back of my neck goes as prickly as Curtis’s hair. Aldeen can’t like Curtis. Can she?

  What happens if she does?

  6 - Party at Home Plate

  On Saturday the sun is shining hot and our street turns into a party. There’s music playing and lots of people. There’s a bouncy castle. Dad and some other grown- ups are getting the food tables ready. I’ve already picked all the desserts I want to try after I have burgers and dogs. Curtis’s dad Superman is doing the barbequing. He brought along a gas grill almost as big as the Hummer he hauled it in.

  All of us kids are playing soccer baseball. Mom and Aldeen’s granny are umpires. I mean, almost all of us are playing: Curtis is just watching. “If I kick too many home runs, I’ll get my new runners dirty,” he says, taking out his cell phone. “Hippo Hunt is more fun, anyway.” He starts playing his game. At least he didn’t bring his electric guitar.

  Right now, I’m panting at second base. I just kicked a double. Charlie’s on third base. If Aldeen boots a good one and I score, our team will win. Winners get first burgers. The ball rolls at Aldeen. I get set to run. Aldeen winds up, her face smooshes like an accordion, and bammo, she nails the ball way down past the fire hydrant.

  I race for home. Aldeen runs so fast she almost passes me. Everybody cheers as we cross home plate. I’m huffing too hard to say much, but Aldeen yells, “Hey Curtis, did ya see that?”

  Curtis looks up from his cell phone. He makes his lips flat and sighs, “Wow, Aldeen.” Then he slow motion claps with one finger of each hand.

  Aldeen turns away. Her face is red from running. I turn too — toward the food. I want a cold pop and a burger and —

  “Okay kids,” Mom calls, “Last game before food. And we saved best for last: water balloon toss! Winners get first dessert.”

  I’m hungry and thirsty but I’m hot and sweaty too. I think how nice it would feel to get a great big cool splash. Aaaah.

  And then I know what would feel even better: to soak Curtis.

  7 - Scramble

  I can see it now: Curtis soaking wet, down to his new runners, with red balloon stuck to his face, his dumb spiked hair all flat, and water running out of his cell phone. Oh, yeah. Aldeen’s granny is calling, “Everybody get a partner!” All I have to do is get Curtis for my partner and blast him, first throw.

  Then someone grabs my arm. It’s Charlie. “C’mon, Morg,” he says, “We can win this and get first dessert too.”

  “But —” I say. But how can I say no to my best friend, even if it is to get Curtis? I look over and it doesn’t matter anyway: Aldeen is dragging Curtis towards her granny. Oh well, maybe she has the same idea. I turn to Charlie. “Let’s do it!” I say. We high five and head over.

  There’s a problem. The grown-ups are all saying, “Well, I thought you got them.” It turns out there aren’t any balloons. I’m just about to go be first in line for food when Aldeen’s granny says, “Well, let’s do it the old-fashioned way. Who’s got some eggs? We can toss them instead.”

  Charlie�
��s mom says, “I’ve got a dozen in the fridge. I’ll get them.”

  “Balloon toss with eggs?” someone says, “Ewwwww.” I think, Excellent.

  I have just had the best idea of my whole life. It will get me first dessert and mess up Curtis at the same time. “I’ll be right back,” I tell Charlie.

  Then I sneak over to the salads table and slip a hard-boiled egg into my pocket.

  8 - Cooking Something Up

  By the time I get back, Charlie’s mom is back too. I don’t see the eggs. Right now she’s uncoiling a hose. Mom gathers us around and explains the game. “Okay. Partners line up facing each other, three paces apart. Each pair gets a raw egg.”

  “Ewwwwwww.”

  Mom says, “When I say go, toss the egg to your partner. If they make the catch, you both take a step back and your partner throws to you, and so on. If your egg breaks —”

  “Ewwwwwwwww”

  “— You’re out. You’re also a mess. Luckily we have a hose handy. Last partners throwing win. Okay everybody, pair up and line up.”

  Someone has to go pee. Someone wants their hat. Charlie needs to tie his shoes. Curtis has to give his cell phone to his dad. Now’s my chance. I run to Aldeen. “Listen,” I puff, “You can get Curtis back for all the jerky stuff he’s done to you. Tell him you’ve got a hard-boiled egg to throw, then heave the raw one at him. He’ll think he’s going to make a superstar catch, but you’ll egg him instead, just like he did to you. It’s perfect! And if you do, I’ll give you first dessert.”

  Aldeen pushes up her glasses. “How do you know you’ll get first dessert?”