Read Online I'm Going to Be Famous by Tom Birdseye - Free Book Online Page B

He’s lucky I’m not a violent person.
    I put my hands in my pockets and squint my eyes. “OK, Murray,” I say in my toughest voice. “It’s a bet. And what if I break the world record? What do you have to do?”
    Murray grins. “If, by some strange stroke of luck, you break that stupid record, then I’ll do the same thing: not speak to Laura. She’ll be robbed of the only real man to be had at Lincoln Elementary School.”
    â€œIt’s a bet, then?” I ask.
    Murray nods. “Yeah, it’s a bet.”
    â€œAnd you’re not going to tell Mrs. Caldwell about me eating a banana in the boys’ bathroom?”
    â€œI guess not. Why should I waste my energy getting you in trouble? You seem to have done a pretty good job already,” Murray the Nerd says with a laugh, looking at my soaked shoe and pant leg. “After all, what are friends for? Huh, Arlo?”
    Friends? Blaggh.

CHAPTER 17
    â€œHemfroph, Mrz. Munoh.”
    â€” M IKE S NEAD
    Life is hard. I’m sure about that. People like Murray Wallace help to make it that way. My bus driver helps, too. I should have known she’d notice my wet pant leg and shoe. I should have known she’d bring it to the attention of everyone on the bus by asking loudly where I’d found such a big puddle to step into.
    â€œThat’s such a funny sound,” she said. “Squish, thunk, squish, thunk. That’s what it sounds like when you walk with one wet shoe and one dry shoe.”
    So now I’m squish-thunking my way across the wreckage of my bedroom. I’ve got to clean this mess up … someday. But right now my mission is clear—I’ve got to get out of my squish-thunk shoes and pants and get ready for banana practice. Mom is at work, so we are having practice here instead of at Ben’s.
    Ah … here are my favorite “indestructo” jeans. I keep them tucked back behind my football helmet. Mom doesn’t like these jeans. She says I look like a poor orphan with them on. She just doesn’t understand. Or maybe she does. But these are the best jeans I own. They’re specially equipped with holes in the knees. This allows my bionic kneecaps to see where they’re going. These jeans also have a secret pouch inside of the left front pocket. This is perfect for keeping maps and my Case XX pocketknife.
    These jeans and I have been through a lot together. They know me. They’re good luck. That’s why I pulled them out of the garbage when Mom threw them away. That’s why they live secretly behind my football helmet in the closet. I only wear them for good luck and when Mom is not around. And today I seem to need all the good luck I can get.
    â€œHi, Arlo. When does practice start?” Kerry asks. My curly-headed wonder of a sister stands in the doorway with her hands in her pockets.
    â€œHi, Kerry. Ben said he’d be right over. We’ll start when he gets here.”
    â€œGood,” she says. “I’m ready. Today is the day I spit a melon seed twenty feet!”
    â€œTwenty feet?”
    â€œYeah,” she says, moving over to my bed and absent-mindedly sitting down on my wet school pants. “I made a wonderful discovery at noon recess today. If I throw my head back and then snap my neck forward when I spit, I get twice the distance out of a melon seed. It’s all in the snap of the neck.”
    I yank the wet pants out from under her and put them on the floor where they belong. “Sounds dangerous to me—snapping your neck. Besides, twenty feet isn’t even near your goal. You’ve got to be able to spit over sixty-five feet, right?”
    â€œYeah, but my new discovery in technique will make all the difference,” she says, realizing the seat of her pants is now wet. “You wait and see, Arlo. I can do it.”
    Seems to me I’ve heard that before. Sisters don’t ever learn.
    We’re all