My Friends Call Me Monster Page 2

  A minute later, we were standing up to our knees in wet, putrid, slimy garbage. The gunk soaked the legs of my jeans. The skunky aroma made my throat tighten up. I struggled not to choke.

  I tried to walk. It was hard to balance. After a step or two, something squished under my sneaker. A dead raccoon.

  “I DON’T BELIEVE THIS!” I screamed. “This is totally UNFAIR!”

  I lost it. I began to grab garbage and heave it at the walls of the Dumpster.

  This wild picture flashed into my mind. I saw myself lifting the whole Dumpster — like Superman — and emptying the garbage into Mrs. Hardesty’s front window.

  “NO WAY! NO WAAAAY!” I screamed, heaving garbage all over the place.

  Daisy grabbed one shoulder. DeWayne grabbed the other.

  “Easy, Monster. Take it easy, dude,” DeWayne said softly.

  They were trying to hold me in place. But I lunged forward and broke free.

  And fell facedown into the wet garbage.

  I felt something ooze over my face. Something very wet and smelly soaked my T-shirt. I sat up on the Dumpster floor, sputtering and shaking eggshells and rotten chunks of maggoty meat from my hair.

  I tried to wipe the green, moldy goop off my face, but it stuck there.

  Finally, my friends pulled me to my feet.

  DeWayne handed me my shovel. “Feeling better?”

  I laughed. Suddenly, all three of us were laughing.

  We started to shovel up garbage. We didn’t find many bottles or cans. Most people don’t throw them in with the garbage. But we kept searching through the yucky muck.

  “Mrs. Hardesty knew there wasn’t much here to recycle,” I said. “She put us in here just to be mean.”

  “AAAIII!” Daisy let out a scream. She started beating the garbage frantically with the head of her shovel. “There’s something ALIVE down there!” she wailed.

  BAM! BAM! BAM!

  Yes. She was right. Something down low in the Dumpster was making the garbage bubble up.

  DeWayne and I grabbed Daisy, and we helped lower her from the Dumpster. We followed her down to the ground and tossed our shovels away.

  “Hey!” I let out a startled cry. Mr. Wong was standing there.

  Even though it was Saturday, he was dressed in one of his striped suits and a brown necktie. His slicked-down black hair gleamed in the sunlight. His froggy eyes were soft and watery.

  He had a smile on his face. But it disappeared when he saw the three of us covered in wet chunks of garbage. He held his nose for a minute.

  I didn’t blame him. I could smell myself. Believe me, it wasn’t pretty.

  “Nice job, guys,” he said, still holding his nose. “Here. I brought you candy bars. For energy.” He handed us each a chocolate bar.

  Then he pulled out a wad of paper towels from his jacket pocket. “Here. You can wipe some of the garbage off.”

  We thanked him. He hurried away, running, not walking. Our smell was making him sick.

  I used a paper towel to wipe sticky stuff off my forehead. My jeans and T-shirt were soaked through and stained. My back itched. Garbage bugs had climbed under my shirt.

  Daisy and DeWayne were muttering to each other. I couldn’t hear them. My ears were ringing. That happens a lot when I’m really angry.

  “I’m going to take a two-hour shower,” DeWayne said.

  Daisy pulled a brown hunk of lettuce from her hair. The lettuce was covered with tiny brown worms.

  “The next time my mom asks me to take out the garbage, I’ll probably go berserk,” she said.

  I clenched my teeth. I stared at Mrs. Hardesty’s house. “I’m going to pay her back,” I said. “This was totally mean and unfair. I’m going to find a way to pay her back.”

  But how?

  We said good-bye. We headed off in different directions to our houses.

  I was slinking home through backyards. Trying to stay in the shadows. I didn’t want anyone to see me. Or smell me!

  I saw something move. I stopped. Between two houses — a black cat. It was sitting very still now, staring at me with big blue eyes.

  More bad luck?

  No. No way. Suddenly, I knew just how I was going to get my revenge.

  And that’s how Daisy, DeWayne, and I ended up sneaking into Mrs. Hardesty’s house with the black cat.

  My two friends didn’t really want to do it. Sneaking into a teacher’s house is kind of scary. But it didn’t take much to convince them.

  Daisy had shampooed her hair ten times. But it still had bugs crawling in it. And DeWayne said he had to throw out his jeans and T-shirt. His mother refused to wash anything that smelly.

  So we all had a good reason for getting even with Mrs. Hardesty.

  We knew how superstitious she was. She talked all the time about how black cats really do bring bad luck. She told us that once you have the bad luck, it’s hard to shake it off.

  So what could be better?

  A black cat suddenly appears in her basement. And she FREAKS. She totally freaks!

  The black cat was always around our neighborhood. No one knew who it belonged to. I think it had a hundred and nine lives! I saw it wherever I went.

  So we gathered up the cat and hurried to Mrs. Hardesty’s house after school. We knew she was staying late for some parent meetings. We made sure her blue Civic wasn’t in the driveway. And none of the neighbors were watching.

  The back door was unlocked. We walked right into the kitchen.

  Down to the basement. We tried to be as silent as possible. The cat kept pacing back and forth inside the carrier.

  We planned to be fast. Get in. Free the cat. Get out.

  But it didn’t work that way.

  We heard thumps and moans and groans coming from one of the rooms. My heart did a flip-flop in my chest.

  Someone else was down there.

  We stumbled up the stairs as fast as we could. Something fell out of my jeans pocket, but I didn’t go back for it. The cat was meowing like crazy.

  We made it back upstairs, breathing hard. Were we being chased?

  I turned and stared down into the dark basement. No. No one on the stairs.

  I gripped the basement door and leaned against it, waiting for my heart to stop pounding. “It’s okay,” I finally said. “We’re okay.”

  Daisy glanced around. “Let the cat out,” she told DeWayne. “And let’s go.”

  DeWayne set the carrying case on the floor. He reached for the clasp.

  “No. Wait,” I said. “The attic. Let’s take it up to the attic.”

  They both squinted at me. “Why?”

  “It’ll be scarier,” I said. “Think about it. Mrs. H is sitting in the living room. She hears something creeping down the attic stairs. She opens the attic door — and there is BAD LUCK staring her in the face!”

  I laughed. I could just picture it.

  DeWayne shook his head. “Monster, you are too bad!” he said.

  “Too stupid,” Daisy muttered. “I can’t believe I’m doing this. If we get caught …” She shivered, then hugged herself.

  “We won’t get caught,” I said. I glanced out the front window. No sign of the teacher’s car. “You know how long those parent meetings take. We have all afternoon.”

  We had to explore a little to find the attic steps. The door stood at the end of the hall next to Mrs. Hardesty’s bedroom.

  We opened the door. The attic was pitch-black. As we climbed, the air grew warmer. It smelled stale, kind of musty.

  The cat thumped the side of the carrier. It was eager to get out.

  I stepped into the attic. It was huge. The walls were knotty pine. Two tiny windows faced the front. They let in narrow beams of light.

  The attic was filled with furniture covered with bedsheets. An old typewriter and a black plastic radio sat on a wooden crate. A long brown leather couch stood sideways in the middle of the floor. The sheet had fallen off one side of it.

  Something big and tall and
almost round stood near us at the top of the stairs. It was totally covered by a sheet. It was at least six feet tall. What could it be? Some kind of sculpture?

  I started to lift the sheet to take a peek. But Daisy pulled me away. “No time to sightsee,” she whispered. “It’s hot up here. Let’s hurry.”

  DeWayne set the carrier down in front of the long couch. He opened the front.

  The cat stepped out quickly. It took three or four steps, then stretched its legs, tilting its head from side to side. It glanced around the long room for a few seconds. Then it just stood there, staring up at us with its blue eyes.

  “Mission accomplished,” I said. “This is way perfect. I can’t wait —”

  That’s when I heard the car door slam outside.

  My mouth dropped open. I saw Daisy’s eyes go wide. The three of us froze. So did the cat!

  I dove to one of the tiny windows and peered down at the driveway.

  I groaned. “Oh, wow. It’s Mrs. Hardesty! She’s home.”

  DeWayne looked sick. Daisy let out a cry. “How do we get out of here?”

  I watched Mrs. H step up to her front door.

  “We’re kinda trapped,” I said.

  We heard the front door open and close. We heard Mrs. Hardesty step into the front hall.

  She coughed. Muttered something to herself.

  I could hear every sound. It was as if I suddenly had superhearing!

  “If she catches us, we’re dead meat,” Daisy whispered.

  DeWayne swallowed. “Think we’ll be suspended from school?”

  “She’ll probably put us in front of a firing squad,” Daisy said.

  “Bad attitude,” I said. “We’ll get out of this.”

  I always try to look on the bright side. Even when I’m doomed!

  I gazed around the attic. No back door. No escape route. If we started down the stairs now, she’d see us.

  Could we climb out a window and lower ourselves to the ground?

  No. The windows were too small.

  I waved the others behind the long couch. We crouched down on our hands and knees.

  Where was the cat?

  I poked my head out and searched. No sign of it. Was it already heading down the stairs?

  That could be trouble.

  I pressed my side against the back of the couch and listened. I couldn’t hear Mrs. Hardesty. The only sound I heard was my own heavy breathing.

  Then I heard water running. Probably from the kitchen sink?

  It stopped. I could hear Mrs. Hardesty humming to herself. Then I heard footsteps growing louder.

  “She’s coming upstairs,” Daisy whispered. “Probably to her bedroom. To change out of her school clothes.”

  DeWayne snickered. “Do teachers have school clothes?”

  “Shhhh.” Daisy gave DeWayne a shove. “Want her to hear you?” she whispered.

  More footsteps. Mrs. Hardesty coughed again. The sound floated up the attic stairs.

  She was too close, too close to us now.

  One sound, and she’d know someone was up there.

  I held my breath. All three of us froze.

  That’s when the cat decided to meow. A long, shrill cry.

  I gasped and shut my eyes.

  Doomed. Doomed!

  I opened my eyes and saw the cat sitting beside me.

  “Shhhh,” I whispered. Do cats understand what shhhh means?

  I wrapped both arms around the cat and pulled it close to my chest. I held it there, praying it wouldn’t make another sound.

  “Meeeeeeeeeeeeew!”

  Another long howl.

  I gritted my teeth. DeWayne shut his eyes and crouched with his hands raised in a praying position. Daisy stared straight ahead.

  And we heard footsteps. The attic stairs creaked. The footsteps were coming closer.

  We were caught. Mrs. Hardesty was climbing the attic stairs.

  I hugged the cat even closer to my chest. “Please,” I whispered. “Please be quiet.”

  The attic stairs creaked and groaned. Keeping low, I poked my head out just enough to see.

  Mrs. Hardesty climbed into the attic.

  Daisy was right. She had changed her clothes. She was wearing a gray sweatshirt over baggy purple pants. Instead of her black pumps, she wore black sneakers.

  Please don’t meow. Please don’t make a sound, I silently begged the cat.

  Mrs. Hardesty glanced around. She took a few steps toward the couch.

  She wiped something off the old radio with one hand. Then she moved to a window and peered down at the street.

  Was it the longest, scariest moment of my life?

  Yes. But I knew it would get a lot scarier if our teacher caught us there.

  I heard voices. Some kids playing outside. I wished I was out there with them.

  I hugged the cat tighter. Was I smothering the poor thing?

  Mrs. Hardesty moved away from the window. She stepped up to the tall covered thing by the stairs.

  Still hugging the cat to my chest, I peeked out from behind the couch.

  She was pulling the sheet off. After a few seconds, I could see a little bit of what was underneath. It was smooth and white.

  She tugged the sheet away and folded it neatly. I stared at what she had uncovered. Stared at it in disbelief.

  It was an egg. A six-foot-tall egg.

  Daisy and DeWayne were crouched beside me behind the couch. They couldn’t see what I was seeing. They stared straight ahead, afraid to breathe.

  Mrs. Hardesty walked around the egg a few times, inspecting it. She smoothed her hand gently over the shell as she circled it.

  She had a strange smile on her face. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

  What kind of bird or animal could lay an egg that big? I asked myself.

  A few weeks earlier, I had seen dinosaur eggs on a cool show on the Discovery Channel. They were tiny compared to this giant egg.

  It can’t be real, I decided. It’s a sculpture. Yes. That’s it. It’s a piece of art.

  Someone made it out of plaster or something. That’s why Mrs. Hardesty was acting so proud of it.

  While those thoughts whirred through my mind, Mrs. H stopped circling. She faced the egg and stretched both arms around its wide middle.

  Was she hugging it?

  No.

  I gasped as she pulled herself off the floor. Her sneakers pushed against the eggshell. She slid her hands higher … higher …

  And in seconds, she had climbed to the top. Then she turned to face the window. She was sitting on top of the egg!

  Wow. That shell must be really thick and tough, I thought.

  I watched her settle herself up there. She lowered her hands beside her on the shell.

  Daisy and DeWayne had to see this. Otherwise, they’d think I was making it up.

  Silently, I crawled backward and made a space for them. Then I waved for them to move and take a look.

  They didn’t make a sound. They poked their heads around the side of the couch. I saw their eyes bulge in shock. They both shook their heads, totally bewildered.

  I pushed them back so I could see again. My head was spinning.

  What on earth was our teacher doing up there? Was she hatching the egg?

  What would come bursting out of it? A giant CHICKEN?!?

  How weird is this?

  She stared out the window. Her hands rested on top of the egg. Her sneakers dangled three feet off the floor. She seemed very comfortable up there.

  We have to get out of here!

  That thought repeated in my brain.

  But how?

  I was still holding the cat. I glanced down. It had fallen asleep in my arms. Sweet.

  The cat was one thing I didn’t have to worry about — for now. How long would Mrs. H sit on that egg? Till dinnertime? Even later?

  I settled against the back of the couch. I set the cat down on the floor. Then I crossed my arms and waited. My friends didn’t move, eithe
r. I think it was the longest we’d ever sat still.

  The longest day of my life!

  Time passed so slowly. The afternoon sun turned red as it lowered in the attic windows. I could see the evening sky and a pale, white half-moon in the skylight above us.

  I heard a sound. A soft snore.

  I peeked around the edge of the couch. Yes! Mrs. H was still sitting on top of the egg. But her head was down and she was snoring softly.

  “She’s asleep,” I whispered to my friends.

  They both sat forward. Their eyes went wide. DeWayne stretched his arms over his head.

  “Think we can we sneak past her?” Daisy whispered.

  “It’s our only chance,” I said.

  “If we wake her up …” DeWayne’s voice trailed away.

  I knew it was going to be tough. We had to walk right past the egg to get to the attic stairs.

  One little sound … one quick move could wake Mrs. Hardesty.

  And then we’d be caught standing there — seeing her. Seeing her hatching a giant egg!

  What would she do to us?

  “Take off your shoes,” I whispered. “Don’t make a sound.”

  Leaning against the couch back, we tugged off our sneakers. Then, carrying them in front of us, we tiptoed toward the stairs.

  I led the way, taking one step at a time.

  The floor squeaked under my foot. I stopped, my eyes on Mrs. Hardesty. She didn’t raise her head.

  I realized I wasn’t breathing. I sucked in a deep breath and held it. Then I continued creeping slowly forward, one step at a time.

  It seemed to take hours. Finally, I was standing in front of the egg. Mrs. Hardesty’s knees were inches from my face. Two more steps and I would reach the top of the stairs.

  One …

  Two …

  And a hand grabbed me hard by the shoulder!

  I gasped and froze. I turned my head.

  Daisy!

  “S-sorry,” she whispered. “I started to trip.” Her hand slid from my shoulder.

  My heart was still doing a four-minute mile!

  On top of the egg, Mrs. Hardesty let out a soft murmur. Was she waking up?

  Leaning on the banister, I flew down the stairs without looking back. I reached the hall, ran past Mrs. Hardesty’s bedroom, and kept going. I heard my two friends close behind me.