Have You Met My Ghoulfriend? Page 5

  Aaron wears baggy brown cargo shorts to school every day. He even wears shorts on the coldest, snowiest days of the winter.

  Why?

  He says, “No reason.”

  But I know the reason—it's because he thinks he has great-looking legs.

  One of the other weird things about Aaron is that he never does his schoolwork. He says he comes to school to learn things, not to do a lot of work.

  Mom and Dad don't want me to hang around with Aaron. They say he's a bad influence. But I don't think he's an influence at all. I think he's just a good friend.

  “What are you doing for after-school?” Aaron asked.

  After-school? I totally forgot. We have a new program at Jefferson Elementary. Twice a week we have to stay after school and do some activity.

  I sighed. “I got signed up for soccer.”

  Aaron shook his head. “You'll get creamed.”

  “I know,” I said. “Colin makes me practice soccer with him in the backyard. Mainly, he uses me for target practice. He just keeps kicking the ball at me until I'm a five-foot-four bruise.”

  Aaron patted me on the shoulder. “Dude. This afternoon. Bring a lot of Band-Aids.”

  We started toward Ms. McDonald's class. “What are you doing for after-school?” I asked.

  “Internet chess.”

  “Excuse me?” I stopped him. “You don't play chess, remember?”

  “I know. But I can just pretend I'm planning my next move and stare at the screen till it's time to go home.”

  See? Aaron's got it all worked out.

  We stepped into the classroom. Traci Wayne looked up when I walked in. She quickly lowered her eyes to the book she was reading.

  I glanced toward the front. Ms. McDonald wasn't there. Kids were perched on the windowsills, laughing and talking. A couple of guys were heaving a lunch box back and forth across the room, playing keep-away from another boy. Robby Marx was showing off some new kind of dance move, making hip-hop beats with his mouth.

  Giggling, two girls chased a boy, pinned him to the chalkboard, and grabbed a notebook from his hand. “Give it back!” he screamed, and chased them to the back of the room.

  Justin Freed, the kid who sits next to me in the back row, slapped me a hard high five. “What's up, Max?”

  Before I could answer, Ms. McDonald stepped into the room. She is my favorite teacher of all time. She is very young and very cool-looking. She always wears sweaters and faded jeans to school. She has bright blue eyes, long, curly black hair, and an awesome smile.

  But she wasn't smiling this morning. She was holding her head with both hands. “Quiet, please!” she shouted. “Quiet! I mean it. Quiet!”

  The two boys gave the lunch box one last toss. The kids on the windowsills jumped off and slid into their seats. The girls gave the boy his notebook back and hurried to sit down.

  “I have a splitting headache this morning,” Ms. McDonald said, groaning. Still holding her head, she dropped into her desk chair. “I don't want to hear a cough or a whisper or a pin drop. I need total silence.”

  Traci raised her hand. “Aren't we going to read our book reports?”

  Ms. McDonald shook her head. “We're not going to do anything out loud. We're going to have quiet reading—very quiet reading until my headache goes away. Everyone understand? Don't say yes. Just nod.”

  We all nodded. Then there was a lot of soft chair scraping and backpack rustling as we all pulled out books for quiet reading.

  Holding her head, Ms. McDonald stared down at her desk. Everyone started to read. The room grew silent, so silent I could hear birds chirping outside.

  “Very good, class,” Ms. McDonald said. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  And that's when I suddenly went berserk.

  18

  BEFORE I EVEN REALIZED it, I jumped from my seat. I pumped my fists in the air and let out a deafening cry.

  Ms. McDonald gasped and squinted across the room at me. “Max? What are you doing?”

  I let out another high scream.

  I couldn't answer her question. I didn't know what I was doing.

  I only knew I wasn't in control.

  “Sit down, Max. That's not funny,” the teacher groaned, holding her head.

  “Gubba hubbba?” I said. “Gubbba gubbba hubbba!”

  Why was I jabbering like that?

  I wanted to sit down. But I couldn't. I took off, running around the room, flapping my arms like a bird.

  “Whoooooeeeee!” I opened my mouth in an endless scream.

  When I reached the front of the room, I did a high cartwheel. (I'd never done a cartwheel in my life!) As I came down, I kicked over the trash can with both feet. It banged noisily against the wall and rolled into Ms. McDonald's desk.

  “Max—control yourself!” she screamed.

  But I couldn't. I turned another cartwheel. Then I cut the air with a few karate kicks. I circled the room twice, running wildly. As I ran, I grabbed the paintings and posters off the walls and tossed them behind me on the floor.

  Kids were gasping and screaming. I saw Traci gaping at me in horror, her mouth dropped open to her knees! Aaron looked a bit confused too.

  “Ohhh, my headache …,” Ms. McDonald groaned. “Somebody—stop him!”

  I banged my head on the chalkboard. I spun away, up to Ms. McDonald's desk.

  I can't stop! Help me! I can't stop!

  That's what I wanted to scream. But instead, it came out, “Jabba jabbba gummma!”

  And then, to my horror, I turned my back to Ms. McDonald. I stuck out my butt and started to shimmy and shake it like a dancer in an MTV hiphop video.

  That got everyone laughing and screaming.

  Ms. McDonald shot around her desk and grabbed me by the arms. “Stop it, Max. Stop it!”

  But I was still shimmying and shaking my butt when Mrs. Wright, the principal, stepped into the room.

  Her mouth dropped open, and a loud gurgling noise came from her throat. Her face turned purple with anger. “Are we having dancing lessons?” she finally choked out. “What is all the uproar in this room?”

  “I … uh … I'm just practicing for the homecoming dance,” I said.

  Hey! I could talk again!

  And I had stopped shimmying. My heart pounded like a drum in my chest. Sweat poured down my face. I felt dizzy. But at least I had stopped going crazy.

  “Max is having a problem this morning,” Ms. McDonald explained. She turned to me. “Max, what on earth—?”

  “I … I can explain,” I stammered.

  Everyone in the room stared at me. I wiped sweat off my forehead with my T-shirt sleeve.

  “You'd better have a good explanation for going wild like that,” Mrs. Wright said.

  “Yes. I have a very good explanation,” I said, still catching my breath.

  And I did. I knew exactly what my problem was. I was possessed.

  I didn't forget the threat that Phears had made. He promised to bring a Berserker Ghoul to ruin my life. He said the ghoul would drive me crazy. Phears said I would beg him to get rid of it, even if it meant becoming Phears' slave.

  Well, Phears had kept his promise.

  Now I also knew what was wrong with Colin this morning. The ghoul possessed Colin first because he was sleeping in my bed. Then it probably realized its mistake.

  But it was inside me now. I could feel it in there, making my arms and legs heavy. Making my muscles twitch. Putting a yellow tint on everything I saw.

  What should I do?

  I decided to tell the truth.

  “Mrs. Wright, please let me explain,” I said in a shaky voice. “I'm really sorry I freaked out. But I can't help it. I'm possessed by some kind of ghoul. It's called a Berserker Ghoul, and it took over my body and made me go berserk. I had no control at all.”

  Breathing hard, I stared at her. “Do you believe me? Please say you believe me.”

  Mrs. Wright stared back at me. Holding her head, Ms. McDonald stare
d at her. The kids were all staring at me too. Except for Aaron, who stared out the window.

  “Do you believe me? Do you?”

  “Of course I believe you,” Mrs. Wright said. “It makes perfect sense to me.”

  19

  “I ALSO BELIEVE THAT SpongeBob can really talk underwater,” Mrs. Wright said. “And of course I believe that Superman can fly in real life.”

  I swallowed. “Oh. I get it.”

  “Yes, you are going to get it,” Mrs. Wright said, taking me by the arm. “Unless you have a better explanation.”

  “Uh … would you believe too many Cocoa Puffs for breakfast? You know. All that sugar.”

  “Sorry. Come with me.”

  She half pulled, half dragged me to her office. “Max, are you back again?” Ms. Harold, the assistant principal, asked.

  “It's all a big mistake,” I said.

  Mrs. Wright led me into her office and pointed to the couch at the far wall. “Have a seat, Max. In a moment, you and I will have a nice long chat.”

  I dropped down onto the couch. Mrs. Wright stood at her desk, sifting through a stack of pink phone messages.

  My mind raced. What could I tell her?

  I needed a better explanation. Something better than the truth. Of course she didn't believe I was possessed by a ghoul. Who would believe that? I needed something simpler.

  And at that instant, Nicky and Tara appeared. “Hi, Max.” They both waved and sat down on the edges of Mrs. Wright's desk.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “It's my office,” Mrs. Wright said. “Why wouldn't I be here?”

  “Sorry we haven't been around,” Nicky said. “We've been out searching for clues about Mom and Dad.”

  “We need your help, Max,” Tara said.

  “I can't help you now,” I said.

  “I don't need help,” Mrs. Wright said. “I'm just looking through all these phone messages.”

  Tara slid off the desk and tugged my hand. “Come on, Max. Nicky and I want to show you something.”

  “Let go of me!” I said.

  Mrs. Wright looked up from her messages. “Excuse me?”

  “Uh … a very big mosquito,” I said. “It wouldn't let go of my hand.” I gave my hand a hard slap. “There. Got it.”

  “We found a note from our mother,” Nicky said. “You've got to help us figure out what it means.”

  “Can't you see I'm a little busy?” I said.

  Mrs. Wright slammed the messages onto her desktop and glared at me. “Max, I'm being very patient with you, but—”

  “Come on. Come on.” Tara tugged me again. “We need you more than she does.”

  “Come with us, Max. Hurry.” Nicky pulled me by my other hand.

  “Please—just shut up!” I cried.

  “Okay, that does it,” Mrs. Wright said through gritted teeth. “I'm calling your parents.”

  Mrs. Wright and I then had a very long chat. She did most of the talking. She wanted to know why I went berserk in class, and I couldn't think of anything to tell her.

  “Maybe you are sick,” she said at one point. “Your eyes look a little yellow.”

  Those aren't my eyes. Those are the ghoul's eyes.

  That's what I wanted to say. But I just nodded and kept my mouth shut. I begged her not to call my parents.

  “Since you don't have an explanation, I need to talk to them,” she replied. “I just want to help you, Max.”

  Yeah. You're helping me right into the Plover School.

  The rest of my day was pretty tense. My stomach gurgled and growled. I felt kind of shivery, kind of tingly.

  I knew the reason—I was possessed. I kept waiting for the ghoul inside me to start his act again. All afternoon, I gripped the top of my desk and prayed I didn't leap up and go crazy.

  But the ghoul must have been sleeping or something.

  After school, I wanted to hurry home and talk to Nicky and Tara. Maybe somehow they could help me get this ghoul out.

  But I had after-school soccer, and I didn't want to get into more trouble by cutting it.

  I stepped out of the school building into a blustery, gray day with dark clouds low overhead. I zipped my jacket and leaned into the wind.

  I could see some kids already kicking a ball around on the soccer field. I hate soccer. I always trip over the ball. Or else I get bonked in the head.

  I sighed. Oh, well. Go do it, Max.

  But then, as I crossed the playground, a huge hand poked up from under the ground and grabbed me by the ankle.

  20

  THE HAND TRIED TO grip my leg.

  I let out a scream.

  Several kids looked up from the soccer field to see what the problem was.

  I glanced down. A glove. Not a hand from under the grass. A brown leather glove.

  Ha, ha. The joke's on me, huh? Someone dropped it on the playground. And the wind blew it against my leg.

  Max, get it together, dude. You've got enough problems without imagining more!

  I took a moment to catch my breath. Then I tossed the glove aside and continued jogging to the soccer field.

  I saw four or five guys from the Jefferson team kicking a ball back and forth, warming up. Several other kids were there, doing stretching exercises, jogging in place, shoving each other, goofing around.

  Coach Freeley stood at the sidelines in a T-shirt and track shorts, ignoring the cold weather like the macho guy he is. I saw Traci Wayne and two of her friends sitting in the bleachers watching the guys practice.

  I waved to Traci, but she didn't wave back.

  “Hey, here comes Brainimon!” someone shouted.

  “Brainimon! Brainimon! Brainimon!” a few kids started to chant.

  “Okay, who wants Max on their team?” Coach Freeley called out. He blew his whistle to stop the Brainimon chant. “Who wants Max?”

  No hands went up.

  “Come on,” Coach Freeley shouted. “Someone has to take him.”

  No hands.

  Coach shook his head. “Okay. I'm going to assign him to Jared's team.”

  Jared and everyone on his team groaned. That didn't bother me. I'm used to it. I trotted over to Jared. “Where do you want me to play?”

  “How about in Canada?”

  Jared's a very funny guy.

  “Just try to stay out of the way,” he said.

  I nodded. “No problem.”

  The game started, and I stayed as far away from the ball as possible. As I ran back and forth, trying to look as if I was really into it, I kept glancing at Traci on the bleachers.

  If only I could make one awesome play that would really impress her.

  Near the end of the match, I got my wish.

  The score was tied, 1 to 1. So far, I'd managed to play the whole match without touching the ball once.

  With only a minute to go, I felt something move inside me. My stomach tightened. I thought I just had to burp. But a loud scream shot out of my throat.

  I had been running a few yards behind Jared. As I let out my roar, I lowered my shoulder and bumped him hard from behind. Jared stumbled and fell to the ground.

  Out of control. I was out of control again.

  Helpless. Nothing I could do. No way to stop myself.

  I kicked the ball away from Jared. Lowered my head and gut-butted a kid trying to block me. He howled and grabbed his stomach. I moved the ball past him. Kicked it through the legs of another guy. Sent him sprawling with a fist in the chest.

  Other players watched in horror. A girl tried to block my path and I ran right over her. She landed hard on her backside and bounced twice. And I moved in toward the goal.

  Luke West was goalie for the other team. Luke is big and mean. He's one of the stars of the real Jefferson soccer team. He spread out his arms and tensed his back, ready for my kick.

  No way could he be ready.

  I opened my mouth in a deafening roar. And kicked the ball so hard, it exploded. The shredded soc
cer ball sailed over Luke's head, into the net.

  Gooooooaaaaaaal!

  Game over. Kids on my team began to cheer. Someone slapped me on the back. The chant began again: “Brainimon! Brainimon! Brainimon!”

  Did I feel happy?

  No way. I just wanted help. I wasn't in control of my own body!

  “Brainimon, how did you do that?” Jared asked, trotting up beside me.

  “Jabba jabbba gummma,” I said.

  He laughed. “You were great, dude!”

  “Gummma jabba!”

  I felt an arm on my shoulder. I turned to see Coach Freeley grinning at me. “Way to show some fighting spirit, Max. Good aggressive play. I liked your enthusiasm.”

  “Jabba?”

  “I need you on the team,” Coach Freeley said, his arm around my shoulder. “Come to practice tomorrow, okay? You'll start in our game on Saturday. You'll be our secret weapon.”

  “Huh? Wabbba?”

  He held up the torn soccer ball and shook his head. “Good work, Max. You're going to be a star!”

  But it isn't me! I wanted to shout. I can't play soccer. I can't be the star of the team!

  I need help!

  I turned and started to jog off the field. My eyeballs burned. I knew my eyes were glowing bright yellow. The ghoul felt heavy inside me. As I trotted away, my legs suddenly felt as if they weighed a thousand pounds.

  “Hubbba hubbba hubba,” I muttered in a deep voice—not my voice!

  Please go away! I thought. Please leave me alone.

  How could I get rid of this ghoul? I knew there was only one way to remove it. Help Phears. Bring Nicky and Tara to Phears. Then Phears would send his ghoul friend away.

  Could I do it? No way.

  Nicky and Tara are my friends. I couldn't turn traitor and hand them over to that evil ghost.

  Did that mean I was stuck with the Berserker for the rest of my life? If I didn't cooperate, would Phears send something worse?

  That idea made me shudder.

  I turned and saw Traci Wayne running after me, her blond hair flying in the wind. She came bursting up and slapped me a high five. “You were awesome, Max!” she said.