101 Ways to Bug Your Friends and Enemies (3 page)

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Authors: Lee Wardlaw

BOOK: 101 Ways to Bug Your Friends and Enemies
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She stretched out an arm. Her fist uncurled and she displayed on her open palm the chocolate golf ball. “Who. Is. Responsible,” she asked.
No answer.
A moat frog burped. The revolving vanes on the Windmill squeaked.
Hayley's penetrating SOS moved from one group of Gadabout players to the next. I was tempted to spill my guts about the Invention Convention® right then and there. Her SOS has that effect.
Then she spotted them: four guys, all lanky, blond, and bronzed; all hacking balls from beneath a canopy of fake ferns at Hole #8, The Bungled Jungle.
Goldie gaped. “
Omigosh
, do you know who they
are
?”
“Quadruplets?” mused Ace, meandering over to join us.
Goldie rolled her eyes, but he could've been right. They wore identical, burgundy-colored short-sleeved knit shirts (with collars), belted khaki slacks (perfectly creased), and matching burgundy caps (emblazoned
PHHSVGT
).
“
Wow
,” Goldie breathed. “I wonder what
they're
doing
here
.”
“Let me take a stab,” Ace said. “Playing mini-golf?”
“Not unless they're
slumming
. That's the
Patrick Henry High School Varsity Golf Team
! But I wonder where
he
is.”
'Ee 'oo?” Pierre asked.
Hayley, her chin tipped in anger, advanced toward the team.
Rats. No sign yet of her dad or Hiccup.
“C'mon,” I said, tugging Pierre's sleeve. “I know a shortcut.”
I led them through the Enchanted Forest. We skirted Little Red Riding Hood and huffed and puffed past the Big Bad Wolf, then trekked a steep, mossy knoll, halting behind Hayley just as she demanded, “Did you guys hit this?”
The blondest guy, whose sun-bleached hair poked from beneath his cap like scarecrow straw, didn't bother to look at her. “What is it?”
His teammates cracked up.
Hayley snorted. “What do you think it is?”
“A mutant Milk Dud?”
More cracking.
“Huh. That's because you hit it through Gadabout's office window and it landed in a
cake
.”
Scarecrow high-fived his buds. “Hole-in-one! What do I win?”
Hayley's SOS narrowed. “A one-way ticket out of here.”
“I don't think so. We still have nine lame-o holes to play.” Scarecrow teed up another ball. S
wooop.
It ricocheted off Big Ben with a
BOIINNNG
.
Now
my
fists clenched. Last spring I spent two tedious hours untangling a Medusa-like rat nest from inside Ben's head.
Sic 'em, Hayley
.
Sic 'em good.
“Surrender your clubs now,” she demanded. “Or else—”
“Eh, brah.” From within the camouflage of vines emerged the imposing shadow of a god. When it stepped into full sun, I saw it belonged to an imposing god-like guy. He wore a loose tank top, baggy shorts, and flip-flops, and in one massive hand he twirled a golf club as easily as a majorette's baton. “Dis game
pau
,” he said. “We go, eh?”
“Holy aloha!”
Goldie jabbed me with a sharp elbow. “It's
him
.”
“'Im 'oo?” Pierre said.
“Cullen Fu Hanson!”
Had her voice
blushed
?
“He transferred this summer from Punahou High,” Goldie whispered. “That's in Honolulu. You know, Honolulu,
Hawaii.”
“I've heard of Hawaii, Goldie,” I muttered.
“With
him
on the team, they'll make it to the state championship
for sure
. The scoop is he's the next Tiger Woods!”
More like Grizzly Woods. The guy reared big as a bear. He obviously spent a lot of hours hoisting weights—or palm trees. The only dainty part of him was a triangle of black whiskers sprouting beneath his lower lip. Around his neck dangled a shark's tooth—or maybe his own tooth. No matter. It was pointy.
Goldie gushed: “The high school girls call him Cullen Fu
Handsome
. Isn't he a
dreamsicle
?”
Ace studied his fingernails. “What flavor?”
“What's your hurry, Cull?” Scarecrow was saying. “I thought you were still on island time.”
Another
swoooop.
The ball rocketed into the beak of a plastic toucan.
“Bless my Froot Loops,” Scarecrow shouted. “A birdie!”
The team hooted and crowed.
Cullen the Bear shrugged. Pecs, triceps, and abs rippled. Man, even his earlobes had muscles.
“It's your
okole
,” he said. “But I stay
pau
with dis game of jungle ball.”
Jungle ball!
Goldie sucked a gasp. Ace swallowed a yawn.
“Shee will let zem 'ave eet now, oui?” Pierre asked.
“Definitely oui,” I said, and waited.
But Hayley didn't. She just stood there, eyes wide, glazed.
Glazed with . . . what? I'd seen that expression before—but on whom and why? Was it apprehension? Fear? Had Hayley finally met her match?
A strange force surged inside my chest. I felt powerful. Invincible. I knew what I must do.
Protect Hayley. Protect Gadabout.
My feet sloshed across the swamp. My hands karate-chopped vines. I stalked toward Scarecrow and Cullen and glared up, up, up into their faces, and said, “Um . . . cut it out, you guys, okay?”
Scarecrow and his three look-alikes examined me—up and down and up again. Then they burst out laughing.
“What if we don't
cut it out
?” Scarecrow taunted. “You gonna fight us, Little Big Nose?”
“Yeah.” I snatched a putter from the nearest crony and brandished it.
“Yeah?” His putter clashed sword-like against mine with a hard
clank
.
I lashed my arm the opposite way. So did he. Club met club again. And again.
Clash, clank. Clash, clank.
“Don't!” Hayley cried.
“Oooo!”
Goldie squealed, scribbling into her notepad.
“Do!”
Ace intoned, “Stephen.
Use your brain
.”
Yikes! He was right. (
Clash. Clank
.) What was I doing? I was no swashbuckler. No musketeer. Plus, there were five of these guys. Seven, actually, because Cullen counted as three.
“On second thought”—the putter went limp in my hands—“I don't care to fight after all.”
“Didn't think so.” With the toe of his club, Scarecrow beeped my sore schnoz. The pressure made it tickle.
And tingle.
And itch.
“AH-
CHOOO
!”
Scarecrow eyed the string of goo dangling from his putter. With a sneer of disgust, he scraped it off on the grass. “You're all nose, kid,” he said. “No guts. No glory. Just—snot.”
The team laughed again. Not Cullen. He stood twirling his club, watching me. Waiting. Waiting for what?
Scarecrow teed up again, aiming for—
NoOhNoOhNo. Not Pisa! One whack and it would belly flop for sure . . .
I had to distract him. Stop him.
But how
?
Not with “swords.” Not even with boogers . . .
“Excuse me, Mr. Golf Guy!” I hollered. “Is that the best you can do?”
He glanced at Pisa. Glanced at the ball. “Whaddya mean?”
“If you're going to insult my body parts, why not do it with style. Wit.
Intelligence
. Oh, I forgot! Those are the exact qualities you're lacking.”
“OoooOOOOOoooo!” his team chorused.
Cullen smothered a grin.
Scarecrow straightened, face red. He pointed his club at me. “Now look here, you little snot—”
“There you go again.” I shook my head. “Wasting a great opportunity.”
“You could do better, punk?”
“Absolutely!”
“Prove it.”
“Certainly! Here's what you could've said about my nose.”
I mused a moment. Stroked my chin. Began to circle him slowly and said:
“Superstitious
: If I walk under it, am I cursed with seven years bad luck?
“Countrified
: I grew one o' them zucchini back in '86. Won first prize at the county fair!
“Descriptive
: It's a cave! A cavern! Studded with boogers like stalactites and stalagmites!
“Anthropological
: Behold—the sarcophagus of King Tut!
“Friendly
: I play trombone in the marching band too. Want to practice together sometime?
“
Disappointed
: ‘
Oh, Pinocchio,
' wailed the Blue Fairy. ‘
You've been telling lies again
.'”
Goldie giggled. Someone choked on a chortle. I circled Scarecrow faster and faster as my words and confidence flowed.
“
Educational
: Students, rising before you stands Mount Vesuvius, the volcano that destroyed the ancient Roman city Pompeii.
“
Festive
: A few antlers here, a bell or two there, and presto! Rudolph's understudy!
“
Mythical
: Fee, fie, foe, fum! Does it smell the blood of an Englishman?
“
Rude
: Disneyland called. They want their Matterhorn back.
“
Horrified
: My God! Elephant Man lives!
“
Curious
: Does it hold your iPod
and
your laptop?
“
Dramatic
: When it runs with the common cold—Niagara Falls!
“
Enterprising
: The perfect logo for the Snoops ‘R' Us Detective Agency!
“
Poetic
: I thought that I would never see
A beak as large as Tennessee.
Yet I was wrong
For here it grows—
Our fifty-first state: Stephen's nose!”
I halted. Struck a pose offering an unobstructed view of my chaffed proboscis, a proud rocket thrusting toward the sky.
Cullen Fu Hanson laughed, his straight teeth agleam against his dark skin. He tucked his club beneath one arm and slapped his hands together. The wide palms made a popping sound as he began to applaud. Everyone (even Ace, who is too cool) joined in. Scarecrow's face darkened from cherry punch to roasted eggplant.
“S-snot-nosed p-punk!” he sputtered. “Geek! Nerd!”
“Pleased to meet you,” I answered, bowing. “Stephen J. Wyatt, at your service.”
Chapter Four
“Why you little—” Scarecrow lunged, putter swept high. “That nose of yours is history. A goner. A whoosher!”
I didn't know what a “whoosher” was, but I caught his drift.
I stepped backward—
tripped—
and tumbled into the Swamp.
Two inches of tepid green slime seeped over my body. My head lay cradled in the grin of Crikey the Crocodile. His gaping maw smelled of rotting algae and Trix cereal that's been soaking in rotting algae.
Clubs raised, Scarecrow and his cronies loomed, blotting out the sun.
I clenched my eyes. Waited for the excruciating impact.
“
Stephen!”
Hayley cried.
Wow
, I thought in a haze of fetid fumes.
She cares.
“Nuff already,” said Cullen Fu Hanson.
I peeked through one eye. Cullen had grabbed the toe of Scarecrow's club. Scarecrow clung to the handle. The two of them engaged in a brief tug-o'-war. I say brief because if Scarecrow hung on much longer, he'd lose an arm.
“Why, boddah you?” Cullen asked.
Scarecrow scowled. “You bet it bothers me. And if you don't let go, I'll tell Coach you threatened me! With your black record—”
Cullen opened his massive paw, releasing the club. Scarecrow almost keeled over, clutching his prize. The team snickered.
I tried to ooze from the swamp, but Crikey the Crocodile's lone tooth snagged my ear.
“
What is going on here
?”
The question blared like a trumpet. The cavalry, at last! I recognized the scent of Mr. Barker's coconut sunscreen.
“Hello down there, Steve. Welcome home!” he said, his voice filling with easy warmth. “What's this, first day back and already lying around on the job? And for this I pay you the big bucks?” He laughed, jingling coins in his pocket.
“Yep, you sure do,” I said, forcing a smile. I moved to sit up, but Crikey's tooth bit deeper. My head whirled with pain. The faded palm trees on Mr. Barker's aloha shirt danced a hula.
“Are you all right? What happened to your nose?” Mr. Barker faced Scarecrow & Co. “Gentlemen, I'll ask once more:
What is going on here
?”
Scarecrow smoothed his scowl. “Nothing, sir,” he said. “My teammates and I were just playing a few holes, when this punk—”
Mr. Barker held up a hand. “This
punk
happens to be a valued employee at Gadabout.”
(I was, in fact, the
only
employee.)
“I meant no disrespect, sir. This
youngster
charged at me with—”
“If you've hurt him . . .” Mr. Barker's words trailed a threat.
“We didn't do anything to him,” Scarecrow insisted.
“Yet,” Ace murmured.
“Zey meant to tenderize Sneeze like zee tough steak!” Pierre said. “To mince 'im like zee onion! To crack 'im like zee egg! To—”
“Is this true, Peach?” Mr. Barker asked.
Hayley blinked. Her lips parted, but no sound came out.
“In addition,” announced a voice behind me, “they were whacking balls hither and yon, a most dangerous form of amusement.”

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