I'm Going to Be Famous (5 page)

Mr. Dayton looked at me really hard and twitched his mustache again.

“Arlo,” he said, “I don't see anything wrong with trying to break a world record.”

I think I probably let out a big sigh then.

“But,” Mr. Dayton said, “I can't help but wonder why you really want to do it.”

That seemed a plain fact to me: I want to do it so I can be in the
Guinness Book of World Records.
I'll be Arlo Moore, world-famous banana-eater extraordinaire. I'll be on TV. I'll be in the movies. I'll win my bets.

“Arlo,” Mr. Dayton said.

“Yes sir, Mr. Dayton,” I replied.

“Think about why you are doing this. OK?”

That sounded easy enough. I've already thought about it enough to turn an apple brown.

“And don't let this interfere with your schoolwork,” he added.

That didn't sound easy. But I figured I could manage to pay better attention in class. And if I never talk to Murray the Nerd again, that would be too soon.

CHAPTER 11

“That's including the skins and seeds.”

—
B
EN
H
AMILTON

Lincoln Elementary School's cafeteria is big enough to hold one hundred and eighty students. It's Wednesday, hot-dog day, and I'm standing in the middle of the cafeteria looking for an empty seat. There aren't any.

The
Guinness Book of World Records
says that Linda Kuerth ate twenty-three hot dogs without rolls in three minutes, ten seconds. All the kids I see around me are eating and talking at the same time. I wonder if Linda Kuerth could talk and eat hot dogs at the same time.

“Over here, Arlo. We can squeeze you in.”

It's Ben. You can always count on a friend to make room for you.

“Thanks, Ben. I was beginning to think I might have to eat standing up,” I say as I move over to sit down.

“My mom does that,” Ben says matter-of-factly.

“Really?”

“Yeah, she stands by the kitchen counter, reads the paper, and eats a bowl of cereal every morning,” Ben says. “She thinks that eating standing up makes it easier for her to go to work. She sits behind a desk all day.”

“That's pretty weird, Ben.”

“Yeah, I tried it once and dumped a whole bowl of milk and Super Coated Krinkles on my shoes.”

Super Coated Krinkles, milk, and soggy socks. I can see Ben now.

“Guess what, Arlo?” he asks.

“What?”

“I went to the library and checked out the latest edition of the
Guinness Book of World Records.The
guy who puts all those records together in the book is named Norris McWhirter. He lives in England. It gives his address and everything. Let's write him a letter.”

I'm inspecting my tuna sandwich. Mom always packs me a tuna sandwich.

“Write a letter? What for?” I want to know.

Ben puts down his peanut butter and jelly sandwich and looks at me in disbelief.

“What for? To get information, that's what for. We need to know if there are any special rules to this world-record business. We need to know how we prove that you really broke a record. We need to know whether you can peel the bananas before the two minutes start. We need to know—”

“OK, Ben, OK. I get the message.”

“
And
we need to know if the lemons can have sugar on them.”

I think I must have missed something somewhere.

“Lemons with sugar on them? What are you talking about?” I ask. “I'm going to eat bananas, not lemons.”

“I know that, Arlo.
I'm
going to eat the lemons. Three lemons cut into quarters in less than fifteen point two seconds. That's including the skin and seeds. I'll be in the
Guinness Book of World Records,
too.”

I need to get this straight.

“Do you mean you're going to try to break the world record for eating lemons?”

“Yep,” Ben says with a grin.

“Including the skin and seeds?” I ask.

“Yep,” he says with an even bigger grin.

“That makes my teeth curl just thinking about it,” I say.

“You eat bananas. I eat lemons.”

Ben's voice gets squeakier when he's excited.

“We'll set world records on the same day—September twenty-fourth. How about it?”

It might be nice to have some company on my lone quest for fame and glory. At least Ben believes in me.

“OK, Ben. Let's go for it. You and me, buddy, Seagrove, Oregon's first entries into the famous
Guinness Book of World Records. We're
going to be famous!”

CHAPTER 12

“Let me know if I can help.”

—
L
AURA
M
C
N
EIL

It's funny, but last year I considered girls to be one of the things in life you just have to put up with, like rain on your birthday, a younger sister, or cough syrup.

But this year it's different. It's like I caught some strange, exotic disease over the summer. All of a sudden, girls are very interesting to me. I think that maybe I've spent too much time with big brother John. Next thing you know, I'll be pretending I shave and start using scented underarm deodorant.

But whatever the reason, I can't help the way I feel. Every time I get around Laura McNeil, my face turns hot like I'm hanging upside down. And I start bumping into things and forget how to talk.

Laura McNeil … I get goose bumps just thinking about her. She's new in town. She's in Mr. Dayton's class. She sits right in front of me. And she's
beautiful.

“OK, Arlo, we're almost ready,” Ben says.

Ben has a very serious look on his face. He's thinking about training for a world record, not about girls. When I look at Laura McNeil, I see gorgeous blond hair, beautiful blue eyes, and a smile that makes me feel sort of dizzy. When Ben looks at Laura McNeil, all he sees is someone who has a brand-new digital wristwatch, complete with calendar, alarm, and a stopwatch button.

That's why I'm sitting across table number 4 in the Lincoln Elementary cafeteria from Laura McNeil right now. Ben asked her to time us on her new watch as we train for our world-record attempt. I'm supposed to sit here in front of the prettiest girl I've ever seen and stuff bananas in my mouth. I'm so nervous, I probably can't even talk, much less eat fast.

Laura looks right at me with those blue eyes.

“Hi, Arlo,” she says. “Tell me about this world-record attempt you and Ben are training for.”

My mouth is dry. My tongue feels like a sponge. I hope I don't say anything stupid.

“Yeth … uh … wrrr … wrrr …”

I've got to pull myself together. Maybe I should talk fast.

“We're going to try to set new world records,” I blurt out. “I'm going to eat seventeen bananas in less than two minutes. Ben will eat three whole lemons in less than fifteen point two seconds, including the skins and seeds.”

That was probably world-record talking speed. I wonder if Laura had her stopwatch going. At least I answered her question, though.

“That sounds exciting,” she says with a smile.

I think I just melted, dripped out of my seat, and am now a big puddle of Arlo Moore on the cafeteria floor.

“You think so? Really, Laura?”

“Yes, I do. I'm interested in setting a world record, too—in politics.”

“Politics?” I ask.

“Yes, I want to be the first woman president of the United States.”

She wants to be president of the United States? I watch the news. I know what kind of job being president of the United States is. It's the kind of job that turns healthy men into raisin cakes and smart people into flat tires. You've got to have lots of courage to do that job.

Hmm … our first woman president—Laura McNeil. I get more little goose bumps just thinking about it.

“OK, Arlo, we really
are
ready now,” Ben interrupts. He's fidgeting around with his lemons. He keeps standing up and then sitting down every couple of seconds. He's nervous. This is our first training session in front of a crowd. Table 4 is surrounded by kids waiting to see us perform. It's Friday, September 9, and we only have fifteen days before the big event.

I'm nervous, too—about Laura McNeil being here, and about performing in front of a crowd. I guess I haven't been practicing my Positive Brain Approach long enough to be cool, calm, and collected in a situation like this. If I'm going to be famous, I'd better learn how. Maybe a little PBA would help right now:

“I can, I can, I can, I can …”

“OK, you guys. I've got my watch set on zero,” Laura says.

My PBA seemed to help a little. But I need more. I need extra help. I need superpowers. If I were an alien from outer space, that would help. I could be Xexus, superalien, bionic banana-eater from the planet Zoidtron. I'd be from the outer reaches of the Milky Way galaxy. I would come to Earth disguised as a mild-mannered fifth-grader. No one would suspect that beneath this ordinary-looking exterior lurks the fantastic food-gulping talent of Xexus. Champion of the light-speed restaurants of the universe, hero of the macaroni-and-cheese intergalactic wars, leader of the Banana Revolution in deep space, I would stand (er, sit) ready to wow these inferior Earth children.

“I'll say, ‘Take your mark, get set, and then go,'” lovely Laura says.

But my problem is that I don't feel like Xexus from Zoidtron.

“Take your mark.”

And I don't look like Xexus from Zoidtron.

“Get set.”

But I've got to
be
Xexus from Zoidtron.

“And …”

For my planet and the universe, I, Xexus from Zoidtron, will excel.

“Go!” Laura commands us.

Five, four, three, two, one …
blast off.

“Yahoo! Go, Arlo! Go, Ben!” the crowd yells.

Down, luscious banana, down. I'm biting and gulping like a moose who loves chocolate.

“Five seconds,” Laura reports.

“Eat, eat, eat!”

The crowd is going wild. I'm almost done. The last bite is going … going.

“Nine seconds,” Laura says.

… and gone. The last bite hits belly bottom with a thud. Xexus from Zoidtron is full.

“Nice going, Arlo. Great job, Ben,” kids are saying as they pat us on the back. Laura looks at me with that smile that makes me dizzy.

“You finished in twelve point nine seconds,” she says. “Ben was right behind you. You know, you two just might get into the
Guinness Book of World Records.
Good job, you guys.”

“Thanks, Laura,” I say as once again I get goose bumps, feel hot in the face, and begin to melt.

“Sure, Arlo,” she says. “Let me know if I can help some other time.”

Burp … I think that I, Xexus from Zoidtron, am in love.

CHAPTER 13

“We're a team now.”

—
K
ERRY
M
OORE

It's against the rules to run down the pale green halls of Lincoln Elementary School. My friend Ben, however, has been able to get around this rule. He can run without really running.

When the bell rings at the end of the school day, Ben is usually the first one out of room 11. He shoots out into the hall like a cat out of a washing machine, and the action begins.

Mrs. Caldwell, our principal, plants herself in the center of the hall, outside her office door. She's short and wide, which makes her look a lot like a Japanese sumo wrestler with a dress on. Just her standing in the middle of the hall with a scowl on her face makes most kids slow down their headlong rush to be first in the bus line. But not Ben.

Ben moves down the hall like a sneaky roadrunner, his legs moving in quick little steps. His head and eyes don't bounce. His feet don't slap the linoleum floor. He just weaves his way through the crowd, expertly zipping in and out, and sneaks by Mrs. Caldwell with a smile on his face before she can figure out who it is that's moving so fast.
And
he can even talk while doing it.

“Hurry, Arlo,” he says as he rockets past me and slips in behind Mrs. Caldwell. “If we get in the bus line first, we can sit in the back seat.”

“Save me a place, Ben. I'm moving slow today. I want to conserve my strength for banana practice this afternoon.”

“OK, see you on the bus,” he yells over his shoulder.

Besides, I still feel like I swallowed a cannonball. One banana speed-eating practice was enough at lunch. I shouldn't have let the crowd talk me into doing it three more times.

But a famous person must sacrifice himself and go beyond the ordinary to prove his worth. Murray Wallace kept saying that I couldn't do it again that fast and that I'd never eat seventeen bananas in less than two minutes. I
had
to keep going. I ate the fourth banana in 10.4 seconds.

Speaking of Murray the Nerd, there he is. Wouldn't you know I'd have to stand behind him in bus line.

“Hi, Murray. Say something polite … please,” I say, trying to fake a smile.

“Oh, Arlo, it's you. I wanted to tell you how stupid your banana-eating show was at lunch today.”

It never fails. Murray will always be a nerd.

“Thanks, Murray. You're too kind,” I say and turn away.

“I'm curious, Arlo,” he says. “How does it feel to make yourself look like a slobbering pig in front of everybody?”

There are 200 million people in the United States of America.
Why
do I have to live in the same town as Murray the Nerd? The question that now confronts me is whether or not to argue with him. It's usually a waste of time, and I end up getting mad. I'm not sure I have the energy.

“You seemed to enjoy it, Arlo,” he continues. “You actually seemed to enjoy making a complete fool out of yourself in front of everybody.”