I'm Going to Be Famous (6 page)

Maybe I'll get some energy. Maybe I'll turn into Xexus from the planet Zoidtron and blast Murray into hyperspace.

“I know Laura McNeil thought it was disgusting. Don't you think she did, Arlo?”

“What do you mean by that, Murray?” I ask, turning to face him.

“I saw her,” he replies. “She was watching you cram bananas in your mouth like a starving monkey. And timing you! I'm sure she thought it was disgusting and dumb.”

Laura McNeil doesn't find me disgusting
or
dumb. She wanted to be my partner in science class this afternoon. She thinks it's exciting that I'm trying to break the world record.

“I guess it doesn't really matter, Arlo,” Murray says with a grin that makes my stomach twist. “I think she's interested in more of a man, anyway.”

“What?”

“You know, Arlo, more of a man—like me …”

I think I may get violent … either that or sick.

“… rather than someone who gets attention by cramming bananas in his mouth as fast as he can.”

I am losing my temper. I can feel my face getting hot. My fists are clenching.

“I wonder if Laura would like to meet me at the movies on Saturday afternoon. What do you think, Arlo?”

I'm a volcano about to erupt. I'm a tornado coming down from the clouds. I'm a tidal wave crashing toward the beach. I'm about to
ATTACK.

“Hi, Arlo. Say, you look red in the face. You feeling OK?”

It's my frizzy-headed sister.

“Don't bother me, Kerry. I'm about to commit unpardonable crimes upon Murray's head.”

Kerry looks at me and then over at Murray. My enemy has somehow slipped into the back of the bus line. He's out of my reach, but not for long.

“Out of the way, Kerry,” I order her with my best military voice. “Murray is under attack.”

“That sounds like a great idea. But first let me tell you the good news,” she says, stepping completely in front of me, barring the way.

“The good news? What good news?” I ask, without taking my eyes off my prey.

“The good news about breaking world records. I'm going to try, too!” She grins at me.

“What?”
I glare at her.

“And so is Mike.”

“Mike?”

“Yeah, you know, Mike Snead,” Kerry says. “He's just a fourth-grader, but he can eat like an elephant.”

She's looking up at me with her idiotic smile going full blast and her red hair shooting out in a thousand different directions.

“Kerry, please don't bother me right now,” I plead. “You're breaking my concentration.”

Where was I? Oh, yeah, ATTACK.

“What do you think. Arlo? Aren't you glad to have some company on your lonely quest for a world record?”

I can't believe this. Who invented little sisters anyway?

“Kerry,” I say with a sigh. “It's not a lonely quest for a world record anymore. Ben is doing it, too.”

“But wouldn't it be exciting to have some
more
company on your lonely quest?” she asks. “You know, sort of a team effort. You eating bananas, Ben eating lemons, Mike eating ice cream, and me chewing gum!”

“Kerry!” I almost shout.

“Yes, Arlo,” she replies with her big grin shining from ear to freckled ear.

“Can't you see I'm busy?”

“You're not busy,” she explains. “You're talking to me. I have your complete, undivided attention. You're excited about having Mike and me in on the Lincoln Elementary World Record team, remember? You're Arlo Moore, my wonderful brother, and you're
not
going to commit unpardonable crimes upon Murray Wallace's head, even though he deserves it.
Because
here comes our beloved principal, Mrs. Caldwell, who will chop you into little pieces and send you air mail to Mom and Dad if you do.”

Good grief. How can I zap Murray the Nerd into hyperspace with all of these distractions?

“You do see Mrs. Caldwell, don't you, Arlo?” she asks.

“Yes”, I answer, “I see her.”

“Good,” Kerry says with an even bigger grin. “The buses are here. It's time to go. Just ignore Murray. He's not worth the effort. Save your energy for banana-eating. By the way, you don't mind if Mike and I come over to Ben's for practice this afternoon, do you? Of course, you don't.”

This is all I need: a spaghetti-headed sister who can't stop her motor-mouth.

“We're a team now, Arlo, one big, happy, world-record-breaking family! Isn't this
exciting?
”

“Yeah … sure, Kerry. I'm tingling all over.”

CHAPTER 14

“Melon seeds?”

—
M
ICHELLE
A
NGIER

Ben and I put on regular training performances in the cafeteria. We've been doing it for a week now. Despite what Murray said, Laura McNeil times us on her digital watch. But I saw her talking to him at the playground yesterday. And Ben said that Andy Phillips said that Dawn Gunther said that Murray said that he sat beside her at the movies last Saturday. I don't know, but it all makes me churn inside.

So far this week, I've eaten thirty-seven bananas! That makes me churn inside, too. Kerry says I'm starting to turn yellow around my fingernails. John says I smell like a chimpanzee.

Ben has eaten so many lemons he walks around with his lips in a continuous pucker. He looks like one of those kissing fish in an aquarium. We're both improving our times, though.

Kerry and Mike Snead come to practice at Ben's garage every afternoon. Mike can really put away the ice cream. He ate a whole quart of mocha almond fudge in less than four minutes on Thursday. He's good. I've got to admit that. I guess I could eat pretty fast, too, if I had a belly as big as a snake that swallowed an elephant.

But then we looked up the record for icecream-eating in Ben's
Guinness Book of World Records
again. There's a picture of this guy. His name is Tony Dowdeswell. He ate three pounds, six ounces of unmelted ice cream in 50.04 seconds. That's three quarts.

I don't think Mike can do that. I told him what I thought. He told me that if Tony Dowdeswell could do it, so could he. Then he went home. He said he had a headache.

But as it turned out, Kerry ended up with the worst headache of all. We all figured she knew what she was talking about when she said that there is a world record for chewing gum. I should have known better. We discovered she hadn't even
looked
at the
Guinness Book of World Records.
We found out it has a paragraph in it about “potentially dangerous” things that aren't accepted for the record book anymore. It listed eating live ants, goldfish, marshmallows, raw eggs in the shell, or chewing gum, and riding bicycles.

I felt sorry for Kerry. She'd been at Ben's every day, chewing away like a cow at a scary movie. She was chewing so hard, her jaw got sore. She used the same gum. ABC gum—Already Been Chewed; over and over and over.

I must admit that her method for saving ABC gum was pretty creative. She would stick it on the inside of the lamp shade when she went to bed at night. Then, in the morning, she'd turn on the lamp and let the heat from the light bulb get her ABC gum warm and soft for chewing.

She almost started crying when she read the paragraph about “potentially dangerous” things. Then she went home and locked herself in the bathroom. Mom thought she might be getting sick, or maybe something terrible had happened at school to make her so depressed. That's one of the reasons Mom dropped us off at Papa Dietro's Pizza Parlor to pick up a pizza for tonight, and then went to get some ice cream for dessert. Mom can't read Kerry's mind as well as mine, but she knows that nothing cheers her up faster than one of Papa Dietro's super-supreme deluxe pizzas without anchovies, and vanilla ice cream for dessert.

Standing here at the counter, waiting to pay the cashier, I noticed the price went up another $1.25. I'm glad Mom gave me the money to pay for this. Training for a world record is expensive. It takes all of my weekly allowance. I can't afford pizza, now or later.

“Pssst, hey, Arlo,” Kerry whispers.

“Huh? What, Kerry?”

“Look over in the corner,” she says, obviously feeling better already.

Speaking of pizza, who should appear? None other than my big brother, John. And he's got Michelle with him. She sure is pretty. Dad says she has “sparkle.” I think that means he likes her. Maybe he thinks she can do something about John.
Somebody
needs to do something about John, that's for sure.

“Arlo, let's go over and say hello,” Kerry whispers. She can't resist spying on John.

“Let him alone, Kerry. He doesn't want you snooping around.”

“But Arlo, he might need some help,” she says, sipping a Coke.

When Kerry says “help,” what she really means is a hard time.

“He doesn't need your help, Kerry. Believe me. He can botch things on his own.”

“But we should at least go over and say hello. He
is
our brother, you know. C'mon, Arlo.”

Why am I so easily led astray?

“OK, Kerry, but just to say hello. And don't ask any dumb questions or talk too much.”

“Dumb questions? Talk too much? Me?”

“So, Arlo, how's the banana-eating going?” John asks.

“Arlo is doing great,” Kerry answers for me. “You should see him eat those bananas. Pow, pow, pow. They just fly into his mouth.”

“It's going OK,” I add quietly, wishing Kerry would shut up.

John and Michelle look at each other and smile. I think I see the “sparkle” Dad talks about. It's in her eyes. But why waste sparkle on John? That is one of the great mysteries in my life.

“You only have a couple of weeks before your world-record attempt, don't you?” Michelle asks. “Are you going to be ready, Arlo?”

“He'll be ready,” Kerry blurts out. “I'll be ready, too.”

What's this? Has she already forgotten about the gum?

“Ready for what?” John asks.

Kerry replies matter-of-factly. “I'm going to spit melon seeds for a world record.”

“Melon seeds?” John asks.

“Melon seeds?” Michelle asks.

“Melon seeds?” I ask.

Kerry is grinning from ear to ear. “Yep, melon seeds. They don't have gum-chewing records in the
Guinness Book of World Records,
but they do have melon-seed-spitting records: sixty-five feet, four inches!”

That's twice the length of room 11 at Lincoln Elementary School. I'll bet that's as long as 150 hot dogs laid out end to end.

“Kerry, do you know how far that is?” I ask.

“Sure, I know,” she says, looking at me as if that's the stupidest question I could have possibly thought of. “No problem. I can do it. You've always said I had a powerful mouth, right?”

John and Michelle are both giggling.

“Well, yeah,” I admit, “but—”

“So what better way to use a powerful mouth than for spitting melon seeds for a new world record?” Kerry says with a smile.

“But Kerry—”

“I'll be famous!”

“But Kerry—”

“I'll be in the
Guinness Book of World Records
!”

“But Kerry—”

“I'll be a hero, an idol, a tribute to my school, my city, my state, my country, the
world!
Just like you, Arlo.”

Kerry has lost contact with reality. I am an experienced banana-eater. She hasn't trained. She hasn't put in the years of practice. She doesn't understand the dedication, sacrifice, and pain it takes to be a hero. I, Xexus of Zoidtron, have special powers. I understand these things. I can be famous. I can break the world record. I will use PBA and my superalien powers. I will show everyone who's king. This honor belongs to
me
—and
me
alone, not Kerry.

“You can't do it,” I tell her.

She turns and faces me. There is not even a hint of a smile on her face.

“Why?” she asks with her hands on her hips.

“You don't have the powers. You just can't.”

“Can't?”

“Right, you can't do it,” I repeat.

“Can't?”

Kerry must be having trouble with her bionic ears.

“Yes, I can, Arlo, you turkey!”

She's not, however, having trouble with her bionic mouth.

“Quiet, Kerry,” I say, looking around to see if people are watching.

“Don't tell me to be quiet! Don't tell me I can't!” She glares at me.

Everyone is looking over at us. John keeps saying, “ssh, ssh.” Michelle looks embarrassed.

“I can do it, Arlo! Do you hear me?”

Kerry has gone off the deep end of the bathtub. She hasn't done this since she was in kindergarten and Mrs. De Witt told her she couldn't color the giraffe purple. It had to be yellow and brown.

“Yes, Kerry,” I say, “everyone in Papa Dietro's can hear you.”

“I can do it!”

She's banging on John and Michelle's table.

“I'm going to be famous!”

Their Cokes and pizza are jumping around on the bouncing table like they're made of rubber.

“I …!”

Bang, bang. There's no stopping her now.

“CAN …!”

Bang, bang. She just has to get this out of her system.

“DO IT!”

Bang, bang—
splash.
John and Michelle now have a twelve-inch supreme pizza topped with eight ounces of Coca-Cola and all of the ice from Michelle's cup.

And John is
mad.
“Now see what you've done, Arlo!”

“Me?”
I ask. “What do you mean, John?”

“You got her all worked up,” he fumes.

“She got
herself
worked up,” I fume back.

“But you started it. You and all this world-record baloney. You're both crazy,” he says, pointing at us. Michelle is wiping off the pizza with napkins. “Neither one of you can break a world record.”