Mind If I Read Your Mind? (4 page)

Billy was sound asleep in his pink desk chair, still clutching the stopwatch. The hours and hours he'd spent practicing the backward alphabet had worn him out so much that he couldn't even change into his pajamas or make it to the bed. He had just passed out in his chair, visions of letters spinning backward in his head.

The house was dark when the Hoove arrived, except for a small reading light next to Bennett Fielding's side of the bed. While his wife slept, he liked to stay up late reading articles about mild to moderate tooth decay. Just for fun, the Hoove tapped on Bennett's window. When Bennett looked up, he saw nothing and assumed it was the wind blowing one of the orange tree branches against the window.

The Hoove was feeling frisky so instead of floating in through one of the house walls as he usually did, he flew up to the roof and stood at the edge of the brick chimney. Holding his body straight as a pencil, he jumped feet-first down the chimney and shot to the bottom, landing in the fireplace. He stepped out and checked his look in the mirror over the mantel.

“Perfect as always,” he said to himself, snapping his suspenders with a confident air. “Hoover Porterhouse, you may be dead, but you are still the cat's pajamas.”

The Hoove drifted down the hall to Billy's room and, floating through the closed door, found Billy asleep in his chair. He checked the stopwatch in Billy's hand. It was stopped at exactly fourteen and three-quarters of a second.

“The kid actually did it,” he said to himself. “He's persistent. Boring, but persistent.”

He gave Billy a little poke in the ribs, but since he was not made up of matter, Billy couldn't feel it. So he promptly blew in his ear, startling Billy awake.

“Hey,” he said. “Why do you keep doing that?”

“I wanted to congratulate you. I see by the stopwatch that you did your alphabet thing in less than fifteen seconds. I don't know why you'd want to, but you made it.”

“I only did it once before I fell asleep. That doesn't mean I can do it again.”

“It doesn't matter, Billy Boy, because I can't let you continue. I am here to help, and in my official capacity, I have to tell you that this alphabet trick of yours is not something a live person should be caught dead doing.”

“I'm doing it anyway, Hoove. I have no choice. I was desperate for a project and I didn't hear any helpful suggestions coming out of your non-mouth.”

“Well, trust me on this, Billy Boy. If you stand up and do that thing, every kid in your class is going to think that you're one guy they don't want to get within ten feet of or that you'll bore them so much they'll fall asleep facedown in their cheese burrito.”

“You don't know what they'll be thinking,” Billy answered. “What are you, a mind reader?”

“As a matter of fact, that is one of the many talents I possess. But with a twist. My friend Ezra and I used to pretend we could read each other's minds to impress the ladies. Once when we were at the Fried Chicken Basket Social, I held my hands up to my head and told Madge Perkins that Ezra was sending me messages from —”

The Hoove suddenly stopped talking and his face lit up like a lightbulb had gone off in his head.

“Wait a minute, Billy Boy. This is genius. I've got to kiss myself.” The Hoove actually leaned over and planted a kiss on each of his knees.

Billy scratched his head. “I don't get it, Hoove. What in the world are you talking about?”

“Your speech tomorrow … for, you know, that shoelace competition thing.”

“Can't you get anything right? It's not called the shoelace competition. It's the SOC. As in Speak Out Challenge.”

“Shoelaces, socks, what's the difference. They both go on the feet. What's important is that I just got an idea that's going to get you a first-place medal … or whatever there is to win.”

“Better than reciting the alphabet backward in less than fifteen seconds?”

“Trust me, Billy Boy, this is not just the best idea in the world. It is interplanetarial. What you are going to demonstrate, with the help of a certain fascinating ghost I know, is your ability to read another person's mind, just like Ezra and I used to do.”

“Hoove, that is impossible. I can't read minds.”

“That
was
so true, Billy, until you met me. I am your vision into other people's thoughts. All you have to do is stand up in front of the class, ask a question, and listen carefully.”

“Listen to what?”

“To
me
, my friend. Don't you see? I'm going to be there, being the eyes behind your head. Your audience can't see me, but I can see them and tell you what I'm seeing.”

“Wait a minute. That's cheating.”

“And your point is?”

“I don't know about how it was in your day, but nowadays kids get in big trouble for cheating.”

“If they get caught,” the Hoove shot back. “And might I remind you, Mr. Small Thinker, you will be the only one who can see me or hear me. Are you going to turn yourself in? I don't think so. Once again, Hoover Porterhouse the Third has come up with a foolproof plan. As in, you win.”

Billy thought about what the Hoove was suggesting. Little by little, he felt his hesitation about cheating melt away as it was replaced with an image of his victory. He saw himself standing in Mr. Wallwetter's class, with thirty-four sets of eyes on him. He would wow them with his ability to read their minds. Sure, it was a trick, but did that really matter? For a brief and shining moment, he would be a winner. He could actually see the possibility of triumph flash before his eyes.

And he liked it. He liked it very much.

“Who wants to go first?” Mr. Wallwetter said as soon as the bell rang. His intense eyes scanned the classroom like an eagle searching for a big, fat snake to eat. “Do we have a volunteer?”

“I nominate Cheese Sauce here,” Rod Brownstone blurted out, pointing to Billy with his beefy index finger. Some of the kids in the class snickered, but Billy ignored them. Growing up with the last name of Broccoli, he had gotten very good at ignoring cheese sauce jokes.

“How about it, Billy?” Mr. Wallwetter said. “Want to be our first speaker in the Speak Out Challenge? SOC it to 'em, if you get my pun!”

Billy gulped. The Hoove still hadn't shown up, and without him, Billy's new speech wouldn't work. The Hoove was now the main ingredient in his mind-reading demonstration. Billy was going to have to stall until he arrived … that is, if he ever
did
arrive. He hoped the Hoove wasn't pulling another disappearing act like he'd done the night before.

“Thanks so much for the offer, Mr. Wallwetter,” Billy said, using his most charming voice and sociable smile, “but I'd rather go last, if that works for you.”

“It doesn't,” Mr. Wallwetter answered tartly, tugging on his skinny little mustache.

“Then how about next to last? I can make that work.”

“Come right up to the front of the class now, Billy,” Mr. Wallwetter said in a way that didn't leave room for argument. “Show us all your demonstration.”

Billy looked around desperately for signs of the Hoove, hoping that he had floated in and was hovering somewhere above the fluorescent lights. No such luck. Billy's heart raced with a combination of anger and nerves. The Hoove had sworn he'd be there when the opening bell rang. Promised. On his honor.

“The Hoove's Rule Number One Hundred Forty-Three,” he had declared just that morning. “When you count on the Hoove, you can count on the Hoove.”

Yeah, right
, Billy thought.
I'd do better counting on my fingers and toes.

As Billy shuffled reluctantly to the front of the class, Rod made farting sounds with his mouth in time to Billy's steps. Mr. Wallwetter didn't seem to notice, though. He was busy writing Billy's name on the board, along with the topic Billy had handed him just before class.

A DEMONSTRATION OF MIND READING BY WILLIAM C
.
BROCCOLI
.

“Check it out,” Brownstone snorted. “I bet that
C
stands for
Cheese Sauce
.”

“Honestly, Rod, why don't you knock it off already,” Ruby whispered to him. “It wasn't even funny the first time.”

Billy smiled at Ruby and she smiled back.
Enjoy it while you can
, he thought. In about two minutes, that great smile of hers was going to vanish when he made a total dork of himself trying to demonstrate mind reading and coming up with zippo.

“Are you ready, Billy?” Mr. Wallwetter asked, putting down the chalk and walking over to his desk.

“We were born ready, weren't we, Billy Boy?” came a ghostly voice from the back of the room. Billy looked up and there, sailing through the door in his hyperglide mode, was Hoover Porterhouse!

“I was about to give up on you, pal,” Billy said aloud before he could stop himself.

Mr. Wallwetter, not knowing there was a ghost in the room, thought Billy was addressing him.

“Well, I'll never give up on you, pal,” he whispered, coming over to Billy and giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Show us what you got, young man.”

“Let's do this,” the Hoove said. “We're going to make their heads spin.”

And just to emphasize the point, he made his own head spin, doing exactly eleven three-sixty turns in one second flat.

Billy took a breath and began, just as he and the Hoove had practiced all night.

“Many people think mind reading is a mysterious art, but for me, it has always come naturally,” he said. “Just by looking deeply at someone, I can tell what they're thinking.”

“You know what I'm thinking, Cheese Sauce?” Rod shouted out. “I'm thinking your demonstration is going to stink up the place.”

“That does it,” Hoover said to Billy, his ghostly face turning red with anger. “We're going to put this mega-mouth in his place. Just watch what I can do.”

The Hoove zipped to Rod's desk and peered over his shoulder. Rod's notebook was open to his English divider, but hidden in back of the first page, right under a practice paragraph on the proper use of semicolons, was a copy of
Modern Law Enforcement
magazine. The Hoove moved in closer to see exactly what Rod was reading. Rod shivered, never suspecting for a moment that the cold breeze he felt was caused by the presence of a ghost.

“Oh yeah, I got gold here,” the Hoover hollered to Billy. “This knucklehead is actually reading an article on how close you can park to fire hydrants. Can you believe people write articles about that?”

Billy smiled. This was just the piece of information he needed.

“Let's use Rod Brownstone as an example,” he continued. “It looks to everyone like Rod is thinking about the Speak Out Challenge. Is that right, Mr. Brownstone?”

“You got it, Snooze Head,” Rod answered.

Billy closed his eyes and suddenly put his hands to his temples.

“I am concentrating on your thoughts,” he chanted. “Send me your thoughts, Rod Brownstone.”

“You are so lame,” Rod snickered.

With great drama, Billy opened his eyes wide, and stared at Rod as if he had just seen a ghost (which, by the way, he actually had).

“Aha,” he said. “I see your thoughts. You are thinking about … about … fire hydrants!”

Everyone laughed.

“My dog thinks about fire hydrants, too,” Amanda Bickman said. “Just before he pees on them.”

“Very funny,” Rod said. He wasn't laughing at all.

Billy grabbed his head again, even more dramatically than the first time.

“Shhhh,” he whispered. “I am inside the brain of Rod Brownstone. His thoughts are racing toward my mind. Getting louder. Taking over my own thoughts. Coming closer … closer … closer …”

Suddenly, Billy threw back his head with a snap.

“I have it!” he cried out. “Rod, you are thinking about fire hydrants and how close you can legally park to one without getting a ticket.”

Everyone laughed again. They all knew Rod enjoyed law enforcement, but no one suspected how totally obsessed he was. It was preposterous to think that anyone at Moorepark Middle School would concern himself with the rules and regulations involved in parking near fire hydrants. They weren't even old enough to drive a car, let alone park one.

“Yeah, right,” Rod said. “Fire hydrant parking. Like that's something I think about.”

The Hoove got really close to Rod and, with a sudden movement, knocked his notebook off his desk. It fell on the floor, and the issue of
Modern Law Enforcement
dropped out, open to the article about fire hydrant parking.

“Look at what he's reading,” Amanda said, picking up the magazine article and holding it up to the class. “It's about fire hydrants!”

Everyone in class gasped. And so did Mr. Wallwetter.

“Billy, that's amazing,” Amanda said, uttering out loud what the others were thinking.

Rod's face turned bright red, his expression a combination of anger and embarrassment. He grabbed the magazine and stuffed it back into his notebook.

“How'd you do that, Cheddar Breath?” he growled, squinting at Billy with his beady, suspicious eyes.

“Very well,” Billy answered with a mysterious smile.

And giving a little thumbs-up to the Hoove, Billy took his seat as the class applauded.

“Thank you very much,” the Hoove said, taking an invisible bow. With a jaunty wave of his cap, he did a backflip in the air, and zoomed effortlessly out of the window.