Mind If I Read Your Mind? (5 page)

It took a while for Mr. Wallwetter's class to settle down. The kids were buzzing about what an incredible feat Billy had pulled off. Everyone had a million questions.

“Have you always been psychic? Do you talk to dead people? Can you tell what I'm thinking right now?” they all asked at once.

The buzzing continued until Mr. Wallwetter put an end to it by rapping three times on the edge of his desk with a ruler. That was his signal that everyone had to be quiet or he'd start writing names on the board. If you got your name on the board more than three times, you got sent to detention. Mr. Wallwetter did not like a noisy classroom.

“You should have your own TV show,” Ava Daley whispered to Billy.

“I could loan you my cape and turban,” offered Miles Galbraith. “I was a mind reader last Halloween.”

“Thanks, guys, but I'm not good enough to be on TV,” Billy whispered back modestly, though he was secretly thrilled with all the praise. His speech had done exactly what he'd hoped it would. His classmates were impressed. Very impressed.

Mr. Wallwetter put down his ruler and continued with the presentations, but everyone agreed that the rest of the SOC speeches couldn't compare to Billy's. Alex Flannigan demonstrated how to shoot a bow and arrow, but since Mr. Wallwetter did not permit him to use an actual arrow, he had to use an unsharpened pencil, which immediately slipped off the bowstring, flopped into the wastebasket, and disappeared. Reshma Patel demonstrated how to make an Indian curry, but her eyes watered so much when she shook the cayenne chili powder into the mixing bowl that she had to be excused to go to the girls' bathroom to splash water on her face. When she returned half an hour later, her eyes were as red as the cayenne pepper.

The other demonstrations were more average than average. Cecilia Gomez showed how to crochet a miniature cow, which looked more like a squirrel without a tail. Stephen Lowry did a Rollerblading demonstration up and down the aisles until he crashed into Mr. Wallwetter's model solar system, splitting Saturn in half. Jenny Yee showed the class how she puts in and takes out her contact lenses, which went fine until looking at her inner eyelids made Bobby Belenchia so nauseous he had to put his head between his knees.

The biggest surprise was Ricardo Perez's demonstration. Since he was the star player on the baseball team, Billy was positive that he would demonstrate his batting techniques or his knuckleball pitch. Instead, Ricardo showed the class how to make a carrot raisin salad. And when he passed out samples to the class, Billy was amazed at how delicious it was. Ruby Baker did something equally amazing when she showed everyone how she warmed up for cross-country or track and field events. She was so flexible that when she twisted herself around in her bright yellow warm-ups, she looked like a pretzel covered in mustard.

The lowest point of the hour was Rod Brownstone's demonstration of how to crawl behind enemy lines without becoming a blip on the radar screen. He slithered along the classroom floor like a reptile, and no one could see him unless they stood up, which no one bothered to do. There was one positive outcome of his demonstration — he did leave the classroom floor a lot cleaner. He even managed to pull a stuck piece of gum off the linoleum. A bunch of the girls snickered at the gum and dirt and grime on his belly. But in his usual overconfident manner, he strutted by them and said, “You're laughing now, but wait until I take first place in the finals.”

That wasn't going to happen, though, because Mr. Wallwetter selected the three finalists right then and there. They were Ricardo, Ruby, and none other than … yes … Billy Broccoli!

Billy was overjoyed. On his way out of class, all the kids gave him a fist bump and told him how great his speech was. Everyone wanted to know how he did the mind reading, and for a fleeting second, he felt a little guilty. But the feeling didn't last long because everything he ever wanted at Moorepark Middle School was happening.

Ricardo invited him to sit with the baseball team at lunch, not as the assistant scorekeeper who sat on the end of the bench, but next to him, as the cool guy who had amazed their class. Michael Andrews said that maybe they could catch a movie sometime, especially if Billy could tell him the ending before they actually saw it. Reshma Patel asked him to dinner at her family's Indian restaurant, and said she was sure her father would give him free chicken tikka masala if he would do a little mind-reading demonstration for their customers.

Billy felt great, like he belonged and was finally being accepted. He couldn't wait to tell the Hoove.

In the hall on the way to math, he passed Breeze, who was standing at her locker with Ruby's sister, Sofia, and the other members of her band, the Dark Cloud. Word of Billy's dazzling feat had traveled fast, but Breeze couldn't believe that the amazing Billy everyone was talking about was the same Billy who made frog noises in the shower.

“Look who's here, the new school hero,” she said, stepping away from her friends. “How did you manage that?”

“I have my talents,” Billy said. “You don't know every single detail about me.”

“Well, the one detail I do know is that you're not a mind reader.” Breeze turned back to her locker and popped it open. Billy blinked twice when he looked inside. There, hanging on the coat hook next to Breeze's red velvet hat was Hoover Porterhouse. That guy was everywhere.

“I don't suppose you want to tell her the truth,” he said to Billy. “That it's me who's the mind reader. Me who should be the new school hero.”

Breeze sniffed the air. The pungent smell of oranges wafted out of her locker. Sofia shot her a strange look.

“Smells like somebody's orange juice carton sprung a leak,” she said.

“That's not possible,” Breeze answered. “I didn't pack any orange juice in my lunch.”

Hoover Porterhouse laughed. “I love driving the girls crazy,” he said. “It's what I do best. Other than mind reading, that is.”

Breeze, who was a little embarrassed by the aroma coming from her locker, slammed the door shut.

“By the way,” she said to Billy, “I'd appreciate it if you could make yourself scarce after school today. Sofia and I are working on some new songs for the band, and sixth-grade brothers are not invited.”

“Oh, he can come,” Sofia said. “Maybe he'll show us some of that fancy mind reading he does.”

“No, he can't come,” Breeze insisted. “I have dibs on the basement.”

“That's fine with me,” Billy said. “It's important for everyone's mental health that we keep your music down there anyway. Last time you hit that high note on your guitar, you nearly broke every glass in the kitchen cupboard.”

Billy heard a hollow voice shouting at him from inside Breeze's locker.

“Turn around, Billy Boy,” the Hoove called out. “You're going to like what you see.”

Billy whipped around and saw Ruby approaching him with that great contagious smile of hers.

“I have a good idea,” she said to Billy. “Want to hear it?”

“My ears are ready.”

“How about if the three of us get together after school today?” she suggested. “You and me and Ricardo. We can plan how we're going to work together at the SOC finals on Monday. I was thinking maybe we start by introducing each other.”

“That's a great idea, Ruby,” Breeze said. “But our house is off-limits after school.”

“Well, we can't do it at my house,” Ruby said. “Our dad is working at home today and he needs quiet. I talked to Ricardo, and his mom has a cold and doesn't want anyone over. So that leaves your house.”

“Which is not available,” Breeze stated firmly.

“Don't let her get away with that,” the Hoove yelled, sticking his head through the metal locker door and meeting Billy eye to eye. “It's
our
house, too. Let her stay downstairs. We'll take the upstairs. You guys can practice in the kitchen or in the living room or on the ceiling. Oh, wait, I'm sorry. That's just me.”

Billy nodded at the Hoove and turned to Ruby.

“We'll do it at my house,” he said. “Breeze and the band can practice in the basement. There's plenty of room upstairs, and if the music gets too bad, we can wear earplugs.”

“Great,” Ruby said. “Let's meet at four o'clock. Sofia and I will walk over together. If you see Ricardo, let him know the plan.”

She turned and headed down the hall, looking like a bouncing lemon drop in her yellow sweats. Billy couldn't believe this was all happening. The SOC finals on Monday. An after-school rehearsal with Ruby and Ricardo. A hall full of kids passing by and shouting out their respect. As the bell rang and he raced off to math class, he told himself that this was a day to remember.

Billy hurried home after school, his mind overflowing with ideas. It was his first official after-school get-together with his new friends, and he wanted everything to be perfect. He had decided to make three different kinds of peanut butter snacks — peanut butter on celery, peanut butter on round sesame crackers, and peanut butter on thickly sliced bananas. Ruby and Ricardo would be there at four o'clock and he had a lot of peanut butter to spread before then.

He ran the last block to his house and unlatched the back gate, making his way to the kitchen door. As he passed the big oak tree in his yard, he heard the whistling sounds of “I've Been Working on the Railroad” coming from the top branches. That was the Hoove's favorite song, the one he whistled when he was trying to make himself visible. Billy looked up and saw one transparent arm dangling down from a branch.

“Where's the rest of you, Hoove? That looks really weird.”

“I wouldn't be so quick to judge,” the arm answered. “Materialization is not an easy process to master. It takes a special kind of concentration, and I'm a little distracted by that squawking blue jay over in Mrs. Pearson's yard.”

“Mrs. Pearson's yard is five houses away.”

“And there lies another difference between you and me. I can hear things up to a mile away, where you humans only hear what you want to hear. This particular blue jay is in a very bad mood and he's getting on my nerves. Somebody should throw him a worm and shut him up.”

“Listen, Hoove, I'm in a hurry. I've only got fifteen minutes before Ricardo and Ruby arrive, and I have a lot to do. I could really use your help cleaning up my room.”

“What do I look like, your personal butler?”

“Actually, you look like an arm, which is creepy.”

Suddenly, the Hoove's whole body appeared. He lay stretched out lazily on the tree limb. His hat rested on a stubby offshoot of the branch, and his dark hair was coiffed in perfect movie star style.

“I think your little insult did the trick,” he said. “Focused my energy and presto, here I am in all my glory.”

“Good, now could you please get your glory in the house? I want to rehearse there. It's bad enough that I'll have to explain the pink furniture and rainbows on the walls. I don't want to have to apologize for a mess, too. I hope you can get it looking decent in fifteen minutes.”

“Are you kidding me? If I flipped into hyperglide, I could have that room in tip-top shape in less than fifteen seconds. Faster than you can say the alphabet backward.”

“Great!”

“That is, if I'm in the mood. I just said I
could
do it, I didn't say I
would
.”

As soon as those words left the Hoove's mouth, a large blackbird with fierce orange eyes shot from the sky. It flew directly over the Hoove's head, let out a caw that sounded like “Help him!” and then released a large goop of poop, which landed squarely on top of the Hoove's movie star hair.

Billy roared with laughter, but the Hoove wasn't amused. He looked up into the sky.

“Was that really necessary?” he called to the Higher-Ups. “You could have asked me nicely.”

The bird circled overhead one more time, keeping its eyes focused on him.

“Okay,” he said. “I'll clean the kid's room. But this better get me a good grade in Helping Others, because I definitely do not appreciate bird waste.”

“Just put everything away in drawers,” Billy explained. “Pile the papers neatly on my desk, make the bed, and if it's not too much trouble, there's a vacuum cleaner in the hall closet.”

“You want me to vacuum? Whoa, now you've stepped over the line.” Then he looked up at the clouds and shouted, “You can send all the poop bombs you want. The Hoove does not vacuum. That's Rule Number Two Hundred Seventy-Eight. Oh, and while we're at it, Rule Number Two Hundred Seventy-Nine. I don't do windows, either.”

Billy raced into the kitchen and got busy. He wished he had earplugs to drown out Breeze and her drummer, Brittany Osborne, who were already down in the basement working on a new song. They called it a song, but to Billy it sounded like one of them had hit her finger really hard with a hammer. At least he had the kitchen all to himself. He took the peanut butter and crackers out of the cupboard and a knife out of the drawer. The celery was in the refrigerator and the bananas were in a bowl on the counter. While he got to work slicing, dicing, and spreading, the Hoove flipped into hyperglide and zoomed down the hall into Billy's room.

From the Brownstone house next door, Rod's younger sister, Amber, stared out the living room window. She got up and pressed her face against the glass.

“Hey look,” she said. “There are clothes flying through the air in Billy Broccoli's room. They look like rockets.”

Rod Brownstone was watching afternoon cartoons on TV and eating Flamin' Hot Cheetos dipped in extra hot sauce. He was also drinking a lot of water because his lips were on fire. He didn't even look up from the TV.

“You should really look at this, Rod,” Amber said. “Wow, now the bedspread is floating across the room like a magic carpet.”

Her brother grunted.

“Right, and I suppose Aladdin and the beautiful princess will be all kissy wissy smoochy on the magic carpet. Get a grip, Toad Breath. Your girly imagination is so annoying.”

“Okay,” Amber said. “I guess you don't want to see his bed bouncing up and down like a trampoline, either.”

“What I want is for you to go away so I can watch my cartoons in peace.” Rod popped another Cheeto in the hot sauce and turned his back on one of the most amazing sights Amber had ever seen.

By the time the front doorbell rang, Billy had finished making the peanut butter snacks and putting them on a platter decorated with seashells. He ran to the front door where Ruby and Sofia were waiting. Sofia carried her bass guitar in a black case covered with stickers from cities she had never been to. Before Billy could even say hi to Ruby, Breeze came up from behind, pushed right by him, and pulled Sofia into the house.

“It's so great you're here,” she said, practically flattening Billy to the wall. “Brittany's already downstairs. She brought her drum pads over, and her beats inspired me to write some new lyrics. We can't wait to hear what you think.”

Breeze and Sofia hurried into the kitchen. Just before they headed down the stairs to the basement, Breeze spotted the platter with Billy's peanut butter snacks.

“Hey, look what Billy made for us,” she said, grabbing a few bite-size pieces.

“Billy did not make them for you,” Billy said, following them into the kitchen with Ruby close behind. “And please leave the rest alone.”

“Oh really?” Breeze said. “Seems to me that when you blend a family, you also blend everything that is edible, including but not limited to, all peanut butter products.”

“I made those for my friends, Breeze. You could have thought ahead and made something for your friends.”

“We're musicians, not food handlers,” she answered with a mouthful of celery. “Come on, Sofia. Brittany is waiting. Besides, this stress isn't good for my creative process.” Just before she started down the basement stairs, she turned around, opened her mouth wide, showing Billy the mush of half-chewed celery bits stuck together with peanut butter on her tongue, and said something that sounded like, “Do you want it back?”

“Yes, I do,” Billy said, just to be contrary. “You can put it on a paper towel over there.”

Ruby burst out laughing. She didn't have any brothers, so there was never talk of already-been-chewed food in her house. Over the sound of her laughter, Billy heard the chimes of the doorbell, which played “La Cucaracha,” an old Mexican folk song. He was embarrassed that their doorbell wasn't regular, but then nothing about this old ranchero house was. Why couldn't their doorbell go
ding-dong
like everybody else's in the neighborhood?

“Sorry about the weird doorbell,” Billy apologized when he opened the door for Ricardo.

“Are you kidding me, man? It's so cool. My grandmother used to sing me to sleep with that song. It worked until I found out that
la cucaracha
means cockroach. What kid wants to fall asleep dreaming of cockroaches?”

Billy led Ricardo into the kitchen, where Ruby waited for them. They sat down at the table and dug into the remaining snacks.

“We should probably lighten up on these,” Ricardo said, “if we're going to practice our speeches. It's hard to talk with peanut butter in your mouth.”

“Just one more before we start,” Ruby said.

Billy picked up the platter to offer Ruby another snack of her choice. Just as she was taking one, he noticed a peanut butter cracker leave the plate and float by itself under the table. Pretending to have dropped something, Billy peeked underneath the table. Sure enough, there was the Hoove, holding the cracker up to his nose.

“What are you doing?” he whispered, dropping to his knees and crawling under the table. “You can't even eat.”

“I know,” said the Hoove, “but I love the smell of peanut butter. I couldn't resist.”

Before Billy could answer, Ricardo stuck his head under the table. “What'd you drop?” he asked.

“Oh … a … cracker,” Billy said, turning quickly away from the Hoove. “My mother gets crazy if I leave crumbs behind.”

“That's right, Billy Boy, just ignore me,” the Hoove called, his tone a little irritated. “I'm only your best friend.”

Without even a glance, Billy snatched the peanut butter cracker from his hand and turned to Ricardo. “Here it is. What do you say we get started?”

Billy stood quickly and pulled Ricardo up with him.

“Fine,” the Hoove called out. “Have fun with your new friends. Just think of me as your personal room cleaner-upper. If you need any more favors, you know where to find me.”

Billy sat down at the table and pulled out his notebook. Ruby was already writing down some suggestions in hers.

“I think I've worked out the order,” she said. “I'll go first, then Ricardo, then Billy. You should go last, Billy, since your demonstration is the most amazing.”

Before Ruby could go any further, the wail of a jarring guitar chord reverberated from the basement.

“Breeze,” Billy shouted down the stairs. “It sounds like a porcupine got caught in your guitar strings.”

“Get used to it,” Breeze shouted back. “How do you think music is made?”

“Definitely not like that!”

Ruby tried to go on with what she was saying, but the musical screeching continued. In fact, it got worse when Sofia started to sing in her high-pitched, off-key voice.

“Sofia,” Ruby screamed, “you sound like you're in pain.”

“I'm supposed to,” Sofia yelled back. “We're expressing the angst of being a teenage pebble in the driveway of life.”

Ruby rolled her eyes at Billy and Ricardo.

“She always says stuff like that.” Ruby shrugged. “My mom and I just pretend to understand.”

Billy couldn't take it anymore.

“Honestly, you guys,” he called into the basement. “Knock it off. We have a competition to win, and we need to practice without you screeching like a bunch of ghosts on Halloween.”

The Hoove popped up from under the table.

“I resent that remark,” he said. “I do not screech. People are always accusing us ghosts of howling and saying ‘BOO,' and I'd like to put an end to that rumor.”

“I wish,” Billy said, casting a glance toward the Hoove, “that
someone
would put an end to their rehearsal.”

“I can try,” Ricardo said.

“No, I didn't mean you.”

“Don't look at me,” Ruby said. “I don't want to go down there and face my sister, especially when she has a microphone in her hand.”

Billy shook his head and stared in the Hoove's general direction.

“Oh, so I guess that means me,” he said. “Okay, okay. Once again, Hoover Porterhouse to the rescue. It seems I'm good enough to save the day, but not quite good enough to sit here and sniff the essence of peanut butter with you and your new best friends. Fine, I know my place.”

And with that, he disappeared down the stairs to the basement, his ghostly form sliding down each step like a river of smoke.