Mr. Chickee's Messy Mission (4 page)

The cover of the dictionary flew open and Steven read on the copyright page, “
Whine, whine, whine
. Is there a point or question to all of this idle chatter, or is this merely a demonstration to show me what a pip-squeak ([PIP-
skweek
]
n
.
A contemptibly small or unimportant person, a twerp
) you have grown up to be, because believe me, you can stop, that point was made
long
ago.”

“Man!” Steven thought. “There's still no love in Dictionary Land.”

The letters on the copyright page rearranged themselves to say, “If it's love you're looking for, might I suggest checking out the phone book under ‘Therapists’ or tuning in to
Oprah
. If it's truth you seek, you've come to the right place.”

“Okay, then,” Steven said, “what should I do? I know as
soon as I ask for new business at the meeting today, Russell is going to introduce Richelle and then the battle for the presidency is going to begin. …”

The dictionary wrote, “Battle? Well, young Mr. Carter, if what you're referring to as a ‘battle’ is based on merit ([MER-
it
]
n. Something that deserves or justifies a reward
) or justice ([
JUS-tis
]
n. The quality of being just, righteous, fair
), then I think your calling this a ‘battle’ may be an example of extreme hyperbole ([
high-PUR-buh-lee
]
n. Rhetoric, obvious and intentional exaggeration
).”

The dictionary wasn't through. It wrote out, “I feel the best description of the contest of Steven Daemon Carter versus Richelle Cyrus-Herndon is a rather simple four-letter word: rout ([
rout
]
n. A horrible defeat marked by disorderly flight
). Let me demonstrate.”

Steven sighed; he had the feeling this demonstration wasn't going to make him feel a whole lot better.

The dictionary spelled out, “This is just like what will happen at today's meeting.”

The letters on the page bunched together in two groups, the vowels on one side and the consonants on the other. Over the vowels the word
Steven
appeared, and over the consonants the word
Richelle
was written. Above their names the words
Is there any new business
? showed up, and without warning the vowels and the consonants charged at each other and sparks flew, and sounds of metal slashing at stone and smoke and confusion began to rise from the page.

The dictionary closed itself and the fight kept going on.

The old book jerked and bumped and burped and jumped until it seemed like it was going to fly off the table. For a second everything was quiet, then without warning a long string of frightened-looking, bruised and battered e's squeezed from between the pages and, sounding just the way you'd think a long string of frightened, bruised and battered e's would sound, they jumped off the edge of the table and fell to the ground in a cloud of smoke.

They screamed, “E-e-e-e-e!” then hit the floor with a loud BOOM!

Next came a string of torn and tattered, bruised and battered
i
's, then o's, then
u
's, then
a
's.

“I-i-i-i-i!” BOOM!

“O-o-o-o-o!” BOOM!

“U-u-u-u-u!” BOOM!

“A-a-a-a-a!” BOOM!

The cover on the dictionary came open, and the consonants had a group of
y
's shaking and quaking on the edge of the page. The consonants were arguing amongst themselves whether or not they should make the
y
's jump. They were debating if the
y
's were
really
vowels or consonants.

Steven could feel his spirits sinking.

“But wait a minute,” he said, “you're just a dictionary, and as far as I can tell, you're a dictionary with a chip on its shoulder, and from reading Mom's book
Things with Chips on Their Shoulders
, I know that's a sign of not feeling good about yourself. So why would I listen to what you have to say?”

The cover of the dictionary came open and Steven slammed it shut without reading what was written there.

“I know it's going to be something smart-mouthed and negative, so I don't need to read it. If I'm going to beat Richelle Cyrus-Herndon for the presidency of the Flint Future Detectives Club, I'm going to have to go in with a positive outlook, I'm going to have to be strong!”

Steven straightened his shoulders and stood tall.

“Besides, if it really is going to be a rout, why are the y's still hanging on so tough? As long as the y's are fighting back, I've got a chance! If I'm going to stay as president of the club that I put together, then I have to be ready to fight and think and be quick on my feet! I'm going to have to float like a butterfly and sting like a bee!”

Steven began dancing around the room, ducking and bobbing his head.

“If I'm going to keep what's mine, I'm going to have to do what I did to Dr. T., I'll have to go in with the eye of the tiger!”

Steven started ducking and bobbing and growling and looking mean while he danced around the room.

He threw his hands above his head and screamed, “Yes! Yes! I'm ready! Cyrus-Herndon is through! This is
my
club, this is
my
house, this is
my
world, baby, Richelle's just a squirrel trying to get a nut!”

Steven's dad had peeked in the room to see what the big ruckus was, saw his son ducking, bobbing, weaving, growling and looking mean, and thought to himself, “Some of the time I don't know about that boy.”

Now Steven said to Russ, “Is there any old business that needs to be taken care of?”

Russell looked at his paper and said, “No, Mr. President, all that business is what we secretaries call moldy-oldie and isn't worth talking about anymore.”

Steven was geeked! Steven was ready! He took a deep breath, swallowed hard, said to himself, “Eye of the tiger, eye of the tiger, eye of the tiger …,” then asked, “Okay, is there any
new
business that we need to take care of?”

Russell said, “Yes, Mr. President, I've thought up a new way for us to make a bunch of money to put in our savings account.”

This wasn't what Steven was expecting.

“Really?”

“Really. Remember when the big power blackout came last year?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Remember how all the phones stopped working and all the ovens and stoves and microwaves stopped cooking?”

“Yeah.”

“And remember how my mummy wanted to call for a pizza to be delivered, but there weren't any phones that worked?”

“I wasn't at your house, but I believe you.”

“And remember how hungry I was and—”

Steven said, “Mr. Secretary, what is your moneymaking plan? We don't have all day.”

“Well, I figured out a perfect way to solve that problem and get lots of cash!”

“What, Russell, what?”

“What's the stupidest bird you know about?”

“Mourning doves.” Steven almost asked what in the world that had to do with power failures and making money, but he knew once Russell started telling one of his schemes, the best thing to do was to go along for the ride.

“Okay, and a mourning dove looks a lot like a pigeon, right?”

“I guess so.”

“And pigeons get trained to deliver messages, they can fly for hundreds of miles, can't they?”

“Yes, Russell.”

“Okay, here's my plan, and it solves all the problems when the power goes out and you're hungry.”

Steven waited.

“All we got to do is train
chickens
to deliver messages! They're a little smarter than pigeons, and when there aren't any phones and you're starving, all you have to do is get a message delivered to you by a chicken. Then you read the message a-n-d …”

Russell dragged the word out waiting for Steven to answer.

Steven gave a confused look to Richelle, who was looking just as confused.

Finally Steven said, “You read the message and what, Russell?”

Russell said, “And you eat the chicken!”

Richelle Cyrus-Herndon couldn't bite her tongue any
longer. She felt that there were times you had to let some of the ridiculous stories people told just slide, but when something was extremely ridiculous, you had to set the person straight.

She said, “But how would someone know to send you a mess—”

Steven banged the table leg on his desk.

“You're out of order! No one called your name to speak. You're gonna have to be quiet. You're not even a Flint Future Detective yet!”

Richelle shook her head, tapped her foot and chewed her lip.

Steven needed the meeting to move on. He needed to get to the new business that would require all of his training and strength.

“Wow, Russell!” he said. “That's a great idea, we'll work on that one later. Now, is there any other new business?”

Russ cleared his throat. “Yes, Mr. President, we have two new people who wanna join the Flint Future Detectives Club.”

Russell reached in his front shirt pocket and opened his hand. There in the middle of his palm sat the world's shiveringest, shakingest, quiveringest, quakingest little dog, Rodney Rodent.

Steven couldn't believe his eyes. It looked like Rodney Rodent was even smaller than he'd been a couple of days before!

Russell said, “The first person is Rodney Rodent, and I
think he'd be a good club member because he's great at not getting noticed, he doesn't eat anything but cheese-burg deluxes with heavy olives, and even Daddy says he's the best because he hasn't barked or done anything annoying yet. The only sound he makes are funny little whines.”

Steven said, “And what job should Rodney Rodent have in the club, Mr. Secretary?”

“Well, Mr. President, since he's so good at getting in places without anyone seeing him, I think he would be perfect as the Flint Future Detectives number one sneak. He can also be the official map reader and number one bug chaser.”

Steven said, “If anyone objects to Rodney Rodent becoming the number one sneak, official map reader and number one bug chaser, let them speak now or forever rest in peace.”

The room was quiet. But Richelle's eyes rolled so hard they did almost make a sound.

“Oh, man,” Steven thought, “here we go! Eye of the tiger, grrrrr! Eye of the tiger, grrrrr! Eye of the …,” then he said to Russ, “Is there any other new business?”

“Yes, Mr. President, one other person would like to become a member. …”

Richelle Cyrus-Herndon said, “Excuse me. I said I'd
think
about being a member, and after I've seen how this meeting is run, I'm not so sure I'd …”

Steven had a flash of honesty with himself; he knew
that the smartest person really
should
be in charge. He knew Richelle really was probably better qualified to be president. He knew she'd probably find better things to investigate than he had. He knew he should let her be the leader.

He knew all of that, but he still couldn't bring himself to show Richelle any respect.

He said, “Oh, yeah? Really, huh? You think I'm going to fight you over this? Well, I'm not! Go ahead! You can be president! It's not the great job you think it is!”

Russell said, “If anyone objects to Richelle Cyrus-Herndon becoming the new president of the Flint Future Detectives, let them speak now or forever rest in peace.”

No one spoke. No one said a peep. In fact, the only sound that could be heard came from the room where Great-great-grampa Carter's dictionary was kept, and that sound went something like this:

“Y-y-y-y-y!” BOOM!

And if Steven had bothered to look at what the dictionary had written to him, he would have seen:

“Capitulation ([kuh-pit-you-LAY-shun]
n. The act of complete and total surrender. Giving up when confronted, with no realistic hope of winning. In other words, ‘You got played big-time, Bucko!’
)”

When Steven finally did check the dictionary a couple of days later as part of his new job as the Flint Future Detectives chief looker-upper, he read, “The word is out that you are no longer president of the club. Alas, so this is how it
ends, not with a bang but with a whimper. What a wuss ([woos]
n. A weakling, a wimp
).

And even though Steven would be doggoned if he was going to look up
whimper
, he didn't know why, but all of a sudden he let out a long, moaning cry mixed with low, plaintive broken sounds.

The Evil Mural!

A
LMOST A WEEK LATER
Russell Braithewaite Woods was in the middle of another weird dream.

In this one Richelle Cyrus-Herndon said, “Oh, Russell, I can't be president of the Flint Future Detectives anymore. I need you to take over, because we all know who's
really
the smartest kid at Clark Elementary! And who is also the handsomest and the best eater of lots of food!”

Then in the dream Steven said, “Oh, yes, Russell, not only are you a large and powerful eater of all kinds of food, you are also the best friend Zoopy ever had. Please, please be president of the club and please, please take Zoopy back home with you. Does anyone object to Russell being president or will you all forever rest in peace?”