Teddy Mars Book #1 Read online

  Anyway, the main thing about sharing a room is that you never share anything else. I try to make it clear to him that he has one side of the room and I have the other. The things on his side are his. The things on my side are mine. And although this is a simple concept, it is hard for him to grasp. So I’ve stuck a line of tape down the middle of the room to help him.

  “My bed is on this side, yours is on the other. Everything on this side is mine. Everything on your side is yours. I won’t touch your stuff and you should never touch mine.”

  But I can’t be in my room every second of the day. I go to school. Jake does not. This leaves him with many opportunities to touch my things.

  By “touch” I really mean destroy.

  MY BIRTHDAY LIST #3

  1. A new tent. You know why.

  2. A book about pigeons.

  3. Luke Skywalker and Jar Jar Binks action figures. (You must remember that Jake ripped their heads off!)

  THE BATHROOM

  Sharon has the lead in her high school musical. I know this because she explains it to every single person she meets. “I have the lead in the high school musical. That means I’m the main person.” She says this like she’s the only person in the play. “We’re doing Oklahoma!”

  I have no idea about the musical until she starts practicing.

  There’s nothing like hearing the word Oklahoma sung over and over again to make your ears want to fall off, which must have been how the person who organized the world’s loudest dog bark felt: 76 dogs howling at one time.

  Although I know which one I’d pick to hear: the dogs.

  One morning she announces in her singsong way that the acoustics are best in the bathroom, so she’ll be practicing in there from now on, and no one is to disturb her. Then she flounces upstairs. A few seconds later we hear: “OOOOOOOKLAHOMA!”

  “She needs her privacy,” Mom says.

  Dad shrugs. “And it muffles the singing.”

  NOTHING FUNNY ABOUT PEE

  Mom and Dad are watching the news, Grace is with them, Caitlin and Casey are doing homework in their room, Maggie is in her room probably doing sit-ups, and Sharon is enjoying the privacy of the bathroom. Jake is asleep. He can sleep through anything, even Sharon’s singing.

  I say good night, go upstairs, climb into bed, and pull out The Guinness Book of World Records, which is hard to concentrate on while “Oklahoma!” is sung again and again and again.

  Strangely, I feel damp and cold, and there’s a gross smell. I sniff my sheets, then throw myself out of bed and run downstairs.

  I speak slowly so my parents get the full weight of what I am saying, especially because the news always distracts them. “He. Peed. In. My. Bed.”

  Grace responds in her typical way: falling on the floor laughing at me. “You lay down in pee-ee-ee-ee.” She stretches this word out because she’s laughing while she says it. She stops laughing for a second, sits up, and says in a fancy accent, “He peed in thee beed.” She laughs more about her dumb rhyme.

  “There is nothing funny about pee, Grace,” I say. “Not lying in it or smelling it.”

  “You smelled pee,” she squeaks.

  Mom and Dad both smile a little at this.

  “Mom, this is not funny!”

  “Teddy, I’m sorry about the pee.”

  Grace takes a gulp of air. “The pee,” she blurts out and then starts laughing again. She’s laughing so hard she crawls out of the living room.

  “Jake wanted to have his nap in your bed this afternoon. I forgot to change the sheets,” Mom explains.

  “Don’t let him nap in my bed.”

  “It’s just a little pee. I’ll take care of it.” We walk upstairs and she grabs a new set of sheets. I watch her closely as she changes them. “There, all clean,” she whispers and pats the bed. “Teddy, I’m sorry, but Jake feels safe in your bed.”

  “If Jake feeling safe is so important, I’m sure your bed is as good as mine.”

  MY BIRTHDAY LIST #4

  1. A new tent.

  2. A book about pigeons.

  3. Luke Skywalker and Jar Jar Binks action figures. (You know why.)

  4. A new pee-free bed. (You really know why.)

  SCIENCE UNIT: BIRDS

  “Pee!” Viva whispers. “Really?” We’re studying birds now and Ms. Raffeli is having us draw our favorite. Viva is one good artist. Her eagle looks so real. My pigeon on the other hand looks like a pile of pudding. Lonnie is drawing an owl.

  “Viva, I wasn’t talking to you.” This is becoming a habit of hers. A bad habit.

  “I can’t help it that Ms. Raffeli put us together.”

  Ms. Raffeli is big on cooperation, so our desks are always clustered together instead of in rows.

  “Use the Force, Teddy,” Lonnie says. The Force comes more naturally to him. It doesn’t seem to bother him that Viva’s invading our space. Of course, Lonnie doesn’t have five sisters and a little brother always badgering him.

  Viva whispers, “What did your parents do? Did Jake get in trouble?”

  I sigh because I know she will never give up. “My mom changed the sheets. Besides that, they did nothing.”

  “Boy,” Viva says. “Your life is really different from mine. I’m an only child. Every single thing I do is watched, noticed, commented on, and discussed. It’s like living under a microscope.”

  “You want to trade?” I ask.

  Ms. Raffeli circles our desks. “A little less talking, a little more drawing,” she says.

  That’s fine with me.

  THE LUNCHROOM

  As soon as Lonnie and I sit down, Viva comes over and starts right where we left off.

  “What about your family, Lonnie?”

  “I’ve got an older brother. He’s in the same grade as Teddy’s sister Sharon.”

  “That must be nice,” Viva says.

  “You don’t know Jerome,” I say.

  Lonnie rubs his arm where Jerome probably punched him. “Brothers are a pain.”

  Viva looks shocked. “Your brother hits you?”

  “All siblings do it,” Lonnie says. “Wait until you meet Teddy’s sister Grace.”

  “It’s true,” I say. “Part of having sisters and brothers is that they beat you up. You must know that.”

  “How many times do I have to say this?” Viva sighs. “My life is very different.”

  THE BATHROOM STRIKES BACK

  Sharon taking over the upstairs bathroom is not a big deal because Dad is right about the singing being muffled, and also we have another bathroom.

  So everything is fine until Jake is in the bathroom and has been in there for a long time. I guess I should be grateful that he’s not using my bed, but I don’t feel grateful. I feel like I’m going to explode.

  “Jake, hurry up.” I pound the door.

  “Wait, Teddy,” he shouts.

  Dad walks by with a basket of laundry. “Jake’s in the bathroom?” I nod. “That’s great.” My parents have been potty training him for years. He doesn’t like to use the toilet. He’s scared a hand will reach up and drag him down. (Thanks, Grace, for putting that idea in his head.)

  “It’s great except I have to go,” I say, hopping from leg to leg.

  Finally, Jake walks out. “It’s all yours,” he says, just like Dad says it.

  I do my thing and flush, but the water doesn’t go down. So I flush again. Still it’s not flushing like normal. So I flush one more time. Instead of the water going down the pipe, it rises up. Higher and higher, just like how I picture the largest bubble gum bubble growing and growing until it’s 20 inches, which is big.

  Now I’m freaking out and I’m pulling on the door but it won’t open. This door always sticks. I look behind me. I pull on the door more because the toilet water doesn’t stop when it’s close to the top and it doesn’t stop when it reaches the top.

  It’s really not stopping and I’m pulling on the door and I’m shouting “DAD!” just as the water pours out all over the fl
oor.

  “DAD!” I scream again. Toilet water drowns my shoes.

  JAKE’S PUNISHMENT (OR NOT!)

  After the plumber leaves, Dad has a talk with Jake. “There are only a few things that go into a toilet. Socks are not one of them.”

  “But I was keeping the hand from getting me.”

  “Jake, I promise there is no hand, and socks don’t go in toilets.” Then he gives Jake a big hug.

  “That’s it?” I say. “If I dropped a sock down a toilet I’d never hear the end of it. Plus my sneakers were covered in pee water!”

  “And I washed them,” Dad says. “In the washing machine. Your sneakers are cleaner than most things in this house.”

  He’s right of course. My sneakers are clean, but some things you can’t get over.

  “Teddy,” Dad says. I think maybe he’s about to offer to buy me a new pair. “Later I’ll need help raking. Mr. Marney is complaining about the leaves.”

  And I’m complaining about my sneakers, but who listens to me?

  MY BIRTHDAY LIST #5

  1. A new tent. (If Jake weren’t around I would still have my old tent.)

  2. A book about pigeons. (Really.)

  3. Luke Skywalker and Jar Jar Binks action figures. (Only those ones.)

  4. A new pee-free bed.

  5. New sneakers. (I don’t care what you say. I want new sneakers.)

  GOOD LUCK

  Lonnie and I hide behind a tree in my backyard, spying on Grumpy Pigeon Man. Except we can’t see him. We think he’s going to let the pigeons out and we don’t want Grumpy Pigeon Man to catch us watching.

  “Are you sure you don’t smell pee on my shoes?” I whisper.

  “It was a week ago, Teddy,” he whispers back. “Your shoes stink, but it’s the natural aroma of your feet.”

  “Pigeons!” Grumpy Pigeon Man calls. “Come on, pigeons!” He appears and opens the door to the screened-in section.

  The pigeons flutter around first and then fly out. He makes his way back into his house, leaving the pigeons out in the sky. Alone.

  We come out of hiding when he goes inside.

  “They’re so cool,” I say. “They never bump into each other.”

  Lonnie nods. “It’s like they’re on a track.”

  “You two are nut-oes,” Grace says, making us jump. She’s right behind us. “How can you possibly like those things? They’re ugly, dirty, and gross.”

  And as if to prove her point something plops on my head. A yellowish, whitish, brownish goop drips down my forehead and slides onto my nose. Grace doubles over laughing.

  “You know,” Lonnie says, “in some countries getting pooed on is good luck.”

  Grace laughs so hard she falls down.

  RECORD ATTEMPT 5

  “Raking the largest leaf pile is not a good world record,” I say. Lonnie and I are in the school bathroom (the only place Viva can’t interrupt us).

  “What happened?” he asks.

  “Wind,” I say. “So much wind.”

  THE BOOK IS LOST

  “Lonnie,” Mom says. “I’m so glad you could come over. You want a snack?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Mars.”

  “Mom, did you move my book?” I’m looking for The Guinness Book of World Records. Lonnie and I spend a lot of afternoons studying it.

  “Why hello yourself! Such a polite son.” I ignore her and her sarcasm.

  “I left it here this morning.” I point to the kitchen table.

  “I didn’t touch it,” she says and puts out some milk and apples.

  “Are you sure you didn’t move it, Mom?”

  “Check your room, Teddy. It’s probably there.”

  I run upstairs. Jake’s on his bed, drawing.

  “Hey, Jake, have you seen my book?”

  “Which book?” He keeps drawing.

  “My book. The Guinness Book of World Records.” I look on my bed. “You know, that big book with gold letters.” I look under my bed.

  “Don’t think so.” He’s still drawing. I look on my desk, then I look at Jake, who is still drawing. Drawing on a book, not on paper.

  THE BOOK IS FOUND

  He is drawing on it. He is drawing all over it. My Guinness Book of World Records. He is drawing a mustache on the smallest dog in the world (5.4 inches).

  “Give me that!” I grab the book and flip through the pages. I cannot believe this. They are filled. He has drawn all over the book. There are pirate patches over eyes, Mohawks on heads, and extra antennae on everything else. “JAKE! This is mine.” I run down the stairs. “Mom! Jake drew all over my book.”

  “Jake wouldn’t do that.”

  I hold up the book. I fan the pages for emphasis. “Jake destroys everything!”

  “He was so quiet,” she says. “I thought he’d fallen asleep.”

  “The book is totally ruined.”

  “Not totally ruined. He didn’t draw at all on the words, just on the pictures.”

  “That’s the best part! Lonnie, tell her that’s the best part.”

  But Lonnie is looking past me and past my mom.

  “Mrs. Mars,” he says, “I think you should turn around.” He points at the oven.

  Both Mom and I turn to look. A cloud of smoke is pouring out.

  “Oh phooey!” she says. “That’s dinner burnt again.” She pulls out the food and turns on the fan just as the smoke alarm blares. Mom tosses us dishcloths and says, “Wave them at the smoke alarm so it stops.” Then she runs upstairs to Jake, who is wailing as loudly as the smoke alarm.

  “Well, that’s my problem forgotten about. Again!” I say, as Lonnie and I wave at the smoke alarm.

  MY BIRTHDAY LIST #6

  1. A new tent. (Ruined by Jake a.k.a. The Destructor.)

  2. A book about pigeons.

  3. Luke Skywalker and Jar Jar Binks action figures. (Also ruined by The Destructor.)

  4. A new pee-free bed. (The Destructor.)

  5. New sneakers. (The Destructor.)

  6. New Guinness Book of World Records. (And yes, one more time, The Destructor.)

  RECORD ATTEMPT 6

  “What in the world, Teddy?” Mom looks like her mouth is about to fall off her face.

  “I was breaking a world record,” I say, wiping my head with a towel.

  “With eggs?”

  “The most eggs cracked on the head.”

  “How could that possibly be a good idea?”

  “It was Grace’s,” I say.

  Grace stands next to me, trying to stifle her hysterics. “I didn’t think he’d do it.”

  “So did you break a world record?” Mom asks.

  “No, I don’t think six eggs will break any record. I’d need a chicken factory. You wouldn’t possibly buy me eighty dozen eggs?”

  Mom shakes her head. “You missed a spot on the floor,” she says as she walks out of the room.

  OCTOBER

  NEVER TRY TO TALK TO A MOTHER

  Unbelievable as it sounds, when I walk in from school, the house is quiet and after a week the smoke smell is finally gone. Mom is in the kitchen reading the newspaper. And I know this is my chance.

  “Mom—”

  “Teddy, dear, Jake is having his first playdate without me. No one else is home. Could you get yourself a snack?” She goes back to reading.

  I start over again. This is important. “Mom, my birthday is tomorrow—”

  “I know when your birthday is.”

  Clearly, I need to get to my point. “Don’t let Jake ruin it.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “Because he ruins everything. He’s The Destructor. Every step he takes destroys a house, or a car, or a nine-year-old’s life.”

  “Like the Blob,” she says.

  “I don’t know the Blob.”

  “It’s an old movie about this slow-moving blob from outer space that gobbles up everything in its path. And as it gobbles up more it grows bigger and bigger.”

  I pause and think about Jake being th
e Blob. She takes her glasses off and keeps talking. She’s on a roll.

  “Of course it’s not simply Jake that’s the Blob. It’s this whole family. Gobbling me up in dishes, dirty laundry, homework, grocery shopping, and cooking, and right now I have five minutes to read this paper in peace and quiet before I am swallowed up again by the Blob. Do you see me complaining?”

  I shake my head. “Jake is not a blob. He’s not slow-moving. My point is, Mom, don’t let him destroy my birthday.”

  “Teddy, nothing is going to destroy your birthday. You are going to have a great tenth birthday.”

  Mom puts on her glasses and goes back to her paper, just as Jake runs in and crashes into us. “We made brownies, Mama! Brownies! There’s enough for everyone except Teddy because Teddy doesn’t like brownies.”

  I wouldn’t eat them even if I liked them. I know where he puts his hands.

  Mom sighs. “Let the Blob begin!”

  “He’s The Destructor,” I say.

  “What’s a destructor?” Jake asks.

  IT’S MY BIRTHDAY AND EVERYTHING IS A LITTLE TOO QUIET

  It’s my birthday. I am officially ten. TEN! TEN! TEN!

  So here are my questions: Where’s the smell of lemon cupcakes? Mom always makes them after we go to bed the night before our birthdays. She says it’s too distracting if we’re around. But this morning there’s no smell.

  And why is it so quiet? It’s a school day and we all have to get ready, and on top of that, parents have to make pancakes. Presents have to be given. There needs to be some noise. But instead it’s quiet. The lights are still off. Smarty Pants meows for her food. This has got to be a joke. They’re going to surprise me.

  “Mom? Dad?” I walk into their room. Jake is with them.

  “Oh, Teddy.” Mom rubs her eyes. She doesn’t look so good. There’s a bucket on the floor. “I’m so sorry. I feel—” She stops speaking, plugging her mouth with her hands like she’s holding something down.