Teddy Mars Book #1 Read online

  “Teddy—” Dad starts, but Jake wakes up.

  “Dad, I don’t feel good.” And a geyser of liquid shoots out of his mouth all over Dad.

  Sharon walks in. She is definitely not singing. She’s carrying a trash can. It’s full. “I feel awful,” she moans.

  Caitlin calls from her bed, “Mom! Help!”

  Casey calls next. “Me too.”

  Maggie races down the stairs, heading for the other bathroom. Grace follows close behind.

  Jake looks up for a second. “Happy birthday, Teddy,” he says and then vomits some more.

  SCHOOL LUNCH

  “What’s the deal with school lunch?” Lonnie asks. “You hate school lunch. You never have school lunch. And it’s your birthday.”

  “The Destructor is the deal.” I shake my head.

  “What happened?” Lonnie asks.

  “It’s gross,” I say.

  “I can handle it.”

  “It’s bad,” I say.

  “I’m sure I’ve heard worse,” he says.

  “Are you talking about vomit?” Viva leans over.

  “How did you know that?”

  “What’s grosser than vomit?” she says.

  “Is she right?” Lonnie asks.

  “Yes. But it’s not just a little vomit. Are you sure you can handle it?”

  “Oh brother,” Viva says. “Just tell the story. Knowing you, it’ll be good.”

  So I tell the whole crazy story. “And it had to be from the dumb brownies because it’s the only thing that everyone ate except me.”

  Turns out that Viva is not bothered by vomit. Lonnie gives me half of his lunch. “Think of it as a birthday present.”

  Before we get up for recess, Viva taps my elbow and passes me her cookies. “You totally deserve these more than me.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  She shrugs, stands up, and walks out alone.

  I admit, I don’t need any more people in my life, but maybe she’s not so bad.

  “Wait up!” I yell, pulling Lonnie out of his seat and shoving the cookies in my mouth.

  MY BIRTHDAY CONTINUES

  After school I come home, where every person in my family has been hanging out all day.

  I find Mom alone in the kitchen, sipping tea. When she sees me she starts to hug me, then stops. “I don’t want to get you sick.”

  Dad comes in. “Oh, Teddy. We are so sorry. How was school?”

  “Remarkably the same when you don’t bring in a special birthday snack and the school lunch is corned beef hash, which you might remember is something I detest.”

  “I promise we’ll make it up to you,” Mom says. “Do you want to open presents?”

  “What about dinner, and cupcakes, and ice cream?” I ask.

  Mom and Dad look at each other and shiver like just thinking about food will make them throw up.

  “We really didn’t move from the sofa,” Mom says. “But we do have leftovers and there are popsicles in the freezer.” She smiles like this is a great adventure.

  “Let’s go into the living room,” Dad says, clearly changing the subject. “You can open your presents, then decide about dinner.”

  We go in and there’s Jake sitting in the middle of a pile of paper like he’s floating on a cloud. It takes me a second but then I realize that paper is, in fact, wrapping paper—ripped-open wrapping paper and presents.

  Presents that are mine!

  He looks up. “Happy birthday, Teddy. Look!” He holds up the latest version of The Guinness Book of World Records. “And a tent!”

  “You opened my presents?”

  “Jake.” Mom moves forward. “Those were Teddy’s.”

  “I warned you, Mom.”

  “He didn’t mean to,” Dad says.

  “No, he never means to.” I grab the tent and my book. “I’ll be in the backyard.”

  PUTTING UP THE TENT

  Putting up a tent is harder than it looks. The directions are no help. I tossed them to the side a while ago. Dad came out and started telling me what to do and how to get it up and acting like nothing had happened. I sent him away. Then Mom tried. She looked like she was going to be sick all over the tent. I sent her back inside.

  Next came Jake.

  “I’m really, really, really, really sorry, Teddy.” He actually said it a million times more but you get the point. By now I had stuck all these long thin poles into these long thin holes in the tent. This was not easy, but at least with those poles in, the tent popped up and actually looked like a tent. This lasted for five seconds before Jake shouted, “COWABUNGA!” and dive-bombed it.

  Do I need to say that the tent collapsed? Then, and don’t ask me how, while I turned toward the house to yell to Mom and Dad, he pulled out all the poles I had put in and was pretending they were lightsabers.

  “Look, Teddy,” he hollered. “Look! I have the Force!”

  As I drag Jake back into the house, I say to Dad, “For my birthday I want one thing: keep The Destructor away from me.”

  “What’s The Destructor?” Jake asks. “Is it something from Star Wars?”

  PUTTING UP THE TENT PART 2

  And so now I’m starting again. I’m doing this totally by myself. I have made it perfectly clear to every member of my crazy family that I do not want their help (not that my sisters were offering).

  I pick up four silver stakes (for the corners) and the hammer that Dad brought out just as Grumpy Pigeon Man’s back door slams.

  “Pigeons!” he calls like he’s calling a dog. “Pigeons!”

  I drop to the ground like a pancake. It’s a dumb thing to do but I can’t help it. This day has been bad enough without getting yelled at by him.

  But now I’m stuck. There’s only one choice: stay exactly where I am. I know I’m in plain sight but maybe if I don’t move he won’t see me.

  He’s lugging a bucket to the birdhouse. He moves slowly—like a snail, or a sloth.

  At this rate I’ll be here all night.

  “Pigeons!” he calls again. The pigeons flutter and coo like they can’t wait to see the guy, and then he disappears around the other side.

  The coop is made up of two parts: a shed section and a screened-in section. I can’t see inside the shed because there are no windows, but of course I can see inside the screened-in porch part.

  I can’t see the door that goes to the shed, but obviously there is one and there’s also a door between the shed and the screened-in porch.

  Grumpy Pigeon Man reappears in the screened-in part and pours water out of the bucket. He clucks at the birds, turns his bucket upside down, and sits.

  For like ten minutes he sits there. Staring at the pigeons. Seriously, he doesn’t move. I almost wonder if he has died but then he sneezes.

  I didn’t think my birthday could get worse but it did. I’m hiding out from my neighbor who’s staring at his pigeons. Sure, they’re cool, and sure, it would be interesting to watch them that closely, but I’ve got a tent to put up before I turn eleven!

  PUTTING UP THE TENT PART 3

  Finally he stands up and seriously S-L-O-W-L-Y makes his way to the door. He must be the slowest guy in the world. This is not a category in The Guinness Book of World Records. YET. But Grumpy Pigeon Man could set the record for slowest human being.

  Strange but true, there are two entries for slowest things. One is a plant that takes 80 to 150 years to bloom; the other is the blue whale, which has the slowest heartbeat of any mammal (four to eight beats a minute). Humans’ have like 70 beats a minute.

  There’s no point watching him. It’s too excruciating. So I close my eyes and count the seconds until I hear his door slam. I get to ninety-seven when someone hollers, “Hey, you!”

  By someone I don’t really mean someone. There is only one person who hollers like that.

  I look up. Grumpy Pigeon Man is staring right at me over the fence. That guy is slow but of course he has eyes like a hawk. Why didn’t I remember that?

  �
�Yeah, you! Tent Boy!”

  “Tent Boy?”

  I look around hoping he’s talking to someone else. He isn’t. Even in this strange predicament, I know if Grace hears that nickname I’ll never be called Teddy again.

  “You’ve been lying on the ground ever since I came out. That tent isn’t going to put itself up.” He’s old so he’s allowed to be rude. I’m only ten so I’m not.

  “When I was your age I could put up and take down a tent in less than two minutes.” I stand up. There’s no point in hiding now. “You’re slower than molasses, Tent Boy.”

  “Thank you, sir.” I pick up the hammer and the stakes. Maybe if I start again, he’ll go away.

  “Why are you putting it up anyway?” he grumps.

  I don’t know why but I answer the guy. “It’s my birthday.” Then I say (and I do not know where this crazy idea comes from), “Starting today, I’m living in this tent.”

  Grumpy Pigeon Man nods. “Makes sense. Only pigeons are crazy enough to actually like living with so many.” He lopes away. At his back door he calls out, “Hey, Tent Boy!”

  I cringe and look around. But Grace is nowhere to be seen. “You’ll never get it up that way. You’ve got to start with the poles. End with the stakes.”

  THE TENT IS UP

  I did it. My tent is up and perfectly located. It’s not too far away from the house, but far enough. I can also see and hear the pigeons, and except for the fact that my backyard is actually a hill, it’s really comfortable.

  I bring out pillows, blankets, and my old copy of The Guinness Book of World Records. I already have my new one with me. I like comparing them. It’s not like the new one is better than the old one, just different. It’s got different categories, different pictures, even different records. For example the new one doesn’t have the record for the dog that holds the most tennis balls in his mouth (5). Anyway, I hang out for a long time reading them. I like it out here. For one thing The Destructor is nowhere near me.

  In the morning I’ll tell my parents I’m not moving back inside. They think tonight is just special.

  “Happy birthday, Teddy,” I say. The pigeons coo back. Obviously, they think it’s special, too.

  “I HAVE GOT TO TAKE A PICTURE OF THIS!”

  That’s how Grace wakes me. She’s got her phone in my face and she’s laughing her head off.

  “You’ve never been into photography,” I say.

  “Mom’s wanted me to have a hobby for years. I’ve finally found it. Now, stand outside so I can get one of you next to the tent.”

  Normally I wouldn’t do anything she suggested, but she’s very convincing. Especially when she’s twisting my arm.

  “Say cheese!”

  THE BEST THING

  “You slept in a tent on your birthday?” Again, Viva’s sandwich freezes in midair. Again, it’s the only thing not moving in this whole room. And again, I wish she’d leave me alone.

  The lunchroom is so loud that I was positive I could have a private conversation with Lonnie. A lot has happened since yesterday and I want to fill him in. But I was wrong. Viva is definitely Yoda. She’s got the Force and the ears.

  “You slept in a tent on your birthday?” she repeats. “Why?”

  There are so many things that Viva doesn’t understand about my family and my life, and I can’t begin to explain them to her. I don’t want to explain them to her. I’m about to tell her to sit somewhere else when Lonnie smiles. Darn Jedi warrior.

  I take a breath and tell them both about what happened when I got home yesterday: no birthday dinner, no cupcakes, no ice cream, and The Destructor opened my presents.

  “Oh brother!” Viva says.

  “That is wrong,” Lonnie says.

  “So wrong,” Viva says, then asks, “What did you do?”

  “I put up the tent,” I say. “There’s loads of room inside it. And tonight I’ll sleep with my feet facing down the hill, which ought to take care of the sliding problem I had last night.”

  “You’re going to sleep in it again?” Lonnie asks.

  “This is what I wanted to tell you.” I stop talking and look at Viva. “I’ll tell you later, Lonnie.”

  “Aw, come on!” Viva throws down her sandwich. “Look, I’m not going to say anything. Who can I tell? I’m not friends with anyone else.”

  Lonnie looks at me, shakes his head, then says, “I think she’s right.”

  “Fine, but if I hear one word about this, I’ll know who’s to blame.”

  “I promise.”

  “I’m staying in the tent.”

  Lonnie looks at me like, what’s the big deal? “We know you’re staying in the tent.”

  “No, no, I mean I’ve moved into the tent. I’m going to live in the tent. Full-time.”

  “You can’t live in a tent!” Viva says.

  “My mom says as long as I do my homework and keep it clean, it’s fine with her.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Viva sputters. “Kids don’t live in tents. My parents would never let me live in a tent.”

  “Man, you have the life.” Lonnie gives me a high five. “Your parents are so outnumbered they give up.” He says this like it’s the best thing in the world, like I broke some kind of world record.

  REASONS WHY LIVING IN A TENT IS EASY

  1. It’s my own space. Shared with no one.

  2. I’m not scared of a little noise like some kids are. I know it’s probably just a skunk. Skunks aren’t bad. They only stink you if you scare them, and I’m not going to do that. It could be a raccoon. Raccoons are okay unless they’re rabid. That would be bad, but not as bad as lying in a bathtub with 87 rattlesnakes. Jackie Bibby did that to get into The Guinness Book of World Records.

  3. Again, I don’t have a third point. I’ve got to work on this or Ms. Raffeli will kill me.

  SPEAKING OF MS. RAFFELI

  Speaking of Ms. Raffeli, she found out I was living in a tent. Mom told her. I heard her on the phone.

  That day at school, Ms. Raffeli said to me, “Somehow I’m not surprised.” Then she said almost the exact same thing Mom did: “As long as you do your homework and stay clean, you could sleep in a bucket and I wouldn’t be bothered.”

  The Destructor isn’t happy about it though. He keeps asking when I’m moving back into our room. I refuse to talk to him, but if I were talking to him I’d tell him I’m staying in the tent forever.

  Each night I climb in, shake out my blankets (you never know what might have crawled in), zip my tent closed, and relax.

  Tonight I can’t help thinking about 87 rattlesnakes slithering all over me. It would be pretty loud with all that hissing and rattling, but it would still have to be quieter than the racket coming from my house. No wonder Grumpy Pigeon Man doesn’t like us.

  PIGEON DETECTIVE

  For my birthday, Lonnie gave me the two new Star Wars action figures I wanted. Obviously, I didn’t get the new sneakers or a new bed. No one gave me a book about pigeons, which is a problem since that’s what I picked for my school report.

  But because I live in my backyard, next door to a pigeon coop, I’ve decided to take things into my own hands.

  THINGS I KNOW ABOUT PIGEONS

  It’s lucky for me that the pigeons have that screened-in part of the coop or else I wouldn’t know anything. A lot of what goes on happens out there.

  1. Grumpy Pigeon Man feeds them twice a day. Once really early in the morning (he wakes me up) and again in the afternoon (after I get home from school).

  2. When Grumpy Pigeon Man lets them out, he doesn’t feed them until they come back.

  3. Sorry, Ms. Raffeli.

  THINGS I DON’T KNOW ABOUT PIGEONS

  Ms. Raffeli says a good scientist always asks questions (this is of course true for detectives too) so here are a few:

  1. When they fly free, how do they know it’s time to all come home together?

  2. What goes on in the part of the coop that looks like a shed and I can’t see into?
/>   3. Another apology, Ms. Raffeli.

  TENT LIFE

  I still eat in the house and use the bathroom. But the rest of the time I’m out here. I have everything I need: snacks, which I keep in a container (I don’t want animals roaming in), flashlight, notebook, pencils, pencil sharpener, erasers, markers, books, clothes, pillows, sleeping pad, and blankets. The nights are getting cooler so I keep adding blankets.

  Tonight Dad shows up. “How’s it going?” he asks as he ducks down into the tent.

  “It’s good, Dad.” I offer him an Oreo, the only chocolate I like.

  “When are you moving back into the house, Teddy?”

  “I like it here.”

  “I know Jake drives you crazy but you can’t live in the backyard forever.”

  “Those pigeons do.”

  “You’re not a pigeon, Teddy.”

  “I’m staying, Dad.”

  “Well, we miss you.”

  “Hey, Dad?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t tell Mom about the Oreos. I didn’t ask if I could have them.”

  He smiles and grabs two more before ducking out of the tent.

  TENT BOY

  “Tent Boy!” Grumpy Pigeon Man yells. “Tent Boy!”

  I guess it was only a matter of time before he yelled at me, but I didn’t think it would be first thing in the morning and I hoped he’d use my real name!

  I’m already dressed, have had breakfast, and am hanging out reading The Guinness Book of World Records before it’s time for school, but still!

  I poke my head out of the tent. “My name is Teddy.”

  He leans over the fence. “You got that tent up. Finally.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You want to make some money? Get yourself some better digs?”

  “Better digs?” I don’t understand him.

  “A better home, you numbskull.”

  “I like my home.”