Rhyme Schemer (3 page)

If we were rich I'd have a dirt bike

instead of four brothers.

Patrick, Paul, Philip, Petey.

One two three four barf.

At least I have my own room.

Numbering the school days

in this notebook

might be

a

Very

Bad

Idea.

It's making the school year

long

longer

longest.

And the second week

just started.

I don't know a lot about tornadoes,

but I saw one last year.

Longest five minutes of my life.

Even longer than the

first week of school

which was just

really

freaking

long.

That tornado looked like

someone was putting our

street into a

blender.

Chunks of road mixed with cars.

Trees mixed with windows.

The noise was

so loud.

It was so loud it was almost quiet.

Like how every color mixed together

makes the color

white.

No one was home except for me and Petey.

His face, the same green as the sky,

his feet stuck to the carpet

like the trees used to

stick in the

ground.

Come on! Come on! Come on!
I shouted

and he wouldn't move.

He wouldn't move.

We were easy prey.

So I grabbed him

by the shirt

and pulled

and pulled

and pulled.

Then he was with me in the Harry Potter closet

under the stairs

my arms over

his head.

And the blender roared by

and Petey cried hard

with my arms still there

still over

his head.

And then the big, messy racket was gone.

Petey sniffed real big and said

What are you staring at?

YOU'RE the baby

in this

family
.

And he's hated me.

Hated me

ever

since.

I feel like that tornado,

that blender in the sky,

jumped down my throat

and is now buried inside.

The blob of sauce

drips off his ear

in

slow motion.

His empty bowl

sits on his head

a

crooked hat.

My hand on my mouth

not really covering

the

snorts of laughter.

Spaghetti and meatballs

the same color

as

Robin's hair.

Robin

doesn't think

it's so funny.

Neither does

Harry

the mole.

Now I wait for

Hartwick.

Again.

If I stare at the stain on the ceiling

I don't have to stare at Hartwick

while he says

Woh woh woh

and tells me to

STRAIGHTEN UP.

He called my mom

but she didn't answer.

Again.

So he gave me

another warning.

But

THE NEXT TIME

he says

while I stare at the stain

THERE WILL BE MAJOR CONSEQUENCES

. . .

MISTER

He is still

a jerkface.

As a side note,

I have composed another ode

to Hartwick's tie:

[Clearing throat noise here]

O, Principal's tie

You make me want to puke

Because you are the color of

Squishy, moldy fruit

There is this word:

Hubbub.

It sounds like someone trying to talk

while blowing a big gum bubble.

Today, there was a hubbub.

I put the stolen page on the door to the front office

when I had a hall pass for the bathroom.

Then it was B lunch

and everyone saw it.

Who is doing this?

the kids ask with a laugh.

The teachers ask with dragon breath.

I'm not telling.

Late.

Petey's fault.

He was supposed to drop me off

in front.

Instead, I had to walk

six

whole

blocks

so he could take a shortcut

to Lacey's house.

Giant John was late, too,

which was good.

I had something soft to punch

to make my day

better.

Sort of.

Lacey Lacey Lacey

She's the only thing Petey

ever

ever

ever

talks about.

Unless he talks about his band

or how much he hates me,

which are both tied for his

second favorite

topic.

If Petey says

one

more

time

how lucky I am to be the baby

to get everything I want

I will smack him

even if he smacks harder.

I don't get everything I want.

I get nothing.

I get
Sort it out, boys!

I get P
aul, help Kevin with his math
.

I get
My shift starts in 30 minutes
,