The BEDMAS Conspiracy

Copyright © 2011 Deborah Sherman
EPub edition copyright © August 2011

Published in Canada by Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 195 Allstate
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Published in the United States by Fitzhenry & Whiteside, 311
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Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Sherman, Deborah (Deborah Faye)
The BEDMAS conspiracy / Deborah Sherman.
ISBN 978-1-55455-181-1
eISBN 978-1-55455-952-7
I. Title.
PS8637.H487B44 2011      jC813'.6      C2011-901397-5

Publisher Cataloging-in-Publication Data (U.S)
Sherman, Deborah.
The BEDMAS conspiracy / Sherman, Deborah.

ISBN: 978-1-55455-181-1 (pbk.)
eISBN: 978-1-55455-952-7
1. Peer pressure -- Juvenile fiction. 2. Self-perception – Juvenile
fiction. I. Title.
[Fic] dc22     PZ7.S5476Be 2011

Fitzhenry & Whiteside acknowledges with thanks the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Ontario Arts Council for their support of our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities.

Cover and interior design by Comm Tech Unlimited
Cover image by Tessa Dottor

To everyone I begged, bugged, and bribed for opinions—a big thanks for all of your help.

—D.S.

M
ouldy Maple Syrup. Burrito Belches. The Broken Birthday Cakes. The possibilities were endless. The Rancid Chocolate Chip Cookies, Elegant Earwax, Repulsive Christmas Presents. It was easy once you got started. The Sloppy Saggy Scuzzy Sunbeams. Filthy Frothy Chocolate Sundaes. The Breathtaking Runny Noses.

“How about Nasty Kittens?” I offered.

“Not bad,” answered Daniela.

“Vomit Comet?”

She frowned. “It rhymes—but it's gross.”

“But aren't we
trying
to be a little gross?” I asked.

“A little,” she agreed, “but that's a lot gross. The idea is to come up with a name that combines something nice and sweet with something icky.”

Daniela and I had been brainstorming possible names for our band for the past hour. We hadn't yet struck the right balance between sweet and a little bit gross, but we were coming close. Trampled Ice Cream was my next offer.

“What about Melted Ice Cream?” countered Daniela. “Or we could really shock with the Barftastic Banana Splits!”

Our school, J.R. Wilcott Middle School, was holding its annual talent show next month. Wilcott's Got Talent had never been won by anyone from grade six. Usually a group of grade eights danced their way to the big prize. Occasionally, a grade sevener sang his or her way to the top. But I thought we had a good shot to take home the championship this year. My cousin Daniela was a great singer. I wasn't much of a musician but I was full of good ideas—really good ideas at this moment. I had it!

“Sick on a Snow Day!”

Daniela looked unimpressed. “Cute alliteration, Cuz, but it lacks the knockout, gross-out punch, don'tcha think?”

“Let me explain it to you, Daniela. If the idea is to combine something totally awesome with something rotten, what's better than being sick on a snow day? You wake up to find out that school's been cancelled due to a huge blanket of the white stuff, but when you try to yell for joy, nothing comes out of your dry, cracked mouth. Laryngitis! And when you try to jump out of your bed to start the good times, your legs are aching and your chest feels like it's on fire. The flu! It's a free day and you're
stuck in bed
. What's more of an awesome disappointment than that?”

“Sick on a Snow Day.” Daniela slowly repeated the name.

It was important that I come up with a good name. I couldn't fake being musical, so I needed to make my mark with some solid ideas.

Daniela was still playing with the name. “Introducing, the one and only, Sick on a Snow Day,” she sang out in a clear voice. “With two hit singles and a new CD about to drop, here's Sick on a Snow Day.”

It must have worked, because she smiled. “Cuz, you are a genius! It's got the right mixture of elegance and trash. And you know how much I love alliteration! Sick on a Snow Day it is!”

Daniela had been living with my family and me for the past three months. Our moms were sisters, which made us first cousins. Daniela had spent the first part of the year with her parents in the South Pacific on an island called Papua New Guinea. Her parents were architects and they were building a hotel on the island. Daniela was supposed to go with them for the year, but after three days on that side of the world, she became incredibly homesick. After three months, her parents sent her home to live with us for the rest of the year. With long, red hair and a deep, strong voice, Daniela was lead singer material. Barely able to get through
Chopsticks
on the piano, I wasn't sure what material I was.

According to last term's report card, I could often be found gazing out the window, lost in a daydream, instead of paying attention to the teacher. Especially during math class. Every time Mr. Papernick started in on fractions, my mind automatically switched to a better place. And lately, this better place was onstage, winning Wilcott's Got Talent. Just thinking about math was enough to send me off. Multiplication tables and long division faded into the background until all I could see was Daniela standing on the middle of a large stage. She was swinging her microphone like a lasso. There I stood, front and centre beside Daniela, even though the piano is usually found off to the side of the stage. It was
my
fantasy after all. My fingers whipped up and down the keyboard as I crouched down to avoid being hit by the flying microphone. The floor shook as the audience jumped up and down. It was hard to hear Daniela over the cheering. She caught her microphone and put her arm around me. She was singing directly in my left ear.

“Earth to Adam,” said Daniela, gently pushing my shoulder. “Wake up. Return to planet Earth, please.”

I shook my head, trying to bring myself back to Daniela and our conversation. But she was lost in a dream herself.

“This could be my big chance,” she said, looking right through me. “First, Wilcott's Got Talent, and then the lead in the Grade Eight Thespian Extravaganza Extraordinaire. Sky's the limit. Off-Broadway...Broadway...”

I had to cut her off. “Sorry to dash your dreams, Cuz, but you'll only be in grade seven next year. If my math is right, which it usually isn't, you'll have to wait another year to be the lead in the grade eight play.”

“Not after they hear me sing!” said Daniela, smiling to herself and swaying to the music in her head.

Evidently, daydreaming ran in our family. I changed the subject to something more important. The band now had a name, a singer, and a piano/ ideas man. We still needed one or two guitar players and a drummer. “My parents said we could use the garage for try-outs after school next week,” I said.

“Why don't we have first auditions on Tuesday,” suggested Daniela, “and then the second round on Wednesday?”

“I think we should have first auditions on Monday. Why wait?” I said. I was excited, and ready to get the show on the road.

“But we have a geometry test on Tuesday. I don't know about you,” said Daniela, “but I need to study for it on Monday. Actually,” she paused, “I
do
know about you because your dad has a very loud voice when he gets angry. You need to study for it, too—on Saturday, Sunday,
and
Monday!”

It was impossible to focus on numbers when the chance of winning a huge talent show loomed in my future. And in case winning Wilcott's Got Talent didn't provide enough distractions, there was the District Donnybrook Talent Competition, and—the ultimate—the City Championship. It was enough to send my mind spinning in a million different directions. But Daniela was right. My parents hadn't been impressed with my last report card. The whole street probably heard my dad when he saw all of the C's running up and down the report. I needed to force myself to open that math book and learn some numbers.

But I also needed to be sure that Sick on a Snow Day got first crack at Wilcott's top talent. I brokered a deal with my cousin. “I promise to spend the weekend learning formulas if you agree to hold auditions Monday and Tuesday.”

I had worn her down. “Fine, but you better hold up your end,” warned Daniela. “Your dad gets loud when he's mad. Now, excuse me while I wash my hair and work on my moves”—she tossed back her red hair with a dramatic shake of her head and used her tall, thin frame to strike a pose—“and you go learn a few new chords on the piano. I'm sick of hearing
Chopsticks
!”

We both had a lot of work to do.