The BEDMAS Conspiracy (2 page)

“T
he Swedish Meatball? What kind of act is that?” I asked Daniela.

“I think it might be a competitive eater,” replied Daniela. “Gross, but highly watchable.”

We were checking out the Wilcott's Got Talent sign-up list, which was posted on the cafeteria door. The deadline was Friday. It was only Monday, but the sign-up sheet was almost full.

“The Subtractions?”

“The math club's band.”

“We Wuz Framed?”

“The guys in detention decided to form a break-dancing group. They've got a lot of spare time on their hands.”

“WETPDA?” I asked, thoroughly confused.

“Wilcotters for the Ethical Treatment of Poor Defenseless Animals. You know, the guys who let the frogs out of their cages last year.”

Those guys I liked! They got us out of our science dissections.

“I heard they were going to join forces with the guys from detention—they got to know each other pretty well—but I guess they decided against it,” said Daniela.

Sick on a Snow Day only had two members, but the sign-up sheet was quickly becoming covered in ink. Two more acts scrawled their names on the list.

“The Flying Perogies?” I looked quizzically at my cousin.

“No idea!” laughed Daniela.

“I guess we'd better sign up before it's too late,” I said to her. All this competition was making me nervous. I was seriously thinking about doubling my piano lessons. We signed up for the show even though our first auditions weren't until after school.

“Did you post all of the flyers?” I asked Daniela. We had made fifty flyers stating the date, time, and location of our auditions. I was hoping for a good turnout, especially after seeing the long list of competitors. On the bright side, it didn't look like J.R. Wilcott's marching band had entered. Perhaps we could find a drummer or tuba player who could keep the beat.

Daniela and I were just about head to homeroom when we heard a high, soft voice behind us. “We Wuz Framed—cool. Flying Perogies—nice! Sick on a Snow Day—what does that mean?”

It was Eldrick Hooperberg. He was a skinny little guy who really didn't fit in with anyone at school. Way too nerdy to be cool but not cut-throat enough to be a power-nerd, Eldrick just disappeared into the background. Supposedly, he was an alternate in the marching band, but there was almost no evidence of him in the school yearbook. A gigantic tuba player blocked him out of the photo. Things weren't much better in his class photo. His eyes were closed and his named was misspelled.

“Ellen Hopperbern?” wondered everyone. “Who's that?”

I didn't know Eldrick well. The only reason I knew him at all was due to Daniela. She had a soft spot for him. In the third grade, Eldrick had given her a bottle of liquid paper which he had dyed red to match her hair.

“He made the dye himself by mixing three different beetle juices,” she said, flattered.

“That little new guy made it himself?” I had asked her at the time.

“Adam, we've gone to school with Eldrick since kindergarten.”

I wasn't the only one who kept forgetting about him. Teachers were forever calling Eldrick up to the front of the class and asking him to introduce himself and tell us what school he'd transferred from. But Daniela had never forgotten his liquid-paper present.

“Poor guy,” whispered Daniela, “I heard the Subtractions won't let him play the triangle in their rhythm section.”

“Hey, Daniela. Hey, Adam,” said Eldrick shyly when he spotted us. “I heard you guys are getting a band together. When are auditions?”

“First auditions are today. Second round is tomorrow,” said Daniela.

“Why?” I asked. “Are you planning on trying out?”

Eldrick frowned and looked at the ground. He shuffled back and forth awkwardly. “Well, maybe not today. I'm tutoring Dez McDaniels in math and I've got to get him ready for the big math test tomorrow. We've got a lot of work to do after school. But if it's okay with you, I'll come on Tuesday for the second round.”

Quickly, I sized him up. Thick brown glasses, plaid button-down shirt tucked into a pair of brown cords that ended somewhere between his belly button and chest. He laughed nervously and pulled his pants a little higher. I wanted our band to be cool. Unfortunately, Eldrick was the opposite of cool.

Before I could try and talk him out of it, I heard Daniela saying, “Sure, no problem, Eldrick.”

I nodded reluctantly. “See you on Tuesday, Eldrick.”

A triangle player, no matter how good, was not what I had in mind for the band. I hoped today's tryout would yield some superstars.

S
ick on a Snow Day was officially in the talent show—which made it impossible for me to concentrate during class. I dreamed of bass guitars during biology. I fantasized about jamming throughout geography. Catchy choruses replaced chemistry formulas. By the time Daniela and I started walking home, I had written our first hit. I was just about to break into the chorus when, in the distance, I saw a bunch of people lined up on my driveway. This was good. Very good! We had the cream of J.R. Wilcott's crop to choose from.

As we approached my house, I saw Andrea Hackenpack tuning her guitar. Sal Gervano was twirling two drumsticks. Raz Keilberg strummed on his bass. Even some grade eights had showed up. Sludge Sludinsky was doing some serious stretching while Nat Kaplan hummed as she listened to her iPod.

We decided to hold auditions in alphabetical order. Allan Alter was first up on drums. Daniela gently shook her head when he finished.

Andrea Hackenpack was next. She was one of the smartest kids at J.R Wilcott and great at everything she tried. But, she was also known to be a perfectionist and rather emotional. Daniela had once found her crying in the bathroom because she'd got an A-minus on her spelling test.

“I thought the teacher meant
presents
not
presence
,” she had sobbed.

This was okay for me, because all great rock bands had one member who was a loose cannon. Andrea plugged her pink guitar into the amp and looked at us.

“Frieda and I are ready when you are.”

“Frieda?” I asked.

“Frieda—my guitar. I believe a true musician should be
one
with her instrument. Frieda is my best friend. Jenny Mitchell was my best friend until I told her that I liked Michael Wise; and then she ran and told him, and then she ran back and told me that he said—”

“How about you and Frieda show us what you two can do?” I interrupted. We had a long line queuing down the driveway that we needed to get through before dinner.

“My ex-best friend in Papua New Guinea did the exact same thing,” said Daniela to Andrea. “Play for us now and you can tell me the rest later.”

Andrea took a brief moment to compose herself. Then she looked down at Frieda and let out a howl.

“Okay, Frieda, let's do it!” yelled Andrea as her fingers started to work.

It was a beautiful friendship. Andrea's fingers plucked furiously and Frieda wailed happily in return. The faster Andrea's fingers moved, the happier Frieda sounded. Daniela bobbed her head up and down to the music. Andrea and Frieda were shoo-ins for Sick on a Snow Day.

Suddenly, we heard an off-key, tinny
twang
. It was followed up by a sharp
tongy twong
and then a limp
tangy tung
. Andrea stopped playing. Daniela and I looked at each other. Andrea glared furiously at Frieda. “I can't believe you're doing this to me right now!” she wailed. She stared accusingly at Frieda, who now sported two broken strings.

“Of all the times to let me down,” hissed Andrea to her guitar. “True best friends are there for each other. You're no better than Jenny Mitchell!”

Andrea turned to us abruptly, “I'm sorry about this.” She started to pack her bag.

“That's okay, Andrea,” said Daniela, trying to soothe her. “Adam and I heard enough to know that you and Frieda are awesome.” She looked at me and I nodded. “Can you have Frieda fixed by next week?”

“I don't think that's possible,” said Andrea sadly.

“Well, what about the following week?” I asked. I was desperate to have her in the band. She was awesome and a bit loopy—the perfect band member!

“No, you don't understand,” said Andrea. “After everything that happened with Jenny, I need a best friend I can
trust
. Frieda's proven herself to be just as untrustworthy as Jenny. I don't want to have anything to do with her again.”

She handed us Frieda and started to button up her sweater.

“Maybe I'll take up the drums. The drums don't leave you hanging out to dry during your biggest moment. Yeah, the drums seem trustworthy. Solid and dependable. Or maybe I'll just buy a dog.” She picked up her bag and headed out the door.

“Andrea, you forgot Frieda,” Daniela called after her.

“Keep her,” said Andrea without turning around.

Okay—so she was
a lot
loopy.

Daniela shrugged, “She was good, really good. But I think we just dodged a crazy bullet there, Cuz.”

I had to agree, though somewhat regretfully. Andrea and Frieda really wailed.

Raz Keilberg, a new kid in grade seven, was next with his vintage bass guitar. It was a solid, if not spectacular, audition.

“Not bad,” said Daniela.

“But we need more than ‘not bad' if we are going to win this thing,” I reminded Daniela. We already had one weak band member—me!

A slew of unimpressive guitarists were next.

“What do you think the chances are of Andrea forgiving Frieda?” asked Daniela.

We looked at poor Frieda lying broken and lonely in the corner.

“Don't count on it,” I replied.

It turned out that Edward Nojna was a crack accordion player.

“Name any polka and I guarantee I can play it,” he said proudly.

Farid Nazar was decent at keeping the beat on the recorder.

“He's worth keeping in mind,” I said to Daniela, who looked doubtful.

“We might have to think outside the box,” I told her.

Next up was Sludge Sludinsky. Sludge was a cool kid in the eighth grade. We were surprised to see him at our tryout. If there was a sticky situation at J.R. Wilcott, Sludge was usually in the middle of it. Toilet-papering the gym and placing stink bombs in the grade seven saxophones were two of his more memorable “extra-curricular activities.” He could usually be found lounging in the back row of detention.

Recently, Sludge had wowed the whole school in the J.R. Wilcott production of
Romeo and Juliet
. Most people hadn't expected him to know who Shakespeare was, let alone want to perform one of his famous plays. But not only did Sludge learn the play (in detention, of course), he
really
surprised everyone by giving a terrific performance. In fact, he was so good that Principal Losman let him miss detention once a week so he could join the drama club. He was a bit of a Wilcott celebrity.

“Hey, it's awesome that you're here,” I said, trying to sound cool. “What do you play?”

I don't think he heard me. He was staring at Daniela and his face was frozen in a goofy grin.

“Sludge, what instrument do you play?” I asked again.

He continued to gaze goofily at Daniela. I wasn't the only one who liked to daydream!

“Do something!” she whispered to me. Her face was as red as her hair.

I ran to the drum kit at the back of the garage and grabbed the cymbals. Their crashing noise jolted Sludge back to the real world. He turned his head to see where the clatter came from.

“Awesome looking skins, bro!” he said when he saw my brother's drum kit. “These are some sick tubs!” He took a seat. “What time do you want me to keep? Two-four? Six-eight?”

Daniela frowned helplessly at me. We had no idea what he was talking about.

I had to ad lib. “Your choice, Sludge. We just want to see what kind of skills you bring to the table… uh,
dude
,” I added, trying to sound cool again.

Sludge twirled two drumsticks between his fingers. “One, two—one, two, three, four,” he bellowed before starting to play. His left arm provided a speedy
boom
as his right arm offered a thundering
bop
. He played fast, furiously, and fantastically. I found myself clapping along as he attacked the drums. After a final whoosh of thumps and thuds, he tossed his sticks into the air, catching one behind his back and the other in his teeth.

Daniela and I were speechless. Sludge had to speak for us. “Will I get a call-back?”

There was no need for a call-back.

“You're in!” Daniela told him. “Welcome to Sick on a Snow Day.”

Sludge grinned. “Awesome! So who's our axeman?”

Axeman?

“Who's playing guitar for us?” explained Sludge.

I really needed to bone up on my musical terms. “We're still looking,” I told Sludge. “Andrea and Frieda broke up, so our axe person is undecided.”