The Zucchini Warriors (13 page)

“No one’s blaming you, Sidney,” said Larry soothingly. “Any damage you cause goes down as an act of nature, like an earthquake, or a tidal wave.”

They arrived at eleven-thirty. Miss Scrimmage’s group was already there, since the Headmistress drove the school minibus personally, averaging 140 kilometres per hour the whole trip. The Kingston Junior High Kings played in a local high school stadium, not nearly as modern as the Macdonald Hall facility, but with seating for over a thousand spectators.

The Warriors were warming up and stretching, and the cheerleaders were setting up for their opening routine when the tenth member of The Line of Scrimmage took the field.

“Ohhh!” groaned Dave Jackson. “Those cheerleaders are embarrassing! They’re terrible! Check out the red-haired one with the bow legs. She looks like she can’t even see where she’s going!”

Boots grinned nervously. “Look closer, Dave.”

Dave squinted at the redhead and goggled. “It’s
Elmer
! Elmer without his glasses! Man, he makes an ugly cheerleader!”

Elmer, dressed in a Line of Scrimmage uniform, a gaudy red wig that positively glowed in the chill November sun, makeup and eye shadow liberally slopped on his face, was barrelling wildly around the sidelines. Without his glasses, and wearing shoes a size and a half too tight, he was out of control, bouncing off the other cheerleaders as though he were caught amidst the bumpers of a pinball machine, pom-poms flailing wildly.

“Elmer,
calm down
!” ordered Wilma Dorf, the head cheerleader.

Elmer couldn’t hear her over the sound of his own voice screaming,
“Yay, team, go, team, go!”
He was fiercely determined to be the best cheerleader on the field, so that Bruno could never say he had failed while under contract.

The start of the game was delayed because the Kings were bowled over in amazement, and the Warriors were laughing too hard to kick off. Bruno and Cathy in particular were half collapsed in hysterics by the 30-yard line, holding onto each other for support. Boots stood near them, saying, “Sure. Go ahead and laugh. What are we going to do if he
kills somebody
?”

“Wow!” exclaimed Mr. Carson as Elmer blindly decked Ruth Sidwell and continued his rampage on the sidelines. “Who’s that?”

Mr. Klapper shook his head. “I wish we had her for the defence.”

Finally the game began, and the other cheerleaders managed to quiet Elmer and sit him down. Soon, though, the Kings fumbled, and Macdonald Hall recovered, and Wilma hauled Elmer to his feet so the cheerleaders could do their usual celebration.

“Way to go, team! Number one! Yes!” He began a mad dance, darting around like a grasshopper in a jar. An errant hand clouted Wilma on the jaw, and the other cheerleaders dropped to the ground to avoid his flailing arms.

“What are we going to do?” one referee asked the other.

The man shrugged helplessly. “Is it legal to penalize a cheerleader for unnecessary roughness?”

Stepping on Wilma’s leg, Elmer staggered out onto the field. The crowd rose to its feet in a standing ovation, and Bruno and Boots grabbed Elmer and dragged him to the sidelines. There was a loud chorus of booing from the stands.

“Elmer, you’ve got to mellow out!” Boots exclaimed frantically.

Elmer rubbed his eyes, smearing his mascara into large black rings that made him look like a raccoon. “I can’t see anything! And my shoes are too tight!”

“Try not to be so violent,” coached Bruno. “And don’t yell so loud.”

“Oh, no you don’t!” said Elmer belligerently. “You’re trying to make me do a bad job so you can tear up the contract!”

“Just cool it!”

They led Elmer back to the other cheerleaders, amid tumultuous applause, and jogged back toward the play.

The first half of the game turned out to be a defensive battle, with neither side able to produce a touchdown. Cathy had thrown several perfect passes, but the Macdonald Hall receivers were having a tough day, dropping almost everything that came their way. As the half neared its close, with the score still 0–0, the crowd became bored and restless.

Suddenly someone started to chant, “We want the redhead!” until it caught on, and soon the whole stadium rang with,
“We want the redhead! We want the redhead!”

In a panic, Boots nudged Bruno. “They’re calling for Elmer!”

His red wig a fiery blur, Elmer rocketed off the cheerleaders’ bench to a huge ovation. He opened his mouth and bellowed:

“Two-Four-Six-Eight!

“Whom do we appreciate?”

“YOU!”
the crowd roared back.

Macdonald Hall used its last remaining timeout to get Elmer off the field.

In the second half, the Kings came out flying, taking the lead 14–0, and things were looking grim indeed for Macdonald Hall.

“I hope you’ve got a speech to explain why
this
is a positive experience!” groaned Coach Flynn to Kevin Klapper as Dave Jackson let a pass slip right through his extended hands.

“All we need is one big play,” said Klapper anxiously. “Then everything’s going to start clicking. I can
feel
it.”

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than an unlikely hero emerged for Macdonald Hall. With an offhand remark about Gerald Hoskins’ chronic bad breath, Myron Blankenship jogged onto the scene and kicked an almost impossible long-distance field goal.

From that moment, the Zucchini Warriors took over. Cathy threw two touchdown passes to make the final score 17–14 in favour of Macdonald Hall. The Warriors were ecstatic, and even the Kingston fans were not disappointed, as they were treated to the sight of Elmer Drimsdale’s victory dance, which brought the house down.

* * *

There was no Mr. Zucchini outlet in Kingston, so the team feasted on a victory dinner of hamburgers while the community newspaper interviewed quarterback Elmer Drimsdale about his two spectacular fourth-quarter touchdowns. Mr. Carson sent them to bed early.

“There,” said Bruno, adjusting the hotel room thermostat with the edge of his lucky penny. “The knob part’s broken off, but it’s okay now. Hey, Boots, what’s eating you?”

The two were preparing for bed in their tiny room at the Olympiad Motel, not too far from Kingston Junior High.

Boots was seated on his bed, looking unhappy. “It’s Elmer. You saw him today. He was like a Mexican jumping bean with lipstick! Think about the Elmer we know — dull, quiet, meek. I think we pushed him too far and messed up his personality.”

“I know what you mean,” said Bruno thoughtfully. He threw on his jacket over his pyjamas. “So let’s pay Elmer a visit — you know, to see how he’s doing. Just watch out for Hank the Tank.”

Barefoot despite the cold autumn night, the boys padded past the ice machine to the room Elmer was sharing with Pete Anderson. They knocked softly and entered.

The entire Kingston Junior High cheerleading squad sat cross-legged on the floor with Elmer, sharing a huge pepperoni-and-mushroom pizza. Elmer was in the middle of a play-by-play description of his brilliant field generalship, while Pete sat on his bed, staring in amazement.

“Hey, Elm,” said Bruno. “What
is
this?”

“A few people who appreciate good football and fine Italian food,” said Elmer.

In the background, Pete shrugged expansively.

“You’re the greatest quarterback in the world,” one of the girls told Elmer. “But you’ve got to get rid of that redheaded cheerleader. She’s got legs like a piano.”

“And she’s crazy!” added another vehemently.

“I assure you that she will not appear again,” said Elmer, looking meaningfully at Bruno and patting his back pocket, where the folded contract was safely tucked away.

Boots leaned over to Bruno. “Pssst! I thought his throat closes up when there are girls around.”

“I think he’s cured.”

“Well,” said Elmer to Bruno and Boots, “have a good sleep. See you on the bus tomorrow.”

Bruno was in shock. “He hoofed us out!” he exclaimed, as he and Boots made their way back to their own room. “I can’t believe it’s Elmer!”

Boots grimaced. “Let’s just hope he gets back to normal soon.”

While the Zucchini Warriors were covering themselves with glory in Kingston, a blessed event took place under the north bleachers of the Macdonald Hall football stadium. The two female Manchurian bush hamsters gave birth to litters only an hour apart. By morning, forty-one baby bush hamsters were munching happily on the castaway zucchini sticks. The babies looked like miniature versions of the adults, except for the mane of long hair framing the parents’ heads. That would grow in about three weeks. It took only that long for a newborn bush hamster to reach full maturity.

The four parents watched carefully, making sure none of the babies strayed beyond the enclosure of the bleachers. This watchfulness was not necessary. It seemed that newborn bush hamsters were every bit as fond of the taste of deep-fried zucchini sticks as their parents were.

But with the large new number of mouths to feed, and no home football game in over a week, the food supply was quickly dwindling. So the two fathers ventured forth from under the stands to seek out a new source of nourishment for their growing families. Their keen noses soon led them to a large garbage bin outside the Macdonald Hall kitchen, where the pickings were excellent.

They were sampling the scrapings from last night’s lasagna when two sets of human hands reached down to grab them. Hair standing on end, the bush hamsters took off at top speed, but the humans followed and chased them …

* * *

“… around the corner of the Faculty Building, and right along the front driveway,” finished Mark Davies. “And, let me tell you, those little guys can move. Chris and I were gasping.”

Bruno and Boots were back in room 306, catching up on their homework late Monday afternoon when Mark came by to tell them about his encounter with the bush hamsters.

“Did they get away?” asked Bruno.

Mark nodded. “We chased them halfway to the moon! Chris had to stop in the middle because of his foot.”

“What’s wrong with his foot?” asked Boots.

“Ingrown toenail,” Bruno told him. “Haven’t you been listening to your local blabbermouth lately?”

“Then those speed demons ran me into the ground. But it’s good news anyway, right? It means they’re somewhere around the campus.”

“Right,” agreed Bruno. “Let’s go tell Elmer. Maybe a little good news will bring him back down to earth.”

Elmer wasn’t in his room, but a neighbour said he’d gone into town with one of the faculty and his wife on a shopping trip and was due back shortly.

Bruno frowned. “Elmer doesn’t shop.”

“After the last few days,” said Boots fervently, “I’d believe you if you told me he was growing a tail!
Nothing
would surprise me.”

He was wrong. At that moment, Elmer appeared at the end of the corridor. Both boys gawked. The person they were looking at bore no resemblance to Elmer Drimsdale, school genius. He looked like the cover of
Funky Beat
magazine. His crew cut, now bleached platinum blond, stood up in short spikes. His glasses had been tinted to look like shades and reset into sleek gunmetal frames. He wore a black leather jacket and tight crocodile-skin pants over combat boots.

“Elmer!” gasped Bruno. “What happened to you?”

Elmer looked highly insulted. “Nothing ‘happened,’” he said stiffly. “It just occurred to me that, since I’m a star, I should see to it that I
look
like one.”

“Come on, Elmer —
think
!” Boots pleaded. “You’re not the star! Cathy is!”

Elmer glared at him. “When the game is over, who do the newspapers interview? Who gets the glory and the pizza?” There was no answer. “Exactly,” he said with satisfaction.

“Well, anyway, Elm,” said Bruno, “we’ve got great news for you. Mark spotted a couple of your bush hamsters on campus.”

“I am the most important person in junior high school athletics,” said Elmer simply. “I have no time for such things.”

“But what about your experiments?” Boots blurted out.

“Ah, yes, the experiments. That Elmer Drimsdale doesn’t exist any longer. I have a duty to my public.” With that, he brushed by them and disappeared into his room, crocodile-skin pants chafing at the thighs.

* * *

Dear Kevin
,

I am writing because I cannot seem to reach you by phone or e-mail. I am deeply concerned about what it is that has been keeping you at Macdonald Hall for so long. Your letters tell me very little, except that you are involved in some sort of special project
.

I must insist that you telephone me immediately so that we can discuss this problem
.

Yours sincerely
,

Douglas Greer
,

Curriculum Supervisor

Klapper read the letter morosely. It looked as though his days were numbered. He would have to go back to the Ministry to get sent on some dull assignment, leaving behind his Warriors, and definitely his heart. And just when the team needed him most, just when everything was beginning to click, just when Macdonald Hall was in hot contention for a play-off spot.

Of course, even if he left this minute for Toronto, he’d arrive at the office with no report. And Greer would never stand for that. So he’d have to do a report — and these things took time! At least through Saturday. He relaxed. And as long as he was here over Saturday, he may as well take in the game.

He glanced at the date and hour on his wristwatch. Greer wanted him to phone in. This was an excellent time for that, because right now Greer would be away at his weekly meeting with the Minister of Education.

Quickly he reconnected his phone and dialled Greer’s secretary. “Hello, Loretta. Kevin Klapper here … oh, not in, eh? What a pity. Well, just tell him I called as he asked me to. Tell him my work is coming along, and I’ll be in touch directly … Thank you, Loretta. ’Bye.”

He hung up and disconnected the phone, well pleased with himself.

* * *

In the weeks that followed, the Macdonald Hall Warriors’ game began to take on a new look. The caught passes suddenly outnumbered the dropped ones. No longer was it common to see a Macdonald Hall defender standing flat-footed and open-mouthed as an opponent danced elegantly around him for a touchdown.