The Zucchini Warriors (7 page)

And Kevin Klapper would be there to expose it all and prove that football would never get the better of him again.

* * *

“I’ll bet Wilbur’s come up with a great rec hall plan,” said Bruno as he and Boots entered Dormitory 2. “He’s a bit of a crab, but in the end, he’s a pretty smart guy.”

Boots stepped into the main hallway and stopped dead. There was a small crowd of boys standing around the open door of the room Wilbur shared with Larry Wilson. Laughter could be heard, and much heckling.

Bruno elbowed his way through the group and looked into the room. Wilbur stood in the centre of the floor, bellowing with outrage. Larry had him in a full nelson to keep him from hurling himself upon Elmer Drimsdale, who cowered before him, clutching his four bush hamsters to his heart.

“Two kilos of imported halvah!
Gone!
” Wilbur shouted in a foghorn voice that echoed throughout the dormitory.

“I’m sorry,” said Elmer meekly. “They got out of my room, and I couldn’t catch them. They’re not responsible. Don’t yell at them; yell at me.”

“I
am
yelling at you! My cookies! Half my chips! The mixed nuts are
decimated
! They even got into the — the
peanut butter
!” He broke free from Larry and yelled the last part into Elmer’s face. The bush hamsters scrambled and buried their heads in Elmer’s shirt.

Elmer drew himself up to his full height, which was a good twenty centimetres shorter than Wilbur. “Wilbur Hackenschleimer, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! You’re scaring my Manchurian bush hamsters, an endangered species! How do you expect them to reproduce when they’re all distraught like this?”

“I don’t care if they
never
reproduce!” roared Wilbur. “I want my peanut butter!”

“Hold everything!” Bruno rushed in between them. “Break it up. We’re all friends here, remember? Wilbur, we’ll get you some new food. Elmer, take your rats and go home.”

Wilbur was not consoled. “Look what they ate!” He showed Bruno torn bags and gnawed boxes.

Even Bruno was impressed. “How long were they in here?”

“Only ten minutes,” said Larry in awe. “Wilbur himself couldn’t put away that much in ten minutes.”

Bruno looked at Elmer. “Do they eat like this all the time?”

“Oh, yes,” said Elmer. “Each bush hamster can consume seven to ten times his own weight daily. And they’ll eat practically anything.”

Bruno raised both eyebrows. “Anything? Even if it’s lousy?”

Elmer nodded.

Bruno emitted a great shout of triumph. “That’s it! We’ve got four new recruits for the Zucchini Disposal Squad! The next time Hank the Tank gives us zucchini sticks, these little guys can eat them for us!”

“I can’t see any harm in it,” said Elmer thoughtfully.

Boots pushed his way through the crowd. “Just in case anybody’s thinking of speaking his mind, the Blabbermouth’s here.”

Bruno dropped his voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell the Blabbermouth about the new zucchini disposal plan. This is the solution we’ve been praying for.” To Wilbur he said, “Have you got that layout for our rec hall finished yet?”

“Rec hall?
Rec hall?
How can you talk about a rec hall when my food — my life — my sustenance has been ransacked by a gang of mangy rodents?”

Elmer was outraged. “It is well known in the scientific community that Manchurian bush hamsters are extremely clean animals!”

Muttering darkly under his breath, Wilbur handed Bruno his rec hall drawing just as Myron Blankenship broke through the crowd.

“What’s all the excitement?” Myron asked.

Bruno held up the floor plan. “We’re all admiring this great drawing.”

Myron looked confused. “Uh — very nice.”

* * *

“Hey, did you guys know that Elmer Drimsdale keeps furry animals in his room?” announced Myron Blankenship in geography class the next day as the boys were settling into their seats.

Boots O’Neal turned beseeching eyes upward. “Is there no end to his yap?”

Bruno looked disgusted. “Poor Elmer. When his bush hamsters get booted out, he’ll be heartbroken.”

“So you think this is going to get back to The Fish or one of the teachers?” Boots asked.

Bruno nodded grimly. “It might be tomorrow, it might take a month, but the Blabbermouth always gets his man. And this doesn’t do much for our zucchini disposal plan, either. We can’t very well feed that stuff to the hamsters if they’re not here. I’ve got half a mind to feed it to the Blabbermouth.”

Boots shook his head. “What a disaster last night was. The fight of the century, the bush hamsters got spotted by the Blabbermouth — and let’s not forget Wilbur’s rec hall plan.”

“Don’t remind me,” Bruno groaned. “I thought that guy was smart. I forgot that his idea of recreation is a restaurant. Pizza ovens! Barbecue pits! Soda fountains! A salad bar! Why, there must have been six refrigerators in that drawing — seven if you include the meat locker!”

Boots snickered. “That’s Wilbur. His head is ruled by his stomach.”

“All right, laugh. Three floor plans, all of them useless. I’d like to see you put in some effort before you chuckle the house down.”

“As a matter of fact, I will,” said Boots. “I’ll draw the next plan, just to show you what a realistic rec hall should be like.”

Mr. Klapper appeared in the doorway, notebook in hand. “Aha! Ninety seconds after start of the period, and this class is not yet underway.” His eyes narrowed. “Are there any
football players
here?”

Mystified, Bruno, Boots and Myron raised their hands. Klapper made notes.

Myron stood up. “Sir, did you know that Elmer Drimsdale keeps furry animals in his room?”

Klapper’s thin eyebrows shot up. “Drimsdale. He’s your new
quarterback
, isn’t he?” He made even more notes and left the room.

Three football players in a late class. The star quarterback keeping animals in his room. The case against Macdonald Hall was building.

* * *

“One more bench press,” Bruno puffed, “and I’m going to drop dead before we ever play a game!”

It was six-thirty in the morning, and Bruno and Boots were in the Macdonald Hall gym, lifting weights.

“Cathy’s life is in our hands,” Boots grimaced, chinning himself on a high bar until his fair face turned purple. “I’ll admit that she’s a million times better than the rest of us put together, but she’s still a girl, and this is a rough game. As offensive linemen, we’re the only thing standing between her and the big guys on the other teams. We have to train our heads off!”

“Hold on a minute,” said Bruno. “You can get me up in the middle of the night and put five-tonne barbells in my hands, but you can’t pull the wool over my eyes. We didn’t hold a gun to Cathy’s head and force her to be our quarterback, remember? She stole your stuff and snuck out onto the field.”

“Sure,” said Boots. “But we also didn’t jump right up and say, ‘No, she can’t play. She’ll get killed. And she doesn’t even go to Macdonald Hall.’”

So in the days leading up to the Zucchini Warriors’ first game, as the team trained and practised, Bruno and Boots trained and practised more than anyone. And they prepared themselves mentally more than anyone, except Calvin Fihzgart. Calvin had worked himself up into such a state of ferocity that Coach Flynn had to threaten to bench him after an incident where he’d uprooted a small cedar shrub with his bare hands and hurled it across the highway.

“Look, Fihzgart, never mind the landscaping! Concentrate on playing football!”

“Coach, I’m just showing you what’s going to happen. That tree is a player from the other team when he comes up against The Beast!”

The opening of the football season was a home game on Saturday afternoon, and Mr. Carson scheduled a team meeting at his cottage Thursday night. Naturally Elmer had to attend rather than Cathy, but Boots brought along a cassette recorder to tape the strategy session for the absent quarterback.

“Remember,” Bruno whispered, “if Hank the Tank comes up with zucchini sticks, don’t panic. Elmer’s still got his bush hamsters, and they can take care of the whole shipment.”

The boys arranged themselves in the living room, and Coach Flynn shut the door.

“Men,” Henry Carson said dramatically, “we’ve come a long way, and Saturday is our first test.”

All the players cheered. Even Elmer looked enthusiastic.

“The opponents we drew are the St. Vincent Junior High Voles, and they’re not a very strong team. They finished in the cellar last year.”

“And they’re going to finish in the cemetery this year!” roared Calvin.

“Don’t get overconfident,” Flynn warned seriously. “Even though the Voles lost all their games last season, they can still be tough. Remember, this is only our first game. But we can still do our best and make a good showing —”

“Good showing?!” interrupted Mr. Carson. “We can beat those guys! But we have to play a tight defence and a careful offence. Right, Drimsdale?”

“Oh — uh — indubitably, sir,” said Elmer.

“He means yeah,” supplied Bruno.

“Right.” Mr. Carson wheeled out a chalkboard. “Now we’re going to go over all our plays. Drimsdale, front and centre.”

They went on for the better part of an hour, running the few plays that the Warriors had worked on in practice.

“So that’s our 85 Buttonhook Left,” said Coach Flynn after a long explanation. “Now, Drimsdale, why does it work?”

Elmer examined the blackboard thoughtfully. “Because of the trigonometric ratios of the trajectory of the ball as it leaves the quarterback’s hand, compensated with the downward acceleration of the gravitational pull of the earth?” he suggested.

Flynn stared at the board. “Maybe,” he said finally. “But I was going to say that it works because the other guys are way down here.”

“That makes sense, too,” said Elmer generously.

“Okay,” said Mr. Carson. “We’ll have a light practice tomorrow — I want everybody to be at a hundred percent for Saturday.”

“We won’t let you and the coach down, Mr. Carson,” said Bruno earnestly. “Will we, guys?”

“NO!!”
bellowed twenty-six voices.

“That’s my team!” said Carson emotionally. “So grab some zucchini sticks, men, and have a good night.”

The zucchini wagon was at the door, bells ringing.

Myron looked surprised. “But Mr. Carson, don’t you know what we did with the last —?”

Two hands clamped heavily over Myron’s open mouth. Dave Jackson and Pete Anderson, one lifting under each arm, hoisted him up and carried him out of the house, pausing only to receive three plates of zucchini sticks at the door. Bruno flashed them the thumbs-up signal.

* * *

Mr. Sturgeon walked across the campus in the direction of the dormitories. He disliked what he was about to do, but do it he must. There was a rumour circulating that Elmer Drimsdale was harbouring some sort of animal, and the rumour had reached the ears of Miss Hildegarde, the school nurse. That tattling Blankenship boy had no doubt started it all. And now the Headmaster was forced to finish it. Personally he had nothing against Elmer keeping animals for his scientific studies. But rules were rules, and Miss Hildegarde had been extremely adamant on the phone. Still, interfering with Drimsdale’s experiments always seemed like a crime against science.

He entered Dormitory 2, approached the door of room 201 and knocked.

“It’s not locked,” came a voice that was definitely not Drimsdale’s. “Step right up. Bring ’em all in. They’re eating them faster than we can stuff them in the cage.”

Mr. Sturgeon entered to see Bruno, Boots and Elmer on their hands and knees around a large cage, feeding zucchini sticks to four furry brown creatures.

Not looking away from the cage, Bruno stretched out his hand toward the newcomer. “Come on. Hand over your plate. We haven’t got all night, you know.”

“Good evening, Walton — O’Neal — Drimsdale.”

All three scrambled to their feet.

“S–s–sir,” stammered Bruno. “What a surprise!”

“I see you’ve restaffed the Zucchini Disposal Squad,” said the Headmaster with some amusement. “What on earth are they?”

“They’re Manchurian bush hamsters, sir,” said Elmer, “an endangered species. I’m attempting to make them reproduce.”

The door burst open, and Larry and Wilbur entered. “Okay, we’ve got two more plates of garbage — Mr. Sturgeon —” Wilbur barely whispered. “Uh — we were just — uh — leaving, and — uh — good-bye.” The two put down their plates and fled.

Mr. Sturgeon stared in amazement at the huge stack of empty Mr. Zucchini plates, and then at the four little bush hamsters in the cage. “Well, Drimsdale, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. Would you prefer that Walton and O’Neal leave us?”

“It’s no problem, Elm,” said Bruno. “We could come back later and you could tell us then.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Elmer bravely. He turned to the Headmaster. “This has something to do with my bush hamsters, sir?”

“I fear so, Drimsdale. And I tell you honestly that I hate to do this. I find it commendable that you wish to save this species from extinction. But too many people know about this already, and keeping animals in this room is very clearly against the rules. You will have to move them elsewhere.” He glared down the wide smile of inspiration on Bruno’s face. “No, Walton. This includes your room and anyone else’s room. And it also includes the rooms of any of the young ladies across the road, since
we do not go there anymore
. Am I right?” This time it was the Headmaster’s turn to smile. “Now, Drimsdale, you may have a day or so to try and find another home for your bush hamsters. But if you cannot, perhaps you had better return them to their owners.”

“Yes, sir,” said Elmer.

* * *

Cathy hit the eject button, and out popped Boots’s recording of the team meeting. It was Friday, the night before the big game. Earlier, she had retrieved the cassette from where Bruno and Boots had hidden it in the Macdonald Hall bushes by the roadside.

“Well, do you know it yet?” asked Diane sarcastically. “You’ve only listened to it three times.”

“We’re as ready as we’re ever going to be,” said the quarterback of the Macdonald Hall Warriors. “My first game! I’ve never been this excited in my life!”