Mob School Survivor Read online

  Second, Mom's cooking hasn't exactly been up to snuff lately. Instead of her usual "Burned This" or "Smoked That," she's still serving nothing but greens.

  Chances are, Sam would just smile and gobble it all up. He'd tell Mom it was the most delicious food he'd ever eaten and ask for more. But I'd still be embarrassed.

  The third reason I'd rather go to Sam's than have him over here has to do with bedtime. My parents like me to go to bed at the crack of dawn.

  But I don't get it—it's not like we're zombies! We're not going to burn up with the sun. And neither will Sam. So I'm hoping his parents let us stay up a little later. Maybe even ALL DAY.

  A creeper can hope, right?

  DAY 4: SUNDAY

  Well, the night started out okay. When Sam and his dad came to pick me up, my family wasn't TOO embarrassing. Except the Fashion Queen came downstairs wearing some stinky new gunpowder perfume.

  I told Sam that Cate was trying to impress some guy named Steve. Sam said that her plan might not work, because Cate smelled like rotten eggs.

  I don't really think Sam is one to talk, after the milk incident at school. But I let it slide. I've been doing that a lot with him lately.

  Things were going pretty much okay until we got to Sam's house near the swamp. That's when three mini slimes bounced out of the house to greet us.

  TRIPLETS? As much as Sam talks, you'd think he might have mentioned that he has three little brothers.

  Let's just say that I'm not a fan of little kids. They're loud and germy. Those Mini Sams were oozing slime EVERYWHERE. I didn't want to touch anything!

  But things got worse when we went inside the house. I smelled it before I saw it—a CAT.

  Here's what you should know about me and cats: We do not get along. Not at all.

  My friend Cash and I used to fling mushrooms at my neighbor's cat. Well, not AT him—just near him. He's an ocelot that Cash and I nicknamed Sir Coughs-a-Lot, because he's always hacking up hairballs.

  Sir Coughs-a-Lot doesn't like me, and I don't like him—that's a fact. We try to stay out of each other's way.

  But as soon as I met Sam's cat, I knew it was going to be hard to stay out of her way. "Isn't she pretty?" said Sam, pushing the black-and-white cat toward me. "Her name is Moo. Want to know why?"

  I told him I could pretty much guess why.

  Then Moo and I started doing this weird dance. She kept trying to rub up against me, but there was NO way that was gonna happen. I dodged her every move.

  Sam thought we were really bonding, me and that cat. But it was all I could do not to start hissing at her. (And I am NOT the hissing kind of creeper.)

  I finally asked Sam if he wanted to go outside. At least out there, I'd have a chance at losing Moo. Maybe she'd spot something more interesting than ME.

  It turns out that Sam lives near some witch huts. Honestly, I was weirded out by those huts. They looked dark and empty. But when Sam said he was friends with one of the witches, I felt better.

  Looking back now, I see that Sam was using the word "friend" pretty loosely.

  We knocked on the door of a witch hut, and this girl answered. She wore this heavy purple robe, even thought it was super hot out. And she looked kind of familiar.

  Sam was like, "Hi, Willow." But she just gave him this spooky stare.

  When he said we knew her from school, she was nicer. But when she waved at me, I saw she was holding something slimy. A SPIDER EYE.

  She told us she'd been brewing potions, and Sam was like, "Cool!"

  That was not the word I would have used—unless "cool" also means "GROSS and COMPLETELY DISGUSTING."

  I was pretty much done with this Willow girl, but Sam wanted to stick around. Lucky for me, Willow had a potion brewing in a back room that was going to bubble over or something. She said she had to get back to it. Phew!

  As we walked back through the swamp, Sam said we should go home and play with Moo again. I could tell I was going to have to take control of this sleepover. FAST.

  "Me and my friend Cash used to make fireworks," I said.

  Sam didn't take the bait. But at least he started throwing out other ideas, like jumping on his trampoline.

  That sounded better than bonding with Moo. But the trampoline turned out to be MUCH bigger than I thought it would be. I told Sam he could go first.

  Now if you've never seen a big green slime bouncing on a big green trampoline, you really should. That slime bounced SO high!

  When he came back down from orbit, he offered me a turn. But for some reason, I still wasn't ready. I told him to keep bouncing—that I was working on a rap song in my head.

  Sam wanted to help me. So he came up with this goofy rap right there on that trampoline.

  I try to be as fair as the next guy, but Sam's rap stunk—REALLY stunk. For starters, it was way too cheerful. Rap songs are supposed to be kind of dark. Plus, his rap didn't make any sense. When I told him that, he just smiled and added a couple more lines.

  I figured there was only one way to put an end to Sam's rap. I asked him if I could take a turn on the trampoline.

  He bounced right off, and I climbed on.

  I've gotta say, bouncing on a slime trampoline is pretty fun. I bounced higher, and higher, and higher.

  Pretty soon, I had a goofy grin on my face, just like Sam's. I was sure glad there was no one else around to see me.

  We stayed on that trampoline until the sun started to rise. I waited for someone to call us inside, but they didn't. Sam's parents must have been too busy putting those mini slimes to bed. So my plan was working!

  The sun was over the trees by the time we finally went in the house. All that bouncing made me forget about school and my itchiness. And I'm pretty sure I fell asleep with a grin on my face.

  But it sure didn't last long. I woke up this afternoon with a cat on my head. ON. MY. HEAD.

  There's so much wrong with that picture that I don't even want to talk about it. I'm still spitting out hairballs.

  So next time? I'm going to suggest that Sam sleeps at my house, Evil Twin or no Evil Twin. A creeper has his limits.

  DAY 6: TUESDAY

  Sleeping with a cat on my head was pretty much a picnic compared to what happened at school Monday night.

  I woke up this afternoon with an itchy rash on my forehead, thanks to Moo—not to mention all that scratching. Mom made me rub some coal tar lotion on the rash. Then she reminded me to take Sticky with me to school. My pet squid? I had no idea what she was talking about.

  Mom said my sister told her it was "Take Your Squid to School Day."

  I know that sounds crazy. At least, I know it NOW. But after my sleepover at Sam's, I was feeling pretty good about Sticky.

  Sticky doesn't try to rub up against me. Sticky doesn't ever sleep on my head or give me a rash. Sticky just floats around in his aquarium, staring at me with his sleepy little eyes.

  So I was perfectly happy to bring Sticky to school and show him off. After all, I have the best squid around. And maybe he'd take some of the attention off me and my itchy head. I grabbed the travel aquarium, and Sticky and I set off for school.

  But when I got there, NO ONE ELSE was carrying an aquarium. And everyone was like, "What's with the squid, Itchy?"

  Even Eddy Enderman stared at me and Sticky. Normally, that would have been pretty cool. But carrying my pet squid on a day that wasn't "Take Your Squid to School Day" was NOT cool.

  I ended up carrying Sticky from class to class.

  Everyone was laughing at me behind my back—and sometimes right in front of my face. But what was I supposed to do? I wasn't going to stuff Sticky in my locker.

  Then, when I was leaning over to check on him in the hall, Bones grabbed my lunch right out of my backpack. So to top things off, I was going to starve to death before the night's end. With my squid by my side.

  At first, I was mad at Mom. I thought maybe she'd mixed up her days—that all those brussels sprouts were starting to go to her head.<
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  But then when I got to history class, it all started to make sense. History is the only class that my Evil Twin and I have together. We sit as far apart as we can. She took a seat in the back right corner, so I sat in the front left corner.

  But as soon as I sat down and put Sticky on my desk, my Evil Twin burst out laughing. Then I knew. This was no mix-up. This was just another evil plot.

  I felt my insides start to bubble, like a pot of mushroom stew. If I didn't get control of myself, I'd start hissing—right there in class!

  Sam could tell something was up, and he must have told Mrs. Enderwoman. She started class early and said she had something REALLY interesting to talk about. She looked right at me when she said that, which freaked me out.

  Usually, Mrs. Enderwoman teaches us about the history of the Overworld. But today, she said we were starting a different kind of history project.

  Mrs. Enderwoman said we were going to learn about the history of our families. "Genealogy," she called it. She wanted each one of us to choose a family member from the past to write a report on.

  I wished she would quit using the word "family," because that got me thinking about my Evil Twin all over again.

  And the stress of it all made my head itch.

  I started rubbing my itchy forehead back and forth against Sticky's ice-cold tank. I stared at Sticky. He stared right back. We were kind of in this thing together, Sticky and I.

  Unfortunately, Mrs. Enderwoman thought I was shaking my head no. "Gerald, do you have a problem with this assignment?" she asked. GREAT.

  I told her no and tried to sit still, even though my rash itched so much, I wanted to crawl right out of my skin.

  The only good news was that Mrs. Enderwoman said our genealogy project wasn't due until the end of the month. That's ages from now, so I'm just going to put it out of my mind. I have way more important things to do before then.

  Like STOP ITCHING. And figure out how to get back at my Evil Twin for humiliating me. But how does a pacifist get revenge? Too bad they don't teach you THOSE kinds of things at school.

  After History class, I stopped by the vending machine to get some pork chops, because it had already been a rough day, and I figured I deserved them.

  The machine actually took my emeralds. Woo-hoo!

  But it spit out an apple instead of pork chops. SERIOUSLY?

  I was staring at that measly apple when Ziggy Zombie caught up with me. Even if I'd seen him coming, I wouldn't have stood a chance. How's a creeper supposed to run when he's carrying an aquarium?

  The first thing Ziggy noticed was the rash on my head. "Are those blisters?" he asked in a really loud and excited voice. He reached out his hand like he wanted to TOUCH my rash. Man, that zombie is disgusting.

  I shoved Sticky in between us, and that did the trick. Ziggy pressed his green face up to the glass.

  "Um, we gotta get to lunch," I told Ziggy. And for some reason, he took that as an invitation to come with me.

  Sam sat with us, too—I was glad about that. But he was WAY too friendly with Ziggy. I kept trying to catch his eye and tell him to take it down a notch. We didn't want Ziggy thinking he could sit with us EVERY day. But Sam didn't take the hint.

  When Ziggy starting eating some sort of flesh sandwich, it totally grossed me out. I got up and threw away my apple. Even Sticky spun around in his aquarium and looked the other way.

  But Sam didn't seem to notice. He kept stuffing his green cheeks with cookies and blabbed on and on about who knows what.

  When Ziggy asked what my squid's name was, Sam answered for me. He said, "Sticky" and blew cookie crumbs all over the table.

  Well that did it. The skeletons behind us started singing a song.

  They made kissy noises and laughed their bony butts off.

  How old were those mobs anyway? I felt like I was right back in Creeper Elementary.

  I decided to duck out of lunch early. The Art classroom would be open by now. And Sam had finally stopped talking to Ziggy.

  But I must have said Sam's name three times before he heard me. He was staring at the other end of the table. When I looked in that direction, I figured out why. Willow Witch was sitting there with some eighth-grade girls.

  What's up with Sam and that witch? Did she use a potion on him or what? I decided right there and then that it's time to ditch the witch and the zombie.

  So "Take Your Squid to School Day" started out bad and got even worse. Guess that's Mondays for you. I couldn't WAIT for that school night to end.

  DAY 7: WEDNESDAY

  So tonight, I told my parents I wanted to call a Creeper Family Meeting.

  I've never done that in all of my eleven years. But after the squid thing, it was time. My Evil Twin had stooped pretty low, dragging my mom into her evil plot. And I thought Mom would want to know about it.

  Mom and Dad agreed to the family meeting right away. That surprised me—and kind of freaked me out. They didn't even ask me what I wanted to talk about.

  Plus, they wanted to meet BEFORE dinner. Mom usually wants to talk on a full stomach. That's one of her rules, like not going to bed mad. And it's a good rule. I don't think anyone should have a serious conversation when they're hungry.

  Like right when we were sitting down, I could smell potatoes cooking. And Mom hasn't made potatoes in a long time—she says they're too starchy. So as much as I wanted to rat out my sister, I kind of wanted to eat those potatoes, too.

  This creeper was torn.

  Anyway, it didn't really matter what I wanted. Dad cleared his throat and said it was time to get started. My Evil Twin looked nervous, which was good. Maybe she knew she was about to get busted.

  The Fashion Queen had her red wig on again. She wears that wig so much, it's almost like part of the family—like another pet.

  Sometimes I stare at it and think up names for it, like Rosy or Ruby or Ginger.

  And the Exploding Baby? I put as much space as I could between me and her. She was playing with her blocks on the floor, stacking them in a wobbly tower.

  Yup, there was going to be an explosion for sure.

  So instead of asking me what I wanted to talk about, Mom and Dad started right in on what THEY wanted to talk about. And I was sure surprised to hear what that was. They wanted to talk about STEVE.

  Cate was even more surprised than me. She almost flipped her wig.

  Turns out, Mom and Dad found out that he's not a creeper, or a slime, or any kind of mob. He's HUMAN. Dad hissed when he said the name "Ssssteve," like it was a dirty word or something.

  When Cate started crying, her makeup ran all over her green face. I felt bad for her, until all that runny makeup made my own face start to itch.

  But my Evil Twin just looked relieved—like she was glad SHE wasn't in trouble. She thinks the whole Overworld revolves around her, I swear.

  Mom sat next to Cate and told her everything was going to be okay. But that was pretty hard to believe when Dad was going off about how creepers and humans shouldn't mix.

  Boy, the old guy was really worked up.

  Last year, I would have probably agreed with Dad. I didn't hang out with any mobs except creepers, and that was just fine by me.

  But this year is totally different. My new best friend is a slime. Who has a crush on a witch. And the coolest kid at school is an Enderman.

  So maybe humans aren't so bad either, is what I was thinking. But before I could say so, Cammy's tower of blocks toppled to the ground. Her face turned red. The screaming started. And we all dove for cover.

  By the time Mom cleaned up the living room, the Creeper Family Meeting was pretty much over. I never got the chance to talk about the squid thing. But the look on Mom's face said that now was really not the time.

  So I stayed quiet. I was still hoping for a roasted potato dinner before school started. Like I said, no creeper should have to face a tough situation without some food in his belly.

  DAY 8: THURSDAY

  This is the week wh
en we're supposed to choose an extracurricular to do after school. And let me tell you, it's pretty slim pickings. Archery and sword fighting aren't for me. And spider riding? Um, no.

  So that left sprinting, strategic exploding, and self-control. My Evil Twin signed up for the exploding class, as if she needs any help in that department. And I talked Sam into the self-control class. I figured that would be an easy one for a pacifist like me. Plus, I was hoping I'd pick up some tips for how to control my itching.

  But when we showed up for class last night, we were the only two kids there. And our teacher was a zombie! Mr. Zane told us we were going to work on meditation, which meant sitting still and not saying a word for HOURS. At least it felt like that.