The Overworld Games Read online

  Our mascot was a SILVERFISH? The most annoying mob in the Overworld? Who’s idea was THAT? I sure hoped it wasn’t Great-Great-Grandpa Gerald’s, because I’d be pretty embarrassed to be related to the guy who came up with a lousy idea like that.

  Then Mr. Carl said we had to come up with a new mascot, because the Creeper Academy on the edge of town was using the silverfish mascot in the Overworld Games. I almost laughed out loud just thinking about it. Students at the Academy have to wear these gray uniforms, which make them even LOOK like silverfish, poor creeps.

  So I was thrilled to hear we were choosing a new mascot. I hoped it would be a FIERCE one too—something that would really scare the pants off the wither skeletons and zombie pigmen (I mean, if they actually wore pants). So I started thinking of some of the fiercest mobs, like ghasts, and blazes, and . . .

  “Endermites!”

  That was Ziggy Zombie’s idea. Who invited him anyway? Mr. Carl hadn’t even asked for ideas yet, but there was Ziggy, stuff pouring out of his mouth like usual.

  And endermites? REALLY? How were they any better than silverfish?

  Whisper Witch whispered something about spiders, but I don’t think anyone heard her.

  So I took the opportunity to shout out my idea: “Ghasts!” Then I lowered my voice to sound like someone else’s and shouted “Blazes!” (I figured that if I shared two ideas, I’d have a pretty good shot of getting one of them through.)

  But Mr. Carl shook his head. Turns out, he wasn’t looking for a wild mob. He was hoping we’d come up with a mascot that was more “civilized,” he said. “Like a pet.”

  Say WHAT???

  That was when I knew we had the wrong guy in charge of these Games. I almost got up and crept out of that classroom, because I knew we were doomed. The Mob Middle School “Pets” were going down for sure.

  Then I heard Whisper Witch whisper “spiders” again. I guess she has a pet spider or something. And I knew Ziggy Zombie would be all over that, because he has a pet spider named Leggy (and let’s just say I’m not a fan of Leggy’s).

  Then Sam said “Cats!” And there was no WAY I was wearing a jersey with a cat on it.

  So I shouted the first thing that came to mind: “Squid!”

  See, I have a pet squid named Sticky. And he’s a very loyal little squid, let me tell you. He just sits in his aquarium and floats around, staring at me.

  But I really did NOT think that one through. Because like I said, squid just float around staring. They don’t take on vicious mobs in battles. They don’t win competitions. They don’t scare the pants off of ANYBODY (except maybe Chloe that time I snuck Sticky into the bathtub with her when she wasn’t looking).

  So as soon as the idea came out of my mouth, I wanted to stuff it back in. But for some reason, Mr. Carl LOVED my idea. Who knows why? Maybe he had a pet squid when he was a boy creeper too.

  Anyway, he said something like, “Fantastic idea, Gerald! I like your passion. Now we just need someone to draw a squid logo for the jerseys . . .”

  Then Sam, who is as loyal as my squid Sticky—even when I wish he wouldn’t be—opened his pie hole and said I’m a really good artist and should draw the logo.

  Well, I AM a good artist. But I didn’t want to draw the logo. I didn’t want to touch that logo with a ten-foot pencil, because if I made the logo, everyone would know that it was MY idea.

  They’d know that Gerald Creeper Jr. came up with the only mascot that was even lamer than a silverfish!

  Yup, Bones and his skeleton gang were going to have a whole lot of fun with this one. I’d probably get a new nickname out of it. Bones was already calling me “Itchy” because of my itchy skin. (Don’t ask. It’s a long and itchy story.) But now he’d probably be calling me “Squid Boy.” Or “Sticky.” Or “Stinky.”

  Just thinking about it made me want to pull my red and white socks over my head and hide out for a while. Except I couldn’t. Because Mr. Carl suddenly decided it was time to talk about EVENTS.

  So NOW he wanted to talk about events? After I’d just opened up my mouth about the mascot and pretty much ruined my life?

  Well, I pulled out my list of materials for Firework Crafting, but it didn’t seem all that exciting anymore. When I shared my idea, my voice came out kind of blah and quiet—like Whisper Witch’s.

  Right away, Mr. Carl said, “Fireworks? That sounds dangerous. Remember what happened on Mushroom Island, Gerald.”

  SERIOUSLY??? Had he been talking to Ziggy or something? I shot a look at Ziggy, but he was picking his nose. I really need to start treating that zombie like an Enderman and only look at him from the neck down.

  Mr. Carl said he’d have to think about my Firework Crafting idea, and then he asked if I had any OTHER ideas. I guess he was trying to give me a second chance.

  That’s when I had this tiny stroke of genius. See, when I’m trying to get Mom to agree to something, I usually throw out a couple of ideas: a good one and a terrible one. Like when I wanted a new journal to write in, I said, “Hey, Mom. Can I have emeralds to buy a new journal? Or, you know, I could dig a huge hole in the backyard and plant a bunch of sugar cane to make my own paper . . .”

  Well, I knew there was NO WAY Mom would let me dig up the backyard. Not when she needs every square inch of that yard for her precious chickens. So she threw open her purse and flung a bunch of emeralds my way. Genius, right?

  I decided to try that out on Mr. Carl, too. I said, “Well, I still think we should do Firework Crafting. But another idea might be, oh, I don’t know . . . Pig Riding?”

  I was sure that the only mob in the room that would vote for Pig Riding would be Sam. It was SUCH a dumb idea that it would make my Firework Crafting idea look GREAT. Right? Right???

  WRONG.

  My “bad idea” backfired, like a Firework Rocket soaring skyward and then crashing back down.

  Mr. Carl thought Pig Riding was a FANTASTIC idea. What was going ON with the dude? Had he been bitten by a cave spider or something? Looking back now, I should have just kept my creeper mouth shut.

  CHLOE should have just kept her creeper mouth shut. I blame my Evil Twin for joking about Pig Riding and planting that lame idea in my brain in the first place.

  So . . . thanks, Chloe. Now I don’t just have to come up with a squid logo for our jerseys.

  I also have to learn how to ride a pig.

  DAY 6: SATURDAY (AFTERNOON)

  I tried to sleep today—I really did. But every time my eyes opened, there was Sticky, staring at me from his aquarium. I swear he’d figured out somehow that he was our new school mascot. He looked all proud and puffy, like he was posing for his logo picture.

  So I finally got up and tried working on that squid logo. But like I said, it’s REALLY hard to make a pet squid look fierce.

  I tried giving him teeth.

  I tried giving him muscles.

  I made him half squid, half zombie.

  I gave him a witch nose and hat.

  I drew him shooting fireballs like a blaze or a ghast.

  I even drew a logo with me riding Sticky like a spider jockey. That one was just for fun.

  I tried a gazillion different things. I didn’t just draw Sticky. I rapped about Sticky.

  I even got up and did a little Sticky dance.

  But NOTHING worked! Why? Because at the end of the day, a squid is just a squid.

  I’m pretty sure Sock the Sheep would have made a better mascot. Even one of Mom’s CHICKENS would have made a better mascot. (Because chickens can be fierce, let me tell you. I found that out the day Mom sent me out back to get eggs. Was she TRYING to get me pecked to death???)

  So now I’m giving up on the logo and going to sleep. Maybe I’ll sleep all night. Maybe I’ll sleep for a month. If I’m lucky, I’ll sleep straight through the Overworld Games, and I won’t have to worry about squid mascots and lame logos and winning gold medals against wither skeletons and zombie pigmen.

  Hey, it could happen. In fact, I feel a
yawn coming on right now. Catch you later . . .

  DAY 6: SUNDAY

  So . . . I didn’t sleep for a month. In fact, I barely slept another wink before Mom woke me up and said it was time to go pig riding.

  HUH?

  I’d totally forgotten about our first Pig Riding practice, which Mr. Carl had set up at some farm near the school. But Sam didn’t forget. He showed up on our doorstep right on time last night and told Mom all about the Pig Riding event. He said I HAD to practice, and he was going to get some video with his Cat Cam. Lucky me.

  That’s how I found myself sitting on a saddle on a pig, with some farmer dude standing in front of me, dangling a carrot from a fishing rod. There were so many things wrong with that picture, I don’t even know where to start. But I’ll try.

  First of all, pigs aren’t nearly as comfortable as they look. You’d think they’d be all squishy, like a mushroom (a FRESH mushroom—not the dried-out one I brought with me to the farm for good luck). But pigs are NOT squishy. I sat in the saddle for only like two seconds before my butt started to go numb.

  Second, creepers aren’t known for having pig-riding legs. My buddy Eddy Enderman from school could ride a pig, for sure. He’s got these long stretchy legs. He could just wrap them around the pig, tie them in a bow, and be good to go.

  Maybe the seventh-grade skeleton who was waiting for his turn on the pig could ride, too. (And maybe I should have let him go FIRST.)

  Because my legs? They’re shorter than short. How was I supposed to hold on to that pig? Especially when it saw the carrot and bolted forward like it was the most delicious treat in the Overworld.

  Right away, I figured out that the only thing harder than riding a pig is riding a pig with your friend the slime shoving a camera in your face.

  When I finally took a nosedive into the mud, I was actually relieved.

  Until Sam’s girlfriend Willow Witch showed up by the pigpen. And Whisper Witch—the girl from the planning meetings—was with her.

  GREAT. Had Sam told EVERYBODY about Pig Riding today?

  Right away, Willow said I should watch Sam’s video. “It’s a good way to learn,” she said. “You’ll see what you’re doing wrong!”

  What I’M doing wrong? I wanted to holler. Because let me tell you, I DID watch the video, and Sam did a few things wrong himself. Every single clip he took was of my legs or the ground: My green legs holding on for dear life. The carrot dangling above the ground. And then ME, planting myself in the mud.

  But Willow didn’t mention any of THAT. She doesn’t seem to notice ANY of Sam’s flaws, and let me tell you, he has PLENTY.

  Even the farmer wasn’t very much help. I guess he knew how to raise pigs, but he sure didn’t know how to ride them.

  Then Whisper Witch suddenly had some advice for me too. What was WITH these witches, anyway? She whispered something like, “You could get a Pig Riding coach, Gerald.”

  A COACH? Well, that wasn’t going to happen. I could think of only three mobs that knew how to ride things: (1) Great-Great-Grandpa Gerald, who started this whole Pig Riding thing in the first place. (2) Bones the spider jockey. And (3) Ziggy Zombie’s baby sister, Zoe. She has this pet chicken, and she rides him all over the house.

  I couldn’t really ask Great-Great-Grandpa Gerald to coach me—I mean, not unless I invented a time-travel machine. And I would NEVER ask Bones for help with ANYTHING. EVER. PERIOD.

  As for Zoe? She’s actually pretty good at chicken riding, and really fast. But when a baby zombie is your only hope, you’re really scraping the bottom of the barrel. So I told Whisper that I appreciated her suggestion, but that I was going to go it alone.

  My plan is to practice Pig Riding every weekend here at the farm. I’ll teach myself, like I taught myself how to fling mushrooms. No problemo.

  Except I still have streaks of mud on my forehead. And my butt is pretty sore. So maybe there are a FEW problemos with my plan.

  DAY 8: TUESDAY

  Did I mention Ziggy Zombie is just about the grossest mob I know?

  He LOVES blisters. Adores them. Can’t wait to find juicy ones on his green feet after a good workout in Sprinting class. And I guess he’s had a lot of good workouts lately, because his feet are bubbled up like a witch’s warty nose.

  He was picking at one of those blisters after school this morning, which almost made me toss my cookies. But then he said something that made me forget all about the blisters. He told me Eddy Enderman signed up for Sprinting in the Overworld Games.

  Eddy Enderman never signs up for ANYTHING. He’s not really a joiner, if you know what I mean. I think that’s what makes him so cool. He just comes and goes as he pleases.

  In fact, right when I was thinking about Eddy doing that, he showed up in front of me and Ziggy. He just teleported over from out of nowhere.

  See, Eddy uses my real name—not “Itchy”—which I really appreciate. He and I are kind of like friends, which I think boosts me up a few notches on the sixth grade popularity pole.

  But right after that, Eddy was like, “Want to run with me today, Ziggy?” And Ziggy flashed his toothless grin and stuck his blistery foot back in his shoe. Then he started leading Eddy toward the sprinting field. As if THEY were friends.

  Well, when I saw that, my insides started bubbling like one of Willow Witch’s potions. A low hiss came out of my mouth, which almost NEVER happens. How embarrassing! I mean, I pride myself on being a peaceful creeper.

  Eddy MIGHT have heard the hiss, because he turned around and said, “You want to come too, Gerald?”

  It was a nice invitation and all, but I think I’ve pretty much established that Sprinting is NOT my sport. And the last thing I want to do is completely humiliate myself in front of Eddy Enderman, who’s like my idol here at Mob Middle School.

  So I shook my head. I didn’t say anything, because I was still feeling pretty hissy. But as I watched Ziggy and Eddy disappear over the hill, I tried to give myself an attitude adjustment.

  See, I realized I should be GLAD Eddy is joining Sprinting, because that means the Mob Middle School Squids actually have a chance at WINNING the event. Eddy teleports so fast, no mob will be able to catch him—not even an angry zombie pigman!

  So maybe my school can take home the gold, even if I can’t. Even if the Pig Riding thing doesn’t work out for me.

  Yup, that’s what I told myself all the way home—every time I felt my insides churn and bubble. And it sort of worked.

  Until I got home and ran into Dad. He was sitting at the kitchen table with this yellow, faded newspaper article from the CREEPER CHRONICLE. And he looked proud as a pufferfish.

  “What?” I asked.

  Dad shrugged. “Recognize the mob in that picture?”

  I took a closer look. The creeper was standing on a winner’s podium with a gold medal around his neck. And that creeper looked a whole lot like me. Which meant it was probably Dad, like a gazillion years ago.

  “That was the day I won gold in the Overworld Games,” said Dad. “I found the article in a box out in the garage. And in a few weeks, we’re going to have one just like that of YOU, son.” Was that a tear in his eye?

  Aw, crud. I wanted to tell Dad there was a SLIGHT possibility that I was NOT going to win my Pig Riding event. And he sure didn’t need to call the CREEPER CHRONICLE to cover the Games, because Sam Sebastian Slime would be filming it all—every muddy fall. So it might not be ME standing on that winner’s stand.

  But I could suddenly picture Ziggy on that winner’s stand wearing a gold medal—the one Eddy Enderman was going to help him win.

  When my stomach started bubbling again, I made up some excuse about eating a bad potato at lunch. I left Dad there with his precious newspaper article, and I took off down the hall.

  That’s when I ran smack into Cate. And I SCREAMED like a ghast in the Nether.

  See, the Fashion Queen had a whole new look, and I gotta say, it wasn’t really working for her. She wore makeup on only part of her fa
ce, so one half was green and the other half was pink. She looked a LOT like a zombie pigwoman.

  When I told her so, she was all like, “Thanks!” As if that was exactly the look she was going for.

  “Wait, you WANT to look like a zombie pigwoman?” I asked.

  She shrugged and gave me this weird smile. When she crept back into her room and shut the door, Chloe pulled me into her room and told me that Cate had the hots for a zombie pigman.

  How did Cate even KNOW any zombie pigmen? That’s what I wanted to know. Had she been sneaking out during the day to go to the Nether? Dad would ground her for LIFE if he knew.

  But Chloe said Cate had just seen a PICTURE of this particular pigman. I guess he’s the junior coach for the Nether Fire Breathers, which means he’ll be at the Overworld Games. Which means Cate will be there, too. At least she’ll be watching HIM instead of me.

  I started wondering if Cate’s new crush would distract Dad, too. He wasn’t all that big on her dating a miner named Steve a while back. He probably wouldn’t be all that thrilled about her dating a zombie pigman either. So maybe if Cate was watching the zombie pigman, Dad would be watching Cate, and NO mob would be watching me!

  Yeah, that’s what I thought at first. But when I stuck my neck out and peeked down the hall, Dad was still sitting there in the kitchen, staring at that CREEPER CHRONICLE article. I could tell he was dreaming of the day when his very own son would take his place on that stand.