Creeper's Got Talent Read online

  The only problem was, I couldn’t go home. Because of sprinting class. Or … could I?

  There was a voice in my head that said, “Go.” That sounded an awful lot like Mom’s voice. And then another voice said, “Don’t go.” I’m pretty sure that one was mine.

  So you know what I didn’t do?

  I didn’t go.

  I just didn’t go.

  Instead, I crept off to the Creeper Café. It’s pretty close to my house, and it has tall booths so I could hide out there—and even scratch if I had to without being teased about it.

  I tried to work on my rap. Mostly, I just waited for time to pass so that I could go home without anyone asking why I was there so early.

  I don’t know why I even worried about it, though. When I got home, Mom was running laps around the house, pushing Cammy in a stroller. Mom is OBSESSED with this fitness thing. But I guess it helps me out, because it keeps her out of my business.

  I heard Chloe banging around in the garage already, so I didn’t think she was going to bust me for skipping out on sprinting. She takes strategic explosions class, which is on a field near sprinting class. But she’s so into her cannon-building these days, she’s probably skipping out on her extracurricular, too. I mean, why work on blowing yourself up when you can blow up a cannon instead?

  The one mob who won’t stay out of my business is Ziggy Zombie. I’m sure he’ll bust me first thing tonight at school, wanting to know why I wasn’t on the sprinting field. But I’ll deal with that tonight. Right now, I have bigger fish to fry. Like lyrics to write. And an essay due.

  In THREE days.

  DAY 9: WEDNESDAY

  So last night I sat at the lunch table and just WAITED for Ziggy to ask why I wasn’t in sprinting class.

  Usually I put Sam in between me and Ziggy at the table. See, Ziggy is the most disgusting eater I know. Food practically LEAPS out of his mouth when he talks. And it’s almost always rotten flesh this or rotten flesh that. His mom must have the Rotten Flesh Recipe Book, because I’ve seen it all.

  But last night, Sam was sharing a sandwich with Willow at the other end of the table. I guess they made up after the whole “she’s just using you for your magma cream” thing.

  I was hoping that meant they’d be doing a talent show act together, too—that Sam would give up his trampoline act. That way, I wouldn’t have to worry about the slime upstaging me. I even handed Sam a pen so he could cross his name off the sign-up sheet.

  But he just stared at the pen, all confused. And then he told me the trampoline act is still on. Rats.

  Then he went back to his smoochy sandwich-eating with Willow. I swear I saw them count to three just so they could both take a bite at the same time.

  Bones saw it, too, from a nearby table. I could tell from his expression that he enjoys watching them about as much as I do. Which is not much. Especially since he’s crushing on Willow.

  So he flicked a melon ball at Sam. Bones is a pretty good flicker. I know, because he’s flicked a lot of food at me.

  Usually I don’t appreciate the skeleton’s food-flicking skills, but today, I enjoyed watching that melon ball bounce off the back of Sam’s head. I mean, he kind of had it coming.

  Anyway, back to Ziggy. Without Sam sitting next to me, I felt like a wide-open target.

  I was just waiting for Ziggy to pounce and bust me for skipping out on our after-school thing. But he didn’t.

  Instead, he took a big bite of a rotten flesh fajita and asked if HE missed anything in sprinting. Because it turns out, he didn’t go either! What are the chances?

  I guess my luck is finally turning around. I feel like Fate is telling me that it’s okay that I skipped sprinting. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s telling me I SHOULD skip sprinting. And who am I to argue with Fate?

  So, after school, instead of heading to the sprinting field, I went straight to Creeper Cafe. I think I’m making progress on my rap song. I copied it onto a fresh sheet of paper, anyway, and I sharpened my pencils so I’ll be ready when inspiration strikes.

  I’m on a definite roll now. Wish me luck.

  DAY 10: THURSDAY

  Last night, Ziggy didn’t even wait until lunchtime to bust me. He cornered me at my locker before first period and asked why I missed sprinting.

  I could have told him the truth and said I’m just not going to go anymore. But I don’t want to let the kid down too hard.

  See, I kind of have to stay on the ins with Ziggy. There’s a part of me that worries I might need him in the end.

  I have to finish this rap song AND find a way to get past my stage fright in the next couple of weeks. If I can’t—and I’m just saying IF—I might end up asking Ziggy to be my backup musician. He wouldn’t have to dance or play an instrument or anything. He could just hit the “play” button on my laptop.

  I’m not that desperate yet. Not even close. But a creeper has to think ahead.

  So I made up a fib about sprinting class. I told Ziggy that I sprained my knee bone while I was jogging with my mom.

  I know, it doesn’t even make sense. But it was the first thing that popped into my head, and I didn’t think Ziggy would question it. I mean, he’s not the brightest zombie in the pit.

  But he DID ask questions. All kinds of them. Like, “Which knee bone?” And, “Can you move it like this?” And, “What about if you go like that?”

  Finally, I had to shut him down. I told him not to worry about my injury, that I’d be back at sprinting class any day now. And then I limped off, trying to remember which “knee bone” I’d sprained so I could pull off the act.

  My rap lyrics are due tomorrow. And my essay for language arts. And now I’ve got a zombie breathing down my neck, watching my every move.

  Sheesh. Can’t a creeper catch a break?

  DAY 11: FRIDAY

  Caffeine. I finally get what all the fuss is about!

  I stopped at Creeper Café on the way home from school this morning and bought a super-deluxe hot chocolate with whipped cream and sprinkles.

  Then, while the rest of my family slept (those lazy bums), I whipped off my rap lyrics AND my language arts essay.

  Well, I actually kind of combined them. I figured my rap song was so amazing, it could probably get me a good grade in language arts, too. So I printed two copies of it. I thought that was pretty creative, especially for a sleep-deprived creeper.

  Anyway, as soon as I was done, I tried to lie down for a nap. But my eyelids wouldn’t shut no matter how hard I tried.

  Then Mom popped into my room from out of nowhere and said it was time for our run.

  Really? Already? Thank Golem it’s Friday and I can rest this weekend.

  I tried to keep up with Mom, but I swear I was sleep-running. In fact, I ran straight into the stone wall around my neighbor’s flower bed—I didn’t even see it.

  I really whacked my knee a good one, too. Ouch! At least now I don’t have to fake my limp around Ziggy. I’m limping for real.

  I kind of sleep-ate my way through dinner, too. My head kept bobbing, and when I’d snap it back up, I’d catch Dad watching me.

  He had this worried expression on his face, like he thought I’d been hanging out with some of the trouble making mobs at school, getting high on spider eyes or poisonous potatoes.

  “Dad, I don’t do that kind of thing,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  Then I realized he hadn’t actually asked the question. So I said I was fine—just tired from staying up all day doing homework.

  Well, that was a mistake, because Mom wanted to know why I’d put off my homework till the last minute. She called me a procrastinator. I told her I really didn’t appreciate that kind of language.

  I told her that, for her information, I hadn’t gotten my homework done because I’d been working on my talent show act. And that it was stressing me out. And that I had this stage fright thing going on, and I could really use some support around here.

  I know, I was being dra
matic. I blame it on the fact that the caffeine was wearing off. Now I know why Sam was so crabby last week.

  Mom looked like she was going to launch into lecture mode. But Dad, good old Dad, spoke up first. He said he had some great advice for taking care of stage fright.

  Well, let me tell you, I was all ears.

  For a minute there, I thought Dad was really going to turn things around for me. I was ready to forgive him for helping Chloe with her cannon and everything.

  But you know what came out of his mouth?

  Pretty much the WORST advice ever.

  He said, “Imagine all the mobs in the audience are in their underwear.”

  Chloe snorted into her mushroom stew. And I looked at Dad like he was a crazy creeper—as if he’d just gotten bitten by a cave spider. I didn’t even know how to START responding to advice like that.

  So he kept talking. “You know, like picture them without pants on. It’ll make you less nervous.”

  Now Mom was giving Dad a weird look, too. And I’m pretty sure I even saw a smile creep across moody Cate’s face.

  “Dad,” I finally said, “creepers don’t wear pants.”

  He thought about that. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Right. Well I’m pretty sure it was a zombie who gave me that advice.”

  Figures. If I’d wanted advice from a zombie, I would have just asked Ziggy.

  So much for Dad helping me. He should really stick to building cannons.

  DAY 12: SATURDAY

  So I finally crashed this morning after yesterday’s caffeine high. But I sure didn’t sleep very well. I kept having weird dreams, one after another. In one ALL of them, I was performing my rap song onstage.

  In the first dream, I looked out at the audience and realized it was filled with zombies. “Perfect!” I thought. That meant I could actually use Dad’s dumb advice and picture them in their underwear.

  But that didn’t work, because somehow they KNEW I was picturing them in their underwear. And those half-naked zombies got mad and started pelting me with rotten flesh.

  In the next dream, my rap was going pretty well. I had this great beat going, and everyone in the audience was dancing along. I saw Sam wiggling and jiggling, that goofy grin on his face. And then I saw ME sitting next to him. HOA.

  So if I was in the audience, who was onstage?

  I looked down and realized I was holding drumsticks. I had these long, bony fingers, and I kind of had the urge to flick something with them. My bony hands were attached to these long, bony arms, and … ACK! I suddenly realized I had turned into BONES.

  In the last dream I was still onstage. But I wasn’t at Mob Middle School. I was in the Nether, and there was fire EVERYWHERE. It crept and curled around the stage, getting closer and closer to my feet. I could feel my skin burning and blistering.

  When I woke up, I was itching so badly I thought my skin WAS on fire. I whipped on the light and ran into the bathroom for a cold shower.

  So right then and there, while I was shivering in the shower, I made a decision. Ice-cold water has a way of making everything pretty clear.

  I decided it’s time to talk to Willow Witch. If I ask her really nicely, I’m hoping she’ll brew me up some kind of potion of Confidence.

  I don’t even know if that’s a real thing. But if a witch can make potions that turn people invisible, a potion of Confidence should be a piece of cake.

  See, I’m pretty sure it’s going to take a miracle to get me through this talent show.

  Or a little bit of magic.

  DAY 15: TUESDAY

  Do teachers never take a weekend off?

  I got both of my assignments back at school last night—my rap lyrics AND my language arts essay. It’s not that I don’t appreciate that kind of turnaround time. It’s just that I was hoping to coast for a while without having to think about my rap.

  See, I really need to move on to a DIFFERENT part of my 30-Day Plan. I need to talk to Willow about this stage fright stuff. I need to find music to go with my lyrics. I need to make a playlist. I need to MOVE ON already.

  Anyway, the good news is, Mr. Zane approved my lyrics. He wrote a few nitpicky things, but he didn’t find anything “inappropriate.” Whoop-dee-do. Call the Creeper Chronicle. Big surprise there.

  My language arts teacher, on the other hand, wasn’t as impressed with my rap as I thought she would be. She said I misunderstood the assignment. Huh.

  We were supposed to write about a person we admire, right? And my rap was all about Itchy. That’s ME. What’s wrong with admiring yourself?

  Grown-ups are always telling us to be ourselves, and love ourselves, and blah, bliddy, blah, blah, blah. Then when we actually DO, they swat us down like silverfish.

  So I’m thinking maybe my teacher is the one who didn’t understand. If she’d read between the lines of my rap, I’m sure she would have seen my genius.

  But it’s like Ms. Wanda used to say: “Some people just don’t appreciate art.” So I’m just gonna take the C- and move on.

  DAY 16: WEDNESDAY

  I finally got the chance to talk to Willow this morning.

  Well, first I had a panic attack in science class. One minute I was carefully pouring water out of a test tube into a dish of bubbling lava. We were learning how to make obsidian. No big deal.

  But that hot lava must have reminded me of my dream—the one where I was onstage in the Nether, and the flames were coming for me. Because the next thing I knew, my heart was pounding and I couldn’t breathe and sweat was POURING down my face. I couldn’t get my safety goggles off fast enough!

  Sam looked horrified. It kind of makes me laugh now, picturing his wiggly, worried face. He bounced this way and that, trying to figure out what to do. Finally, he ran to get the teacher, who called the school nurse, who brought me outside.

  I have to say, sitting in the moonlight with a cool breeze on my face DID help me feel better. After a minute, I started to think maybe I wasn’t going to die. And when the school nurse asked if I’d been worried about anything lately, I almost laughed in his face.

  “Yeah,” I told him. “Maybe a little worried.”

  He said that I’d probably just had a panic attack. Like it was no big deal. Which made me think that skeleton has never had one himself.

  When I finally felt good enough to go back to class, Sam was being really nice to me. Until I asked him if he was meeting up with Willow after school.

  When I told him I needed to talk to her, he got kind of weird—especially when I wouldn’t tell him what it was about. Was he JEALOUS or something? Like I would ever want to date Willow. I could almost toss my cookies just thinking about it.

  The real reason I didn’t tell him what I needed to talk to her about is I don’t want him to know how freaked out I am about the talent show. See, Sam looks up to me. I’m the calm, cool creeper. He’s the one who gets all quivery about stuff.

  He already saw me freak out about a dish of lava—I don’t know how I’m going to explain that one. But if he overheard me asking Willow for a potion of Confidence, it would turn his whole Overworld upside down. I just don’t think I could do that to him.

  So I said I had to ask Willow something about the talent show. Finally, he led me to her locker, but then he kind of hung around. He pretended to go to the bathroom, but I could see his green butt sticking out from behind the water fountain.

  I lowered my voice and asked Willow if she’d ever brewed a potion of Confidence. I said I might be in the market for something like that if she had the skills to whip it up.

  I was hoping she’d jump at the chance, or at least ask me how many emeralds I’d pay for it. But she just said, “Nope. That potion doesn’t exist.”

  Sheesh. Talk about a lack of imagination.

  Then I asked if I could get some potion of Invisibility. I KNOW that exists, because she used it last month to spy on Bones.

  See, it had just occurred to me that if I were invisible on stage, I might not be so ner
vous. In fact, if I could get enough of the potion, I could splash it on the whole audience and turn THEM invisible. If I couldn’t see them, maybe I wouldn’t freak out!

  But Willow just narrowed her witchy eyes. “Why do you want it?” she asked.

  She sure wasn’t making this easy. And I was starting to sweat. Plus, I could see Sam getting antsy. He was going to bounce back over any second now.

  So I whispered in Willow’s ear. “I have stage fright.”

  “You have steak fries?” she said, scrunching up her eyebrows. And that girl has REALLY thick eyebrows.

  “No!” I said it again. “I have STAGE fright.”

  This time, she understood. But do you know what she said?

  She said she wasn’t really feeling inclined to help me with my talent show act. She dragged out the word “i-n-c-l-i-n-e-d” when she said it, the way Mom would have.

  Then she reminded me that I had kind of ruined HER talent show act when I talked Sam into dropping out of it.

  Wow. And here I thought we were way past that by now. But I guess witches really know how to carry a grudge.

  And I guess I’m going to have to figure out another way to stay cool onstage.

  DAY 18: FRIDAY

  Eddy Enderman never lets me down.

  I don’t know why I didn’t ask him for help in the first place. He’s like the King of Cool. If ANYONE can teach me how to keep it together onstage, it’s him.