Marty Pants #3 Read online

  DEDICATION

  To Lynn

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 0: Teaser

  Chapter 1: Sorry Not Sorry

  Chapter 2: Charmed, I’m Sure

  Chapter 3: Nothing to See Here

  Chapter 4: Mmmm

  Chapter 3+2×9÷9: Mathzilla

  Chapter 6: Anemone of My Enemy

  Chapter 7: Get Back

  Chapter 8: Chew on This

  Chapter 9: Ostriches and Ocelots

  Chapter 10: Pkzzitvftsh

  Chapter 11: The Pits

  Chapter 12: Emotional Baggage

  Chapter 13: That Was Easy

  Chapter 14: Overbooked

  Chapter 15: What a Card

  Chapter 16: Nugget

  Chapter 17: Flip It Good

  Chapter 18: Musta Got Lost

  Chapter 19: Watch Your Step

  Chapter 20: Things Go Sour

  Chapter 21: The Wap Heard Round the World

  Chapter 22: Hand-Eye Consternation

  Chapter 23: Hat Trick

  Chapter 24: Foiled Again

  Chapter 25: Boom Boom

  Chapter 26: I Said, Good Day

  Chapter 27: Field Tripping

  Chapter 28: No Nougat for You

  Chapter 29: Theft by Finding

  Chapter 30: I Me Me Mine

  Chapter 31: Yer Out

  Chapter 32: Another Thing

  Chapter 33: Game Over

  Chapter 34: Bush League

  Chapter 35: Insecurity

  Chapter 36: That’s Just Peachy

  Chapter 37: Granny Pants

  Chapter 38: Let’s Do the Time Warp

  Chapter 39: Whack-A-Doodle

  Chapter 40: Ceremonial Rhapsody

  Chapter 41: Never Believe It’s Not So

  Chapter 42: Chocolate Shake

  Chapter 43: Disspelled

  Chapter 44: This Must Be the Place

  Chapter 45: The Office

  Chapter 46: Break the Cycle

  Chapter 47: Meatball

  Chapter 48: And in the End

  Praise

  About the Author

  Books by Mark Parisi

  Back Ad

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  CHAPTER 0

  teaser

  I’m about to do something really crazy. I don’t want to, I have to!

  The end of civilization is about to go down, and I have to warn everyone! I think I have the courage to do what needs to be done, but I certainly can’t do this alone.

  Gurk! It may already be too late! The earth is starting to shake!

  You know what? I should tell this story from the beginning, when this whole mess started.

  It was a Tuesday.

  CHAPTER 1

  sorry not sorry

  Apologize to Simon?

  I can think of a few things I’d rather do than apologize to Simon.

  1.Run naked through a cactus patch. (Without sunscreen.)

  2.Eat a raw porcupine. (Without ketchup.)*

  3.Listen to my dad talk about old music. (Without a pillow.)

  But Principal Cricklewood isn’t impressed with any of these options. She insists I apologize to Simon.

  For what?

  All I did was call Simon a

  And I’m not even sure what it means. I just like the way it sounds.

  I tried to explain to Principal Cricklewood that being called a monkey washer could be a compliment.

  But something she said gave me the impression she wasn’t buying it.

  It’s not fair. Simon insults me all the time but gets away with it because he’s sneaky. He tricks people.

  Even my mom falls for it.

  A lot of people call Simon charming.

  Charming, charming, charming.

  I’m sick of hearing it.

  Just for kicks, I hop on my dad’s computer and look up charming to see if there’s any possible definition that could apply to Simon.

  charm-ing:

  1. delightful, pleasant, likable, adorable

  Ugh! Stop!

  Simon is so not charming. How has he tricked people into thinking he’s charming?

  Hold on. There’s a second definition.

  charm-ing:

  2. the act of using magic powers

  CHAPTER 2

  charmed, i’m sure

  Whoa.

  Could Simon have magic powers?

  Is he literally a charmer who is charming people with magic charms?

  No way. I’m very observant, and if that monkey washer had magic powers, I’d have noticed.

  Definitely.

  I’m a world-class noticer.

  But then again, it sure would explain a few things.

  1.Like why Simon’s popular at school, even though he has this quality:

  2.How Simon always gets away with tormenting me. Even as far back as kindergarten.

  3.And most of all, why Simon is considered the school artist when it should rightfully be me!

  Simon’s not a true artist like I am. He’s a poser who only draws one thing. ONE THING!

  That’s right. All he does is draw the famous character AnemoneBob TrapezoidShorts.* He draws it over and over and over and over, and everyone loves him for it.

  You know what? I don’t want to think about the possibility of Simon having magic powers. That’s too scary.

  Almost as scary as having to write an apology to Simon for calling him a

  And I have to finish it by tomorrow. I better get started.

  CHAPTER 3

  nothing to see here

  I can’t seem to write this apology.

  I must have a case of writer’s block.

  Maybe I should try writing something else first.

  Something fun.

  Something awesome.

  Something to soothe my tortured, artistic soul.

  This should be on TV!

  Let’s see what my best friend thinks of it.

  Jerome thinks it’s delicious.

  I just have to make sure Principal Cricklewood never sees Monkey Washer Man, or I’ll get in deep trouble. Make that DEEPER trouble.

  I hide it in an envelope.

  I tuck the drawings into my backpack for safekeeping.

  Okay, Marty, no more procrastinating. It’s time to write that apology.

  Really this time.

  But now I’m too tired. And Jerome wants his belly rubbed.

  I’ll write it tomorrow morning.

  I’m sure I’ll remember.

  CHAPTER 4

  mmmm

  I wake up and feel like I’m forgetting something. But then I smell

  My mom always makes an awesome breakfast before she leaves on a business trip.

  I rush downstairs, and pretty soon it sounds like we’re a family acappella group.

  Everything is right with the world, until my mom ruins the mood.

  “Did you two finish your homework?” What a buzzkill.

  Erica is such a show-off!

  “What about you, Marty?” my mom asks.

  “Mmmm,” I say, and hope there’s no follow-up question. Truth is, I forgot.

  I knew I forgot something! That must be what it was! My homework. I’ll do it on the way to school.

  Once the table is clear, Erica starts doing EVEN MORE homework. She can’t stop showing off!

  I ask her what she’s working on but she won’t tell me.

  She’s probably inventing a new way to annoy me.

  As my dad does the dishes, he pulls some bacon from his pocket.

  Smart. I wish I had saved my bacon. I gave most of mine to Jerome. Not sure why. Must be those eyes.
/>   “So, Marty,” my mom asks as she wheels her suitcase to the door. “Are you and Simon getting along?”

  “Best buds,” I lie.

  “Good. I don’t want any more calls from your principal. I can’t understand what the problem is. Simon seems so charming.”

  “Mom, can I be serious for a moment?”

  “I have my doubts, Marty.”

  “Do you believe in, um, magic?”

  “I’ll believe in magic,” my mom says as she walks out the door, “the day your father remembers our wedding anniversary!”

  That wasn’t a real answer.

  Maybe Erica will give me a real answer.

  “Erica, do you think magic is real?”

  “Do you want it to be real?” Erica asks.

  “No, not really,” I say.

  “THEN IT’S REAL! SO REAL! THE REALEST!”

  I get the feeling she’s making fun of me.

  My dad will definitely give me a straight answer.

  “Hey, Dad. Do you believe in magic?”

  What happens next is horrifying. Don’t turn the page if you have a weak stomach. I warned you.

  Gurk! He’s singing an old song! It’s beyond horrible! Someone make it STOP!

  Luckily, Erica steps up.

  CHAPTER 3+2×9÷9

  mathzilla

  I do my homework on the way to school with the help of my friend Roongrat.

  “I’m glad you’re a slow walker, Roonie.”

  “It’s superior for the environment,” Roongrat says. “Slow walkers burn up fewer of the planet’s precious air particles. That’s a scientific fact.”

  Roongrat makes a great work space, but his “facts” usually make no sense.

  Especially when he talks about his favorite subject: Simon.

  “Check it out, Marty! Simon drew a true work of art on my arm area.”

  I don’t have to look at Roongrat’s arm to know what Simon drew. Simon only draws one thing.

  “Give me a break, Roonie. That’s literally the only thing Simon draws!”

  “It’s a creative choice,” Roongrat says. “Simon turns his artistic brain motions into one magical image.”

  Yes, having a friend who’s wrong all the time can be annoying, but I’ve figured out how to use it to my advantage.

  When I need to know something, I ask for Roongrat’s opinion, then believe the opposite.

  It’s my system.

  “Roongrat,” I ask casually. “Is magic real?”

  Roongrat looks into the sky.

  “Gurk! You’re messing up my system, Roonie! You’ve got more opinions than anyone I know!”

  “Correct. And my opinion is, it’s unknowable, unfathomable, and undecidable.”

  “But . . .”

  “Unbrainable, uncraniable, unpolishable . . .”

  “Fine!” I say. “Be that way.”

  I still can’t figure out if magic exists, but at least I finish my homework in time for school.

  A train leaves Chicago going to Detroit traveling 50 mph. Another train leaves Detroit going to Chicago at 40 mph. Detroit is 240 miles from Chicago. How far are the trains from Chicago when they pass? Show your work.

  CHAPTER 6

  anemone of my enemy

  Roongrat heads to class, but Ms. Ortiz stops me in the hall.

  “Hi, Ms. Ortiz!”

  She’s the office lady and my favorite school adult. Ms. Ortiz is always on my side when things go wrong.* She must have good news for me.

  “Principal Cricklewood is waiting for you in her office.”

  That’s not good news!

  Ms. Ortiz walks me to the door and says “Good luck” as she lets me in.

  When I enter, I see Simon’s already there. “This is for you,” I hear him say as he hands Cricklewood something he drew. I’ll let you guess what it is.*

  “Simon!” Cricklewood gushes. “You have talent!”

  “Talent is a strong word,” I mumble.

  “Good morning, Marty,” Cricklewood says as she turns to me. “Did you write that apology for Simon?”

  Gurk! THAT’S WHAT I FORGOT!

  I’ll bluff. “Of course I did!”

  I reach into my backpack, pull out the first thing I can grab, and say, “It’s right here!”

  Gurk! Of all things to grab, why did it have to be Monkey Washer Man?! Cricklewood can never see this!

  “Go ahead and read it,” Cricklewood says.

  I stare at the envelope, clear my throat, and pretend to read.

  “Dear Simon,” I say in a sincere voice. “I’m very, very, very, very, very sorry that I have to apologize to you.”

  I think I nailed it, but something Cricklewood says makes me think she’s not impressed.

  Then she does the worst thing possible.

  If Cricklewood looks at Monkey Washer Man, I’m dead! Out of school! I hold my breath.

  “Very funny, Marty,” Cricklewood says.

  Then she flips it over, writes something on the other side, and hands it back. I grab the envelope and start breathing again.

  “Read!” Cricklewood barks.

  I peek at what she wrote, and all my happiness drains away. “Don’t make me!” I plead.

  “Have it your way, Marty,” she says as her finger hovers over the phone.

  Gurk! Fine. I grit my teeth and read.

  “Dear Simon. I’m sorry I was a naughty boy and called you bad names. I was immature. You are actually very talented. Please accept my apology.”

  It’s like poison on my tongue, but somehow I get through it without vomiting. At least it’s over.

  “Again, Marty,” Cricklewood insists. “Louder this time.”

  “This is torture!” I say. “Is this legal?”

  “I assure you it is.”

  I take a deep breath.

  When I’m done, I feel sick.

  “Maybe one day,” Simon says, “I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”

  “That’s the spirit!” Cricklewood cheers.

  “You’re the best principal in the history of principals, Ms. Cricklewood,” Simon gushes as we’re scooted out the door.

  “If only all youngsters were as charming as you, Simon.”

  Charming?

  “As for you, Marty,” Cricklewood adds, “consider this Strike One. Three strikes and you’ll be suspended.”

  One thing’s for sure. That did not go well.

  CHAPTER 7

  get back

  I actually called Simon “talented.” Time to visit my psychologist. Luckily, she’s in my class.

  “I need therapy, Parker. I’m traumatized.”

  “You sure do,” Parker says. “But maybe we should schedule it for later, Marty. Class is about to start.”

  She’s right. I can’t risk getting into trouble since I already have Strike One.

  As I head to my seat, Parker reaches over and rips something off my back. “This yours, Marty?”

  Gurk! I grab it out of her hand. How did Simon get this on my back? Without me noticing? I’m a noticer!*

  I sit down and stare at it. Then I hear my name.

  McPhee thinks I wrote this?

  “What note?” I say as I hide it under my desk.

  “Hand it over, Marty.”

  The last thing I want to hand to anybody is a note that says “SIMON RULES!”

  I’ll bluff.

  “It’s my dad’s prescription for hemorrhoids,” I say. “His face is covered with them.”

  “Hand it over, Marty,” McPhee repeats as he holds out his hand.

  I don’t want to give it to him, but I can’t risk getting Strike Two.

  I hand it over.

  McPhee holds it up for everyone to see.

  “‘SIMON RULES!’” McPhee says, loudly. Simon starts to snicker.

  “Marty, it’s nice to know you think so highly of Simon,” McPhee continues. “But next time you want to tell him how wonderful he is, please wait until after class.”

  N
ow the entire class is snickering. McPhee hands me back the note.

  If I had magic powers, I’d make myself evaporate right now.

  CHAPTER 8

  chew on this

  When I get home, Erica is working on her science project again. I can tell she’s dying to tell me what it is.

  I don’t care anyway. I have enough to think about.

  Speaking of thinking, this is a sculpture by Auguste Rodin called The Thinker.

  Apparently, some people like to do their thinking naked and sitting on a rock. Not me.

  I prefer my beanbag of solitude.

  It’s the perfect place to unwind and think. And it’s more comfortable than a rock.

  So I sit and think about my problems.

  And my biggest problem is Simon!

  I pull that horrible “SIMON RULES!” note out of my pocket.

  Jerome yanks the note out of my hand.

  And he treats it the way it deserves to be treated.

  Good boy!

  Jerome quickly shreds the word RULES. He never did like rules.

  As I watch my adorable cat chew up the horrible, mysterious, and inaccurate note, I can’t help wondering how Simon managed to get this note on my back.

  Could he actually have magic powers? Is that even possible?

  I need some kind of sign.

  I close my eyes and think . . .