“Sure, Michael,” Dad agreed. “Anything you say. After all, you’re the birthday boy.”
“Thanks.”
Dad took the toolbox upstairs and worked on the lock. Tara lounged around the dining room making trouble. As soon as Dad was gone, she pulled down a crepe paper streamer and left it lying on the floor.
Dad fixed the lock and returned the tools to the garage. As he passed through the dining room, he noticed the torn-down streamer.
“Why won’t this crepe paper stay up?” he mumbled. He taped it back up. A few minutes later, Tara tore it down again.
“I know what you’re doing, Tara,” I told her. “Stop trying to wreck my birthday.”
“I don’t have to wreck it,” she said. “It’s bad all by itself—just because it’s the day you were born.” She pretended to shudder in horror.
I ignored her. It was my birthday. Nothing could keep me from having fun, not even Tara.
That’s what I thought.
About half an hour before the party, Mom and Dad called me into the garage.
I pretended to go along with Mom’s silly story. “What about the horrible trash?”
“Oh, that,” Mom clucked. “I made it up.”
“Really?” I said. “Wow. It was so believable.”
“If you believed that, you must be a moron,” Tara said.
Dad threw open the garage door. I stepped inside.
There stood a brand-new 21-speed bike. The bike I’d wanted for a long time.
The coolest bike I’d ever seen!
“Do you like it?” Mom asked.
“I love it!” I cried. “It’s awesome! Thanks!”
“Cool bike, Mike,” Tara said. “Mom, I want one of these for my birthday.”
Before I could stop her, she climbed up on the seat of my new bike.
“Tara, get off!” I yelled.
She didn’t listen. She tried to reach her feet to the pedals, but her legs were too short. The bike fell over.
“Tara!” Mom cried, running to the little brat’s side. “Are you hurt?”
Tara stood up and brushed herself off. “I’m okay. I scraped my knee a little, though.”
I picked up my bike and inspected it. It was no longer perfectly shiny and black. There was a huge white scratch across the middle bar.
It was practically ruined.
“Tara, you wrecked my bike!”
“Let’s not get overexcited, Michael,” Dad said. “It’s only a scratch.”
“Don’t you even care about your sister?” Mom asked. “She could’ve been hurt!”
“It’s her own fault! She shouldn’t have touched my bike in the first place!”
“Michael, you have a lot to learn about being a good brother,” Dad said.
They make me so mad sometimes!
“Let’s go inside,” Mom said. “Your friends will be here soon.”
The party. I thought the party would make me feel better. After all, there would be cake, presents, and my best friends. What could go wrong?
It started out okay. One by one my friends arrived, and they all brought me presents. I’d invited five guys: David, Josh, Michael B., Henry, and Lars; and three girls: Ceecee, Rosie, and Mona.
I wasn’t so crazy about Ceecee and Rosie, but I really liked Mona. She has long, shiny brown hair and a turned-up nose that’s kind of cute. She’s tall, and good at basketball. There’s something sort of cool about her.
Ceecee and Rosie are Mona’s best friends. I had to invite them if I was going to invite Mona. They always go everywhere together.
Ceecee, Rosie, and Mona arrived all at once. They took off their jackets. Mona was wearing pink overalls over a white turtleneck. She looked great. I didn’t care what the other girls were wearing.
“Happy birthday, Michael!” they all called out at the door.
“Thanks,” I said.
They each handed me a gift. Mona’s was small and flat and wrapped in silver paper. Probably a CD, I figured. But which one? What kind of CD would a girl like Mona think a guy like me would like?
I set the presents on top of the pile in the living room.
“Hey, Michael—what did your parents give you?” David asked.
“Just a bike,” I said, trying to be cool about it. “A twenty-one speed.”
I put on a CD. Mom and Tara brought in plates of sandwiches. Mom went back to the kitchen, but Tara stayed.
“Your little sister is so cute,” Mona said.
“Not once you get to know her,” I muttered.
“Michael! That’s not very nice,” Mona said.
“He’s a terrible big brother,” Tara told her. “He yells at me all the time.”
“I do not! Get lost, Tara.”
“I don’t have to.” She stuck her tongue out at me.
“Let her stay, Michael,” Mona said. “She’s not bothering anybody.”
“Hey, Mona,” Tara chirped. “You know, Michael really likes you.”
Mona’s eyes widened. “He does?”
My face got red-hot. I glared at Tara. I wanted to strangle her right then and there. But I couldn’t—too many witnesses.
Mona started laughing. Ceecee and Rosie laughed, too. Luckily, the guys didn’t hear this. They were around the CD player, skipping from cut to cut.
What could I say? I did like Mona. I couldn’t deny it—it would hurt her feelings. But I couldn’t admit it, either.
I wanted to die. I wanted to sink through the floor and die.
“Michael, your face is all red!” Mona cried.
Lars heard this and called out, “What did Webster do now?”
Some of the guys call me by my last name.
I grabbed Tara and dragged her into the kitchen, Mona’s laughter ringing in my ears.
“Thanks a lot, Tara,” I whispered. “Why did you have to tell Mona I like her?”
“It’s true, isn’t it?” the brat said. “I always tell the truth.”
“Yeah, right!”
“Michael—” Mom interrupted. “Are you being mean to Tara again?”
I stormed out of the kitchen without answering her.
“Hey, Webster,” Josh called when I returned to the living room. “Let’s see your new bike.”
Good, I thought. A way to get away from the girls.
I led them to the garage. They all stared at the bike and nodded at each other. They seemed really impressed. Then Henry grabbed the handlebars.
“Hey, what’s this big scratch?” he said.
“I know,” I explained. “My sister…”
I stopped and shook my head. What was the use?
“Let’s go back and open my presents,” I suggested.
We trooped back into the living room.
At least I’ve got more presents coming, I thought. Tara can’t ruin those.
But Tara always finds a way.
When I entered the living room, I found Tara sitting in the middle of a pile of torn-up wrapping paper. Rosie, Mona, and Ceecee sat around her, watching.
Tara had opened all my presents for me.
Thanks so much, Tara.
She was ripping open the last present—Mona’s.
“Look what Mona gave you, Michael!” Tara shouted.
It was a CD.
“I’ve heard there are some great love songs on it,” Tara teased.
Everybody laughed. They all thought Tara was a riot.
Later, we all sat down in the dining room for cake and ice cream. I carried the cake myself. Mom followed me, holding plates, candles, and matches.
It was my favorite kind of cake, chocolate-chocolate.
Balancing the cake in my hands, I stepped through the kitchen door and into the dining room.
I didn’t see Tara pressed against the wall. I didn’t see her stick her bratty little foot in the doorway.
I tripped. The cake flew out of my hands.
I landed on top of the cake. Facedown. Of course.
Some kids gasped. Some tri
ed to muffle their laughter.
I sat up and wiped the brown frosting from my eyes.
The first face I saw was Mona’s. She was shaking with laughter.
Mom leaned over and scolded me. “What a mess! Michael, why don’t you look where you’re going?”
I listened to the laughter and stared at my ruined cake. I had no candles to blow out now. But it didn’t matter. I decided to make a wish, anyway.
I wish I could start this birthday all over again.
I stood up, covered in gooey brown cake. My friends howled.
“You look like the Hulk!” Rosie cried.
Everybody laughed harder than ever.
They all had a great time at my party. Everyone did.
Except for me.
My birthday was bad—very bad. But ruining it wasn’t the worst thing Tara did to me.
Nobody would believe the worst thing.
4
It happened the week before my birthday. Mona, Ceecee, and Rosie were coming over. We all had parts in the school play, and planned to rehearse together at my house.
The play was a new version of The Frog Prince. Mona played the princess, and Ceecee and Rosie were her two silly sisters. Perfect casting, I thought.
I played the frog, before the princess kisses him and turns him into a prince. For some reason, our drama teacher didn’t want me to play the prince. Josh got that part.
Anyway, I decided that the frog is a better part. Because Mona, the princess, kisses the frog, not the prince.
The girls would arrive any minute.
Tara sat on the rug in the den, torturing our cat, Bubba. Bubba hated Tara almost as much as I did.
Tara lifted Bubba by the hind legs, trying to make him do a handstand. Bubba yowled and squirmed and wriggled away. But Tara caught him and made him do a handstand again.
“Stop that, Tara,” I ordered.
“Why?” Tara said. “It’s fun.”
“You’re hurting Bubba.”
“No, I’m not. He likes it. See? He’s smiling.” She let go of his hind legs and grabbed him with one hand under his front legs. With the other hand she lifted the corners of his mouth and stretched them into a pained smile.
Bubba tried to bite her. He missed.
“Tara,” I said, “let him go. And get out of here. My friends are coming over.”
“No.” Now Tara tried to make Bubba walk on his front paws. He fell and bumped his nose.
“Tara, stop it!” I cried. As I tried to take Bubba away from her, she let the cat go. Bubba meowed and scratched me across the arm.
“Ow!” I dropped Bubba. He ran away.
“Michael, what were you doing to that cat?” Mom stood in the doorway. Bubba slipped past her into the hall.
“Nothing! He scratched me!”
“Stop teasing him, and he won’t scratch you,” Mom scolded. She left, calling over her shoulder, “I’m going upstairs to lie down for a while. I have a headache.”
The doorbell rang. “We’ll get it, Mom!” I called.
I knew it must be the girls at the door. I wanted to surprise them in my frog costume, but I wasn’t ready yet.
“Answer the door, Tara,” I told the brat. “Tell Mona and the others to wait for me in the den. I’ll be right back.”
“Okay,” Tara said. She trotted off to the front door. I hurried upstairs to change into my costume.
I pulled the costume out of my closet. I took off my pants and shirt. I picked up the frog suit, trying to open the zipper. It was stuck.
I stood there in my underwear, tugging at the zipper. Then my bedroom door clicked open.
“Here he is, girls,” I heard Tara say. “He told me to bring you upstairs.”
No! I thought. Please don’t let it be true!
I was afraid to look up. I knew what I’d see.
The door wide open. Mona, Ceecee, Rosie, and Tara, staring at me in my underwear!
I forced myself to look. It was worse than I’d thought.
There they all stood—staring and laughing!
Tara laughed hardest of all. She laughed like a rotten little hyena.
You think that’s bad? Wait. There’s more.
* * *
Two days before the underwear disaster, I was hanging around after school, playing basketball in the gym with Josh, Henry, and some other guys, including Kevin Flowers.
Kevin is a good player, big and tough. He is twice as tall as me! He loves basketball. The Duke Blue Devils are his favorite college team. He wears a Blue Devils cap to school every day.
While we were shooting baskets, I spied Tara hanging around the sidelines, where we’d all tossed our jackets and backpacks against the wall.
I got a bad feeling. I always do when Tara’s around.
What’s she doing there? I wondered.
Maybe her teacher kept her after school, and she’s waiting for me to walk her home.
She’s just trying to distract me, I told myself. Don’t let her. Don’t think about her. Just concentrate on the game.
I felt good. I actually sank a few baskets before the game ended. My side won. We had Kevin Flowers on our team, that’s why.
We all jogged to the wall to get our packs. Tara was gone.
Funny, I thought. I guess she went home without me.
I hoisted my pack over my shoulder and said, “See you tomorrow, guys.”
But Kevin’s voice boomed through the gym. “Nobody move!”
We all froze.
“Where’s my cap?” he demanded. “My Blue Devils cap is missing!”
I shrugged. I didn’t know where his stupid cap was.
“Somebody took my cap,” Kevin insisted. “Nobody leaves until we find it.”
He grabbed Henry’s backpack and started pawing through it. Everyone knows how much Kevin loves that cap.
But Josh pointed at me. “Hey—what’s that hanging out of Webster’s pack?” he asked.
“My pack?” I cried. I glanced over my shoulder.
I saw a patch of blue sticking out of the zippered pocket.
My stomach lurched.
Kevin strode over to me and ripped the cap out of my pack.
“I don’t know how it got there, Kevin,” I insisted. “I swear—”
Kevin didn’t wait to hear my excuses. He never was much of a listener.
I’ll spare you the blood and gore. Let’s just say my clothes didn’t fit too well when Kevin got through taking me apart!
Josh and Henry helped me home. My mom didn’t recognize me. My eyes and nose had traded places with my chin.
While I was in the bathroom cleaning myself up, I caught a glimpse of Tara in the mirror. The bratty grin on her face told me all I needed to know.
“You!” I cried. “You put Kevin’s cap in my pack! Didn’t you!”
Tara just grinned. Yeah. She did it, all right.
“Why?” I demanded. “Why did you do it, Tara?”
Tara shrugged and tried to look innocent. “Was that Kevin’s cap?” she said. “I thought it was yours.”
“What a lie!” I cried. “I never wore a Duke cap, and you know it! You did that on purpose!”
I was so furious, I couldn’t stand to look at her. I slammed the bathroom door in her face.
And of course I got in trouble for slamming the door.
Now you understand what I had to live with.
Now you know why I did the terrible thing that I did.
Anyone in my place would have done the same.
5
I stayed in my room that night, thinking hard. Plotting a way to get Tara in trouble.
But nothing came to me. At least, nothing good enough.
Then the clock arrived. A few days later, Tara did something that gave me an idea.
Tara couldn’t stay away from the cuckoo clock. One afternoon, Dad caught Tara playing with the clock hands. She didn’t get into any real trouble, of course—not sweet little Tara. But Dad did say, “I’ve got my eye on you, young la
dy. No more playing with the clock.”
At last! I thought. At last Dad realizes that Tara’s not a perfect angel. And at last I’ve found a way to get her into big trouble.
If something went wrong with the clock, I knew Tara would be blamed for it.
So I decided to make sure something did go wrong.
Tara deserved to get into trouble for the hundreds of terrible things she did to me.
So what if just once she gets blamed for something she didn’t do? I thought. It’s only evening the score a little.
That night, after everybody was asleep, I sneaked downstairs to the den.
It was almost midnight. I crept up to the clock and waited.
One minute to go.
Thirty seconds.
Ten seconds.
Six, five, four, three, two, one…
The gong sounded.
Cuckoo! Cuckoo!
The yellow bird popped out. I grabbed it in mid-cuckoo. It made short, strangling noises.
I twisted its head around, so it faced backwards. It looked really funny that way.
It finished out its twelve cuckoos, facing the wrong way.
I laughed to myself. When Dad saw it, he’d go ballistic!
The cuckoo slid back into its little window, still facing backwards.
This is going to drive Dad insane! I thought wickedly.
He’ll be furious at Tara. He’ll explode like a volcano!
Finally, Tara will know what it feels like to be blamed for something you didn’t do.
I crept back upstairs. Not a sound. No one saw me.
I fell asleep that night a happy guy. There’s nothing like revenge.
I slept late the next morning. I couldn’t wait to see Dad blow up at Tara. I just hoped I hadn’t missed it already.
I hurried downstairs. I checked the den.
The door stood open.
No one there. No sign of trouble yet.
Good, I thought. I haven’t missed it.
I made my way into the kitchen, hungry. Mom, Dad, and Tara sat around the table, piled with empty breakfast dishes.
As soon as they saw me, their faces lit up.
“Happy Birthday!” they cried all at once.
“Very funny,” I snapped. I opened a cabinet. “Is there any more cereal left?”
“Cereal!” Mom said. “Don’t you want something special, like pancakes?”