They had reached an understanding. If David would believe Larry knew kung fu, Larry would believe that the only reason David didn’t ask Tori Williams out on a date was because of the curse.
“Hey, Larry,” said Mo, coming up behind them. “Will you teach me that?”
“What?”
“You know, how to give someone the finger in Italian.”
22
FRIDAY AFTERNOON and evening David couldn’t stop thinking about Tori—and Randy. What if he really did ask her out? What would she say to him? She might be talking on the phone to him right now.
Saturday he worried about their date. He wondered where they went, what movie they saw. Was it rated R? What else did they do? Did he put his arm around her? He might be kissing her right now.
Sunday he wondered if she was in love with him. What if she came to school wearing Randy’s jacket? She wouldn’t be allowed to talk to him anymore, not even “Hello, Mr. Ballinger.”
He was glad he hadn’t put his books in her locker. He’d never be able to get them out. Maybe she’s been in love with Randy all along. Maybe she was just pretending to be nice to David, like Randy used to do. It was some kind of big joke. She pretended to like David, but really she and her friends were all laughing at Curly, the stooge.
Monday morning he was standing outside the door to Mr. MacFarland’s class when he saw her coming toward him. He didn’t know whether to say hi to her anymore. At least she wasn’t wearing Randy’s jacket. She had on a long multicolored kind of shawl.
“Hi,” he said.
She was still a couple of yards away, and he said it so quietly he didn’t think she even heard him.
“Hi, David,” she said. Her green eyes flashed as she breezed into the room.
“Hi,” he said again, in case she didn’t hear him the first time. Feeling like a total fool, he eased his way through the desks to his seat.
Actually, he realized, whether or not he was a fool depended on whether or not she heard the first hi. If she did, then he was a fool for saying hi twice. She and Randy would probably have a good laugh over it together.
On the other hand, if she didn’t hear him say the first hi, then that meant she thought she said the first hi. That’d be good. If you say the first hi to someone it means you’re making an effort to be nice to that person, but if you say the second hi then maybe you’re just being polite.
Big deal! he chided himself. Who cares who said the first hi? He closed his eyes. Big deal. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t …
He looked at Tori. She seemed half asleep as she thumbed through the pages of her social studies book. Little did she know what a simple hi had done to him.
I have no face, he thought.
He had thought about what Larry had said about losing face. If I had a face, he thought, I would just go up to Tori Williams and talk to her and tell her how I feel. If I had a face, I wouldn’t let Roger and his friends push me around. I would never have laughed at all their stupid jokes.
I would never have gone with them to steal Mrs. Bayfield’s cane. I would have stood up for her and told them to leave her alone. I would have told her I was sorry instead of giving her the finger. I have a finger, but I don’t have a face.
Maybe my Doppelgänger is wearing my face.
He realized that what he should do was go back to Mrs. Bayfield’s house and tell her he was sorry. Better late than never. If she had put a curse on him, that’d be the only way she’d remove it. But even if there was no curse, he should still tell her he was sorry. It was the right thing to do.
He knew what he should do, but he also knew he wouldn’t do it. Because he had no face.
“WE FIGURED it out!” Mo told him at recess. “We know how to remove your curse! Larry figured it out.”
Larry smiled. “It was so simple, I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.”
“I know,” David muttered. “Tell Mrs. Bayfield I’m sorry.”
“Huh?” said Larry. “No. That wouldn’t work. No, I got it all figured out.”
“He does,” Mo agreed. “It’s perfect.”
“What?” asked David.
“You have to pour a pitcher of lemonade on your head,” said Larry. He smiled, proud behind his blue sunglasses.
“Are you crazy?” asked David.
“Mrs. Bayfield put a boomerang curse on you,” Larry explained. “They’re actually pretty common in Australia.”
“Larry lived in Australia for six months,” said Mo.
Somehow, David wasn’t surprised.
“Everything you did to Mrs. Bayfield has happened to you, right?” Larry asked him. “It’s the classic Australian boomerang curse. Except you haven’t poured a pitcher of lemonade on your head. Once you do that, the boomerang will have gone full circle and the curse will be over.”
“No way!” David protested. “I’m not pouring lemonade on my head.”
“Look, it’s going to happen anyway,” said Larry. “At least this way it will be under controlled conditions. You’ll be at home with me and Mo. Would you rather it happened unexpectedly? Here at school? Or in front of Tori?”
“He’s right,” said Mo.
“I don’t know that it’s going to happen anyway,” said David. “Maybe the curse is already over.”
“Good, then ask Tori out on a date,” said Larry.
“I can’t. The curse may be over and it may not. I just don’t know. I may never know. Besides, I think she already went out with Randy on Saturday.”
“So you can ask her out for next Saturday,” said Larry.
“I don’t think you’re afraid of the curse,” said Mo. “I think you’re afraid of Tori.”
“I’m not afraid of—”
“Then dump a pitcher of lemonade on your head,” said Mo.
“It’s the only way,” said Larry.
“Then you can go out with Tori,” said Mo. “Unless you’re chicken.”
AFTER SCHOOL, MO and Larry walked home with David to watch him dump lemonade on his head.
“Why do you have to watch?” David asked. “Why can’t I just do it by myself?”
“There always have to be witnesses,” said Larry.
David thought it was ridiculous. He really didn’t believe he was cursed, but even if he was, there was no guarantee that this would cure him. A boomerang curse! Give me a break. Where does Larry come up with these things?
He opened the door of the freezer and removed a can of frozen lemonade concentrate. “It’s not going to work,” he said. “It’s pink lemonade.”
“So?” asked Mo.
“So, Mrs. Bayfield’s lemonade wasn’t pink.”
“Will that make a difference?” Mo asked Larry, the expert.
Larry rubbed his chin. “It doesn’t matter,” he declared. “As long as it’s lemonade.”
David looked at him in disbelief. He peeled off the top of the can and dumped the contents into the blender. Then he added four cups of water. He stared at the pink turd in the bottom of the blender.
“Turn it on,” said Mo.
“What if you’re both part of the curse?” he asked.
“What do you mean?” asked Larry.
“Maybe somehow Mrs. Bayfield got into your heads and made you convince me to dump a pitcher of lemonade on my head.”
“She didn’t get into my head,” said Larry. “I’d know it if she got into my head. At least I think I would.”
“It’s just that there is no other way I would have poured lemonade on my head,” said David.
“You don’t know that,” said Larry.
“Everything that has happened to me I’ve done to myself,” said David. “I broke my parents’ bedroom window. I flipped off my mother. I forgot to zip my fly. I dropped the beaker in science class. I leaned too far back in my chair and fell over. But there is no way I would ever have poured lemonade on my head.”
“A curse is a curse,” said Mo.
“You’d pour it on yourself
anyway,” said Larry. “At least now it’s in a controlled circumstance. It’s like when a bomb squad blows up a bomb. The bomb’s going to explode anyway, but at least they make sure no one gets hurt by it.”
David pushed the button on the blender. Very quickly he had a pitcher full of foamy pink lemonade. They took it outside to the backyard.
“I never used to be friends with you,” David pointed out. “We didn’t become friends until after Mrs. Bayfield put the curse on me.”
“So what’s that supposed to mean?” asked Mo.
“Maybe Mrs. Bayfield made me be friends with you. Maybe she knew Larry used to live in Australia. Maybe she knew you’d make me pour lemonade on my head.”
“Look, do you want to go out with Tori or don’t you?” Mo demanded.
“Sure I want to go out with her,” said David.
“Well, then shut up and dump it on your head!”
David took off his shirt and sat down on the grass. He held the pitcher of lemonade at shoulder level. “This is so stupid,” he told them. Holding the pitcher steady, he lay down flat on his back.
“Go ahead,” said Mo.
He held his breath, then tipped the pitcher, slowly at first. A couple of drops splattered on his forehead. He quickly tipped it the rest of the way, dumping the whole thing on his face.
Larry and Mo cracked up.
David sat back up and waited for them to stop laughing.
“So how do you feel?” asked Larry.
“Like a jerk,” said David. “A sticky, wet jerk.”
They laughed again.
David had taken off his shirt so it wouldn’t get wet, but now he picked it up and used it to wipe his face.
“Well, what about the curse?” asked Mo. “Is it gone?”
David stood up. “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I do feel a little lighter. Like I’d been carrying around a heavy weight and it’s no longer there.”
“That’s the curse,” said Larry.
“Go call Tori,” said Mo.
“Not yet,” said David. “I have to be certain the curse is really gone. I’ll wait a month, and if there’s absolutely no sign of the curse, then I’ll call her.”
“A month!” exclaimed Mo.
“Three weeks,” said David.
“One day,” said Mo. “That’s all!”
“I have to be sure the curse is really gone.”
“Three days,” said Larry. “That’s the standard waiting period in Australia. You’ll still be able to ask her out for Saturday night.” He checked his watch. “It is now four seventeen, Monday. If the curse doesn’t strike by four seventeen on Thursday, then you have to call Tori.”
23
LARRY AND MO went home. David brought the blender and his wet shirt back into the house.
Ricky was sitting at the kitchen counter. His face was buried in his arms, which were folded on top of the counter.
“Hey, Rick,” said David. “Are you all right?”
He didn’t answer.
David set the blender pitcher in the sink, then walked over to his brother. “What’s the matter?” he asked, putting his hand on Ricky’s shoulder.
Ricky jerked his shoulder free as he looked up at David. His eyes were red and swollen as if he’d been crying, and his face was dirty and bruised. He quickly stood up and headed into the hall.
“Ricky?” said David as he started to follow.
“Go away!” Ricky yelled. “I hate you!” He disappeared into his room.
David returned to the kitchen and washed the pitcher. Whatever it was, he thought, Ricky will get over it. He had a feeling it might have something to do with Ricky finding out he was one of The Three Stooges.
Well, I never told Ricky I was someone great. He’s the one who built me up so much. He had to find out the truth sooner or later. It’s not my fault.
The glass pitcher slipped out of his hand and fell to the floor. He looked at it in horror.
It wasn’t broken.
He shook his head. That was close, he thought. If the pitcher had broken, it would have meant the curse was back and he wouldn’t be able to ask Tori out on a date.
He tried to decide if he really believed that Mrs. Bayfield had put a curse on him. Probably not. But if she did put a curse on him, did he really get rid of it by dumping lemonade on his head? Probably not. But if he did get rid of the curse, and nothing bad happened by Thursday afternoon, would he really have the courage to ask Tori Williams on a date? Probably not. But if he did ask her out, would she go with him? Probably not.
HE SAW Tori the next morning as he entered Mr. MacFarland’s class. “Good morning, Mr. David,” she said, smiling.
He turned away and pretended he hadn’t heard her as he made his way to his desk. There was no point in trying to talk to her now. If the curse didn’t strike by four seventeen on Thursday, he’d call her up and ask her out. There was no sense in complicating things by talking to her. She probably liked Randy anyway.
He leaned way back in his chair, balancing on the two back legs.
“SO, ANYTHING bad happen to you yet?” Larry asked at recess.
David shrugged. “My brother hates me.” He was sitting on the grass, squinting into the sun.
“Is that part of the curse?” asked Mo.
“No,” David admitted. “I don’t think so. I didn’t do anything to Mrs. Bayfield that would cause her brother to hate her.”
“My sister hates me,” said Larry, “and I’m not cursed.”
“I hate my brother,” said Mo.
THE CURSE still hadn’t struck by seven P.M. Tuesday, at least as far as David could tell. Maybe it struck and I don’t even know it, he worried.
He was lying on the couch in the den, watching television.
“This is Jim Rockford. At the tone leave your name and message. I’II get back to you.”
Ricky walked into the room. For a moment he just stood in front of David, blocking his view. Then he picked up the remote control and changed the channel to wrestling.
David didn’t say a word. He knew Ricky liked reruns of The Rockford Files as much as he did, and that they both thought wrestling was stupid.
Taking the remote-control device with him, Ricky sat down in the chair and put his feet on the ottoman.
“You want to play cards or something?” asked David.
Ricky stared at the TV. “Oooh, neat!” he exclaimed as one of the wrestlers slammed the other to the canvas. “Aw-right!”
“You know you think that’s stupid,” said David.
“No, I don’t!” snapped Ricky. “Just because you think it’s stupid doesn’t mean I have to think it’s stupid. I don’t have to like everything you like. I think Rockford’s stupid!” He looked back at the TV.
One wrestler was stepping on the other wrestler’s face while twisting his leg at the same time.
“Oh, wow, radical!” Ricky exclaimed.
David got up and started out of the room.
“You’re the one who’s stupid!” Ricky called after him.
WEDNESDAY MORNING David leaned back in his chair, balancing on the two back legs as he stared at the side of Tori’s face. You don’t know it, he thought, but if nothing happens today or tomorrow, I’m going to ask you out on a date. His stomach churned.
He tried to imagine the conversation.
She’d answer the phone. Hello?
Good evening, Miss Williams. This is Mr. Ballinger.
Good evening, Mr. Ballinger.
He decided it would be easier to ask her out if he called her Miss Williams. Maybe he could ask her to tea.
I say, Miss Williams, would you care to have a spot of tea with me?
I’d be delighted, Mr. Ballinger.
“Mr. Ballinger!” said Mr. MacFarland.
David’s chair bounced forward as he sat up straight. “Yes.”
“Does everyone have the right to be happy?”
David had no idea what Mr. MacFarland was talking about, but he coul
d guess the answer from the way that Mr. MacFarland asked the question. “No,” he said.
“That’s correct,” said Mr. MacFarland. “The Declaration of Independence says everyone has the right of the pursuit of happiness. What’s the difference between the right to be happy and the right to pursue happiness?”
“Okay, um,” said David, trying to fake it. “Not everyone’s going to be happy all the time. I guess most people are hardly ever happy. You probably have to be sad sometimes in order to be happy. Sometimes you might think you want something, but then when you get it, it doesn’t make you happy. You might be happier pursuing it than you are when you actually get it.”
He had no idea if what he said made sense or not.
“Mr. Umbridge,” said Mr. MacFarland. “Does that mean you have the right to do anything you want in order to pursue happiness? If smoking marijuana makes you happy, do you have the right to smoke marijuana?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s supposed to be bad for you.”
“Is that something the government should decide? Or should people be allowed to make their own choices? Cigarettes are bad for you, but they’re not illegal. Alcohol is bad for you. Even television is bad for you. What if it was discovered that television caused severe brain damage? Should the government be allowed to make it against the law to watch television? Miss Peters.”
“I don’t think they could ever make television illegal. It’s just like cigarettes. The cigarette companies are too powerful. Too many people would lose their jobs and …”
When the bell rang, David quickly left his seat and hurried out the door so that Tori Williams wouldn’t try to say good morning to him.
“YOU WANT to go with us to the park after school today?” Mo asked David at lunch. “We’re going to watch criminals pick up trash.”
“See, every Wednesday criminals come to the park and pick up trash,” Larry explained.
“Robbers and murderers,” said Mo.
“Well, I don’t know if there are any murderers,” said Larry. “I think they are mostly drunk drivers and shoplifters.”
“Oh, I thought there’d be murderers,” said Mo, obviously disappointed.