Charlie Bumpers vs. the Perfect Little Turkey (2 page)

Monday morning Mrs. Burke, my fourth grade teacher, handed out dictionaries so we could look up the definitions of the ten words she’d written on the board. They all had something to do with Thanksgiving. You know, words like “gratitude,” “holiday,” and “pilgrim.” When we were finished, she said, “Now, for your homework assignment.”

Somebody groaned.

“Yes,” Mrs. Burke said, “it is time for all of the citizens in Mrs. Burke’s Empire to do their duty cheerfully—or suffer the consequences.”

Mrs. Burke talks like that all the time. It’s her way of being funny.

Ha ha ha.

“Tonight,” she went on, “you are to write your own definition for a particular word. The word is ‘family.’”

“That’s easy!” Sam Marchand blurted out.

POW!

Mrs. Burke snapped her exploding fingers. She has the loudest fingers on planet Earth. In Mrs. Burke’s Empire, you’re supposed to raise your hand before you speak.

“Sorry,” Sam said.

“Okay then, Sam. What is a family?” she asked.

“Your mom and dad and sisters and brothers,” Sam answered.

“What about grandparents?” Mrs. Burke asked.

“Well, yeah,” Sam said. “Them, too.”

Alex MacLeod had his hand raised. Mrs. Burke called on him.

“I don’t have any brothers or sisters,”
Alex said. “So they’re not in my family.”

Josh Little put up his hand.

“Yes, Josh?” Mrs. Burke said.

“Aunts and uncles … and cousins.”

“Oooh, oooh, oooh!” Samantha Grunsky, who sits behind me, waved her hand in the air like she was going to die if someone didn’t call on her.

“Go ahead, Samantha,” Mrs. Burke said. “Don’t injure yourself.”

Samantha cleared her throat in her bossy way. “In science, a family is a group of species that have something in common.”

Samantha Grunsky always seems to know everything, and she’s happy to remind you of that.

“Yes, Samantha, that is one definition of family.”

“Wait!” Joey Alvarez called out.

Mrs. Burke held her fingers up to snap them, but Joey quickly raised his hand.

“Um … what if you’ve got pets?” he asked. “Aren’t they in your family?”

Mrs. Burke smiled. “What do you think, class?”

Everyone started shouting out their opinions. Mrs. Burke let us argue for a while, then—POW!—she let go with another one of her deafening finger snaps.

Mrs. Burke called on Ellen Holmes next.

“A lot of kids live with just one parent,” Ellen said. “And what about my friend who lives with one parent part of the time and the other parent the rest of the time?”

We all started arguing again. Finally Mrs. Burke called out, “That’s enough, class. It sounds like there are a lot of different ways to describe a family. So tonight, I’d like you to come up with your own
definition. And I want you to be prepared to defend it in class tomorrow.”

Mrs. Burke was sneaky. She’d fooled us again. She had gotten all of us interested in something, and now we had to write about it. What a horrible way to ruin a perfectly good learning experience.

That night at dinner, each of us shared something that had happened that day. The Squid told how this girl in her class lost her tooth at home but it fell down the sink and her parents had to call the emergency plumber to save the tooth so she could put it under her pillow for the tooth fairy.

“That’s a very expensive tooth,” Dad observed.

“But Tanya only gets a dollar,” the Squid said.

“A lot less than the emergency plumber,” Dad said. “Well, Matt. Any big news to report?”

Matt told about this kid named Thad in his
English class who did a presentation about an author. Thad had dressed up like the author and pretended to be him. Then, in the middle of the presentation, he’d fallen over, twitched a few times, and pretended to die right on the classroom floor. “Mrs. Cummings ran over and asked him if he was okay,” Matt said. “Thad sat up and told her that the author had died very young. It was brilliant!”

“I guess it’s dangerous being an author,” Dad said. “What about you, Charlie?”

“Today in class we had to look up definitions for a bunch of words. For homework, I have to write a definition of the word ‘family.’”

“I assume you will describe your excellent older brother,” Matt said.

“Ha ha ha,” I said.

“I’m in your family,” the Squid announced. “Family:
f-a-m …
” She looked over at Mom.

“The next letter is
i
,” Mom prompted.

“That’s what I was going to say,” the Squid declared. “Family:
f-a-m-l-i-y
.”

“Close enough,” Dad said.

“That reminds me,” Mom said. “With so many people coming for Thanksgiving, our whole family is going to have to work together.”

“Your mom’s right,” Dad added. “It’s our job to be good hosts, so I expect everyone here to be helpful … and flexible.”

“Of course,” Matt said. “Flexible is my middle name.”

“Your middle name is Arthur,” the Squid said.

“Don’t remind me,” Matt said.

“And that brings me to the next point,” Mom went on. “Aunt Sarah and Uncle Brandon and Tilly are going to stay at the Village Inn with Pops and Gams. But they’d like Chip to stay here.”

She paused for a second and gave me a little smile.

I didn’t like that little smile. It meant something.

“Chip’s a very nice boy,” Mom said. “And I think he’s grown up a lot. Sarah says his teacher calls him ‘the perfect little gentleman.’”

Perfect little turkey,
I said to myself. Even though the adults don’t seem to realize it, Chip
is
a turkey. His real name is Brandon, but that’s also his dad’s name, so everyone calls him “Chip.” He’s a giant pest. Last summer we spent three days with their family at a lake house, and every time I turned around he was right there, buzzing around like a little gnat, telling me what to do, and saying he could do it better. Even though he couldn’t.

I had tried to be nice to him, but it’s hard to be nice to someone who drives you bonkers. My mom told me he followed me around because he wanted to be just like me, and said I should be patient.

Sometimes grown-ups are completely clueless. Even mothers.

“So, he’s going to have to sleep in someone’s room,” Mom said.

“He could sleep on the fold-out couch,” I suggested. The family room was a long way from my room.

“I think Uncle Ron will be sleeping on the couch,” Dad said.

Mom opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything.

“Maybe he can stay with Mabel,” I said, “since he’s closest to her age.”

“He can’t,” the Squid said. “My room’s too small.”

“What about Matt, then?” I asked. “He has the biggest room.”

“I need all that room for my brain,” Matt said. “I think he should stay with you, Charlie. He always follows you around anyway.”

“There’s no bed for him,” I said.

“We’ll bring in the inflatable mattress,” Mom said. “Just like when Tommy sleeps over.”

“But he’s my friend!” I said. “Chip is different.”

“Chip’ll take up less space than Tommy,” Matt said. “You’ll barely notice he’s there.” He gave me his classic evil older brother grin. He knew Chip drove me crazy.

“He’ll mess everything up!” I protested.

“He can’t,” Mabel said. “Your room’s already a mess.”

“Matt, Mabel, please stay out of this. Charlie, you can put away the things you’re worried about,” Mom said. “And you do need to clean up your room.”

Boogers!

Now I not only had to let Chip sleep in my room, I had to clean it up for him!

“This isn’t fair,” I said.

As soon as I said it, I knew what was going to happen.

Matt and the Squid sang out together, “LIFE’S NOT FAIR!”

They thought they were being funny.

Ha ha ha.

“That’s not funny,” I said.

Matt grinned. “Oh, yes it is.”

The Squid started to laugh.

“That’s enough,” Dad said. “If Charlie’s going to let Chip stay in his room, we can at least be nice to him about it.”

“But I didn’t say he could stay in my room!”

“I think it’s best for everyone if he stays there, Charlie,” Mom said. “He likes being with you and—”

“It’s not best for
me!
” I said.

“Calm down, Charlie,” Dad said. “It’s going to be okay. It’s only for a couple of nights.”

“It’s going to be okay, Charlie,” the Squid said, copying my dad. “That’s spelled with an
o
and a
k
.”

My whole family was teaming up against me. They were going to have a great Thanksgiving, and I was going to have to put up with that doofy little turkey! I folded my arms and stared down at the floor. Ginger came up and rested her chin on my lap.

“No pouting at the table,” Matt said.

“Matt,” Dad warned.

I glared at Matt. “When I write my definition for family, I’m just putting in Ginger and no one else. No brothers and sisters. And especially no cousins.”

It was quiet at the table. I knew my parents didn’t like what I’d said.

“I’m your sister,” the Squid announced, “no matter what.”

“How unfortunate,” I muttered.

“That’s enough, Charlie,” Dad said.

“I’d like to be excused, please.” I figured I’d better leave before I got really mad.

Dad nodded.

I got up and headed to my room.

“I’m still your sister!” the Squid shouted. “But I’m not putting your dish in the sink!”

I stomped up the stairs and down the hall to my room.

My
messy
room. The Squid was right. It was a disaster area. Again. There were clothes and toys on the floor and stuff piled on my chair and desk and an unfinished puzzle in the corner, lying next to a plate with the crust from a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on it. I had to climb over my backpack and schoolbooks to get to my bed.

And now I had to do my dumb homework, which included writing about my dumb family.

But first I had to clear off my desk. I had been
working on a model of Buck Meson’s Transport Module, which takes him to distant planets (like Earth). It was amazingly cool and looked just like the one on the show. My dad had helped with the hard parts and it was almost done. It was the only thing in the room that wasn’t messy. I picked it up and placed it carefully on my dresser.

I pushed everything on my desk to the side and pulled my notebook out of my backpack.

I did my math. Multiplication.

Then my social studies. Abraham Lincoln.

The only thing left was my definition of family. My family.

I stared at the paper and thought about Matt and the Squid and what had happened at dinner and having to clean up my room. And about Chip.

I didn’t want to write anything.

“What are you doing?”

I looked around. The Squid was standing in my doorway.

“My homework,” I said. “Go away.”

“Are you still mad?”

“Yes, I’m still mad.”

She came in anyway. She picked up the box that the Buck Meson Transport Module had come in. “Hey, look! It says
B-u-c-k,
Buck. I can read this! Buck Meson!”

“Out!” I shouted.

My mom opened the door wide and took the Squid by the shoulders. “Come on, Mabel. Leave Charlie alone.”

“But I was just asking,” she said. “I don’t want him to be mad. And besides, now I can read ‘Buck Meson.’”

“Good. Go put on your pajamas,” Mom said.

“Grouch monster,” the Squid said to me.

I made a face at her as she went out the door.

“Charlie,” Mom said, “I’m sorry that you have to share your room, but even if you’re mad, there’s no reason to say what you said about Matt and Mabel.”

“There’s every reason!” I said. “They always gang up against me.”

“You’re just tired and upset right now. Put your homework in your pack and get ready for bed.”

“I’m not done.” I still had to write the dumb definition.

“You can have fifteen more minutes,” she said as she left. “But then it’s lights out.”

Staring at the blank paper, I still couldn’t think of anything to write. I glanced over at the Buck Meson Transport Module and thought about the TV special. I could hardly wait.

Matt stuck his head in the door. “Still pouting?” he asked.

“Get out!” I yelled.

“Touchy, touchy, touchy!” he said, disappearing down the hall.

Now I
really
didn’t want to write the definition! And I especially didn’t want to write about Matt and the Squid. So finally I scribbled down one sentence: “Family is a bunch of people you have to live with and share with even when you don’t want to.”

Then I stomped into the bathroom I have to
share with Matt and Mabel and slammed the door so no one would bug me.

“Whoever did that, no slamming!” my dad called up the stairs.

GRRRRR! I looked in the mirror and practiced the Buck Meson electron stare. You could always tell when he was going to give it, because his head made little circles like he was focusing. Then his eyes spun for just a second, and there was a flash of green before they shot out really bright beams of light.

If I had really done it while I was staring in the mirror, I probably would have fried my own brains.

When I had finished brushing my teeth, I turned the doorknob, but nothing happened. I tried again.
I heard a clunk on the other side of the door. It was the knob falling on the floor.

I turned the knob on my side again, and it came off in my hand. This wasn’t the first time this stupid old door wouldn’t open. Dad kept saying he was going to fix it, but never got around to it.

“Help!” I shouted, pounding on the door. “I’m stuck in the bathroom! Help!”

Nobody came.

“Help!” I yelled even louder.

Finally I heard someone coming down the hallway.

“Is that you, Charlie?” It was the Squid.

“Yes, it’s me. The doorknob fell off again. Can you put it back on?”

“Okay,” she said. But then I heard some more footsteps.

“What’s going on?” Matt said.

“Charlie’s in the bathroom,” Mabel explained. “I’m looking for the doorknob.”

“Here it is,” he said. But he didn’t open the door. “Hey, Charlie. Why’d you shut the door? You know you shouldn’t close it all the way.”

“I didn’t want you guys to bug me. Please just open it.”

“Are you still mad?” the Squid asked.

“Yes. Now please open the door.”

“We’ll open it when you’re not mad.” I could tell Matt was completely enjoying himself.

“No, Matt. We have to open it,” the Squid said. “I don’t want him to be mad forever.”

I heard them messing around with the knob and then the door opened. They were both standing there grinning at me. I walked right past them to my room.

“You didn’t even say thank you, and I was almost asleep when you yelled,” the Squid said.

“Thanks for nothing,” I growled.

“Grouch monster!” the Squid yelled.

“Bozo!” I yelled back.

I turned off my light and got into bed. I didn’t even read, which I almost always do since it calms me down. I waited for my dad to come in and say good night so he could see how mad I was. But I guess I fell asleep before he got there.

Boogers.