I'm Going to Be Famous (11 page)

John's mouth was hanging open like mine. “Well …,” he muttered, “I think you're probably right about that.”

“That was wonderful!” Michelle exclaimed. And with that, we all started cheering and slapping Kerry on the back and telling her how great she was. She kept saying, “Yes, yes, it's true, isn't it. But really, it was no big deal.”

And we all told her that it
was
a big deal, and she was the best in Oregon (maybe), and then … and then I realized that Laura McNeil was also standing in Ben's driveway. Laura McNeil, the most beautiful girl in Lincoln Elementary School. Laura McNeil, who I thought would never speak to me again, whether I broke the world record or not, was standing there in the Saturday-morning sun smiling at me.

“I thought I'd drop by and see how things were going,” she said. “For a secret meeting, a lot of people sure know about this,
including
Murray Wallace. He told me he was going to get you guys in big trouble. I thought I should warn you. Murray can be such a … well, a nerd.”

Then Laura McNeil smiled at me again, and I melted into a big puddle of Arlo in love.

So now I, Arlo Moore, am sitting in front of the card table in Ben's garage. Seventeen peeled bananas are on a plate in front of me. Seventeen bananas that need to disappear down my throat in less than two minutes. That is, if I'm to break Dr. Ronald Alkana's world record set at the University of California, Irvine, on December 7, 1973.

“Are you ready, Arlo?” Ben asks.

That
is the question of the year for me. Am I really ready?

Kerry says, “I did better than I've ever done before, Arlo. You can, too. This is your big chance. This is
it.
”

Kerry is right. This is
it.
I've got to do it now. Today is the day. This calls for concentrated effort. This calls for the Positive Brain Approach one more time … for the last time:

I can, I can, I can, I can …

“Remember, Arlo. I'm counting on you. I
know
you can do it.”

Michelle … she still believes in me. I've got to do it, I've …

“Me, too, Arlo. You can do it. I know you can.”

And Laura, too.
Aiyee,
the pressure mounts. This is a job for Xexus, alien spacebeing from the planet Zoidtron. With PBA, my alien cosmic power, and bionic strength,
maybe
I can do it. Concentrate, Arlo Moore, concentrate.

“Good luck, little brother. Maybe I'll buy you a pizza, huh?”

Even hotshot John is behind me. What magic is this? The powers of Xexus must prevail. For the far reaches of the cosmos, banana lovers around the world, and my now-loyal fans, I must excel.

Ben begins the countdown. “Banana-eater to your mark.”

This is really it.

“Get set.”

I'm concentrating my brain waves, my alien powers, my training,
all
my banana-eating talents. Five … four … three … two … one …

“Go!” Ben screams.

Hi yo, bananas, away.

“Go, Arlo! Go! Go! Go!” everyone is shouting.

Eating, eating, bananas down into my stomach. Smoothly and quickly, just like I've practiced.

“Yahoo! Eat those bananas!” Kerry screams in my ear.

“Thirty-seven seconds and counting!” Ben yells above the noise of the crowd.

Thirty-seven seconds? I'm behind. I must eat faster.

Kerry is leading the cheering section. “Go, Arlo! Eat, eat, eat!”

My hand is moving faster than my mouth. Xexus of Zoidtron, where are you when I need you?

“One minute!” Ben shouts. “You should be halfway finished. You've
got
to go faster.”

Faster?
I can't go faster. My stomach is crying out for relief. I'm running out of room for bananas. I've only eaten six.

My fans continue to cheer. “Faster, Arlo. Go! Go! Eat! Eat!”

Come to me, bionic powers. PBA, Xexus of Zoidtron.
Now
is the time.
Down,
bananas,
down.

It's Ben again. “One minute and seventeen seconds! Keep going, you can do it!”

Aiyee.
I'm failing. I feel sick. I feel weak. My stomach is as tight as a drum head. I'm having trouble breathing. I'm chewing so … so slow.

“Go, Arlo, go!” Kerry screams. “Hey … look, you guys … it's Murray. It's Murray Wallace looking through the garage window. He's got a camera.
He's taking pictures!”

What's all this noise and confusion? Do they realize I can't do it?

“Catch him, you guys,” Ben shouts. “He's running for it! He can get us all in big trouble.
Get that camera!
”

Where is everyone going? They've all run out of the garage. I'm here all alone and I feel sick. I don't have any more room in my stomach. I can't eat those last seven bananas.

Tears are running down my cheeks. After all that training, all those bets, all those arguments, PBA, and bananas, I'm finally realizing that Murray Wallace is right—I can't do it.

Can't.

It's that word again. Am I saying that word to myself? No! I hate that word. I've heard that word too many times. I stomp on that word and smash it into tiny banana peels. I grind that word into tiny banana dust. I blow that word into the void of space, flying past Xexus of Zoidtron at the speed of light.
Can't
dies a horrible death at the hands of Arlo Moore.

My time is almost up. I … I've got to get rid of these bananas.
Can't
will not destroy me.
Can't
must become
can
… Even … even if I have to cheat to do it. Yeah, even if I have to cheat.

Down bananas

Down you go,

Where you stop

Only I know.

Into the garbage can

Hidden away,

the world record is mine

today is
my
day.

Can't …
says who?

CHAPTER 26

“You win the bet.”

—
A
RLO
M
OORE

The Dairy Dip makes an incredible banana split. They start with a perfect ripe banana cut in half and laid in the bottom of an oval bowl. Then comes the ice cream: three scoops, any flavors you want. The toppings are next: hot fudge, little pieces of almonds and walnuts, and mint sprinkles. And last, they put on three big mountains of whipped cream with a cherry on top of each one. It's a masterpiece, a true work of art.

It's Monday afternoon, September 26, and I'm late for my banana split. I should have been at the Dairy Dip fifteen minutes ago. Instead, I'm walking slowly down Twenty-second Street with one foot on the curb and one foot in the gutter. Up, down, up, down, all at a slug's pace.

Kerry, Ben, Laura, Mike, John, and Michelle are all waiting for me. It's supposed to be a celebration party for me—Arlo Moore, world-record-breaker.

Ben was the first one back from chasing after Murray Wallace and his camera. He came flying around the corner and into the garage just as the next-to-last banana disappeared into the big garbage can beside the freezer.

Without blinking an eye, I grabbed number seventeen, the very last banana, and stuffed it in my mouth. And for some strange reason it just slid right down my throat. That banana acted just like it was coated with grease from the hamburger grill at the Seagrove Cafe—zip, slip, and it was gone.

Ben stood wide-eyed, staring at me and then at the stopwatch he still had in his hand. Then he looked back at me and then back at the watch again.

“Turn it off Ben,” I said calmly. “I'm finished.”

“One minute and fifty seconds!” Ben screamed. “He did it! Arlo really did it! He broke the world record for eating bananas!”

There was a split second right then when I really wanted to tell Ben the truth. I looked up at my best friend standing in front of me, and I really wanted to tell him what I had done with those bananas.

“Look, Ben,” I wanted to say. “Those six bananas are in the garbage can. I didn't really break the record. I just tossed them. Out of sight, out of mind, right, Ben? Haw haw. Funny joke, huh, Ben? Haw haw.”

And there was an instant when I actually opened my mouth to tell the truth, to admit that I was wrong and I'd cheated to cover it up. That was right before Laura McNeil hugged me, and brother John said, “Well, Arlo, I never thought you could do it. I guess that shows how wrong a big brother can be.” I tried to be honest, I really did. The words just wouldn't come out, that's all.

So I just sat there and let Ben keep yelling the news. I just sat there with my mouth hanging open, and without saying a single word, I lied.

Which all brings me to where I now find myself, like it or not, finally standing outside the Dairy Dip. Even if you walk slow, you eventually get where you don't want to be. I feel just as bad today as I did in Ben's garage. Probably even worse. It seems guilt doesn't go away as quick as indigestion.

I can see them all through the window. Ben, Mike, Kerry, Laura, Michelle, and John. They're sitting around the table by the jukebox. They're waiting for a hero, a world-record-breaker. They're waiting for somebody with
courage.

Kerry has courage. I never knew it before Saturday, but my frizzy-headed sister is a hero. Not only did she put out a supreme, bionic seed-spitting gazonker (without cheating), but today she took on Murray Wallace. It was wonderful.

Murray walked up to Kerry and me in the hall at school and started bragging about how he was going to get us all in trouble. He held out a roll of film in his hand. Then he told us that he had pictures of everything we did on Saturday.

“You guys have had it,” he said. “When I get this film developed, I'm going straight to Mrs. Caldwell and then to your mom and dad with the pictures.”

But before I could even open my mouth, before I could even start to beg for mercy, Kerry grabbed the film right out of Murray's hand. “Oh, I love pictures!” she exclaimed. “Let's look at them!” And then, right there in front of Murray, she pulled that exposed film out of the container.

“You ruined it!” Murray yelled. “You exposed it to the light. You destroyed my film, you little twerp!”

Kerry just looked at me and smiled. “See, Arlo. Aren't these beautiful pictures?” she said. I had to agree with her. They were indeed beautiful.

“You'll pay for this, you little twerp!” Murray kept yelling. “If you weren't a little fourth-grade nerd, I'd … I'd … I'd pound you into the pavement!”

That's when Murray grabbed the ruined film out of Kerry's hand and stomped down the hall yelling over his shoulder. “You'll pay for this,
both
of you! You haven't heard the last of Murray Wallace!”

Mrs. Caldwell sure looked strange when Murray slammed into her. She had walked out of her office, probably to see what all the yelling was about, just as Murray got there, still yelling over his shoulder. Her eyes popped wide open in surprise. Her mouth flew open like she was going to scream, but no noise came out. She and Murray both sailed through the air in slow motion, just like in the movies. They hit the floor at the same time and slid into the office door before they stopped.

Mrs. Caldwell jumped up faster than I've ever seen her move. She grabbed Murray by his hair and yanked him into her office so fast I felt the breeze from thirty feet away.

I think we may have finally heard the last of Murray Wallace.

“Hey, Arlo. What are you doing standing out there? Come on in.”

Aiyee.
Ben has spotted me. It's too late. I've got to go in. I'm now walking inside the Dairy Dip like a traitor to the gallows. I'm doomed.

“Hey, you guys. Look who's here,” Ben says with a big grin. “It's Arlo Moore, world-record-breaker.”

I can't stand this.

“Yay, Arlo!” everyone cheers.

“Great, Arlo! Way to go,” Kerry shouts (of course).

“Have a seat, champ,” Mike says, offering me a chair.

“You did it, Arlo! I knew we could count on you,” Michelle says, giving me a hug. Laura just smiles her big, blue-eyed, warm, fuzzy smile.

This is too much. I need to shrivel to the size of a mosquito. I need to be swatted like a buzzing little pest. That's what I deserve.

“And guess what, Arlo?” Ben asks.

Please, nothing more. Let me just dribble down a drain and flow into the ocean.

“What, Ben?” I ask. “I don't feel like guessing.”

“The letter came today!” he exclaims.

“The letter? What letter?” I ask.

“You know. The letter from Norris McWhirter, editor and compiler of the
Guinness Book of World Records.
It came in the mail today. It's probably got all the information in it on how to prove that you did what you did, right, Arlo?”

I fiddle with my jacket zipper. Guilt is bouncing through my body, cringing my nose, elbow, and toes.

“I thought you should open it since you're the champion,” Ben continues. “Here, you do the honors,” he says, handing me the letter.

He means cheater. I'm a cheater, not a champion. Nobody needs to prove that to the
Guinness Book of World Records.

“Go on, Arlo, open it,” Laura says, looking at me with her bright blue eyes and wonderful smile.

I can't go on anymore. I can't stand this. I look at them and try to talk. “Hey, you guys … Ben … Laura … Kerry … Mike … John … Michelle …”

This is terrible. I feel like a kick starter on a mule, a complete waste of everybody's time.

“What is it, Arlo?” Kerry asks. “Why aren't you opening the letter? Are you feeling OK?”

If she only knew—but that's
it.
She
should
know … they
all
should know … and I've got to tell them … now.

I finally speak. “I've got to tell you something … about Saturday … and the world record …”