Control Freak Read online

  But this year, my friends and I would not be sitting in the comfort of the bleachers.

  I had just stashed the mysterious N64 controller in my backpack after Jessica’s amazing speed walk through cafeteria traffic, when hotshot athlete Jimmy Jimerino and his kiss-up posse stopped at our C Central table on their way to the Jock Table.

  Jimmy is Spiro’s BJOC—Big Jock On Campus. Pretty much every school has one.

  Not all great athletes are BJOCs. Only the ones who use their sports status to manipulate other people for their own gain.

  Jimmy, as usual, made wisecracks about Joey’s small stature and Carlos’s famous ability to burp-speak entire paragraphs.

  His kiss-up posse laughed like hyenas to demonstrate their unwavering loyalty.

  Jimmy didn’t make a wisecrack about me, though.

  He used to call me Goose Egg. But Jimmy stopped calling me that after I found out about his secret humiliating phobia that ruined the Mighty Plumbers’ baseball season.

  Jimmy doesn’t want to tease me because he’s afraid I might retaliate by spilling the beans about his phobia to the entire universe.

  Jimmy asked us if we were going to play for the Mighty Plumbers football team.

  Carlos avoided eye contact. Joey squirmed and fidgeted.

  I wanted to tell Jimmy I’d rather eat raw brussels sprouts than play tackle football, but I wimped out and mumbled a lame response.

  “I dunno.”

  Jimmy pounced.

  That was a stumper. Joey, Carlos, and I looked at one another as if we’d never thought about it before, which was the truth.

  Then Jimmy blindsided us with a powerful device that BJOCs all over the world use to gain control over weak and useless people.

  He shamed us.

  Jimmy raised his arms in the air and shouted:

  “QUIET!”

  The entire cafeteria turned to look. Everyone was silent—except for a Spiro cheerleader at the Socials Table who hacked up a mouthful of beef Stroganoff because she was startled by Jimmy’s raised voice.

  Jimmy repeated his question loud enough for the entire cafeteria to hear.

  “Well? Don’t you guys care about your school?!”

  With the “Go You Mighty Plumbers” sign directly overhead and the entire Spiro student body watching, we didn’t stand a chance.

  Carlos spoke for me and Joey when he declared our unwavering loyalty to Spiro T. Agnew Middle School.

  Jimmy had peer-pressured us into a public oath of loyalty to our school, but he wanted more. Much more.

  Jimmy sprang his trap.

  “Great! I’ll see you tomorrow at football practice.”

  Derp!

  CHAPTER 4

  After school, I went home and checked in with the Power Structure—my dad and mom.

  (They sit at the top of the Power Structure chart. My ranking is way down at the bottom, below reptiles, rodents, and amphibians.)

  Football is a very physical sport where leg bones can get snapped in two. And whenever I want to do anything where there’s risk of leg bones getting snapped in two, I need to clear it first with Mom and Dad.

  I knew exactly what my dad would say.

  Dad was a hotshot athlete until both his knees got scrambled playing college sports, so I knew he would approve. I think he secretly hoped that his benchwarmer son would someday blossom into a hotshot football star.

  Next, I asked Mom.

  She was my only hope of undoing a weak and useless decision to cave in to peer pressure.

  I was certain she would stomp her foot down and forbid me to play the physical game of tackle football, where leg bones get snapped in two.

  Quick Time-Out about My Mom

  My mom is an overprotective turbo-hyper worrywart, and I’m not even exaggerating.

  I’m an only child. So yeah, that’s part of the problem. Some parents of only children hover WAY too much.

  Mom isn’t quite that bad, but she comes close.

  For example, in my first season playing baseball for Spiro, she wanted me to wear a helmet AT ALL TIMES—even when I was sitting on the bench!

  Dad talked her out of it.

  I was certain Mom would forbid me to play tackle football.

  Wrongity, wrong, wrong.

  Derp!

  Apparently, football is the only sport where Mom does not worry. Why? Because players wear a helmet AT ALL TIMES—even on the bench.

  I was stuck with my poor decision. I was going to play tackle football for the Mighty Plumbers football team.

  CHAPTER 5

  The next day, at the first football practice, we found out that Jimmy really didn’t care about our school spirit.

  He just wanted more “bodies” to turn out for the football team.

  Coach Earwax didn’t have enough players signed up. There was a lack of enthusiasm because the Mighty Plumbers hadn’t won even a single football game in the past five seasons.

  Jimmy was going to be the quarterback. He is a really fast and shifty runner and an excellent passer. So Jimmy was the Big Spiro Hope to turn the football program around.

  But in order for Jimmy to play, Coach Earwax needed other players to fill out the offense and defense.

  Even reluctant players like Joey, Carlos, and me. We were the “bodies.”

  Jimmy used another term.

  Jimmy’s shaming crusade had also suckered other reluctant players.

  Spiro students of all shapes and sizes turned out for practice. It was almost like youth sports all over again. There was no tryout. Anyone with a pulse was guaranteed a spot on the team.

  Even Ricky Schnauzer, who came to practice wearing khakis, a turtleneck sweater, and brand-spanking-new baseball cleats.

  Coach Earwax sent Ricky back into the locker room to put on actual football gear.

  Quick Time-Out about Football Gear

  Even though I hate tackling and getting tackled, I love football gear. It is by far the coolest uniform in all of sports.

  It requires an entire ritual just to suit up. You practically need a set of instructions.

  The gear needs to go on in a strict order—knee-length pants with built-in padding; skintight undershirts made from special material that sucks up all your chick-magnet sweat; shoulder pads with straps; thick socks; mouth guards; gnarly cleats.

  And here’s the best piece of gear: the helmet. (Even though you have to wear it AT ALL TIMES, even on the bench.)

  Football helmets have cushy padding on the inside that muffles the crowd noise and an unbreakable outer shell. They cushion your brain when linebackers smash your face into the grass. And, apparently, they calm the fears of overprotective turbo-hyper worrywart moms.

  Football gear makes you look really tough, like a Roman gladiator with a huge chip on his shoulder.

  Coach Earwax started practice the way football coaches all over the world start practice:

  Baseball coaches yell “Listen up!” but they don’t blow whistles because baseball is a laid-back sport.

  Football is not laid back. It’s tough and physical. And the players are wearing padded helmets, so it’s hard to hear. So football coaches yell “Listen up!” and blow a whistle. Otherwise, there might be rebellion and anarchy.

  After we had all gathered around Coach Earwax, he told us the first football practice is known as “Agony Day.”

  What is Agony Day? It’s two hours of running and push-ups and sit-ups, followed by a five-minute water break, then more running and push-ups and sit-ups.

  And that’s all we did. For two hours. We didn’t even touch a football!

  But we weren’t done. Coach had one more treat in store for us at the end of Agony Day.

  At Spiro, there is a steep hill next to the football field that is known as, er, the Hill. After all the running and push-ups and sit-ups, we had to sprint up and down the Hill ten times—or until our lungs exploded, whichever came first.

  Jimmy and his posse were the first to complete running the Hill. T
hey slapped hands and bumped chests while the rest of us struggled to finish.

  Afterward, everyone collapsed on the field and gasped for air—everyone except Carlos.

  Poor big-boned Carlos was still on the Hill. He was on his third trip up, and it wasn’t going so well. He wasn’t even running.

  And then he rolled back down the Hill.

  I thought about experimenting with the antique controller and maybe giving Carlos a boost, but I had left it in my locker.

  Coach Earwax waited and waited for Carlos to finish, but it was pretty obvious it was going to take a really long time, so he blew his whistle and told Carlos he could stop.

  Coach probably cut Carlos some slack and ended the Hill torture early because big-boned players come in handy on a football team—even slow, out-of-shape big-boned players.

  Agony Day was over. But before we were allowed to stagger back to the locker room, Coach asked us all to write our names on a list next to the position we wanted to play.

  I wanted to find a position that had the least chance of having to tackle or be tackled. I scanned the list.

  Defensive tackle? Uh, nope.

  Linebacker? Forget that.

  Punt returner? No way, José!

  And then I spotted it.

  Perfect!

  Placekick holders rarely get tackled. And they only have to tackle someone else if a kick is blocked by an opponent who scoops up the ball and runs for the end zone. But if that happened, I could just fake like I tripped on a gopher hole and let him score.

  I also noticed that next to the position of “Kicker” was written the name of the most amazing student at Spiro T. Agnew Middle School.

  Becky O’Callahan. She has Nature’s Near-Perfect Smile.

  She also is the best athlete at Spiro, although Jimmy Jimerino acts like it’s him. Jimmy is Becky’s boyfriend, by the way, but I don’t like to talk about that.

  I signed my name next to “Placekick Holder.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The next day at school, I decided to run another experiment with the controller. I needed to know if it really was magic. Before I told Joey and Carlos about what was going on with the mysterious device, I wanted more evidence that it had the power to control human movement.

  My next guinea pig was Carlos.

  Between classes, the hallways at Spiro are crammed with bodies. It’s like two herds of wildebeest wearing backpacks, migrating in opposite directions through a really narrow gulch.

  That causes big problems, especially for Carlos, who struggles with clumsiness.

  At Spiro, it is strictly forbidden to raise your voice above a whisper in the hallways, which are carpeted to muffle the sound of migrating students.

  Why are we forced to whisper? I don’t know. You’d have to ask Mother T.

  Her real name is Ms. Theresa, but we all call her Mother T. She is the principal at Spiro T. Agnew Middle School, and she is probably the strictest principal in the entire universe.

  Mother T is tiny and frail, but she controls everyone at Spiro with a mysterious mental power that, with just a few choice words, turns innocent students into weak and useless puppets.

  After the first-period bell, I hustled out of class and stood on the stairway at the end of the main hallway. I knew Carlos would be heading in my direction, so I waited for him with the antique controller in my hand.

  At the far end of the hallway, I saw bodies being bumped and heard voices being raised in violation of strict school rules.

  Good ol’ Carlos was headed my way.

  I pushed the Start button, then pointed the N64 down the hallway. I worked the joystick. Left. Right. JUMP.

  At the other end of the hall, Carlos suddenly lost his clumsiness.

  Left. Right. JUMP.

  Yes, big-boned Carlos actually got off the ground and jumped over Jessica Whitehead, who was being too polite and had gotten knocked over onto the carpet by one of the migrating wildebeest—er—students.

  Right after Carlos’s amazing show of leaping ability, a careless student walking up the stairway knocked the controller out of my hands.

  By the time I picked it up to resume the human video game, Carlos had relapsed. But the experiment was a success. I was ready to let Joey and Carlos in on the secret.

  This wasn’t just an ordinary antique video game controller. It was a Magic N64!

  CHAPTER 7

  In math class, I told Joey and Carlos about the Magic N64. I was certain they would be amazed.

  They thought I was totally gonzo.

  I had to prove to them that the controller really was magic.

  The bell rang, and Mr. Spleen, our math teacher, started scrawling alien symbols on the whiteboard.

  I waited for him to pull his famous “ambush-a-knucklehead” trick where he picks an unsuspecting student to come to the whiteboard and solve an equation that is impossible for anyone but Jessica Whitehead.

  Mr. Spleen never ambushes Jimmy Jimerino. Jimmy has hotshot athlete immunity. But I planned to take control of Mr. Spleen’s movements with my magic device and lead him directly to Jimmy.

  I took the Magic N64 out of my backpack, then I whispered to Joey and Carlos, “Watch this.”

  I held the controller under my desk as Mr. Spleen strolled around the classroom looking for a knucklehead to ambush. I worked the joystick. Left. Right. Forward.

  Mr. Spleen moved left, right, forward until he was standing right in front of Jimmy Jimerino. He raised his long, bony finger to point at his victim.

  But instead of jabbing his bony finger at Jimmy, Mr. Spleen whirled around.

  Whah?

  I stood in front of that whiteboard like a knucklehead for a really long time and faked as if I was working on a solution to the impossible math problem.

  Finally, Mr. Spleen told me to sit down. Jessica Whitehead walked up to the whiteboard and solved the equation in about two seconds.

  After class, Joey and Carlos marveled at the magic controller. They were believers, even though Carlos misunderstood what I had tried to do.

  Derp!

  CHAPTER 8

  The second football practice was better than the first. Anything would have been better than another Agony Day.

  Our bodies had been whipped into fine-tuned physical specimens. Now it was time to get our hands on an actual football and polish our skills.

  We all split off into offense and defense. The drills were scripted down to the tiniest detail. Coach Earwax blew his whistle repeatedly so that practice didn’t descend into anarchy and rebellion.

  Coach had three “assistant coaches” helping him out. They were all employees at Spiro who apparently wanted to show their school spirit while earning some extra money on the side.

  Quick Time-Out about the Assistant Coaches

  Mr. Mumalo is a stocky biology teacher with legs as thick as telephone poles. We call him “Lead Zeppelin.” (His son, Dominic, is the center on our football team and he’s also built like a zeppelin, which is the perfect body type for that position.) Mr. Mumalo coaches the defense, and his voice is so raspy and gruff that when he speaks everyone always misunderstands.

  Ms. Katinsky coaches the offense. She’s a drama teacher who cooked up some very creative plays designed to fool defenders right out of their jockstraps.

  The other assistant is Mr. Joseph. He’s in charge of kickers and placekick holders—Becky and me. Mr. Joseph is the groundskeeper for Spiro T. Agnew Middle School. He has lousy personal hygiene, but he keeps our playing fields neatly groomed and squeaky-clean. It’s weird. He’s like a dentist with rotten teeth.

  Mr. Joseph also owns a filthy pickup truck that doubles as Spiro’s “ambulance” whenever an athlete suffers an injury, such as a nose smashed sideways by a baseball or a leg bone snapped in two by a linebacker.

  It would turn out to be a handy vehicle to have around.

  The linemen on both offense and defense took turns running face-first into tackling dummies.

  Carlos h
ad signed up to play quarterback, but after his, er, performance on the Hill, Coach Earwax moved him to offensive guard.

  That meant Carlos had to use his big-boned body to keep the opposing team from tackling Jimmy Jimerino.

  That REALLY rubbed Carlos the wrong way.

  Carlos believed that Jimmy should be blocking for him.

  After practicing what Coach Earwax called the “fundamentals,” the offense and defense squared off for a scrimmage.

  Jimmy was spectacular at quarterback, of course. Every throw was right into the hands of the receivers. Every time Jimmy ran, he gained at least twenty yards.

  Jimmy did everything right. Running, throwing, handoff. He was in total control.

  Carlos, meanwhile, had a hard time blocking for Jimmy because he was facing off against Mosi Humuhumunukunukuapua’a, a transfer student from Hawaii.

  Quick Time-Out about Mosi

  Mosi Humuhumunukunukuapua’a grew up on the island of Maui. He transferred to Spiro when his dad, who once was a hotshot defensive lineman in the NFL, was hired as an assistant coach by the Goodfellow Goons.

  Mosi had the longest and hardest last name to pronounce in the history of Spiro T. Agnew Middle School. (It’s also the Hawaiian name for a reef fish.) In case you’re wondering, it’s pronounced “Hoo-moo-hoo-moo-noo-koo-noo-koo-ah-poo-ah ah.”

  Once you say it about a billion times, you’ll get the hang of it.

  Mosi was the biggest student in school. He was six feet tall and weighed three hundred pounds. (He probably weighed more, but the scale in our locker room maxed out and blew up when Mosi stood on it.) And it was all muscle.

  When he first arrived at Spiro, we called him “Volcano” because that’s how big Mosi seemed to the rest of us runts. But he is nothing like a volcano. Mosi is calm and soft-spoken and probably the nicest, most polite guy in the entire world. And he wasn’t a big fan of that nickname.

  At practice, every time the ball was snapped, Mosi would mow down Carlos and chase after Jimmy Jimerino. Then he would walk over and help Carlos to his feet and apologize for mowing him down.