1 Strike One

“Not so fast, Bobby.” 

Mom scrambles out the door behind my little brother. 

“Yeah, Bobble. You don’t have to be the first at school ALL the time!”  

I’m following in my mom’s tracks, trying not to explode. My little brother always has to be first.

First into class.

First to finish making his lunch in the morning.

First to tie his shoes.

First to finish his homework.

First to read a book.

First in EVERYTHING!!! 

It’s really annoying.

Bobble can be so irritating with his pencil behind his ear and a book in his hand, looking like Mr. Smartypants. 

I call him Bobble. Kind of like Bobby, but more annoying. 

What bothers me most is that he’s lightyears ahead of me in reading. I’m in 5th grade, he’s in 3rd—and while I’m barely able to get through a page (without pictures) in a day, he’s talking about all the chapters he’s read, every single night. The bookworm.

As usual, I’m staying as far away from him and Mom as I can because I always pick up my best friend, Pete, on my way to school. And I don’t want Bobble interfering.

We live two doors down from each other, which is the best thing ever. 

Pete and I have known each other from way back when we played together in the sandbox. Unlike me, he is never worried about anything. Most of the time, Pete is kicking a soccer ball around his front yard when I come to pick him up for school, which is exactly what he’s doing today. 

“Yo, Kees! What’s up with your socks today?” Pete catches the ball with his feet and smiles.

“Just for you, I’m wearing one with the Ajax’s team colors—red with white stars.” Ajax is a Dutch soccer team, and Pete’s favorite. I could have said that the red and white was for the Angels, a baseball team, but Pete prefers soccer.

I started wearing a different sock on each foot ever since we had a quiz on left and right. It’s impossible for me to remember which is which. And believe me, I’ve tried.

So, in the end, I decided to wear a red sock with rockets on my right foot and one with lightbulbs on my left foot for the quiz. It worked, and ever since, I wear a different sock on each foot. It’s kind of my signature look.

Pete and I have been in the same class a couple times. I don’t know what I would have done without him. We are a great team. If there’s a group project, we always try to do it together. If the teacher lets us, that is. Pete is good at writing things up. I’m not—but I am good at making things, which Pete isn’t good at. He’s got two left hands. 

Like the volcano project from papier mâché in fourth grade. I made the volcano, and Pete wrote the journal about the project. 

We also stick up for each other in handball disputes. Not to mention, we love to play a good prank. 

Like last week, right after school. After most people had left, we decided it was the perfect time for a good trick. We tied an old wallet onto a long fishing line, then put a few dollar bills in it, sticking out just far enough to show a little. We tossed the wallet on the sidewalk and hid behind the bushes. 

Sure enough, our principal, Mr. Lamares, walked out. Oh, yeah! He saw the wallet and bent forward to pick it up. Yank! Pete pulled the string, and Mr. Lamares reared back looking like he saw a cockroach. Pete had to hold his hand over my mouth to smother my laugh. 

We actually would have been better off running away, but we had to reel in our money first. However, we underestimated our principal’s base-jumping skills as he easily jumped on the sliding wallet. 

He grabbed the wallet, tugged on the fishing line, and sneered, “Okay, show yourself if you want your money back.” 

Oh, man!

Unfortunately, this was not the first time we met the principal in a surprising way. (The first time was because of our glue stick incident. That was when we catapulted all the glue sticks we could find at the classroom ceiling, making it look like an icicle cave. Yep, we’ve always got a lot of fun going on.)

“Ah, here we have our infamous duo,” he said. “Let me guess, Kees had this marvelous idea and Pete provided the cash?”

Off we marched into the principal’s office (again). Our parents had to pick us up, and we got lunchtime trash duty for a week, which actually wasn’t that bad. I can think of worse things like staying in during breaks, which would kill me. I really need to blow off steam and run free after a morning in class trying to read and write, which is like hacking code for me. It’s like impossible for me to decipher what it says on a page as fast as the rest of the class and even harder for me to write. I am doing it letter by letter. 

Anyway, I’d take trash duty over missing recess any day, but, I am not going to be the one to tell Mr. Lamares, and let’s hope he never finds out!