Friiight Night, page 1
CONTENTS
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SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.
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SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.
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SLAPPY HERE, EVERYONE.
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EPILOGUE FROM SLAPPY
SNEAK PEEK!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO AVAILABLE
COPYRIGHT
Welcome to My World.
Yes, it’s SlappyWorld—you’re only screaming in it! Hahaha.
Now that I’ve said hello, please go away.
No. I mean it. Stop reading. Don’t go any farther.
I’m writing in my private journal, and I don’t like anyone looking over my shoulder to see what I’m saying about myself.
When I write in my journal, I’m always very honest. I tell myself honestly how I am the greatest. I write about how wonderful I am. And how smart I am.
I’m so smart, I can spell my name with my eyes closed. Seriously.
I’m so amazing, sometimes it’s hard to find words to describe myself. Words fail me, and I end up making kissing sounds to myself.
Awesome just doesn’t say it. Terrific is kind of weak. Spectacular doesn’t quite do it.
Adoring myself is a special time for me. A private time between me and myself.
So, beat it. Get lost. Stop reading this. Take a hint—go away.
Okay, okay. Tell you what. I’ll give you a story to read while I enjoy my private moment.
Some of this story takes place in a school basement. You’re probably afraid to go down to the basement of your school, aren’t you? That’s because you know a monster’s living there behind the furnace.
Well, a boy named Kelly Crosby is about to find out about his school monster—close-up! I call the story Friiight Night.
You’ll see why.
I’ll let Kelly tell the story …
Let’s say you were an ant, and you lived with your ant family in a little dirt hole under someone’s porch. Then one day, someone dug up the dirt hole and carried it in a truck a few hundred miles and dropped it in the middle of the world’s biggest ant farm.
How would you feel?
Well, you probably can’t answer that question—unless you’re an ant. I’m trying to describe how I feel, having moved from Little Hills Village, New Hampshire, to Great Newton, Massachusetts. I don’t mean that Little Hills Village is a dirt hole. It’s just tiny compared to Great Newton, see.
I’m Kelly Crosby. I’m twelve. And you can probably tell that I’m a little messed up by my family’s move. In the middle of the school year. To a town where I don’t have a single friend or even know anyone.
I was in the back seat of our car, on my way to my first day of school, and I started to text my friend Charlene Morse back home. But I decided I had too much to say, so I called her instead.
“Charlene, if I was an ant, I’d say, ‘Someone, please step on me!’ ” I groaned.
She was silent for a moment. Then she said, “I hate ants. Why are you talking about ants?”
“Because I feel like one,” I said. “And because there were ants in the kitchen when we moved in. Mom put down so many ant traps, you can’t walk barefoot in there.”
“Well, stop talking about them,” she said. “What’s new?”
“Huh? What’s new? Everything is new,” I replied.
“Kelly, you don’t sound happy,” Charlene said.
“Is an ant happy in the ocean?” I exclaimed.
She sighed. “Kelly, I’m going to hang up now. If you say the word ant one more time …”
“We have mosquitoes, too,” I said. “I-I guess I miss Little Hills Village. Tell me what’s up. What’s going on there?”
“You know what’s going on here,” she replied. “Nothing. It’s so boring here—”
“I like boring,” I said.
“Okay, Kelly. I’ll tell you the big news. Two dogs got into a dogfight on the lower school playground last Friday. That’s the big news.”
“Who won?” I asked.
We both laughed.
I think Charlene and I are good friends because we have the same sense of humor. We make the same jokes, and we both laugh at the same things.
But then she turned serious. “Listen to me. You’re so lucky. You’ll love Adams Prep. A big school will be so much more exciting.”
“Who likes exciting?” I said.
“Stop it,” she snapped. “I’m totally jealous of you, Kelly. New kids. A big new school. Just think. You can be a new person with a new personality.”
“Huh?” I replied. “What’s wrong with my old personality?”
“I didn’t know you had one!” she joked.
Or maybe it was a joke.
“Did you buy new clothes for the new school?” Charlene asked. “Did you throw away that Puppy Pals T-shirt?”
“You’re not funny,” I said. “You know I wore that shirt ironically.”
“I hope you burned that other shirt you thought was such a riot.”
“Which one?” I asked. “The one that said Don’t Read This Shirt? Everyone laughed at that T-shirt.”
“Those were sympathy laughs,” Charlene said. “Let’s be honest. You were kind of a wimp here. Now you have a chance to try a bold new personality. How lucky to be able to start over!”
Mom pulled the car to the curb. I gazed out at the tall, redbrick Adams Prep school building. Groups of kids were hurrying to the wide front entrance.
The school was huge.
“Gotta go,” I told Charlene. “We’re here.”
“Good luck,” she said.
“Does an ant need good luck in a forest?” I said.
Mom turned around and squinted at me. “Stop talking about ants.”
A big guy bumped me from behind as I stepped into the front hall. I guess I was moving too slowly. The noise of lockers slamming and kids shouting and laughing rang against the tile walls. There were more kids in the front hall than I had ever seen in my entire school.
Two guys were playing keep-away, tossing another guy’s backpack across the hall. Two girls in red-and-blue cheerleader outfits were practicing a cheer at the top of their lungs.
A tall kid in blue shades with a blue cap tilted over his face leaned against a locker, playing a small silver harmonica.
A girl sailed into the hall on a skateboard. Kids dodged out of her way.
“This is a fun place,” I muttered to myself. I’m going to like it here. I’ll get used to it, and I’ll start to love it.
But I already had a problem. I didn’t know how to find my classroom.
My school in Little Hills Village was a low, flat building. It didn’t take long to walk from one end to the other.
But the halls at Adams Prep were at least half a mile long. The building was three floors, not one. I saw an elevator at the back wall. A sign next to it read: TEACHERS AND STAFF ONLY.
I shifted the backpack on my shoulders. It was mostly empty. I hadn’t received any textbooks or anything yet. I ducked as a red Frisbee flew over my head.
I turned to the kid who threw it. “Ms. Waxman’s class?” I asked.
“Downstairs.”
“But where are the stairs?”
He didn’t hear me. He had chased after his friend, the other Frisbee player.
Kelly, you can find the stairs, I told myself.
Sure, I felt a little overwhelmed by the crowd of kids and the noise. I get overwhelmed sometimes. Mom says I’m sensitive. I think that’s her polite way of saying I’m a wimp.
But I’m not helpless. And just because I was used to a tiny village and a tiny school didn’t mean I couldn’t handle something new.
Charlene’s words rang in my ears: “Now you have a chance to try a bold new personality.”
So I gritted my teeth, pushed my shoulders forward, and made my way through the crowd. The hall branched off into two long corridors, and I took the one on the left. I passed the principal’s office. Through the office window, I saw a mob of kids and teachers lined up at the front desk.
I passed some classrooms. Then I stopped at a red-painted wooden door. I pulled it open and saw a metal stairway that led down.
“That wasn’t so hard, Kelly,” I scolded myself.
I stepped into a dimly lit stairwell. The air felt warm and it smelled like a basement, kind of musty and sour. I listened for a moment. Silence.
I hesitated. Why wasn’t anyone else on the stairs? Then I let go of the door and started down.
I was halfway to the bottom when I heard a deep growl.
I stopped. And listened. Was it an animal growl?
Yes. I heard another one, low and angry. A dog?
Another rumbling growl sent a chill down my back. I turned
I stepped into the hall and shut the red door behind me.
What had I heard? What kind of animal was down there?
Why was there some kind of animal in the basement of this school?
I leaned against the door and waited for my heart to stop pounding. Everyone was hurrying to their classrooms. A buzzer went off above my head. I jumped about a mile. I guessed that was the morning bell.
I saw a kid across the hall pulling books from an open locker. “Hey,” I called to him, and headed over.
He had curly copper-colored hair and a face full of freckles. He closed his locker door and turned to me. “What’s up?”
“I-I’m just starting today,” I stammered. “Do you know where Ms. Waxman’s classroom is?”
He swung his backpack over his shoulders. “I’m in Waxman’s class,” he said. “Follow me.”
“Awesome,” I said. “I’m new. I … got kinda lost.”
He snickered. “I’ve been here for three years, and I still get turned around.” He studied me for a moment. “Where you from?”
“Little Hills Village.”
He snickered again. “Is that a real place? It sounds made up.”
“It’s very tiny,” I said. “You can find it on Google Maps, but you have to really zoom in to see it.”
That made him laugh. His blue eyes flashed. He had a friendly laugh.
“I’m Gordon Willey,” he said. “A lot of kids call me Gordo, and I hate it.”
“Okay, Gordo,” I said. I couldn’t resist. It made him laugh again. I told him my name.
I thought maybe we could be friends.
The hall was emptying out. A second buzzer rang, echoing down the long corridor. I followed him up a wide stairway.
“I can help you find things,” he said. “Like, there’s no boys’ room on the first floor. You have to hold it in till you get to the second floor.”
“Good to know,” I said.
“And the lunchroom is on three,” he said. “Weird, huh?”
He stopped at a room marked 104-B. “Here you go,” he said. “Waxman’s room. You’ll like her. She’s seriously nice.”
“Awesome,” I said. “Some kid told me Ms. Waxman’s classroom was downstairs.”
“They were playing a joke on you. There aren’t any classes down there. It’s just the basement.”
I started to thank him, but he interrupted me. “Hey, you got here just in time for Friiight Night. Good luck, Kelly.”
“Huh?” I wasn’t sure I heard him right. “Friiight Night? What’s that? Why do I need good luck?”
But he was already in the room, and I didn’t get an answer.
Ms. Waxman was standing with two girls behind her desk. They were looking at something on an iPhone. “That’s rad,” she said to the girls. “Don’t tell your parents I said so.”
She turned as I walked in. “The new kid!” she exclaimed.
I nodded and took a few steps toward her.
“Know how I figured that out?” she asked. “Because I’ve never seen you before.”
I laughed. She was making a joke. “You’re a good detective,” I said.
She was young, with straight black hair cut very short, dark eyes, and a nice smile. I saw a tattoo of a red heart on her wrist. Teachers at my old school wouldn’t dare have tattoos.
She blew a metal whistle and everyone got quiet. “I used to be a soccer coach,” she explained. “And I just can’t bear to give up my whistle.”
She’s funny, I thought. I think I’m going to like her.
Ms. Waxman leaned over her desk and raised a sheet of paper. “You’re Kelly Crosby,” she said. “Hey, everyone, this is Kelly Crosby,” she announced. “Where are you from, Kelly?”
“Little Hills Village,” I said.
She nodded. “Oh yes. I drove through there once. But I sneezed and I missed it.”
A few kids laughed.
“It’s very small,” I said. “And my school was small, too.”
“I’ll bet it was so small, your shadow had to wait outside!” She grinned, enjoying the kids’ laughter.
I never had a comedian for a teacher before, I thought.
“Well, let’s all welcome Kelly to Adams Prep,” she said. “And be nice to him. He probably finds you all pretty scary. I know I find you scary!”
I could feel my face turning red. The kids were all staring at me, studying me, I guess. It was too much attention, and I’m an easy blusher.
Ms. Waxman pointed to a chair-desk combo by the window near the back of the room. “There’s an empty desk, Kelly,” she said. “Why don’t you take it?”
I nodded and started for the desk.
“You have a lot of catching up to do,” she called after me. “Especially with Friiight Night coming so soon.”
I slid into the chair and dropped my backpack to the floor. “What is Friiight Night?” I asked.
But she had turned to talk to a girl in the front row and didn’t hear me.
I gazed around the room, searching for Gordon. He was near the back against the other wall. He had his head down, concentrating on something in a blue notebook.
Ms. Waxman perched on the edge of her desk. “I’m going to pass out a Tournament Quiz in a moment,” she said. “Or should I just pass out?”
She waited for the laugh.
Then she continued. “First, I have an announcement to make. Our class has been named Activities Committee for Friiight Night.”
A few kids gasped. A few cried out in surprise. I couldn’t tell if it was good news or bad.
“You know what that means,” the teacher continued. “We have to think of some fun activities and entertainment for everyone.” She gazed around the class. “I can see you’re already thinking. Well … that’s your homework assignment. Make a list of five things that would be good for Friiight Night.”
I raised my hand. I had to find out what Friiight Night was. How could I do the homework assignment if I didn’t know what it was?
But Ms. Waxman didn’t see me. She had turned away again and picked up a stack of papers from her desk. Then she began walking through the rows of desks, handing them out.
She stopped at my desk. “Listen, Kelly,” she said, “I know you’re new. But you have to try your very best on the Tournament Quizzes.”
“Seriously—?” I started.
Her eyes narrowed and her smile faded. “There will be five more quizzes, and you have to do well. You don’t want to come in last in the class,” she said. “You don’t want to be the monster’s date on Friiight Night.”
Huh? The monster’s date?
“Friiight Night? What’s Friiight Night?” I demanded.
She set the paper down on my desk. “Start the quiz,” she said. “You’re going to need as much time as possible.”
“But—”
“You can ask one of the kids to tell you about Friiight Night later,” she said. “Good luck.”
Why was everyone wishing me good luck today?
Saturday, I did a FaceTime call with Charlene back home. “Do you miss me?” I asked.
“Not really,” she said.
I think she was joking. I told you, we have the same sense of humor.
“I have a lot of new friends who are cooler than you,” she said.
“Name six,” I replied.
She laughed.
“I have kind of a new friend,” I said. “His name is Gordon. But it’s hard to make friends when you come in the middle of the year. Everyone already knows everyone.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you, Kelly,” Charlene said. “It’s so boring here. I keep wishing for those two dogs to have another fight on the playground.”
“I made a plan to go bowling with Gordon next Saturday,” I said.
“Huh? You? Bowling? Will you have someone help you lift the bowling ball?”
“Haha,” I said. “I always wanted to try it. Which was impossible since there’s no bowling alley in Little Hills Village.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I passed a really cool one a few blocks from school,” I said. “It had this huge neon sign with three bowling balls flying in the air.”
“Too much excitement,” Charlene said. Sometimes she can be seriously sarcastic.
I had my phone facing me, propped against my laptop. I sat in my desk chair and juggled three balls while I talked to Charlene. My uncle Pete was a circus clown, and he taught me how to juggle when I was five.
“Are you showing off your one talent again?” Charlene asked.
