Of the many, many annoying things about Gerald Forster, the most annoying was that he thought he was an UP.
UPs are the most popular kids at Dolley Madison. They’re a very exclusive group.
And, OK, I’ll admit that Gerald got a lot more popular after his robot show at the science assembly. And maybe the UPs did let him hang out with them sometimes. But that’s only because he did their homework! Look, Gerald was one of the smart kids — and smart kids were brains and nerds. And brains and nerds aren’t friends with UPs! At best, they’re like some kind of a pet. I didn’t make the rules, but I sure had to live by them. And so did Gerald Forster.
But he wasn’t. He was acting like he actually belonged with the popular kids. I mean, come on — did he really think the UPs liked him? UPs only liked themselves!
It was pathetic.
So naturally, when I saw him in the UPs’ booth at the PizzaDog — my favorite pizza/hot dog restaurant — I felt it was my nerdly duty to set him straight.
“Hello, Gerald,” I said.
“What do you want, Boward?”
His beady eyes glared at me.
“Nothing. I’m just surprised to see you here, that’s all. I thought you’d be at the Exhibit Hall . . . with . . . the science kids. Everybody’s down there working on their robots, trying to make them better. Because the contest is in three days, and, if you haven’t heard, the competition this year is a whole lot hotter!”
I licked my finger and held it in the air like the number one. Then I made a sizzling “Sssssssss” sound.
The UPs looked stunned. Their mouths were open like tiny caves.
“What is a dweeb doing at our table?” Crystal Arrington asked.
Before I knew what was happening, Kyle Stanford and Josh Gutierrez were on each side of me.
“Hey K-man! What’s up, J-dawg?” I greeted them in their own language. “Just thought I’d come over and hang with my buds.”
It turns out that you don’t get to call the UPs your “buds” unless they actually like you. I caught a quick glimpse of Gerald shaking his head, almost as if he was trying to warn me, but it was too late. I could already feel the hands on me.
I’d just broken one of the most important rules in “Howard’s Secret Book of Middle School Survival.”
Never, ever, ever draw attention to yourself!
They dragged me outside, and a second later I felt a temporary loss of gravity. Then something icy-cold touched my back — and that’s when I knew!
They were punishing me with the cruelest of all the curses of winter — the Abominable Snow Wedgie!
While Dino Lincoln and Bulldog Busby held me in the air, Kyle and Josh began shoveling armfuls of snow into my underwear. Then, when my pants had blown up like a microwave popcorn bag, they grabbed my waistband and pulled.
I won’t try to describe the sensation, except to say this must be how a regular wedgie feels to a snowman.
Anyway, it was cold and painful and humiliating and, thankfully, over. Quickly, the mob disappeared back into the restaurant. I lingered on the snowbank, waiting for my chance to defrost with dignity.
When the coast was clear, I waddled to the restroom.
I opened the door and looked around. As a middle school student, I know that a public restroom is just a swirlee waiting to happen. But this was an emergency. I stepped into a vacant stall, shut the door, and shook out an unbelievable amount of snow. For the record, underpants have an incredible storage capacity.
After a few minutes of drying time, I was frost-free and ready to rejoin the sitting world. But that’s when the restroom door opened and I heard footsteps. Now, when you’ve been chased by as many people as I have, you get pretty good at recognizing your enemies by the sound of their steps. This wasn’t the heavy-footed, bull-like trudge of a jock or the cool, graceful glide of an UP — it was more of a sliding, sloshing sound. And the sliding slosh was the walk of a slacker.
I peeked through the crack in the stall door. It was Trevor Duke!
Oh no! What was he doing here? Silently, I watched as he walked straight to the sink and looked into the mirror. But he didn’t check his teeth or wash his hands like a normal person. Instead, he did the last thing I’d expect. He reached underneath his long, stringy black hair and pulled part of his head off!
It wasn’t an ordinary piece of head; it looked like some kind of electrical device. He placed it on the edge of the sink, and I tried to get a better look at it. All I could see was that it was small and flat and had a short cord attached to it. Then he splashed some water on his face, reached under his hair, and pushed the device back into place.
When he was gone, I practically fell out of the stall. My knees were shaking, and I staggered out of the building. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be!
Uncle Ben was right — Trevor was an android!