11 Never Trust a Hungry Rat

Natalie and I slipped through the door into the gym. It stank of sweat, sneakers, and humiliating defeat in basketball.

Or maybe that was just me.

A couple of sixth graders were shooting hoops at the far end. Otherwise the building was deserted. We strolled over to the basketball players, a burly seagull and a snake.

"Hey, sports fans," I said. "Is either of you the Big Baboo?"

They stopped playing. The seagull's mouth twisted into a sneer and her chest puffed out. "Do I look like a big baboo?" she said.

"Beats me," I said. "That's what I'm trying to find out."

"Sonny, I'm a potentate of poobah," she said.

"What about you?" I asked the snake.

He coiled up lazily.

"He's a grand funkmeister," said the seagull. "But neither of us is a big baboo."

"Ah, I see," I said. Actually, I didn't.

"Can you tell us where to find the Big Baboo?" Natalie asked the snake. His forked tongue flickered.

"Hey, your guess is as good as ours," said the seagull. She stabbed a grimy wing feather toward the opposite wall. "Try the coach's office."

I glanced at the silent snake. "Tell me something," I asked the seagull, "does he ever talk?"

"Nah," she said. "But he's got a killer jump shot."

Natalie and I turned and headed for the coach's office. Coach "Beef" Stroganoff knows everyone who uses the gym. He'd know the Big Baboo.

I rapped on the glass of his half-open door. "Coach Stroganoff? Can we talk?"

Inside, a massive groundhog sat snoring in his chair, hind paws up on the desk. A little string of drool dangled from the corner of his mouth. Coach Stroganoff: man of action.

A sly smile twisted Natalie's beak. "Oh, Coach Stroganoff," she said in Mrs. Toaden's voice. "You're so big and strong. Can you help me?"

The coach's feet hit the floor. He came awake, shaking his head and flinging off the drool. "Beulah, honey?" he muttered. "Is that you?"

Coach Stroganoff and Beulah Toaden, eh? I'd have to remember that one.

"No, Coach, it's us," I said.

The coach's sleepy gaze swung to me. "Chet Gecko?" he said. "Don't you owe me some pushups?"

"Oh, uh ... no, Coach. You must have me confused with my evil twin." He grunted suspiciously.

"Coach, we're looking for the Big Baboo," said Natalie. "Can you help us?"

He blinked slowly and scratched his nose. "The Big Baboo? Why do you want the Big Baboo?"

"I want to talk with him ... or her," I said.

He stared at me while a smile slowly stretched the corners of his mouth. Coach Stroganoff chuckled, a sound like a bullfrog belching in a barrel.

"You want to talk to the Big Baboo?" he said. "Well, you're welcome to try. But your conversation may be a little one-sided."

He lumbered to his feet and pushed open the equipment room door. The small space was jammed with jump ropes, balls, and exercise mats.

In a tall case by the wall stood a statue of our team mascot, the Golden Gopher. It looked pretty goofy to me, but it meant a lot to the school. No accounting for taste.

"Find your friend yet?" said Coach Stroganoff. He smirked.

I stepped deeper into the room and looked around. A dark shape caught my eye. Slumped among the bats and balls was a big, stuffed dummy. It looked like a huge monkey, the mascot of our rival school, Petsadena Elementary.

And hanging around its neck was a sign that read BIG BABOO.