Elvis and the Underdogs (17 page)

“Don't be a smart aleck. No, my mom didn't do that, but it could have happened. And I will tell you one thing. My littermates shunned me. They never let me hang out with them, because I was scrawny and small. When I went to get water, they flipped me into the water bowl. They called me Puny Pembroke. Or Tiny Whiney Woofy. But you know what I did? I'll tell you. I ate a lot, I slept a lot, and I studied a lot. I trained four times longer and harder than every other dog there. I asked a lot of questions. I observed the world around me. And though everyone said there was no way I would ever get picked to be anyone's dog, I never believed it. I knew I was special, and I knew I worked harder than every other dog. And two years ago, when word on the farm was that the president of the United States was coming to select a dog for himself, I was prepared. Lola Beth was so excited about him visiting that she read everything about him she could get her hands on. I knew his favorite color. I knew he had a good sense of humor. I knew he had a childhood dog that played dead when he pointed a finger gun at him and went bang-bang. So when he pointed that finger gun at me, like I hoped he would, I staggered around and flopped over and played dead better than any other dog in the history of the world. And he picked me. So don't tell me I don't know what it's like to be the underdog. I know plenty. Don't let anyone tell you who you are, Benjamin, especially when they don't even know you. Be who you want to be.”

“Yeah, oh yeah? Well . . .” I didn't really have a response, because that was a pretty awesome story. But I was mad, really mad, and so I sort of lost my temper.

“You know what, I think you're lying. That's it. You're a liar. Liar, liar, furry butt on fire! I don't believe any of it. I don't believe you were the runt, and I don't believe you're the president's dog. I think you're making it all up so you can act superior to everyone you meet, and hog all the attention for yourself.”

Oh boy, I knew I'd crossed the line right at the exact moment the words came out of my mouth, but I couldn't stop myself. Luckily, the new kid was back, standing next to me with two cartons of milk. He looked at me and then at Elvis, and then at me again.

“Did you just call your dog a liar?”

“I did.”

“Here, you look like you could use some milk.” He held out one of the red milk cartons toward me. I didn't know what else to do, so I took it. He sat down and calmly ate his lunch.

“My name is Benji,” I said. “So I guess from all the chanting you're the new kid?”

“Yes. I started school two weeks ago. I think my first day was the day you had your medical emergency in the hallway and went to the hospital. My name is Alexander Chang-Cohen, but I go by Alexander. I appreciate you inviting me to sit with you and your Newfie dog.”

“You know the breed?”

“I have total recall, which means I remember every single thing I see, hear, experience, everything. I think I saw a picture of a Newfoundland in a book once. Lewis and Clark had a Newfie. He's very handsome, regal even.”

“Well, don't get too used to him. He's not even my dog. He's a temp. I'm just waiting for my real dog.”

“Oh.”

This was when I noticed Alexander didn't have a backpack but instead had parked his rolling laptop bag next to our table. Oh, now it made sense.

“Hey, now I remember seeing you that day. Actually, it was one of the last things I remember seeing before my episode.” I immediately pictured Alexander's rolling laptop bag in my mind. “Wasn't Billy Thompson giving you a hard time?”

“Yes, if by ‘hard time' you mean he dumped all my stuff on my head and then proceeded to kick it all over the hallway. I'm still finding things with his sneaker prints on them. It probably would have gotten worse, but you had your . . .” He trailed off, suddenly realizing maybe it was a sensitive issue for me.

“You mean my seizure? Well, at least it was good timing for you. So you saw the whole thing?”

“I did.”

“And I guess you remember it pretty well, huh?”

“I remember it exactly. It was scary to see. Did you want to know something about—”

Alexander didn't get to finish his sentence, because a carton of milk sailed across the cafeteria and hit our table like a bomb, sending milk everywhere. I was stunned. Before I could react, another one came straight toward my head. Elvis leaped into the air, and it hit him instead of me. I couldn't believe he took a milk carton in the chest for me just like that. I guess he wasn't kidding when he said he'd take a bullet for the president. Next thing I knew, Elvis grabbed me by my shirt and pulled me under the table for cover. He was already going after Alexander when the third milk carton hit. There was total chaos in the lunchroom. Kids screamed, teachers shouted, and Elvis barked a totally different bark than I had ever heard before. This bark was deep and scary and very serious.

I wiped my face off on my T-shirt. I looked over at Alexander, sitting calmly under the table with me.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Me? Oh, sure. Do you regret asking me to sit with you now?”

“No,” I said, but I didn't know if I meant it.

“I'm not sure if I would have done the same if our roles were reversed. I like to believe I would have, but I can be a big chicken sometimes. Anyway, you were really brave to put yourself out there for me, especially knowing there would be consequences if you did. I'm just happy it wasn't a milk carton full of ketchup and peas.”

“Ooh, that's disgusting. Did that happen to you before?”

“Yup, it happened at my last school, but lucky for me the kid had bad aim, so it missed me and hit our vice principal in the back.”

Alexander cracked up, and just the thought of a milk carton full of ketchup hitting Principal Kriesky made me crack up too. Pretty soon the two of us were hysterically laughing under the lunchroom table. Elvis finally stuck his head under to check on us.

“I gotta get you two out of here. How do you two feel about crawling through an air shaft?”

“Uh, I tend to get a little sweaty in small, confined spaces,” I said to Elvis. Alexander thought I was talking to him. He looked worried.

“Me too! And there's always a rat up there, and I don't like their beady eyes.”

“Me too!”

Wow, Alexander and I were so much alike. I couldn't believe how easy it was to hang out with him.

“So, we're just going to stand here and take this?” asked Elvis, who stuck his head under the table to talk to me.

“Elvis, it's okay. The bell's going to ring soon anyway. Sometimes it's not about fighting back, it's about waiting it out.”

Right then Elvis got hit with a carton of chocolate milk, which splashed all over his back and dripped down his furry face. He barely flinched, though he was about to lick his nose when I yelled at him to stop. “Nooooooooooo! That was chocolate milk! Don't taste it. Chocolate is bad for dogs!” I started to climb out from under the table.

Elvis was surprised, but he didn't say anything right away. He just wagged his tail a little bit, nudged me back under the table, and then proceeded to shake off all the excess milk.

After he finished shaking, he said, “Trust me, it'd take a lot more than chocolate milk to take me down.”

“Hey, Alexander, can I ask you something?” I asked.

“Certainly.”

“I have this thing, its kind of a lucky charm that my dad gave me, and well, the last time I had it was the day of my episode, and I'm wondering if maybe you happened to see it when you saw me go down. . . .”

“Was it a little shiny silver thing on a brown leather string?”

“Yes, it is. That's unbelievable! You remember it?”

“Benji, it's like my eyes are a video camera and I record everything I see, and so I can go back and see it all again if I think about it. I didn't know it was yours. I saw it on the floor, and for some reason I assumed it was Billy's.”

“Billy's? Why would you think that? Wait a second, are you saying Billy has it?”

“Uh, no, I'm not saying that. I'm saying I saw it, and I thought it was his and then . . .”

Suddenly I was hopeful. Maybe it wasn't gone forever. Maybe I could get it back somehow. “I'm so relieved it's not gone. It's really important to me, and I thought it was lost forever. Do you think he still has it?”

“Uh, well . . . I don't know about that. I'm not saying I know for sure he has it or anything.”

Just then I noticed a pair of pink Converse high-tops with yellow daisies next to me, and then a second later Taisy bent down and peered at us under the table.

“Hey, you guys okay?” she asked.

“Hey, Taisy. Yeah, we're fine. But guess what—Alexander's amazing brain has helped me find the good luck charm that I lost. Billy Thompson stole it.”

“What? He did?”

“Wait, I never said Billy stole it,” Alexander interjected.

Taisy interrupted, “Well it makes sense, because everyone knows Billy's a thief and a liar. Ooh, there's nothing I hate more than liars.”

I nodded my head in agreement. “Yeah, me too. What about you, Alexander, don't you hate liars also?”

Alexander nodded, but he looked really stressed out, more stressed out now than when the milk bombs were flying. I wondered if he was shy around girls and Taisy was making him nervous.

“Hey, Taisy, this is my new friend, Alexander. He's the new kid. And Alexander, this is Taisy, star athlete of our school.”

“Well, first off, I don't think of myself as
the
star athlete of the school but as one of the star athletes of the school. And I want to be known for more than just that, so I'm also good at the flute, double Dutch jump rope, hair braiding, and super-swirly cursive writing. But I already know Alexander, because we have band together. He can play almost every single instrument. It's pretty out-of-control cool.”

“Is the coast clear now?” I asked.

She disappeared for a second to look around the lunchroom and then popped down again. “Yep. All clear.”

I believed her. There was no way anyone would throw anything with Taisy around. She'd just catch it and throw it right back, but with better aim. Alexander and I crawled out from under the table and looked around. The cafeteria was almost empty. Taisy grabbed some napkins and wiped Elvis down.

“Oh, my poor baby Elvis, did you get milky-wilky all over you?”

There she went with that baby talk again. Alexander looked surprised too. I just rolled my eyes and shrugged. Elvis had already forgotten all about Alexander and me. He was basking in the glory of Taisy again.

“Hey, Benji, I need to talk to you about something,” Alexander said, but before he could continue, Mr. D, the art teacher, walked over to us.

“Hey, you kids okay?” he asked.

We all nodded. We were actually all okay.

“Maybe everyone should go down to the principal's office and talk about what happened here.”

Oh brother, that's the last thing we thought we should do. Alexander looked down at the ground. Taisy wasn't sure what to say, mainly because she wasn't really involved. Just the mention of the principal's office made her bottom lip quiver. It was up to me to say something.

“Mr. D, I think since nobody was injured, we should just let it go. We're okay, and it's not like we even know what happened. I mean, we do, but it's not like any of us saw who threw those milk cartons at us. Do we have to bother Principal Kriesky with this?”

I could tell he wasn't sure what to do. Mr. D was the most liberal teacher in school, being an artist and all. Word around the hallways was that he went to some fancy art school in New York, maybe had a nervous breakdown, and now has his own studio in some barn out in the countryside. So Mr. D wasn't a guy who played by the rules. He had cool tattoos and pierced ears. He sometimes even brought in his Bluetooth speakers and played music during art class, which I'm pretty sure is forbidden in our school.

“Yeah, Mr. D, we're good now,” Taisy said. “And you know how Principal Kriesky gets after lunch.”

On more than one occasion, we'd heard rumors that Principal Kriesky had a fussy stomach. If you were unlucky enough to see him when his stomach hurt, it never worked out in your favor.

“Also, it's a biological fact that people get sleepier after lunch, as their body is working hard at digesting their food properly. Why put more on his plate, especially since he's already just cleaned one,” Alexander said, chuckling nervously at his own bad joke. “Get it? He just cleaned his plate, and now—”

“We get it, Alexander. Thanks,” I said. “Mr. D, do you really want to be the guy who brings Principal Kriesky more bad news?”

“You know what they say, the messenger always gets killed,” Taisy added.

Mr. D didn't need further convincing. I guess you never grow out of not wanting to go to the principal's office. So he said he'd walk us to our next class. Elvis and I were already going to art class with Mr. D; Taisy and Alexander had band. Alexander thought it would be best if we all met up after school to debrief. I'm not sure what that meant exactly, but it sounded cool so I agreed. Taisy said she was game to huddle up then too. We agreed to meet on the front steps after the last bell.

We headed down the hallway together, but Taisy and Alexander headed left to the band room while Mr. D, Elvis, and I went to the right. Art is in the next building over, because we are sharing the art room with the junior high kids for a month while some of our classrooms are getting new windows. Mr. D asked if Elvis and I were okay, and I said we were but I needed to give Elvis a quick run outside. Mr. D. nodded and then held out his fist to me. I guess he wanted me to fist-bump him, and even though I felt silly doing it, I knocked my fist into his.

“Thanks, Mr. D. I'll be back in class in a sec.”