R. L. Stine_Mostly Ghostly 06 (6 page)

“Good boy,” I said. “Good Buster. Let's go back outside, okay?”

He snarled in reply and bared his teeth.

Kids backed out of the way. A few kids screamed.

“Go, Buster! Go, Buster!” The Wilburs continued their chant.

“Good boy, Buster,” I said, trying to keep calm in front of everyone. “It's my birthday, Buster. You wouldn't damage me on my birthday —would you?”

The big monster let out another growl and leaped for my throat.

I ducked and he went sailing over me.

“Go, Buster! Go, Buster!” the Wilburs sang.

Why had Mom made me invite those two jerks?

Buster landed on all fours. He spun around quickly. Dove forward. And wrapped his teeth around my ankle.

“Owwww!” I let out a furious cry. “Not on my birthday! Not on my birthday!”

I was on my back on the floor now. Twisting and squirming in pain. Shouting. Struggling to pull my ankle from the dog's jaws.

“Go, Buster! Go, Buster!”

That's when the front door opened and Mom
walked in, carrying the cake box in both hands. She stopped in the living room doorway and squinted at me.

“Max? Are you playing with the dog and forgetting about your guests?”

M
OM PULLED THE DOG
off my ankle by bribing him with a dog biscuit. He followed her peacefully out to the backyard.

I limped over to Marci and Ashley and the other cool kids, who were still hanging out by themselves in the hall. My ankle throbbed with pain, and it was starting to swell.

“Where is Traci?” I asked her friends. “She should have been here an hour ago.”

Marci and Ashley shrugged. “We haven't heard from her.”

“I know,” I said. “I'll call her cell and find out what's taking her so long.”

“Good idea,” Marci said.

“Do you have her cell number?” I asked.

“She wouldn't want you to have her cell number,” Marci said.

“Oh. Right,” I said.

I didn't have any more time to think about Traci. I heard someone stomping noisily down the
stairs. I turned in time to see Colin pushing his way through my friends.

He'd promised me he'd stay up in his room and not try to ruin my party.

But he'd never kept a promise in his life. Why should today be different?

“Where is Blubber Butt?” he asked the cool kids in the hall. “Have you seen Blubber Butt?”

He turned and saw me. “Hey! There you are. Guess what I'm
not
going to call you on your birthday?”

“Why don't you call me long distance?” I muttered.

Colin laughed. “Good one, Blubber Butt.”

Mom was at the dining room table, putting candles on my birthday cake. “Colin,” she said. “Don't call your brother names on his birthday.”

“I'm not,” Colin told her. He turned to me with a grin. “Happy birthday, little bro.” And he slapped me on the back, so hard I heard cracking sounds. Probably just a few bones.

“Here's your present,” Colin said. He shoved a package in my face. It had pink and yellow gift wrapping on it. “Go ahead. Open it now,” Colin said. “I think your friends want to see it.”

Uh-oh.

“I'll open it later,” I said, trying to push it out of sight.

“Open it! Open it!” the Wilbur brothers started to chant.

“Colin, don't tease your brother on his birthday,” Mom called from the dining room.

“I'm not,” Colin shouted. “I'm giving him a present. Here. I'll open it for you.”

He raised the package high and ripped off the wrapping paper. Then he held up the gift.

A pair of my underpants. They were dirty. He'd probably taken them from the laundry basket downstairs.

“Hope they fit,” Colin said, holding them up so everyone could get a good view. “Here. Let's see if they fit.” He pulled the underpants down over my head.

Big laughter.

I mean,
everyone
thought that was just a riot.

Max Doyle, standing there on his twelfth birthday in front of his whole class with a pair of dirty underpants pulled over his head.

Ha, ha.

Well, wasn't this the greatest birthday party ever?

Not.

I wanted to disappear. I wanted to slip through a crack in the f loor and never be seen again. I wanted to evaporate. To become that pebbly stuff on the floor of the ocean that bottom-feeders eat.

This had to be the worst birthday party in the history of birthday parties.

But guess what?

A few minutes later, things got worse.

Much worse.

“T
HIS PARTY IS
so
not happening,” I heard Ashley whisper to some of her friends.

“When does the party actually start?” another kid said. “I mean, like, is this
it
?”

Billy and Willy Wilbur were tossing a couch pillow back and forth across the room. I knew they were getting ready to break something else.

“Someone should let that big dog in again,” Marci said. “That was kinda fun.”

I rubbed my swollen ankle. I knew the party wasn't going well.

I thought about Quentin upstairs in my room, practicing magic tricks. Maybe it was time to perform. Maybe our awesome tricks would turn things around.

But before I could call Quentin down, Mom started shouting for everyone to come into the dining room. “Birthday cake time! Come on, everyone. Let's sing to Max.”

She had set the tall cake with white frosting in the middle of the dining room table. “Max Is 12”
was written across the cake in red icing. The candles were all lit.

The kids piled around the table. Billy Wilbur burped really loudly. His brother laughed, but no one else did. The cool kids stayed down at the far end, away from everyone else. One of them was actually reading a book.

Mom started singing, and most everyone joined in. The Wilbur brothers thought it was funny to sing the words late, after everyone had already sung them.

I wanted to get this part over with. It was embarrassing to have everyone stand there and sing that dopey song to me.

I glanced around the table. Where was Quentin? Someone should have called him down for the cake and singing.

“Go ahead, Maxie. Make a wish,” Mom said. She gave me a gentle push toward the cake and candles.

I shut my eyes and made a wish. I wished for this party to go from
worst
to
first.
I wished for it all to turn around and become the most awesome party anyone could ever remember.

I opened my eyes. I leaned down to blow out the candles.

And someone else blew them out.

I spun around. I thought Billy and Willy had done it. But they were too far away.

“I'll close the window,” Mom said. “There must be a draft.”

She pushed down the window. Then she started to light the candles again one by one.

“This is so boring,” I heard someone whisper.

“Can't we just eat it?” a boy asked.

Mom shook her head. “Max has to blow out the candles.”

It seemed like an hour later, but she finally got them all lit again. And again, I leaned down to blow them out —and the flames disappeared as if someone else had blown on them.

“Ha, ha. Trick candles!” someone yelled.

But I knew better. I knew it had to be Nicky and Tara. It was about time for them to start messing things up.

Everything else had gone wrong so far. Now it was their turn.

“I know you're here!” I shouted. “You're not funny!”

The room grew silent.

“Max, who were you talking to?” Mom asked.

I shrugged. “No one, really.”

She frowned at me. “Why don't you go find your friend Quentin and put on your show for everyone while I get the food ready?”

“Excellent!” I said. I turned to all the kids. “Hey, everyone. Quentin and I have been practicing
for weeks! We have an awesome show planned.”

“Everybody sit down in the living room and get comfortable,” Mom said.

“I'll be right back,” I said. I climbed the stairs two at a time. My chest started to feel a little fluttery. I was excited. Finally, Quentin and I would be able to show off our juggling and our magic.

“Hey, Quentin!” I called. “Quentin? It's showtime!”

I burst into my room. “Quentin? It's time to —”

I glanced quickly around the room. He wasn't there. I didn't see his magic kit either.

“Hey, Quentin?” My voice came out high and shrill.

I checked the bathroom across the hall. Not there.

Had he decided to practice in Colin's room? I made my way down the hall, but stopped in front of my brother's closed door.

Loud rap music blared from inside. Colin was in his room. No way would Quentin practice there.

So where was he?

“Quentin? Hey, Quentin!” I shouted at the top of my lungs.

I ran back into my room. I glanced all around again.

Whoa. A sheet of white paper on my bed spread.

What was that? A note?

Yes. A handwritten note. Addressed to me.

I picked it up with a trembling hand. What was
this
about?

T
HE NOTE FELL FROM
my hand and fluttered to the floor. But I could still see those handwritten words in my mind.

My brain did flip-flops. I rubbed my temples to stop my throbbing pulse.

What did it mean?

Why did Quentin say he wasn't who I thought he was?

Who
was
he? And why did he run out just before our performance?

The questions were giving me a headache. I picked up the note and, holding it in my trembling hands, read it one more time.

I'm sorry. I just couldn't do it.

Do
what
? It was a terrible mystery.

I wanted to phone Quentin and tell him to come back and explain. But I realized I didn't have a phone number for him.

What exactly did I know about Quentin?

Not very much. I knew that he lived in a big mansion behind a tall hedge. And that he liked to build things and perform magic.

That was about all.

“Hey, Max —where are you?” my mom shouted from downstairs. “Max? Everyone is waiting.”

I set Quentin's note down on my bedspread with a loud sigh.
Great
birthday party this was turning out to be. A total bomb.

Traci Wayne hadn't even shown up. I was glad. I didn't want her to see what a loser I was.

Oh, well. The show must go on.

I crossed the room to pick up my duckpins. I cradled them in one arm, then picked up my magic kit.

I stopped at the window and peered out. The sun had dropped behind the trees. It was gray and kind of foggy outside.

But in the dim light, I could see the boy in black. He sat on the ground, leaning against a tree trunk. His face was raised to my house. He was staring up at my bedroom window.

Watching. Watching.

I wanted to open the window and scream at the top of my lungs for him to go away. Get lost — and never come back.

No time for that. I could hear the kids clapping
slowly downstairs. Clapping for the show to start.

I spun away from the window. Glanced at Quentin's note one more time. Then turned and headed down to the living room to start my show.

“H
ERE HE IS, THE
Amazing Max!” Mom shouted as I stepped into the living room.

A duckpin fell out of my arm and hit me on the foot. “Ow!” I cried out in pain and dropped the other two duckpins.

Everyone laughed.

Good start, huh?

“My partner has vanished into thin air,” I announced. “But the show will go on without him.”

I placed my magic kit on the card table I'd set up in front of the fireplace. I pulled out the magic wand and some other supplies.

I had a trick top hat on the table with a live rabbit hidden inside its secret compartment. And a milk bottle that appeared to empty when you poured it, even though it stayed full.

I was just about ready to start. The room grew quiet.

Most of the kids sat on the floor in front of the card table. The Wilbur brothers were squeezed
into an armchair. Willy bumped Billy off, onto the floor. Billy got back into the chair and tried to bump his brother off. Marci and Ashley stood against the far wall, whispering to each other.

“Good evening, everyone. Prepare to be amazed!” I shouted in my deep magician's voice. “First I will show you the magic of the juggler's art.”

I cranked up my juggling music on the CD player. Then I took two duckpins, waited for the rhythm to kick in, and started to toss them from hand to hand.

“It's all in the wrist!” I declared. I tossed the pins higher. I had the rhythm. It felt good.

The kids were watching intently now. Even Marci and Ashley had stopped talking and were watching the show.

“And now let's make it a little harder!” I exclaimed. I picked up the third duckpin and added it to the mix.

Three is a lot trickier than two. It means you have to keep one in the air at all times. Your hands have to move really fast. There's no time for any kind of slipup.

But today I was really in the zone! The pins were moving just where I wanted them. Grab and toss. Grab and toss. I grooved with the music and kept the three pins spinning in front of me.