Did I ever tell you about the day my life nearly went down the toilet—for real? The guy who wrote my story in that book There's Spaceship in My Tree talked about it there. But I know all the juicy stuff.
Ya' see, I was alone in the school restroom when the door opened and I heard somebody laugh. I recognized the laugh right away. It belonged to a guy named Jared who didn't like me and happened to be the middle school version of a matter-disintegrator. The heroic dreamer in me wanted to stand up to the guy. Hey, I wasn't half bad for a seventh-grader! The non-dreamer part of me, though, wasn't that stupid. He was an eighth-grader and had me by six inches and about thirty pounds. That's not including the fact that there were three of them and only one of me! One heartbeat later, I was hiding in the handicap stall, perched on top of the toilet seat.
“My nose is bleedin’!” I heard the big guy yelp. “Jeffries, get me some toilet paper, quick!”
Jared's clone bolted for one of the stalls. Ya' might know it would be the one where I was hidin'. It’s amazing how many things can go through your mind when you’re a split second away from total annihilation. I saw the latch turn but there was no place to go! I figured that I was about to become history. But then it occurred to me that I wasn’t old enough for history—the evening paper, maybe. It’d be kind of a short obituary. I was hoping that my mom wouldn’t give them my sixth-grade picture. The toilet—what a way to go.
At the last second I leaped onto the door coat hook. He punched the door open and it slammed into the stall wall, smushing me flat like a piece of cheese between steel buns. Jeffries ripped off the paper in a flash and was back outside, never noticing me hanging there like a side of beef. I finally gasped a world-class breath into my flattened lungs as the door swung closed.
Thinkin' I had dodged the bullet I staggered back onto the seat, but then superjerk told him to "get some more and put some cold water on it.” With my heart thumpin' like a punching bag, I leaped back on the coat hook and took a deep breath.
“No, you twerp!” Jared ordered, “a paper towel this time. That other stuff falls apart.”
The footsteps changed direction. I heard a towel ripped out of the dispenser and then water runnin' from a faucet.
Finally the big cheese asked his goon squad if he'd gotten all the blood off his face. Why he didn't just look in the mirror, I don't know. Maybe he needed one of 'em to play periscope and look up his nose. Major yech!
“Pretty good,” his witless sidekick said, “I think the bleedin's stopped.”
“Ya think so?” Jared flared. “I don’t need thinking. I don’t want nobody to think somebody got to me. Come on,” he said to his minions. He tossed the crumpled paper towel over his shoulder and walked out. You might know that the now reddish paper wad would arch over the stall door and end up bouncing off my head. When I finally heard the door shut, I let my breath out and slid to the floor like melting candle wax.
I bet none of you guys ever had as close a call as that, did ya'?
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