Tabloidology (8 page)

Turning to Trixi, he said, “Now, you might think this machine is just a bunch of nuts and bolts and wires and screws, but let me tell you something.” He paused and looked toward the door as if making sure no one else was listening. Scribbling a number on Trixi's hand with a felt pen, he whispered, “Here is your secret security code number. If you treat Gwennie with some kindness and tenderness and respect, you'll be amazed at the wonderful things she can do for you. In fact, she might change your life.” Merlin snatched his tools off the floor and disappeared out the door.

Trixi looked down at the number written on her hand and shrugged. “Okay, Gwennie. Whatever it is you do, it's time to work some magic.”

She punched in her four-digit security code number and waited. The photocopier hummed, clicked and rattled as it usually did while it churned out copies of the latest edition of the Upland Green school newspaper. Everything looked perfectly normal: no origami frogs, no Japanese writing. The photocopier was once again acting like a photocopier. Merlin Pen's words were forgotten as Trixi scooped up her papers and headed out the door. She had other things on her mind— like selling an edition of the school newspaper no one would ever forget.

SEVEN

I
t was a big day for Martin when the next edition of his newspaper went on sale. He headed down the hall at recess just to make sure Trixi was following his orders. He wanted to be sure she'd printed enough copies. He wanted to double-check that she'd set up the table in the right place and had an empty can with a slot cut in the top for the money. He wanted to see with his own eyes that she was doing everything just right.

The moment he turned the corner and looked down the hall, Martin knew something was wrong. Surrounding the table where Trixi was selling the newspaper was a mob of kids. He hadn't witnessed a scene like this since his mother dragged him down to the Bargain Blowout at Bloom's Department Store to buy socks. There was pushing and shoving, and there were shouts of, “Hey! Get outta my way!” and “Quit butting in line!” and “I was here first!” There was even a bleeding nose and a couple of bruised shins.

Above all this mayhem, Martin could hear Ms. Baumgartner's voice louder than all the rest. “Everybody calm down! Get in a nice straight line. Keep your hands and feet to yourselves.”

Out of the tangle of arms, legs and heads, a few kids staggered out of the crowd, clutching crumpled bunches of papers and gasping, “I got one! I got one!”

David Goldman, a kid who normally only talked to Martin when he had him in a headlock, walked by and slapped him on the back. “Way to go, Witless! You finally wrote some good stuff! This paper's great!”

“Oh…really?” Martin said. “Do you really mean that?”

“Yeah!” David said. “That story about the maple trees is so great!”

“Really?” Martin said. “You really liked it?”

“Oh, yeah! The best twenty-five cents I ever spent in my entire life!”

Martin was shocked and delighted.

He was even more shocked when Mercedes Milano ran past him waving a copy of the newspaper, headed for the front door of the school.

“Hey, Mercedes! What are you doing?” Martin called.

“The weather forecast! My mom's apple orchard! I've got to let her know about the weather forecast!”

Wow. Martin had never seen anyone so worked up about a weather forecast. Especially his weather forecast. Still, it was nice to see people paying attention to his scientifically determined predictions. He was finally getting the attention he deserved.

Above the rumble of the crowd, Phil Shipley was shouting something at Martin. This was the same Phil Shipley who had dropped the class's pet mouse down the back of Martin's pants in the change room after gym class last week. “Hey! I gotta talk to you. That sounds like some dog obedience class! I'm thinking of enrolling my Chihuahua. Do you think she'd be too short?”

“Ah…well…er…I don't know. You'll have to ask the teacher, I guess.”

This was great! Finally, everyone at Upland Green School recognized how great their school newspaper really was! Martin basked in this, his finest hour.

Or maybe his finest minute.

Everything changed very quickly. Too quickly. Ms. Baumgartner fought her way out of the crowd and said, “Martin! In my office. Now!”

Martin had never heard Ms. Baumgartner speak like this before. He didn't like the way she barked out his name, or the way she spat out the word
office.
He especially didn't like the way she added
Now!
at the end. Martin's legs began to shake, and he felt an almost irresistible urge to throw up.

He hustled down to Ms. Baumgartner's office and sat obediently in one of the yellow plastic chairs. “What…what… what is it, Ms. Baumgartner?” he croaked.

The principal leaned into the office and said, “You and your partner have some explaining to do, Martin!” She threw a copy of the newspaper on the floor and rushed back into the hall, shouting, “Everyone calm down. Just calm down!”

How could things change so quickly? How could Martin go from blissful happiness to sheer terror in under sixty seconds? Why was Ms. Baumgartner suddenly so angry?

But then, Martin looked down to the floor and saw the copy of the school newspaper. In huge letters across the front page was the headline:

THE REVENJ OF THE MAPEL TREES!!!

Maple Trees Fite Back After Being Trimed!

Something was terribly wrong here. This wasn't the headline he'd written for the front page! Plus, there were four spelling mistakes! This wasn't
his
paper. It didn't even have the right name! It was called the
Upland Green Gossiper—All the
News That's Unfit to Print
!

Martin took all of two seconds to figure out what was going on here.

Trixi.

Trixi Wilder.

This was her doing!

Grabbing the paper, Martin's fingers tightened their grip as he read each word of the butchered article.

THE REVENJ OF THE MAPEL TREES!!!

Maple Trees Fite Back After Being Trimed!

by Marton Wetmor

Two workers triming the mapel trees at the front of Upland Green
School were in for a big surprise last week. As soon as they had
finished cuting off a number of branchs on one tree, the next
tree took revenj! With a swift, suden movement, a branch swept
down and snached the chainsaw out of the hands of won of the
workers. The chainsaw was then tossed across the rode and into
the creak. Grounds supervizer, Mr. Mowers, warns all humans to
keep a safe distanse from thees nastey trees.

More than twenty spelling mistakes in the first article alone. Even his name was spelled wrong! Martin looked at the lower half of the front page and his eyes nearly shot from their sockets when he saw what had become of his article on the dog obedience classes.

DOG OBEDIENSE CLASS GRADUATE DRIVES OUNER TO
HOSPITLE AFTER HART ATACK!

by Martan Wettmoar

When Mr. Terry Springate, a substitoot bus driver and local
snowplow enthuziast, brought his dog Sparky to dog obediense
classes in our school gym, he had no idea his pirky pooch would
someday save his life. But sure enough, only two weaks after
Sparky, a four-year-old cocker spanial, sucesfully graduated from
dog obediense school with straight A's, the owner was saved by
his brilliunt dog.

While sitting in his truck in the grosery store parking lot, Mr.
Springate sudenly colapsed. Sparky dragged him into the passenger
seet and jumped over to the driver's side. Luckily, Mr. Springate
had left his truck running and in newtral. Sparky took the geershift
in his paw and slipped it into DRIVE. He threw Springate's lunch
bucket on the axselerator and managed to stere the truck five
blocks to the hospitle parking lot. There, Sparky drove the truck up
the furst two steps of the front entrance, where the truck stalled.

“He never would of made it if Sparky hadn't bringed him in,”
said Dr. Grant Willow. “He's an amayzing dog!”

But Constuble Bruce Jefferies wasn't quite so impresed. “That
dog broak every law in the book. For starters, he's under age for
a driver's lisense, he ran three stop signs, and our raydar clocked
him going seventy in a fifty zone. On top of that, the front steps of
the hospitle is a NO PARKING zone. If he had a driver's lisense,
I'd suspend it!” the angry police officer went on to say.

If your intrested in teaching your dog how to drive, be sure to
contact Ms. Julia Pimlott, dog obediense instructer.

Martin's story had been hacked, thrashed and mutilated. Even the picture of Sparky had been changed. There was the dog with his paws on the steering wheel of a truck!

Martin wasn't sure exactly how he felt. It was more than disappointment, dismay, anger or horror. It was a feeling so strong Martin didn't even have a word for it. And that was saying something.

Could page two be any worse? After all, it was the weather forecast. What could she possibly do to his weather forecast?

THIS WEEK'S WEATHER FOURCAST

by Martn Wettmorr

Acording to Miss Myrtle Mahood of Upland Green, she can
ackurately predict the weather by the curliness of her pet pig
Pricilla's tale. “I've never seen old Pricilla's tale so curled up in
all my life! This can only meen one thing—we're in for at least
half a meter of snow this weak.”

That's right, folks! It's hard to beleev, but Pricilla the curly-tailed
pig says, as sure as a pig goes “oink,” to get out the snow
shuvels even thow it's only September.

After reading what Trixi had done to his weather forecast, Martin finally thought of a word to describe how he felt. DIS-GUS-TED! After all those weeks of scientifically reliable weather forecasting, he'd been replaced by a pig's curly tail! Could this paper get any worse?

Of course it could. Way worse.

A WILD AND CRAZY GUY

An Intervue with our crossing gard, Mr. Dogson

by Martun Wettmor

Mr. Dogson, our school crossing gard, is a man with hiden
talents. You'd be surprised to lurn that this mild-manered traffic
controller is really a sword swalower nicknamed Larry the
Leather Larynx.

M.W. How did you furst get into sword swalowing?

Mr. D. Both my father and grandfather were sword swalowers.

You might say it was a family tradishun. As a baby, I was
given sharp garden tools to teethe on.

M.W. How long were you a full-time sword swalower?

Mr. D. I worked for the Dingling Brothers Circus for twenty years.

M.W. What's your record for most swords swalowed at won time?

Mr. D. Eleven or twelv, depending on how you cownt.

M.W. What do you mean, “depending on how you cownt”?

Mr. D. I actually shoved twelve swords down my throat. But
somehow I only pulled out eleven. Go figure.

M.W. Why did you quit sword swalowing?

Mr. D. I had trubble getting through airports with a bag of twelve
swords. That's when I desided to become a crosing guard.

M.W. Have you compleetly given up sword swalowing?

Mr. D. Not compleetly. I do a litle on the side. You know, enter-tane
at birthday parties, weddings, bar mitzvahs, that sort
of thing. As far as I'm conserned, no special occashun is
compleet without a sword swalower.

M.W. I sea. Thanks for taking the time to be intervued. It's been
a slice.

A sword swallower? The Leather Larynx? Martin knew that Trixi was sly and underhanded, but she'd reached a new all-time low. She'd changed his reliable, accurate, factual interview into a great big pack of lies! What was Mr. Dobson—not Dogson—going to think when he read this? Martin already knew what Ms. Baumgartner was thinking.

Martin cringed as he turned the page to see what else Trixi had done to his beloved paper.

Enter to win!

Be a bus driver for a day! Yes! You have a chanse to take
Mr. Weston's bus for a spin. Drive the morning bus run and
pick up all your frends. But you can't win if you don't enter!

Fill out the entry form below and drop it off, along with $5, at:

Locker #326

Main Hall

Upland Green School

Below the contest entry form was:

TREWTH OR RUMORS?
THE UPLAND GREEN SCHOOL GOSSIP COLUM

It was written by an “anonymous” writer with the initials M.W., who reported that Mr. Quigley, the vice-principal, had started wearing a new brown hairpiece that matched his new glass eye. There was also a rumor that an empty classroom was to be rented out as a rehearsal space to the heavy metal band, Savage Cranium.

Finally, Martin turned to the last page of the paper.

ASK A MARTIAN
UPLAND GREEN SCHOOL'S VERY OUN ADVISE COLUM

Dear Martian,
      I've always wanted to make a stink bomb, but I don't know
how. Can you tell me the best method?

Sined,
Stinky Wannabe

Dear Stinky,
      There are many methods for bilding stink bombs, but
I've found the best won to be what I call the “Nuclear Nostril
Number.” To make it, all you need is…

Martin could almost smell the stench as he read every awful word of the recipe. It finished with this one last piece of advice:

By the way, kids, don't try this at home. It works way better
at school!