The Zucchini Warriors Page 6

  “What’s all the excitement?” Myron asked.

  Bruno held up the floor plan. “We’re all admiring this great drawing.”

  Myron looked confused. “Uh — very nice.”

  * * *

  “Hey, did you guys know that Elmer Drimsdale keeps furry animals in his room?” announced Myron Blankenship in geography class the next day as the boys were settling into their seats.

  Boots O’Neal turned beseeching eyes upward. “Is there no end to his yap?”

  Bruno looked disgusted. “Poor Elmer. When his bush hamsters get booted out, he’ll be heartbroken.”

  “So you think this is going to get back to The Fish or one of the teachers?” Boots asked.

  Bruno nodded grimly. “It might be tomorrow, it might take a month, but the Blabbermouth always gets his man. And this doesn’t do much for our zucchini disposal plan, either. We can’t very well feed that stuff to the hamsters if they’re not here. I’ve got half a mind to feed it to the Blabbermouth.”

  Boots shook his head. “What a disaster last night was. The fight of the century, the bush hamsters got spotted by the Blabbermouth — and let’s not forget Wilbur’s rec hall plan.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Bruno groaned. “I thought that guy was smart. I forgot that his idea of recreation is a restaurant. Pizza ovens! Barbecue pits! Soda fountains! A salad bar! Why, there must have been six refrigerators in that drawing — seven if you include the meat locker!”

  Boots snickered. “That’s Wilbur. His head is ruled by his stomach.”

  “All right, laugh. Three floor plans, all of them useless. I’d like to see you put in some effort before you chuckle the house down.”

  “As a matter of fact, I will,” said Boots. “I’ll draw the next plan, just to show you what a realistic rec hall should be like.”

  Mr. Klapper appeared in the doorway, notebook in hand. “Aha! Ninety seconds after start of the period, and this class is not yet underway.” His eyes narrowed. “Are there any football players here?”

  Mystified, Bruno, Boots and Myron raised their hands. Klapper made notes.

  Myron stood up. “Sir, did you know that Elmer Drimsdale keeps furry animals in his room?”

  Klapper’s thin eyebrows shot up. “Drimsdale. He’s your new quarterback, isn’t he?” He made even more notes and left the room.

  Three football players in a late class. The star quarterback keeping animals in his room. The case against Macdonald Hall was building.

  * * *

  “One more bench press,” Bruno puffed, “and I’m going to drop dead before we ever play a game!”

  It was six-thirty in the morning, and Bruno and Boots were in the Macdonald Hall gym, lifting weights.

  “Cathy’s life is in our hands,” Boots grimaced, chinning himself on a high bar until his fair face turned purple. “I’ll admit that she’s a million times better than the rest of us put together, but she’s still a girl, and this is a rough game. As offensive linemen, we’re the only thing standing between her and the big guys on the other teams. We have to train our heads off!”

  “Hold on a minute,” said Bruno. “You can get me up in the middle of the night and put five-tonne barbells in my hands, but you can’t pull the wool over my eyes. We didn’t hold a gun to Cathy’s head and force her to be our quarterback, remember? She stole your stuff and snuck out onto the field.”

  “Sure,” said Boots. “But we also didn’t jump right up and say, ‘No, she can’t play. She’ll get killed. And she doesn’t even go to Macdonald Hall.’”

  So in the days leading up to the Zucchini Warriors’ first game, as the team trained and practised, Bruno and Boots trained and practised more than anyone. And they prepared themselves mentally more than anyone, except Calvin Fihzgart. Calvin had worked himself up into such a state of ferocity that Coach Flynn had to threaten to bench him after an incident where he’d uprooted a small cedar shrub with his bare hands and hurled it across the highway.

  “Look, Fihzgart, never mind the landscaping! Concentrate on playing football!”

  “Coach, I’m just showing you what’s going to happen. That tree is a player from the other team when he comes up against The Beast!”

  The opening of the football season was a home game on Saturday afternoon, and Mr. Carson scheduled a team meeting at his cottage Thursday night. Naturally Elmer had to attend rather than Cathy, but Boots brought along a cassette recorder to tape the strategy session for the absent quarterback.

  “Remember,” Bruno whispered, “if Hank the Tank comes up with zucchini sticks, don’t panic. Elmer’s still got his bush hamsters, and they can take care of the whole shipment.”

  The boys arranged themselves in the living room, and Coach Flynn shut the door.

  “Men,” Henry Carson said dramatically, “we’ve come a long way, and Saturday is our first test.”

  All the players cheered. Even Elmer looked enthusiastic.

  “The opponents we drew are the St. Vincent Junior High Voles, and they’re not a very strong team. They finished in the cellar last year.”

  “And they’re going to finish in the cemetery this year!” roared Calvin.

  “Don’t get overconfident,” Flynn warned seriously. “Even though the Voles lost all their games last season, they can still be tough. Remember, this is only our first game. But we can still do our best and make a good showing —”

  “Good showing?!” interrupted Mr. Carson. “We can beat those guys! But we have to play a tight defence and a careful offence. Right, Drimsdale?”

  “Oh — uh — indubitably, sir,” said Elmer.

  “He means yeah,” supplied Bruno.

  “Right.” Mr. Carson wheeled out a chalkboard. “Now we’re going to go over all our plays. Drimsdale, front and centre.”

  They went on for the better part of an hour, running the few plays that the Warriors had worked on in practice.

  “So that’s our 85 Buttonhook Left,” said Coach Flynn after a long explanation. “Now, Drimsdale, why does it work?”

  Elmer examined the blackboard thoughtfully. “Because of the trigonometric ratios of the trajectory of the ball as it leaves the quarterback’s hand, compensated with the downward acceleration of the gravitational pull of the earth?” he suggested.

  Flynn stared at the board. “Maybe,” he said finally. “But I was going to say that it works because the other guys are way down here.”

  “That makes sense, too,” said Elmer generously.

  “Okay,” said Mr. Carson. “We’ll have a light practice tomorrow — I want everybody to be at a hundred percent for Saturday.”

  “We won’t let you and the coach down, Mr. Carson,” said Bruno earnestly. “Will we, guys?”

  “NO!!” bellowed twenty-six voices.

  “That’s my team!” said Carson emotionally. “So grab some zucchini sticks, men, and have a good night.”

  The zucchini wagon was at the door, bells ringing.

  Myron looked surprised. “But Mr. Carson, don’t you know what we did with the last —?”

  Two hands clamped heavily over Myron’s open mouth. Dave Jackson and Pete Anderson, one lifting under each arm, hoisted him up and carried him out of the house, pausing only to receive three plates of zucchini sticks at the door. Bruno flashed them the thumbs-up signal.

  * * *

  Mr. Sturgeon walked across the campus in the direction of the dormitories. He disliked what he was about to do, but do it he must. There was a rumour circulating that Elmer Drimsdale was harbouring some sort of animal, and the rumour had reached the ears of Miss Hildegarde, the school nurse. That tattling Blankenship boy had no doubt started it all. And now the Headmaster was forced to finish it. Personally he had nothing against Elmer keeping animals for his scientific studies. But rules were rules, and Miss Hildegarde had been extremely adamant on the phone. Still, interfering with Drimsdale’s experiments always seemed like a crime against science.

  He entered Dormitory 2, approached the door
of room 201 and knocked.

  “It’s not locked,” came a voice that was definitely not Drimsdale’s. “Step right up. Bring ’em all in. They’re eating them faster than we can stuff them in the cage.”

  Mr. Sturgeon entered to see Bruno, Boots and Elmer on their hands and knees around a large cage, feeding zucchini sticks to four furry brown creatures.

  Not looking away from the cage, Bruno stretched out his hand toward the newcomer. “Come on. Hand over your plate. We haven’t got all night, you know.”

  “Good evening, Walton — O’Neal — Drimsdale.”

  All three scrambled to their feet.

  “S–s–sir,” stammered Bruno. “What a surprise!”

  “I see you’ve restaffed the Zucchini Disposal Squad,” said the Headmaster with some amusement. “What on earth are they?”

  “They’re Manchurian bush hamsters, sir,” said Elmer, “an endangered species. I’m attempting to make them reproduce.”

  The door burst open, and Larry and Wilbur entered. “Okay, we’ve got two more plates of garbage — Mr. Sturgeon —” Wilbur barely whispered. “Uh — we were just — uh — leaving, and — uh — good-bye.” The two put down their plates and fled.

  Mr. Sturgeon stared in amazement at the huge stack of empty Mr. Zucchini plates, and then at the four little bush hamsters in the cage. “Well, Drimsdale, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. Would you prefer that Walton and O’Neal leave us?”

  “It’s no problem, Elm,” said Bruno. “We could come back later and you could tell us then.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” said Elmer bravely. He turned to the Headmaster. “This has something to do with my bush hamsters, sir?”

  “I fear so, Drimsdale. And I tell you honestly that I hate to do this. I find it commendable that you wish to save this species from extinction. But too many people know about this already, and keeping animals in this room is very clearly against the rules. You will have to move them elsewhere.” He glared down the wide smile of inspiration on Bruno’s face. “No, Walton. This includes your room and anyone else’s room. And it also includes the rooms of any of the young ladies across the road, since we do not go there anymore. Am I right?” This time it was the Headmaster’s turn to smile. “Now, Drimsdale, you may have a day or so to try and find another home for your bush hamsters. But if you cannot, perhaps you had better return them to their owners.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Elmer.

  * * *

  Cathy hit the eject button, and out popped Boots’s recording of the team meeting. It was Friday, the night before the big game. Earlier, she had retrieved the cassette from where Bruno and Boots had hidden it in the Macdonald Hall bushes by the roadside.

  “Well, do you know it yet?” asked Diane sarcastically. “You’ve only listened to it three times.”

  “We’re as ready as we’re ever going to be,” said the quarterback of the Macdonald Hall Warriors. “My first game! I’ve never been this excited in my life!”

  “What was all that growling on the tape? Or was someone watching Valley of the Dinosaurs in the next room?”

  “Oh,” said Cathy airily, “that was The Beast, one of our players. Cute little guy. Calvin Somebody.”

  Diane swallowed hard. “Cathy, I know how much you love football, and I know you’re fantastic, but are you sure you want to go through with this?”

  “Of course I’m sure! You think I’ve done all this work so I can not play?”

  “But Cathy, this isn’t practice where they know you’re a girl! This is a whole other team just itching to knock somebody’s brains out! And as the quarterback, you’re target number one!”

  Cathy made a face. “Look, Diane, you’ve been listening to Miss Scrimmage for so long that you’ve started believing all that stuff about how young ladies are delicate flowers that fall apart at the slightest touch. Sure, I might not be as strong as some of those guys, but the big ones are the slow ones, and with any luck, I can stay out of their way. Okay, the team isn’t great, but we’ve been working like crazy. And linemen protect the quarterback, whether she’s a girl or not.”

  Diane sat down on her bed, frowning. “I don’t know. You’ve done some crazy things before, but tomorrow — I think about it, and I still can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it,” said Cathy. “Because tomorrow ‘Elmer Drimsdale’ is going out there to show them how it’s done!”

  Chapter 6

  Welcome to Macdonald Hill

  Saturday was a perfect day for football, brisk but sunny. The game was scheduled for two, but many of the players were in the locker room by noon. Hank the Tank Carson was already there, pacing the length and breadth of the room, a bundle of nerves.

  The bus carrying the St. Vincent Junior High Voles arrived an hour and a half before game time, and Calvin Fihzgart was on hand to evaluate their opponents as they filed into the visitors’ locker room.

  “Those poor guys,” he said to Pete Anderson, genuine pity in his ferocious eyes. “They’re totally doomed. They have to get on the field against the roughest, toughest, meanest guy in the whole league!”

  “Who’s that?” asked Pete absently. He was noting that the other players looked extremely large, and pretty confident for a last-place team.

  “Who’s that?!” Calvin growled in disbelief. “Me! The Beast! The one-man wrecking crew! The tower of evil! The baddest guy alive! The roughest, toughest —”

  “Oh, right,” said Pete. “I forgot.”

  Bruno, Boots and Elmer entered the locker room carrying the Manchurian bush hamsters in their cage.

  Mr. Carson was appalled. “Almost an hour to game time, and you’re playing with kittens!”

  “Elmer’s under a lot of pressure to get these bush hamsters out of his room,” Bruno explained.

  “Pressure? What kind of an idiot leans on the star quarterback right before the big game?”

  “Mr. Sturgeon,” Bruno admitted.

  Carson looked disgusted. “It figures.”

  “Do you think maybe they could live somewhere in the clubhouse?” Boots suggested. “There’s a spare equipment room.”

  “Yeah, sure, anywhere!” said Carson impatiently. “I’ll put them up at the Hilton if it’ll take the heat off my quarterback! But hurry up! You should be dressing!”

  Around one o’clock, the stands started to fill up with the staff and students of Macdonald Hall. Soon, though, Miss Scrimmage led her entire school over for “a delightful afternoon of sport,” and there was a battle royal for the best seats. A number of local farm families, and a few townspeople from nearby communities were also on hand, and the mobile unit from CHUT-TV in Chutney was setting up to get a few action shots for the evening sportscast. The St. Vincent team had brought some supporters of their own.

  Miss Scrimmage’s cheerleading squad was warming up. Each of the nine girls wore a bright red uniform with THE LINE OF SCRIMMAGE spelled out in sequins on the back.

  Mr. Sturgeon was leading his wife toward the stadium when an enormous eighteen-wheel tractor trailer backed up to the main entrance. The rear door folded down into a ramp, and out pedalled twenty-four Mr. Zucchini bicycle wagons, cabinets steaming, bells ringing.

  “Oh, Lord!” groaned the Headmaster. “When the Zucchini Disposal Squad sees this, we won’t have a football game; we’ll have a cry-in!”

  “Come on, William. Let’s find our seats. Mercy, I’m excited!”

  Mark Davies had been practising all week, learning how to operate the stadium scoreboard for the game. As the spectators settled in, they were greeted by the message: WELCOME TO MACDONALD HILL.

  Back in the locker room, all the players were suited up, present and accounted for except one. “Where’s Drimsdale?” bellowed Coach Flynn in great agitation.

  “Easy, Alex,” said Mr. Carson, who was himself pacing the floor. “You know how eccentric he is. He’s probably dressing back at the dorm. He’ll be here when we take the field.”

  As if on cue, Cathy poke
d her helmeted head into the dressing room and waved. A great sigh was heaved.

  The Voles were already warming up when the Macdonald Hall Warriors thundered out onto the field. The crowd broke into applause. Miss Scrimmage’s girls, every single one of them aware of the true identity of number 00, went berserk, chanting “El-mer! El-mer!”

  Mr. Sturgeon’s brow furrowed. “Drimsdale appears to be acquiring something of a following,” he commented.

  His wife glowed. “Isn’t that a wonderful surprise? Our top student is our top athlete.”

  The Headmaster frowned. “Wonderful,” he agreed vaguely.

  Calvin Fihzgart was looking around, scowling. “Hey! Where’s the ambulance? I thought there was going to be an ambulance on hand!”

  Sidney shrugged. “What for?”

  “What do you mean ‘what for?’ The Beast is playing!”

  Macdonald Hall won the coin toss and chose to receive the kickoff. The ball was caught by Dave Jackson, who tucked it away and took off, Wilbur and Calvin blocking ahead of him. They made it up to their own 40-yard line before being stopped by the Voles’ defence. There was a small pileup, and the play was whistled dead.

  Wilbur, Dave and the three Voles got briskly to their feet, but there was still a Macdonald Hall jersey lying on the ground.

  On the sidelines, Boots stood up. “It’s The Beast! He’s down!”

  “How could he be down?” said Bruno. “Nothing happened!”

  Mr. Carson and Coach Flynn rushed onto the field to attend to their injured player.

  “Where’s the stretcher?” roared Calvin, outraged.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the coach breathlessly. “He hardly even hit you!”

  “My arm,” said Calvin, cradling his right elbow. “I think it’s a compound fracture.”

  They helped him over to the bench where Miss Hildegarde, the school nurse, examined his elbow. Calvin bore all this bravely. “It’s a compound fracture, right?”

  She stared at him. “It’s just a bruise.”

  “The Beast would not get ‘just a bruise,’” seethed Calvin. “With him it’s either a compound fracture or nothing.”