The BEDMAS Conspiracy (9 page)

“Daniela, did you bring some tea with you?” I asked.

She didn't answer.

“Daniela,” I repeated, “did you bring anything to help warm up your throat?”

She still didn't answer.

“Fine,” I said, giving in. “
Olaf
, did you bring anything with you?”

“When I'm Olaf, I'm Olaf,” explained Daniela to the Z's. To me she replied, “A thermos of warm tea made from imported Scandinavian herbs—a present from Sarah Hibbit.”

“Cool. Sludge, you've got all your equipment?”

“Yup,” he replied.

“Great. Z's, did you remember your lucky blue and mauve guitar picks?”

The Z's nodded in unison.

“Uh, and you, Hooperberg, do you have your, um...”

I was trying to be a bit nicer to him because he had helped me stay in the band.

“...do you have your triangle wand?”

“Got it!” said Eldrick, beaming.

There was a huge crowd milling around Whitner Middle School when we arrived. We pushed through the crowd and headed to the gymnasium. It was just as chaotic behind the stage. Everyone was jostling to get to a mirror. Some kids were stretching. Others were holding hands and taking deep breaths. There was a mish-mash of voices, both high and low, as a few musical groups went over their songs. Ten acts were slated to compete at the District Donnybrook. We were scheduled to go ninth. Hopefully, Daniela wouldn't get too nervous during the long wait. She was standing by the big, red curtain that kept us hidden from the audience.

“Whatcha doin', Cuz?” I asked her, trying to sound casual.

“There are a lot of people here,” she said, gesturing to the big auditorium on the other side. The loud sound of chatter told us the room was packed. I squeezed her hand tightly.

The room went silent when Principal Bording took the stage. Everyone knew about Whitner's principal. He was also known as Principal Boring. His monotonous speeches were legendary, even across town at Wilcott. Joe Jacobs once fell asleep at a basketball game when Principal Boring took twenty minutes to introduce his team. Teammates tried to shake Joe awake but he was snoring soundly. Finally, they threw a glass of water in Joe's face to get him on the court before tip-off.

Principal Boring was just warming up. “I would like to welcome everyone to Whitner Middle School and to the best talent competition in the city. We've got ten acts representing the various schools in the district tonight. The act that receives the loudest cheer will be crowned winner and will go on to compete in the City Championship. Tonight should offer a very respectable evening of music, dancing, camaraderie, and competition. Entertainment is a cornerstone of our society...”

Blah, blah, blah
. Somewhere in the auditorium, Joe Jacobs was probably struggling to keep his eyes open. At long last, Principal Boring finally left the stage. Game on!

First up was a one-man band called Me, Myself and I. Me was a great singer, a good piano player, an average guitarist and a truly awful harmonica player. Next up was Style Over Substance, an all-boy band from Farmington Middle School. They took the stage looking awesome in coordinating green-and-blue track suits. They began with some fierce hip-hop moves. Sludge and I exchanged worried glances. We breathed a sigh of relief when they started to sing. They huffed and puffed into their microphones as they tried to keep up with their dancing. Third up was a group called the Equations singing an ode to their principal.

“I guess every school's gotta have one,” commented Sludge.

Suddenly, the competition started to heat up. Heyward Elementary's entry was a contortionist. She received a loud round of applause for twisting her feet behind her head and turning herself into a human pretzel. Two solid dance crews followed.

A girl and boy who claimed to be plate spinners were next. They appeared on stage with four porcelain dishes and four rods. At first I thought they were going to build a campfire and roast marshmallows. Then the girl took the rods and balanced them in her hands. The boy took one of the plates and tossed it in the air. It landed on the girl's rod, spinning away! They did this three more times until all of the plates were spinning in unison. The crowd clapped appreciatively. The girl threw all four plates up in the air and caught them on the rods. And they were still spinning! I had never seen anything like it before. The crowd clapped louder.

It was almost time for Sick on a Snow Day to take the stage. We huddled together and watched the eighth act. It was a ten-piece band called Peanut Butter and Jam that came complete with a banjo, stand-up bass, saxophone, and bongo drums.

“Where's the triangle?” sniffed Eldrick.

PB and J played only one song—“Crunchy or Smooth
”
—and they sounded tight. Everyone in the audience was on their feet and clapped along. PB and J was our stiffest competition yet. I wanted to give our band a last-minute pep talk but it was impossible to be heard over the deep thump of the bongos.

PB and J wrapped up their performance to a standing ovation. Suddenly, we were about to take centrestage. For the first time, I could feel butterflies in my stomach. I prayed that my sweaty palms wouldn't affect my piano playing. A strange shrieking noise vibrated from the back of the auditorium. We assumed it was feedback from the amplifiers and waited for the sound technician to fix it. But the wailing seemed to get louder. The Z's adjusted their guitars but the noise persisted. I listened more closely. It didn't sound like typical feedback. The shrieking was too…
girly
. I peeked through the curtain and tried to see what was going on. Sure enough, there were Lisa, Sarah, Janine and a gaggle of other Wilcott girls. Decked out in oversized sunglasses, they were pushing their way up to the front of the auditorium. Squinting in the dark, I could see they were holding a banner that read
Olaf's Army
. Their pushing got aggressive as people started to push back. The situation was getting out of hand.

I took a step away from the curtain just as it pulled back and the lights hit us. Sludge quickly counted the beat and we launched into “Detention Blues.” The pushing and shrieking stopped. That's when I saw that Daniela wasn't kidding earlier. It was like she'd just
become
Olaf—and he sounded awesome, though it was hard to hear him during the chorus. Olaf's Army had made its way to the front and were joining in:

The Detention Blues, oh so blue
And he's also grounded, too.

Before I knew it, the song was over. It was time for me to introduce our new song. “This is a new one called ‘Big Elephants Can Always Understand Small Elephants.' We wrote it a few weeks ago.”

Sludge began singing in a falsetto:

I before E, except after C—I just need time to be free!
I before E, except after C—All of this homework leaves no time to be me!

Meena joined in on guitar as Sludge continued the first verse. Then it was Olaf's turn to join. His deep voice provided a contrasting harmony. Soon we were all playing: I was tinkling, Beena was strumming, and Eldrick was chiming. Olaf's Army had recruited every female in the room. They joined in for the chorus:

Big Elephants Can Always Understand Small Elephants. Yeah Yeah Yeah.
Big Elephants Can Always Understand Small Elephants. Yeah Yeah Yeah.

Swivelling my head, I caught a glimpse of Eldrick. He was ratcheting, pinging, and shaking his tambourine with gusto. Though I had vowed never to forgive the tattling blackmailer, it was hard not to give in to the moment and smile at him. Instead, I focused on Olaf. He finished the song by kicking his mike stand to the ground like a true rock star.

The room erupted in cheers. Sludge ran out from behind his drum kit. “We rocked it!” he hollered. “Completely, one-hundred percent
rocked
it!”

It was hard to hear him over the pandemonium. Everyone was on their feet. I had expected all of the cheering to come from female voices. But the hooting and hollering was balanced. The entire audience was cheering.

“I think we're ahead of PB and J,” whispered my cousin Olaf excitedly as we exited stage left. The twins nodded enthusiastically.

“The last act is a comedian,” said Sludge. “How much competition can a dude telling jokes be?”

A very tall girl walked on stage and introduced herself as Helen the Hysterical from Spiller Academy.

“Or a girl,” corrected Sludge.

I was anxious to hear her act. Although we had just slayed the room, nothing could top an audience bent over in helpless laughter. I stood at the wings of the stage and listened intently.

“Why did the tomato turn red?” asked Helen.

I leaned in closely to hear the answer…just as Olaf spun me around and began to go over the finer points of his performance. Stuck listening to him reminiscing about his lower register, I missed why the tomato was so rosy. But I did hear the audience giggling. I managed to shake Olaf by telling him the twins wanted to discuss his scissor-kick technique.

“An emu, three hippos, and a clown walk into a pizzeria,” started Helen.

This sounded like it could be a doozy. Even from behind the curtain, I could see the audience smiling.

“The emu turns to one of the hippos and says—”

“I have a great idea for a new song,” said Sludge, choosing that exact moment to whisper into my ear, “A tune that will totally blow everyone away.”

Sheesh!
While I admired his confidence, I really wanted to hear what the emu had to say.

But Sludge could not be stopped. He blabbered on and on until I missed not only what the emu said but how the hippos replied. It must have been good because the audience quickly cracked up with laughter.

“I'll leave you with this last one,” began Helen.

This time I didn't even get to hear the set up. Eldrick and Sludge decided that now would be the perfect time to go over every instrument an auxiliary percussionist could play.

“Anything you can hit or scrape, basically,” said Eldrick. “Like bells or chimes—”

“Awesome,” responded Sludge.

“—or a marimba, a xylophone, a glockenspiel—”

“Awesomer,” opined Sludge.

“—or a tympani—”

“The most awesomest,” decided Sludge.

I gave up trying to listen to Helen's material. It didn't matter anyway—it was impossible to hear the punch line over the audience's roaring laughter.

“Thank you, you've been great tonight,” said Helen as she exited the stage. The audience was in stitches. The atmosphere was a mix of giggles and grins.

Principal Bording was smiling from ear to ear when he took the stage. “‘It saw the salad dressing!' Classic!” It took him a few moments to stop chortling. But then he cleared his throat and went back to being Principal Boring.

“I would like to give a big thanks to all of our participants tonight.” He insisted on thanking every act individually. Butterflies fluttered around my stomach as he went on and on. “I want to congratulate all of our contestants. Me, Myself and I, thank you for showing us the joys of multi-tasking. Looking good, Style Over Substance. Maybe you can show me a few of your moves later. The Equations, you're my personal favourites. And the plate spinners, you can come and unload my dishwasher anytime...”

I was going to explode if he didn't hurry up! He continued until he had nothing else to say—except what we were all waiting for.

“And the winner of this year's District Donnybrook is...”

Olaf cracked his knuckles.

“Sick on a Snow Day!”

Meena and Beena let out matching screams. Olaf pumped his fist over his head. Sludge threw Eldrick into the air. He had a bit of trouble catching him. We tried to compose ourselves as Principal Bording handed us a silver trophy.

“Whoever wrote ‘Big Elephants Can Always Understand Small Elephants' is a genius. I love political songs. I wasn't sure if it was about the relationship between Canada and the United States or if it was about big-market sports teams versus teams that play in smaller cities. But I loved it, nonetheless.” We tried not to giggle as he hummed the chorus. “Keep writing those deep, meaningful songs and you'll have a real shot at winning the City Championship.”

Olaf raised the trophy above his head. Olaf's Army screamed in delight. The audience was still applauding as we left the stage.

W
e were greeted like rock stars upon our return to school. Everyone wanted to talk to us. Some kids wanted to hang out and talk music while others just wanted to congratulate us.

“Do I know her?” I asked Daniela (now that she
was
Daniela again) and pointed to a short girl with curly hair who had just hugged me.

“Don't think so,” Daniela replied.

“What about that guy?” I asked referring to a tall kid who had just invited me over to his house for dinner.

“No idea who that is,” said my cousin.

The school wanted to hold a little party the next day in honour of the band's victory.