I'm Going to Be Famous by Tom Birdseye Page A

can’t.”
    â€œCan’t?”
    â€œRight, you can’t do it,” I repeat.
    â€œCan’t?”
    Kerry must be having trouble with her bionic ears.
    â€œYes, I can, Arlo, you turkey!”
    She’s not, however, having trouble with her bionic mouth.
    â€œQuiet, Kerry,” I say, looking around to see if people are watching.
    â€œDon’t tell me to be quiet! Don’t tell me I can’t!” She glares at me.
    Everyone is looking over at us. John keeps saying, “ssh, ssh.” Michelle looks embarrassed.
    â€œI can do it, Arlo! Do you hear me?”
    Kerry has gone off the deep end of the bathtub. She hasn’t done this since she was in kindergarten and Mrs. De Witt told her she couldn’t color the giraffe purple. It had to be yellow and brown.
    â€œYes, Kerry,” I say, “everyone in Papa Dietro’s can hear you.”
    â€œI can do it!”
    She’s banging on John and Michelle’s table.
    â€œI’m going to be famous!”
    Their Cokes and pizza are jumping around on the bouncing table like they’re made of rubber.
    â€œI …!”
    Bang, bang. There’s no stopping her now.
    â€œCAN …!”
    Bang, bang. She just has to get this out of her system.
    â€œDO IT!”
    Bang, bang— splash. John and Michelle now have a twelve-inch supreme pizza topped with eight ounces of Coca-Cola and all of the ice from Michelle’s cup.
    And John is mad. “Now see what you’ve done, Arlo!”
    â€œMe?” I ask. “What do you mean, John?”
    â€œYou got her all worked up,” he fumes.
    â€œShe got herself worked up,” I fume back.
    â€œBut you started it. You and all this world-record baloney. You’re both crazy,” he says, pointing at us. Michelle is wiping off the pizza with napkins. “Neither one of you can break a world record.”
    â€œBut John—” I say.
    â€œAnd you’re going to buy me two supreme pizzas when you lose the bet. The second one to replace this soggy thing,” he says, standing up. “C’mon, Michelle. Let’s get out of here. You’ve probably seen enough of my strange family.”
    I beg to be heard. “But John—”
    I wonder if there’s a world record for eating your own words.

CHAPTER 15
    â€œCrows are patient.”
    â€”A RLO M OORE
    Today is Monday, September 12. Room 11 is getting ready for SSR. Mr. Dayton says SSR stands for Sustained Silent Reading. Sustained means we don’t stop reading for twenty minutes. Silent means there is no talking—as in absolutely no talking. And Reading means that that’s what we do—read. We do SSR right after recess. Mr. Dayton says it helps to calm us down and get us used to being back in the classroom.
    I think we should change it to SSE—Sustained Silent Eating—as in quietly eating bananas. I have twelve more days left to train for the big event.
    Speaking of bananas, where is my banana? Oh, no. I left it out on the playground. It’s in my backpack with my Guinness Book of World Records and my leftover tuna sandwich. I must go to the rescue.
    â€œMr. Dayton?”
    â€œYes, Arlo.”
    â€œMay I go out and get my backpack?” I ask. “I left it behind the soccer goal. It has my SSR book in it.”
    â€œOK, Arlo, but be quick about it,” he says, loosening his tie. “We start SSR in two minutes.”
    â€œI will. Thanks, Mr. Dayton.”
    Under my Guinness Book of World Records, I find the remains of my tuna fish sandwich. Partly eaten, it lies near death in the bottom of my backpack. I think I hear it calling to me. In its last dying breath, it begs to be fed to the crows. Anything but the garbage can. I’ll grant my faithful sandwich its last wish. With great ceremony, I lift it from my backpack and place it on the ground.
    â€œPssst … Hey, Arlo.” It’s Ben.
    â€œHuh?”
    â€œThe