Regular Guy by Sarah Weeks

kill him.”
    â€œHuh?” said Buzz. “He wasn’t eating any tuna fish when I was there, just lying on the couch watching your mom wave the soupspoon back and forth in front of his face. But your mom did say something about a cake in the oven and some little celebration she’s planning.”
    â€œShe’s probably going to immortalize her new son in frosting,” I said.
    â€œWell, just be glad she’s not doing it to you. I think your days on top of the cake are numbered, judging by what I saw tonight,” said Buzz.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œThey looked like one big happy family to me. A matched set. Bob-o all slicked back like a Wuckums-clone and your mom all excited about being reunited with her long-lost little geeky boy.”
    â€œDo you really think they know the truth?” I asked.
    â€œWell, if they don’t already, it’s only a matter of time until they do. Boy, this is going just the way you wanted it to, isn’t it?” Buzz said excitedly. “Bob-o’s fitting right in at the loony bin, and you’re the newestnumber-one-son over there on normal street, right?”
    â€œRight,” I said, but deep inside me something was beginning to feel terribly wrong.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN
    S aturday was one of the longest days of my life. The Smiths’ house was as quiet as a tomb all morning. Mr. and Mrs. Smith sat on the couch next to each other reading magazines for hours. Mrs. Smith licked her fingertip each time before she turned the page, and Mr. Smith cleared his throat about a million times. I had begun to think that they weren’t really all that normal. As far as I’m concerned normal people talk to each other, laugh once in a while, and do stuff other than read and sit around clearing their throats.
    After breakfast I dragged the volcano out of the basement, took it out in the backyard, and followed the directions for how to eruptit. What you do is pour baking soda, vinegar, and a little red food coloring down the tube in the middle of the mountain, and it bubbles out of the hole and down the sides. I did it a few times, but it wasn’t all that exciting and the smell gave me a splitting headache, so I knocked it off and sat on the steps watching ants. I kept wishing Buzz would call and fill me in on what was happening at my house.
    Finally, while we were eating lunch, Buzz called and told me to see if I could borrow Bob-o’s bike and meet him over at my house. He said it was urgent. I wolfed down the rest of my sandwich and asked if it was okay to go for a ride on Bob-o’s bike. Neither one of them seemed to care, so I went out to the garage, pulled Bob-o’s bike out from behind the lawnmower, and rode as fast as I could toward home.
    Buzz was waiting for me on my corner. He looked very serious.
    â€œWe’d better leave our bikes here and gothe rest of the way on foot,” he said.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” I asked.
    â€œWell, I was over at your house earlier today and I saw something I think you better see.”
    â€œWhat is it?” I asked.
    â€œFollow me,” Buzz said, and his tone of voice made me nervous.
    We hid our bikes behind some shrubs and walked through a couple of the neighbors’ backyards to get to mine. Then we snuck around the side of the house so we could peek in the living-room window. The lilac bush in front of the window was thick and loaded with big purple flowers. We pushed our way into it, hoping no one would hear the racket as the branches thwapped against the side of the house.
    Bob-o was lying on his back on the couch. His face was completely green, his hands were tied in plastic bags, and he wasn’t moving.
    â€œHe looks dead,” I said.
    â€œNo kidding,” whispered Buzz. “He hasn’tmoved since the last time I was here, and that was hours ago.”
    Just then my parents walked into the room. My mother bent over Bob-o and