Mr. Marty Loves a Party! Page 3
“The ants are my friends, blowin’ in the wind . . .”
Oh no, not that song! Why would anybody make friends with ants?
My dad grabbed Mr. Marty.
“When is your pizza guy going to get here?” Dad demanded. “The guests are complaining that they’re starving.”
“Hmmmm,” Mini-Marty said as Mr. Marty scrolled through the emails on his smartphone. “It looks like I made another tiny mistake. I may have forgotten to contact the pizza guy.”
“WHAT?!” my dad shouted. “You emailed all these other people, but you forgot to order the pizza?”
My dad slammed the gate shut. His face was all red. It looked like he was going to explode. My mom came running over and put her arm around him.
“Calm down, honey,” she said. “It will be okay. Everybody seems to be having a good time. That’s the important thing, right?”
“I will not calm down!” Dad said, turning to Mr. Marty. “I thought you were the number one party planner in town! I thought you were going to handle everything! You said we didn’t have to do anything. That’s what you told us. Remember?”
“Hey, it’s not my fault,” said Mini-Marty. “I’m just a puppet.”
“What is your problem?” my dad shouted at Mr. Marty. “Normal people don’t talk through puppets all the time!”
“I’m terribly sorry about the party,” explained Mr. Marty. “It was a mistake. This has never happened before. What can I say? I told you I was sorry!”
“You’re sorry? Well, I’m sorry, too!” shouted my dad. “I’m sorry that we don’t have any food for our guests. I’m sorry that my backyard is filled with a bunch of nutjobs and I’m going to have to pay them all. I’m sorry that the only entertainer I hired has been in the bathroom for the whole party. I’m sorry that you ruined my son’s birthday! This is the last straw!”*
That’s when the coolest thing in the history of the world happened. My dad ripped the Mini-Marty puppet off Mr. Marty’s hand and threw it over the fence!
(The puppet, that is. It would have been weird if he threw Mr. Marty’s hand over the fence.)
I looked at Mr. Marty. Mr. Marty looked at my mom. My mom looked at my dad. My dad looked at me. I looked at Mr. Marty. We were all looking at each other.
I thought Mr. Marty might start crying because he lost his Mini-Marty sock puppet. But he didn’t have the chance because there was another knock at the gate.
“Oh no!” my dad hollered. “What now?”
He yanked open the gate so hard, I thought he might rip it off the hinges. A lady was standing there. She was wearing an apron and holding a spatula.
“Cheerio!” she said in a happy British accent. “I’m Miss Maggie from the Great British Cook-Off School. Is this a party for a young gentleman named A.J.?”
“GET OUT!” my dad screamed at her.
“Well, I never!” Miss Maggie said, backing away from the gate. “You are a rather rude man! I wouldn’t want to attend this party anyway. Hmmmfff!”
She turned on her heel and was about to leave when my mom came running over.
“Miss Maggie! Miss Maggie!” she shouted. “Did you say you’re with a cooking school?”
“Yes,” Miss Maggie replied. “I was going to make pizzas with the children, but this mean man—”
“Come on in!” shouted my mom, pulling Miss Maggie into the backyard.
We brought in Miss Maggie’s supplies and set up a make-your-own-pizza station on the porch near the kitchen. Miss Maggie had like a million hundred toppings, and we could put whatever we wanted on our pizzas. She had enough for everybody. It was awesome.
Mr. Marty couldn’t stop saying “thank you” to Miss Maggie. She saved the party.
We were all eating our pizzas when there was another knock on the gate.
“Who in the blazes would be showing up now?” Mr. Marty asked. His hair and clothes were all messed up. It looked like he’d been through a war.
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it was the pizza guy. It would be funny if the pizza guy finally showed up after we already ate our pizzas.
But it wasn’t the pizza guy. So nah-nah-nah boo-boo on you!
Dad went over and opened the gate. A truck driver was standing there. The truck behind him in the driveway looked like one of those giant cement mixers.
“What do you want?” my dad asked angrily.
“Did somebody here order a truck full of M&M’s?” asked the driver.
“Yes!” I shouted.
“This is the place, fellas!” hollered the truck driver. “Back it up!”
Then he unloaded about a million hundred tons of M&M’s.
This was the greatest birthday party in the history of birthday parties.
Everybody was having a great time bouncing on the bouncy castle, sword fighting, painting pottery, doing gymnastics, learning how to speak French, and stuffing their faces with M&M’s. That’s when I heard somebody start to sing “Happy Birthday.” I looked over and saw my parents coming out of the kitchen with a birthday cake. It was huge, and there were nine candles stuck in it.
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday to you.
Happy birthday, dear A.J.
Happy birthday to you.
“Make a wish, sweetie!” shouted my mom.
Hmmmm, a wish. Choosing a wish is hard. There were so many things I could wish for. I tried to think. If I could have anything in the world, what would I want?
I could wish that school would be declared illegal. That would be a good wish. I could wish for a new football. I could wish for a million hundred dollars so I could buy anything in the world. I could wish for more wishes, of course.
I was faced with the hardest decision of my life. I was concentrating so hard that my brain hurt.
“Just one wish, A.J!” shouted my dad. Everybody laughed.
“Yeah, save a few wishes for next year,” shouted my grandma.
Hmmmm. I could wish for a new skateboard. I could wish for a new video game. I could wish for Andrea to have a truck full of elephants fall on her head.
Nah, I decided to wish for school to be declared illegal. That would make me the happiest.
I took a deep breath and blew out all nine candles on the cake. That’s when the weirdest thing in the history of the world happened.*
I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that when I blew out the candles, something caught on fire. You’re thinking that set off a whole chain of events that ended with everybody running around yelling and screaming and hooting and hollering and freaking out.
Well, you’re wrong! You think you know so much? That’s not at all what happened. So nah-nah-nah boo-boo on you. Here’s what really happened . . .
I blew out all nine candles on my birthday cake, and everybody cheered. My mom cut the cake and started passing out pieces.
Everybody was having such a good time that they didn’t want to leave. So they kept on jumping on the trampoline, painting pottery, singing songs, blowing bubbles, and getting their faces painted. The backyard was still crowded with people.
My grandmother was doing Zumba, whatever that is, and she must have tripped or something. She bumped into Ranger Rick from the Wildlife Conservation Center. That startled one of his birds of prey, which flew around crazily.
The bird smashed into the guy from the Fencing Academy, who fell down.
As he was falling, his sword went flying out of his hand. It landed right in the middle of the giant inflatable bouncy castle, poking a hole in it.
Psssssssssssss . . .
Air was escaping from the giant inflatable bouncy castle! It started to collapse!
Mrs. Wizard ran over with some duct tape to patch the hole in the giant inflatable bouncy castle. But on the way over, she bumped into the paint-your-own-pottery table.
All the pottery went flying! Some of the pieces hit Buffo the Clown. He thought Giggles the Clown was throwing pottery at him, and he became furious. T
he two of them started fighting again.
They knocked over DJ Jazzy Jim’s speaker system. It landed on the Amazing Tortolini. He started crying.
Miss Tumbles and Drusty Rhodes ran over to help the Amazing Tortolini. Everybody else started running around yelling and screaming and hooting and hollering and freaking out.
“Run for your lives!” shouted Neil the nude kid.
You should have been there! I saw it with my own eyes!
Well, it would be pretty hard to see something with somebody else’s eyes.
“Great party, A.J.!” Ryan said as we sat on the steps and ate birthday cake while we watched everybody going crazy.
“Best party ever,” said Michael.
In the middle of all this, there was a knock on the gate.
“Who could that be?” asked my dad as he opened the gate.
There was a policeman standing there. He looked pretty mad. Mr. Marty came running over.
“My name is Officer Luke,” the policeman said, flashing his badge.
“There must be some mistake,” said Mr. Marty. “I didn’t hire a guy dressed up as a policeman.”
“I’m not dressed up as a policeman,” said Officer Luke. “I am a policeman. There have been complaints from your neighbor Mr. Kidd about the noise. This party is disturbing the peace. Who’s in charge here?”
I looked at my dad. My dad looked at my mom. My mom looked at Mr. Marty. Mr. Marty looked at Officer Luke. Everybody was looking at everybody else. Nobody was stepping forward to admit they were in charge.
I thought my dad was gonna die. After everything else that happened, now he might get arrested. He might have to go to jail for disturbing the peace!
“I . . . CAN’T . . . HEAR . . . YOU!” said Officer Luke. “I said who’s in charge here?”
That’s when the weirdest thing in the history of the world happened.
“I am!” somebody hollered. “I’m in charge!”
We all turned around. And you’ll never believe in a million hundred years who came out of the house.
It was Darth Vader!
“Gasp!” everybody gasped as Darth Vader walked across the backyard, just like he does in the movies. Everybody stepped aside to let him through. It was cool.
“You’re in charge?” asked Officer Luke, the policeman.
“That’s right,” said Darth Vader. “What’s the problem?”
“This party is out of control,” said the officer. “You’re under arrest for disturbing the peace.”
“You can’t arrest me,” said Darth Vader.
“Oh, yeah? Why not?”
Darth Vader paused for a ridiculously long time.
“Luke,” he finally said. “I am . . . your father.”
“Very funny,” said Officer Luke.
That’s when the weirdest thing in the history of the world happened. Darth Vader took off his Darth Vader helmet.
“Dad!” shouted Officer Luke. “You never told me you dressed up as Darth Vader! I thought you were a real estate salesman.”
“I do this in my spare time,” said Darth Vader. “That’s how I was able to earn enough money to put you through the police academy.”
Then Officer Luke and his dad hugged, and everybody clapped. My mom started crying.
Well, that’s pretty much what happened. Mr. Marty thanked everybody for coming to the party and apologized for emailing all of his clients by accident. We gave Officer Luke a piece of cake to show our appreciation, and Miss Donna offered to give him a free Zumba lesson, whatever that is.
After everybody went home, I opened my presents. Ryan got me a new football. Michael got me a new skateboard. Neil got me a new video game. I got lots of other cool stuff too.
I also got some lame presents, like clothes. Why would anybody give clothes as a birthday present? You can’t do anything with them except wear them. I had to pretend I liked all the presents, because that’s the first rule of getting presents. It was kind of a drag writing all those thank-you notes to everybody. But all in all, I have to say it was the greatest day in my life.
Maybe the pizza guy will finally show up. Maybe Mr. Marty will get his Mini-Marty hand puppet back. Maybe Darth Vader will put more bran in his diet. Maybe I’ll eat the whole truck full of M&M’s. Maybe school will be declared illegal. Maybe my grandma will become a Zumba instructor. Maybe I’ll be able to talk my parents into hiring Mr. Marty again for my birthday party next year.
But it won’t be easy!*
About the Author and Illustrator
Courtesy of Dan Gutman and Jim Paillot
DAN GUTMAN has written many weird books for kids. He lives with his weird wife in New York (a very weird place). You can visit him on his weird website at www.dangutman.com.
JIM PAILLOT lives in Arizona (another weird place) with his weird wife and two weird children. Isn’t that weird? You can visit him on his weird website at www.jimpaillot.com.
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Copyright
MY WEIRDER-EST SCHOOL #5: MR. MARTY LOVES A PARTY! Text copyright © 2020 by Dan Gutman. Illustrations copyright © 2020 by Jim Paillot. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.harpercollinschildrens.com
Cover art © 2020 by Jim Paillot
* * *
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019956230
Digital Edition JUNE 2020 ISBN: 978-0-06-269115-6
Version 06112020
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-269113-2 (pbk bdg.) — ISBN 978-0-06-269114-9 (library bdg.)
* * *
2021222324PC/BRR10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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* Well, if it’s not an object, what is it?
* Isn’t that a place at a gas station that sells stuff?
* I guess it’s illegal to use a pad that’s not yellow.
* Ha! And you thought there would be no toilet jokes in this book.
* Send your complaints to www.getasenseofhumor.transplant.
* Don’t you wish you had a birthday party like this one?
* What did straws have to do with anything? And why are people always running out of them?
* Pretty short chapter, huh? If your parents say you have to read a chapter in a book every night, read this one.
* Hey, the book is finished. Why are you still hanging around? Go read something else.