How to win a slime war, p.4
How to Win a Slime War, page 4
He walks with his hands in his pockets and so, so smoothly, like he’s on wheels. He glides over to our table. Kids part to make an opening.
Now that’s a grand entrance.
“I have been observing you all, and we could have settled this negotiation much sooner. However, I am happy to step in.”
He looked more impressive from farther away. Up close he’s got zits and is shorter than I am—but he oozes confidence. The crowd’s mesmerized. He could be selling snake oil and I don’t think anyone would care.
“You. New Kid,” he says.
I wish they’d stop calling me that—I’ve got a name. “It’s Alex Manalo.”
“Okay, Felix.” Great. Someone else who can’t get my name right. He’s still looking right at me. “Do you know and accept the legend of the slime?”
Logan whispers: “That’s Melvin Moore and he makes the rules. Eighth grader.” I nod.
“No, what is it?” I say to Melvin.
“Listen closely and I shall explain, Felix Slimanalo.” Melvin steps onto a bench, cracks his knuckles, and clears his throat.
“Legend has it that many years ago, before the age of online enslimemenment, there existed two sixth-grade slimers at Golden Valley Middle School in the Central Valley of California, who separately decided to make and sell slime. They followed their passion and they followed it well.
“However, what they did not expect was that their individual sliming efforts would cause a great divide at this very school. Sixth graders were torn between the two camps. Allegiances were made. Tears were shed. Slime was spilled.” The crowd gasps. Spilled slime is tragic. They must know the story, but Melvin smiles and continues.
“And so it came to pass that the first Slime War would begin. It was decided that the two slimers would battle, and the winner would take territory, which meant controlling all sliming activity here, on our beloved school grounds, for the remainder of their middle school years.
“And that winner, my friends…was Slime Time Soraya.”
The crowd gasps again. Whispers bounce around as kids glance at each other—me included. Everyone has heard of Slime Time Soraya, a true legend who went on to fame and fortune because of her innovative and expert sliming techniques. I had no idea she went here. So cool.
Melvin Moore continues: “You heard me right, my friends—Queen Slime Time Soraya, the first kid ever to create her own onslime channel, which would eventually amass billions of views and followers, get multiple worldwide sponsorships, and be mentioned at every Slime War across this great universe!
“Nevertheless, as fads often go, sliming at Golden Valley Middle School died down as other trends arose: fidget spinners, bottle flipping, and the nonsensical activity of box opening. There has not been a Slime War since the time of Soraya, although legend reveals that if our fine school were ever again to be divided by slime, a new war should take place. Legend also has it that whoever wins the next Slime War will inherit the Slime Time Soraya Spell of Good Fortune: massive riches and becoming leader of their own slime empire.”
He steps down and walks in between everyone.
“It starts here. At Golden Valley. With the Slime War. We shall carry on this legend!”
Melvin Moore stands between me and Meadow and yanks our arms high—kids cheer.
“I hereby declare a Slime War!”
He finishes with a bow, bending low at the knees and flourishing his arms.
Kristina B. steps in front of Meadow, and Logan steps in front of me. Kristina B. says, “On behalf of Meadow MacPhearson, we accept the legend of the Slime War.”
Logan steps in front of me. “On behalf of Alex Manalo, we accept the legend of the Slime War.”
Logan and Kristina B. shake.
“Wait a second!” I blurt out, but it’s too late, their hands are gripped. Kids around us nod their heads like it’s a done deal—even though I’m not sure what any of this means.
“Slimers, shake,” Melvin says. Meadow shoves out her greasy hand. She probably doesn’t even wash or use sanitizer after sliming the way a good slimer should.
I stare at her palm. Everyone’s waiting.
Meadow taps her foot like it’s a windup toy. “You scared of a little goo?”
I look around, give my new schoolmates a smile, then stare Meadow right in the face.
I jut out my palm.
She grabs it and tightens her grip, her knuckles whitening, like she’ll squeeze my hand off. Her lips move into a straight line as tight as a string. If I pulled it, she’d explode.
The bell rings, Meadow drops my hand, and everyone scatters. Only Logan and me are left.
“What just happened?” I ask.
“Dude, that was incredible. Our grade needs you for this. Meadow’s been bullying everyone so she can be the only person to sell slime at school. Meadow—and kids like her—they already have everything, it’s not fair.”
“So she’s got the monopoly?” I say. He looks at me funny. “You know, when only one person is the supplier.”
“First Mrs. Graham’s questions and now this?” Logan says.
“I took business lessons.”
“Good. Then I know for sure you can help us. If you win, it means we’re out of her control—no more Meadow’s Monopoly. We’ll set up our business, sell every day, and everyone will know us.”
“You’re right. We won’t be the little guys,” I say, remembering how Raj and I felt last year. “Because we’ll represent them.”
“We’ll be the heroes,” he says.
We smile at each other.
“Whip up more slime and bring it tomorrow for our first day of sales,” Logan tells me. “I’ll do the rest.”
Trevor, Rudy, and those boys from earlier saunter by and snicker. “You guys don’t stand a chance,” Rudy says. Trevor laughs and gives his friend a fist bump.
Logan turns to me and I shake my head. “Let’s prove them wrong.”
I’m so in.
2 cups of cornstarch
1 cup of hair conditioner in your favorite scent
5 drops of food coloring
It’s happening! My own business!
Let’s. Go.
I have so many ideas that if I don’t get them out this second I’ll lose them.
I bolt into the store, yelling, “Hi, Dad! Bye, Dad!” as I rush past to the back kitchen. I’ve got a secret stash of ingredients for whenever I get bored. I pull them out, measure everything into a silver bowl, mix quickly, and add drops of water until it’s the right amount of fluff.
This batch needs to feel like a cloud.
I squish the slime on a tray. This kind will be a crowd-pleaser—it’s smooth like ocean rocks. I’m going to make all types.
The rules for the Slime War are simple:
Each team has one week to sell.
Both teams will charge the same price.
Sell as much as we can.
Winner sells most.
Don’t get caught.
Meadow and I and our teams will sell through next Monday, exactly a week from now. Then Melvin Moore, as the neutral party, will total our profits and announce the winner. If my slime wins, Logan and I take the school back.
I finish up my batch and wash my hands. Out in the storeroom, two girls wander the candy aisle, showing each other packages and saying things like Oh yum, this one’s my favorite! One of the girls, wearing overalls with a strap hanging down her back, carries a shopping basket loaded with all the seriously good stuff. Her friend goes over to the rice wall and slaps the bags.
They both watch me, then whisper to each other. I’ve never seen these girls before, but they keep looking over.
“Umm…hi?” I finally say.
They walk up to me. “You’re Alex,” says the girl in the overalls. “I’m Kristina T.” She points to her friend. “This is Robin.”
Now they’re both staring. The other girl looks me up and down. She shakes her head and says to her friend, “I don’t know. A lot of people have tried. How can he do it?”
“Standing right here,” I say, with a little wave.
“I tried to sell slime against Meadow once, but I totally failed.” Robin nods. “She’s got a lot of good tricks, you know,” Kristina T. says.
“Tricks?” I say.
Both girls eye me now. “I don’t know if you’ve got the sliming touch,” says Robin.
Dad’s in the corner unboxing some new inventory, and I don’t want him to hear. He can’t know about this yet, not until the perfect moment. He’ll think the Slime War is a waste of time.
“We’ll just have to see, right?” I say.
“Come on, let’s go pay,” Kristina T. says. They go to the front and dump their loot on the counter—different-flavored jellies; long, thin cookie sticks half covered in chocolate; and chewy bites of bean-filled mochi balls—and Dad rings them up with a friendly smile.
“I love these jellies,” Robin says. “This is the only place right by school where we can find them.” She grabs one—a little plastic cup the size of her thumb—peels off the paper top, slurps it up, and licks her lips. Lychee-flavored. These girls have good taste.
I help Dad put everything into a bag and hand it to them.
“Enjoy, kiddos,” he says, but they stand there, waiting. “Yes? You need something else?”
“The old owner used to give us those candies where you can eat the wrapper,” Kristina T. says.
“For free,” Robin says.
I take out the box. They grab a couple and leave.
“Good to see you meeting people already,” Dad says. “Since you’re on your bike, you want to head home now? I’ll be leaving in a couple minutes.” I nod.
I can’t believe those kids know my name. My mouth turns up. Everyone at school will know who I am once I show them how to win a Slime War.
I make it home as Auntie Gina and my cousin Nick pull into their driveway. Their family lives next door—another reason Dad wanted to move back was so I could have my cousins around. Nick’s in high school, tenth grade, and his brother, Sammy, is a junior.
Auntie pops the trunk and takes out brown grocery bags.
“Hey, sweetie,” she says. “Thought I’d help you bachelors out. I know your dad hasn’t had time to do much of this lately. Can you help me carry everything in, please?” I grab some bags, she gives me a kiss on the forehead, and we cross the lawn to my grandparents’ house.
“How was the clinic today?” I ask, pushing the door open. We step inside.
“Busy, busy, busy!” she says.
Auntie Gina is my dad’s sister, and she does a ton for our whole family. Right now she’s helping us organize all of Lolo and Lola’s store files as we get ready to remodel.
Auntie’s married to Uncle Benny, and they own a physical therapy clinic—Uncle’s a physical therapist and Auntie runs everything and grows their business. She went to business school like Dad, and like I probably will one day. Their clinic treats all kinds of patients, even famous hockey players from the Sactown Slick Sticks. At the clinic’s tenth-anniversary party, Auntie Gina made two announcements: First, they’d had their most successful year ever. Second, the Slick Sticks had decided to use them as their official PT clinic. Coloma Physical Therapy was named one of the top local businesses in the state.
Lola shrieked, everyone laughed, and Uncle Benny turned to me and said: “See, Alex? We’re just as important to hockey players as dentists are.” Then he grinned—with a piece of spinach he stuck on his tooth to make it look missing. I couldn’t stop laughing. It’s what eventually gave me my idea for personalized mouth guards. Inspiration can spark from anywhere and everywhere.
Auntie, Nick, and I unload groceries in the kitchen. When we’re done, Nick says to me, “Let’s go shoot some hoops.”
“Nah, I’m good.”
He throws me a ball the way Dad does—hard and without warning. What’s with that? I shield my face instead of trying to catch it.
“No you’re not,” he says. “C’mon.”
“Fine.”
Nick loves soccer as much as Dad, but he loves knitting, too. His brother, Sammy, used to make fun of him for it—until he knit a funny red-and-green Santa sweater for their Chihuahua, Choop, and now he’s always asking Nick to make more. Choop has a sweater for every holiday, including a menacing Darth Vader one he wears every fourth of May so we can all say: “May the Fourth Be with You!”
We head for the cul-de-sac, where the same hoop has stood since Dad was a kid.
Nick aims and shoots. The ball bounces off the rim and doesn’t make it in.
Nick and Sammy are both star athletes and straight-A students—the way Dad was at their age—and every bit hulked and bulked like they could knock scrawny me down with a light tap on my shoulder. But they treat me like a brother, always have.
I’m thinking of telling Nick about the Slime War when Dad pulls into our driveway and gets out.
“Hey, Uncle!” Nick shouts. “Guess what? I made varsity soccer!”
Dad’s eyes light up. “What? As a sophomore? Amazing, Nick!”
My cousins make my life easier because they can be the sports sons Dad’s always wanted. Most of the time it doesn’t bother me since it gets him off my case, except when he starts going on and on about what solid players they are.
Nick fetches the ball and passes it my way. “Your turn.”
I dribble once, twice, three times and shoot. It hits the rim, too, and bounces over to Dad.
“Gotta work on your aim, son,” he says. He throws the ball and it swooshes in, barely making a sound. “See? Easy.”
Nick’s eyes meet mine. He knows how Dad gets sometimes.
“Hey, boys, dinner soon,” Auntie bellows from the doorway. “Pizza night!”
“Be right there,” Nick says. He’s still looking at me, like he feels bad—until he slaps my shoulder and shouts, “Race you!”—and we both make it to the door. I touch the handle seconds before he does and we bust up. He probably let me win, he always does, but I never care because we always have a blast when we’re hanging out. I’d play soccer with Dad if it could feel the same way.
Nick and I set the table and I hear the happy jumble of Sammy and Uncle Benny coming in. Auntie Gina gives Uncle Benny a kiss on the cheek. Sammy, in his red-and-gold varsity letterman jacket with a huge gvhs across the back, plows into the kitchen. The fridge and cupboard doors slam open and closed. He plays football, has already been scouted for college, and is always hungry.
My grandparents’ house is my cousins’ second home, and I wonder how much they’ll hang out here since it’s only me and Dad for now. It does feel a little strange without Lolo and Lola, even though it still looks like an old Filipino person’s house with the remote control covered in plastic and a giant bamboo fork and spoon hanging on the dining room wall. When they get back from their trip, Dad and I will find our own place somewhere nearby so we can all stay close.
Sammy walks in eating leftovers from a glass container. “Don’t even think about filling up, we’re about to eat!” Auntie says, and he marches back into the kitchen. Auntie’s tiny compared to her sons, but they always listen to her.
When Sammy comes back out he pulls me into a headlock and says in a baby voice: “How was your first day of middle school, you sweet wittle boy?” He gives me a noogie, then tries to give me a wet willy, and I crack up.
“How was your hair’s first day?” I say. Sammy puts all kinds of goop in his spiky do to make it stick straight up—he thinks that impresses girls. One time, Nick replaced Sammy’s hair gel with my slime and he got so mad.
“Dinner!” Auntie says, and everyone takes seats, opens pizza boxes, and passes around a bowl of Caesar salad.
“It’s my no-carbs week, Mom,” Sammy says. “I’m training.”
“Live a little, my love, okay?” Auntie smiles at him and it’s the permission he needs to pile like a thousand slices onto his plate.
“How’s everyone’s first week so far, crew?” Dad asks. My cousins launch into their sports lives and Dad’s grin practically sparkles. “Still can’t believe you made varsity soccer, Nick.”
“Couldn’t have done it without your extra coaching, Uncle,” Nick says.
Dad’s missed my school events but never their sports ones. We used to make the two-hour drive every weekend just to watch Nick’s soccer matches. I like cheering for my cousins and watching them play, but sometimes it made me jealous.
“Well, you know that’s the main reason we wanted your uncle and Alex to move back—free coaching, right?” Uncle Benny laughs.
And now Dad and Uncle Benny and my cousins can’t stop—it’s like a bottle of shaken seltzer was unscrewed, because everything sports and high school gushes out. Dad in his frozen grin asks so many questions.
I help myself to more salad.
“How about you, Alex?” says Uncle Benny. “What sports are you planning on this year? I remember your cousins tried everything when they were your age.”
I pause while I figure out what to say.
“He’s thinking about soccer,” says Dad.
I shake my head. “I don’t know yet…”
“Convince him, everyone. Alex would have fun,” Dad says, still cheerful from talking with Nick. He says that, but he just wants another trophy for the Shrine. Does he even care about what I want?
I straighten in my chair. “Dad…I was thinking about it and…I’m not really sure if that’s my sport…”
