Dedication

  To music teachers, musicians,

  and music lovers everywhere

  Thanks to Rachel DiPilla,

  Steve DiPilla, Jane Canter,

  Eric DiVito, and Linda Mirabella

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1.Ridorkulous!

  2.The Petting Zoo

  3.Band Karate

  4.Every Good Burger Deserves Fries

  5.The Greatest Song in the World

  6.Musicians Are Gross

  7.Feeling the Buns

  8.Big Gig

  9.Spelling Counts

  10.One-Woman Band

  About the Author and Illustrator

  Back Ad

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  My name is A.J. and I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that “ridorkulous” isn’t a word. Well, that’s where you’re wrong! Ridorkulous is something that’s ridiculous and makes you look like a dork.

  I ought to know ridorkulous is a word because I invented it! Something totally ridorkulous happened at Ella Mentry School recently. We had just finished pledging the allegiance in Mr. Cooper’s class.

  “Turn to page twenty-three in your math books,” he said.

  Ugh, I hate math.

  That’s when the weirdest thing in the history of the world happened. Our principal, Mr. Klutz, ran into the room. He has no hair at all. When Mr. Klutz gets mad, he can’t tear his hair out because he doesn’t have any.

  He was out of breath and panting. That means he was wearing pants. Mr. Klutz was also wearing binoculars around his neck.

  “Follow me!” he shouted. Then he ran out the door.

  “Not again,” muttered Mr. Cooper.

  We all ran after Mr. Klutz.

  “Maybe it’s a fire drill,” said Andrea, this annoying girl with curly brown hair.

  “Maybe it’s a lockdown,” said Michael, who never ties his shoes.

  “Maybe the aliens have landed,” said Ryan, who will eat anything, even stuff that isn’t food.

  “It must be important if we have to evacuate,” said Alexia, this girl who rides a skateboard all the time.

  “Evacuate?” I said. “I just went to the bathroom.”

  “Evacuate means to leave, dumbhead,” Andrea told me.

  I was going to say something mean to Andrea, but I couldn’t think of anything. I didn’t really care why we had to leave the building. As long as we were getting out of math.

  Mr. Klutz led us to the playground.

  “Look!” he shouted, pointing at the monkey bars.

  And you’ll never believe what we saw out there.

  A goose.

  There were two of them, actually. Two gooses. I mean geese. For more than one goose, you’re supposed to say geese. Nobody knows why. A female goose is called a goose, but a male goose is called a gander, which makes no sense at all. I know stuff like that because I’m in the gifted and talented program.

  So we took a gander at the geese.

  “They’re Canadian geese,” said Mr. Klutz, peering through his binoculars.

  “How do you know?” asked Andrea.

  “He checked their driver’s licenses,” I said. Nobody laughed, even though the idea of a goose driving a car was hilarious.

  “A Canadian goose has a black head and a white mark on its chin,” explained Mr. Klutz.

  “They’re adorable!” said Emily, Andrea’s crybaby friend.

  “What’s that annoying noise?” asked Neil, who we call the nude kid even though he wears clothes.

  Neil was right. The geese were making a horrible honking sound.

  “That’s their mating call,” said Mr. Klutz. “When geese mate, they stay together for the rest of their lives.”

  “Isn’t that romantic?” said Andrea. “The geese are in love!”

  Ugh. Andrea said the L word. Disgusting!

  “Awwwwww,” said all the girls.

  “Ewwwwww,” said all the boys.

  The geese kept honking at each other. It was annoying. I covered my ears to block out the sound.

  “Can we chase them?” I suggested.

  “That’s not nice, Arlo!” said Andrea, who calls me by my real name because she knows I don’t like it. “Animals are our friends. You shouldn’t hurt animals just because you don’t like their mating call. We should cherish all living creatures.”

  Why can’t a truck full of geese fall on Andrea’s head?

  She’s ridorkulous.*

  After a few minutes of staring at the geese, we went back to class.

  “Turn to page twenty-three in your math books,” said Mr. Cooper.

  That’s when an announcement came over the loudspeaker: “MR. COOPER’S CLASS, PLEASE REPORT TO ROOM 303.”

  Yay! No math!

  Mr. Cooper slammed his math book closed.

  “Room 303?” asked Ryan. “What’s room 303?”

  “I never heard of room 303,” said Andrea, Little Miss Know-It-All.

  “Me neither,” said Emily, who’s only heard of stuff that Andrea has heard of.

  We lined up like Pringles and walked a million hundred miles to room 303. A sign over the door said BAND ROOM.

  Oh, yeah! The band room. That’s where they keep musical instruments. We’ve never been in there. Only the upper grades get to play instruments.

  We looked around. The room was filled with drums and trumpets and saxophones and lots of other stuff you hit or blow into. And you’ll never believe who walked into the door at that moment.

  Nobody! It would hurt if you walked into a door. But you’ll never believe who walked into the doorway.

  It was our music teacher, Mr. Loring.* He teaches us how to sing weird songs like “Row, Row, Row Your Boat.” Mr. Loring is boring. He handed out name tags for us to wear.

  “Are you the band teacher too?” asked Andrea.

  “No,” said Mr. Loring. “I’m the band aide.”

  We all giggled because Mr. Loring said he was a Band-Aid.

  “I’m here to introduce you to Mrs. Bacon,” said Mr. Loring. “Before she became the school band teacher, she was a conductor.”

  “She drove trains?” I asked.

  “Not that kind of conductor, dumbhead!” said Andrea.

  I was going to say something mean to Andrea, but I didn’t have the chance because you’ll never believe who poked her head into the door at that moment.

  Nobody! Why would anybody poke her head into a door? Didn’t we just go over that a few paragraphs ago? But you’ll never believe who poked her head into the doorway.

  It was Mrs. Bacon, of course. Who else could it be? Her name is right on the cover of the book!

  Mrs. Bacon was wearing an army uniform and holding a chopstick in her hand. We all clapped, which is what you do whenever somebody gets introduced.

  “Why do you think Mrs. Bacon has a chopstick in her hand?” Michael whispered to me.

  “Maybe she’s going out for Chinese food after this,” I whispered back.

  “Thank you,” said Mrs. Bacon. “I love music. I feel the passion of music in my soul. Playing music can heal the sick. It can end wars. Music can bring people together. It can change the world.”

  “Everybody loves music!” said Andrea. What a brownnoser.

  “That’s right!” said Mrs. Bacon. “Music is the universal language.”

  “Does that mean they have music on other planets of the universe?” I asked.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me!” said Mrs. Bacon.

  “Is there music on Uranus?” I asked.

  Everybody laughed because I said “Uranus.” Any time you want to get your friends to laugh, just mention Uranus. That’s the first rule of being a kid.

  Everybody laughed except Andrea, of course. She just rolled her eyes. Then she started waving her hand around like she was trying to signal a plane from a desert island. Mrs. Bacon called on her.

  “I already know how to play an instrument,” said Andrea. “I take violin lessons after school.”

  “That’s wonderful, Andrea!” said Mrs. Bacon.

  Andrea takes lessons in everything after school. If they gave a class in toenail clipping, she would take that class so she could get better at it.

  “I thought you didn’t approve of violins,” I told Andrea.

  “Not violins, Arlo!” she said. “It’s violence that I don’t like.”

  I know the difference between violins and violence. I was just yanking Andrea’s chain. But those words sound way too much alike.

  “Welcome to my musical petting zoo,” said Mrs. Bacon. “As third graders, you can learn how to play an instrument this year. And when you reach fourth grade, you may get to play in the school orchestra. Isn’t that exciting?”

  “Yes!” shouted all the girls.

  “No!” shouted all the boys.

  School orchestra? They should call it the “dorkestra.”

  Mrs. Bacon showed us a bunch of instruments and talked about each one. Did you know the saxophone was invented by a guy named Adolphe Sax? It’s true! I guess the trumpet was invented by Donald Trump.

  “Go ahead, try the instruments,” said Mrs. Bacon. “That’s why I call it a petting zoo.”

  We picked up instruments and started fooling around with them. Ryan tried a big bass drum. Emily tried a flute. Neil tried something called a glockenspiel. It was weird.

  “Do you know how to play all these instruments, Mrs. Bacon?” a
sked Andrea.

  “Of course,” she replied.

  “No way she can play all the instruments,” I whispered to Michael. “I bet she can’t play any of them.”

  “Yeah, I say Mrs. Bacon is fakin’!” he whispered back.

  “Maybe she isn’t a band teacher at all,” I whispered. “Did you ever think of that? Maybe she kidnapped the real band teacher.”

  “I heard that!” said Mrs. Bacon.

  Uh-oh.

  “Would you like me to prove that I can play these instruments?” she asked.

  “Yes!” we shouted.

  Mrs. Bacon picked up a drum and strapped it to her back. Then she attached a string to her foot so that when she moved it, a mallet hit the drum. Then she wrapped a metal thing around her neck that had a harmonica, a kazoo, and a trumpet sticking out of it, right in front of her face. Then she put a cymbal on top of her head. Then she attached a tambourine to one knee. Finally, she picked up a violin.

  That’s when the weirdest thing in the history of the world happened. Mrs. Bacon played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” using all those instruments at the same time! It was amazing!

  “WOW,” we said, which is “MOM” upside down.

  I guess she can play all those instruments. But Mrs. Bacon is weird.

  We fooled around with the instruments for a long time. We all sounded pretty horrible, except for Andrea of course. Mrs. Bacon told us not to get discouraged. She said it takes hard work and lots of practice to get good. She also told us our parents could rent an instrument for us and then come see us play at a recital.

  “Okay, it’s time to choose your instrument,” Mrs. Bacon announced. “What do you want to play?”

  “Clarinet!” shouted Andrea. “It’s the only instrument here that I don’t already know how to play.”

  “Flute!” shouted Emily. “It will be easy to carry home from school.”

  “Trumpet!” shouted Michael. “Because they play them in the army.”

  “I want to play French horn,” said Ryan, “because I like French fries.”

  “Drums!” shouted Neil. “Banging on stuff is fun.”

  “I want to play trombone,” said Alexia, “because that slide thing is cool.”

  “How about you, A.J.?” asked Mrs. Bacon. “Which instrument do you want to play?”

  “I don’t want to play any instrument.”

  You could have heard a pin drop.

  Well, that is if anybody had pins with them. But why would you bring pins to school?

  Everybody was staring at me. It was like the earth had stopped turning.

  “I beg your pardon?” asked Mrs. Bacon.

  That’s grown-up talk for “What?” Grown-ups are always begging to be pardoned. Nobody knows why.

  “I said I don’t want to play any instrument,” I told her. “I just like to play video games.”

  Mrs. Bacon dropped to the floor like an elephant had just fallen on her head.

  “Noooooooooo!” she screamed.

  She got down on her knees in front of me. Tears were running down her cheeks. Either she’s really emotional, or Mrs. Bacon is fakin’.

  “Anyone can click a button on a video game,” she moaned. “It takes effort to make beautiful music. I think video games are bad for kids.”

  “But they’re fun,” I said.

  “Playing music is fun too,” said Mrs. Bacon. “Won’t you just try an instrument, A.J.? You might become the next Beethoven!”

  “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “Arlo,” said Andrea, “Beethoven was the greatest composer who ever lived!”

  “You might be the next Mozart!” said Mrs. Bacon.*

  “Never heard of her,” I replied.

  “Mozart was a man, dumbhead,” said Andrea.

  “Oh, snap!” said Ryan.

  “What a waste it would be to have musical talent and not use it,” said Mrs. Bacon. “A.J., you might be the next Tchaikovsky, the next Rachmaninoff, the next Shostakovich!”

  She named a bunch of other people with names I couldn’t pronounce.

  “Playing an instrument is boring,” I replied. “I don’t want to spend hours practicing some dumb instrument when I could be playing video games or doing something fun, like going to karate.”

  When I said “karate,” Mrs. Bacon’s eyes lit up.

  Well, not really. It would be dangerous if your eyes lit up. Your whole head might catch on fire!

  “A.J., have you ever heard of band karate?” Mrs. Bacon asked.

  “NO,” I said, which is “ON” backward.

  “In band karate, you earn colored belts as you get better at your instrument,” said Mrs. Bacon.

  “I’m listening,” I said.

  “It’s sort of like regular karate, except you don’t kick or punch anybody,” explained Mrs. Bacon. “As you practice hard and learn new songs, you earn points. You start with a white belt, and then you move on to your yellow, orange, green, blue, purple, brown, and red belt. Finally, if you practice enough, you could earn a black belt.”

  Hmmm. Winning stuff is cool.

  “Oh, I forgot to mention,” said Mrs. Bacon, “while you’re with me in the band room, you may have to miss some of your regular classes.”

  WHAT!?

  “You mean, like math?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Bacon. “Band members may have to miss some math classes.”

  “I’m in!” I shouted.

  “Hooray!” said Mrs. Bacon. She jumped up and high-fived me. Then she gave me a hug.

  Ugh. No hugs! Hugging is gross. It’s almost as bad as kissing, but not quite.

  Most of the instruments had already been taken by the other kids. But on the floor in the corner of the room was a big twisty gold horn.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “That’s a tuba,” said Mrs. Bacon.

  “A tube of what?” I asked.

  “No, dumbhead,” said Andrea. “It’s called a tuba.”

  I was going to say something mean to Andrea, but I decided to pick up the tuba instead. It was really heavy. But it looked cool.

  “How do you play this thing?” I asked.

  “You blow into the mouthpiece,” said Mrs. Bacon.

  I blew into the mouthpiece. It made a funny sound.

  “Dude,” said Ryan, “that sounds like an elephant farted.”

  Everybody laughed. Making elephant fart noises is cool.

  “That’s good enough for me,” I said. “I’ll play the tuba.”

  Maybe playing an instrument wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  We only meet with Mrs. Bacon once a week. The next Thursday, before going into school, I went out to the playground to see if the geese were still there. Not only were they still there, but now there were four of them. They were squawking and honking at each other. I guess this is their mating season.

  The bell rang, and I made it to Mr. Cooper’s class just in time to pledge the allegiance.

  “Turn to page twenty-three in your math books,” said Mr. Cooper.

  “Sorry,” I told him. “We have to go to room 303.”

  We all got up and went to room 303.

  “We get our instruments today!” Neil said when we got there. “I can’t wait to get my drum.”

  “I’m so excited!” Andrea said.

  “Me too!” said Emily, who’s always excited when Andrea is excited.

  Mrs. Bacon was waiting for us at the door.*

  “Oh, you’re not ready to play instruments yet,” she told us. “Today, we’re going to learn how to read music.”

  What?! I hate reading. Reading is boring. I don’t even know why you’re reading this book.

  “I already know how to read music,” said Andrea, who loves letting everybody know that she knows stuff nobody else knows. “I’ve been playing violin for three years.”

  “Don’t you get tired?” I asked.

  Mrs. Bacon went to the board and drew five lines and a funny-looking squiggle.

  “Each line represents a different musical note,” she told us. “E, G, B, D, and F. They’re easy to remember. Just think of Every Good Burger Deserves Fries. Or Elvis’s Guitar Broke Down Friday. Or Empty Garbage Before Dad Flips. Or . . .”

  She went on like that for a while.

  “Each space represents a different note too,” continued Mrs. Bacon. “F, A, C, and E. Just think of the word ‘face.’”

  I didn’t get it. One of the lines was the note F and one of the spaces was also the note F. How can there be two Fs? This was starting to get confusing. Then Mrs. Bacon drew five more lines below the first five lines, and another funny-looking squiggle.