Oggie Cooder Page 8

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Donnica shouted as she pushed her way through the crowd. “I told you not to let them see you. You’ve ruined all our hard work. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you want to go to Hollywood? Don’t you want to be the most famous fourth grader in the world? What is your problem, Oggie Cooder? DON’T YOU WANT TO WIN?”

  Oggie felt a monster stomach cramp beginning to rise up inside of him.

  The crowd grew silent as they waited for him to respond. And in the quiet, Oggie finally found the answer to the question Donnica had asked him so many times.

  “No, Donnica,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want to win. You do.”

  Donnica’s eyes were ablaze.

  “That’s right,” she snarled through gritted teeth. “And we made a deal, Oggie Cooder. I’m your manager, and I say that we are going to Hollywood together whether you like it or not. Now pick up your hair and get moving.”

  Oggie didn’t move.

  “I said, PICK UP YOUR HAIR,” Donnica commanded, pointing at the red wig lying on the sidewalk.

  Oggie took a deep breath.

  “First of all,” he said, “that is not my hair. And second of all, I don’t want to charve Mount Rushmore. And third of all, that bald rat over there is not my dog. And fourth of all, these are definitely not my pants.”

  Oggie stopped to catch his breath.

  “Are you finished?” snapped Donnica.

  “Not quite,” Oggie told her. And that’s when Mr. Snolinovsky’s words came back to him. Not the ones about how important it was to be yourself — he’d figured that part out when his own dog hadn’t been able to recognize him. It was the other thing he’d said that Oggie felt was just right for this occasion. “Fifth of all,” he said to Donnica, “I’ve had enough of this Hollywood hoo-ha.”

  As the reporters scribbled notes for their final Oggie Cooder stories, Turk barked happily, then grabbed his tennis ball.

  For the first time in days, Oggie’s stomach didn’t ache. He actually felt happy, from the top of his head right down to the tips of his crocheted shoelaces.

  “Come on, boy,” Oggie said to Turk. “Let’s go home.”

  After saying good-bye to Hidden Talents, Oggie Cooder’s life went back to normal … even if it was a different kind of normal than before. Everybody in town knew who he was now, but nobody wanted to write newspaper articles about him anymore. Sales of American cheese slices leveled off, and kids went back to wearing regular shoelaces. David Korben and his buddies were shocked at first when they heard that Oggie had given up a chance to be on TV. But they decided it was pretty cool the way he’d stood up to Donnica Perfecto, and Oggie was invited to become a regular player at their after-school basketball games.

  Dawn Perchy and Hannah Hummerman eventually forgave Donnica for what she’d done. They went back to eating lunch together at the table by the window, although Dawn and Hannah absolutely refused to finish her words for her anymore. And as for Donnica Perfecto, she held tight to her grudge against Oggie Cooder, vowing that someday she would get him back for ruining her plans to go to Hollywood. Especially when, in a rare showing of parental backbone, Mrs. Perfecto handed her daughter a spatula and insisted that she scrape the cheese off her ceiling.

  Oggie was as happy as a clam. The only thing he regretted about deciding not to go on Hidden Talents was that he had planned to give the ten thousand dollars to his parents to pay for new pipes. The cost of the pipes became less of an issue, though, when a collector who’d read about the Cooders’ store in one of the many newspaper articles written about Oggie stopped in and bought that old Howdy Doody hat for a very large sum of money.

  Mr. Snolinovsky gave Oggie an A on his story about Turk and the licorice. He also wrote some very nice things about Oggie on his report card, including this: “Oggie’s positive attitude and his good self-esteem make him an excellent role model for his classmates.” Mrs. Cooder beamed proudly as she glued the report card into the family scrapbook.

  * * *

  One Friday afternoon, Mr. Snolinovsky’s fourth graders pushed their desks to the side of the room and got ready to square-dance. The first dance was a “ladies choice,” and Amy Schneider chose Oggie to be her partner.

  “So, are you coming over, Oggie?” she asked as they hooked elbows and began to swing each other around. “My mom said she would make us popcorn and root beer floats if we want.”

  The final episode of Hidden Talents was going to be on that night, and since Amy knew that Oggie didn’t have a TV at home, she had invited him to come over and watch it at her house.

  “What time did you say it starts?” asked Oggie.

  Amy was about to answer when Oggie tripped on one of his shoelaces and accidentally stepped on her foot.

  “Ouch!” cried Amy, but then she giggled and told him to be there at eight o’ clock.

  * * *

  The girl who painted with pudding ended up winning the grand prize on Hidden Talents that night. As Oggie sat on Amy Schneider’s couch happily munching popcorn and watching the television audience go nuts, clapping and cheering, he couldn’t contain himself, either.

  “Prrrrr-ip! Prrrrr-ip!” went Oggie. Because even though it wasn’t him up there on that Hollywood stage, Oggie Cooder finally knew what it felt like to be a winner, and he thought it was just about the best feeling in the world.

  Don’t miss

  Read on for a sneak peek!

  Prrrrr-ip! Prrrrr-ip!

  Oggie Cooder fluttered his tongue against the roof of his mouth. He always did that when he was excited about something.

  “Check it out, Turk,” he cried happily. “Look who just got invited to Donnica Perfecto’s birthday party. Can you believe it?”

  Oggie’s dog, Turk, loved to eat paper. So when Oggie proudly held out the invitation he’d just received in the morning mail, Turk misunderstood and thought he was being offered a snack. In two quick bites the invitation disappeared.

  “Hey!” Oggie laughed. “You were supposed to read it, not eat it!”

  Turk, whose full name was Turkey-on-Rye (like the sandwich), burped and wagged his tail.

  Oggie finished eating his breakfast and carried his empty cereal bowl over to the sink to rinse it out. Looking out the window, he saw Donnica Perfecto coming out of her house, her bubblegum-pink backpack slung over one shoulder. Mrs. Perfecto, in a long flowered bathrobe and hair curlers, followed after her daughter. She looked nervous.

  “Don’t worry, Cupcake!” she called. “Everything’s going to be fine on Saturday. Just fine.” Then she blew a kiss and waved, but Donnica only glared at her and marched off.

  Grabbing his own backpack, Oggie made a quick pit stop at the fridge for a few slices of processed American cheese, which he slipped into his back pocket for later. He gave Turk a good-bye pat on the head and raced out the door.

  “Hey, Donnica! Wait up!” Oggie cried as he ran down the front steps.

  Ever since his aunt Hettie had taught him how to crochet, Oggie had been making his own shoelaces. The night before, he’d crocheted himself a new pairing — orange and green, one of his favorite color combinations. Oggie thought they went nicely with the new blue-and-yellow-checked pants his mother had brought home from the store for him that week. Unfortunately one of the shoelaces was a little too long, and when the end of it caught on a loose nail on the steps, Oggie went tumbling head over heels into the bushes. Luckily he wasn’t hurt, but by the time he pulled himself together, brushed the leaves out of his hair, and retied his shoelace in a double bow, Donnica had rounded the corner and was out of sight.

  Oggie finally caught up with her in the schoolyard at Truman Elementary.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Oggie panted, holding his side and trying to catch his breath, “but I have about a bazillion questions I need to ask you.”

  “What’s the matter with you, Oggie Cooder?” Donnica snarled as she spun around on her heel to face him. “Can’t you see I’m
having the worst day of my life?”

  Now that she mentioned it, Oggie did notice that Donnica’s eyebrows were scrunched down and bunched together in a knot over the top of her pointy little nose. And her shiny pink gloss-covered lips, which were usually turned up in a self-satisfied smirk, were pulled down at the corners in an unhappy pout.

  Oggie hated to see people upset. Even Donnica Perfecto, who wasn’t very nice to him.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked with genuine concern.

  “You mean besides the fact that those pants you’ve got on are so hideous they’re giving me a headache?” Donnica said.

  “Maybe you should ask the school nurse for an aspirin,” said Oggie. He didn’t realize that Donnica’s head wasn’t really hurting, she was just making fun of his pants.

  “Aspirin isn’t going to fix what’s wrong with my life,” Donnica complained.

  “What’s wrong with your life?” Oggie asked, surprised. It seemed to him Donnica Perfecto had a pretty great life. For one thing, she had a swimming pool in her backyard. When Oggie felt hot, the only way he had to cool off was to run through the sprinkler.

  “I’ll tell you what’s wrong with my life,” Donnica grumbled. “Because of my father and his stupid, boring old store, my whole birthday party is ruined.”

  Mr. Perfecto owned the largest appliance store in Wawatosa, Wisconsin. Walk into any house in town, chances were that the microwave in the kitchen and the television in the den had been purchased from Big Dealz. Any house, that is, except Oggie’s. Mr. and Mrs. Cooder believed that microwave ovens and televisions — not to mention marshmallows, air fresheners, and milk sold in plastic jugs — were all bad for your brain cells.

  “Are you planning to have your party at your dad’s store?” asked Oggie, who hadn’t had time to study the details of the invitation before Turk had eaten it.

  Donnica heaved an exasperated sigh.

  “Why would anybody have a birthday party in an appliance store?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.” Oggie shrugged. “If I had a swimming pool like yours, I’d have my birthday party there.”

  The Perfectos lived directly across Tullahoma Street from the Cooders, and although Oggie had never been in their beautiful sky-blue kidney-shaped swimming pool, Turk had jumped in once, uninvited, after managing to get loose one day.

  “Obviously, I’m going to have a pool party,” said Donnica. “I always have a pool party. But I already told everybody that this year was going to be different. I told them there would be a big surprise. Who’s going to want to come to a plain old ordinary pool party now?”

  “I will!” cried Oggie, who had never been invited to any of Donnica’s parties before.

  Oggie undid the strings on his backpack and pulled out a plastic bag filled with dried apricots.

  “Want one?” he asked Donnica.

  “Ewww,” she said, turning up her nose at the apricots. “They’re brown.”

  “That’s ’cause they’re from the health food store. My mom says the orange ones you get at the grocery store have a ton of chemicals in them that can ruin your brain cells.”

  Donnica ignored him and went back to her whining.

  “It’s just not fair,” she said. “Why does Daddy’s big promotion for his store have to be on the same day as my party? Why didn’t he listen to me when I told him what I wanted? It’s my birthday. I’m supposed to get everything I want for my birthday. That’s the rule.”

  This seemed like the perfect opportunity for Oggie to ask Donnica the most important of the bazillion questions he had for her.

  “What do you want for your birthday?” he said. “I want to get you something that you’ll really, really like because I’m really, really happy that you invited me to your party. Actually, I’m not really, really happy. Prrrrr-ip! Prrrrr-ip! I’m more like really, really, really —”

  “I get the point,” Donnica interrupted. Oggie Cooder was more annoying than a broken fingernail.

  The big red doors of Truman Elementary School swung open and students began filing into the building to begin the day.

  “So anyway,” said Oggie, trotting along next to Donnica as they started up the steps of the school, “can you think of something I could give you for your birthday?”

  Donnica was about to tell Oggie to get lost and quit bothering her, when a lightbulb suddenly went on over her head. Actually there was something she wanted Oggie to give her for her birthday! Something Donnica had been wanting from the moment Mrs. Perfecto had made her write Oggie’s name on one of her bubblegum-pink party invitations. Donnica wanted Oggie Cooder NOT to come to her party. And as anyone who knew her would tell you, Donnica Perfecto was really good at getting what she wanted.

  Really, really, really good.

  Copyright © 2008 by Sarah Weeks

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Weeks, Sarah.

  Oggie Cooder / Sarah Weeks. — 1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Quirky fourth-grader Oggie Cooder goes from being shunned to everyone’s best friend when his uncanny ability to chew slices of cheese into the shapes of states wins him a slot on a popular television talent show, but he soon learns the perils of being a celebrity — and having a neighbor girl as his manager.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-439-92791-8 (hardcover : alk. paper)

  ISBN-10: 0-439-92791-9 (hardcover : alk. paper)

  [1. Eccentrics and eccentricities—Fiction. 2. Celebrities—Fiction. 3. Ability—Fiction. 4. Self-esteem—Fiction.

  5. Friendship—Fiction. 6. Schools—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.W42215Ogg 2008

  [Fic]—dc22

  2007018645

  First edition, February 2008

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-79507-4

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication 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 the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.