Hamstersaurus Rex vs. the Cutepocalypse Page 3

“Second,” I said, “I’m not popular.”

  “But you are!” said Beefer, as he pointed to where the others were sitting. “Look at them. They’re all your friends. They only came here because of you. Even Martha. Literally no one else wanted to come to my party.”

  “Well, they’re supposedly my friends,” I said. “But they’re so preoccupied with their own problems, they won’t even listen when I tried to tell them about how I almost got killed on the way here—”

  “Sam, please stop talking about yourself!” said Beefer. “This is my special day!”

  “Okay, fine,” I said. “Well, if you want people to like you, why don’t you just, you know, try to be a little nicer?”

  “I am too nice! I’ll smash you!” said Beefer, and he slugged me in the arm again.

  “Ouch!” I said. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “Point taken,” said Beefer. “So should I hit people less or, like, never?”

  Before I could answer, a bloodcurdling shriek came from inside Beefer’s house.

  CHAPTER 3

  HAMSTERSAURUS REX, BEEFER, and I burst into the Vanderkoff house to find a scene of total chaos. There was an upset hors d’oeuvres tray, two overturned cheese plates, and the contents of a chip bowl had been spread across the floor. All the cushions had been thrown off the couch, and a fancy Victorian lamp had been tipped over onto its side.

  “It’s Gooboo the Snuzzle!” I said.

  “Now you’re just making up words,” said Beefer.

  There was another scream from the kitchen.

  “That’s my mom!” said Beefer. “Mommy, are you okay?”

  Just then, the door to the kitchen swung open and something came wriggling out that looked like an eight-foot blue tube sock. It was Michael Perkins, Beefer’s pet boa constrictor that had been genetically hybridized with a parakeet. He had a look of sheer terror in his eyes as he slithered and flapped across the floor, toppling an ottoman and knocking all the coasters off the coffee table. Right behind him came three bouncing fuzzballs, no bigger than Mint-Caramel Choconobs. It was Stompy, Chompy, and Hatshepsut, hot on the boakeet’s tail. They squeaked with delight as they continued to chase him around the room.

  “Guys, come on!” I said. “Please don’t roughhouse inside the Vanderkoff residence! You’re going to break—”

  CRASH! Hatshepsut knocked a teakettle, almost certainly an antique, off an end table and it shattered.

  A moment later, Mrs. Vanderkoff came into the room. She had a tight, forced smile on her face. “Hello again, Jarmo,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Uh, I actually go by Sam now, ma’am,” I said.

  “Are these your baby hamsters, Sam?” asked Mrs. Vanderkoff. “Because I must admit, they gave me quite a fright when they chased Kiefer’s pet snake through the kitchen; then they ate an entire pan of brownies that was cooling on the counter and ruined a bowl of my famous jalapeño hummus dip in a way that I’d . . . prefer not to describe.”

  “I’m really, really sorry about that, Mrs. Vanderkoff,” I said. “If there’s any way I can make it up to you—”

  “What? No jalapeño hummus dip? My bar mitzvah is ruined!” cried Beefer. “This is the worst day of my life!” He stomped off and ran upstairs.

  I stared at my feet. “You know what, it’s actually getting kind of late,” I said. “I should probably get going. . . .”

  “We hate to see you go, dear,” said Mrs. Vanderkoff, in a tone that suggested quite the opposite. “But please don’t forget your other one.”

  She pointed to the armchair in the corner where Cartimandua was fast asleep. I gathered my hamsters up and beat a hasty retreat.

  I got to school early the next morning feeling out of sorts. My gut was still sore where the crazed Snuzzle smashed into me. Even worse, it was troubling to think the broken toy was still out there somewhere. Who would it attack next? And what if they didn’t have a pet dino-hamster to defend them? Before the first bell, I returned the whole hamster family to their library habitat and made my way to the lockers.

  “. . . I’m getting Weebo!” said Omar Powell. “Apparently you can teach her to say ‘Pawty on.’”

  “I like the look of Gooboo myself,” said Jimmy Choi.

  I stopped dead in my tracks. “Wait,” I said. “Did you just say ‘Gooboo’?”

  “Uh, eavesdropping much?” said Jimmy, folding his arms.

  “Are you talking about the Snuzzle?” I said.

  “Of course! What else would I be talking about?” said Jimmy. “Haven’t you already preordered yours?”

  “No!” I cried. “You have to cancel that preorder, Jimmy! Last night, a Snuzzle tried to kill me!” I pulled up my shirt to reveal the purple bruise on my stomach.

  “Blech,” said Jimmy, turning away. “I don’t want to see that!”

  “Great,” said Omar, shaking his head. “Sam is going to make this into a whole big thing.”

  “It’s sad, really,” said Caroline Moody, “the way he keeps doing this.”

  “I’m telling you, they are deadly!” I said.

  “They’re not deadly,” said Caroline. “They’re the ultimate twenty-first-century smartpet experience and also oodles of fun! Read the promotional material sometime.”

  “Don’t tell me you ordered one, too!” I said.

  “Obviously,” said Caroline Moody. “No way am I going to the Grand Canyon without a Snuzzle to play with. I mean, it’s basically just a big hole in the ground, right?”

  “We all ordered them, Sam,” said Omar. “Snuzzles are the hottest toy of the spring season.”

  “Bigger than Flubjubs and Zingo Spinners combined,” said Jimmy.

  “And after I get mine,” said Omar, with a dreamy look on his face, “I’m pretty sure my life is going to be complete.”

  I felt like I couldn’t breathe. For the first time it dawned on me that the Snuzzle that attacked me wasn’t the only one. Of course they were mass-produced. There were thousands of them out there. And if they were all as defective as the one I saw, this was going to be a disaster.

  “Hang on,” I said. “You mean they haven’t been released yet?”

  “They go on sale at midnight tomorrow,” said Jimmy, checking his watch to be sure.

  “But I saw one on the shelves at Tenth Street Toys,” I said.

  “You did not,” said Jimmy.

  Caroline Moody gasped. “Was it Oobie?” she said. “I need to buy it!”

  “I think you missed the second part,” I said. “The Snuzzle head-butted me with robo-strength. If Hamstersaurus Rex hadn’t jumped into the mix, I don’t know what would have happened.”

  “No offense, but this just sounds like another one of your crazy stories,” said Omar. “Just like ‘Squirrel Kong’ and the ‘Mind Mole.’”

  “But those stories were true!” I cried.

  “Exactly,” said Omar. “So what are the odds you go three for three?”

  “Pretty slim,” said Jimmy. Caroline nodded.

  Try as I might, I couldn’t dissuade them. They were determined to buy their shiny new Snuzzles and I had to do something. Unfortunately, I had no idea what.

  I was considering this question as I walked down the hallway, when I noticed two new kids—a boy and a girl who had to be brother and sister. The boy was unsuccessfully trying to operate the water fountain, while the girl clutched a beat-up laptop and looked around suspiciously.

  “You really have to stomp the pedal,” I said, demonstrating. A spurt of water shot out.

  “Thanks!” said the boy, then took a drink.

  “You know, this water fountain hasn’t really been the same since it was knocked off the wall by a giant, rampaging squirr—” I stopped myself. “Actually, you two are new here. I don’t want to scare you. This is a fine school. Very safe.”

  “Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know how to get to Ms. Alvarez’s fifth-grade classroom, would you?” said the boy. “I promised my dad I’d help my siste
r find her teacher.”

  “I don’t need your help,” said the girl, and she rolled her eyes. “I’m not a baby.”

  “No problem,” I said. “Ms. Alvarez’s room is on the second floor, beside the bulletin board about bees.”

  “Since you seem like an experienced classroom guide,” said the boy, “you wouldn’t be able to help me find Mr. Copeland’s classroom, would you?”

  “Sure,” I said. “It’s the second door on the right. He’s the guy in the sandals who looks like he stopped caring about a week and a half ago.”

  The boy gave a loud chuckle, which startled the girl. It startled me, too. I wasn’t used to my jokes landing. Very disconcerting.

  “Are you transfer students?” I said.

  “Yep,” said the boy. “My name is Cid Wilkins. This is my little sister, Sarah-Anne.”

  “It’s just Sarah now!” said the girl. “I told you that! Pay attention!”

  “Sorry,” said Cid. He looked at me and gave an apologetic shrug.

  “Transferring in with only a month left in the school year,” I said. “That’s rough.”

  “It’s fine. Who needs friends anyway?” said Sarah. “Nice to meet you or whatever. Bye.” She gave a sigh and walked off, staring at the floor.

  “The kid’s taking the move kind of hard,” said Cid. “Me, I couldn’t be happier to be here at Horace Hotwater Middle School.”

  “Did you hear about our famous cafeteria mashed potatoes?” I said. “They’re even chalkier than their reputation.”

  “That sounds great,” said Cid. “But I’m psyched because this place is the home of Hamstersaurus Rex! Man, I was hoping this was the water fountain that Squirrel Kong smashed.” He pulled out an expensive-looking phone and took a quick selfie with the large dent in the side of the fountain.

  “So . . . you’re a fan of Hamstersaurus Rex?” I said.

  “Oh yeah, I read that crazy blog post that was making the rounds a few months ago,” said Cid. “Hamstersaurus Rex is, like, my hero.” Cid glanced around and lowered his voice. “Have you ever seen the little guy around?”

  “From time to time,” I said, grinning despite myself.

  “Well, where is he?” said Cid, looking around. “Does he have a secret lair? Or, like, an office somewhere? Can I get an appointment?”

  I couldn’t help it. I liked this kid. “He lives in the library,” I said. “Hamstersaurus Rex and I are actually pals.”

  “Wait,” said Cid. “You’re not— Are you Sam Gibbs?”

  “Yes?” I said.

  “Not the Sam Gibbs?” said Cid.

  “Well, if you do a web search there’s an orthodontist in Maryland of the same name who gets more hits,” I said. “But I’m the only one here at HHMS.”

  “Dude, it’s so awesome to meet you!” said Cid, shaking my hand. “Can I show you something?”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “From the blog post I know you’re a really talented artist,” he said. “So I was hoping maybe you could tell me if this is any good or not?”

  He reached into his backpack and pulled out a sheet of notebook paper and handed it to me. It was an amazingly detailed drawing of Hamstersaurus Rex battling a giant squid. Hammie Rex practically leaped off the page and the squid’s tentacles were rendered with exquisite crosshatching. I gulped. Cid was way better at drawing than I was.

  “Not bad,” I said. “If you keep practicing, maybe one day you could— Aw, who am I kidding? They should toss the Mona Lisa in the garbage because this is the single greatest artwork of all time!”

  Cid laughed again.

  That day I showed Cid Wilkins the ropes at Horace Hotwater. I pointed out the desks where Mr. Copeland couldn’t see you doodling (back right; back left). During history Cid produced an amazing scene of Hammie Rex smashing through a submarine with his face. After that, I knew I had to bring him to the library to meet Hamstersaurus Rex in person. The little guy took a liking to him instantly.

  “Man, Hamstersaurus Rex is like the coolest pet ever!” said Cid, as Hamstersaurus Rex did laps around the top of his head. “I can’t believe I’m actually playing with the world’s only mutant dinosaur-hamster hybrid!”

  “Well, he’s not the only one anymore,” I said. “He’s got a family now.”

  “What? A family?” said Cid. “That’s a totally unexpected twist!”

  Stompy, Chompy, and Hatshepsut came bouncing out of the PETCATRAIL Pipes™ and into my open palms. I handed the three hyper hamster pups to Cid, who was ecstatic. They liked him as much as Hammie did (Chompy even gave him a little love chomp). When it was time for lunch, Cid didn’t want to leave. But Mrs. Baxley shooed us along.

  Cid and I went through the cafeteria line together and sat down beside Dylan.

  “Hi, Dylan,” I said. “This is Cid Wilkins. He’s new here.”

  “Nice to meet you,” said Cid.

  “Um, that’s actually Drew’s seat,” said Dylan, pointing to the one Cid had taken.

  “Weird. I don’t see his name on it,” I said.

  “That’s just the seat he likes best,” said Dylan, with a shrug.

  “Can’t Drew sit somewhere else?” I said. “Like maybe at a different table? Or perhaps even in a different building? Or country?”

  Before Dylan could say anything, Cid moved his tray.

  “No problem,” said Cid. “I’m new here so I don’t have a favorite seat. They’re all the same to me.”

  Drew McCoy sat down at the newly vacant seat. “’Sup,” he said. “Anybody else digging how chalky the mashed potatoes are?”

  Later in the day, I found out that Cid even liked filming his own movies, too. He had a lot of helpful ideas for The Swords of Hamstervalia. He said maybe I shouldn’t just tell the audience the hamsters had swords. I needed to show them they had swords. I’d never thought of it that way. Later, I taught him how to keep Coach Weekes talking so you wouldn’t have to play kickball (just ask what “success” means to him!).

  Aside from the slight awkwardness with Dylan at lunch, it was a pretty fun school day. After the final bell rang, I waited on the curb outside for my mom to pick me up. Despite the cloudy sky, I was feeling pretty good. A new kid who laughed at my jokes and shared my interests? It suddenly dawned on me that I might have actually made a friend. Maybe Cid and I could hang out this summer and draw stuff and make movies, while everybody else was doing their thing? Nah, he was so cool he wouldn’t want to hang out with me. He was probably just being polite.

  I was lost in thought when I heard a rustling in the bushes nearby.

  “Hello?” I said.

  No answer. I looked around. My mom was running a little late and the other after-school stragglers had already gone home. I was alone on an empty stretch of sidewalk in front of Horace Hotwater.

  “Is anyone there?” I said. “Jared? Is that you? I’m telling you, man, there aren’t any baby bigfoots in the azalea bushes.”

  Silence. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  Then perhaps it was the wind, or maybe a bird, but I would almost swear I heard a single faint word: “DESTWOY.” I took a step backward.

  The Snuzzle? Was it hunting me?

  “Hop in, Bunnybutt!”

  I nearly hopped out of my skin as my mom pulled up behind me on the curb. “Sorry I’m late. I got caught behind Old Man Ohlman in the grocery store. He had a folder of coupons from the mid-seventies.”

  “Mom, I think there’s something in the bushes,” I said.

  “Ah,” she said. “Well, I’m sure it’ll be there tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” I said. I cocked my head and listened carefully. I heard nothing, just the quiet breeze in the leaves of the trees nearby and the faint sound of kids playing somewhere.

  “Come on, son,” said my mom. “The tuna fish I bought isn’t going to casserole itself.”

  At last I got into the car. I wasn’t about to go poking around in the underbrush for a dangerous, rogue Sn
uzzle. Especially not without Hamstersaurus Rex by my side. As we drove off, I turned and scanned the bushes behind me. Nothing but shadows.

  CHAPTER 4

  IF THE SNUZZLE had somehow followed me to school, the attack wasn’t just a random malfunction. I’d been targeted. I did some web research on the company that manufactured the toys. Fundai apparently had its headquarters in Japan, where children had been playing with Snuzzles for two years already. From what I could find, there were no reported incidents of them attacking anyone. I called the customer service number on the company’s website but the automatic phone tree was all in Japanese. Eventually I gave up. I also tried searching on truthblasters.com but there wasn’t anything about a rogue toy terrorizing Maple Bluffs. Instead the boards were abuzz with some sort of “invisible” creature making mischief at the local flea market. Odd, but the Snuzzle that tried to kill me was definitely visible.

  The next day at school, I touched base with my friends to see if they had any more luck looking into the matter.

  “Yes,” said Martha. “I think I’ve finally gotten to the bottom of it!”

  “Really?” I said.

  “It seems like in third grade my average in math was coded incorrectly,” said Martha. “Thanks to a typo on Ms. Bartholomew’s part, the decimal point was in the wrong place, so instead of a 4.0 it was inputted as a 40.0, which the system rejected. Thus the class was erroneously marked incomplete, which has subsequently destroyed my GPA—”

  “Martha, I am not talking about your grades!” I said. “There’s an evil robot on the loose! My gut is telling me SmilesCorp must have something to do with it.”

  “SmilesCorp shut down,” said Dylan, who was absentmindedly drawing hearts in her disc golf playbook.

  “Oh, really? I hadn’t heard!” I said with a bit too much sarcasm in my voice.

  Dylan frowned. “Sam, I’m starting to think maybe you actually liked having SmilesCorp after you?” she said. “Now that you’re no longer being threatened on a daily basis, you aren’t the center of attention anymore. That must really bother you, huh?”

  “Nope, doesn’t bother me,” I said. “Sure, I thought you guys both took the Hamster Monitor oath seriously, but I guess there are more important things in this world. Martha, by all means focus on sorting out this grave .01 grade point average injustice. And Dylan, you can concentrate on picking out more matching sweaters you and Drew can wear to the disc golf camp run by that used car salesman.”