Chesty McBust stood in the girl’s bathroom pounding on the stall door where Fishface had exiled herself. “Come on, Fishface, open up.”
“No!” yelled Fishface.
“Come on,” pleaded Chesty.
“I’m never coming out of here,” said Fishface sadly. “I’m too ugly and dumb looking. I’ll eat spiders and flies and drink toilet water but I’m never coming out.”
“So Tommy Dinkle doesn’t like you. It’s not the end of the world.”
“It is too,” wailed Fishface. “I love him and he thinks I’m a creep.”
“Do you love him enough to change yourself?” asked Chesty.
“What do you mean?” asked Fishface, not comprehending.
“I mean that inside you’re a wonderful person. Do you love him enough to bring that person to the surface where he can see it? Because if you do then I’ve got something that will help.”
“What’s that?” asked Fishface, disbelief registering in her voice.
“My magic wand,” said Chesty smiling mysteriously to the closed bathroom stall door.
“What are you talking about?” Fishface was baffled. Was Chesty making fun of her?
“I said, I’ve got a magic wand.” Chesty pirouetted, waving her arm in the air. “All I have to do is wave it and your glasses will disappear. Your hair will look ravishingly radiant and you’ll wear the stunningly beautiful clothes of a fairy princess.”
Fishface peeked out from behind the stall door. “What kind of magic wand will do that?” she asked, thoroughly mystified but nevertheless intrigued.
Chesty took a small, plastic rectangle from her purse and flashed it toward her friend. “Daddy’s credit card.”
Chesty and Fishface sneaked away from the high school and embarked on a whirlwind spree along the Tootville Main Street. First they visited Lightning Laser, the home of twenty-minute corrective eye surgery. Fishface emerged without her glasses. Next came a visit to the Gnu Ewe beauty salon, where Fishface got her hair, nails and face done. Last of all the girls marched into the Gorgeous Gals clothing store. Fishface tried on several outfits and excitedly tossed her old clothes into the garbage before emerging, stylishly attired with several packages in her arms. She looked like an entirely different person.
“Thank you so much, Chesty,” Fishface said gratefully to her friend. “I could never have done this on my own. But this seems like a lot of work to get a boyfriend.”
“You don’t do this for boys,” replied Chesty, wisely. “You do it for yourself. Then the boys come automatically.”
Timmy, overwhelmed by Tank’s bullying, had also cut class in order to try to find some solution to his problem. He walked by the two giggling girls as they scurried back toward the high school. Timmy whistled at Chesty and the new Fishface before turning into Tootville’s only toy store. Maybe here he could find a miracle.
Lipsneer’s toy store was jammed with toys of every kind. Cabbage Patch Kids, Barbies and other dolls lined the walls. Model airplanes, attached to strings, dangled from the ceiling. He-Man, Transformers and Mighty Mudmen attracted the greedy gaze of glassy-eyed tots with clutching hands as their mothers pushed them in carts up and down the aisles. Santa Claus himself was rumored to shop here. Squeeky, a somewhat mousy-looking clerk rang up another sale at the ancient register. Beside him at the counter was a display of a toy laser gun that looked remarkably like Tommy’s blaster. The wording on the display read–END GALACTIC TERRORISM with your very own RONALD RAY GUN! Mr. Lipsneer, the owner of the store, approached the counter and motioned to the display. “Squeeky, it’s been six weeks,” he complained.
“I know, sir,” replied Squeeky in frustration. “I just can’t get rid of it. Nobody seems to want a Ronald Ray Gun anymore. People just aren’t buying stuff like that nowadays.”
“Not enough firepower, I guess,” said Mr. Lipsneer resignedly. “Mark it down to two ninety-nine and see if you can find a sucker.”
Mr. Lipsneer moved on and Squeeky wrote ONLY $2.99 in large letters on the display. Timmy, browsing unsuccessfully among the toys, reached the counter.
“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” said Squeeky as he looked down at the lad. “You’re looking for an anatomically correct Barbie doll.
“No,” said Timmy.
“Plastic barf to fool your friends.”
“No,” said Timmy again.
“Well, what then?” Squeeky asked in irritation.
“I’m not sure, really,” said Timmy. “There’s this big kid at school who’s picking on me and I need to get him off my back. I thought I could find something here to help me.”
Squeeky’s eyes lit up as he recognized his golden opportunity. He pulled the toy blaster from the display. “This is your lucky day, kid,” he said enthusiastically. “I hold the answer to your problem right here in my hand. With a Ronald Ray Gun at your side no bully in the universe will dare to lay a finger on you. They’re going like hotcakes but I’ve saved the last one just for you.”
Timmy looked the ray gun over carefully. “Are you sure it’ll work?” he asked skeptically.
“Would I lie to you?” Squeeky replied, assuming an air of immense indignation.
Timmy failed to respond.
“Kid, it’s only two ninety-nine–and it’s guaranteed.”
“Oh, okay,” said Timmy without much enthusiasm.
Squeeky quickly punched the keys and the word SOLD appeared on the register.
___
Principal Dood strode down the hallway with a look of grave concern on his face. He had been hearing rumors and whispered stories all morning about strange noises coming from the boys bathroom but Janitor Jim was nowhere to be found to send to rectify the problem. Principal Dood approached the bathroom door. A freshman was standing with one hand on his crotch, obviously anxious to use the facilities, but not daring to push open the door. “Well, why don’t you go on in?” demanded the principal in a gruff voice. He had better things to do with his time than check out clogged toilets.
“Listen,” said the student, dancing back and forth in agony. “Can you hear it?”
“Hear what?” Principal Dood snapped. He placed his ear next to the door and listened. He heard what seemed like a low, moaning sound. “Help me. Please,” came a faint, weak voice from inside the bathroom. Principal Dood pushed open the door and looked inside. What he saw sickened him. Janitor Jim lay torn and bleeding in a pool of blood. Principal Dood whipped out a cell phone and made a quick call. Then he kneeled down next to his friend to comfort him as best he could. “Stay with me, Jim,” he said in a voice that was uncharacteristically soft and kind. “Be the tough guy that I know you are.” He gently took his old friend’s hand and held it until the paramedics arrived.
Only after Janitor Jim was stabilized and on his way to the Tootville hospital, did Principal Dood again become the commanding leader that was his usual persona. Captain McBust was at the scene and once more in charge of conducting a thorough investigation. The principal answered the captain’s questions to the best of his ability and tried to remember anything that could assist in the capture of the brutal assailant who had inflicted so much damage on one of his most valued employees. He wanted the perpetrator apprehended in the worst way. Not only was his friend barely clinging to life, but there was no one to clean up the mess in the bathroom. Captain McBust, spotting something by the trash can, squatted down and ran his fingers along the bathroom floor. He rubbed his fingers together slowly as he closely examined them. On his fingers was red clay.
“Your man is very lucky to be alive,” said Captain McBust to the principal as he stared carefully at his fingers. “You’re lucky he’s so tough. Today he almost bought it.”