Lights, Camera, DISASTER! by Gordon Korman
“Elmer, you’re a genius,” Bruno approved.
As Elmer moved on to the side of the camper where Wilbur and Pete worked, Bruno opened up his jacket and pulled out the biggest rocket of them all. It was half a metre long and striped like a barber pole. On the casing was written Super-Duper Jumbo-Boomer.
“Hey, wait a second,” protested Boots. “That wasn’t on Elmer’s plan.”
Bruno tied the wick to the main wire as Elmer had done. “This is my own personal birthday gift to Cutesy Newbar. You know, kind of a thank you for letting me wear his orange juice. This baby’s going to part his hair right down the middle!”
“Is it safe?” asked Boots worriedly.
Bruno placed the long tube in a hole in the ground so that the top cone wouldn’t show above the grass. “What’s one little rocket?”
“Yeah, but that’s a” — Boots squinted in the dim light — “Super-Duper Jumbo-Boomer.”
Bruno laughed diabolically. “It’s for a big star. He deserves a big boom. A super-duper jumbo boom.”
“Well, don’t you think you should ask —?” Boots froze. Panic suffused his face. “What was that?”
Both boys were silent. Someone was moving inside the trailer.
“Oh, no!” moaned Boots. “If Jordie Jones hears us and calls security, we’re toast!”
“Shhh!” Both boys stood still as statues, listening to the footsteps inside. There was another sound, too, lower, and muffled. Almost like — sobs?
Curiosity got the better of Bruno. Careful not to make any sudden noises, he rose and peered in the camper’s front window.
“Are you nuts?” croaked Boots. But Bruno silently waved him over. Knees shaking, Boots joined his roommate and looked inside.
The interior looked like a miniature version of Disneyland — space-age furniture, kitchen, video recorder, stereo, library, exercycle — the works. Jordie Jones sat on the plush couch, watching a movie on the wide-screen TV. Only his eyes weren’t on the set. He was hunched over, cradling his head in his arms, his shoulders shaking with distress. The star, one of the best-known faces on earth, the most successful adolescent in the history of Hollywood, was crying!
Bruno and Boots exchanged looks of sheer disbelief.
What could Jordie Jones possibly have to cry about?
And suddenly Bruno was tapping lightly on the screen.
Boots almost died. “What are you doing? Cut that out! Aw, I can’t believe this!”
But Bruno only knocked harder. “Uh — excuse me,” he whispered inside. “Uh — hey, Cutesy.”
Startled, Jordie regarded the face in the window, his eyes red, his cheeks damp. He seemed very different without the public smile of jaunty confidence he usually wore. Tonight he could have passed for any one of the seven hundred Macdonald Hall boys.
“Are you okay?” asked Bruno with genuine concern. “What’s the problem?”
“Nothing,” said Jordie in embarrassment. “Really.”
Bruno regarded the actor’s tear-streaked face skeptically. “We’re coming in,” he decided, removing the screen and hoisting himself through the window.
“No!” hissed Boots, shaking his head vigorously. But Bruno was already reaching out to help him inside. Breathing a silent prayer, Boots followed his roommate into the star’s trailer.
Jordie thought fast. “I was — uh — rehearsing.”
“I thought this movie was supposed to be a comedy,” said Bruno.
“A comedy-drama?” suggested the actor hopefully.
Bruno thought it over. “I don’t think so. Let’s face it — you were bawling. And when a guy with all that money and all that fame and all those girls is crying, it means one of three things: you’re stupid, you’re crazy or you’ve got some real problems.”
Boots was horrified. “Bruno!” Were you allowed to say stuff like that to a big movie star?
Jordie smiled wanly. “Maybe it’s a little of all three. Hey, I know I’ve got no reason to complain. I’ve got a great life.” He frowned, and for a moment it looked as though he might start crying again. “It’s — great —”
“You’re not selling me on it,” said Bruno.
Jordie looked uncomfortable. “It’s nothing. I’m bored.”
“You’re lying,” amended Bruno. “You’ve got the most exciting life I know.”
“I’m lonesome!” the actor exploded suddenly. “I’m always stuck by myself! It’s driving me nuts! I know hermits who spend less time alone than I do!”
“How could you be lonesome?” Boots blurted out. “Everybody in the world is trying to get near you!”
“Yeah, but nobody ever does! It’s like dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean! Here I am, at a place that has seven hundred guys my age, and the only people I ever meet are over fifty. Seth’s nice enough, but to him I’m just another prop, like a chair or a bike. Goose thinks I’m going to die if I don’t get sixteen hours of sleep a night. And everybody else worries about keeping their jobs and making sure Academy Blues doesn’t run over budget.”
“You’re the big star,” said Bruno. “Just tell them you need a little more entertainment.”
“I tried that,” sighed Jordie. “They took me to meet the mayor. He gave me a tour of City Hall and two tickets to the opera. I faked sick.”
“Good idea,” approved Bruno, looking at the actor with a newfound respect.
“Now, you guys have really got it made,” said Jordie with envy. “I mean, tons of friends all living together, eating together, doing things together —”
“You talk like it’s a country club!” exclaimed Bruno. “This is a school, with teachers, and classes, and rules. And punishments. While you’re living in a mansion and cruising along Sunset Boulevard in a stretch limo, we’re busting our humps in the trenches, doing homework.”
“I have to go to school, too, you know,” said Jordie defensively. “They get me a tutor.”
“It’s not the same with a tutor,” snorted Bruno. “A tutor works for you. You’re the boss. He gives you too much homework — you fire him. I can just see me firing The Fish. I’ve already got dishwashing and confinement. And that’s only because they threw me off garbage picking. Beheading is probably next.”
“Garbage picking?” Jordie stared at Bruno in sudden recognition. A wide smile of pleasure spread across his face. “I know you! You’re the guy who sneaks into the movie!”
Instantly Bruno was on his guard. “Maybe I am, and maybe I’m not.”
“Sure you are!” the actor exclaimed. Then, noticing Bruno’s expression, he added, “Don’t worry. I won’t turn you in. It’s the highlight of my day to see what you’ll try next. That bush was sheer genius!”
“Oh, you liked it, eh?” Bruno preened. “I put a lot of thought into it.”
“But why?” asked Jordie. “What’s such a big deal about being in Academy Blues?”
“I like to think I have a certain flair for the dramatic,” said Bruno pompously.
“Besides,” added Boots, “he blabbed to everybody he knows about how he was going to be in it.”
“Not everybody,” put in Bruno.
“Everybody!” Boots insisted. “His folks, all of us, his friends back home, the entire population of his town —”
“But they’re just going to cut you out,” Jordie told Bruno.
“They can try,” said Bruno grimly. “Dinkman can cut me out of a thousand scenes; I’ll still sneak into a thousand and one. And that means, for one shining instant, even if it only lasts a second, I’ll be a movie star just like the great Cutesy Newbar.”
Jordie blanched. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
Bruno shrugged. “It’s a trade-off. You’re a superstar. And when I take off my pants, I’m not revealing a registered trademark. Welcome to Macdonald Hall, Cutesy. I’m Bruno; he’s Boots.”
They shook hands all around.
“I know why you’re depressed,” ventured Boots timidly. “Everybody forgot your bir
Jordie looked up in surprise. “How did you know?”
“The whole world has memorized your buns,” said Bruno. “How can you be surprised that someone knows it’s your birthday tomorrow? Besides, there are three hundred girls across the road who are making a career of you. No offence, but I think they’re overdoing it a little.”
The actor looked glum. “My parents’ll phone, but they’re both on business trips, and the few friends I do have are in California. And I don’t want to tell Seth or Goose, because they’ll call in the national magazines — good P.R. for the picture.”
“So?” said Bruno. “It sounds great.”
“Don’t you get it?” exclaimed Jordie. “Promoting the movie isn’t fun. It’s part of my job. Nobody celebrates a birthday by working!”
Bruno looked thoughtful. “You know what you need, Cutesy? A few hours of hanging out with the guys. And you’re in luck. Guess what tomorrow is?”
“We already know it’s his birthday,” said Boots.
“Poker night!” declared Bruno in his deepest voice.
“Aw, not poker night!” moaned Boots. “Remember what happened last time? Wilbur bet all his peanut butter on three kings, and when he lost, he practically trashed our room! And then Sidney got a royal flush and threw up his arms and dislocated both shoulders! He started screaming, and The Fish raided the game!”
“You mean Mr. Sturgeon?” said Jordie. “What happened?”
Bruno shrugged. “We had to write these thousand-word essays on the evils of gambling. But you wouldn’t have to. You’ve got a tutor. Want to come?”
Jordie looked almost pathetically eager. “It sounds great!” His face fell. “But Goose has insomnia, and on some nights he gets up and looks in my window. If he saw I was gone, he’d think I was kidnapped, or murdered, or something.”
“That’s a bummer,” said Bruno. “Well, there’s got to be some way out of it. We’ve got the magic of Hollywood on our side.” He looked from Boots to Jordie, and back to Boots again. “So, Boots, you’re not up for another poker night.”
“Ever!” Boots agreed with conviction.
“Well, then, that’s it,” said Bruno with a wide grin. “You sleep here in the trailer, and Cutesy comes to poker night. If you keep your face away from the window, all Goose sees is a blond-haired kid asleep.”
“A body double!” agreed Jordie excitedly.
“Now, wait a second —” Boots began.
“It’s all settled,” said Bruno. “Now it’s time to tell the other players about poker night.”
Jordie looked at his watch. “Now?”
Bruno nodded. “I don’t want you to take this personally, Cutesy, but it just so happens that there are six guys outside booby-trapping your trailer.” Jordie just stared at him. “No, don’t try to figure it out. It was a bad idea, and I’m real sorry.” He went to the window. “Pssst! Guys! Take away the explosives. Poker night instead. My room. Tomorrow.”
* * *
Mark filmed Pete, Larry, Sidney, Wilbur and Elmer as they carefully picked up the fireworks and replaced them in the boxes. Since they had arranged the various rockets, Roman candles, pinwheels, burning schoolhouses and screamers according to Elmer’s diagram, now they followed that sheet again. Removal went much faster than deployment. In twenty minutes, all the pieces were safely back in their cartons — all except one.
Bruno’s Super-Duper Jumbo-Boomer had never been on Elmer’s map. It wasn’t supposed to be where it was, so no one knew to take it away. The big rocket still sat, pointed at the trailer, after the boys had stolen silently back to the dormitories. Its cone top just barely showed, peeking furtively out of the tall grass.
Chapter 4
Body Double
A sheet was jammed under the door to keep the light from room 306 from spilling out into the hall, and a dark blanket hung over the window as a blackout curtain. A deck of cards sat in the middle of the floor, the centre of a circle consisting of Wilbur, Larry, Sidney, Pete and Mark, his video camera at his side.
“How does poker night count as part of your dumb documentary?” demanded Pete.
“It’s vitally important,” Mark explained. “The star at play. I can intercut it with scenes of Jordie Jones hard at work.”
“I don’t get it,” grumbled big Wilbur, applying a generous dollop of peanut butter to a stack of Ritz crackers. “Yesterday we spent two hours rigging the guy’s trailer to go off with him in it, because he’s Public Enemy Number One, and tonight we’re having a poker game in his honour.”
“Sometimes I think Bruno’s crazy,” nodded Larry.
“Sometimes, I think he’s not crazy,” amended Wilbur. “The rest of the time, I know he is. I mean, he put Sidney in charge of the birthday cake!”
“I resent that,” said Sidney haughtily. “The cake is safe and sound and hidden in the bathroom. It’s better than having you to look after the cake. That’s like hiring a fox to guard your chicken coop.”
At that moment, the blackout curtain was nudged aside, and in climbed Bruno, followed by Jordie Jones. Mark filmed furiously.
Pete stared. “Hey, that’s Jordie Jones. I thought you said we were waiting for Cutesy Somebody.”
“Guys,” began Bruno, “say hello to our newest pigeon.”
Handshakes were exchanged all around, and the circle was expanded to include Bruno and the newcomer.
“I can’t believe it’s you!” exclaimed Mark. “I mean, you’re so famous! What are you doing here?”
“This is the deal,” said Bruno. “When he’s with us, he’s not a big star. He’s just one of the guys. Right, Cutesy?”
“Right,” agreed the actor. “Only please call me Jordie.”
“How’s Boots doing at the trailer?” asked Larry.
“Actually, he seemed kind of nervous,” Jordie began. “like when he begged us not to leave —”
“He’s got it made in there!” scoffed Bruno. “How many of us get to sleep on a king-size waterbed?”
“Will you guys shut up and start taking this seriously?” demanded Wilbur. “Food is about to change hands here! Now — I brought peanut butter and crackers and potato chips. What have you guys got?”
Money was not accepted at poker nights — all bets had to be edible. Mark produced an unopened package of chocolate chip cookies; Larry had cheese and half a loaf of French bread; Sidney had two bags of marshmallows (smushed, of course); and Pete had a watermelon and three packs of Tic Tacs. From under his bed, Bruno brought out a jumbo bag of rippled potato chips. And then it was Jordie’s turn.
The star looked uncomfortable. “Gee, I don’t have any great stuff like that. I just brought the leftovers from dinner.” From a plastic bag he pulled out two Maine lobsters, sliced prime rib, filet mignon and one half duck à l’orange.
Wilbur’s eyes bulged. “Hurry up!” he croaked, grabbing the cards and dealing wildly. “If one bite of that spoils, I’ll kill myself!”
“Hold on,” said Bruno. “First comes the cake. Sidney?”
Stepping in Wilbur’s crackers, Sidney hopped off to the bathroom and returned with a large chocolate cake. Instinctively, all the Macdonald Hall boys ducked, but Jordie flushed with pleasure as Sidney carefully placed the plate in front of him.
They all stared. Inscribed in white icing were the words:
Happy 5th Birthday
Angelino Plumbing and Electric
“I’ve got to get this!” crowed Mark, focusing on the lettering.
“And you thought you were all alone!” laughed Bruno. “Somewhere there’s a bunch of plumbers and electricians celebrating with a ‘Happy Birthday, Cutesy Newbar’ cake!”
Striking a match, Sidney began lighting the red birthday candles.
Larry cocked an eyebrow. “Those are funny-looking candles. Where’d you get them, Sidney?”
Sidney pointed. “From that box under the bed.”
Bruno choked. “Under the bed?! Those aren’t candles! They’re ??
He was interrupted as the firecrackers on Jordie’s cake began to explode. The boys dove for cover as the room crackled with small explosions, and chunks of icing and cake flew in all directions, hitting walls and furniture.
“Awesome!” breathed Mark.
Jordie pulled a large candy rose from his famous blond hair. “Man,” he said with reverence, “it’s a good thing I’m not turning forty-five!”
“What’s going on in there?” came Mr. Fudge’s voice from out in the hall.
Bruno mouthed the word “Hide!” He shoved Jordie into Boots’s bed as Larry and Sidney both dove under it. Wilbur disappeared into the closet with the food and the cards, and Pete hustled Mark, filming all the way, into the bathroom, where both lay flat in the tub.
In one brilliant athletic move, Bruno turned out the lights, grabbed the blackout curtain with his right hand, the sheet under the door with his left, and leapt into his bed, already snoring.
There was the sound of a key in the lock, and the door swung wide, revealing Mr. Fudge, the Housemaster, in his pyjamas. He shone a flashlight on Bruno’s bed.
“Walton — O’Neal — have you got the radio on? I could swear I heard a machine gun!”
“I don’t know anything about that, sir,” said Bruno, stretching and yawning.
“How about you, O’Neal?” barked Mr. Fudge. “What do you have to say about this?” The flashlight shifted to Jordie.
The star pulled the covers right up over his face. He thought furiously back to Boots — a soft voice, well-spoken, more nervous than Bruno’s.
“I’m not sure, sir,” came Boots’s voice from the pile of covers. “I was asleep.”
The flashlight switched off. “You boys settle down in here.” The door closed. They heard the Housemaster’s footsteps going down the hall to his own room, and then the closing of that door.
Boys began to come out of the woodwork, crowding around Jordie Jones.
“That was fantastic!” said Larry. “You sounded exactly like Boots!”