The BEDMAS Conspiracy Read Online Free Page B

Daniela as we walked home.
    â€œI feel like barfing just thinking about it,” I confided.
    â€œSo do I—on your behalf,” said my cousin.
    Luckily, the rest of the band quickly showed up for practice and cut short our queasiness.
    â€œI really don’t like the name Sick on a Snow Day,” said Beena as she plugged in her teal bass.
    â€œMe neither,” said Meena as she tuned her mauve guitar.
    â€œSince we brought it up,” said Sludge, “I’m not wild about it either. It lacks a certain coolness factor. What does it mean, anyway?”
    I tried to dazzle Beena, Meena, and Sludge with the idea behind our name.
    â€œSomething gross combined with something cool,” repeated Sludge when I finished my explanation. He looked like he was thinking it over. “Have you considered Nasty Kittens?”
    The twins still weren’t convinced either, but I didn’t want to waste valuable time discussing our name. “Let’s call it a ‘working name’ for now. If someone comes up with something better, we’ll definitely consider it,” I suggested.
    The twins agreed. It was time to concentrate on the music. Daniela handed out some sheet music she had downloaded off the internet. We took on the first song—a popular one on the radio—and sounded pretty good!
    â€œI think it’s important that we have some original music,” I told everyone after practice as we sat in the garage, drinking Cokes and munching on snacks.
    â€œTotally, bro,” agreed Sludge. “Ed Nojna told me the Flying Perogies are writing an original rock opera.
    That sounded hard to top.
    â€œWe Wuz Framed have choreographed an interpretive dance where they fight against Principal Losman’s punishment for not doing your homework,” said Beena.
    â€œTotally true,” confirmed Meena. “They literally break-dance their way out of detention.”
    â€œWell, rumour has it that the Subtractions are going the other route. They wrote a song called ‘Losman Is Tops, Man,’” said Daniela.
    â€œWhat a bunch of suck-ups,” laughed Sludge.
    Suddenly, there was a timid knock on the garage door. I got up to answer it. There, holding a gleaming triangle, stood my new mortal enemy, Eldrick Hooperberg. I tried to shut the door but he jammed it open with his triangle wand.
    â€œYou said I could try out today,” he reminded me meekly.
    â€œForget it,” I told him. I was trying to keep my cool and not blow a gasket in front of the band.
    â€œBut a triangle will add charm to your music,” tried Eldrick.
    â€œThen I’ll play the triangle and the piano,” I said firmly, attempting to hold my temper in check.
    â€œBut I don’t just play the triangle. I’m an auxiliary percussionist,” he said.
    â€œI don’t know what an auxiliary percussionist is and I don’t care,” I responded flatly.
    â€œI play the tambourine, finger cymbals and ratchet—you know, anything you can hit or scrape. Except the drums,” he added hastily as Sludge opened his mouth to protest. “I work with the drummer.” His list was met with silence. “I can write lyrics, too,” he offered as he stared at the tops of his shoes.
    â€œSo write some lyrics and then hand them in to Mr. Papernick,” I said acidly.
    He looked helplessly at Daniela. “But—”
    â€œBut nothing!” I yelled at him, finally blowing my stack. “Do you know how much trouble I’m in because of you? Mr. Papernick is probably speaking to my parents right now! As long as I am in this band—and that might not be for long— you are not. Find another band to bother.”
    Eldrick was staring at his shoelaces like they were telling a very sad story. “I thought you might need an all-city percussion champion,” he mumbled.
    â€œWe don’t, so you can go,” I replied curtly.
    He left without