Bobbo: The Test

"Put everything away except a pencil. We're going to start our test," Ms. Ortiz said as she began handing out two pieces of paper stapled together. A couple in the class groaned but everyone put everything away and got ready for the test. Ms. Ortiz dropped a test on Bobbo's desk. When she finished handing them out, she sat back down at her desk. "You have 40 minutes, class."

 
Name two important canals and what continents they are on. Bobbo read the first question on the test. That sounds right. But he didn't start writing. He kept writing over his name at the top of the page and then drew lines to connect the name, date, class lines together. He then began going through the test and filling in every open space in the letters. Soon, most letters were just faint blobs on the paper and Bobbo was directed back to the top of the page. He lackadaisically wrote Suez Canal Africa and Panama Canal South America.

If you were traveling from Mexico to Greece, what sea would you have to travel? Bobbo ignored the question and began circling the numbers next to the questions. He then began cross-hatching in the corners of the paper and using the corner of the top paper to create a design on the second page. Bobbo looked up at the time and then at the other kids taking the test and then back at the clock. He raised his hand and waited for Ms. Ortiz to call on him.

"Yes, Bobbo?" she asked.

"May I go to the restroom?" he asked.

"Fill out your pass," she said and went back to what she was doing.

Bobbo got back into his binder and took out his school-issued passport. He filled it out with where he was going, the date, and the time and got up and went to Ms. Ortiz's desk. She quickly signed it, he muttered 'Thank you' and left the room. He slowly walked to the restroom and went into one of the stalls. Bobbo spent several minutes in the stall doing various things to kill time that we aren't going to get into here. When he exited the stall, he went over to the sinks to wash his hands. There were posters put up for an upcoming dance, going out for track, and stopping bullying. Bobbo took the time to read carefully through them all. He washed his hands very methodically and slowly walked back out into the hallway.

Across the hall was a water fountain that Bobbo diligently went to and got a drink from. A very long drink. He paused and continued to stand at the fountain and looked at the poster above it even though it was the same track poster from the restroom. He got another drink and began walking back to the classroom, getting about halfway before turning around and going back to the water fountain.

When Bobbo got back to the classroom, he had wasted about seven minutes. He sat back down at his desk and wrote down the answer to the second question: Mediterranean Sea. He read the third question. True or false, India has a greater population than China. Bobbo quickly circled the answer and went to question four. True or false, The Pacific Ocean is the largest ocean on Earth.

Bobbo sighed and looked at everyone else taking the test and then up at the clock. Everyone else seemed to be working while he just sat there. For some reason, he turned his test over and began writing the alphabet and numbers down in careful handwriting. If my handwriting were a font, this is what it would look like, he thought. My handwriting should be a font.

"25 minutes," Ms. Ortiz said. "When you are finished, just place your test in the turn-in box on the counter."

Bobbo looked around the room. In his head, he began thinking about how he would have his classroom if he were a teacher. He'd want his desk by the window but there was so little space in the room that everything else kind of had to stay where it was. Beneath his alphabet, Bobbo began drawing superhero logos and then began drawing a cat and dog. He flipped the test back over and answered the rest of the first page. Three kids stood up and turned in their tests. Bobbo watched them stand up, walk to the counter, place their tests in the turn-in box, and then return to their desk. I should've took longer going to the restroom, he thought.

Bobbo began slowly working his way through the second page. Five kids finished and then another seven before Bobbo stood up and turned in his own test. Bobbo returned to his desk and got a book out his binder to read. ▩

Bobbo: Chicken and Waffles

“I can’t believe we are going to eat here again,” Brooke said as she, Bobbo, Max, and Shala approached Nanny’s Chicken Shack. “It’s only been a week.”

“I ate here two days ago. And the day before that. And two days before that,” Max said, walking quicker than the others, excited to get to the restaurant. “It’s the best fried chicken in town. And I could eat waffles every day.”

“It almost sounds like you do,” Bobbo said.

They arrived at Nanny’s and Max pulled on the door. It didn’t open. “What’s going on? They are usually open now.”

“There’s a sign on the door. The health department shut them down,” Shala read.

“What? No!”

There was a figure moving inside the building. Max began pounding on the door. The figure, a large black man who was the Nanny of Nanny’s, nodded his head and walked to the door. “Hey, there, Max. Good to see you. I’m closed today and until further notice. Sorry.”

“But why? I don’t care about a couple of cockroaches or that layer of grease that seems to be on everything,” Max said.

Nanny laughed. “No, it wasn’t because of that. I run a mostly clean establishment. It’s my chicken provider. The health department found some shady stuff on his farm and shut us down until we can find a new chicken supplier. Darn shame, too. That was the best chicken I’ve ever cooked.”

“It really was. Well, I’ll still support you. I’m gonna wait right out here in protest until you reopen,” Max said.

“You don’t have to do that. I just have to throw out the chicken from my old supplier and find a new one. I’ll be back open in a week,” Nanny chuckled.

“I’m gonna run home and make a sign. ‘Chicken here! Chicken now!’ I’ll be right back,” Max ran off the way they came, back toward his house.

“Where did you get your chicken from?” Shala asked Nanny.

“I’ve been using them for years. Funkhouser Farm. At the end of Old Missile Base Road.”

“I know where that is. Were you told why you had to stop using their chicken?” she continued questioning.

“Nope. Just said I had to stop using it. It’s all I had so I had to close,” Nanny shrugged. “I have to finish cleaning up. See you, kids.”

“I wonder what happened,” Shala crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “We should go check it out.”

“What? Why?” Brooke asked.

“To see what happened at the farm. I think the customers of this establishment have a right to know what’s wrong with the chicken we’ve been eating,” Shala said.

“I’m sure they would tell us if the chicken was going to make us sick or kill us,” Brooke said.

“I still think we could check it out.”

“I’m game. I’ve always wanted to see a chicken farm,” Bobbo said.

“I don’t know why I came with you,” Brooke huffed as the three of them walked up the road toward the Funkhouser chicken farm.

It was a normal looking farm. There was a small house and a decent-sized chicken coop. Behind the house was a large barn and silo. A large shed was just to the east near the tree line where the property separated between the farm and the old missile base used during the Cold War.

“Is it me or does the grass seem tall?” Bobbo asked.

“It does look that way. Maybe the place went out of business and is abandoned,” Brooke posited.

“That doesn’t require the health department to shut down a restaurant,” Shala said. “Something else is going on here. Let’s check the chicken coops.”

The three of them went over to the chicken coop near the house. The door was open and it was empty. “There are no chickens in here. Where’s that clucking coming from?” Bobbo asked. There had been a light clucking since arriving at the farm but they had yet to see a chicken.

“It’s like we’re hearing the ghosts of the chickens,” Shala whispered.

“Yes. Thank you for that imagery as we wander alone and unprotected on an abandoned farm far from witnesses,” Brooke whispered back.

Back at Nanny’s, Max walked back and forth in front of the restaurant thrusting a sign in the air that read ‘Chicken here! Chicken now!’ on one side and ‘Stand with Nanny!’ on the other. “Health department unfair! Nanny should be in there! Serving us food! He’s a good dude!” Max chanted repeatedly. A few people stopped to watch but most just walked on by after reading the sign.

“What are you protesting? Does this place exploit immigrants?” a man looked at Max’s sign and then through the window of Nanny’s.

“I’m not protesting. I’m standing with Nanny’s after he was shut down by the health department,” Max said.

“Shut down? What was he doing in there?” the man lowered his voice. “Was it abortions?”

“What? No!”

“Then why was he shut down?”

“His chicken supplier had to close so he has to close until he gets a new supplier.”

“Then why hang out here? Just go home and come back in, like, a week.”

“Why don’t you just go home and come back in, like, a week?” Max mocked.

The man shrugged. “Okay,” and walked off.

“Should we go in the barn?” Shala asked.

“It was your idea to come out here and you’re worried about going into the barn?” Brooke asked.

“Maybe that clucking noise is coming from the barn,” Bobbo began walking to the barn. “What if all the chickens are just in the barn? Maybe Farmer Funkhouser is in there and we can ask him about why Nanny can’t use his chicken anymore.”

The three walked to the barn and Bobbo pulled the door open. “It seems…empty,” Shala said. She walked in and looked around. “The clucking is louder in here so this must be where all the chickens are.”

The three of them went further into the barn. Brooke peered into one of the stalls. “Hey, guys? What does a chicken look like?”

“Are you being serious? You know what a chicken looks like,” Bobbo said.

“Yeah, so this guy is clearly not a chicken,” Brooke backed away from the stall as a human figure stood up.

It was clearly a man wearing jeans and overalls. His skin had peels and boils on it and was a brighter pink. Hair was falling off of his body and he carried a pitchfork. Some teeth were missing and there seemed to be some kind of glow around his body.

“Is…Is that a chicken growing out of his head?” Bobbo asked, pointing to a small chicken head growing out of the left side of the top of his head.

“Farmer Funkhouser?” Shala asked but she got no answer.

The farmer stabbed his pitchfork toward the kids who easily dodged it and began to run away. When they left the barn, dozens of chickens, similar in look to the farmer were outside. The clucking was practically deafening.

“I guess we found out what’s wrong with the chickens,” Bobbo said.

“But what happened to them?” Brooke asked. “What happened here?”

“Two years ago,” Farmer Funkhouser croaked as he stood behind the three kids. “The government began using the missile base next to my farm to dump toxic waste. It has seeped into the ground and water. Over the last two years, we’ve been changing here and soon, we will change everyone. Those people from the health department were able to escape but you won’t.”

Farmer Funkhouser and the chickens lunged at the kids who all dodged as best they could to avoid the attack. “So, the health department saw what was going on and just left? Mutated zombified chickens have taken over this farm and they just went ‘Well, that was terrible’ and stapled a warning to the gate?” Shala yelled.

Bobbo shook his head. “Government, man.”

Farmer Funkhouser and most of the chickens went after Bobbo and Shala while Brooke took off toward the shed. “The shed is closer, maybe I can barricade myself inside. If not,” she panted, talking to herself “maybe I can make it to the house.” She got to the shed and threw open the door. Dozens of chickens were crammed inside. They didn’t look like the chickens that were chasing her. But they looked angrier. She froze in place, her eyes meeting those of the chickens. The chickens all clucked in unison and charged at Brooke.

Bobbo and Shala ran through the barn and out the other side. “What do we have chasing us?” Bobbo shouted.

“Just a few chickens. Most of them and the farmer went after Brooke,” Shala answered. “Where should we go?”

“I say we see if we can get into the house,” Bobbo said. “Maybe we can keep the chickens at bay in there. At least, maybe we can do that thing where keep going through a bunch of doors while the chickens follow us.”

They heard Brooke scream. “We have to go see what happened,” Shala said.

“You go one way; I’ll go the other. Hopefully we can still save her,” Bobbo replied.

As they turned around, they saw the massive hoard of normal chickens chasing and attacking the mutated ones. The farmer was on the ground swarmed by a dozen chickens. Bobbo and Shala ran over to Brooke who had ducked from the chickens and was now running toward Shala. “What in the…?”

“The mutated chickens locked the normal chickens in the shed. I accidentally let them go. I guess the normal chickens didn’t appreciate being locked up for several weeks,” Brooke explained. “I say we get off this farm as soon as possible and try to convince someone to maybe, I don’t know, air lift this entire property somewhere else. Like Florida.”

Bobbo, Shala, and Brooke arrived at Nanny’s Chicken Shack. Max was still in front of the restaurant with his sign but he was now sitting down on the sidewalk. “Hey, man. We found out why Nanny can’t use his normal chicken supplier anymore,” Bobbo said.

“Why?”

“Toxic waste from the abandoned missile silo seeped into the ground water and mutated the farmer and all the chickens.”

“Mm. That’s kind of what I was thinking,” Max said.

“Are you gonna stay here or head home?” Shala asked.

“I guess I’ll go home. There’s not much foot traffic now and my butt kind of hurts from sitting on this sidewalk,” Max looked up at Bobbo. “Can you help me up?”

“Sure, buddy.”

The four of them started walking home. “Mutated chickens?” Max asked.

“Yes, dozens of them,” Brooke said.

“The farmer had a chicken growing out of his head,” Shala revealed.

“Really? I wish I could’ve seen that. I should’ve gone with you guys instead of hanging out here all afternoon.”

“That reminds me,” Bobbo said. “We should call the police. We just kind of left all the chickens to roam the farm. That’s probably dangerous.”

“I regret not going with you,” Max sighed. ▩

If you would like to support my writing or research, you can buy me a cup of coffee over on Ko-fi.

Plan 9 from Melvin and Helu

Bobbo was sitting at the cafeteria table playing with a Tiger Handheld Electronic Game during the last ten or so minutes he had after he had finished eating. “Why is this game so hard?” he muttered to himself.

“How is it hard? You’re essentially playing a calculator…” Max said, briefing looking up from his book.

“Hey, Bobbo, I have a favor to ask,” Brooke came up to Bobbo and Max. “It pays $40.”

“What’s in it for me?” he asked. “Oh, wait. You already said. Sorry. What’s the favor?”

“I need you to take a babysitting job for me,” Brooke sat down. “It’s pretty easy. I took the job but now I have a surprise choir performance tonight and I can’t do it.”

“What’s a surprise choir performance?” Max asked.

“Yeah, I’ll do it. $40 is $40,” Bobbo slammed the game down on the table. “Gah, it’s impossible.”

Brooke eyed the game then looked back at Bobbo. “I’ll come over to your place at 5:30 and we’ll walk over to the kid’s house together so I can introduce you to the parents and Melvin.”

“Who names their kid Melvin?” Max asked.

“Okay,” Brooke began as she and Bobbo walked from his house to the house where he would be babysitting. “The parents are very laidback and Melvin is a good kid. He can be hyperactive at times and has an overactive imagination. He carries around this stuffed bear named Helu and he treats it like a real bear so he may threaten to have Helu eat you.”

“How old is this kid?” Bobbo asked.

“Five.”

“How often do you babysit this kid?”

“About once a month,” Brooke said. “His parents pay well and he likes me. If I can’t get the money, I’d rather it go to a sitter that won’t steal the job from me.” They got to the house and Brooke rang the doorbell. A woman answered. “Hello, Mrs., uh, Melvin. This is Bobbo. He’ll be taking over for me tonight while I have my performance.”

“Great. Good to meet you, Bobbo,” the woman opened the door wider for Bobbo and Brooke. “I think you’ll like Melvin. He has a very active imagination. He loves cops and robbers and superhero and supervillain scenarios. You two could probably be very creative with his action figures. Do you know how to make macaroni and cheese?”

“I know how to read instructions on the back of a box, yes,” Bobbo replied.

“That’s what Melvin will have for dinner. There are popsicles and ice cream sandwiches in the deep freeze in the garage for a dessert if he wants. Melvin, your babysitter is here. Get down here,” she hollered.

“I should get going,” Brooke said. “I have to get ready for the performance. Tell Melvin ‘hi’ for me. Bobbo, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Brooke, see you,” Bobbo said.

Brooke left and Bobbo and Melvin’s mom stood in the kitchen waiting for Melvin to come downstairs. They heard Melvin pound down the stairs, his feet thudding down the carpeted stairs. Melvin was a little blond-haired kid holding a stuffed brown teddy bear. The bear looked like it had been through some things. “Where’s Brooke?” he asked.

“Brooke couldn’t watch you tonight. This is Bobbo. He’s a friend of Brooke’s.”

“Hey, Melvin. How are you doing?”

“You’re not Brooke,” Melvin said.

“I am not. I am her friend. She had a music performance to go to. She offered me this job. She thought we’d get along well,” Bobbo said.

“No, I don’t think so,” Melvin said.

“Well, he’s all we’ve got so you’re just gonna have to make do,” Melvin’s mom said. “Is your father almost ready?”

“I’m ready. Let’s head out,” a man suddenly appeared from around the corner. “We’ll be home around ten. Melvin,” his father pointed. Melvin innocently looked up at him. “Be good.”

Melvin’s parents left and Bobbo looked at Melvin. “So Melvin, what is it you like to do?”

“Helu and I like to explore,” Melvin answered.

“Is that Helu?” Bobbo pointed to the stuffed bear. “Brooke told me about him? What kind of bear is he?”

“A Kodiak bear,” Melvin replied.

“Kodiak. Cool,” Bobbo didn’t know what the difference between bears were. “When do you normally eat dinner?”

“About six,” he said.

“That’s in half an hour,” Bobbo said, almost to himself. “Do you want to play something for a bit before I make you some mac and cheese?”

“No, but go ahead and start dinner. After we can play a game or something,” Melvin said.

“Okay. I’ll come get you when it’s done,” Bobbo said.

Melvin and Helu went back upstairs. “So what are we going to do with this bum?” Helu said.

“I’m thinking,” Melvin rubbed his chin. “I think plan 9 will work on this goon,” Melvin began to laugh evilly and Helu followed.




After dinner, Melvin grabbed the board game Yahtzee to play. “I haven’t played Yahtzee in years,” Bobbo said. “You may have to remind me how to play.”

“You shake dice and try to get five of the same number,” Melvin said. “Do you seriously need a reminder?”

“I don’t need your attitude, Melvin,” Bobbo said. “You can go first.”

They began playing and got about halfway through a game. Melvin kept looking up at the clock on the wall. At seven, a loud thud echoed through the house. Melvin jumped and pressed up against Bobbo in fright. “What was that?” he shrieked.

“Sounded like someone fell against a wall,” Bobbo said. “I’ll go check. Do you have a backdoor?”

“Down the hall and around the corner. Before you get to the patio,” Melvin said.

Bobbo went to the door and peaked out of it. “I don’t see anything,” Bobbo said.

“Maybe step out into the yard,” Melvin said. “Maybe someone was trying to climb the wall.”

Bobbo stepped outside and looked around, even up to the bedroom windows. “Nope, I don’t see anything out of the ordinary,” Bobbo said. “Maybe a large bird flew into the side of the house or something.”

“Well, thanks for looking,” Melvin said and shut and locked the door. Melvin ran back to the front of the house. Helu was at the base of the steps. “We did it, Helu! He’s locked out! He fell for it!”

“I didn’t think it would work so quickly. He must be dumber than the other babysitters.”

There came a pounding on the front door. “Melvin! Let me in! This isn’t funny…or safe!” Bobbo shouted.

“We’ll let you back in in a bit,” Melvin said. “As soon as we’re finished doing everything Mom and Dad doesn’t want us to do.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Bobbo said. “Just let me in. You can still do that stuff.”

“Come on, Helu, let’s get some ice cream.”

“Maybe I can get in through a window or another door,” Bobbo muttered to himself. He ran back around the side of the house and tried a window into the garage but it wouldn’t budge. Neither would the door to the patio or the back door that he was originally locked out of. He tried the other windows and got nothing. He went back to the front door and knocked again. “Look, if you’re not going to let me back in, then I’m just gonna go home.”

“Okay, bye,” Melvin said, peeking out of the window with a carton of ice cream and a spoon.

Bobbo sighed and began to walk away.

“Do you think he’s really going to go home?” Helu asked. “He can’t just leave can he?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Melvin got up and looked out the window again. “He’s not out there. He could be wandering around the house trying to find a way in. I’ll check after I finish off this tub of ice cream.” Melvin finished the ice cream about fifteen minutes later. He then sat, lazily at the kitchen table rubbing his stomach.

“You should go see if Bobbo is still out there,” Helu said.

Melvin groaned as he stood up. He went over and opened the door. “Bobbo?” Melvin poked his head out of the door. “Bobbo.” Melvin went out onto the steps outside the door. “I don’t see him out here, Helu. He must’ve actually left us. Helu?”

“Hello, Melvin,” Bobbo said, suddenly appearing from around the corner of the house and in the doorway. “Do you really think I’d abandon you and leave you alone. That would look very bad on me and especially Brooke. Now come inside. We’re going to finish our game of Yahtzee and then you’re gonna go to bed.”

“You want to finish the game of Yahtzee?” Melvin asked.

“Yeah. I was winning,” Bobbo pushed Melvin into the house and closed the door.  ▩


If you would like to support my writing or research, you can buy me a coffee over on Ko-fi.

Do Nothing

Bobbo, Brooke and Max stood in the line that had formed in the media center. They had been waiting just a few minutes and kids ahead of them got their picture taken and then went back to class. "This is going to be the best picture day I've ever had," Bobbo said, smiling big at Brooke and Max.

"What makes you say that?" Max asked.

"Ever since Kindergarten, I've never had a good picture in the yearbook. Kindergarten it was the first year of static electricity, first grade it was not having, like, any teeth, second grade was the mullet, third was the second year of static electricity, fourth was my shiny shaved head..."

"I loved that one," Max laughed.

"I liked the mullet but the static electricity has its own charms," Brooke nodded.

"Fifth grade," Bobbo loudly began "was the psychotic smile. Sixth grade was the 'picture not available' text because I was out with scurvy and seventh grade was that giant pimple next to my nose."

"It was like you had two noses," Max said.

"But this year, everything is perfect. I'm wearing a good shirt, I have no facial blemishes, my hair is combed and lying flat," Bobbo began. "I'm finally going to have a good picture for my parents to give out and in the yearbook."

"I wouldn't be too sure. I mean, you still have to get up there and smile," Brooke said.

"Yeah, what if your smile is like this?" Max contorted his face, his upper lip covered his top teeth, he closed one eye and he tilted his head slightly.

"I'm not going to smile like that," Bobbo said. "Just a simple smile, like this." Bobbo smiled daintily. His lips barely parted and his eyes seemed to sparkle.

"That's some fine work, Bobbo," Brooke said.

"I still have nightmares about your fifth grade picture," Max said.

"I was trying not to close my eyes," Bobbo said. "I don't know why I thought I had to have my eyes that wide open."

"You need to be more like me," Max said. "I look exactly the same in every yearbook."

"But you don't smile, you just sit there like a lump with no expression."

"And I look good doing it."

"It's true, he does," Brooke agreed.

"Well, we can't all look good fighting the battle of who could care less," Bobbo sighed.

The line moved forward quite a bit as several kids got their picture and left. The photographer then moved the kids up so they were closer to where the pictures were being taken. Bobbo ran some fingers through his hair and readjusted his shirt. "Your shoe is untied," Brooke said.

Bobbo looked down and saw his shoelaces untied, sprawling out from his foot. He bent down and began tying them. The door he was standing beside opened and the knob smashed him in the face. The knob went right into his eye and knocked him back.

"Oh, geez," said the teacher who came in using the door, after realizing that he hit a student with the doorknob. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so," Bobbo said, covering his eye with his hand but not actually touching it.

Brooke and Max helped Bobbo back up. He removed his hand from his eye and his friends saw the giant bruise surrounding the outside half of his eye. "Well, you can add 'black eye' to your list of bad pictures," Max said.

"Seriously?" Bobbo freaked out. "It bruised already?"

"You were hit pretty hard," Brooke said. "Here," she handed him a mirror so he could look at his eye.

"Oh, man. Somehow this makes the mullet look good."

"I don't know about that," Max said softly.

"Do you have any makeup or something that I can put on?"

"I have that mirror, some lip gloss, and a couple tampons. Why would I have makeup. I don't even wear makeup," Brooke asked. "Just ask the photographer if you can turn your head a certain way or something. They're a professional. They may know some secrets or something."

"Next," the photographer called. Bobbo went up to the stool. "Name?"

"Robert Griffin," Bobbo said. "Hey, do you have any tips for hiding this black..."

The camera flashed and clicked twice. "All done. Next," the photographer called.

"What? I wasn't ready."

"You looked fine, sweetie. Next."

"Great," Bobbo said, looking at the proofs of his pictures a couple weeks later. "At least the gaping maw that makes me look like a drooling idiot and my raised finger that looks like I'm about to pick my nose and whatever my other eye is doing in this picture distracts from my black eye."

"This is my new favorite thing," Max laughed.

"It now goes this one, mullet Bobbo, and summer teeth Bobbo," Brooke said.

"Maybe I can get some new friends before the next picture day," Bobbo sighed.  ▩

If you would like to support my writing or research, you can buy me a cup of coffee on Ko-Fi.

Kids these days, amirite? It's probably really hard for them to find something to do because they don't have phones. If they had phones, they'd still be sitting at the table but at least their hands would be doing something.

Tauy Creek Digest #43: BTV

“Thank you for coming in Mrs. Griffin,” the principal said. Connie Griffin and Bobbo sat down in the chairs in front of Principal Lundgrens’ desk. “This isn’t an easy conversation to have and I hate having to do it but your son, Robert, isn’t going to pass his eighth grade year of middle school. You probably know this, Mrs. Griffin, but we have to go over the options with you on what steps you want to take with Robert.”

“This comes as a surprise to me,” Connie began. “I knew he wasn’t doing great this year but I didn’t know it was this bad.”

Bobbo was listening but looking out the window behind Principal Lundgren. He could see most of the parking lot but in his head was going through a scene from his imaginary television show he had been running for the last year. It was a daily soap opera-like show featuring little figurines of random pop culture characters he had accumulated through the years. He called it Globe and he kept track of the episodes in a daily planner after he had acted out the episode with the figures.

“Bobbo,” Connie exclaimed, snapping Bobbo out of his trance.

“Yeah?”

“Why did you do so badly this year?” she asked. He had always been so good in school. Sure, he had trouble with math but being good at everything else usually canceled that out. “And it’s not just math like it usually was but science, social studies, and English, three subjects you absolutely love. What happened?”

Bobbo shrugged. “I don’t know. I just…I was also doing other things.”

“What other things? Your main job is going to school and nothing should be more important than that.”

“Then when am I going to get any writing done?” Bobbo had started on a science novel back in fifth grade and he was still working on it. He figured that he was about halfway through it but he wasn’t sure. And that was aside from the fake television show and detailing “episodes” from he and his friends’ life into a kind of episode guide.

“I love that you want to be a writer and are really throwing yourself into that kind of work but you are fourteen. You are only in middle school. There will be plenty of time to write when you are older.”

“When? When I’m in college? When I’m working a job I don’t like to make money? When I’m taking care of a wife and three kids? When I retire? How about when I’m dead?” Bobbo argued.

“Bobbo,” Connie sighed and placed her hand on Bobbo’s knee. “We will talk about this when we get home. What are our options?” Connie turned to Principal Lundgren.

“Well, there are two options. One, Bobbo retakes eighth grade year. Two, we do a social promotion. He still graduates,” Principal Lundgren explained “he still crossed the stage and shakes hands but there won’t be anything in the envelope. Also, as long as he is in this district and, really, in this state, he has to pass the rest of his grades or he will be held back and forced to repeat them.”

The last four words bored into Bobbo’s heart and brain. The incidental music playing in his head stopped. He started thinking about what being held back—whether it’s his eighth grade year or his sophomore year—would mean to him. He’d become even more bored in class, probably lose what few friends he had. None of these options were ones he wanted but these were the ones presented to him.

“He should probably be held back. Better to do it now than when he’s in high school and the grades and effort actually matter,” Connie said.

“What? No, I don’t want to be held back,” Bobbo exclaimed. “It’s not fair.”

“How is it not fair? You didn’t do the work. You didn’t pass. You shouldn’t be rewarded for failing like this.”

“I’m not being rewarded. You know I’m smart. You know I can do this. You both know this. I’m having a bit of a struggle and the solution is to paint a big red A on my chest? Whether I’m held back or receive an empty envelope, it’s a huge punch in the gut,” he nervously laughed and tried to keep tears from falling from his eyes. “And…and what if I struggle in high school at some point and fail?”

“Bobbo…” Connie sighed again. “These are the rules, or the laws, or whatever. We have no control over them. It may not seem fair, it may not seem right but they are the only options.”

“Then I choose the empty envelope,” Bobbo said, crossing his arms.

Connie turned her body in the chair to face her son. “Bobbo, you have to do better next year.”

“I can. I will. I can handle work, school, and writing,” Bobbo said. He had applied to work at Greenbush College in the food service department. Several other teenagers were going to work there including his friends Brooke and Max. The job was supposed to start the Tuesday after Labor Day and Bobbo was excited to finally have his own money since his mom had never given him an allowance.

“I don’t think there will be any work in the near future,” Connie shook her head. “And writing should also be put on the back burner because school needs to be your only focus for the next year.

“But I want to keep this job. I’ve been excited for this job since I was in sixth grade,” Bobbo said. “I can do it. Give me a chance. I can do it,” he seemed to be almost hyperventilating.

Connie sighed again. Bobbo had never heard her sigh this much. “To keep the job you have to stay above a C, got it?” she said.

Bobbo nodded. “Yeah,” he gulped.

Tauy Creek Digest #39: Bobbo in "Sleepwalk With Me"

Brooke had a slight snore as she slept. A small gurgle emanating from her throat and nose. She'd been asleep for couple hours--her bedtime being 9 o'clock. She then shuddered and pulled the blankets off her body. She sat up and extended her arms and began walking. Walking out of her bedroom and out of her house.

Bobbo was still awake, playing a video game. His window was open and his bedroom light was off so he was able to see outside. From the corner of his eye he saw someone walking down the sidewalk. He turned quickly, saw that it was Brooke, then went back to his game. Then he paused and dropped the controller, rushing to the window to confirm what he was seeing.

"Brooke?" he asked. "What is she...? Is she sleepwalking?" Bobbo left his room and went outside. He stayed several feet behind Brooke. He trailed her for a couple houses. Bobbo then peeled off and went to one of the houses and began tapping on one of the windows.

Max opened the blinds and pushed the window open when he saw Bobbo standing outside. "What's going on?"

"Brooke is sleepwalking," he pointed in her direction.

"That's not good."

"We aren't supposed to wake her up but we can try to make her safe and lead her back to bed."

"Uh, if you want to keep her safe then you might want to keep her away from that construction site," Max said.

"What?" Bobbo shrieked. Max jumped out the window and the two boys began running after her. Brooke entered the construction zone where an apartment complex was being built. There were several skeletons of buildings completed, all five stories. Brooke headed toward one of the buildings. She got onto some of the scaffolding and was soon making her way around the steel skeleton ten feet above the ground. Surprisingly, there was a watchman at the site eating a sandwich. "Hey, you have someone wandering around on one of your buildings."

The watchman turned and looked at Brooke, now, somehow, on the second floor of the skeleton. "She'll awaken...when she falls," the watchman said.

"That's a huge help, thanks," Max said and he and Bobbo ran into the construction zone to help Brooke.

"Hey, you two need hard hats!" the watchman shouted at them. He then shrugged and went back to his sandwich.

"What are we going to do?" Max asked.

"We have to try to wake her," Bobbo said. "You stay down here while I go up. Maybe I can lead her back down or get her to wake up on her own."

"Be careful, if you startle her she might fall."

"I hadn't noticed," Bobbo found a way up the steel structure and carefully walked along the beam. He made a quick down then panicked and grabbed onto one of the vertical support beams. "I didn't know I was afraid of heights."

His steps became more cautious and then he noticed Brooke now on the third floor. "How is she getting up there?" Max shouted from below.

Bobbo steadied himself and went after her. Down below, Max got an idea. He ran over to one of the big cement mixing trucks and found the keys still in it. "Terrible security in this place," he turned the key and started the truck. The loud noises of the engine and spinning drum echoed through the construction site. "Try to stay close to her in case she wakes up," he shouted to Bobbo but also followed her movement below.

Bobbo was heading after Brooke on the third floor and was about to reach her when she made a sudden turn. Bobbo stopped suddenly, lost his balance and fell over. His arm and leg was able to grab ahold of the steel beam so he didn't fall and wasn't dangling but he was now paralyzed with fear. Afraid that if he moved, he'd fall.

"Oh, balls," Max exclaimed. "I'm coming." Max ran to the building and made his way up to the third floor. When he arrived at Bobbo, he looked down to help his friend and got dizzy, falling back onto the steel beam. "I didn't know I was afraid of heights."

"Just help me," Bobbo cried.

Carefully, Max helped Bobbo onto the steel beam but both refused to stand up. "I say we just go back down and call the police or something. That probably should've been our first idea."

"That, or woke up her parents."

They carefully crawled their way down the building and to the ground. When they stood up again, their legs still shaking, they noticed Brooke was also back on the ground and heading out of the construction site back toward her house. They followed her and watched as she went down their street and turned toward her house. She opened the door, closed it, and was soon back in bed.

Bobbo and Max peered through the window and saw her climb into bed and go back to sleep. "What was that?" Bobbo exclaimed, waving an arm in a frantic gesture, his hand hit the window making a loud banging noise.

Brooke, startled, woke up and saw two faces staring at her through the window. "Bobbo? Max? What are you doing peeping on me? Do you do this every night? Get out of here you pair of perverts. You should be glad I don't wake my mom and dad. You should be glad I don't call the cops! Perverts!" she screamed and threw several stuffed animals at the window. Bobbo and Max ran off.

Bobbo #3

“Please pass your tests to the person in front,” Ms. Ortiz said. All the kids passed their papers up and she collected them. As she was picking them up, she a crumpled piece of paper on the floor. She picked it up and opened it. “Whose cheat sheet is this?” Ms. Ortiz asked.

All the students looked at each other but no one answered.

“Then I will assume it belongs to all of you so this entire class gets an F,” Ms. Ortiz said.

The class groaned in unison.

“Unless the owner of this comes forward by the end of school day tomorrow, everyone in here gets a zero.”

“We need to figure out whose cheat sheet that was,” Bobbo said as he, Max, and Brooke walked through the halls to their next class. “Do you think Ms. Ortiz will let us look at the handwriting so we can point fingers?”

“Come on, Bobbo,” Max began, “even if we know whose handwriting it is, us saying that isn’t going to help. The person needs to come forward or that zero isn’t going away.”

“Brooke, are you in?” Bobbo asked.

“No. Max is right. The person needs to come forward or it doesn’t matter.”

“You of all people,” Bobbo shook his head. “What about your 4.0?”

“Sorry, Bobbo.”

Brooke and Max went into their class but Bobbo stayed in the hall. “Psst. Griffin,” a voice said from behind him. “I heard what you said. I’m in.”

Bobbo turned around. “Shala?”

“I can’t afford a zero on this test. You can’t maintain a C-average with a zero on your grade card. I say we ask Ms. Ortiz to show us the cheat sheet and we...persuade the cheater to come forward,” Shala punched a fist into her hand.

“I don’t think we need to go that far,” Bobbo said.

“You play your way, I’ll play mine,” Shala growled.




After school, Bobbo and Shala went to Ms. Ortiz. “Ms. Ortiz, can we see the cheat sheet you found today?” Bobbo asked.

“Why?” she asked. “Was it yours?”

“What? No,” Bobbo exclaimed.

“We want to see if we recognize the handwriting,” Shala said, matter-of-factly. Ms. Ortiz sighed and handed the paper to Bobbo and Shala. “I don’t recognize it,” Shala said.

“Sweet. I got question nine right,” Bobbo said.

“No, you didn’t,” Ms. Ortiz said.

“What?” Shala asked.

“Several of the answers on the cheat sheet are wrong.”

“So the perp made a cheat sheet that had wrong answers?”

“It was probably a mistake. The cheat sheet does match up with the study guide we did. I rearrange the questions on the test. Instead of writing down A for number one, they should’ve written down ‘transcendentalism.’”

“Sweet. I got that one right,” Bobbo said.

“No, you didn’t,” Ms. Ortiz said.




“We’re no closer to figuring this out,” Shala said. “We all may just have to take a zero.”

“No, I refuse to break my C-average streak,” Bobbo said. “Maybe it’s time to start questioning some suspects.”

“Like who?”

“Was it yours?” Bobbo demanded when he and Shala found Trent playing basketball in the park.

“Was what mine?” Trent asked.

“The cheat sheet that Ms. Ortiz found in class. The whole class is going to get zeroes unless you fess up,” Bobbo growled through clenched teeth.

“Sucks to be you. The cheat sheet can’t be mine.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not in your class, moron,” Trent said. “I expect this from him, but you Shala?”

“Sorry. I wanted to see where he was going with this.”

“Well, that was my idea. What do you have?” Bobbo asked.

“I think we should just go home. We don’t have any idea who it is and it’ll be dinner soon.”

“Yeah. We’ve tried nothing and we’re all out of ideas,” Bobbo said.

“I guess we’ll all just take zeroes,” Shala sighed. “I’ll see you at school, Bobbo. This was fun. Wish we would’ve been better at it.”

“I wish we had been, too. Not just for our grade but so we didn’t look like complete idiots,” Bobbo said. “See you, Shala.”




“Class,” Ms. Ortiz began, “I have decided not to give you all zeroes because of the cheat sheet I found yesterday. As Bobbo and Shala made me realize yesterday that most of the answers on the cheat sheet were wrong so it’s not like anyone could’ve gotten a perfect score.”

Bobbo and Shala perked up at this. “We actually did something?” Bobbo exclaimed.

“Well, I said the answers were wrong. You pointed out that the cheater would pass.”

“We did something!” Bobbo exclaimed again and he and Shala air high-fived from across the room.

“I wonder whose cheat sheet that was,” Max said, between bites of his pizza, at lunch.

“I don’t know,” Shala said.

“And I guess we’ll never know,” Bobbo said, ominously.

In Ms. Ortiz’s classroom, the cheat sheet was lying crumpled up in the trash can next to her desk. Ms. Ortiz took a sip of her coffee and frowned. “Mm. Cold,” she said and dropped the cup into the trash. The lid popped off and coffee spilled, completely soaking the cheat sheet.

“I guess we’ll never know…” he said, again, ominously.

Bobbo #2

Monday. Max went through the lunch line, sneering at what was available for lunch. Some sort of chicken nugget chunk with mixed vegetables and applesauce. At the end of the food line, he saw boxed-up pieces of pizza from a pizza chain. “Oh, thank you Lunch Jesus,” Max looked up and grabbed two boxes and sat them on his tray. He grabbed a carton of chocolate milk and sat down with Bobbo and Brooke.

“Pizza?” Bobbo questioned.

“Isn’t that leftover pizza from Friday?” Brooke asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Max moaned, shoving a piece in his mouth. “I would rather eat month old pizza than those gruel nuggets or those wax vegetables they ran under hot water.”

Tuesday. Max sat down with Bobbo and Brooke. He had nothing on his tray but a cinnamon puff and chocolate milk.

“No lunch?” Brooke asked.

“No pizza,” Max mumbled. “And I don’t like tomato soup.”

“It’s chili,” Bobbo said.

“It’s tomato soup. With beans,” Max exclaimed.

Wednesday. Bobbo and Brooke sat down with Max who had a box of pizza in front of him. Next to him, he had a carton of chocolate milk.

“Bring your lunch?” Bobbo asked.

“Oh, yeah. And it’s much better and filling than whatever those breadsticks are trying to do.”

“They’re Italian dunkers,” Brooke pointed out the liquidy meat and marinara sauce in a plastic cup.

“They’re garbage,” Max protested, chewing his pizza.

Thursday. Bobbo and Brooke sat down with Max who had just a carton of chocolate milk. “Max? What’s wrong? You’re shaking,” Bobbo asked, concerned.

“No pizza. Nothing to eat,” Max lamented.

Bobbo looked down at his tray with baked ziti, roasted vegetables, broccoli, and fruit snacks. “Max, there’s baked ziti tod…”

Brooke interrupted him. “Don’t even try.”

Friday. Max sat down with Bobbo and Brooke. He had three pieces of the rectangular pizza on his tray along with some salad, carrots, and a cinnamon roll, along with his chocolate milk.

“Three?” Bobbo questioned.

“The lunch ladies and I have an understanding,” Max said.

“You have a problem, Max,” Brooke said. “You’re going to turn into a pizza someday.”

“That sounds delicious,” Max salivated.




In U.S. History, Mr. Fletcher had put on a movie about a white guy living with Native Americans and fell asleep behind his desk. Max had also fallen asleep and even slept through the dismissal bell.

“Max, come on. We need to get to science,” Bobbo shook Max awake.

Bobbo and Max arrived in the science classroom and sat at their desks. Ms. Hinck, a short and chubby woman, raised her hand to get the student’s attention and began talking. “Okay, class, I promised you something neat today. We’re going to look at gamma radiation,” she said, and pulled a giant futuristic-looking gun out from behind her desk. The kids exclaimed in awe. “Now, everyone look at that potato I have sitting on that stand. I’m going to shoot some gamma radiation at it. Watch what happens.”

Ms. Hinck pulled the trigger and a beam of radiation came out and hit the potato. Within seconds, it was cooked and soon exploded. The kids exclaimed in delight again.

“Who wants to try it?” Ms. Hinck asked. Several kids’ hands shot up. “Trent, come on up.” Trent snickered and walked up to Ms. Hinck. She handed him to the gamma ray gun. “You can shoot it at one thing that’s not another student.”

“Aw, man. You’re safe today, Bobbo,” Trent scoffed. He looked around the room and saw a mirror hanging over the sink. He aimed and shot. The radiation hit the mirror, bounced off, and hit Max in the back.

“Naargh!” Max exclaimed and shuddered in his desk. “I feel weird.” Max began growing, getting to twice his height but he also grew pepperoni and his skin became a mixture of crust and cheese. The kids in science class scattered at the sight of Max becoming a human pizza monster. “Hungry!” he growled.

Max shoved desks out of the way and crashed through the door and headed to the cafeteria. The kitchen staff was just finishing cleaning up when Max burst through the doors. “Kitchen’s closed,” one of the ladies said.

“Pizza,” Max growled.

“I said...Oh, my. Our pizza is in there,” she pointed to the giant walk-in fridge. “It’s not warmed up.”

“Warm. In. Belly,” Max said. He ripped the door off of the walk-in and saw the pieces on a large, flat baking pan. He began downing the pieces one-by-one. With each piece he grew bigger and bigger. Soon, he broke through the ceiling of the school. Alarms in the school began going off and the students ran away.

Sirens could be heard in the distance. With the last piece of pizza in his hand, waving it over his head, Max bellowed “Pizza!” as the police cars and fire trucks arrived with military arsenal close behind.




“Max, wake up,” Bobbo finally just moved Max’s chair nearly causing him to fall out. “We need to get to science.”

“Man,” Max seemed to sigh in relief. “I had the weirdest dream.”

“Was it about pizza?” Bobbo asked.

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“You kept muttering ‘pizza’ in your sleep,” Bobbo said.

“Sorry. My Mom says I do that a lot.”

Bobbo #1

Brooke’s character sprite jumped off of the platform and onto the flagpole thus winning the game. Bobbo angrily tossed his controller toward the game system. “I don’t know why I let you win,” he said.

“You didn’t. I schooled you,” Brooke smiled at him. “I need to get going.”

The two of them got up and Bobbo showed Brooke to the door. “I’ll see you at school?” he asked as she stood in the doorway.

“Where else would we see each other?” she chuckled and turned to leave. “Hey!” she exclaimed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Where’s my bike?”

“You parked it right here,” Bobbo came out of the house and looked up and down the yard.

“I know. What happened to it? Did someone take it?”

“Why would someone do that?”

“I need to find it. Will you help me look?” Brooke asked Bobbo.

“Wait here. I know someone who can help,” Bobbo smiled and ran off back into the house.

“Someone?” Brooke questioned.

A couple minutes later, Bobbo reemerged in a red shirt and a red cape and mask. “Super-Duper Man is here to help you, miss,” Bobbo said in a deeper voice.

“Bobbo, what are you doing?”

“Who’s Bobbo? Oh, that nice young man who lets me, Super-Duper Man, use his house? What seems to be the problem?”

“You know what the problem is,” Brooke was already tired of this.

“My powers of super-deduction…”

“Not a thing.”

“...Tell me that your bicycle is missing.”

“Oh my God.”

“Come with me. Let’s see if the neighbors saw anything,” Bobbo grabbed the cape and as he turned around, waved the cape with a grand flourish.

“Are you going to keep talking like that?”

Instead of going to the neighbor’s house across the street, Bobbo and Brooke went two doors down and across the street to Max’s house. Bobbo knocked on the door and Max opened it. “Oh, this looks like fun,” Max beamed.

“Hello, citizen,” Bobbo began. “This little girl is missing her bike. We were wondering if you’ve seen anything suspicious.”

“What’s with the voice?”

“This is how Super-Duper Man talks,” Bobbo said. “So, did you see anything?”

“No, I didn’t. Why does a missing bike require the services of a superhero? You really should’ve used your detective persona, Bobbo,” Max said.

“So you haven’t seen anything?” Bobbo asked, using his normal voice.

“No, I didn’t,” Max said.

“To the next house,” Bobbo exclaimed in his Super-Duper Man voice and gesticular flair.

Bobbo led the way with Brooke and now Max following. “You don’t have to come,” Brooke said.

“No, no. I want to see how this plays out.”

They walked past several houses and passed in front of Trent Elder’s house. Trent was in the front room, sneering and cackling over Brooke’s missing bicycle, wringing his hands in a weird fashion. “Heh, stealing Brooke’s bike is the best joke I’ve ever had.” Trent then heard Bobbo’s Super-Duper Man voice outside and he ran to the window to see Bobbo in some sort of weird cape get-up, Brooke and Max. “Bobbo’s dressed like a superhero to help Brooke find her bike? That gives me an idea.”

Within minutes, Trent had donned a blue Ninja Turtle mask and one of those styrofoam Hulk hands that makes noise and went outside with the bike. “Halt!” he demanded, using a deeper voice like Bobbo was. “I have what you seek.”

The three of them turned around. Bobbo gasped in shock. “The bike!” he exclaimed.

“The precious bike--in the clutches of The Evil Fist,” Trent declared.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Max smiled and pointed in the direction of Trent.

“Evil Fist, you are no match for Super-Duper Man,” Bobbo shouted and ran toward Trent. Trent sat the bike down and raised the hand with the Hulk gun. Bobbo faked-punched Trent but Trent really hit Bobbo with his foam which didn’t hurt or do anything. “I’m using my heat vision on you,” Bobbo said.

“I’m immune to your pathetic heat vision,” Trent said.

“Nothing is immune to my heat vision,” Bobbo said.

“I am,” Trent said.

“Well, nothing is immune to my nuclear vision,” Bobbo yelled and focused his eyes on Trent.

“I am,” Trent gritted his teeth in a smile.

“You can’t just make up powers,” Bobbo said and threw a fake punch.

“I’m immune to your punches too. Evil Fist is immune to all punches.”

Brooke walked over to the boys and picked her bike off of the ground and walked back to Max. “Thanks for trying to find my bike, Bobbo,” she said. “I have to head home. I’ll see you at school, Max.”

“See you, Brooke,” Max waved and the two went their separate ways as Bobbo and Trent faked punched each other in Trent’s front yard.

Tauy Creek Digest #21: Fall Dance

Bobbo sat in his desk during world geography class but he was turned toward the class with his back to the window. His arm and hand resting on the desk behind him. Michelle Plass was using a ballpoint pen to draw on his hand and wrist. "Are you going to the fall dance tonight?" she asked him as she continued drawing.

"No, I don't have a date," Bobbo answered.

"You can come with me," Michelle said. "I'm going alone so we could be each others dates."

"Sure, I'll go. It'll be fun," Bobbo said.

Michelle continued drawing on Bobbo's hand until the bell rang for class to be over. "I'll see you at the dance. We'll wait outside for each other to arrive."

"Sure, see you tonight," Bobbo stood up and grabbed his stuff. He looked at his hand. "Why'd you draw a penis on me?" he asked after seeing the elongated mushroom shapes.

Bobbo walked through the hallways and Brooke came up to him. "Bobbo, are you going to dance tonight?" she asked him.

"That question is really going around," Bobbo said. "Yeah, why?"

"Would you want to go with me? Trent said he was going to but then he flaked out on me," Brooke complained. "Do you want to be my date?"

"Yeah, I'd love to. I'll just meet you inside the cafeteria," Bobbo said. "See you tonight." Bobbo continued down the hall and joined up with Max. "Hey, Max, are you going to the dance tonight?"

"You're not my type," Max said.

"Are you going or not?"

"Yeah, there's going to be free food," Max answered.

"I will be going to the dance with both Brooke and Michelle," Bobbo revealed.

"And they are both cool with that?"

"Well, they don't know. Michelle asked me first in world geography and Brooke asked me just now. I plan on keeping them apart. Keeping them on opposite ends of the cafeteria, you know," Bobbo smiled.

"That's a good plan. That always works out. Always," Max said. "Why do you have penises drawn on your hand?"

"Michelle drew them on me," Bobbo looked at his hand.

"She's a weird girl," Max said.




At the dance, Bobbo started out with Michelle. They walked in together but made sure they avoided Mr. Dillon, the art teacher who was taking pictures of the kids coming in. The went to the corner of the cafeteria where the food and Max was. "Hey, Bobbo. Hi, Michelle," Max greeted.

"Hi, Max," Michelle responded.

Bobbo whispered to Max. "Have you seen Brooke?"

"She's over there," Max pointed to the other side of the cafeteria. "You're really going to do this, aren't you?"

"I'll take her some food," Bobbo grabbed a plate and began loading it up with food. "I'm gonna go say hi to some friends."

"I'll go with you. We both know the same people."

"No, that's okay. Keep Max company," Bobbo said and walked away into the crowd of kids.

Michelle raised an eyebrow.

"Mry huh hupcays," Max said, an entire cupcake in his mouth.

"Hello, milady, I brought you some food," Bobbo said as he arrived at Brooke. "I didn't see you when I came in so I grabbed us both something to eat."

"Thanks, Bobbo," Brooke took the plate from him and took a couple of Cheez-Its. "How did you do on Mr. Hart's pop quiz?" she asked.

"Terrible. I got a high D. I wasn't really thinking clearly when I was taking it. How'd you do?"

"One hundred percent. The only one in his class," Brooke smiled.

"That's great," Bobbo tried to look out over the crowd. "I'm gonna go grab more food."

"But there's plenty here on the plate," Brooke said.

"I want more," Bobbo said and ran off back to the other side of the cafeteria. "I'm back. Everyone says 'Hey,'" Bobbo breathed.

"Where's your plate?" Michelle asked.

"Oh," Bobbo slapped his forehead. "I left it over there. Oh, well, I'll just get a new one."

"That's a waste of food. I'll go grab it. Where'd you leave it?" Michelle said.

"No! Please don't!" Bobbo shouted.

"You are excellent at this," Max chuckled, shoving a cookie into his mouth.

"What's wrong?" Michelle asked.

"Nothing, I just..." Bobbo didn't know what to say. "There's plenty of food here and I'm sure someone over there will eat it."

"So bad," Max shook his head.

"Hi, Michelle. Hi, Max," Brooke suddenly appeared through the crowd of people with the plate full of food. "Bobbo, help me eat this. You don't need to get another plate."

"You gave your plate to Brooke?" Michelle asked.

"You should start backing away toward the door," Max bent down and said in Bobbo's ear.

"What's going on?" Michelle asked. "Did you ask Brooke to the dance but still agreed to go with me?"

"No, no, no. Of course not," Bobbo defended.

"I asked him to go with me," Brooke said. "Did he ask you?"

"No, I asked him."

"When'd you ask him?"

"World geography, sixth hour."

"I asked between sixth and seventh."

"Run," Max whispered.

"So you asked him first," Brooke said. "I'm sorry. I never would've asked Bobbo if I had known."

"Yeah, that's probably something Bobbo should have mentioned," Michelle crossed her arms and both she and Brooke turned to look at Bobbo.

"We were just going as friends," Bobbo said.

"So you won't mind if we hang out with other boys?" Michelle shrugged.

"No, of course not. Go. Have a ball," Bobbo said.

"Come on, Brooke. I know this boy who doesn't have a bone in the top part of his pointer finger," Michelle took Brooke's arm and began pulling her away.

Bobbo took a deep breath and exhaled loudly. "That went better than expected."

"What a weird girl," Max said.

Tauy Creek Digest #6: Bobbo

The hashtags and headlines all run together.

It seems as if twenty minutes ago, nothing was wrong. Fifteen minutes ago, another police officer shoots an unarmed black man.

He was armed? Why does that matter? There are more than 300 million guns in this country and you're worried about one black man with one gun? I know white guys with guns pointed at their front doors just in case someone looks at their house the wrong way.

Ten minutes ago, protests began. Always peaceful, always motivated by what is right.

#BlackLivesMatter. Not saying other lives don't matter. Just saying that it seems that black lives matter less. Evidence shows it. Everything bad that could happen to an American tends to happen disproportionately to the black community. We overlook things like that because the majority of this country is white so why should we care what happens?

Five minutes ago, shots ring out. No longer peaceful, once a unified body becomes separate again.

Two steps forward, one step back. That's how we are anymore. Despite all the advancements we cannot overcome, for whatever reason, our history. Why do we feel like we have to keep people down. Several generations have come and gone and we are still fighting the Civil War.

One minute ago. It all starts over again.

~*~*~

The blond haired boy carefully walked along the top of the eight-foot privacy fence with his arms extended while the cute dark haired girl watched. "Ooh, be careful, Bobbo," she said, in odd amazement.

"Don't worry, I could do this with my eyes closed," Bobbo said. Right about at that moment, Bobbo began to stumble and then fall over the fence. He landed with a thud on the ground in a tulip garden. When Bobbo finally rolled over and stood up to leave the garden, most of the tulips had been flattened.

"Bobbo!" a voice screamed from the direction of the house. "My tulips! What do you think you're doing?"

"Sorry, Mr. Popadopolis," Bobbo muttered. "There was this girl and..."

"Get out!"

Bobbo ran from Mr. Popadopolis' backyard and back around to where the girl was. "Are you okay, Bobbo?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Can't say that about Mr. Popadopolis' tulips though."

"Well, Bobbo. It could've been worse."

"I guess. What a great way to start a friendship," Bobbo sighed dejectedly and began sauntering home.




"You should have seen it, Max. I made a fool of myself in front of that new girl, Brooke," Bobbo complained to his best friend, Max, as they walked through the wall.

"You make a fool of yourself in front of a lot of people, Bobbo, how is this different?" Max asked, drily.

"Har, har. I just want to impress her. What should I do?"

"Stay away from her. That would impress me, anyway, if you could stay away from a girl for 24 hours."

They walked by a kiosk where something caught Bobbo's eye. He stopped to look in the case at the kiosk and saw a bracelet with five charms on a small chain link. "What about that? Do you think she'd like that?" Bobbo pointed at the bracelet. The charms were a heart, a music note, a four-leaf clover, a peace sign, and a star.

Max snorted. "I don't know. How would I know what she likes? I haven't even met her."

"How much is that charm bracelet?" Bobbo asked the guy working the kiosk.

"Ten dollars," he answered.

"I don't have ten dollars," Bobbo sighed and he and Max walked away. "What can I do to earn some quick money?"

"You should spend this kind of energy on your chores and schoolwork," Max said.

"I got it!" Bobbo exclaimed. "I'll see you later, Max."

"No rush," Max said.




"Is that you, Bobbo?" Old Lady Vandacourt asked. She had wheeled herself over to the door to answer it when Bobbo knocked. Old Lady Vandacourt was around 100-years-old, still spry and sassy, she relied on the kindness of her neighbors between the times her daughter and granddaughter would come out to help with groceries and doctor's appointments.

"Sure is. I wondering if you had any odd jobs I could do. I'm looking to earn ten dollars."

"I could probably find something for you. Come on in," Old Lady Vandacourt wheeled her wheelchair backward to give Bobbo room to go in. "You can help me clean out my kitchen cabinets. I've been wanting to do that for months," they walked to the kitchen which was stuck in the 1960s. Everything was at least clean but very dated. "Just go through that cabinet and tell me what's in the can and the expiration date. I'll let you know if you can get rid of it."

For the next hour, Bobbo went through the cans in the cabinet. Half the cans were deemed unsuitable to keep while the other half could be kept. Old Lady Vandacourt then told Bobbo to help clean out her refrigerator. Dozens of moldy plastic containers were tossed out as were a couple cartons of milk. Bobbo was excited when he was finally done with that.

"Anything else, Ms. Vandacourt? I really need to get the ten dollars," Bobbo panted.

"One more thing," she said.

Bobbo's face lowered.

"Can you take Simpson out for a walk?" Old Lady Vandacourt asked.

"Simpson?" Bobbo looked over and saw a dog lying on the couch. "Your dog?"

"Yes. He doesn't get out much except the backyard to do his business. He needs a good walk. The leash is by the door."

"Sure, I guess."

"I'll have the ten dollars ready for you when you get back."

Bobbo hooked the leash onto Simpson's collar and the two left the house. They made it halfway down the block when Brooke came around the corner. "Hi, Brooke," Bobbo stammered.

"Hi, Bobbo. Who is this cutie-patootie?" she kneeled down and rubbed Simpson's head.

"This is Simpson. He's Old Lady Vandacourt's dog. I need to get some extra money so I'm doing some chores for her."

"Oh, that's nice. Why do you need the money?"

"There's something at the mall I want to buy," Bobbo said. "What are you doing?"

"I'm heading to the mall actually."

"I'm headed back there when I'm done with this. Maybe I'll see you there."

"Maybe. I'll see you later."

"See you," Bobbo waved and they went their separate ways. Bobbo continued walking Simpson down the sidewalk. Suddenly, Bobbo tripped, fell down, and let go of the leash. As if on cue, Simpson began bolting away. "Simpson!" Bobbo hollered and quickly stood up and ran after the loose dog. Bobbo chased Simpson down the street. The dog turned suddenly and ran into a yard. He began digging in a bed of tulips. "No, Simpson, stop."

"Bobbo!" Mr. Popadopolis yelled.

Bobbo clutched Simpson with both arms around the chest and carried him away from the other bed of tulips. "Sorry, Mr. Popadopolis." Bobbo put Simpson down and the two bolted from the yard. Bobbo returned to Old Lady Vandacourt. "We're back, Ms. Vandacourt."

"Oh, good. Did Simpson have a good time?"

"He seemed to," Bobbo said.

"I don't have any cash on me but here are ten one dollar coupons for that frozen yogurt place in the mall," she handed Bobbo the coupons. "You can use them all at once and they don't expire so you can get ten dollars worth of yogurt."

Bobbo reluctantly took the coupons. "Thanks, Ms. Vandacourt."




Bobbo trekked back to the mall. Near the food court, where the frozen yogurt place was, he ran into Brooke. "Hello again, did you get your money?"

"Kind of," Bobbo shrugged. He then perked up. "Do you want to get some frozen yogurt?" he pointed to the frozen yogurt shop.

"Sure, I'll take some."

"Great. Get whatever you want. My treat."