Take Two! by John J. Bonk Page A

big as an ox and definitely a moron.
    “Hey, Dustin!” Stewy called out, waving me down from the backseat of the bus. “There’s room back here.”
    “Hi, Stew, what’s new?”
    There was always plenty of room around Stewy. Probably because he was too smart, too young, and due to the macrobiotic lunches
     his Mom packed him – too stinky. Luckily, Pepper and her dad (biological, not step) were stuck in the backseat too. He must’ve
     been chaperoning.
    “Dust-buster! Long time no see,” Mr. Pew said really enthused. “We’ve got a seat all warmed up for ya.” I squeezed in between
     Pepper and the fingerprint-covered window. “Say, ya ever had a hankering for some really good tomatoes?”
    Huh?
Mostly after they turn into ketchup or spaghetti sauce, but, “Sure,” I replied. “Who hasn’t?”
    “Wrong answer,” Pepper whispered, elbowing me. “Now you’ll never shut him up.”
    “I’ve got you pegged as a beefsteak tomato type of guy, am I right? I’m partial to those babies myself, but there’s quite
     a variety out there! You’ve got your Quick Picks, your Supersonics, your Mountain Springs – your orange, your pink, your white…”
    I laughed out loud just so Wally would think I was having a good time. The bus peeled out of the lot and I took out my foreign-dialects
     book from my backpack as if to say thanks for sharing, Mr. P., but conversation over. That didn’t stop him from rattling on
     nonstop. I was able to tune him out, though, quietly practicing my cockney accent – hopefully for the show.
Think positive!
    By the time we hit Willowbridge, my tongue needed a break. (You try getting “Bob’s your uncle” to sound like “bAWbz y’ rAHnkOOl,”
     like, fifty times straight.) So I gazed out the window at the gigantic, head-shape water tower and for some reason pictured
     Dad’s face on it – like that cutout in the attic, only a zillion times bigger. The thought of being up close and personal
     again with the real thing was freaking me out and I didn’t know why. Sure, I hadn’t set eyes on him in three years, but we
     talked all the time. And it’s not as if we were strangers – same flesh and blood – plus, he was the funniest father on the
     planet. But part of me wanted to call the whole thing off.
Just quit while he’s a head
.
    “Jeez, Pepper, can I have a little breathing room here?” I was jammed up against the window. “You’re squashing me like a –
     tomato.”
    “I’m just trying to avoid Stewy’s stench,” she murmured, practically snuggling. “His mom must’ve packed him those sardine-barley
     nut balls again.”
    Enough said. For the rest of the trip I pretended to be asleep, while Mr. Pew jawed on about the horrors of horn-worms and
     stinkbugs. Finally, I heard the bus engine wheezing to a stop and my eyes popped open. The view from the Shedd Aquarium parking
     lot alone was totally worth the trip! There was the Chicago skyline on one side with skyscraper after skyscraper poking through
     wispy clouds; and LakeMichigan on the opposite side – an ocean of a lake, with no end to its shimmery blue water in sight.
    “People, people! Back in your seats!” Mr. Lynch shouted over the bus blabber, waving his spindly, windshield-wiper arms. “The
     buses will be locked, so please remember to take your lunches, notebooks, asthma inhalers…. Oh, and chaperones, we’re two
     teachers short, so you really need to be on your toes. Principal Futterman was supposed to be accompanying us, but he had
     a pet emergency; and Coach Mockler pulled a fast one on us at the last minute and decided to ‘call in sick.’” He did the air-quote
     finger gesture like he thought it was a crock. “Okay, everyone, grab your belongings and let’s move!”
    The aquarium was bigger than Buckingham Palace. (Not that I’d ever measured.) Mr. Lynch told us to take detailed notes because
     we’d be writing a report on our favorite exhibit.
So many fish, so little time!
Well,