Billy Sure Kid Entrepreneur and the Attack of the Mysterious Lunch Meat Read online

  “Well, you definitely have me beat in Sandbox XXL,” I say. “And you were a big help in getting things back to normal here at Fillmore.”

  Jada smiles.

  “And I thought the lunch at my school was bad,” she says. We both share a laugh.

  There’s an awkward silence, almost like neither of us knows what to say. Then I notice we’re both blushing. Remember when I said I like Jada? Well, I get the feeling that maybe, sorta, kinda . . . Jada likes me a little bit too.

  I’m right. At that moment Jada leans in close and kisses me on the cheek! “What about Kevin?” I ask, which is something I’ve wanted to ask since the first day of school.

  “Kevin?” Jada asks. “Oh, Billy. He’s just my friend. I like YOU!”

  My heart flutters. Jada—Jada likes ME?

  Is this real? I find myself thinking.

  We head back into the school.

  “Sandbox XXL at the arcade next weekend?” I ask.

  “You bet!” says Jada. “And I’ll try my best to go easy on you!”

  Once we’re back inside the building, I take a look around. All at once I’m surrounded by my sister, my mom, my best friend and business partner, an octopus secret agent, a reporter that used to be my enemy who is now my friend, and all of my friends at Fillmore Middle School. Not to mention a girl I really, really like, who kind of, maybe, definitely likes me back. The only thing I’m missing are my dad and dog.

  Just as I’m thinking that, a sensible sedan I know all too well shows up at the school.

  “Ruuuuf! Arf! Arf!” comes a little dog’s voice from the car.

  It’s Dad and Philo! And Manny’s parents are in the back!

  “We wanted to celebrate too,” Dad says, and joins me for a hug. “We’re all so proud of you, Billy.”

  “I have the best business partner in the world,” Manny says next to me.

  “You get one day free of homework, Mr. Sure,” says Mr. Jennings.

  Everyone joins in for a group hug.

  Yeah, you know that first week of school feeling?

  It feels pretty good right about now.

  Here’s to eighth grade!

  Your shoulder’s open,” Grandpa Joe says for the 47,718th time of my twelve-year-long life. “Check yourself.”

  I sigh deeply into my glove so my grandfather won’t hear me. It’s annoying listening to those exact words every single time I practice with him. It’s even more annoying knowing that he’s usually right. Well, to be honest, more like always right.

  Grandpa Joe lobs the ball back to me. I carefully move my fingers around the seams to get the right grip. I try to stop thinking about how annoyed I feel, and set my mind on my balance instead.

  “Check your feet, kiddo,” Grandpa reminds me.

  Oh yeah, my feet. I set them into the position Grandpa taught me when I was barely big enough to hold a ball in my hand. I bend my knees so I’m loose, then I take a deep breath. Eyes focused on my target, I pull back into my balance point, hold my shoulder in line with my eyes, shift to power position, and throw the ball as hard as I can. It hits Grandpa’s glove dead in the center with a loud thwack!

  “There you go!” Grandpa cheers. “Who’s on your side, Matt?”

  “You are, Grandpa,” I reply for the 47,718th time. “Always.”

  I hear the familiar sound of rugged tires crunching the gravel in our driveway. Have I mentioned that it’s only 7:30 a.m.? And that I’ve been throwing a baseball for thirty minutes already? And that I still have a full day of school—and a play-off game—ahead of me? Welcome to the world of Matt Vezza. It’s an exhausting place!

  My best friend, Luis Ramirez, is sitting on his dirt bike, waiting for me to grab my stuff so we can ride to school together. He looks at me, grins, and shakes his head.

  “Okay, I know you’re a pretty good pitcher, but are you ever going to learn how to throw a baseball like your grandpa, dude?” Luis chuckles as he tips his bucket hat at my grandfather. “Morning, Grandpa Joe.”

  “Morning, Luis,” Grandpa Joe replies.

  Grandpa Joe tosses the ball to Luis. I put my head down and pretend to stare at the ground, because I know what’s sure to come next when Luis tosses the ball back. Shoulder open, grip totally wrong, the ball flies wildly up over Grandpa Joe’s head. He reaches up and grabs it like the pro ballplayer that he almost was, but I can see the pain flash through his face when he reaches down and rubs his ankle.

  “Are you okay, Grandpa?” I say, trying to sound nonchalant, but concerned. I know Grandpa Joe’s pain has been getting worse and worse, even though he’s been trying to hide it.

  “Okay? I’ve got more energy than you two combined!” Grandpa Joe says proudly. “And if you ever want to learn to throw a baseball, I’ll be here waiting, Luis.”

  “Thanks, Grandpa Joe, but you know baseball’s not my thing,” Luis says with a laugh. He twirls his bucket hat on his finger for a moment and then tosses it in the air. It lands perfectly on his head. Even I have to admit, it’s pretty impressive.

  I give Grandpa a quick pat good-bye on the back, then hop on my bike. I know he loves me, but Grandpa isn’t exactly the hugging type. He’s old school in every way. I just wish I got a chance to see him when he was young.

  “Grandpa Joe is mad cool,” Luis yells to me. “But baseball? Dude, it is sooooo boring.”

  “It’s only boring if you don’t understand the game,” I say, sounding like a Grandpa Joe clone. Sometimes I can’t help myself. It’s scary.

  We ride up Park Street, make a left on Pine, and then hit Washington Avenue. Sands Middle School is standing proudly in the distance, eagerly awaiting our arrival.

  “Hey, Matt, are you ready for . . . ,” Luis calls as we race toward the bike rack. Then he makes a cone with his hands and shouts through it, “TRRRREEEEMMMMT TIME?”

  Luis is referring to Ms. Tremt, our school librarian. It’s Wednesday, so we have library first period.

  Ms. Tremt seems all right to me, but she’s always been the subject of cafeteria gossip. It might be the furry, incredibly colorful scarves she likes to wear, even when it’s eighty degrees outside. Or the boxes and boxes of library books that never seem to disappear, no matter how much unpacking we do for her. But most likely, it’s the way she sits silently and stares at one student for nearly the entire period while we’re reading. Which could seem totally creepy, except that after she stares at you for a while, Ms. Tremt always comes over and hands you a book that you fall in love with from the first paragraph, or the perfect book to help with your science report. It’s like she’s psychic or something.

  “I’m actually looking forward to library today,” I tell Luis.

  “Oh no!” Luis gasps. “It’s finally happened. My best friend has been invaded by AN ALIEN BODY SNATCHER!”

  Luis grabs his throat and pretends like he’s gasping for air. Then he tumbles to the floor.

  “Always a comedian.” I laugh. “I’m serious, though. Ms. Tremt said she was going to order me a book about New York baseball in 1951. I want to see if it came in yet. I never mentioned anything to her about 1951. Or New York. I just told her I’d like to read any books she had about baseball history and she chose that specific year and place. Weird.”

  “You and baseball.” Luis sighs. “So much love. I just don’t get it. And who cares about games played sixty years ago?”

  I wait a second. Then I can practically see the lightbulb go off over Luis’s head.

  “Ohhhh . . . 1951 . . . New York baseball,” he says. “Wasn’t Grandpa Joe supposed to play for the Giants that year? Now I get it.”

  “Yup. 1951 . . . It was a great time to be a baseball fan in New York,” I say. “You had three home teams to choose from—the New York Yankees, the New York Giants, or the Brooklyn Dodgers. And if you think the rivalry between the New York Mets and New York Yankees is fierce today, you should read about the rivalries back then! If you lived in Brooklyn, there was no way you could be a Yankees or Giants fan. You
were a Dodgers fan all the way.”

  “And I’m guessing you want to learn more about what baseball was like in the time when Grandpa Joe almost made the major leagues?” Luis says.

  “It takes you a while, but you’re not nearly as clueless as you look,” I say with a chuckle.

  “Hey, leave the jokes to the professional,” a voice says from behind me.

  I turn around and see Grace Scott standing there, balancing a huge wobbly pile of books in her hands.

  “I believe by professional, you are referring to me? Funny friend, at your service,” Luis teases. “Just a little light reading, huh, Gracie?”

  “A little,” Grace replies. “I wanted to get Ms. Tremt’s opinion on some of my favorite books. She always has great suggestions about what type of books I should be reading.”

  “Ms. Tremt wants our minds . . . and our sooouls,” Luis says, doing the dramatic thing with his hand and voice again. “That’s why she stares so deeply at us.”

  Luis is interrupted by the sound of the first bell. Sands Middle School is open for business. I grab a stack of Grace’s books and hand them to Luis, then take a stack myself. We all know the pile will be scattered across the hallowed halls of our school if we leave them in Grace’s hands. She’s . . . um . . . how shall I put this? Working on improving her balancing skills at the moment. Actually, more like for the past twelve years.

  (Don’t ever tell Grace I told you this, but in second grade, a couple of mean kids started calling her “Grace-less” behind her back. Luis and I put a stop to that—real fast. We may seem like an odd bunch of bananas, as my grandpa would say, but a friend is a friend. And nobody messes with one of our friends.)

  After a quick homeroom check-in, we race down the hall and stagger into the library twelve seconds before the first-period bell rings.

  Ms. Tremt’s scarf is particularly furry today and a shade of green that I have never seen before in my life. It looks almost like a caterpillar . . . a vibrating, furry caterpillar . . . a vibrating, furry, hungry caterpillar, just like the one in my favorite book when I was a little . . . Wait, what? Is Ms. Tremt’s scarf hypnotizing me or something? That’s so weird.

  “Matthew,” Ms. Tremt says, smiling as she hands me a book. “I believe you were waiting for this?”

  “Huh?” I say, still wondering where the whole caterpillar trail of thought came from.

  Then I take a look at the book. It Was the Shot Heard ’Round the World: The Amazing Story of the 1951 Giants-Dodgers Pennant Race. Perfect!

  About the Authors

  LUKE SHARPE is not a millionaire, but he has been trying to invent a machine that can teleport people anywhere in the world since he was eight years old. He has so far been unsuccessful but he has vowed never to give up. When he isn’t working, Luke enjoys Hawaiian pizza and skateboarding. He lives near Chicago with his wife and son (named Billy, of course), their gecko, Eddie, and their aquarium full of exotic fish.

  GRAHAM ROSS has grand plans for world domination through his illustrated inventions. Right now he’s having a “ball” hanging out with Billy Sure, the next sure thing! Graham lives in a little log home in the woods with his inventive family, just outside of Merrickville, Canada.

  Look for more books about Billy Sure Kid Entrepreneur at your favorite store!

  SIMON SPOTLIGHT

  Simon & Schuster, New York

  Visit us at

  simonandschuster.com/kids

  authors.simonandschuster.com/Luke-Sharpe

  authors.simonandschuster.com/Graham-Ross

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  SIMON SPOTLIGHT

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This Simon Spotlight hardcover edition May 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. Text by Michael Teitelbaum. Illustrations by Graham Ross. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  SIMON SPOTLIGHT and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949 or [email protected].

  Designed by Jay Colvin

  Jacket designed by Jay Colvin

  Jacket illustrated by Graham Ross

  Jacket illustration by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ISBN 978-1-4814-7910-3 (hc)

  ISBN 978-1-4814-7909-7 (pbk)

  ISBN 978-1-4814-7911-0 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2016940855