The Summer of Mucus Mcbain

By Kurt Adkins

Fifth grader Marcus Mucus McBain and his best friends, Walter, Sam, and Tex, always find a way to have fun. Whether searching for a misplaced, expensive baseball card, being forced to attend manners class, or playing for one of the worst baseball teams in Little League history, it is no secret that the fabulous foursome relies on orneriness, imagination, and a whole lot of determination to seek out adventure in their California town.

As the boys progress through fifth grade, they share many laughter-filled moments, usually at the expense of their nemesis, high school football player Bart Broznan, who happens to be the boyfriend of Mucus older sister. During the school year and the summer that follows, the group sets out on one hilarious adventure after another, often landing in hot water with teachers, camp counselors, and other adults. It is definitely shaping up to be a boys-will-be-boys summer until tragedy strikes and forces all of them to examine their friendship.

In this entertaining childrens story, four adventurous boys embark on a roller-coaster journey through fifth grade and beyond, eventually making it a summer to remember.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Abbott Press
• Release date: Sep 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781458211378

Kurt Adkins

Kurt Adkins is a public school teacher who teaches creative writing and has been a presenter at numerous writing workshops. He has been published in Spitball Magazine, and he is the author of Waterhole: a western saga. Adkins and his family live in Walnut Creek, California.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Muke, Walter… where are you guys? Sam hollered.

It was just past ten o’clock, on the third Saturday night in June. School had been out for a full week, yet here was Samuel Day, recently promoted from the 5th grade, wandering through the east side of the Lagunitas Elementary School campus.

Guys, Sam began again, but before he could finish, from around a corner someone grabbed the back of his sweatshirt collar and he was pulled from behind, falling to the ground, causing him to scream louder than he had while looking for his friends.

Ssshhh! Muke ordered with his right index finger pressed against his lips and a frown on his round, pre-pubescent face.

Sorry guys, Sam said apologetically, I couldn’t remember where we were supposed to meet.

Or when, added Walter, who was working on his summer jawbreaker. We were supposed to meet here at nine o’clock. Me and Muke have been waiting for over an hour. You practically live across the street from the school, and we had to ride our bikes from Woodacre to get here, Walter finished, speaking as loudly as a whisper would allow him.

Before Sam could offer another apology, as had become his custom, for Sam was always late, another voice joined in their conversation.

Howdy, boys, said the voice coming from the same direction as the flashlight shining into their eyes. In case you didn’t realize, you three completed the fifth grade a week or so ago, didn’t you?

Hi, Gus, Muke responded, giving Gus his friendliest smile.

What brings you three back here at… Gus paused to look at his watch, at 10:08 on a Saturday night?

Gus was the night custodian at Lagunitas Elementary. He had worked at the school for nearly 45 years. It was his first job after high school, and he never left, though at age 63, he gave it thought from time to time. The students and the staff thought Gus was the best, and the feelings were reciprocal. But that didn’t mean that Gus didn’t know how to enforce school rules when necessary.

As the self appointed leader, Muke took it upon himself to answer for the group.

Well, numb-nuts over here, Muke began, pointing his thumb over his left shoulder at Sam, who returned a disapproving look, realized last week that when we were in kindergarten, and we planted a time capsule, that he put a Topps 1969 Reggie Jackson rookie card in there! It’s worth a lot of money! I had told him back then to put his 1972 Chris Floethe rookie card into the capsule. Nobody ever heard of him. But Sam didn’t know anything about baseball back then, and he really goofed!

So we got to dig up the time capsule, Walter continued the story, to get the Reggie card out of there. We brought the Floethe card to replace it, so everyone from the class would still have made a contribution.

Gus lowered his head and rubbed his hand across the lower part of his face, including his mouth, appearing to be deep in thought about their predicament. His hand also hid the smile he had beneath it.

Well, boys, Gus began to say after thinking about their situation, I can’t have you going around digging up the entire school. How do you know where the time capsule is? It’s been six years since you buried it.

Walter thinks he remembers that it was buried over there, Muke pointed, just off the service road, next to the kindergarten yard.

Well, it could be, Gus agreed, but that dirt has been walked over, run over and driven over for more than six years. It’s going to be hard digging, and that’s even if you’ve got the right location picked out.

We need a tractor, said Walter, without giving too much advance thought to his statement. Everyone else looked at him.

What?! Muke said annoyingly.

Why not? Walter responded.

A tractor, Muke said under his breath, as he shook his head while looking at the ground.

I think you boys better ponder a little more about this plan. Like I said, I can’t have holes dug all over the school, and even if you find the right place to dig, that time capsule must be a good three feet deep. Hard digging, Gus thought out loud, hoping to let the boys reach their own, similar conclusion.

Walter, how sure are you about the location? Sam asked.

Well, I think it’s over there. I’m almost positive, he answered.

Over there, Gus pointed out, still covers a lot of ground when it comes to digging.

Maybe we can get a metal detector to find it! Walter shouted.

Was the container made of metal? asked Gus.

The three boys looked at each other, all three shrugged their shoulders.

Getting pretty late, Gus suggested, I don’t suppose your parents realize you’re here. I’m just about to call it a night myself. Let’s load your bikes into my truck and get you home.

Muke, Walter and Sam loaded their bikes into the back of Gus’ older model, white, Ford F-250 truck, then climbed in the cab with him. Their first summer adventure had ended in failure.

As the truck pulled out of the front school parking lot, and turned left towards Woodacre, each boy was thinking busily about what the next day would bring. Without knowing what each other was thinking, all three wore a smile the rest of the way home, for there was one common thought they shared. It was summer vacation!

CHAPTER TWO

Woodacre was the eastern most town in the San Geronimo Valley, residing just off of Sir Francis Drake Blvd. in beautiful west Marin County, north of San Francisco. It was as country as one could find that close to the big city. There were no sidewalks, no streetlights, and residents went to the post office to pick up their mail. One had to go east, back over Whites Hill, to find a grocery store. The community of San Geronimo Valley was small and bucolic. The remaining towns of San Geronimo, Forest Knolls and Lagunitas joined Woodacre in making up the attendance area of Lagunitas Elementary School. The population growth had grown stagnant years ago, due mostly to the commuting distance to work for those who lived there.

Marcus McBain and Walter Johnson had lived in Woodacre all their lives. They had been best friends for as long as either could remember. Samuel Day lived in neighboring San Geronimo, meeting Marcus and Walter in kindergarten. The three had been nearly inseparable ever since, much to the chagrin of teachers and administrators throughout the school.

The 5'3 Marcus McBain was a husky 120 pounds. He had chosen the color dark brown for his braces because they matched his favorite food, Ho-Ho’s, which made it difficult for his mom to tell when he had eaten one. Marcus’ dirty blonde hair was worn as an overgrown flattop, and his voice was caught somewhere between childhood and adolescence. It squeaked without warning. On important school days, requiring an upgrade in attire, Marcus liked to wear his orange t-shirt with the words, I’m Only Here For Recess" written across the front.

It was late May during the end of 4th grade when Marcus acquired his nickname. With his regular teacher out on maternity leave, a number of roving substitutes had begun finishing out the year a couple of weeks earlier. One breezy Wednesday afternoon at school, Marcus’ allergies were causing him to feel congested, and as he and Walter stood outside the classroom door, waiting for the substitute teacher to lead the class back to the room following morning recess, Marcus leaned his head way back, his face pointing up to the eight foot hallway overhang. Without thinking beyond the moment, a common occurrence in 5th grade boys, he let fly the thickest glob of saliva either he or Walter had ever seen. It hit the overhang, just above the door to the classroom. And it hung there.

Whoa! said Walter as his bottom jaw dropped. It was the most amazing thing he had ever seen.

The teacher turned the corner to the classroom, followed by the rest of the students, lined up in two parallel lines, one for the boys and one comprised of girls.

Where have you two been? asked the teacher.

Ah… right here, sir, answered Walter. Marcus just smiled.

You two know you’re supposed to line up on the blacktop with the rest of the class following recess. Maybe a lost recess or two will help you to remember to follow directions, said the sarcastic substitute.

Yes, sir, a sheepish Walter answered. Marcus just smiled.

As the teacher fumbled with his keys to open the door, Marcus gazed up at his work of art, which was now beginning to give way to gravity. A long, slow drip began to make its way towards the ground, or anything that stood in its way. In this case, that was the substitute teacher.

Uh oh, said Walter, looking up himself.

The teacher turned his attention to Walter, pausing in his unsuccessful attempt to open the door.

What does that mean, young man? said the teacher, who had not yet learned the names of the students in class, except for Marcus’. He looked at Walter, seeing his attention directed upward. The bespectacled teacher turned to look at Marcus. Marcus just smiled. Taking off his glasses to wipe them on his shirttail, the teacher looked again at Walter, who was still looking up. Walter’s demeanor indicated a state of panic. The teacher looked up, too, just in time to have a ten inch long string of mucus break free from the ceiling and land on his forehead, dripping its way down his left cheek and on to his neck.

What the heck was that! screamed the teacher.

Well, sir, spoke a girl in the front of the line, I think it was mucus.

The teacher stood frozen, contemplating what the girl had told him. He looked as if he was going to be sick as he walked quickly to the corner of the hallway, turned left and ran towards the office. He was not to be seen back at Lagunitas Elementary School that year.

Way to go, Mucus! chimed Walter.

And a nickname was born; Mucus McBain. Mucus wore his nickname like a badge of honor.

CHAPTER THREE

Walter Johnson and Samuel Day had