April Fool's Day

April Fool's Day

The prank planned and performed

"Hey, do you know what today is?" Ten-year-old Gordon Tracy asked his younger brother, nine-year-old Alan as they rode the bus to school.

Alan groaned. "Yeah, I know. I was hoping you'd forget."

"Me, forget April Fool's Day? No way!" Gordon exclaimed. "Now, what do we want to do today and who will be our victim? Mwahahaha!" He rubbed his hands as he laughed a fake maniacal laugh.

Alan rolled his eyes. "Nothing to nobody. Gords, every year you do this and every year we get pounded. Or paddled, depending on who you pull the prank on. Can't we go this year without a prank?" he pleaded in a whining voice.

"Huh? No prank! Whatchu talkin' 'bout? It's a tradition. April Fool's Day and pranks are like peanut butter and jelly, like Laurel and Hardy, like Abbott and Costello..."

"Who?"

"Who's on first."

Alan rolled his eyes, and shook his head, and sighed an exasperated sigh. "Sometimes I don't understand you."

Gordon grinned. "That's okay. You don't have to." He rubbed his hands again. "Now what are we gonna do? The water over the door trick?"

"That didn't work. You sloshed water on the outside of the pail and it dripped down the door and Virgil saw the drip before he opened the door."

"Hmm. You have a point, young grasshopper. Maybe the fake spiders in the bed trick?"

"Scott didn't even notice them."

"Yeah. He's got some thick skin, doesn't he? How about the snake in the candy can bit?"

"Mom got hold of that one and when Dad was through with us, I couldn't sit down for two days!"

Gordon grimaced. "Oh, yeah. I remember that." He rubbed his behind absently at the memory. Then a smile lit his face. "Well, I guess that leaves John as our victim, doesn't it?"

"John? What can you do to him?" Alan asked, scratching his head.

"Don't worry. I'll think of something."

The school day passed quickly. Gordon's teacher had to address him sharply a couple of times during the day because he was so absorbed in trying to think up a good prank to play on his thirteen-year-old brother. Alan quickly forgot about Gordon's obsession in the routine of school, but the gleam in his brother's eye as they got on the bus brought it back to him in a hurry.

"I got it! I got it!" Gordon whispered, wriggling in his seat with excitement.

"Gords, I don't wanna know, and I don't want to do it, no matter what it is," Alan said stoutly. "I wanna be able to say to Dad that I didn't do it and have him believe me."

Gordon waved a dismissive hand. "You don't have to do anything but keep John busy and away from his room. That's all."

"Isn't that enough?" Alan whined.

"Alan, just do it," Gordon insisted. "I promise, I'll tell Dad you had nothing to do with it. It was all my idea." His tone changed, and his eyes narrowed. "Besides, if you don't, I'll tell Virgil who ate up the last of his Milky Way stash."

"That's not fair!" Alan shouted.

Gordon shushed him, glancing around furtively at the other children, some of whom were looking their way with curiosity. "Just help me out a little, Al. Just keep John busy and away from his room. You can do it all innocent like. Ask him to help you with your math or your spelling; you know he'll go for that."

"Oh, all right," Alan huffed. "I'll do that." He stuck his index finger in Gordon's face. "But only that. I don't even want to know what you're doing."

"Deal!" Gordon said with a grin, holding out his hand. Alan reluctantly shook it, and for the rest of the trip they sat quietly, the fourth-grader looking delighted, and the third-grader looking as if he were going to his doom.

They got off at their stop, and Gordon ran home, while Alan walked slowly behind him. The redhead barreled through the front door, slamming it as he passed. He slung his backpack to the floor just inside the entryway, and hurried to the kitchen. Lucille was there, preparing dinner.

"What's for supper, Mom?" he asked as he opened the fridge to rummage around.

"Meatloaf and baked potatoes," she replied, her hands gooey from mixing the meat and crumbs. "You can have a piece of fruit for a snack. No cookies."

"Aw, Mom!" he cried. "Why no cookies?"

"Because your father is due home tonight and he hasn't had any," came the swift reply. "A piece of fruit, Gordon."

"Oh, okay," he said sullenly. He pulled out an apple and began to munch on it.

Lucille looked at him sharply. "Where's Alan?"

"Oh, he's coming. He was being a slow-poke," her second youngest replied airily.