I'm Going to Be Famous Read Free Page A

all the firewood splitting for this winter—four cords of wood.”
    â€œIt’s a bet. Shake on it,” I say as I stand and begin to move around the table to shake John’s hand.
    â€œHold it a minute, kids,” Dad interrupts.
    He probably wants to bet, too. Well, great. I’ll bet anybody.
    â€œThis is getting out of hand. I want these bets called off.”
    â€œDad! Why? ” I almost scream in his ear.
    â€œFor two reasons, Arlo,” he says. “First, your jobs around the house are your chores, not something to win or lose in a bet. Your mother and I expect you to do them as part of your responsibility to the family. Second, I think eating bananas that fast could be dangerous. I don’t want you hurting yourself because of stubborn pride over a bet.”
    I look at Mom. A soft smile crosses her lips. She nods in agreement with Dad.
    â€œBut—”
    â€œThat’s it, Arlo,” Dad says. “The bets are off. I don’t want to discuss it anymore.”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œI said, that’s it, Arlo. The end. No more. Finish your hamburger.”
    I’m mad. I sit back down. I’ll show them. I’ll break the world record, bets or no bets. I’ll be famous. I’ll be the fastest banana-eater alive.

CHAPTER 5
    â€œI think I’m in love.”
    â€”J OHN M OORE
    â€œPsst … hey, Arlo.”
    â€œHuh? What do you want, John?”
    â€œCome in here, I want to talk to you.”
    John is leaning out of the bathroom door.
    â€œYou mean come into the bathroom?” I ask. “No, thanks. The last time I did that, you put shaving cream in my ear.”
    â€œI won’t bother you, Arlo,” John promises. “I want to talk to you about our bet.”
    â€œYou heard Dad,” I say. “He said the bet is off.”
    â€œYeah, I know, I know. I’m talking about another bet. Come on in here so we can talk privately.”
    Should I trust John? That is the big question.
    â€œC’mon, Arlo,” he pleads. “I’ve got to get ready for my date with Michelle. I don’t have much time.”
    Well, I guess I might as well see what he has up his sleeve. Besides, this should be interesting. It’s worth the risk. Watching John get ready for a date is like watching Porkchop scratch fleas—there’s a lot of action, but nothing seems to get done.
    John is shaving. I’m not quite sure why he does this. He only has about twenty hairs on his face, and they’re all blond. You can hardly see them. The way he puts that shaving cream on, you’d think he has a beard like Santa Claus.
    â€œOK, John, what about the bet?” I ask, keeping my distance. John is getting too big, too fast. Those long arms can reach out and grab me like a frog does a fly. I hate being picked on and always losing our wrestling matches.
    â€œWell … Dad said no betting our chores around the house, right?”
    â€œRight,” I answer.
    â€œBut he didn’t say we couldn’t bet something else, right?” John asks.
    I can tell this is leading somewhere I probably shouldn’t go.
    John continues. “So let’s just bet something else—OW!”
    He’s just cut himself again. He’d save himself a lot of blood and pain if he’d just shave without a razor blade. No one would know the difference.
    â€œWhat do you want to bet, John?” I ask.
    â€œWell … how about an extra-large supreme pizza from Papa Dietro’s?”
    â€œAn extra-large pizza? Aren’t those really expensive? I don’t have that much in my piggy bank.”
    John now has three pieces of toilet paper stuck on his face to soak up the blood from razor nicks.
    â€œI knew you’d back out, Arlo. You can’t eat seventeen bananas in less than two minutes. You’re all talk and no action.”
    â€œYou want to bet?” I quickly ask. I’m getting mad