Chapter 0
Refresh.
Refresh.
Refresh.
Hiss! No matter how many times I checked my communicator messages, the Galacta-vite had yet to appear—and the evil warlords convention was mere moonrises away!
Perhaps the invitation had been delayed by meteor showers in the Blargian Quadrant. I set an alert to notify me the instant it came in, and then closed my eyes to take a Calming Nap.
How I looked forward to these gatherings of A.W.E.S.O.M.E.—the Allied Warlords of Evil, Sabotage, Oppression, and More Evil. In attendance would be the most diabolical tyrants, despots, and dictators in the entire universe.
It is so fulfilling to be among one’s peers.
“Klawde! Hey, Klawde! Are you down in the basement?”
It was the boy-ogre, home from school. He descended into the bunker in a more positive mood than usual.
“I did so good at the shootaround today,” he said. “I sank more baskets than most of the seventh-graders! I’m so glad it’s finally basketball season.”
Though I explicitly told him not to, the Human then described this “basketball” to me. It was a comically absurd activity in which ogres patted an inflated rubber globe with their flat, oversize paws so it would bounce repeatedly upon the ground. At random moments, they would hurl it into the air, aiming for a hoop suspended above their heads.
The game seemed little more advanced than the one played by the cave cats of yore, who batted around the skulls of their enemies—and so much less amusing.
“Ogre, your chatter is exceptionally mind-numbing today,” I said. “Do you have nothing interesting to speak of?” I did need to take my mind off the missing AWESOME invitation.
“Well, I’m doing a school report about a tyrannical general turned dictator.”
“Raj,” I said. “I am touched.”
“It’s not about you,” the boy-ogre said. “It’s about Napoleon.”
Apparently this particular ogre-warlord had led armies that vanquished one part of a small landmass called “Europe” over two hundred years ago. How was that impressive? He couldn’t bring even half of Earth to its knees?
“But he conquered a bunch of different countries,” the boy-Human said.
“I do not understand why you ogres even divide yourselves up at all. Don’t you realize that you are all utterly the same? I can hardly tell one of you from the other,” I said. “Now, cats, on the other hand—each one of us is an entirely unique and memorable individual.”
The ogre rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I’ve got a problem. My partner on the project is Newt. You know how mean she is to me.”
“Ah, yes, the one who ran over your stuffed bear with that wheeled board she rides? And who constantly humiliates you with her superior cunning?” I said.
“Uh, yeah,” the ogre said. “Her.”
“Excellent! Now you have the chance to beat her at her own game. Expose her as an unworthy fraud. As an imbecile!”
“But that would only hurt me. Because we’re partners, we get graded together.”
“That makes no sense.”
“I don’t think you understand the point of teamwork, Klawde,” he said.
About this, the boy-ogre was perhaps correct. Why work with someone else when you could work against them? It was yet another example of ogre stupidity.
Chapter 1
At breakfast, my parents asked me about my school project, but that was the last thing I wanted to talk about.
“Basketball tryouts are today,” I said. “I’m really hoping to make the varsity team.”
“But you’re only in sixth grade, dear,” Mom said.
“I know, but I was as good as the seventh graders back in Brooklyn.”
“Well, good luck,” she said. “Although I do wish you were doing a more interesting sport. Like fencing. Or chess!”
“Chess isn’t a sport, Mom.”
“You’re going to do great, Raj,” Dad said. He nudged me with an elbow. “And maybe you’ll give baseball a try in the spring!”
“That’s barely a sport, either,” I mumbled.
As I got up to clear my place, Klawde jumped onto the table and took a bite of scrambled eggs off Dad’s plate.
“Krish, don’t let the cat do that,” Mom said.
Like “let” had anything to do with it. Klawde stared Dad down and then—with lightning quickness—slashed him across the back of his hand.
Dad shook his finger and said, “Naughty kitty!”
With similar lightning quickness, Mom scooped Klawde off the table.
“Pets do not eat on tables in this house.”
Klawde let out a major hiss, but I knew he wouldn’t risk scratching her. He might be evil, but he wasn’t stupid.
Copyright © 2020 by Johnny Marciano and Emily Chenoweth; Illustrated by Robb Mommaerts. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
