Darth Paper Strikes Back Read online

  But they did have Star Wars, he told us, and he and his friends played this Star Wars game.

  “Man, I haven’t thought about that game in years,” he said.

  He got out some paper and drew the Death Star in the center. Then he drew three X-wings in one corner and three TIE fighters in the other corner. He added some asteroids.

  “Uh, this is a game?” said Murky.

  “Yeah—hold on,” said Mr. Snider, and he pulled a pencil out of a drawer.

  “You want to be Rebels or Empire?”

  “Rebels,” said Murky.

  “Ok, I’ll take the TIE fighters then,” said Mr. Snider. He put the pencil tip on top of a TIE fighter, then rested his finger on the eraser so the pencil stood straight up. Then he squinted at the paper. He moved his other hand into position and flicked his index finger real quick against the pencil, down near the bottom.

  The pencil went flying and left behind a mark on the paper about an inch long.

  “Hmm, I’ve lost my touch,” he said. “But you see how it works? If you hit another ship with your ‘shot,’ you’ve blown that ship up. If not, you move your ship to the end of the mark. First person to blow up all the other guy’s ships wins.”

  There were some more rules: Hit the Death Star and your ship is blown up. Hit an asteroid and your ship loses a turn.

  He picked up the pencil and gave it to Murky. “Your turn,” he said.

  I watched as they had a space fight all around the Death Star. I couldn’t wait for them to finish, so Hannah and I started our own game. It was pretty awesome.

  See, you can’t just go firing away like you do in a video game. Because if you miss the other guy by an inch, then your ship gets moved so that it’s an inch away from the other guy—and he blasts you easy the next time. It really does take strategy.

  So that was the beginning of the Pencil Wars. A bunch of other people have started playing too, and we’ve added all kinds of extra rules and special ships and players you can use and stuff.

  Plus Mr. S told us about another pencil game that they called Obstacle Course, and Murky realized it was perfect for Podracing. Man, it’s so cool to have a game with four people all trying to flick their Podracers through Beggar’s Canyon without hitting the walls or each other!

  I mean, I still want you school board people to let us play on the computers again, but until then, this is an awesome solution.

  Harvey’s Comment

  Yeah, and it’s “awesome” to try to study in the library while a bunch of idiots are flicking pencils and shouting, “Ooh, ooh, I got you.”

  The pencil games stink! Bring back the computer games!

  My Comment: Harvey’s just mad because the one time he played, Hannah blew up all his TIE fighters before he could even get one of her X-wings.

  I don’t want to get back into the whole “Is Origami Yoda real” thing, but it sure is weird that Mr. Snider told them he hadn’t thought about playing that game in years. So how could Yoda/Dwight have known about it?

  Anyway, I think the school board will like this one because it shows Dwight helping people to find something better to do than either play video games or complain about not playing video games. Our guidance counselor is always talking about “positive solutions.” Well, this is one. The next one is too. I just wish I’d gotten in on it.

  ORIGAMI YODA AND EXPLODING PIZZA BAGELS OF LOVE

  BY LANCE

  Dear School Board,

  This story is really weird, because Origami Yoda gave me the advice last year—but I didn’t understand why it was so good until this year.

  See, just before the end of sixth grade we got to choose which seventh-grade elective course we would take this year.

  I couldn’t decide between model rocketry and LEGO robots. On the one hand, I already have a LEGO robot set at home and have done some cool stuff with it, so I thought that class would be fun. On the other hand, I’ve always wanted to shoot off a model rocket, but my mother said no way. But I asked her if she would please let me take the class, since Mrs. Budzinski would make sure I didn’t blow myself up. She said OK!

  But I still couldn’t make up my mind, so I decided to ask Dwight and Origami Yoda. I stopped by the nerd table at lunch. I’m a nerd too, I guess, but I can’t stand sitting at their table because one of them gets on my nerves real bad.

  “Hey, guys and Origami Yoda,” I said. “Which do you think I should sign up for—LEGO robots or model rocketry?”

  Dwight said I might not be able to get into model rocketry, because everybody tries to sign up for model rocketry.

  Then a second later he answered himself, but in his really bad Yoda-imitation voice.

  “What’s that?”

  “That’s like cooking and sewing and how to use coupons,” said Kellen.

  “Oh, you mean home ec. Isn’t that just for girls?” I asked.

  “Excuse me?” yelled Rhondella from the next table. “NO, it’s not just for girls. It’s for anybody who doesn’t want to be a clueless idiot when they finish school.”

  And the way she and the other girls glared at me, you could tell they would vote for me as Most Likely to Be a Clueless Idiot. I don’t mind Rhondella glaring at me, but it was awful to see Amy glaring at me. I kind of thought Amy liked me.

  So by now I was pretty confused. The next day in homeroom, when Mr. Howell handed out the forms for us to pick our elective, I just couldn’t decide.

  I turned around to ask Dwight if he was sure about home ec. He was already folding his form into Admiral Ackbar.

  I have to tell you to put that puppet away? And what are you doing to your form?”

  “Commence attack on the Death Star’s main reactor,” said Origami Admiral Ackbar.

  Howell yelled for a little while, then sent Dwight to in-school suspension.

  “The rest of you, pass your forms up to the front,” he snarled at us.

  I had no more time and no more help from Yoda.

  But I’m a believer. I put a checkmark next to “family and consumer sciences.”

  So that was last year. What happened? Did I actually like family and consumer sciences better than I would have liked LEGO robots or model rockets?

  Well, hold on—I’ll tell you. When I got to class on the first day, there were just two guys in it. Me and Tater Tot. Well, we’re not great friends or anything, but I figured we would sit at a table together and be cooking partners or whatever. Forget it. He never even glanced at me; he sat down next to Sara!

  Then Amy came in and she saw that the seat next to Sara was taken. And then she looked at me. And we sat down together and have done every project together since then. And she’s never looked at me like I was a Clueless Idiot again, except for the time our pizza bagels blew up in the microwave because I put them in for 3:00 instead of 0:30. But then she laughed and helped me clean it up.

  Harvey’s Comment

  Thank Boba Fett I didn’t take that class!!! If I had to watch Lance and Amy making goo-goo eyes while scraping pizza sauce out of the microwave, I’d barf my brains out.

  Do you want to know the truth behind this mysterious prediction of Paperwad Yoda?

  Dwight was afraid he wouldn’t get into model rocketry, since his last name is Tharp. So he talked Lance out of it and probably some other idiots too, and guess what? Dwight got into model rocketry.

  My Comment: Hmm, that’s true about Dwight getting into model rocketry. But frankly, I wish Origami Yoda had told ME to take home ec so that I could be sitting with Sara instead of that jerky Tater Tot!

  How am I supposed to get her to be my girlfriend when I hardly get to see her and Tater Tot gets to sit around making pizza bagels with her every day?

  ORIGAMI YODA AND YODA

  BY MAHIR KAHLEEL (AKA MURKY)

  School Board,

  The other day after I watched Empire Strikes Back for the millionth time—massively bolt movie!!!!!!—I was thinking about Yoda. See, if he was 900 years old in Empire Strikes Back,
then he was, like, 870 years old in Phantom Menace. So what was he doing all that time before the movies, and where did he come from??????

  So I looked it up on Wookieepedia … and there’s some stuff, but apparently nobody really knows!!!!! George Lucas won’t say, and he won’t let any other Star Wars writers come up with an answer either. But then I thought maybe I didn’t need George Lucas after all. I go to school with Origami Yoda. If anybody knows, he would!!!

  So I asked him.

  ME: Where are you from? And I don’t mean Dagobah. I mean, where are you originally from?

  ANNOYING 7TH-GRADER NAMED HARVEY: Aha! The truth!

  The truth at last! Origami Yoda himself admits he’s just a piece of paper.

  KELLEN’S FRIEND TOMMY: Yeah, but for the first time, you’ve acknowledged his existence. You just said, “Origami Yoda himself admits.”

  HARVEY: Ha. Ha. You know what I mean. Whoever said it, he’s still just a piece of wood pulp from a sawed-up tree. No magic Force, just tree.

  HARVEY: Whatever.

  ME: What about the real Yoda?

  HARVEY: There is no real Yoda, he’s just a—

  ME: Dude, would you shut up for a minute?

  HARVEY: Why should I shut up? This is my table. If you don’t like to listen to me, then don’t stand around my table.

  And Origami Yoda whispered the answer in my ear, and it was the total stooky stuff!!! Really fits with the whole rest of the Star Wars story and makes sense but is surprising, too.

  And I’ve kept my promise to keep it a secret.

  Harvey’s Comment

  Give me a break! Am I supposed to believe that? Is there any point to this at all other than to prove that Murky should have been held back a year? Or two? “Massively bolt”? “Total stooky stuff”? Does that even mean anything?

  My Comment: That means it was really amazing, I think. But yeah, I’m not sure this does much for the case file.

  ORIGAMI YODA AND THE MIRACLE CURE

  BY CAROLINE

  Dear School Board Members,

  I am a student at Tippett Academy now, but last year I was at McQuarrie Middle and had the wonderful privilege of meeting Dwight Tharp and becoming best friends with him.

  He helped me deal with a bully problem then, and he has helped me deal with a very different problem this year at my new school.

  There’s a lot of “Understanding Our Differences” at my new school. That would be fine, but since I’m the one who’s different, it’s a big pain in my butt.

  See, I have a severe hearing impairment. My audiologist calls it “profoundly deaf.” But that is a little different from being completely deaf. I can hear a lot of stuff with my hearing aids, and I can read lips like a ninja. (I don’t mean that ninjas read lips; I just mean that I’m that fast and that good at it.)

  Anyway, I can get along just fine without any special treatment. And I didn’t get any at McQuarrie. People were used to me, and nobody made a big deal about it.

  But at Tippett Academy, EVERYBODY made a big deal about it.

  Everybody was so busy trying to show that they “understood my differences” that I never got a chance to be normal.

  And some of them had taken a sign language class, so they kept signing at me. People, I don’t even know sign language! I kept telling them that I read lips and they kept waving their fingers at me.

  Worst of all, some of them were practically fighting over who was going to be my friend. Mostly just to show everybody else that they were friends with someone “different.”

  Well, I got sick of it quick, and I told Dwight about it when I called him that night. (In case you’re wondering, I can talk on the phone if it has a volume setting I can turn up. I still have trouble understanding some people, but I can understand Dwight pretty good.)

  DWIGHT: Why don’t you ask Origami Yoda?

  ME: Come on, Dwight, just tell me what to do. You don’t have to do the Origami Yoda thing for me.

  DWIGHT: But I don’t know what you should do. However, I think Origami Yoda does.

  ME: Are you joking?

  DWIGHT: No. You really need to ask Origami Yoda.

  ME: Over the phone?

  DWIGHT: I don’t think that would work. He needs to talk to you in person.

  ME: All right. Can you get your mom to drive you over to Wendy’s? I could meet you there.

  We meet at Wendy’s every once in a while, since we don’t see each other at school. My dad calls these dates. But they’re not. Not exactly.

  Anyway, at Wendy’s, Dwight gets the kids’ meal and I get a Frosty and a salad.

  “HI, CARE-O-LINE!” she shouted at me.

  “You don’t have to shout anymore,” I told her. “My surgery was a total success.”

  I pointed to the two Band-Aids on my forehead.

  “WHAT?” she asked.

  “Shh! That hurts my ears,” I said. “My hearing is way above average now.”

  “Really?” she said.

  It was so much easier for me to read her lips when she wasn’t shouting and talking in drawn-out syllables.

  “Yeah, I’m not deaf anymore.”

  “But you’re still wearing your hearing aids.” She said this sort of hopefully. Like she was hoping I was still a little bit “different” so she could still “understand” me.

  “My doctor says I need to leave them in for a while or my ears will grow back funny,” I told her.

  This made no sense, of course, but neither did shouting at me, and she had been doing that for three weeks.

  After a week, I took off the Band-Aids and that was that. I was still a little bit “different,” but not “different” enough to fuss over.

  Some people, like Willow, stopped bugging me so much, but a couple of them—Naomi and Emily—turned out to be actual friends. I hadn’t even realized that before.

  True, I don’t always understand everything people say, but now I know who’s actually worth listening to and who I can just pretend I’m paying attention to.

  So, as you can see, Dwight and Origami Yoda really do help people. And if you kick Dwight out of school, he won’t be able to do that anymore. He is an awesome guy.

  Harvey’s Comment

  Jeez, can you imagine being out in public and having Dwight wave that thing around while doing the world’s worst Yoda impression? Now, that is embarrassing!

  My Comment: First of all, you’re just as embarrassing with your Darth Paper as he is with Yoda. The fact that you do the voice better is actually more embarrassing.

  Second of all, you once again missed the whole point of the story!

  ORIGAMI YODA AND NOTHING

  BY QUAVONDO

  Dear School Board,

  My story about Origami Yoda starts with Mr. Good Clean Fun and his monkey.

  I think it’s funny that when a kid has a puppet, you want to send him to CREF. But when an adult has a puppet, you keep hiring him to come give us presentations about washing our hands and stuff.

  Actually, this time Mr. Good Clean Fun wasn’t there to talk about good hygiene as usual; he came to get us all excited about the school fund-raiser.

  “Do you even know why our school has this fundraiser? The money goes to fund the elective classes, since the state cut funding for ‘nonessential education.’ Do you understand?”

  I said yes, but I guess he could tell I had no idea what he was talking about.

  “What elective are you in?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Democrat?”

  “NO! I’m talking about your elective class! Like band or art.”

  don’t understand. You see, the money for those classes has to come from somewhere and …”

  Thankfully, Mr. Good Clean Fun and Soapy the Monkey came out onstage then and Mr. Howell let me sit down.

  They showed us these mini-cans of popcorn we were supposed to sell. Each mini-can was a collector’s tin, he told us. One had pictures of a cottage in a snowstorm painted by somebody famous. Or we could sel
l a can with any team’s football helmet on it. Or motorcycles, kittens, or Native Americans. And the popcorn came in different flavors.

  They passed out these Edu-Fun Popcorn Products catalogs that had all the different cans in them. I was, like, WHAT? Ten bucks a can? How are we supposed to sell popcorn in an ugly can for $10? And I knew there was no way in the world I was going to sell any regularsize cans, which were $23!

  Then we heard about all these pizza parties the top classes would win, and Mr. Good Clean Fun showed us a big jar of dollar coins and said the person who sold the most cans could scoop out a whole handful. Gee, maybe they’d get a whole $10 and could buy themselves another can of popcorn.

  I noticed that Mr. Good Clean Fun didn’t actually open any of the cans of popcorn and let us taste it. Probably because he knew we would have puked.

  So when I got to LEGO robots class, I asked Mr. Randall if it was really true that we needed to sell popcorn to pay for LEGO stuff.

  He had a long explanation about the school’s electives fund, but basically he said “yes.” He looked like he was embarrassed for us to have to go out and sell those dumb cans.

  “Remember how you guys asked if we were going to go to the regional FIRST LEGO League competition? And I said we’d have to wait and see?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, this is what we were waiting to see: how much money would be in the fund after the fund-raiser.”

  “Ugh,” I said.

  So at lunch I went to see Dwight. He’s always moping around these days because of his girlfriend not being here, but Origami Yoda seems as Jedi wise as ever.