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Gratuity Tucci
Daniel Landry Middle School
8th Grade
T H E T R U E M E A N I N G O F S M E K D AY
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too friendly toward the cat. Id carried her for a while, but she
squirmed like a bag of fish, so I set her down. When I walked
she followed me, flinching whenever someone ran by or
honked a car horn, which was all the time. It was step step
jerk, step step jerk, like she was doing the conga. Eventually I
looked behind, then all around, and didnt see her anymore.
Fine, I said. See ya, Pig. And that was that. My cats
name is Pig. I probably should have mentioned that.
The weird thing about writing for people in the future is
that you dont know how much you need to explain. Do
people still keep pets in your time? Do you still have cats? Im
not asking if cats still existright now we have a lot more
cats than we know what to do with. But Im not really writing
this for people right now.
I mean, if anyone besides my teacher ever sees these
words, itll be because I won the contest and this essay was
buried in the time capsule with the photographs and newspapers, and it was dug up a hundred years later, and now
youre reading it in, like, a five-legged chair while snacking on
roast planet or whatever. And it seems like you should know
everything about my time already, but then I think of how little
I know about 1913, so maybe I should clear up a few things.
This story starts in June 2013, about six months after the
alien Boov arrived. Which also makes it six months after the
aliens completely took over, and about a week after they
decided the entire human race would probably be happier if
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I could have left you home, you traitor. You could have
moved in with your precious Boov.
I have no trouble looking at a cat and steering at the same
time, but for some reason the car sort of hopped over a skin of
tire tread in the road, and Pig squealed and shot off the headrest,
looped around the backseat a couple of times, and darted over
the gearshift, finally curling into a ball under the brake pedal.
Uh-oh, I muttered. I pressed the brake gently, trying to
coax her out. She hissed and took a swipe at the can of corn
under my shoe.
I looked up at the road, dodged an empty motorcycle,
then glanced back down at my feet.
Cmon, Pig, I said reassuringly (while swerving to avoid a
minivan). Come on out . . . (oil tanker) . . . Ill give you a treat!
(Sports car. Why had everyone just left their cars?)
Mrrr? said Pig.
Yeah! You want a treat? Treat? Treat? I lilted over and
over like a songbird.
Pig still hadnt moved, but I had a stretch of clear road. I
was just keeping my eye on a big rig on the left, in the distance, and thats when I saw something move. It hung in the
air over the trailer, lazily bobbing up and down. It was a mass
of bubbles; soap bubbles: maybe. But some were the size of
softballs, and others like basketballs, and they all stuck and
interlaced together to make a star shape as big as a washing
machine. Like this:
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anymore, either. I turned and saw the Boov fading into the
distance, far away now. It wasnt chasing me.
Oh boy, Pig, I said softly, and Pig crawled out from under
the brake like it wasnt anything to her one way or the other.
A minute later I pulled to the side of the road and
stopped, and looked around at the car. The Boov gun had
disintegrated my mirror, and there was a hole in the left rear
window where the beam had entered the car. I craned my
neck and saw there was an even bigger hole in the rear
windshield where itd left. Each hole was as perfect as could
be, like a biscuit cutter through dough.
I hate them, I said. I hate them. We were really lucky,
Pig.
But Pig didnt hear. She was stretched out on the
passenger seat, asleep.
Why did the Boov shoot? I didnt knowall I was doing was
driving to Florida, like they wanted. But at mile forty-eight I
found out why nobody else was on the road. There wasnt
one.
We were curving around a bend when the car bucked
over a pothole. My seat belt went taut as I jerked forward and
back, pain twisting up my neck. Pig rolled off her seat, woke
up briefly on the floor of the car, and fell back asleep where
she was.
I swerved around chunks of asphalt and rounded
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too far from home to walk back now. I popped open the glove
box and retrieved the emergency cell phone that only had
one hour of talking time on it and was NOT A TOY. I flipped it
open and pushed the power button, and it suddenly crackled
to life. Strange voices gibbered back and forth on the other
end.
But I didnt even dial yet, I mumbled, and the voices
stopped. Hello? I said.
The voices came again in bleats and pops, like a lamb
stepping on bubble wrap. They grew louder, more agitated.
I quickly hit the power button again and flapped the
phone shut. It was like something gross and alien in my hand
now, so I pushed it back into the glove box and put a car
manual on top of it.
Car manual, I thought. It might tell me how to change the
tire. No. Later. It can wait.
I sat down. The sky was clear again, and blue. In the
distance was a small town I didnt know. The tallest building
was an old stone church, and this had a clean bite taken out
of its bell tower. Nearby I could see broken telephone poles
hanging like limp marionettes. Id been sitting long enough.
Maybe theres still some food in the MoPo store, I said
brightly, looking for Pig.
For you time-capsule types, MoPo was something called
a convenience store, as in, The soda is conveniently located
right next to the doughnuts and lottery tickets. People who
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want to understand better how the human race was conquered so easily need to study those stores. Almost everything inside was filled with sugar, cheese, or weight-loss tips.
It was dark inside, but Id expected that. Pig followed me
to the door, which opened with a jingle, and into the empty
store. The shelves were nearly bare, probably looted, except
for some moldy bread and yogurt health snacks called
NutriZone Extreme FitnessPlus Blaster Bars with Calcium.
There was also a bag and a few tins of cat food, which was
nice. I sat on the cold linoleum floor and ate one of the pink
health bars, and Pig had a tin of Sea Captains Entree.
I dont think were going to make it to Florida, I said.
Mao?
Florida. Thats where were going. Big state, full of
oranges.
Pig went back to her food, and I took another bite of
what I was beginning to think was just a big eraser.
Maybe we can stay here. Were pretty far outside the city.
The Boov might not even notice.
Mao.
Sure we could. We could live in someones house. Or a
hotel. And the towns probably full of canned food.
Mao mao?
Fine. Youre so smart, give me one reason why it wouldnt
work.
Mao.
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Pig.
How did you come to be inside of the MoPo?
I heard Pig purr loudly, the skunk. She was probably
rubbing up against each one of its eight legs.
Did someone . . . let you to inside, hm?
My heart pounded. As if Pig might say, Yeah, Gratuity did.
Aisle five.
Perhaps you are being hungry, the Boov told Pig. Would
you enjoy to join me in a jar of cough syrup?
The drumroll resumed. They were moving again. I poked
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EMPLOYEES ONLY.
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It, he, whatever, hopped his squat body atop the big spool,
clamping down around the edges with his little elephant legs.
His tiny frog arms reached up and gripped the antlers, and
with a few flicks and twists, the blue plastic thing rose a foot
in the air and sailed up the hill of shale and weeds to the
highway.
Allo! he shouted as he drifted away. There is no to fear!
The Boov are no longer eating you people!
The Boovs weird little scooter disappeared over the ridge,
and I darted out toward the storefor what? To get Pig? She
probably preferred to stay with the Boov. But she was all I
had, and the car wouldnt drive on a flat tire, and my only
thought was to vanish into this little town and hope the Boov
didnt try too hard to find me.
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inside the MoPo, and wondered where Pig was, and when the
door stopped jingling, he heard something. So he thought,
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