Don't Call Me Ishmael

by Bauer, Michael Gerard

• ISBN13: 9780061348341
• ISBN10: 0061348341
• Format: Hardcover
• Copyright: 2007-09-01
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publications

Summary

By the time ninth grade begins, Ishmael Leseur knows it won't be long before Barry Bagsley, the class bully, says, "Ishmael? What kind of wussy-crap name is that?” Ishmael's perfected the art of making himself virtually invisible. But all that changes when James Scobie joins the class. Unlike Ishmael, James has no sense of fear-he claims it was removed during an operation.Now nothing will stop James and Ishmael from taking on bullies, bugs, and Moby Dick, in the toughest, weirdest, most embarrassingly awful . . . and the best year of their lives.

Excerpts

Don't Call Me Ishmael

Chapter One

The Mayor of Loserville

There's no easy way to put this, so I'll just say it straight out. It's time I faced up to the truth. I'm fourteen years old, and I have Ishmael Leseur's Syndrome.

There is no cure.

Now, as far as I know, I'm the only recorded case of Ishmael Leseur's Syndrome in the world. In fact, the medical profession has probably never even heard of Ishmael Leseur's Syndrome. But it's real, believe me. The problem is, though, who would believe me?

For a while there, I guess I was in denial, but this year the symptoms have been just too painful and horrifying to ignore. And I'm not exaggerating here. No way. I'm telling you, Ishmael Leseur's Syndrome is capable of turning an otherwise almost normal person into a walking disaster registering nine point nine on the open-ended imbecile scale.

That's why I have decided to write all this down. Now everyone will finally understand the truth, and instead of electing me the mayor of Loserville, they'll simply shake their heads, smile kindly, and say, "It's all right. We understand. The poor boy has Ishmael Leseur's Syndrome. It's not his fault."

Anyway, maybe I'm getting ahead of myself here. I should really start at the beginning and go through things thoroughly—after all, I guess this needs to be approached scientifically if I'm to convince you that what I claim is true.

So, first things first. My name is Ishmael Leseur.

Now wait on, I know what you're going to say—I have the same name as my condition! You probably think I just invented it, so I can use it as an excuse whenever I make a complete fool of myself. But you don't get it. It's not that simple. You have to understand that the name is the condition—or at least part of it. I'm not absolutely sure on the precise details of how it works. After all, I am not a scientist. I'm just the victim here, but I do have my theories, and this is one of them.

Theory one: Ishmael Leseur's Syndrome is triggered by the release of a deadly virus that results from the combination of the words "Ishmael" and "Leseur."

Now, I have thought about this a lot, so let me explain some of my conclusions. As I see it, the individual letters by themselves are harmless. The combination of letters forming the separate words "Ishmael" and "Leseur" also seem relatively harmless. To illustrate this I refer to the other members of my immediate family: namely my father, Ron Leseur, insurance salesman and co-founder of the 1980s rock group the Dugongs; my mother, Carol Leseur, local councillor and chief family organizer; and my thirteen-year-old sister, Prue Leseur.

Now, as you can see, each of the above carries the name Leseur, yet I assure you that none of them suffers from any of the horrible symptoms you are about to hear described. In fact, I'd have to say, most of the time my mother and father seem painfully happy and content and, to rub it in, my sister, Prue—according to every friend, relative, and stranger who has ever set eyes on her—is "adorable." She also has an IQ somewhere near genius level. If brains were cars, Prue would be a Rolls-Royce while I would be a Goggomobil up on blocks with half its engine missing. And how do you think that makes me feel? Well, I'll tell you. Like the only person ever rejected for the job of village idiot, because he was waaaay overqualified. Or, as Prue so thoughtfully explained it to me one day, "Human beings use only ten percent of their brain, which would seem, in your case, Ishy, nowhere near enough."

So there you have it. The only conclusion you can possibly draw from my family's immunity to the syndrome is that it is triggered only by the fatal combination of the words "Ishmael" and "Leseur."

The way I see it is, the linking of these particular sounds must result in some kind of chemical reaction that germinates a virus, which then mutates the cells of the body, causing an increase in deadly toxins. These deadly toxins then infect the brain and nervous system, which results in the sufferer saying and doing things that would embarrass even a complete moron. I haven't quite been able to prove this theory yet; science is not my best subject. I'm much better at English, actually, but who wouldn't be with Miss Tarango as your teacher? But that's another story, and as Miss often reminds me, I have to watch my "structuring" when I write. Apparently I have a tendency to wander off the point.

Anyway, the point is, I didn't end up with Ishmael Leseur's Syndrome because of any chance combining of those two words. Oh no. I am who I am because of a deliberate act. You see, I know the circumstances surrounding the creation of my name in excruciating detail, and I know exactly who is responsible.

I will record their names now in this journal for all to see.

The ones who burdened me with the curse of Ishmael Leseur's were my parents. That's right, the aforementioned (this is an excellent word in a serious document such as this—Miss Tarango would approve) Ron and Carol Leseur. You can't blame them, of course. Parents are supposed to name their children. What happened wasn't their fault. They had no idea what a terrible thing they were doing.

Perhaps, though, I would find it a little easier to accept if they hadn't been laughing hysterically at the time they did it.

Don't Call Me Ishmael. Copyright © by Michael Bauer. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

---

Excerpted from Don't Call Me Ishmael by Michael Gerard Bauer, Michael G. Bauer
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.