Later, Mike went out back to practice flying his broom. He was still making the same mistakes when he took off. Plus he had no control over the broom, anyway, so that only caused him to crash land. It drove him crazy. Saturday rolled around. The boys were getting ready for the school carnival, but Mike started heading out the back door.

"I'm goin' outside to practice," he said.

"What about the carnival?" Peter asked.

"Hey, man, if you're trying to back out . . . ." Micky started.

"Look, I told you guys that I'd do it," Mike said, "and we all agreed we'd be on shifts for this thing, so that means I don't have to show up until about twelve thirty. That gives me two and a half hours to get practicin' on this broom."

"All right, Mike," Davy said. "We'll see you latah, then."

"Good luck," Peter said.

"Thanks," Mike said, and he went out the back door.

When the three Monkees and Franky got to the middle school, everything was set up.

"It was really great of your uncle and his friends to volunteer for our carnival, Franky," a blond-haired girl named Aimee Armbruster said. She was assigned to the dunk tank with Franky.

"Yeah, they're the greatest," Franky said. "Come on, let's get this show on the road. Hit it, Davy!"

"Step right up, ladies and gentlemen!" Davy shouted, imitating a carnival barker. "Dunk the Monkee! Three balls for a dollah!"

Micky had drawn the short straw, and wound up being the first of the Monkees to sit on the platform. He was wearing a turn of the century bathing suit, and he didn't look very happy about the whole thing.

"Oh, who could resist?" the first customer of the day asked, shelling a buck out of his wallet. Frankie gave him three balls, and he tossed one at the target, but he missed.

"Eh, you couldn't hit the broad side of a barn!" Micky shouted.

"Oh yeah?" the man asked, and he threw a second ball. Again it missed.

"You pitch like my grandma!" Micky shouted.

"This one won't miss," the man said.

The man threw the third ball, and hit the target in the dead center. Micky got a sick look on his face, and went down into the water. Everybody laughed.

"Thanks, kid," the man said. "That was worth the dollar I paid."

Micky climbed out of the tank, spat water out of his mouth, and heaved a big sigh. Somehow he knew that guy would eventually hit the target.

Meanwhile, Mike was so involved in his practice, he forgot about the time. He was still crashing into things, as well. He hadn't gotten anywhere in practice.

"This is drivin' me nuts!" he shouted. "How long have I been at this, anyway?"

Mike looked at his watch, and realized it was twelve twenty-seven.

"Oh man!" he shouted. "I almost forgot about the carnival!"

Mike began to run off, but he knew it would take him at least fifteen minutes to get to the school from the beach on foot, since Davy, Micky, and Peter had the Monkee Mobile.

"I'm gonna be late!" he shouted. "Unless . . . ."

Mike looked at the broom in his hand. Then he straddled it, and squeezed it. He shot into the air again, and was off. But with no improvement. He was still flying too low, and going much too fast. Mike was grateful about one thing, though. Since he was going so fast, nobody knew what the heck he was, but he was causing quite a bit of chaos. At any rate, he finally approached the school, in record time. At the time, Micky was ready for a break.

"Bet he's sorry you talked him into this, Franky," Peter said, with a laugh, while Micky climbed out of the tank.

"Why do I do these things?" Micky asked.

"Because you like me," Franky said, as he hugged Micky's arm.

"I knew I had a good reason," Micky said, tousling the thirteen-year-old's hair.

Anyway, Aimee was counting the money they had made so far when she stopped suddenly.

"Hey, you guys hear something?" she asked.

"Like what?" Micky asked, looking for a towel to dry off.

"It sounds like a plane dive bombing," Davy said. "But there aren't any planes around."

"That can only mean one thing," Micky said.

"What?" Aimee asked.

She didn't get an answer to that. In a split second, Mike came flying onto the scene, and he smashed straight into the dunk tank, destroying it. And heaven knows, that didn't stop him. He just kept going. Anyway, the water spilled out of the dunk tank, soaking everybody in that area. Micky groaned, since he was already soaked. He just got even more soaked!

Mike continued flying around, trying to control the broom. The next thing he hit was a duck pond game, followed by a football toss game, and then a milk bottle toss. It was like a domino effect with the booths. One fell, and the rest followed. Everybody climbed out from under the mess, and began to talk at once. But Mike didn't stop there. He flew to a face painting booth next. The couple running it saw him coming and moved away as fast as they could, as well as the patrons in line. Mike hit the table, and paint flew everywhere.

"Sunday flyer!" a man in line shouted.

Mike didn't acknowledge him. Next up was the food stand. The people there saw Mike coming, and vacated the vicinity. Mike knocked over the grill, and chicken fell to the ground. He also knocked over tables that had pizza on it, and soda cans and bottles. The picnic area was a mess!

"Mike!" Davy yelled.

"Sorry, Davy!" Mike shouted. "I can't stop this thing!"

"You'd better!" Micky yelled. "Or else someone's going to get hurt!"

Mike shrugged, and did his best to stop the broom, but he just couldn't no matter how hard he tried. The worst was yet to come. Franky was in direct path with the broom, and he wasn't even aware of it! However, Peter was.

"Franky, watch out!" Peter shouted.

Franky turned around, and saw Mike's broom heading right for him. Mike managed to bring it up a little, but it wasn't good enough, and Franky didn't move away in time. The end of the broom hit the thirteen-year-old in the head, right above his eye.

WHACK!

The blow managed to knock Franky off his feet as well. Mike finally stopped when he crashed into the front door of the school. He wasn't hurt, just a little dazed. He stood up, twirled his broom and snapped his fingers to make it disappear before anyone saw it, and walked over to the carnival.

"Well, I made it on time," he said. "To say the least."

The other Monkees just glared at Mike. Mike looked around, and saw that he had caused more damage that he thought. Micky came up to him.

"Mike, I don't know whether to throttle you or thank you!" he shouted.

"For what?" Mike asked.

"For getting us out of the dunk tank," Micky said. "As for throttling you . . . . ."

"You destroyed the carnival!" Davy shouted. "Look at this mess! There's water, paint, food, and anything else all over the place! Not to mention you caused an injury, Mike!"

"Oh, man! Franky! I nearly forgot!" Mike shouted, and he, Davy, and Micky ran over to Franky. Peter was helping him to his feet. He had a dazed look on his face, and his hand on his head. He was too dazed to even speak!

"Franky, are you okay?" Mike asked. "Man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hit you with the broom, I . . . ."

"Cool it, Mike, cool it," Micky said. "He's pretty shaken up, you know!"

"Move your 'and a minute, mate," Davy said. "I want to see 'ow bad 'e 'it you."

Franky moved his hand. There was a large bruise right above his right eye, which was starting to swell. A thin trickle of blood was coming from a slight gash in the area as well.

"Man, you 'it 'im 'ardah than I thought, Mike!" Davy shouted. "That looks awful!"

"Maybe we oughta take him to the nurse," Peter said.

"You're right, Pete," Davy said. "The soonah the bettah."

Peter stood up, and he and Davy took Franky by the arms, and began to help him toward the school. Mike stepped forward.

"I'll help," he said.

"No thanks, Mike," Davy said, bitterly. "You've done enough!"

"But . . . ." Mike started.

"Maybe you should just leave, Mike," Peter said. "And please, not on that broom."

"Okay," Mike said. "Sure. I guess. But maybe I should help clean up or somethin'."

"NO!" the other three Monkees shouted. That made Mike jump a little.

"Like Davy said, Mike," Micky replied. "You've done enough already."

Mike nodded, and prepared to leave. Everybody else began to clean up the mess. Thankfully, they didn't realize what exactly had caused it. As he was leaving, he could still hear his friends talking about the incident.

"I can't believe he flew that broom here," Micky said. "Look at what he caused this time!"

"I know," Peter said. "He really shouldn't be flying that broom anyway. He doesn't know how to handle it!"

"Some warlock 'e is," Davy said. "'E can't even fly a broom!"

"Do you realize he could've put someone's eye out?" Micky asked.

"I think he almost did," Peter said, indicating Franky, who was still a bit out of it.

Mike heard every word of it. He walked away from the school, broom in hand. Once he was away from his friends, he looked down at his broom. He gripped it as hard as he could, and then took it in both hands. He smashed it against his knee, breaking it into two pieces.

"Never again," he said, throwing the two pieces on the ground.