by Nancy Krulik
Copyright © 2018 by Nancy Krulik and Amanda Elizabeth Burwasser
Illustrations copyright © 2018 Mike Moran
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First Edition
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are from the authors’ imaginations, and used fictitiously.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Krulik, Nancy E., author. | Burwasser, Amanda Elizabeth, author. | Moran, Michael, 1957- illustrator.
Title: Someone’s got a screw loose / Nancy Krulik and Amanda Burwasser ; illustrated by Mike Moran.
Other titles: Someone has got a screw loose
Description: First edition. | New York : Skyhorse Publishing, [2018] | Summary: An invitation to a birthday party becomes a recipe for disaster when Java’s secret is nearly exposed by a nosy reporter.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018006396 (print) | LCCN 2018014768 (ebook) | ISBN 9781510726697 (eb) | ISBN 9781510726642 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781510726697 (ebook)
Subjects: | CYAC: Robots--Fiction. | Birthdays--Fiction. | Parties--Fiction. | Humorous stories.
Classification: LCC PZ7.K9416 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.K9416 Sok 2018 (print) | DDC [Fic]--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018006396
Cover illustration by Mike Moran
Cover design by Kate Gartner
Printed in the United States of America
For Alison Weiss, our supportive editor extraordinaire, who never tells us we can’t do it!
—AB & NK
To my Project Droid teammates, a big thank you!
—MM
CONTENTS
1. You’re Invited?
2. Making a Scene
3. Read My Lips
4. Fancy-Schmancy
5. Plush Pineapples and Fluffy Fish
6. Sneaky Snoop
7. It’s All Up In the Air
8. Abraca-oops!
9. Gourmet Sponges
10. Extra! Extra!
A Really Cool Magic Trick
1.
You’re Invited?
“Here.”
Sherry Silverspoon shoved an envelope into my hand during recess Wednesday afternoon.
“Here.”
Jerry Silverspoon shoved an envelope into my cousin Java’s hand.
“What’s this?” I asked the twins.
“It’s an invitation to a birthday party,” Java said. He had already opened his envelope and was reading the card inside.
“You’re inviting us to your party?” I was surprised. The twins and I are not friends. At all. “Is this some sort of joke?”
“No joke. You’re both invited,” Sherry said. She did not sound happy about it.
“Our mom made us invite the whole third grade,” Jerry explained.
Okay, now the invitation made sense.
“No one says you have to come to our party,” Sherry said. “We won’t be upset if you don’t show up.”
“Not as long as you get us presents,” Jerry added.
“Good presents,” Sherry insisted.
I looked at the invitation. The twins’ party was going to be a big carnival in their yard. And since they had invited our whole grade, lots of my friends would be there.
“We wouldn’t miss it,” I said. “Would we, Java?”
Java thought for a minute. Then he said, “According to my internal calendar, I have the date free. I will come.”
“Your internal calendar?” Jerry repeated.
“You better not talk all strange like that when you’re at our party,” Sherry warned. “You might get quoted in the newspaper.”
What was she talking about?
“Why would your party be in the newspaper?” I asked them.
“This backyard carnival party is going to be a huge deal,” Jerry explained. “Our parents have invited some very important people. Newspapers do articles about parties with important people.”
“So don’t act like loony tunes,” Sherry added. “We don’t want the whole town thinking we hang out with weirdos.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
“According to the dictionary in my hard drive, a weirdo is a person who acts or dresses strangely,” Java told me.
“That’s what we mean.” Jerry glared at us and walked away with Sherry to hand out more invitations.
It wasn’t going to be easy getting Java to act like a regular third-grade kid at that party.
That’s because Java isn’t a regular third-grade kid.
Java isn’t a kid at all. He’s an android.
My mom is a scientist. And Java is part of a secret experimental project she is working on: Project Droid.
The whole point of Project Droid is to figure out if an android can fit in with real people. So Java is programmed to do all sorts of real-kid things—like go to school or play soccer or try out for the school play.
Only he doesn’t always do those things the same way a real kid would.
And he doesn’t always understand what real kids are talking about.
“Listen, you can’t talk about your hard drive or your internal calendar or any computer stuff at this party,” I told Java.
“Why not?” Java asked me.
Well, for starters, I didn’t want some snoopy reporter figuring out Java’s secret. And for another …
“If you act strange at the Silverspoons’ party, they’re never going to let me forget it,” I told my cousin. “We have to get through this party without causing any trouble. And we have to get the twins gifts they’ll really like.”
“What do you think they would like?” Java asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I admitted. “But I’ll figure it out. I’m going to ask Mom to drive us to the mall after school.”
“Your mother cannot drive us anywhere today,” Java told me.
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because her car is in the shop,” Java pointed out.
“Okay. Then you, Mom, and I can just grab a bus.”
Java gave me a strange smile. He crossed his eyes. And wiggled his ears. Then he shouted, “I can do it!”
The next thing I knew, my cousin was running toward the school parking lot.
He raced over toward a long line of yellow school buses.
And then, with just one hand, he grabbed a bus—and lifted it right off the ground!
Androids are really, really strong.
I raced over to the parking lot. My head was thumping. This was bad.
I was never going to be able to keep Java’s true identity a secret
now. If even one kid in the schoolyard saw what my cousin was doing …
But no one did. The kids were all too busy playing games, talking to each other, and wondering why the Silverspoon twins had invited them to their birthday party to notice Java.
“Put that down,” I ordered my cousin when I caught up to him.
“You said we needed to grab a bus,” Java reminded me.
I shook my head. Asking Java not to act like a weirdo was really asking a lot.
2.
Making a Scene
“You boys look around Toyz Be You,” Mom told Java and me later that afternoon, at the mall. “I need to pick up a lug wrench at Schmoopies Hardware Store. I’ll meet you here in a few minutes.”
“We have to find really good gifts for Jerry and Sherry,” I told Java as we walked into the toy store. “Something they won’t make fun of.”
Java held up a package of socks with pictures of baseballs, footballs, and soccer balls all over them. “How about these?” he asked.
Java was really smart about a lot of things. He knew exactly how many miles it is from Toad Suck, Arkansas, to Chicken Bristle, Illinois.
He could tell you the total population of Kazakhstan right off the top of his head.
And he could figure out a math problem, like four thousand nine hundred sixty-seven divided by forty-three, without picking up a pencil.
But when it came to a great birthday present, he had absolutely no clue.
“Keep looking,” I told him.
I scanned the shelves, searching for the perfect gift.
But nothing I saw seemed right.
Not the plumber action figure with its own electric plunger.
Or the pooper-scooper board game.
Or the box of golf balls that looked like eyeballs.
Getting the twins their birthday gifts was going to be hard.
“Maybe they would like something with a remote control,” I murmured as I turned the corner. “Or a—”
SLAM!
CRASH!
BOUNCE. BOUNCE. BOUNCE.
I wasn’t looking where I was going. I fell right into a giant display of rubber balls. Which were now bouncing their way all over the store.
“Logan, are you okay?”
I looked up to see my best friend, Stanley, standing over me.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I told him as I struggled to my feet.
A bunch of people in purple Toyz Be You T-shirts went racing by, scrambling to catch the runaway bouncing balls. A few of them gave me dirty looks.
“Stupid Silverspoon twins,” I muttered. “This is all their fault.”
“I guess you and Java are here to get gifts for Jerry and Sherry, too, huh?” Stanley asked.
Just then, Java came running toward us. He was dribbling one of the rubber balls with his hands.
Bounce. Bounce. Bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce.
“Wow!” Stanley exclaimed. “I never saw anyone dribble that fast.”
“I cannot dribble,” Java told Stanley. “I cannot drool either. There is no spit in my body. My mechanisms are dry.”
Stanley gave Java a funny look. “Huh?”
“Java just means he’s really, really thirsty,” I said quickly. “You know. Like he’s got a dry mouth.”
“Oh.” Stanley laughed. “You’re funny, Java.”
“Dribbling is what basketball players call it when they bounce a ball,” I explained to my cousin.
A weird whirring sound came from Java’s belly. I’m pretty sure he was inputting the information into his hard drive.
“I was surprised when Sherry and Jerry gave me the invitation,” I told Stanley, changing the subject.
“Me, too,” Stanley agreed. “I think everyone was.” Then he added, “Don’t turn around.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“She’s here,” Stanley answered.
I didn’t have to ask who she was. I knew Stanley meant Nadine Vardez.
My palms began to sweat.
My fingers began to twitch.
And the little hairs on my arms all stood up.
Why do I always get so nervous around Nadine?
“Hi, you guys,” Nadine said as she walked over.
“Olleh,” I mumbled.
Nadine gave me a strange look.
I didn’t blame her. I was so shaky, I was talking backward.
“Are you here to get presents for the twins, too?” Stanley asked Nadine.
She nodded. “But I haven’t found anything yet.”
“We haven’t either,” Stanley said.
“I guess we’re just gonna have to keep looking,” Nadine said. “I’m going over to the sporting goods section. See you later.”
As Nadine walked away, I shook my head. “‘Olleh?’” I groaned. “That was really dumb.”
Stanley didn’t argue with me.
“I don’t know what it is with me,” I continued. “Every time Nadine comes by, I feel all weird. My stomach gets jumpy and it’s like fireworks go off in my head.”
Java shot me a crooked a smile. His nose twitched. His eyes rolled around in his head.
“I can do it!” he shouted.
POP! POP! POP! Suddenly, loud noises started coming out of Java’s mouth. Bright colored lasers shot from his eyes.
Then he burst up in the air and whirled around in a circle. It was like he was a giant android fireworks show.
But androids don’t turn to smoke and disappear in midair the way fireworks do.
Androids come down to earth. With a THUD.
My android cousin landed right in the middle of a big pile of space alien action figures.
The space aliens went flying through the air, like … well … space aliens.
Stanley stared at Java. “How did—?” he began.
Before I could come up with a good answer, a group of people in Toyz Be You shirts came running over again.
“That’s it!” one of them shouted at us. “First the bouncing balls, and now the aliens. You three have caused enough trouble. GET OUT!”
3.
Read My Lips
“How do you wrap an elephant’s trunk?” I wondered out loud.
It was Saturday morning. The twins’ party was in a few hours. Java and I were wrapping their gifts.
Mom had picked up matching stuffed elephants for Jerry and Sherry. I didn’t know why. But stuffed elephants were what we had, so stuffed elephants were what we were giving them.
“Directions for wrapping elephants is not in my hard drive,” Java told me. “But I do have an elephant joke. What time is it when an elephant sits on your fence?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Time to get a new fence,” Java said. “Isn’t that a funny joke, Logan?”
“Sure,” I said. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings—although I’m never really sure if Java has feelings. “Let’s just finish wrapping these things. I still have to get dressed.”
“You are dressed,” Java said. “You are wearing pants and a shirt.”
“I can’t wear this to a party!” I explained, horrified. “I have to wear party clothes.”
Java looked at me blankly. He didn’t understand. But why would he?
Java didn’t care what he looked like. Robots never do.
But I cared.
“What do you think of this?” I asked as I put on a pair of blue-and-white-checked pants and my green-and-yellow-striped shirt.
Java shook his head. “I am not programmed to know what is fashionable,” he told me.
I guess I wasn’t either. Looking in the mirror at the stripes and checks was making me dizzy.
I pulled out my new tan slacks and my red button-down shirt, which looked great, until I saw the shirt had two buttons missing.
I guessed I could put on the cowboy shirt my cousin had sent me from Montana three years ago. It was pretty cool, and I had never had the chance to wear it.
And I never would. Because now it was way too small.
<
br /> “I guess I’m just going to have to wear my regular school clothes,” I said, pulling on a pair of jeans with big pockets and a long-sleeved shirt. “I sure hope this isn’t a dressy party.”
“Are carnivals dressy?” Java asked me.
“Not usually,” I told him. “But this is the Silverspoons’ carnival. And they don’t do things like other people do.”
“Is that bad?” Java wondered.
I didn’t know how to answer that question. Java didn’t do things like other people did either.
And some of the things Java did were pretty cool. And funny.
“Being different isn’t always bad,” I said. “But today, you have to try really hard to act like a real kid like everybody else.”
“I am programmed to act like a real kid,” Java insisted.
That was not something a real kid would say.
“Java,” I told him, “read my lips. Today you have to ACT NORMAL.”
Java moved his eyes up and down. He cocked his head to the side. Then he shouted out, “I can do it!”
Java yanked my jaw open and peered into my mouth.
“Wha-sha doin’?” I mumbled.
“Reading your lips,” he said. “Or trying to. There are no words printed there.”
Oh, brother. If Java was looking for something to read, he probably should have tried the calendar instead.
Because this day had doom written all over it.
4
Fancy-Schmancy
“Now remember,” I told Java later that afternoon as we walked up the steps to the Silverspoons’ giant front porch, “no funny stuff.”
“I can’t tell jokes?” Java said. “Because there’s a new one in my data file. It’s about firefighters and red suspenders.”
“No jokes,” I told him.
I felt kind of bad. I didn’t want to tell Java not to be himself. That wasn’t nice. Still, it was just for today.
I ran my hand through my hair. Slimy gel oozed all over my fingers.
I had tried to give myself a cool new hairstyle for the party. Maybe I had overdone it, though. When I rang the doorbell, my fingers left a greasy hair gel stain by the door.
