by Bill Myers
TJ bolted up in bed.
“You simply wish to spy on her,” the first voice said.
“Do not.”
“Do too.”
“Do not.”
TJ turned to Dorie, whose eyes were as big as Frisbees. She reached for her glasses on the nightstand, slipped them on, and scanned the room, trying to see into the darkness. As the oldest, TJ had talked Dad into letting her have her own bedroom. Which was extremely cool . . . well, except for the part about its being haunted!
TJ swallowed. “Who’s . . . ?” Her voice squeaked like a rusty hinge. She tried again. “Who’s there?”
“Oh, man, now you torked it.”
“How can she possibly hear us?”
Dorie scooted closer. TJ barely noticed her ice feet. It’s hard noticing ice feet when you’re shivering in frozen fear.
“She can’t see us, can she?”
“How should I know?”
TJ took a shaky breath and shouted again. “Who’s there?”
“Don’t answer her.”
“What type of fool do you think I am?”
“How many types are there?”
“Ho, ho, you’re a real comedian, dude.”
For ghosts, they didn’t exactly sound like the scary type. TJ tried again. “Who’s there?!”
No answer.
“Hello?”
Repeat in the no-answer department.
TJ strained to hear even the slightest sound, the slightest breathing, the slightest anything. She stared at the unopened boxes in the middle of her room.
Nothing.
She tried one last time. Lowering her voice so she sounded in charge, she bellowed, “Is anyone there?!”
And then, ever so faintly, she heard the answer:
“No.”
CHAPTER TWO
New Friends
(and Enemies)
TIME TRAVEL LOG:
Malibu, California, October 10
Begin Transmission:
Accidental contact with subject. Thanks to our superior intelligence, she suspects nothing. Will follow to school for further observation. Time pod still out of fuel. Tuna is sure he can find some. I’m sure we’re in deep quod-quod.
End Transmission.
It was tough going back to sleep. Knowing your room is haunted by ghosts (even if they have low IQs) can do that to a person. Luckily, there were no more voices. TJ guessed even ghosts needed their beauty sleep. She was also glad she didn’t have any weird and scary dreams.
No, the nightmares didn’t start till the following morning, her first day at Malibu Junior High . . . .
For starters, why would anybody torture kids by making them take PE (better known as Physical Embarrassment) first thing in the morning? Not that there’s anything wrong with freezing to death as you run around the track. But TJ would have preferred for there to be enough daylight to see the track.
To be honest, that really wasn’t the problem, since her Midwest-winter legs were so incredibly non-tanned, they lit up the field.
“I can’t see where I’m going,” one of her bronzed California classmates shouted in the dark.
“Don’t worry!” another yelled. “Just follow the new kid with the glow-in-the-dark legs!”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t just their tans (or TJ’s lack of one) that set her apart from the others.
There was also their incredible bodies (and her incredible lack of one). Seriously, TJ felt like she was in the middle of a beauty pageant just going to school there! It’s not like they treated her badly or anything. They’d have to act like she existed to do that. And as far as she could tell, other than her night-light legs, she was completely invisible to them—like some homeless person that everyone pretended not to see.
There was one exception. One embarrassing exception . . .
Naomi Simpletwirp.
It’s not that Naomi was tall and gangly and an AV geek. It’s just that . . . well, all right, she was tall and gangly and an AV geek. And if you were trying to make a good impression on your first day of school, she was definitely not someone you wanted to be hanging with. TJ felt bad for being so judgmental, but hey, she didn’t invent the rules. It’s not her fault she was feeling what she felt, because she was feeling what she felt when she was feeling it.
TRANSLATION: Oh, well.
But no matter how hard she tried to ditch Naomi, it was like the girl was permanently glued to her side, a self-appointed tour guide.
They’d met during the second half of PE, when they were playing dodgeball. The game had barely started before TJ was overcome with the smell of spearmint and the deafening sound of someone
way too many breath mints.
Naomi had a thing about breath mints. She also had a thing about deodorants, bath oils, perfumes, odor-eater foot pads, and anything else she thought would make her smell beautiful. (I guess you could say she hadn’t quite grasped the concept of inner beauty yet.)
Her very first words to TJ were a warning: “Whatever you do, don’t hit Hesper.”
TJ looked at her. “Who?”
Naomi motioned to a gorgeous blonde on the other team who looked like one of those famous TV stars. The reason was simple. She was one of those famous TV stars. And if you couldn’t tell it by her perfect hair and perfect beauty, you could tell by the way all the other girls made such a big deal over her.
“Hesper, please throw my ball.”
“Hesper, please let the ball hit me.”
“Hesper, please let me go out for you.”
TJ blinked. “Is that Hesper Breakahart?”
Naomi nodded. “She goes to school here when she isn’t filming.”
TJ turned back and watched in amazement. Hesper was even prettier than on TV—though that might have been because of the hairstylist and makeup people standing on the sidelines.
One of her smaller groupies ran toward her with a ball. “Here, Hesper, I caught this one just for you.”
“Why, thank you, uh . . . What’s your name again?”
“I’m Elizabeth, your best friend since forever.”
“Oh, that’s right. Well, thank you . . .”
“Elizabeth,” her best friend since forever said.
Hesper smiled. “That’s right.” Then, taking the ball, she tossed back her thick mane of hair and after a gleaming white smile, hurled the ball with all of her might. But having superslim arms doesn’t exactly make you strong. Which explains why the ball floated through the air like a feather and gently dropped into TJ’s hands for an easy catch.
But instead of congratulating TJ, Naomi shouted, “What are you doing?”
TJ looked at her. “What?”
“Hesper threw that!”
“So?”
“So drop it!”
“What?”
Without explaining, Naomi knocked the ball out of her hand.
“Why did you do that?” TJ demanded.
“You’re out.”
“I’m out?”
“Yippee!” Hesper squealed, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. “She’s out! She’s out! She’s out!”
Which meant the rest of her team had no choice but to squeal, clap their hands, jump up and down, and shout, “She’s out! She’s out! She’s out!”
TJ turned to their teacher, Coach Steroidson. “That’s not fair.”
Coach Steroidson blew her whistle and, being the fair adult she was, shouted, “Finkelstein, you’re out!”
TJ just stared at her, then turned and stared at Naomi.
“Trust me,” Naomi said in a nervous whisper. “It’s for your own good. No one ever beats Hesper at anything.”
Another girl fired another ball. TJ caught it, but it didn’t make any difference since she was already out. Unfortunately, what did make a difference was the third ball someone threw. The ball that bounced off the one TJ was holding. The ball that went sailing high into the air and suddenly did a very strange U-turn, before flying directly at Hesper.
&nb
sp; “Hesper!” Coach Steroidson shouted. “Look out!”
Tossing back her hair and flashing those pearly whites, she said, “What—?”
She would have said more, but it’s hard talking when a ball smashes into your face at a hundred miles per hour.
It’s hard talking, but it’s not hard screaming.
“My nose!” Her hands flew to her face. “You broke my nose! YOU BROKE MY NOSE!”
Everyone gathered around her, cooing, crying, and showing their concern . . . well, except for those gathered around TJ, who were growling, hissing, and showing their hatred.
Not exactly the good first impression TJ was hoping for. But the day was young, and she would have more opportunities . . . . Unfortunately, she would have plenty more.
Chad stood with a handful of other students in the parking lot as they carried Hesper to the ambulance. (Apparently her stretch limo wasn’t handy.) They could have loaded her into a regular car, but what type of drama would that be? And as Chad well knew, the drama queen loved her drama.
In fact, even as they closed the ambulance doors, he could hear her trying for an Academy Award:
“Oh, my nose (sob, sob). I’ll never be able to smell again!”
“Oh, my nose (cry, cry). I’ll never be able to act again!”
“Oh, my nose (wail, wail). Did someone call Entertainment Tonight so I can make this evening’s segment?”
Good ol’ Hesper.
The only things worse than her drama were the rumors being spread by her so-called friends (spelled f-a-n-s). The rumors that kept growing and growing . . .
“Hey, Chad, did you hear about the new girl beating up Hesper?”
“Hey, Chad, did you hear about the new girl breaking all of Hesper’s bones?”
“Hey, Chad, did you hear about the new girl stealing an Army tank and running over Hesper . . . twice?”
Of course he felt bad for Hesper. After all, he was her boyfriend (at least according to Hesper). But he felt even worse for the new kid. Not only did she have her mental issues, but now she was hated by the entire school.
“TJ!” Naomi banged on the stall in the girls’ bathroom. “Come on out!”
But TJ was in no mood for coming out. Actually, at the moment, she wasn’t so keen on living.
“How could the dodgeball do that?” she moaned. “Make a major U-turn in the air like that? That’s impossible!”
More banging from Naomi. “Come on, you can’t stay in there forever.”
TJ glanced around at the beige steel walls. “Why not? Hang a few posters, put up a bookshelf, bring in my stereo. The place has potential.”
“It gets no sunlight,” Naomi argued.
TJ frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Without the sun, you can never achieve the healthy, golden glow of a Greek goddess.”
“I’m going more for the creamy-white look of an Elmer’s glue bottle.”
“How would you work out?”
“Work out?”
“You know, burn off those empty carbs, trim those flabby thighs, tighten that tummy?”
“Naomi, is that all you ever think—?”
“And where would you get the facial cream to give your skin that young, vibrant look that boys find so attrac—?”
“Naomi—”
“—or teeth-whitening strips for that dazzling smile every girl—?”
“All right, all right.” TJ unlocked the stall door and pushed it open to see Naomi. The girl had moved to the mirror and started flossing her teeth.
“You happy now?” TJ sighed.
“Not till we get you to your next class.”
“But everyone hates me.”
Naomi turned and walked toward her. “Don’t be ridiculous. Only the kids in PE hate you.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
She slipped her arm through TJ’s and they started toward the door. “Not when there’s a whole school out there waiting to join them. Come on.”
Of course, TJ wasn’t crazy about everyone seeing her and Naomi together. But since Naomi was like the only human being on the planet who would still talk to her, she didn’t have much choice.
Exactly 2 minutes and 17 seconds later, TJ stood in front of Mr. Beaker’s science class, under the gaze of 28 pairs of freezing eyes. Actually, only 27 because Chad Steel was there. And his warm baby blues weren’t exactly freezing her out . . . more like melting her down.
(Insert dreamy sigh here.)
“Class,” Mr. Beaker said, “this is Thelma Jean Finkelstein. She’s a transfer student from Mississippi, and I want you to make her feel right at home.”
“Actually—” TJ cleared her throat—“that’s Missouri.”
“Pardon me?”
“I’m from Missouri.”
“Mississippi, Missouri—” he waved his hand— “They’re all the same.”
She could think of a few million people who might disagree, but since he taught science and not geography, she let it go.
He picked up a clipboard and continued.
“Everyone’s been working on their science fair projects with their lab partners. But since everyone has a partner, I’m afraid—”
“Mr. Beaker?” a little voice squeaked.
He came to a stop and looked at a geeky kid who had a drippy faucet for a nose and 0 percent fashion sense.
“Yes, Doug?”
The kid pushed up his glasses. “I don’t have a partner.”
Mr. Beaker glanced down at his clipboard. “Hmm . . .”
Doug sniffed loudly. He looked at TJ longingly, then gave an even louder sniff followed by an even longinglier look. (Okay, maybe longinglier isn’t a word, but it should be by the way he was staring.)
Then, just when it seemed like TJ’s life was going to be ruined twice in the same day, another voice chimed in from the back of the room. “Me neither.”
She glanced over to see Chad Steel.
Mr. Beaker looked up. “You don’t have a partner, Mr. Steel?”
Chad shook his head.
Elizabeth (Hesper Breakahart’s best friend since forever) pointed at TJ. “Not since that witch broke her nose this morning.”
Hesper Breakahart? TJ thought. Hesper Breakahart was Chad Steel’s lab partner? Oh, brother . . .
“Hmm . . .” Mr. Beaker looked back down at his clipboard. “So we have two choices, do we? Hmm . . .” And then, to heighten the suspense, he threw in another “Hmm . . .” for good measure.
TJ caught her breath. Was it possible? Could Chad really become her lab partner? She crossed her fingers, wishing with all her might it would be true.
She threw a look over to Doug, who gave another sniff and another look . . . topped off by a good wipe of the nose on the back of his hand. She crossed her arms, her ankles, and her eyes—not exactly her best look, but she’d do anything to help the odds.
Finally Mr. Beaker glanced up and said, “Well, Ms. Finkelstein, I’ll let you decide.”
“Me?” she croaked.
He nodded. “Do you want Doug Claudlooper as your lab partner or Chad Steel?”
Yes!
She couldn’t believe her luck!
Yes! Yes!
She couldn’t believe how quickly things had turned around!
Yes! Yes! Yes!
She couldn’t believe how Naomi kept waving her arms from the side of the room and mouthing the words “Not Chad! Not Chad! Not Chad!”
“Well?” Mr. Beaker asked.
Now, before you think TJ is totally superficial or anything like that, it’s important to know that she was sure Doug was a very nice boy. It’s not his fault he was wearing Goodwill rejects and binocular glasses and had a perpetual case of hay fever (though someone might want to give him a clue about using tissues instead of the backs of hands).
But we are talking Chad Steel. Who was she to question fate? There was also the fact that they were next-door neighbors, so he could come over and work on the project anytime he wanted
. . . and look at her with those baby blues . . . and accidentally brush his hand against hers, then hold it, then reach his lips toward her cheek and—
“Ms. Finkelstein?”
She blinked, coming back to reality.
Mr. Beaker repeated, “Who would you prefer to work with?”
TJ scrunched her face into a frown, pretending to think while doing her best to ignore Naomi, who was still waving her arms and mouthing, “Not Chad! Not Chad! Not Chad!”
Finally she nodded toward Chad. “I guess . . . him.”
Chad gave a smile and the room started buzzing. Not happy little bumblebee buzzing. No, this was more like swarm of killer bees buzzing. Everyone was shocked and angry at TJ. Well, everyone but Naomi, who had dropped her head into her hands and was sadly shaking it.
“Then, please—” Mr. Beaker motioned TJ toward the empty desk next to Chad’s—“take a seat and join him.”
She started forward, floating toward him as in a dream . . . until she was awakened by someone sticking out a foot to trip her.
Actually, she wasn’t entirely surprised. With her growing popularity, she didn’t plan on running for class president anytime soon. What did surprise her was that when she stumbled and started to fall, Chad leaped to his feet and caught her just before she hit the ground.
It was a beautiful moment. One she would remember all her life—Chad Steel holding her in his arms and the entire class watching with envy (except for Naomi, who was busy praying). Of course, it would have been more beautiful if a dictionary hadn’t suddenly flown off the bookshelf at the side of the room, shot over everyone’s desks, and slammed into the back of Chad’s head.
What?!
It didn’t hurt him or anything, but it definitely got his attention. And everyone else’s.
CHAPTER THREE
“Aghhhh . . .”
TIME TRAVEL LOG:
Malibu, California, October 10—supplemental
