by Bill Myers
“It is not.”
“Is too.”
“Is not.”
By now TJ was blinking faster than a strobe light after too much sugar and way too many cups of coffee.
Then they all heard the dreaded
The boys froze. So did TJ—though she didn’t have much choice, being a floor lamp.
“Who is it?” Herby asked in his high, TJ voice.
“It’s Chad, from next door. Are you all right?”
“Oh no,” Tuna groaned.
“Way oh no,” Herby moaned.
Blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink, TJ blinked.
“Open the knife,” Tuna said as he headed for the door. “Let us Freeze-Frame him.”
“Got it,” Herby said as he scooped up the knife and followed his partner.
Tuna opened the bedroom door, and there stood Chad in all of his wonderful . . . Chadness.
“Uh, you’re not TJ,” he said.
“No, I am,” Herby said in his TJ voice.
Chad looked over to Herby and scowled. The voice may have been TJ’s, but the body sure wasn’t.
“Now!” Tuna shouted.
Herby opened the blade, and
Chad was morphed into a goldfish.
“You morphed him?” Tuna yelled. “You were supposed to Freeze Frame him!”
“The blades are all mixed up!” Herby cried.
Both boys (and the floor lamp) looked down at the goldfish flopping on the floor.
“What do we do now?” Herby shouted.
“Place him in water before he dies,” Tuna yelled.
“Right!” Herby dropped to his knees and tried to scoop Chad up into his hands. But the little guy was like a greased pig wearing a banana-peel suit covered in ice.
Translation: He was slippery.
TJ watched in horror as her next-door neighbor slipped out of Herby’s hands, once, twice, three times, before Herby finally caught the little fellow and rose to his feet.
Herby turned to her. “A glass of water? Do you have a glass of water?”
Blink-blink-blink-blink.
“I believe that’s a no!” Tuna cried.
“What do we do?” Herby shouted.
“The bathroom! Down the hall!”
Herby nodded and raced out the door.
“But not the sink!” Tuna shouted. “He’ll jump out of the sink.”
“Then where?” Herby called over his shoulder.
“The toilet bowl!”
“Right!” Herby yelled. “Good thinking!”
“Of course it is!” Tuna agreed. “That’s what I do best!”
But apparently TJ didn’t agree. Which explains her response:
Blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink . . .
A minute later, Herby was back.
“Is everything secure?” Tuna asked.
“Cool.” Herby nodded. “Chad is swimming his little heart out.”
“Excellent.” Tuna turned to TJ, who was busy flashing her little bulb out.
“What’s with her?” Herby asked.
“Perhaps she is experiencing some sort of electrical malfunction.”
Of course, if they would have bothered to ask TJ what she was saying (and given her a mouth to say it), they might have heard something like:
“YOU PUT CHAD STEEEEL IN OUR TOILET?! ARE YOU NUTS?! DON’T YOU KNOW THAT WITH THREE GIRLS AND ONE BATHROOM, HE’LL BE FLUSHED AWAY IN 1.2 MINUTES!”
But they didn’t know because they didn’t ask. And they didn’t ask because, as TJ had already figured out, neither one of them was the brightest crayon in the box. Actually, as far as she could tell, they didn’t even know what a crayon was.
“Perhaps instead of explaining why we are here,” Tuna said, “we should show her.”
“Groovy,” Herby said as he reached for the Swiss Army Knife.
“Actually—” Tuna cleared his throat—“do you mind if I do the honors?”
“You don’t trust me?” Herby asked.
“Should I?”
Herby paused to think, then nodded. “Good point.” He tossed the knife to Tuna, who opened another blade.
TJ closed her eyes, fearing the worst.
But this time there were no bug translations and no morphing. Instead, everything was perfectly normal. Well, except for the part where they were
. . . transported to Washington DC
. . . watching a future president being sworn in
. . . who just happened to be a woman
. . . who just happened to look like an older version of TJ.
Other than that, everything was perfectly normal. (Although being the only flashing lamp in the crowd accompanied by two boys in time-travel suits did raise an eyebrow or two.)
“What you are witnessing,” Tuna said, “is a holographic image of the future. It is being projected into your room.”
TJ could only stare with amazement.
“Pretty outloopish, huh,” Herby said proudly. “And see that lady-type up there being sworn in? She just happens to be you in forty-two years.”
TJ blinked in disbelief.
“He is correct,” Tuna said. “You, Thelma Jean Finkelstein, will become one of the greatest leaders in history. You will single-handedly eliminate world hunger, wipe out major diseases, end poverty, and—”
“Bring back the hula hoop,” Herby added.
Tuna gave him a look, then grudgingly admitted, “And bring back the hula hoop.”
“That’s why we were so stoked on choosing you for our history project,” Herby said. “That and your great babe-ness.”
(This time he moved his foot so Tuna missed it when he tried to stomp it.)
Gathering himself together, Tuna continued. “We wished to discover how you acquired the character qualities to become such an outstanding leader.”
Herby nodded toward Tuna. “Unfortunately, Mr. Brainiac here forgot to gas up our time-travel pod, so we’re, like, totally stuck here till we can score some fuel.”
Blink
“Yeah, I know; bummer.”
“However, there is one other problem,” Tuna said.
“Oh yeah,” Herby sighed. “No offense, little Dude-ness, but right now you got like zero of those character qualities.”
Blink-blink?
“You know, all the cool stuff—like honesty, thoughtfulness, self-sacrifice, respect for others—they’re, like, totally zworked.”
TJ blinked in protest.
“No, it is quite true,” Tuna said. “Simply consider the way you’re treating Naomi.”
“And that Doug dude,” Herby added.
TJ frowned—or at least she tried to.
Tuna explained, “The young lady with the AV skills and the self-image problem . . . and the young man in science class with all the allergies?”
TJ sighed. (Well, if she could have sighed, she would have sighed.) It was true; she’d barely given either of them the time of day.
Tuna continued, “And according to our history holographs, one of your greatest traits will be your ability to look past the superficial and see what a person is really like on the inside.”
“But right now, you’re, like, totally ignoring the little dudes and dudettes, while going gam-gam over the Chad Steels of the world.”
Well, of course, TJ thought. Because Chad Steel is so . . . so . . . IN TROUBLE, SWIMMING INSIDE OUR TOILET BOWL! Once again she started blinking furiously.
“What’s she saying now?” Tuna asked.
As if to answer his question, Dorie’s little voice screamed from the bathroom:
“EWWWWW!”
Tuna and Herby traded looks of alarm.
TJ blinked faster.
“THERE’S A GOLDFISH IN THE TOILET!”
That was the one
thing none of them wanted to hear.
Actually, there was one other thing that was slightly worse. The sound of a toilet being
flushed.
CHAPTER FIVE
Outloopish to the Max
TIME TRAVEL LOG:
Malibu, California, October 10—supplemental of supplemental
Begin Transmission:
Thanks to incredible reflexes, neighbor boy is saved. But instead of praise, subject appears majorly unthrilled. Despite efforts to dazzle her with good looks, charm, and incredible intelligence, she remains unimpressed. 21st century girls. Go figure.
End Transmission
Chad rolled over in bed and looked at his radio alarm.
It read 11:48 p.m.
He shook his head. What a dream. Crazy aliens . . . blinking floor lamps . . . and a few thousand laps around a toilet bowl. Talk about a nightmare.
Of course he’d be more convinced it was only a nightmare if he wasn’t still wearing his clothes and shoes.
He’d be even more convinced if they weren’t dripping wet.
And he’d be 100 percent convinced if he didn’t have what tasted like
fish food flakes stuck to the roof of his mouth and between his teeth.
He quickly threw off his covers and
to the bathroom, where he poured one glass of water to rinse his mouth
and a second glass to
breathe.
(Old habits die hard.)
Anyway, when he realized he no longer had gills, he
back to his room and got into some dry pajamas.
Only then, as he lay in his bed, did he notice that his cell phone was still open on his desk. He didn’t exactly see it. More like he
heard it. That’s right, Hesper was still talking away. And as he drifted off to sleep, Chad wondered which would run out of energy first. His cell phone battery or
Hesper Breakahart.
Actually, it hadn’t been too hard for the guys to save Chad. All they had to do was find the right blade to Freeze-Frame time, scoop Chad out of the water, and put him in his bed . . . while everyone else stood around frozen like statues.
(Well, everyone but TJ, since lamps are pretty much like statues anyway.)
It also wasn’t hard turning TJ back into a real person. Well, except that the morphing device was still on the fritz.
No problem if you don’t mind little inconveniences like first being turned into the
toenail clipping of a giant elephant (and you thought a fish in the toilet bowl was gross). Or a
half-used tube of toothpaste (squeezed in the middle, of course). And finally a
humpback whale.
Anyway, once TJ was finally back to normal (except for the handful of barnacles they had to scrape off her back), she’d looked at Tuna and Herby, and in her most gentle voice . . . screamed her lungs out.
“THIS IS NUTS! I DON’T WANT TO BE IN YOUR STUPID HISTORY PROJECT!”
“Shh.” Herby motioned for her to be quiet.
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, SHH?!”
“By yelling, you will awaken your family,” Tuna warned.
“I’LL YELL IF I WANT TO YELL!”
“Well, all right, then,” Tuna said, pulling out the Swiss Army Knife and opening a new blade.
“NOW WHAT ARE YOU DOING? STOP IT! DON’T YOU DARE POINT THAT THING AT—”
“—me. Wait a minute. My voice. What have you done to my voice!?”
“I have simply reduced your volume.”
“You can’t do that!”
“I’m afraid I have no choice.”
“All right, all right, I’ll talk softer!”
“Do I have your word?”
“Yes, yes!”
And so, after another
TJ returned to her normal volume . . . and the three of them had a very long talk, late into the night.
First of all, TJ made it clear that she was flattered to be somebody’s history project, but she was definitely not interested in being “observed.”
“Oh, we have very strict rules in the matter,” Tuna explained.
“That’s right, Your Dude-ness. There’s absolutely no gawking at you when you’re asleep or changing clothes or—”
“Look, I appreciate that, but you have to understand I’m having a hard enough time just fitting in at school.”
“That’s why we’ve been, like, helping,” Herby said.
Tuna shot him a look, but it was too late.
“Helping?” TJ asked suspiciously. “What do you mean . . . helping?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Herby said modestly. “Maybe like making dodgeballs do U-turns in midair.”
“That was you?” TJ cried.
“Or sending dictionaries flying across the room to knock out handsome lab partners.”
“You did that?!”
“He’s really not your type, you know,” Tuna said.
“That’s right,” Herby agreed. “Especially with super-intelligent, good-looking 23rd century dudes like us who just happen to be hanging around.”
TJ could only stare at him.
Herby could only grin back (and maybe hold in his stomach a little).
Finally TJ shook her head. “No. Absolutely not.” She began pacing the room. “No way. Definitely not.”
“Yeah, but—”
“No.”
“We could—”
“Forget it.”
“But—”
“No way.”
After a dozen more buts and a hundred more no ways, the boys finally gave in.
“Well . . . all right, then,” Tuna said sadly. “If that’s your final word, we shall depart.”
TJ folded her arms. “It’s my final word.”
Tuna nodded. “Just as soon as we fuel up our time-travel pod, we’ll be on our way.”
TJ started to relax. “Great. There’s a gas station just down the street.”
“Actually,” Herby corrected, “we don’t exactly use gasoline.”
“Oh.” TJ started to unrelax. “What exactly do you use?”
The boys traded nervous looks.
TJ’s unrelaxedness grew even more unrelaxed.
Tuna swallowed and answered, “We will need a nuclear submarine plutonium power pack.”
“A nuclear submarine plutonium power pack?!”
“Shh . . .,” Tuna said, reaching for the Swiss Army Knife.
TJ immediately lowered her voice. “Where do you get that?”
“From one of your top-secret nuclear-powered submarines.”
“TOP-SECRET NUCLEAR-POWERED SUBMARINES?!”
Tuna opened the Volume Control Blade.
“Okay, okay, sorry,” TJ whispered. “But don’t you think that might be just a teensy bit difficult?”
“Actually,” Herby said, “it will be nearly impossible.”
—sible?” TJ cried.
Tuna answered. “Nearly impossible is not the same as completely impossible.”
“That’s right,” Herby said. “It’s the other thing that’s completely impossible.”
“Other thing?” TJ asked.
“Yeah.”
“Which is?” TJ expected the worst.
“Which is like this totally outloopish chili recipe invented by a Texas housewife.”
“That’s correct,” Tuna said. “In 50 years it will be discovered to be the most powerful fuel known to mankind.”
“Why is getting a chili recipe so hard?” TJ asked.
Once again the boys traded looks.
“Guys?” TJ repeated. “What’s so hard about getting a chili recipe?”
Tuna answered, “Because at the moment that housewife is only two and a half years old.”
TJ’s heart sank.
“And don’t forget the chili, dude,” Herby said. “It only works after it’s been digested by a flock of ostriches from Africa.”
“That goes without saying,” Tuna said.
TJ could only shake her head, wishing they hadn’t
said what they said went without saying when they said it.
TRANSLATION: This was definitely not one of her better days.
CHAPTER SIX
Another Day,
Another Catastrophe
TIME TRAVEL LOG:
Malibu, California, October 11
Begin Transmission:
Subject not happy. Waaaay not happy . . .
End Transmission
The good news was Hesper Breakahart did not return to school the next day and turn all her friends against TJ.
The bad news was Hesper Breakahart could still text all those friends. And since all those friends wanted to be Hesper’s best friend, that meant TJ instantly became everyone’s worst enemy.
It’s not that she didn’t appreciate the attention, but being Malibu Junior High’s public enemy #1 wasn’t exactly what she had in mind.
Then there were Tuna and Herby, who stayed glued to her side. They felt responsible to protect her from any and all problems (most likely because they were responsible for any and all problems). They’d also fixed the cloaking device, which meant they were once again invisible to everybody . . . well, almost everybody.
“What about me?” TJ whispered as she trudged up the stairs to her locker on the third floor. (Of course all of her classes were on the first floor, so it only made sense to put her locker on the third floor. We’ll get to another fact about third floors in just a minute.) “Why am I the only one who can see you?” she asked.
