by Bill Myers
“An excellent question,” Tuna whispered back as he floated beside her. “One to which we have no answer.”
“Guess you’re just lucky,” Herby said, catching his reflection in the window and sucking in his gut. The guy was obviously still trying to impress her . . . and he was obviously still failing. Miserably.
“Shouldn’t you boys be out looking for your nuclear submarine whatever?” she asked.
“Actually,” Tuna replied, “you are our first priority.”
“Lucky me,” she sighed.
“Exactly.” Herby beamed. He was pleased she was finally getting the point. “You’re just lucky.”
“Look, fellas,” she said, “I don’t want you interfering like you did yesterday.”
“You mean helping like we did yesterday,” Herby corrected.
“No, I mean interfering.”
“Actually, we were looking out for your welfare,” Tuna said.
“Actually, busting Hesper’s nose only made my life miserable.”
“What about the flying dictionary?” Herby argued. “That was pretty good.”
“Guys, I’m serious.”
“But, Your Dude-ness—”
“No more!” A couple of students glanced at her, and she lowered her voice. “Whatever happens, I’m on my own; understand?”
There was no answer.
“Understand?”
“Understood,” Tuna answered gloomily.
“Ditto,” Herby sighed.
TJ glanced around and noticed several kids snickering. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Why’s everybody laughing?”
Tuna replied, “Perhaps they are not used to girls walking up stairs having lengthy conversations with themselves.”
TJ could only shake her head. Now everyone thought she was a nutcase.
Everyone but good ol’ Naomi
Simpletwirp. Suddenly she and her breath mints pulled up beside TJ.
“Oh, great,” TJ muttered. “What else can go wrong?” Of course she remembered the lecture the boys had given her the night before, but come on, this was Naomi Simpletwirp—the geekiest girl in school.
And at least this morning, one of the most talkative.
“So did you hear that Hesper is not coming to school today?” she asked, pulling out some breath spray and taking a hit.
“No, I—”
“And did you hear her friends really have it in for you?” she asked, checking her lip gloss.
“No, I—”
“And do you think these shorts make me look too—”
“Listen, Naomi, I’d really like to chat, but I’m going to be late for class and—”
“I know,” she said, “and that’s why I’m here.”
“Sorry?”
“To help you make it to class without getting killed.”
“Killed?” TJ asked.
Naomi lowered her voice and glanced around. “Did you ever see Jaws?”
“The movie?”
Naomi nodded. “You need to look at these kids like they’re all great white sharks.”
“What does that make me?”
“Uhh . . . raw hamburger.”
“Hamburger?”
“They say it’s a shark’s favorite food.”
TJ took a breath. “Look, Naomi, I really appreciate you wanting to help and all, but—”
“No sweat,” Naomi answered as she adjusted her hair, then readjusted it, then readjusted the readjustment. “That’s what best friends do.”
“Actually, no offense, but I’m not sure I need a best friend right now.” TJ wanted to add “at least not a best friend like you,” but since Naomi had enough self-image problems, and TJ didn’t want to entirely destroy her life.
“What do you mean?” Naomi asked as they arrived at TJ’s locker.
“What I mean is—”
But that’s as far as TJ got. Because as she grabbed the locker handle, she finally understood the real reason people had been smiling and snickering at her. It was . . .
Now, back in Missouri, a good act of revenge would be to put lard or peanut butter inside someone’s locker handle so when they grabbed it, they would get a handful of goo.
Point made, nobody hurt.
But since this was Malibu, California, (where everybody has way too much money) and since it was for Hesper Breakahart (whom everybody was trying way too hard to impress), things were a little different.
Actually, opening the locker was no problem.
It was the 9,207 marbles that came pouring out of it (courtesy of a giant hole someone had drilled through the entire back wall and into her locker, then filled with marbles the night before).
Ever try standing at a locker as 9,207 marbles pour out of it?
Actually, TJ did a pretty good job of standing. It was just all the slipping, sliding, and
rolling that made things a little difficult.
Everyone was standing around having a good laugh. Well, everyone but Elizabeth (Hesper’s best friend since forever). Instead of laughing, the sweet little thing was offering to help TJ by shouting, “Here, grab this!”
TJ looked up to see Elizabeth holding a fire extinguisher.
“Thanks!” TJ shouted. “But I really don’t need that right now!”
“Sure you do,” sweet little Elizabeth said.
And before TJ could protest, Elizabeth shoved the giant extinguisher into TJ’s arms, pulled the pin, and
TJ was
shooting down the hall like a NASA rocket to the moon.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t heading to the moon. Remember the third-floor fact we were going to get to? Well, as you may have already figured out, third floors always come to an end. And at the end are third-floor . . .
“STAIRS!” TJ shouted. “I’M HEADING FOR THE
S-S-STAIRS!”
And as if all that bouncing wasn’t bad enough, she heard the familiar and very unwelcome sound of
She glanced over her shoulder and caught a final glimpse of the hallway behind her. It was covered with wall-to-wall flipping and flopping goldfish.
“S-S-STOP TH-TH-THAT!” TJ shouted as she continued down the steps. “T-T-TURN TH-TH-THEM B-B-BACK!”
She didn’t have a chance to see if the boys obeyed.
The good news was the bone-jarring flight of steps didn’t last forever.
The bad news was there was a second flight of bone-jarring steps.
The good news (if you’re keeping track, that’s two to one in favor of good news) was that there was somebody at the bottom of the steps who would save her.
“Hang on!” that somebody shouted. “I’ll catch you! I’LL CATCH YOU! I’LL—”
TJ wasn’t sure how long she was knocked out, but when she woke up, she was lying in the arms of her hero.
“Thank you,” she said, turning to face him. “Thank you so very—”
This brings us to some more bad news (which ties the score).
“You’re (sniff-sniff) welcome,” her hero said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and sniff-sniff ing again.
That’s right, TJ was lying in the arms of Doug Claudlooper, the boy with the perpetual allergies. And since TJ had left all her sweetness and politeness somewhere on the second flight of stairs, she leaped to her feet, staggered backward, and ran away from him screaming.
Unfortunately, things only went downhill from there. (So if you’re still keeping score, don’t bother. It’ll just depress you.)
Chad still couldn’t remember the new kid’s name. BJ? JT? JB?
Well, whatever it was, she was still her usual nontalkative self.
Since she was his new partner, he was explaining his and Hesper’s science fair project. (Actually, it was Hesper’s project, since anything involving Hesper was always about Hesper.) And so far the new kid had said a grand total of one word to him—if uh-huh can even be considered a word.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Uh-huh,” she sorta croaked before ducking behind
her long brown hair.
“I heard about your little fall down the steps,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” The long brown hair nodded.
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Uh-huh.” More hair nodding.
Although she didn’t talk to him, more than once he heard her whispering. Weird things like “No, you cannot help!” and “Don’t you dare hurt him!”
Poor thing.
But despite her mental condition, she really was cute. Of course, he could never tell her that. Guys didn’t talk that way. They were supposed to talk about gross stuff or football scores. And let’s not forget the belching contests. But none of that stuff really interested Chad.
Still, since he was a guy, he was supposed to follow the guy rules.
But there was one guy rule he wouldn’t follow. It was common knowledge that if you liked a girl, you were supposed to make fun of her. Chad could never bring himself to do that. Not with this poor girl. She had enough problems as it was.
“Put that book down!” she hissed.
Poor kid.
Mr. Beaker had stepped out of class to go to the office. Of course he trusted everybody to quietly work on their science projects, so of course everybody was shouting, throwing spit wads, and talking on their cell phones.
Well, almost everybody.
“So,” Chad said as they looked into a cage that held their project, a skinny white mouse, “we’re investigating how few calories this little guy can eat without dying.”
The new kid nodded.
“That’s why our pal here—we call him Wendell—is so skinny. I’m no expert, but I think a celery stick a week is pretty cruel.”
More nodding.
“Anyway, let’s take him from the cage and put him on the scale for weighing.”
She nodded and reached into the cage to catch the furry creature.
Chad continued, “Hesper’s always worried about what she eats. She’s got this thing about staying thin.”
More nodding.
“But if you ask me, she’s way too skinny. A person who’s normal—well, like you—they’re a lot better-looking, don’t you think?”
Her nodding stopped. Actually, as far as Chad could tell, so did her breathing. Instead, the new kid just sort of stood there, staring at him all wide-eyed and frozen . . . until Wendell slipped from her hands and fell to the floor.
Realizing what happened, she dropped to the floor and began chasing after Wendell. Chad joined her and together, on all fours, they scampered back and forth under the desks and chairs of the science class.
“Over there!” He pointed.
They raced over there.
“Over here!” he shouted.
They raced over here.
It was really kind of funny, the way they kept almost catching Wendell and the way he kept escaping. Pretty soon, Chad was laughing. And pretty soon after that, so was the new kid. It made him feel good, kind of warm inside, to know he was helping her have a little fun. In fact, more than once he let Wendell escape just so they could keep chasing him.
Finally they cornered the little guy.
“Okay,” Chad said. “You come at him from the left. I’ll come at him from the right.”
She nodded.
“On my count. One . . . two . . . three!”
They both lunged forward and they both missed, grabbing each other instead and flopping to the floor, laughing all the harder. Until . . .
Chad noticed they were directly under the desks of two of Hesper’s friends—Emma Prinzes and Stephanie Suchasnobb. Besides being majorly stuck on themselves, the two girls were famous for wearing way too much makeup. In fact, the giant black circles around their eyes reminded Chad of raccoons.
But at the moment he wasn’t thinking of raccoons. Instead, he was thinking of the half-dozen slimy frogs in the cage the two girls were opening . . . and turning upside down . . . and purposely dumping all over the new kid.
Of course, the new kid went crazy and began screaming, “Get them off! Get them off!”
Of course, the two girls had a good laugh.
And, of course, Chad moved in to help. But as he did, four very strange things happened.
He heard a weird but somehow familiar sound of . . .
Stephanie and Emma vanished. Well, not completely. Instead, sitting in their place were two little flies. Except these two little flies wore so much makeup that the weight of all the eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, lip gloss, and lip liner made it impossible for them to take off.
All they could do was sit there and
try.
But stranger than that strangeness was . . .
A Swiss Army Knife seemed to materialize out of nowhere and clatter to the ground beside the frogs.
And stranger than that strangeness (which was strange enough) was . . .
Chad heard the frogs talk. It had to be his imagination, but he was sure he heard something like:
“Hey (ribbet-ribbet), check out the delicious meal on those two (ribbet-ribbet) chairs!”
“I don’t (ribbet-ribbet) know,” another said. “They look like raccoons.”
“Don’t be ridic-(ribbet-ribbet)-ulous. It’s dinner!”
The frogs began hopping wildly off the floor, trying to jump to the chairs as the two flies
in panic
And then, to top off all that stranger-than-strangeness with just a little more strangeness, the new kid leaped to her feet and shouted, “STOP IT! I TOLD YOU I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP!”
Chad stood up and glanced around. As far as he could tell, there was nobody there. Well, nobody except for the rest of the class, who were all busy staring at her . . . which still didn’t stop her shouting:
“TUNA! HERBY! TURN THEM BACK RIGHT NOW!”
Chad shook his head sadly. He had no idea how to help her. Unless, after school, he swung by her house and encouraged her parents to increase her medication.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Plot Sickens
Time Travel Log:
Malibu, California, October 11—supplemental
Begin Transmission:
Subject attempted to cut off communication. Fortunately her silence is no match for our way-cool diplomatic skills, and we reestablished dialogue. Plan to buy cookbook, as her cooking ability is majorly zworked.
End Transmission
It was TJ’s turn to fix dinner. And since they were out of microwave meals, she had to whip up something on her own. This would explain all the
you heard around the table.
It’s not that TJ was a lousy cook; she just had lots on her mind. So much that she might have overcooked the meal just a little.
“Well now,” Dad said, trying to be positive, “this is quite the dinner. Who would have ever thought of having, um, er, uh . . . What exactly is this we’re having, dear?”
“Charcoal dust?” little Dorie asked.
“Fireplace ash?” Violet ventured.
“Mashed potatoes,” TJ snapped.
“Ah,” Dad said as he subtly slipped a handful under the table for Fido the Wonder Dog. But Fido the Wonder Dog, who will eat anything, was in the living room throwing up. (Apparently Violet had already slipped him a handful of her own “mashed potatoes”—which explained the charcoal dust all over her fingers.)
“So, uh . . .” Dad glanced around, unsure what to do with his handful of dust. “How was everybody’s day?”
“I got an A++ on my science test,” Violet said, brushing off her hands.
“Hey, that’s great!” Dad said. “How do you get two pluses?”
“By showing Mrs. Mindbender where she was wrong.”
“And she gave you two pluses?” Dorie asked as she hid her charcoal dust under her hamburger patty, which looked more like a burnt hockey puck but didn’t taste as good.
“Actually,” Violet said, “the other plus came from pointing out where the textbook was wrong.”
“I see,” Dad said, finally slipping his mashed p
otato dust into his pants pocket. He turned to TJ and asked, “And tell me, how was your—”
“Fine.”
“I see. Did you—”
“Fine!”
“And—”
“FINE!” She jumped to her feet. “Why are you always yelling at me?” She swiped at the tears running down her face. “Everything’s fine, all right? FINE, FINE, FINE!”
With that, she spun around and ran up the stairs to her room.
Dad looked on, realizing TJ was anything but fine. And as soon as he found a place to bury his dinner, nice and deep so Fido wouldn’t dig it up (he hated it when family pets died), he’d head upstairs and have a talk with her.
“Violet,” he asked, “would you get a plastic garbage bag from the cupboard so we can properly ‘finish’ our dinner?”
Violet flashed him a grin. “I’m on it.” She grabbed her dish and headed for the kitchen.
“I’m right behind you,” little Dorie said, scampering after her.
“And make sure it’s the triple-ply bags that don’t leak,” Dad called. “We need to be environmentally friendly.”
When TJ threw open the door to her room, there were Tuna and Herby sitting on her desk in their shiny time-travel suits, just as perky as if nothing had ever happened.
“Greetings, earthling.” Herby grinned, holding up his hand and spreading his fingers apart.
Tuna explained, “He saw that in one of your old sci-fi movies.”
TJ looked at them coolly.
“What?” Herby asked. “You’re not a Star Wreck fan?”
Fighting to keep her voice even, she said, “Leave my room and go back to your time pod in the attic. I’m not talking to you.”
“Ah, come on, Your Dude-ness.” Herby hopped off the desk. “You’re not still gur-roid at us about those frogs and flies, are you?”
