by Jon Scieszka
“No SensaTheater? No brain stim?” said the purple man next to her. “How did they stand it back in the twentieth century?”
“You know it’s kind of amazing to see the twenty-first century,” I said. “But I sure will be glad to get back to the twentieth century.”
“Me too,” said Fred. “Let’s do it.”
We hopped down from the statue base and drifted in with the crowd. Groups of kids gathered in the lobby under the huge skeleton. We joined a bunch about our age, and pretended to be listening to the teacher.
“... which some people didn’t even believe existed. Does anyone know it’s name? It says Loch nessasaurus on the plaque. Right.”
“The Loch Ness Monster,” whispered Sam. “Let’s ask if they’ve found the Abominable Snowman.”
“Now we’ll go in and look at the exhibits that show how people lived from 1960 up to the 2060s. Take a look and think about what things have changed in a hundred years. Stay together. You can either take notes for your work screen, or brain in the complete answers as we go. Questions? No, you cannot check out the rubber ants in the gift shop. Okay, let’s go.”
“Stick with this class,” I whispered. “This is perfect.” Twenty minutes later, I realized that maybe this wasn’t so perfect. Mr. Zechter (the teacher) was still telling us everything he knew (and didn’t know) about the sixties.
“... they wore pants called bell bottoms, and listened to music by a group called The Bugs. They worshipped bright images and made symbols they believed had power over wars and peace.”
“I can’t take it anymore,” said Sam.
I had a flash of inspiration. I raised my hand.
“Yes?” said Mr. Zechter.
I grabbed Sam’s head and bent him over. “Sam doesn’t feel good. I think he’s going to barf.”
“Vomit?” said Mr. Zechter.
“Puke?” said a kid in front of me.
“Odor chunk output?” said a kid next to me.
Mr. Zechter looked panicked.
“I better take him to the bathroom,” I said.
“Please,” said Mr. Zechter, looking relieved.
Fred and I grabbed Sam between us and dragged him down the hall.
By the time we got to the 1990s room, we were fifteen minutes late. The three girls looked ready to kill us.
Joanie gave us the sign. We pushed up against the InvisiWall. Then everything happened so fast that we didn’t have time to think. Samantha typed something into the wall controls, and suddenly we were leaning against nothing.
“Go, go, go!” said Fred.
We ran into the room and each one of us took a shelf as planned. I could hear Joanie and Freddi making a scene behind us so everyone looked at them instead of us.
“Treasure Island, Conan, Robinson Crusoe, Men from Mars—it’s not here,” said Fred.
“Green Eggs and Ham, World’s Greatest Jokes and Riddles, Robin Hood, Legends of King Arthur—it’s not here,” said Sam.
My heart was pounding and I felt like I could barely breathe as I flipped through the books.
“Grimms’ Fairy Tales, Tarzan, The Stinky Cheese Man, White Fang—it’s not here either.”
“You boys. Just what do you three think you are doing in there? Get out this instant.” It was Mr. Zechter. He’d finally made it to the 1990s.
“It’s got to be here somewhere,” said Fred. We ran around the room like maniacs, diving under the couch, rolling back rugs, flipping papers, cards, checkers, and baseballs into the air.
“Boys,” said Mr. Zechter. “Boys!”
“Forget it,” I said. “The Book’s not here. Let’s make a break for it.”
We activated our AG disks and took off. Sam and I were zooming past Mr. Zechter when I heard that voice I never want to hear again.
“Hey buddy, what’s your number?”
Fred was still in the room, looking through the desk. “Come on, Book. Where are you?”
Fred didn’t see the robot raise its laser. Everything happened too fast for Sam and me to do anything. But somehow Freddi dove into the room, grabbed the baseball, and whipped a strike that knocked the SellBot’s laser flying.
The SellBot pulled a trigger in the empty air.
Sam and I flew down the hall one way. Samantha and Joanie made a break the other way.
And we probably would have made it all the way outside. But when we turned the corner at the top of the stairs, we looked back and saw a sight that sank all of our plans for escape.
Standing in the 1990s room with their hands up against the InvisiWall were Fred and his great granddaughter-who-might-never-be, Freddi.
TWELVE
“Being interested in books is one thing,” said Director Green. “But destroying museum exhibits is quite another.”
Fred, Sam, and I sat on the couch in the 1990s room. Freddi, Samantha, and Joanie sat by the desk. We were caught. We were being lectured.
“This collection of books was donated by a famous man years ago. He left very specific instructions that the collection be kept together and always visible to the public.” Director Green put her hands on her hips and looked at each of us in turn. “If anything had happened to any one of those books, it would have been a terrible thing. Do you understand that?”
We all looked at our shoes and answered together, “Yes, ma‘am.”
A museum guard called from the hall, “Director Green, could I see you for a minute?”
“I want you to think about what you’ve done,” said Director Green, and she walked out.
“It must be here,” said Samantha.
“Forget it,” said Sam. “The Book will turn up. It always does. But what magic did you use to short out the InvisiWall with just a number?”
“Well, you see,” said Samantha, “the magnetic circuitry transference modulator—”
“Wait a minute. Never mind,” said Sam. “Just in case we do find The Book and get home, I’d better stay below the info-speed limit.”
Fred looked at Freddi and kicked her foot. “That was a great throw to save me from that killer robot. You want to trade hats?”
Freddi somehow knew that this was the greatest compliment Fred could ever give anyone. She handed Fred her 2095 Yankees cap and put his 1995 Yankees cap on. “Aw, it wasn’t that dangerous. I just didn’t want you to get trapped by that thing shooting out sale items with its holo laser.”
“Sale items? You mean those SellBots don’t shoot death lasers?” I asked. “What about all that ‘What’s your number’ stuff?”
“Once they get your credit number, they shoot out 3-D sale ads until you buy something,” said Joanie. “It’s awful.”
“A SellBot just sells things?” said Sam. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
“You never asked,” said Samantha.
Luckily Director Green walked back in just then. She had a funny look on her face. “Extraordinary....” Then she spoke to Joanie. “I’ve just spoken with the museum head. Your uncle Joe has explained everything.”
We all perked up.
“Uncle Joe? Has explained everything?” I said. “Er ... what I mean is—oh goad.”
I was trying to imagine how Uncle Joe made it back to 2095 to explain why we were tearing apart the 1990s room in the Museum of Natural History, when Director Green turned to Joanie. “Why didn’t you tell me that it was your great-grandfather who donated these books?”
“I...” Joanie looked just as surprised as I felt. “I ... didn’t think you would believe me.”
“Oh,” said Director Green. “But these books...” And the minute she said the word, it was like someone had waved a magic wand over her. “These books are amazing! There’s Tarzan gliding silently through the jungle canopy.” Director Green swung on an imaginary vine. “And Sir Galahad when he smote down horse and man in one stroke.” She swung a two-handed blow at the desk and chair. “Or Long John Silver tricking young Jim Haw-kins.” She gave a pretty good pirate’s Yaaarrr!
“But the strange
st thing happened today. I found a book in the collection that I had never seen before. Maybe you can tell me where your great-grandfather got it.”
Director Green reached into a pocket in her gown and pulled out a thin blue book with twisting silver designs. “It has a very strange title—”
Fred, Sam, and I shouted in unison, “The Book!”
“Why, yes. How did you know?”
Director Green opened The Book. “It has such strange pages. Like this one with numbers in a square.” She handed me The Book, and turned to talk to Samantha.
A thin green mist swirled around our couch.
We waved a silent good-bye to Joanie, Samantha, and Freddi as the green mist rose higher.
I whispered to Joanie, “See you in some other time.”
And we left Director Green to wonder, and our great-granddaughters to explain, how we had vanished into the thin green air behind her.
THIRTEEN
Compared to our last time tumble, this ride was first class. We sailed smoothly through the years and landed with barely a bump. Everything was back to normal for the Time Warp Trio.
Or so we thought, until the green mist dissolved, and we found ourselves staring down the barrel of a machine gun pointed directly at us.
“Oh, no,” said Sam. “Not again.”
“Fred, Sam, Joe!”
“They even know our names,” said Fred.
“Just what do you boys think you are doing? Get out of there this instant,” the voice said.
We turned around and saw our teacher.
“Mr. Chester!” said Fred.
“We’re in the 1920s room,” said Sam.
“I see that,” said Mr. Chester. “And if you don’t get out of the 1920s room and get to work now, you will be on permanent display in the afterschool room.”
We climbed out of the Roaring Twenties gangster exhibit.
“Yes,” said Fred. “We’re back.”
“Back in 1995,” I said.
“No thanks to you,” said Sam. Then he pointed to The Book. “And don’t even think about using that thing again until you’ve read every rule in there. We could have been killed if I’d found out what BHT was.”
“Well at least I donated my favorite books to the museum when I was old,” I said.
“And we’d better write that note to the girls right now,” said Sam. “So they can find us at the statue like they did.”
“Right,” said Fred. “Because if we don’t write it now they won’t get it then to save us before now... or after then?”
We thought about how impossible that was for a second. Then we cracked up laughing.
Mr. Chester failed to see the humor in the situation and made us each write an extra Museum Worksheet.
