The Mystery of the Mad Science Teacher

by Marty Chan

  “Uranus!” Eric shouted.

  Everyone laughed.

  “What’s your name, son?”

  “Eric Johnson.”

  “Tell me something. What do you think of science, Eric?”

  “It’s okay.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Mr. E said. “What do you really think of science? Come on, the truth.”

  “Well, it’s kind of boring.”

  “Oh?” Mr. E walked toward Eric and picked up the video game from his desk. “Do you find your PSP boring?”

  “No, it’s awesome,” Eric said.

  “Did you know that the people who made your game were scientists?”

  “Really?”

  Mr. E nodded. “And they were into math and computers. In fact, they needed those skills to make the game you think is awesome. If you guys prove to me that you’re good, I might even let you build some electric games yourselves. So now what do you think of science?”

  Eric paused for a second, and then answered, “I still think it’s boring. I’d rather play a game than make it.”

  “It looks like I have my work cut out for me. Eric, by the end of this year, I’m going to make you a science lover.”

  Beside Eric, a girl with purple streaks in her black hair muttered, “Good luck.”

  Mr. E shot her a dirty look and shook his head. “Scientists have a sense of humour,” he said to Eric. “After all, it was scientists who named the planets. What was the name of that planet again?”

  “Uranus!”

  Mr. E laughed along with the rest of the class. Only the black-haired girl didn’t laugh. She adjusted the sleeves of her black leather jacket.

  “Ida, we seem to be one short of Trina’s list of nine. Can you name the last planet on her list?”

  As Ida pulled up her sleeve, she showed off a cotton wristband that had a doodle on it of a skull and crossbones. I was pretty sure she was new at school. I would have remembered someone with that much attitude. She rolled her eyes.

  “That’s inappropriate dress code. Take off the wristband.”

  She didn’t budge.

  “Now.”

  She lowered her hand below her desk and pulled off the wristband, glaring at our teacher.

  Mr. E turned to the rest of the class. “So, what is the ninth planet?”

  Trina shot a hand up. “Pluto!”

  “He’s a cartoon dog,” Mr. E said.

  “It’s a planet too,” Trina said.

  “He could also be the Greek god of the underworld,” he said, smiling.

  “It’s the ninth planet.”

  “Not any more. A bunch of astronomers got together in Prague and voted to kick Pluto out of the solar system club. They said if Pluto was a planet, then they’d have to accept another celestial body just past Pluto – UB313. And they said if that happened, then any Tom, Dick and Halley’s Comet could join the club.”

  Everyone gaped at Mr. E with disbelief.

  He continued, “You know when your family has Thanksgiving dinner and sometimes there’s not enough room at the dining table, so the kids have to eat at a different table?”

  A few of the kids nodded. I never had that problem because my parents never invited anyone over for Thanksgiving dinner. We all ate at the same table, but the way my dad chewed with his mouth open and the way my mom slurped chow mein noodles, I wouldn’t have minded sitting at another table.

  “Pluto was moved to the kids’ table. The astronomers called Pluto a dwarf planet, because they said it was too small to be at the big table. Some astronomers put up a huge fight to keep Pluto at the grown-up table, but they lost. So now all our textbooks have to be changed. Isn’t that cool? Science is always changing how we look at things. Never trust your first impression. You can be a rebel in science. That’s why geek is chic.”

  Everyone smiled. Some nodded. But I wondered if this was the crazy maniac who had stolen Trina’s bike. Our teacher continued to take attendance and then spent the rest of the time talking about how he was going to make science come to life. I didn’t really listen. Instead, I kept staring at the clock, hoping recess would come soon so I could tell Remi everything.

  When the recess bell finally rang, I put my hand over my face and stood up along with everyone else.

  Mr. E shot his hand up and said, “Whoa, whoa.”

  We all stopped in our tracks. I kept my hand over my face.

  “You’re not Pavlov’s dogs, are you?”

  Everyone looked at each other, confused.

  “Pavlov trained his dogs to drool every time a bell rang. They had no control over it, and they couldn’t think for themselves. In this class, I want free thinkers, which means you can’t be slaves to the bell. When it rings, fight the instinct to get up and run. Because if you let the bell run your life, that means you’re no better than dogs.”

  “I like dogs,” Eric said.

  “Then I’ll get a kennel for you to sit in,” Mr. E said. Everyone laughed.

  “Now, go and enjoy recess. But next time, don’t let the bell turn you into drooling dogs. You’re better than that.”

  I blended in with the crowd and made my way out of the classroom.

  At first, Remi scoffed at the idea that my grade five teacher was the crazy white-haired man who lived in the Asylum House.

  “How come we didn’t see Mr. White Hair at school before this year?” Remi asked. “And what kind of name is Mr. E? What do you think his real name is?”

  “Eisen . . . Einstein . . . Eisner . . . something that started with ‘E.’ Remember how he thought we were working for someone named Davis?”

  “Yeah, but what’s Davis have to do with our school?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe that’s the first name of one of our teachers. You know how everyone is a mister or miss.”

  “Or Madame,” Remi added. “Yeah. You think that one of our teachers’ first names is Davis?”

  I nodded. “And he’s looking for him.” I said, pointing across the schoolyard at my teacher.

  Remi ducked behind me and peeked from under my armpit at the white-haired teacher who seemed to be having a serious talk with the new girl, Ida.

  “That’s him, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Yup.” Remi said.

  “I don’t think he recognized me,” I said. “At the house, he must not have gotten a good look.”

  “Yeah, but he saw me.”

  “You’ll never see him as long as you stick to your side of the school.”

  “Let’s get out of sight in case you’re wrong.”

  I walked to a grove of trees, while Remi clung to my back like a baby spider monkey.

  When I was sure Mr. E couldn’t see us, I stepped away from my friend. Remi laid flat on his belly. I joined him on the ground to spy on our suspect. Mr. E walked away from Ida and went into the school. She stuck her tongue out at him as he headed into the brick building.

  “What are we going to do about Mr. E?” I asked. “He’s going to figure out we were the ones who threw the puck in his yard.”

  Remi scrunched his forehead and thought. He forgot to breathe when he thought, which is why I never let him think for very long.

  “Maybe we can tell him that our street hockey game got out of control,” I said.

  Remi let out his breath in one whoosh. “Good idea, Marty. Blame my slap shot. Everyone knows my shot can go wild.”

  “But try staying away from him first. I don’t want to get in trouble with a teacher this early in the school year.”

  Remi nodded. “Okay, I’ll be careful. Did you know what Trina said this morning?”

  “Were you talking to her?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t seen them together.

  “She might be right about Eric,” he said. “He’s been acting suspicious.”

  “Did she say anything else? Anything about me?”

  Remi scrunched his face at me. “Why? Do you like Trina?”

  “No way,” I said. “Why would you ask that? She’s a girl. Ew.�
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  “The way you act around her makes me think you don’t mind she’s a girl. That maybe you like-like her.”

  “Trust me, Remi. I do not like-like Trina Brewster.”

  “Are you sure you don’t like-like her?”

  “I swear I don’t like-like her. I barely like her as a friend.”

  Remi rolled on his side. “That’s good. Because I think I kind of like-like her.”

  His slapshot confession smacked me right in the chest and hurt a million times more than a real shot. I wished there was a jockstrap for my heart. I tried to change the subject. “We should get Trina to help us stake out Mr. E’s house.”

  “Are you sure we heard Trina’s bike bell behind the hedge? There were a lot of weird noises coming from the yard.”

  Could Remi be right? Maybe I misheard the sound.

  “Why would a teacher steal a bike? That’s like saying that a cop steals.”

  He was right. When Mr. E was the crazy man in the Asylum House, he could have been a suspect, but teachers didn’t steal. They yelled. They gave too much homework. They handed out detentions. But they didn’t steal.

  “Take him off the suspect list,” I said.

  “Come on, Marty. I need your help to tail Eric. We have to get Trina’s bike back for her, and that means following solid leads.”

  He made sense. Plus, whoever found Trina’s bike would be her hero. The only problem was that I wanted to be that hero.

  “So will you help me?”

  I didn’t know what to tell him. I hated that he like — liked Trina. I hated myself even more for not telling him that I like — liked her. Maybe if I’d told him when I had the chance, he would have never told me how he felt. Now it was too late.

  “Sure,” I promised. “I’ll help.”

  “I knew I could count on my best friend,” he said, slapping me on the back.

  Secretly I wished Trina would find the bike herself.

  SIX

  According to Trina, criminals always went back to the scene of the crime. Our job was to follow Eric everywhere in the hope that he’d lead us to Trina’s stolen bike. In old detective movies, Remi and I would have been the flatfoots, the guys who pounded the pavement after suspects until our feet were flat. Remi didn’t mind the boring work as long as he got to hand in the reports to Trina. He didn’t like writing the reports though, which left me with the paperwork.

  Case File

  Stake out of Suspect Number One

  By Detective Chan, assisted by Detective Boudreau

  Tuesday: Subject showed video game to group of grade five boys. Subject did not let anyone play, but allowed them to watch him play.

  Wednesday: Subject bragged about the games he was going to buy. Question: where was subject getting the money? Detective Boudreau would like the record to show that he thinks the money was coming from stolen bikes.

  Thursday: Subject picked empty pop bottles from a garbage can after school. He then washed the gold Cadillac that belongs to his grandma, Mrs. Johnson, the oldest driver in the world. Detective Chan would like the record to show that the subject might be earning money by doing odd jobs.

  Friday: Subject told by the mad science teacher to stop playing game in the hallway, because too many boys were crowded around Eric and no one could get past the group. Detectives Boudreau and Chan agree that my teacher’s fish eyes are creepy looking.

  Saturday: Subject mowed four lawns. He accidentally mowed down a flower garden and said several bad words. Subject’s grandfather caught him.

  Sunday: Subject stayed inside house. Detective Boudreau asked why Detective Chan was drawing hearts on the stake out report. Chan said he was bored.

  Monday: Subject ran into Trina in the schoolyard. She demanded that he return her bike. Subject said he did not take it and told her a bad word. Detective Boudreau is leaving his hiding position.

  I grabbed Remi before he could blow our cover. Even though Eric had sworn at Trina, we had to stick to our job, but Remi couldn’t hide his feelings. He wanted to protect her. What he didn’t understand was that she could take care of herself. She muttered something to Eric that made him turn white and walk away.

  Once Eric was gone, we approached Trina.

  “What do you have to report?” she demanded.

  “Nothing new,” Remi said.

  “You’ve said that every day,” she barked. “I want answers. I’m sick of hearing that there’s nothing new.”

  Remi’s gaze darted from side to side, searching for something, anything to say to cool her off. I jumped in to help.

  “We don’t know anything yet, because you’re always on Eric about the bike,” I said. “Maybe if you backed off a bit.”

  She glared at me. “How should I back off?”

  “You could apologize,” I suggested.

  “You want me to apologize to Eric?!”

  “Yes,” I said, feeling the heat of her anger taking off.

  “I want justice.” The way Trina said justice made me think justice had something to do with Eric’s nose and a crash landing.

  “It’s just that . . . ”

  Remi cut me off before I could finish. “Trina, as long as you’re breathing down Eric’s neck, he’ll never let his guard down.”

  “That’s what I was trying to say,” I said.

  She sighed. “Okay, I’ll trust you, Remi.”

  “It was my idea,” I said, but no one listened. I started to feel like I felt before I met Remi and Trina: alone and invisible.

  “Thanks.” He blushed. Why didn’t he say it was my idea? He continued, “You gotta convince Eric he’s off the hook. Ask him to help you find the bike.”

  “What if he says yes?” Trina asked.

  “If he took the bike, the last thing he’ll want to do is help,” I started to explain.

  “It’s part of my trap.” Remi cut me off.

  “Pretty good trap,” Trina said, smiling.

  He blushed again and looked down at his feet. My face turned red too, but for another reason. He was stealing my thunder.

  “You have to make Eric think you think someone else took your bike,” I said.

  “I know. I could make Eric think I have another suspect,” she said.

  Remi nodded. “Good idea, Trina.”

  “I just said that,” I exclaimed.

  “But who do I accuse?” she asked.

  Remi pointed at me. “Say Marty’s the thief. Will you help, Marty?”

  The way he kept taking credit for my ideas was making it hard to keep my promise to help him, but a promise was a promise. “Sure.”

  “Thanks, Marty,” she said. “Good idea, Remi.”

  He blushed. “It’s really Marty who’s gonna do all the hard work.”

  He cracked a smile at me. He hadn’t forgotten me. Before we could put our plan into action, however, Eric waded into the middle of our group and stuck his nose in Trina’s face. His eyes were red, like he’d been crying. His fists were clenched and he was panting.

  “Hel-lo, you’re breathing my air,” she said.

  “Give it back,” he demanded.

  “Give what back?” she asked.

  Remi shoehorned his arm between the two and warned, “Get back.”

  “Get out of my way, French Toast!” he yelled.

  “Easy, Eric. We didn’t do anything to you. What do you want?” I asked.

  “She stole my video game!”

  Trina took a step at him. I nabbed her arm to hold her back. Remi and I were like referees trying to stop a hockey brawl. I could barely hold on to Trina as she charged ahead. My shoes skidded across the grass as she dragged me forward.

  “Why do you think Trina took your game?” I asked.

  Eric wiped his eyes and said, “Because she thinks I stole her stupid bike. She stole my game for revenge.”

  “How could she? You go everywhere with it,” I said.

  “Mr. E made me put it away in my locker this morning. When I went to get it at lunch,
the game was gone.”

  “I don’t want your stupid game,” Trina barked. “I want my bike back.”

  “Thief!” he barked.

  “I know Trina, and she’d never steal,” Remi argued. “Isn’t that right, Marty?”

  I was just about to back him up, when another idea struck me.

  “I don’t know about never stealing,” I said.

  “What!?” Trina turned on me.

  “I knew it!” Eric shouted.

  “Remi, don’t you remember that time?” I asked, then I muttered. “Mung koi gu ghewk,” as I swatted my right ear twice and coughed into my left armpit, hoping my friend would pick up on the code phrase for “pull his leg”.

  He nodded. “Oh you mean that time,” he said, catching on to my code. “You mean the time Trina took your . . . your . . . ”

  “Backpack. She stole my backpack,” I said.

  “I never stole anything in my entire life,” she said, her nostrils now big enough to fit the moon.

  “Of course you did,” I lied. “I checked the Harry Potter book out of the library right before you got to the counter. You were steaming mad because you wanted to read it first.”

  “Did you hit your head this morning? Hel-lo, I own all the Harry Potter books.”

  Remi backed me up. “Yeah. Trina was really upset and then the next day, your backpack was gone.”

  Eric glared at her. “Once a thief, always a thief.”

  “Trina said the only way she would give it back was if I let her have the book,” I said.

  “Lies!”

  Remi urged her to go along with my scheme, winking twice at her from behind Eric’s back.

  “Trina, you had a pretty good plan to get the book from Marty,” Remi said. “He handed the book over when you threatened to cut his backpack.”

  She smiled as she caught on, but looked down at the ground quickly so that Eric wouldn’t notice. “Sooner or later, I always get what I want, even if I have to get nasty.”

  “I’d hate to think what you’d do to Eric’s video game,” I said.

  “Hmm, if I did have the game, I’d probably put it under my dad’s car just before he went to work so that he could run over it.”

  “No.” Eric whined.