by Marty Chan
“Do you still want to go?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I’ll be the school decoy.”
Remi glared at me. He’d have to find another way to score points with Trina.
I shrugged. “It’s what she wants.”
At the end of the school day, I glanced up at the clock. Almost time for dismissal. Time to put the plan into action. I tapped Trina’s back with the eraser end of my pencil but she didn’t budge.
I scribbled a note — “Do it.” — and passed it to her.
She passed the note back to me. She had scribbled on the back; “I don’t want to get in trouble.”
I crossed out her message and wrote over it: “If I do it, he’ll know something’s up.”
I tossed the note over her shoulder, but it fell into her open backpack on the floor. Trina reached into her backpack for the note. She pulled out two notes. She read both and sat still for what seemed like forever.
She spun around in her desk and held up the love note that I had written to help Remi win her heart. “Lovesick hound? Who wrote this poem?”
My hands started to sweat. “Maybe you have a secret admirer,” I said.
“This is your handwriting.” She held up both notes.
She was a better detective than me. I should have told her that the poem was from Remi and I was just the messenger. Instead, I broke a promise to my best friend.
“Um, maybe.”
I couldn’t figure out from Trina’s expression if she’d just sucked on a lemon or if she’d tasted a sweet orange. I hoped she found the note sweet.
Mr. E yelled from the front of the class, “What’s in your hand Trina? Are you passing notes?”
She stuffed the notes into her mouth and chewed.
“Spit that out,” Mr. E ordered.
She stood up.
Mr. E ordered, “Sit down, Trina.”
Trina started to dance while she chewed the notes.
“This isn’t funny.”
She kept dancing.
“Enough.”
She kept dancing after the bell rang. No one moved. They were no longer Pavlov’s dogs. Now they were Trina’s dogs. She jumped on her seat and shook her arms in the air while everyone gawked at her. I snuck out of my desk and headed out of the classroom. Just as I reached the doorway, I stopped and looked back at Trina. Our eyes met.
Did she like-like me? I’d crumble to pieces if she didn’t. Give me a sign. Any kind of sign. She flashed a small smile. My heart swelled.
“Tap dance number!” she said. She tapped on the desk, while Mr. E tried to get her off the chair.
“You’re getting detention for this.”
I bounded down the hallway, thrilled that Trina might like-like me. I felt like I was running on air, but I crashed to the Earth when I ran into Remi.
“What are you smiling about, Marty?”
I tried to wipe the smile off, but it was like permanent felt marker across my face. “Trina’s dancing looks hilarious,” I lied.
“Can I see?”
I shook my head. “We better get to Mr. E’s house.”
At the Asylum House, we caught our breath. We didn’t have much time, but now that I was at the house, I was afraid to go through with my plan. Remi approached the wooden gate at the side of Mr. E’s house and peeked through the slats. I joined him. The yard was full of weird metal pieces and strange machines. I reached over the fence, pulled up the latch and swung the gate open.
“After you,” I said.
“You first.”
“You go,” I prompted.
“It was your idea.”
“We don’t have all day,” I said. Remi must have been just as scared as I was.
“Then hurry up.”
I stepped into the yard. Remi followed. Mr. E had a junkyard where his lawn should have been. Gutted refrigerators and stripped-down car engines filled the yard, along with other bits of scrap metal. This was the yard of a mad scientist. In the middle of the yard, a heavy tarp covered something large. Before I could go over and check under the cover, Remi nudged me.
“Marty,” he whispered. “Look over there. By the house.”
Across the minefield of scrap metal, a collection of bicycle wheels hung off the porch. Some were mangled, others in perfect condition. Did Mr. E rip apart Trina’s bike for some kind of experiment? We crept toward the bicycle graveyard, looking for anything that might look like Trina’s mountain bike. All the tires were flat and the spokes were rusted.
“They’re from older bikes. We’re going to have to check out the house,” I said.
“It’s getting late. How long do you think Trina can stall?”
“I told her to give us at least half an hour. If her detention ended early, she was supposed to start disco dancing.”
Remi grinned. “She must hate you.”
Exactly the opposite, but I wasn’t going to say anything. I just nodded as I crept on to the porch. The stairs groaned under my weight. I froze. I reminded myself that no one was around. I kept climbing to the front door. I was about to pull on the screen door handle when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Did Trina find the note in her backpack?”
“This isn’t the best time to be asking that,” I said.
“I’m wondering, that’s all.”
I grabbed the door handle.
“Well, did she say anything?” Remi asked.
“No,” I said. Technically, I wasn’t lying. She didn’t say anything, but her tiny smile might as well have said “I love you forever and ever, Marty.”
He fell silent. I pulled open the screen door and tested the doorknob. The house was locked. I pulled out the hairpin and magnet. One of these things had to help me open the door.
“This isn’t a good sign, is it? I mean, she should have found the note by now. And if she has, then it means she’s not interested in secret admirers.”
I shrugged. “Maybe.” Maybe not.
“I should just tell her how I feel. What do you think?”
“Bad idea,” I said. “I think you have to play it cool.”
I hated keeping him in the dark, but he wasn’t ready to see the pair of love ducks that was Trina and me. I was also worried that he might say something that would change her mind about me. I was a terrible friend for thinking that.
“Let’s find the bike first,” I said. “Hold the magnet.”
I tossed him the magnet so he could wave it around the lock, while I started to pick at the keyhole with the hairpin. I didn’t know what I was doing with the hairpin, but at least it kept me busy and allowed me to avoid talking about the love poem.
The lock wouldn’t open. I put the hairpin back in my pocket. I wished I could crawl inside the pocket with it and hide from Remi’s questions.
He handed me the magnet. “What do we do now?”
I wasn’t sure if he was talking about the door or about Trina. I pretended it was about the door.
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve got to promise me, Marty. Do whatever you can to make her like-like me.”
I looked down at the junk in the yard for some way out of the hole that I’d dug. There was only one way to go. Dig the hole deeper.
“Sure,” I lied.
“You’re my best friend.”
I didn’t feel like a friend right now. “We’d better leave before Mr. E gets back.”
“Yeah.”
We headed off the porch. Click. Clack. Click clack. Someone was trying to unlatch the gate.
Remi looked at me, his eyes wide with panic. I pointed to the table in the middle of the yard. We sprinted toward the tarp-covered table, lifted the heavy cloth and ducked under the table. As we curled up under the table, I could hear someone walking through the yard. I peeked out from under the tarp, but the junk prevented me from seeing the person’s face.
Remi whispered, “It’s too soon for Mr. E to come home.”
I agreed.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. The horrible truth sta
rted to sink in. The intruder was walking toward us. We inched backwards, but there was nowhere we could go. As long as we hid under the tarp we were safe. Hopefully, this was someone delivering flyers and he’d leave very soon.
Suddenly, the intruder grabbed the tarp and yanked it off the table.
ELEVEN
The tarp crumpled to the ground behind us. Cool fall air blew up my pant legs as I curled up into a ball and inched the tarp over Remi and me. I thought about the buzzing sound we’d heard just before the mangled hockey puck flew over the hedge. I didn’t want the same thing to happen to us.
Remi wrapped himself tighter in the tarp. I peeked out from the folds. So far, the intruder had said nothing. Maybe he didn’t see us. Until he said something, the best thing we could do was stay put. We waited for the man in the cotton pants to make the first move.
“Not bad, Eisenberg,” said a nasally voice. This didn’t sound like Mr. E, but he did sound serious, because he was using our teacher’s last name.
I scanned the yard for someone else, but it seemed like Mr. Cotton Pants was talking to himself.
“But it lacks true imagination and creativity. Your inventions are so 1997. Still, let’s say you had a little setback.”
The screech of metal scraping against metal clawed at my ears. I covered them until the sound had faded. Suddenly, an electric buzz hummed through the air, followed by a scream. The man in the cotton pants jumped back from the table.
Remi poked his head out from the tarp; his hair was standing straight up. If I weren’t so scared, I’d have laughed.
Suddenly, a different voice spoke. It sounded like a girl’s voice, but computerized. “Please do not handle the merchandise, Davis.”
Davis. The name sounded familiar.
Mr. Cotton Pants sounded less smug. “Voice recognition. Impressive for a prototype.”
“May I suggest you steal your invention ideas from someone else? Have you tried visiting school science fairs? I think that is more your level.”
“Let’s see you laugh this off.”
The electric hum grew louder and I could feel a static charge building in my hair. Mr. Cotton Pants stepped back. The hum faded.
“You can’t hide your secrets forever.”
“Thank you for visiting. Is there anything you’d like me to tell my creator?”
“Send him this message. He’s never going to win.”
The intruder stormed out of the yard, leaving us alone.
“Davis was the guy Mr. E thought we worked for,” Remi said.
Of course. Why didn’t I make the connection sooner? Remi was way better at remembering names than I was. I thought it might have something to do with the fact that he had to remember the names of his hockey team mates.
“Do you think it’s safe yet?”
“Give it a couple more minutes,” I said.
We watched the yard for any sign of Davis’ return, but it looked like he was gone. We crawled out from under the tarp. On the table sat the top half of a robot. Its chest plate was opened, revealing a circuit board and multi-coloured wires. The metal arms looked like factory machines. At the end of the right arm was a metal claw, while the left arm ended in a buzz saw. Remi nudged me in the ribs.
“I think I know what destroyed the puck,” he whispered.
I nodded, then I turned my attention to the robot’s head. Brown hair cascaded over the robot’s face. It looked almost real. I had to see the thing’s face. I swept the hair away and stepped back.
The robot was Ida.
TWELVE
Eerie didn’t quite sum up what I was feeling. Freaktastic was getting closer to how it felt to be looking at the human head of Ida on half a robot. Her eyes were closed. Remi touched her cheek. Her eyelids fluttered for a second, but her eyes stayed closed.
“It’s so real,” he reported. “Feel it. Almost human.”
My mind went wild with theories about why Mr. E would build a human-looking robot. I wondered how many of the parts were machine and how much was flesh and blood. I shuddered to think what Mr. E used for spare parts.
“Touch it,” Remi said.
Slowly, I reached for the robot’s cheek.
Suddenly her eyes popped wide open. “Please do not handle the merchandise, Davis,” she ordered. She even sounded like Ida.
“I’m not Davis,” I said.
She blinked twice. “May I suggest you steal your invention ideas from someone else? Have you tried visiting school science fairs? I think that is more your level.”
Her lips moved out of sync with her words. It was like watching an old martial arts movie where the actors’ voices were dubbed with actors who had British accents. Except this was no movie.
Remi whispered, “She’s just repeating herself.”
I nodded. “But isn’t this the part when she zapped Davis?”
“Duck!”
I did, but nothing happened.
“Why didn’t she zap us?” he asked.
“Do you remember, he was trying to open her up? Maybe she’s got some kind of self-defence system.”
“Let’s not touch her,” he said, eying the buzz-saw hand.
“Good idea.”
“We’re not going to touch you,” Remi shouted at the robot. “Please don’t zap us.”
“Thank you for visiting. Is there anything you’d like me to tell my creator?”
A few seconds passed. Then the Ida robot shut her eyes and powered down. This must have been some kind of pre-recorded message.
“Cool. Let’s make her do it again,” he said, touching her cheek.
Her eyes opened, but instead of the blue eyes of earlier, they glowed red. This was not good.
“Intruder alert. Intruder alert. Intruder alert.” she wailed, as her head lifted five inches into the air, revealing an iron rod neck. The robot head spun around again and again, the eyes flashing at us like laser beams.
“Run!” I yelled.
We scrambled over the junk in the yard and headed out. We sprinted down the alley. I didn’t even bother looking back, afraid the robot would explode and wipe out the entire town of Bouvier. About two blocks away the sounds faded out. We slowed down to catch our breath.
“What do you think your teacher is doing with that robot?” he asked. “And why does it look like the girl from your class?”
I shook my head, still panting. “I don’t know, but it looks like we have to keep a closer watch on Ida.”
The next day we launched Operation Ida: Known Better. Remi agreed to take the first shift spying on Ida. She was playing tag with some girls, so it wouldn’t be hard to keep an eye on her. Remi wanted to team up with Trina.
“No, let’s leave her out of this until we know a little more,” I said. The last thing I wanted was for Remi to find out the truth.
“She’ll want to know what we found out yesterday,” Remi said. “And it’ll give me a great reason to talk to her.”
“Let me be the messenger, Remi,” I offered, remembering the Cyrano movie. “I’ll find out what she said and report back.”
“Good idea. You’re a great friend.”
I wished he’d stop saying that. I felt bad enough already.
“I want you to tell me word for word everything she says. Everything,” he called after me.
Trina was hiding in the bushes within earshot of Samantha and some grade five girls. I waited until the coast was clear and then slid into the bushes behind her. Her hair was damp. I took a whiff. Ah, strawberry shampoo. I tapped her on the shoulder.
She turned and flashed me a terrific smile that made me feel about two feet taller, but also turned my tongue into a salty pretzel.
“Um . . . er . . . ah . . . hi.” That sounded so much better in my head.
Trina said nothing, looking into my eyes. Finally, she spoke. “No one ever gave me a poem before. It was really sweet. You’re such a romantic.”
She took my hand in hers. I felt ten feet tall and my pretzel tongue was getting s
oggy. I mumbled something that might have sounded like thanks.
“But . . . ” she said.
I started to shrink but my tongue still felt like a pretzel. “Oh?”
“But should we tell Remi?”
My hand felt clammy against hers. “Why?”
She peeked through the bushes at the schoolyard. Remi was strolling around Ida, pretending not to look our way. Trina pulled me away from the bushes so no one in the yard could see us.
“I think he has a crush on me too. He’s always asking me what I like and then he says he likes it too. And he keeps trying to smell my hair. It’s kind of weird. Don’t you think?”
“Sort of,” I said.
“Anyway, I don’t want to wreck your friendship. I think you should tell Remi about us. I don’t want him to find out from someone else.”
Telling him was the worst thing to do, but Trina didn’t know about my promise. I also didn’t want her to stop like-liking me.
“Good idea. I’ll tell him. Please don’t say anything to him until I tell you it’s okay.”
She agreed. “So, what did you find at Mr. E’s house?”
“No bike, but we found a robot,” I said.
She scrunched up her face, puzzled.
“Come on. Remi will fill you in.”
We walked over to Remi, who was still watching Ida. He tried not to act weird around Trina and Trina pretended not to act weird around him. He told her everything about Mr. E’s robot and Davis’ visit. When he was done, she said nothing. She just punched my arm, hard.
“Ow. What was that for?” I rubbed my arm.
“That’s for wasting my time. What do robots have to do with my bike?”
I stepped out of punching range.
Remi suggested, “Maybe Mr. E needs your bike for robot parts. Do you like robots, Trina?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
I shushed them both as a squealing Ida ran past us, avoiding a tag. “The only thing I don’t get is why he made the robot look like her.”
“Maybe he wants to replace Ida so he has a student who isn’t always talking back to him,” he joked.
I laughed. Trina did not.
“When I was in detention,” she said, “Ida hung around, even though she wasn’t in trouble. She was telling Mr. E something about time. It’s almost time. Or . . . it’s time.”
