That was where we were the next time the aws came over.
Randy had some sort of after-school project to take care of, and it was just me and the robot playing Alien Onslaught.
“What’s this?” Paw Morris said, bursting into the room, his hand already scratching his belly in preparation for his usual position on the couch. “Is it some sort of new sport? What do you make of it, Stanley?”
Paw Stanley squinted at the TV, getting so close he was blocking my view of the game. “Not any that I’ve seen. Is it some sort of lacrosse? We didn’t play lacrosse in my day.”
Just then an alien kicked over a fire hydrant into a car and a giant explosion ensued. Paw Stanley jumped backward.
“Holy French onion dip,” he cried out, tucking his imaginary whistle into his mouth. “I don’t care how tough those Canadians are, that’s a foul! Penalty! Five yards!”
I laughed. “It’s not lacrosse, Paw. It’s Alien Onslaught.”
Paw Morris came up on the other side of the TV and leaned in, too. “Alien who-which?”
“Onslaught,” I said. “You know, like a whole bunch of aliens attacking?”
“What college do they play that at?” Paw Stanley asked.
“Looks like Syracuse there,” Paw Morris said, pointing at an orange alien.
“Seems like lacrosse’d be a more popular choice,” Paw Stanley muttered.
Another fire hydrant blew, and the paws jumped back again. “Hoo-eee, that was a good one!” Paw Morris cheered. “Go, Syracuse!”
“It’s not a sport, you guys,” I said. “Look, it’s a video game.” I held up my controller and moved the joystick around. I pointed to the TV, where my player ran in circles. “See? I’m controlling him.”
They gazed at the controller and then the TV and back again.
“Well, I’ll be,” Paw Stanley said. “It’s a game, Morris.”
“Look at that,” Paw Morris agreed. “They made a video game out of Syracuse’s lacrosse team.”
“Oh, brother,” I muttered.
Satisfied that they knew they were watching a sport of some sort, the paws took their usual posts on the couch and watched me play, every so often interjecting penalty calls and hoots when they thought someone made a free throw.
“This is pretty exciting,” Paw Morris said. “I can see why you like to play it, Luke.”
“Yeah, I have a friend Randy that I usually play with,” I said. “I beat levels a lot faster when it’s both of us.”
“Two people can play at once?” Paw Stanley asked.
I nodded. “And we’re not even in the same house when it happens.” Why not go ahead and blow their minds entirely, right? “I’ve never even met Randy in person.”
“Oh, that’s a shame,” Maw Shirley said, having come from nowhere, holding a zucchini in one hand. “Kids these days don’t even have real friends anymore.”
“He’s a real friend,” I insisted. “We were going to meet next weekend, but now I can’t, because I have a robotics tournament to go to.”
“What-ics?” Maw Mazie said, joining Maw Shirley, a drippy ladle in her hand. “Vegetable soup to night, boys.”
“Robotics,” Paw Morris said. “You know, they make the robots.”
“Oh, my,” Maw Shirley said. “Make robots? Isn’t that dangerous? You could get diarrhea.” I rolled my eyes. To Maw Shirley, there was only one malady in this world: diarrhea. Everything caused it, from overexcitement to influenza. Maw Shirley was constantly on Diarrhea Patrol.
I set down my controller. “It’s not dangerous,” I said. I considered the Jacobs, who had managed to nail an alarming number of things together since we started practicing again, but decided the maws didn’t need to know that part. “It’s really fun. See?” I held up the robot.
“You made that?” Paw Stanley asked. He motioned for me to give it to him.
“I helped,” I said, placing it on his lap. “And we programmed it to do all kinds of great stuff. And I made a new friend in the process. His name is Lunchbox but his real name is Timothy. You can call him Tim. If you ever meet him. Which you probably won’t. But that’s okay because he doesn’t really talk much. But he’s great at programming robots.”
“Is he a real boy?” Maw Shirley asked. “Or is he also in the TV?”
“Randy isn’t actually inside the TV,” I said. “And, yes, Lunchbox is real. He goes to my school.”
“Well, I’ll be,” Paw Morris said. He and Paw Stanley were bent over the robot. I started to feel uneasy, hoping they wouldn’t accidentally disconnect something or break off an eye. I made a mental note to add the aws to the list of people I was going to have to protect the robot from. “That’s pretty impressive, Luke.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“And you said there’s a tournament?”
“Yeah.”
“Can spectators come?”
I imagined the paws sitting at the robotics tournament, their hands scratching their bellies, the two of them shouting about fouls and blowing imaginary whistles, the maws nearby asking the referees who has the better recipe. If Maw Shirley was looking for something that would give a guy diarrhea, the aws at a robotics tournament would definitely do it.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
“Well, we’ll have your dad find out,” Paw Stanley said.
“Great,” I said, my voice suddenly finding the pit Mr. Terry’s voice had abandoned. I pushed the button to unpause my game and started playing again.
CHAPTER 26
PROGRAM NAME: The Missing Link
STEP ONE: Robot disappears
STEP . . . There are no more steps
It’s so weird how things can change really quickly. For example, a year ago, Rob was just a high school kid who didn’t even really have any plans after graduation. Today, he was bald and getting ready to start his last semester at home before boot camp.
And a month ago, if you’d told me that Lunchbox Jones would suddenly disappear from school and be gone for a week, I would’ve been really relieved.
Except Lunchbox did suddenly disappear, and with the robotics tournament happening in just a week. Lunchbox’s absence was a big deal.
Monday, it was curious. He hadn’t said anything about going on vacation or doing anything weird. He didn’t seem sick on Friday. But, hey, everybody has stuff come up.
We went ahead and had practice without him, though we spent most of the time trying to peel chewed gum off one of the robot’s sensors and arguing over who put it there (my theory: one of the Jacobs. Although it was entirely possible that the ninjas had found a way in while I slept. Ninjas were good at that kind of thing).
By Tuesday when I found the bathroom empty in the morning, I started to get a little concerned. I kept checking Lunchbox’s desk in Life Skills class, as if he might have been there and I might have just not been seeing all 795 pounds of solid muscle that was Lunchbox Jones.
Tuesday afternoon in practice, one of the Jacobs reprogrammed the treasure chest task. Now, instead of opening the chest, the robot scooped it up off the table and flung it across the room.
By Wednesday, I was in full freak-out mode, and spent most of first period sitting on the radiator in the boys’ room, staring at the door, using mind powers to bring Lunchbox back to school. Even Mr. Terry had no idea where Lunch-box was. Wednesday in practice, Stuart broke the rotating hook. Mikayla painted the robot’s “fingernails” bright pink. And now the robot smashed the treasure chest repeatedly until the lid flung off and landed on the lever that raised the sign. We argued over whether we’d still get the points for the sign.
By Thursday, my stomach hurt from panic. Lunchbox wasn’t going to show up, and our team was falling to pieces. Now every program resulted in the robot shivering uncontrollably, making a gargly belching sound, and dropping half its parts on the mat. I may have cried a little on the ride home.
By Friday, I was full-on mad about it. Lunchbox had deserted us, with no explanation whatsoever. Even Missy
the Cruel had the courtesy to warn us she was moving. I no longer cared what was going on that had kept Lunchbox away. He knew we couldn’t do this without him. You don’t just abandon your team like that.
You don’t abandon your friends.
Instead of going to practice, I called Dad and had him pick me up.
I was done wondering what was going on.
I was going to Lunchbox’s house to find out for myself.
CHAPTER 27
PROGRAM NAME: The Big Bot Smackdown
STEP ONE: Robot gets mad
STEP TWO: Robot confronts other robot
STEP THREE: Both bots explode into one billion bot pieces
Even though there was a lot of speculation about Lunchbox living in the woods with the raw squirrels and in caves with angry bears and in prisons and juvenile detention facilities, it didn’t take much asking around to find someone who knew where he actually did live.
A girl in my art class knew. Her mom cleaned the house next door to Lunchbox’s home. She’d seen Lunchbox outside in the front yard lots of times. Doing normal kid things, not punching holes through tree trunks or anything. (I asked.)
I had Dad drive me there and wait in the car while I went up to the door. I told him to leave the engine running, though, just in case Lunchbox had something really contagious or a pack of feral ferrets answered the door and I needed a quick getaway.
But there were no feral ferrets, and, in fact, the whole house seemed a lot less terrifying than I’d expected it to. It was run down—the paint peeling, dead flowers in window boxes, mud-crusted shoes on the front porch—but there were no massive, pulsating spider nests on the door or bloody ski masks on the patio furniture or ominous music piping in. It looked like a house that might have once been really nice but had been let go.
The door was answered by a girl who looked like a slightly older girl version of Lunchbox. Her hair was brown and kind of frizzy and her cheeks were red and plump. She looked like she could pluck your head right off your shoulders and eat it like an apple if she wanted to. And she looked like she might have wanted to.
“Yuh?” she asked through the screen.
“Is Lunchb—I mean, is Tim home?”
“Yuh,” she said. She closed the door. At first I didn’t know what to do. Was I supposed to follow her? Was she coming back? Did she think I was just asking to ask?
But soon the door opened again and there was Lunch-box. Or someone who looked like Lunchbox, only a lot paler and sicklier. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants. Maybe he really was sick after all.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Hey,” I said. “I was just wondering if you . . . were okay.”
He peered at me through the screen. “Why?”
“You haven’t been at school all week.”
“Oh.” He stood there a moment longer, seeming to feel tortured about something, and then finally opened the door. “You can come in.”
I took a step back, squeezing my nose shut with my thumb and finger and covering my mouth with my palm. “No way. Are you contagious?”
He rolled his eyes. “I’m not sick, dummy. Just come in.”
I glanced back at Dad. He was already reading a book in the driver’s seat. I shrugged and followed Lunchbox into his house.
The inside of the house pretty much matched the outside. It was clean and bright, but looked like it had been a while since it had been updated. The sofa had a ripped cushion. A chair in the kitchen was missing two spindles. The refrigerator rattled. Two more Lunchbox lookalikes were sprawled on the floor, watching TV.
“Get out of the way, Tim,” one of the girls snapped. “I can’t see.”
We walked past them and down a short hallway into a bedroom. It was hot in the bedroom, closed-up feeling, and smelled kind of like rotten feet. Or pork chops. I couldn’t quite figure out which. It was a shame when a smell could either be something horrible or food. You were never quite sure if you should enjoy it or not.
Lunchbox shut the door and plopped down on his bed. He didn’t say anything or do anything. He just lay there staring at the ceiling. His nose and eyelids looked red.
“So you’re not sick?” I asked, running my fingers along the spines of some books on a shelf, trying to look casual.
He shook his head.
“Have you been out of town?”
Again, he shook his head.
“Funeral?” I tried.
Nope. Nothing.
I turned away from the books and faced him full on. “Why have you been gone, then?”
He shrugged, wordless.
“The tournament is tomorrow, you know,” I said.
“So?” He continued to stare at the ceiling.
“So? So the team needs you. We’re a disaster. One of the Jacobs got a Tic Tac stuck inside the gyro sensor, and Mikayla sewed a dress for the robot in Family Sciences class.”
“Oh.”
I reeled. “Oh? Oh! Our robot is wearing a dress! And it literally does not know which way is up anymore. The team is destroying all our hard work, and all you have to say is oh? What are we going to do tomorrow? How will you ever fix everything in time?”
He pulled himself to sitting. “I won’t.”
I blinked. “What do you mean you won’t?”
“I’m not going,” he said.
“You have to go. You’re the only one who knows how to program. We need you. Remember me, the guy who shaved off Mr. Terry’s eyebrow? You can’t leave it up to me, man. I’m a menace.”
He picked a piece of lint off his pants. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I just can’t, okay?” He let out an agitated gust of breath. “It was a bad idea for you to come here. I shouldn’t have let you in. I’m sick.” He let out a weak cough.
“No, you’re not,” I said. “You already told me you weren’t. That cough was fake.”
“I have homework,” he said.
“You haven’t been at school,” I reminded him.
“I have to feed the fish,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder toward a dried-up aquarium.
I walked over to the fish tank and pulled out a handful of gravel, then let it drop back down into the empty tank with a clatter. “You don’t have any fish.” I tried not to think about where the fish that had once been in the tank had gone. I wiped my palm down the leg of my jeans just to be safe.
Lunchbox got an annoyed crease in his brow. “I have stuff to do, okay? You should leave.” He got up and reached for the door.
But out of nowhere a wave of courage surged through me. I wasn’t going to let Lunchbox Jones scare me anymore. He couldn’t tell me what to do. I came to his house to get answers, and I wasn’t going to leave until I got them. “No way. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me why you quit the team.”
He tried to skirt around me, but I moved with him. He went the other way; I went the other way. We looked a little like we were dancing, and it probably looked a little silly, but I didn’t care. He took a menacing step forward.
“Get out,” he said.
I stood my ground. For the first time ever, his voice didn’t scare me. Actually, I was starting to get really mad all over again. I felt like he owed me some sort of explanation, and why would he invite me back to his bedroom if all he was going to do was pretend I didn’t exist? Suddenly, it was as if Lunchbox’s silence was nothing but selfish. And not just today; every day. Why couldn’t he answer questions or participate in discussions or do things that made him seem more normal? Why was he always so creepy, and why did we all let him be that way?
“No,” I said.
Only it sounded like:
“No.”
(Not everybody can muster a Lunchbox-scary voice, you know.)
“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” I said.
He let out a deep sigh and went back to his bed. “Why do you have to know? Because of our dumb team? So w
hat if we lose? We’re Forest Shade Middle School. Losing is all we ever do.”
“It’s not about that,” I said. “I have to know because you’re my friend.” It was out of my mouth before I could really consider it. But once it was out, I realized it was true. Somehow, in all of this, Lunchbox Jones, the scariest kid in school, had become my friend, and finding out why he’d gone missing had become less about robotics and more about making sure he was okay. “I mean . . . well, yeah, because you’re my friend,” I repeated.
He gave me a funny look—part confused, part mad. “No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” I said.
“No, I’m not,” he said.
“Yes, you are. What about all those times in the industrial tech room when we were alone and you didn’t get revenge on me for smashing your face with the bathroom door?”
“I was busy doing other things,” he said. His face had grown really red.
“That’s not true,” I said. “Just admit it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Beating you up would be boring.”
I pointed at him. “Uh-uh, I don’t believe it. You didn’t kill me because you like me. Just say it. We’re friends.”
He glared at me, the whites of his eyes looking a little bloodshot. “No. We’re not.”
“Say it!” I said again, my voice rising.
He stood up. “No!”
“Fine! Then just tell me why you haven’t been at school! That’s all I really wanted to know, anyway!” I was shouting now.
He gritted his teeth at me, his cheeks trembling. “I don’t want to talk about it!”
“What are you afraid of, huh? What’s the big deal? Did you get an F on a test? Did you forget to do your homework for a month?”
Sweat popped out on his forehead. If he were a cartoon, any minute a train whistle would sound and smoke would jet out of his ears.
I charged on, feeling like I was on a roll. “Are you scared? Is that it? Are you afraid to go to school? Come on, how bad can it possibly be? Did you trip on the stairs? Did your pants fall down in the lunchroom? Did you fall asleep and drool on your lunchbox?” He clenched his fists. “Is it a girl?” He was breathing hard through his teeth. At last I had the upper hand on Lunchbox Jones, and I wasn’t about to let it go easily. “Oh, it is a girl! Is Lunchbox Jones all smoochy smoochy about a girl?” I wrapped my arms around my torso and started wiggling my hips and making kissing noises. “Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!”
How Lunchbox Jones Saved Me From Robots, Traitors, and Missy the Cruel Page 14
