Getting to the best part of sixth grade meant surviving Mr. Scrimshaw. There are plenty of good, nice teachers in the world and way too many bad, mean teachers, but I’d never had a teacher who was both awesome and terrifying. Mr. S looks like a three-hundred-year-old sailor who could still beat you up with one hand tied behind his back. (The scraggly gray hair and gnarly facial scar helps.) He’s an incredible storyteller, and he knows more about the ocean that anyone I’ve ever met, but it also feels like he’s one bad kid away from going completely berserk. Everyone loves him and everyone fears him. It’s weird. It’s great. It’s science.
“Now, we begin class the same way we do every day,” Scrimshaw said as he walked slowly down each row. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. His right leg clicked and clacked mysteriously. As if he wasn’t already intimidating enough. “So… Anyone have what I’m looking for? Don’t forget, it’s extra credit!” As he clicked and clacked down the rows he looked around desperately, hoping someone would raise their hand. Finally Rita lifted hers up shyly. She was holding a newspaper clipping. Mr. S’s eyes bulged excitedly as he grabbed the clipping from her hand, reading it as if it were a winning lottery ticket. Then he hung his head and tossed it back on her desk.
“That’s the same article Billy brought in last week. Blue whale off the coast of California. Old news.” Rita looked sad. “Okay, fine. You get partial credit.” Mr. S shook his head. “Anyone else? Any new articles about strange sea creature sightings? Remember, if you find me the right article”—he pointed toward the ship’s mast, where he’d nailed up a dirty old coin—“you win the gold.”
He started every single class that way. As if that old coin was actual gold.
“All right, class!” he bellowed, reenergized. “Today we’ll be studying the fascinating differences between right whales and gray whales. But first I’ll pass back yesterday’s homework on bowhead whales.”
“Bowhead whales are corny!” Buddy Grimes yelled from the back of class. Grimes is our class bully. I’m pretty sure he’s half human, half ogre—the dude barely fits in a desk and his hands look like fleshy boulders. I’m also convinced he’s either got zero fear or a death wish. He’s the only guy I know who’s not afraid of Scrimshaw, who practically jumped from the front of the deck to the back, getting in Buddy’s face with a maniacal look in his eyes.
“Corny, are they?” he growled. “Maybe I take you to the ocean and introduce you to one up close. Then you can tell me how lame they are. Would you like that, Mr. Grimes? Or are you afraid you’d cry for mommy?” The whole class laughed uproariously. I chuckled too, until Scrimshaw started slapping people’s papers onto their desks. “These are facedown because some of you might not like your grades,” he muttered.
Grades. The word made me throw up a little bit in my mouth. Two seconds later Scrimshaw slammed my essay down with a D+ scribbled in big red marker and I practically barfed all over the table. “Better luck next time, bub,” he said.
Grades have never been my friend.
3
“You look like you belong in a Picasso painting, from his Blue Period.”
“English, Wiki.”
“You seem deflated and morose.”
“Sad? Is that what you’re trying to say?” I grumbled. “Can’t you just use three-letter words instead of spelling-bee words?”
It was recess, and Wiki and I had snuck into the woods, walking close enough to the playground that we’d be able to hear the bell. I was looking down at the ground like I was staring into the abyss. Wiki studied me awkwardly.
“Yeesh, you’re in a mood.”
I looked up at him and heaved a massive sigh. “I got another D in science.”
Wiki rubbed his chin. “That’s not going to affect your solid C in that class. And given the frequency of Scrimshaw’s homework, you could get that up to a B before the year’s over.”
“Yeah, I’m not that worried about science. It just reminded me about English.”
“Ah. Yes. Unfortunately, you’re hanging on by a thread in that class. If you don’t get an A+ on the next assignment…”
“Don’t remind me.”
What Wiki was about to say was that if I didn’t get an A+ on my next assignment, I was going to have to go to Extra Help English. Then it was a slippery slope—they’d probably switch me out of all of Wiki’s classes next year. And that would be the worst thing ever.
“It’s not impossible, Javi.”
“Oh yeah? Maybe for you. It’s like we always say: you’re the brains, Brady’s the brawn, and I’m the stomach. And school’s where I come to get punched in my stomach by tests and homework and occasionally Buddy Grimes.”
“Well, I don’t know about all that—”
The bell rang, and I snapped out of my funk immediately—we had to hurry back before anyone caught us in the woods.
“English is next. Let’s go find out what that essay is,” Wiki said as we scrambled out of the forest. Wiki dashed from the edge of the woods to the swings, where other kids were heading in. I was about to follow him when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I spun around.
Twenty feet behind me there was a shadow peeking out from behind a tree. Something had been watching us. Something that seemed strangely familiar. And unnatural. If I shined a flashlight on it, I bet it would still be a shadow. It was like a living black hole that seemed to whisper, “Hey, kid, haven’t had any traumatic nightmares lately? Check me out!”
“I’ll catch up in one sec, Wiki,” I said. I took a few steps back into the forest to investigate before I realized I was doing the number one thing that kills people in horror movies. So I stopped and listened instead. And somehow that was even worse.
I heard a terrifying movement in the bushes behind the tree. The shadow was running away, except it didn’t sound like a human moving through the woods—it sounded like a ginormous monster with twenty legs.
I stood there paralyzed for a full minute.
Then I ran to English class like my life depended on it.
4
“Notebooks out, class,” Ms. Vlad commanded as she peeked mysteriously out of the closed blinds at the back of the classroom. In seconds we all had our notebooks ready, pencils in hand, and were sitting in perfect silence.
We were super well-behaved in Ms. Vlad’s class because our English teacher was obviously a vampire. Sounds loco? It’s not like I believed in vampires either—but Ms. Vlad’s the worst-disguised vampire of all time. She doesn’t even care if her cover’s blown.
Let’s review the evidence.
• She hates sunlight. The blinds are always shut in our class, and no one’s ever seen her walk outside in the daytime. She’s the only teacher who never does recess duty.
• She drinks from this old red thermos constantly and is really protective of it, never letting anyone see what’s inside. Some kids think it’s wine. Wrong. It’s definitely one hundred percent blood.
• She’s super strict about not letting anyone bring any food into class. (Because, duh—garlic will kill her!)
• Remy dressed up like a vampire hunter for Halloween, and she gave him a death stare all throughout class. I was sure she was going to kill him that day, so I gave him my extra hot dog costume.
The worst part was, only I seemed to accept the truth. Nobody believed me, no matter how much proof I waved in their faces. I was counting the days until Ms. Vlad proved them all wrong, probably in the bloodiest way.
And that’s why I’m struggling to get a decent grade. I mean, I’ve never been great at writing essays, but having Lady Dracula for a teacher doesn’t exactly help. I spend most of my time trying to keep a low profile and praying I’m not her first victim. And lately she’s seemed extra thirsty for fresh blood.
“Today’s homework is very important, class.”
Oh boy. Moment of truth. Please be about sandwiches…pl
ease be about sandwiches…
“In fact, if you’ve been at this school for more than one year, you’re probably familiar with tonight’s assignment.”
Oh. Oh wow. This assignment. I knew what she was going to say next.
“It’s a question we ask our students every year, and every year we expect all of you to complete it. In fact, it’s worth triple an ordinary homework assignment. Doing poorly on this one is not an option.” She gave a death stare to the entire class. I heard nervous gulps all around me.
Wiki looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. I smiled.
“I want you to imagine you’re hosting a dinner party. If you could invite any three people, living or dead, who would you invite?”
There were a few quiet groans from the class, and someone whispered, “Not again…” but those kids shut up quickly when they remembered whose class they were in.
This was the classic assignment at Finistere. We had it every single year, from kindergarten to twelfth grade. The principal said it was the perfect assignment because it combined writing, history, cooking, and art, but my theory was that the principal was secretly a foodie like me.
Was I the only kid who loved this assignment? It wasn’t exactly about sandwiches, but as far as essays go, this one was so up my alley it was ridiculous.
Ms. V sighed. “Okay, I’ll elaborate, for those of you who have somehow forgotten about this assignment even though you’ve done it six times already.” She shook her head at us like we were dumb babies. (She was really good at making us feel like dumb babies.) “You can invite any person from history or fiction. For example, would you invite your great-grandpa? Or your favorite character from a book? Or George Washington? Once you’ve chosen your three people, write about the food you would prepare, the conversations you would have, and the dessert you would serve.”
“How long does it have to be?” Ashley blurted out.
“As long as it takes to answer that question well, Ashley,” Ms. V said darkly. RIP Ashley.
“I think you forgot the most important part,” Dani said with a big smile, trying to be helpful. Dani was a classic teacher’s pet. Her sucking up didn’t work on Ms. Vlad though, and it was funny to watch her try. Vampires aren’t good at making close, emotional connections, and sucking up seems pathetic to them.
“Don’t interrupt, Dani,” Ms. Vlad growled. “I was just getting to that. The most important part of the assignment. You must take a photo of your table set for these guests, with the actual food and place cards.” She scanned the room like she had laser eyes, then added, “It’s due Thursday.”
There were more groans from the back, but I was smiling so hard my jaw hurt. The Any Three People homework, but worth triple. This might literally be the one essay I could get a decent grade on. I would have to come up with the perfect guest list and the perfect menu, and have Wiki proofread it, but if I did all that… I had a shot.
Everyone wrote the homework down, put their notebooks away, and then read in silence for thirty minutes, while Ms. V studied each of our necks from her desk, drinking from her thermos. Weird, right? I’m telling you, we are TERRIFIED of Ms. V.
When the bell rang, I took a deep breath. An A+ essay for Lady Dracula. Well, here goes nothing.
5
“So, who will you invite?” I asked Wiki as we walked to his aunt’s house that afternoon.
Wiki rubbed his chin as he thought. “It’s a difficult question. At this point we’ve done this assignment six times, so we’ve invited eighteen people total. I have at least three hundred more I’d like to invite, but I imagine our classmates are running out of options.”
“Yeah, I bet they repeat dinner guests. I think I’ve invited Benjamin Franklin three times by now.”
“Indeed. Most people are probably going to pick Abraham Lincoln, Albert Einstein, and Amelia Earhart.”
“No, more like someone from that band Boi Squad.”
“Hmm, yes,” he said, shuddering. “Now, who to invite… I suppose it depends on the conversation you want to have at dinner. I would choose some of history’s lesser-known heroes. The ones we don’t learn about in class. I’m not that curious about most presidents or old baseball players. Give me Nikolai Tesla, Ada Lovelace, or Hattori Hanzō any day.”
Sometimes I think Wiki was raised by statues in a museum.
“That homework again?” Brady grumbled. “We did ours last month.”
“Who’d you invite?” I asked her.
She looked at me very seriously and nodded as she said, “Hammy.”
“Hammy, our old hamster?” I shook my head and Wiki laughed. Brady’s face went red. (With anger of course, not embarrassment. Never embarrassment.)
“What’s so funny? I miss Hammy, and I wanted to know how she’s doing. Plus, she just eats lettuce, so she’d be easy to cook dinner for. Oh, and she can read minds, so she can tell me why Trevor keeps giving me all these weird looks during class.”
“I can tell you that.” Wiki laughed. “It’s because he likes you.”
“Ew,” she spit out. “I trust Hammy’s opinion more than yours.”
I threw my hands up in the air. Neither of them was any help. And Wiki was right. I didn’t want to write about George Washington or Thomas Edison like everyone else in class. I was sure Ms. Vlad would give extra points for originality. But where would I begin to look for the right person? Would Google have any results for “awesome-but-not-quite-famous people from history?” Doubt it. And I wasn’t about to flip through our old encyclopedias.
“Maybe I’ll just ask Aunt Nancy for her advice,” I sighed as we walked across her front lawn. Aunt Nancy was Wiki’s favorite aunt, and one of the most mysterious and generally awesome grown-ups I’d ever met. Even Wiki couldn’t guess her age, and he knew surprisingly little about her past. Wiki’s parents worked late, so he basically lived with her during the week. Her house was two blocks away from ours, and I loved hanging out there after school.
“Hi, Aunt Nancy,” Wiki called out as we walked into her dark house. It was always pretty dark in there. We headed into her living room and plopped our bags on the floor.
There were a few things about Aunt Nancy’s house that were either extremely creepy or extremely cool, depending on your love of weirdness. For one, silk tapestries were hung between every room and across every doorway. They were gorgeous—colorful and mesmerizing—but they were everywhere. Walking through her house, you were constantly using your arms to swim through the tapestries that were always in your way. But the even stranger thing was that Aunt Nancy decorated her ceilings as if they were walls. The ceiling in every room had paintings, mirrors, and, in a few cases, even windows. When you asked her about it, she just kind of shrugged it off and said that people decorated things differently where she was from. Wiki’s family is originally from Haiti, which is right next to Puerto Rico, so I didn’t buy it. People would think my abuela was bizarre if she started nailing family photos to the ceiling.
“Aunt Nancy?” Wiki called again, lifting the tapestries between the living room and the kitchen. The smell of dinner wafted in. I lifted my nose into the air to catch every bit of the aroma, and it made me feel like I was floating. Aunt Nancy was the best cook I’d ever met. She was the only person I knew who combined Caribbean cuisine with soul food, and that fusion was so good it felt like it actually fed your soul. Today it smelled like corn bread, fried okra, and something made of sweet potatoes. I crossed my fingers that she’d let me try a little bit.
“Three sets of feet going pitter-patter pitter-patter,” she called out from upstairs. “Is that Brady and the magnificent Javier?” (We’re both chefs, so we have a special bond.) She made her way down the stairs and smiled as she walked into the living room. Her smile was always a little wicked, and it might have freaked you out a little bit if you didn’t know her. “And what’s my little trio of terror up to today?” sh
e asked as she sat on the couch and picked up her knitting.
I explained our homework assignment and how badly I needed to ace it.
“So, if you could invite any three people in the history of the world to dinner, who would it be?” I finally asked.
“Ah, this question. This is the classic question. A question that gets asked a lot in our town. A question that gets people in trouble.” She looked up at her ceiling at a framed drawing of some trees, staring into it like she was remembering something that happened long ago.
“Ahem,” I said as politely as I could.
“Well, the guests are the wrong place to start,” she continued, looking at me again. “The real question is, what’s the purpose of the meal? You can cook to feed and to entertain, but some people cook to poison, to overthrow a king, to start a revolution. Some cook to win the hand of their beloved, some cook to bring a family or a kingdom together or tear them apart. And there are those of us,” she said turning to me and smiling mischievously, “who have cooked for all those reasons. So what is the purpose of this meal, Javier?”
I stopped to try to think of a good answer that would impress her.
“To let people from olden times try sandwiches?”
Wow, Javi. Really impressive…yeesh.
She nodded slowly, then went on. “Well, what happens after the dinner? Sure, you can invite presidents and kings, artists and assassins, inventors and dancers, but how long will they stay?”
“It’s just dinner, Aunt Nancy,” Wiki said. “As if we were having a dinner party. The guests arrive, eat, and go back to their homes.”
“But it sounds like these guests don’t have a home. At least not here. A home is more than a place—it’s also a time. And right now it is your time. Not theirs.”
Aunt Nancy was really overthinking this. “You know what, I think we’re good. Thanks for helping, Aunt Nancy,” I said. Better to move on to another subject. “Could I try some of that corn bread?”
Time Villains Series, Book 1 Page 2
