AAAARGH!!! (11 page)

TIME TRAVEL LOG:

Malibu, California, October 21

Begin Transmission:

Subject begins seeing how zworked cheating is. Hope it’s not too late.

End Transmission

Chad Steel hobbled into Miss Grumpaton’s English class on his crutches. Of course all the girls
ooh
-ed and
aah
-ed in sympathy . . . and of course all the guys asked if they could break his other leg so he wouldn’t walk lopsided.

(Sometimes guys aren’t great at showing sympathy.)

“There’s an empty seat up front here,” Miss Grumpaton said. “Sit there next to Thelma Jean so you don’t have so far to walk.”

Chad threw a look to the back of the class, where Hesper sat holding court. (Wherever Hesper sat, she held court.) He knew she wouldn’t be thrilled about his sitting so far away. Then again, she was so busy being the center of attention, it was doubtful she’d notice. So far she’d not even noticed his broken leg.

(Sometimes princesses aren’t so good at showing sympathy either.)

He laid his crutches against the front desk, glanced at the new kid, and smiled. “Hey,” he said.

She muttered something that might have been “Hey,” then quickly looked the other direction, tugging at her hair.

Chad stood staring a moment. Once again he tried figuring out what he’d done to make her so mad. And once again he wondered how he could apologize if she never talked to him.

Girls
. Go
figure.

With a sigh, he eased himself into the seat. The bell rang and Miss Grumpaton began her nonstop lecture on whatever she was nonstop lecturing about.

Chad tried to pay attention, but his thoughts were still on Sunday’s surfing meet. The meet he could no longer compete in because of his broken foot. Actually, he could compete—there was no rule about surfing with a cast on. They just frowned on their contestants drowning. And that’s exactly what would happen to Chad. Unless . . .

His mind drifted back to Doug’s promise:

“With my new and improved surfboard
(sniff-sniff)
, you can win even wearing a cast!”

“But wouldn’t that still be cheating
?” Chad had argued.

“I keep telling you
(snort-snort)
, it’s only cheating if you get caught.”

Chad knew Doug was wrong. But he also knew there was no way he could compete if he didn’t go along with Doug’s plan.

He glanced at TJ. She was shifting and fidgeting in a major sort of way. At first he thought it was because she hated sitting so close to him . . . until he turned his attention back to Miss Grumpaton’s speech.

“. . . is an example of what you all can do if you put your mind to it.” She looked directly at TJ and smiled. “Thelma Jean, I don’t know what they taught you back in Minnesota, but I think we could all learn a lesson about what hard work can accomplish. Isn’t that right, class?”

The class gave their the usual response of gum

text message

and cell phone

But Miss Grumpaton was a pro. She could keep boring you no matter what you did.

“And you’ll all be happy to know that I’ve submitted Thelma Jean’s name to participate in a national essay contest. Isn’t that exciting?”

Chad stole another look at TJ . . . who was slowly melting into her seat.

“Thelma Jean will be representing our school nationally. And if she does well, as I’m sure she will—” Miss Grumpaton paused to give one of her famous yellow-from-way-too-many-cups-of-tea grins—“she will go on to represent us internationally. Isn’t that simply thrilling?”

“However, there is just one problem.” Miss Grumpaton turned her smile back on TJ, who was doing her best imitation of the Wicked-Witch-of-the-West-meets-water. “The essay is due Monday. Though I’m sure that won’t be a problem for you, will it, Thelma Jean?”

Chad could practically hear TJ crying,
“I’m melting . . . I’m melting.”

Then, before anyone broke into a chorus of “Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead,” the classroom door flew open. There, before them, stood some pirate guy with a peg leg, who was shouting, “Argh!” On his shoulder he had a parrot that screeched,
“Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!”

Of course the class gasped. And of course, Miss Grumpaton demanded, “Do you have a hall pass?”

The pirate gave another “Argh!” then

toward the teacher, shouting, “Where’s me treasure map?”

“You mean, ‘Where’s
my
treasure map,’” Miss Grumpaton corrected. “The use of a possessive pronoun in the sentence is necessary in order to—”

“Silence, woman!”

Miss Grumpaton shook her head. “If you are to remain in my class, you must learn the proper use of grammar.”

Without a word, he pulled an old-fashioned pistol from his belt.

More class gasping.

And more bird screeching,
“Shiver me timbers! Shiver me timbers!”

But no more Miss Grumpaton lecturing . . . at least for the moment. Instead, to everyone’s astonishment, she started to giggle.

Chad looked on. He’d never seen an English teacher lose her mind before . . . but there was a first time for everything.

The pirate waved his gun at her. “Ye think this be funny?”

“Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!”

Miss Grumpaton’s giggles grew into laughter.

“Stow that caterwauling!”

But her laughter only increased until she could barely catch her breath. “Oh, gracious,” she said, wiping the tears from her eyes. “You are good.”

The pirate, who was used to being taken a bit more seriously, especially when holding a loaded gun, made his move. He quickly stepped behind her and wrapped his arm around her neck, holding the pistol to her head.

“Oh, this is good,” Miss Grumpaton laughed. “Whoever thought this up gets an A+ for extra credit.”

“Silence, or be ye keelhauled!” the pirate shouted.

“And so authentic.” She frowned, waving her hands in front of her nose. “Though I could do without the fake smell of rum on your breath!”

The pirate cocked his pistol. “If ye don’t be silent, I shall send ye to Davy Jones’s locker!”

Chad watched the performance with the rest of the class. At least he
thought
it was a performance (though the pirate was nowhere near as realistic as in the movies).

To his surprise, TJ leaped to her feet and shouted, “Stop it!” She looked around the room as if searching for somebody. “Herby! Tuna! Stop it this instant!”

“Thelma Jean!” Miss Grumpaton laughed. “Is this your doing? I might have guessed!”

TJ continued searching the room and yelling, “Make him go!”

There was no answer except . . .

—Miss Grumpaton’s laughing

—the pirate’s
argh!
-ing

—the parrot’s
Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!
-ing.

Suddenly the pirate’s eyes widened. “Shiver me timbers!” he shouted at TJ. “I’ve seen ye before.”

“Actually, that’s ‘Shiver
my
timbers,’” Miss Grumpaton corrected. “Once again, the use of a possessive pronoun is mandatory if—”

The pirate tossed her to the side and, in one swift move, lunged for the girl. TJ turned to run, but he caught her arm.

“Let me go!” she screamed.

“Ye be the cause of all this, missy?” he shouted.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

“Jim Hawkins, me cabin boy—he’s seen ye too!”

“Oh, this is good,” Miss Grumpaton exclaimed. “Class, I hope you’re taking notes.”

“Let me go!” TJ cried. “You’re hurting me!”

Acting or no acting, Chad had seen enough. There was something about the pain in TJ’s voice . . . and the fear in her eyes. Without stopping to think, he leaped at the pirate from his desk.

Unfortunately, his leaper was a little lame. (Having a cast on your foot tends to do that.) So instead of grabbing the pirate and freeing TJ, Chad sort of stumbled and fell into the man, causing

—the parrot to fly off, screeching

—the pirate to fall back, cursing

—Chad to fall on him,
ooaff!
-ing

—the pistol to hit the ground,
k-blewie
-ing

which caused

—the class to drop to the floor, screaming

—Miss Grumpaton to stand there, laughing

—TJ to keep on yelling

Chad and the pirate began wrestling on the floor