AAAARGH!!! (7 page)

it
was
Herby!

She spun around to the two boys and shouted, “What am I doing marrying Herby?!”

Tuna looked up from his knife and glared at his partner. “Herby?”

“HERBY?!” she shrieked.

“Sorry.” He shrugged. “I was just falooping around and programmed it into the knife for fun.”

TJ let out a huge sigh of relief. “So this really isn’t my future?”

Tuna shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

Herby added, “But if you wanted it to be—”

“Sorry, Herby,” she interrupted. “No sale.”

Once again, Herby seemed to deflate. “Sure, I get it. That’s how you feel . . . at least for now.”

“At least forever,” she said.

Tuna reopened the blade and

the three of them stood in a rich, expensive office watching a middle-aged TJ madly typing something from a book.

“What’s this?” TJ asked as they approached her older image at the desk.

Tuna explained, “Your high grades in college brought you lots of money to write books. But because you were never any good, you had to steal from other authors.”

“You mean I was cheating again?” TJ said.

Herby nodded. “You had to.”

TJ scowled, then looked around at the fancy office. “But . . . I was successful, right?”

“That depends on how you define success.” Tuna shut the knife, reopened it, and

they were back to the room of starving and screaming babies.

Tuna continued his explanation. “Because you became an author, someone other than you became president.”

Slowly TJ put the pieces together. “So I wasn’t there to stop world hunger.”

“Precisely.”

“And all of this will happen just because I cheated one time?” she asked.

Tuna answered, “Every action builds upon every other action.”

Herby added, “Little wrongs create major quod-quods.”

“But—” TJ turned to the boys, frowning—“it was your idea. You were the ones who told me to cheat.”

Tuna looked to the ground. “And we were wrong.”

“Majorly wrong,” Herby agreed.

“More than majorly wrong; outloopishly wrong.”

“Majorly, outloopishly—”

“Majorly,
majorly
, outloopishly—”

“All right, I get it.” TJ raised her hand. “You were wrong.”

The boys nodded. “Right!”

TJ sighed and looked around the room. “So there’s nothing I can do to change this?”

Tuna and Herby traded glances.

As the babies continued to cry, TJ felt herself growing sick to her stomach. This really was her fault. “There’s nothing I can do to fix this?” she repeated hoarsely.

Finally Herby answered. “Yes, there is.”

She looked at him, waiting for more.

Tuna explained, “You must tell Miss Grumpaton that you cheated.”

If she felt sick before, she felt like calling an ambulance now. Tell Miss Grumpaton what she’d done? Forget the ambulance—call the local undertaker.

Suddenly her cell phone rang. She pulled it from her pocket and answered, “Hello?”

“TJ?” It was little Dorie. “Where are you?”

“I’m at home. Where are you?” TJ asked.

“At school. You were supposed to pick me up, remember?”

TJ frowned.

“We were going to the beach? You were taking me swimming.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” She glanced at her watch, surprised at how much time had passed. “Hang on, Squid. I’ll be right there.” She closed her cell and turned to the guys. “I’d love to stick around, but I have to do something.”

Herby motioned to the crying babies. “What about them?”

TJ looked around the room. “I feel terrible. And I think I know what you’re saying, but . . .”

“But what?” Tuna asked.

“There’s
no way
I can go to Miss Grumpaton.”

Disappointment filled the boys’ faces.

“Come on,” she said. “You guys are smart. You’ll figure out some other way to fix this.”

They both stared at her.

“It was just one time,” she argued. “Lots of kids cheat.”

They continued to stare.

She blew her breath out and sighed. “I’m sorry, but I gotta go. She’s waiting.” And then, a little softer, she repeated, “I am sorry.”

Sadly, without a word, Tuna reopened the blade and

the Starving Room was gone.

But even as she started toward her dresser to grab her bathing suit, TJ couldn’t get the sound of the crying babies out of her head. She pretended not to be worried, but she was. Big-time. And the worrying that worried her worrier now was nothing compared to the worries that would soon worry her worrier even as she pretended not to worry.

TRANSLATION:
. . . (Never mind; you’ll figure it out.)

TIME TRAVEL LOG:

Malibu, California, October 20—supplemental

Begin Transmission:

Uh-oh
. . .

End Transmission

Elizabeth fought to walk at Hesper’s side as they wheeled her best friend since forever toward the ambulance.

“Look out; coming through!” the driver shouted.

“Please, folks, step aside!” his partner yelled.

It was another emergency. The type Hesper Breakahart lived for. The type that always got her headlines from all the Hollywood gossip shows and magazines:

Teen Idol Rushed to Hospital!

TV Celeb Fights for Life!!

Star Barely Survives Milk-Carton Attack!!!

Of course it took half a dozen phone calls to make sure the TV crews and magazines would be there. And an extra hour for Hesper’s hairstylist to wash and condition her hair, not to mention the makeup people who needed to pluck out that stray eyebrow
(gasp)
and putty over that one slightly-larger-than-average pore
(double gasp)
on her skin.

Once those vital necessities were taken care of, they allowed the attendants to wheel her outside, where the cameras flashed and the reporters shouted:

“Miss Breakahart, how are you feeling?”

“Miss Breakahart, are you suing the milk company?”

“Miss Breakahart, will you ever walk again?”

Hesper smiled bravely through her pain while making sure the cameras got her best side. (As if she had a bad side. I mean, come on, we are talking Hesper Breakahart.) Elizabeth and the rest of Hesper’s posse pushed and shoved everyone, making sure they were photographed right alongside their best friend since forever.

But Elizabeth had more reasons than just wanting to be in the magazines.

—Only Elizabeth had noticed the new kid completely disappearing right after the attack of the milk carton.

—Only Elizabeth had seen the boy with the funny clothes crammed into the new kid’s locker.

—Only Elizabeth realized the new kid was a witch or an intergalactic alien or both.

So, moving in nice and close, she leaned into Hesper’s ear and whispered, “I’ve got it all figured out.”

Hesper looked at her.

“How we can get even with the new kid,” Elizabeth explained. “Tell your secretary I’ll call the girl about doing your paper . . . and all your other schoolwork.”

Hesper nodded.

“And tell your TV producer I’ll need to borrow three or four cameras.”

“You have a plan?” Hesper whispered as she smiled and gave a brave thumbs-up to one of the reporters.

“Oh yeah.” Elizabeth smiled back. “I’m going to videotape her in the very act of doing her weird stuff.”

“That’s great,” Hesper whispered. “But listen, um, uh, whatever your name is . . .”

Elizabeth smiled and leaned closer as a hundred cameras photographed their faces side by side. “Yes?”

More brave smiles and thumbs-up as Hesper hissed, “Quit hogging my photographs or I’ll get off this gurney and kick your butt.”

“Got it,” Elizabeth said, still smiling and stepping back. “No problem.”

And it wasn’t a problem. Because as they loaded Hesper into the ambulance, Elizabeth knew that within 24 hours, not only would she expose the new kid for who (or what) she was, but the great Hesper Breakahart would finally remember her name.

Chad wasn’t crazy about helping Doug Claudlooper with his invention again. It made no difference that Doug had completely reworked it and even given it a brand-new name:

The Friction-Reduction-Through-Vertical-Amplification Surfboard

(Okay, so it still needed work.)

The point is, the kid inventor really had his heart set on helping Chad win the surfing competition. And since Chad was such a nice guy, and since Doug never stopped begging (or
sniff-sniff-
ing
—
honestly, had the kid ever heard of allergy medicine?), Chad finally agreed. Only this time it would be in Doug’s garage. Doug’s garage, where it was nice and safe. Doug’s garage, where there would be no water to drown in or space shuttles to crash into.

Naomi Simpletwirp was there too. And if you couldn’t tell by her high, nasal voice, you could tell by the

of her breath mints. Naomi always chewed breath mints . . . when she wasn’t sucking on breath strips, taking shots of breath spray, or guzzling mouthwash. I guess you could say she had a fear of bad breath. While most kids carry cell phones in their pockets, Naomi carried a tube of toothpaste and a toothbrush (with a spare one in her backpack in case of emergencies).

She had joined them in Doug’s garage for one simple reason: Doug was a science whiz and Naomi was an AV whiz, which of course could only mean one thing—love at first

sight.

The two were definitely at the bottom of Malibu Junior High’s food chain—or as Hesper liked to call them, “bottom-feeders.” But it never really bothered them, because as computer geniuses, they knew they’d eventually rule the world. And it didn’t bother Chad, either. The truth was he cared less and less about what Hesper thought these days. Oh, they were still boyfriend/girlfriend, but for some reason, he was thinking more and more about the new kid who had moved in next door.

“Is she okay?” he asked Doug and Naomi as they placed the surfboard in a giant tub of water.

“You mean TJ?” Naomi asked.

“Yeah,” Chad said. “It seems like whenever I’m around her, she gets all quiet and stuff.”

Naomi turned to him. “You don’t know why she gets that way?”

Chad shook his head. “Does she have a learning disability?”

Naomi stared at him.

“I noticed it too,” Doug said as he picked up the surfboard’s remote control. “It’s like she only gets that way with you.”

“Yeah,” Chad said, frowning. “Did I do something to make her mad?”

Naomi looked at them both. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Chad stared at her.

Doug stared at her.

“Neither of you can figure out why she acts so weird around Chad?”

Chad blinked.

Doug blinked (and
sniff-
ed).

Naomi shook her head. “Boys,” she muttered. “Talk about clueless.” Before she could explain, the surfboard in the tub

Chad looked toward it. “What’s that mean?”

“It means we’re ready,” Doug said.

Chad nodded. “And what exactly does
this
surfboard do?”

Naomi explained, “It creates its own sheet of water underneath.”

Doug continued. “So instead of air shooting out, it shoots a jet stream of water, once again reducing friction and
(sniff-sniff)
allowing you to do more maneuvers.”

Chad frowned. “I don’t know, guys. . . .”

“Don’t know what?” Doug said, glancing at his remote control.

“It still feels like cheating.”