New Kid Catastrophes: 1 (TJ and the Time Stumblers) (8 page)

“I believe that’s a no!” Tuna cried.

“What do we do?” Herby shouted.

“The bathroom! Down the hall!”

Herby nodded and raced out the door.

“But not the sink!” Tuna shouted. “He’ll jump out of the sink.”

“Then where?” Herby called over his shoulder.

“The toilet bowl!”

“Right!” Herby yelled. “Good thinking!”

“Of course it is!” Tuna agreed. “That’s what I do best!”

But apparently TJ didn’t agree. Which explains her response:

Blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink-blink . . .

A minute later, Herby was back.

“Is everything secure?” Tuna asked.

“Cool.” Herby nodded. “Chad is swimming his little heart out.”

“Excellent.” Tuna turned to TJ, who was busy flashing her little bulb out.

“What’s with her?” Herby asked.

“Perhaps she is experiencing some sort of electrical malfunction.”

Of course, if they would have bothered to ask TJ what she was saying (and given her a mouth to say it), they might have heard something like:

“YOU PUT CHAD STEEEEL IN OUR TOILET?! ARE YOU NUTS?! DON’T YOU KNOW THAT WITH THREE GIRLS AND ONE BATHROOM, HE’LL BE FLUSHED AWAY IN 1.2 MINUTES!”

But they didn’t know because they didn’t ask. And they didn’t ask because, as TJ had already figured out, neither one of them was the brightest crayon in the box. Actually, as far as she could tell, they didn’t even know what a crayon was.

“Perhaps instead of explaining why we are here,” Tuna said, “we should show her.”

“Groovy,” Herby said as he reached for the Swiss Army Knife.

“Actually—” Tuna cleared his throat—“do you mind if I do the honors?”

“You don’t trust me?” Herby asked.

“Should I?”

Herby paused to think, then nodded. “Good point.” He tossed the knife to Tuna, who opened another blade.

TJ closed her eyes, fearing the worst.

But this time there were no bug translations and no morphing. Instead, everything was perfectly normal. Well, except for the part where they were

 . . . transported to Washington DC

 . . . watching a future president being sworn in

 . . . who just happened to be a woman

 . . . who just happened to look like an older version of TJ.

Other than that, everything was perfectly normal. (Although being the only flashing lamp in the crowd accompanied by two boys in time-travel suits did raise an eyebrow or two.)

“What you are witnessing,” Tuna said, “is a holographic image of the future. It is being projected into your room.”

TJ could only stare with amazement.

“Pretty outloopish, huh,” Herby said proudly. “And see that lady-type up there being sworn in? She just happens to be you in forty-two years.”

TJ blinked in disbelief.

“He is correct,” Tuna said. “You, Thelma Jean Finkelstein, will become one of the greatest leaders in history. You will single-handedly eliminate world hunger, wipe out major diseases, end poverty, and—”

“Bring back the hula hoop,” Herby added.

Tuna gave him a look, then grudgingly admitted, “And bring back the hula hoop.”

“That’s why we were so stoked on choosing you for our history project,” Herby said. “That and your great babe-ness.”

(This time he moved his foot so Tuna missed it when he tried to stomp it.)

Gathering himself together, Tuna continued. “We wished to discover how you acquired the character qualities to become such an outstanding leader.”

Herby nodded toward Tuna. “Unfortunately, Mr. Brainiac here forgot to gas up our time-travel pod, so we’re, like, totally stuck here till we can score some fuel.”

Blink

“Yeah, I know; bummer.”

“However, there is one other problem,” Tuna said.

“Oh yeah,” Herby sighed. “No offense, little Dude-ness, but right now you got like zero of those character qualities.”

Blink-blink?

“You know, all the cool stuff—like honesty, thoughtfulness, self-sacrifice, respect for others—they’re, like, totally zworked.”

TJ blinked in protest.

“No, it is quite true,” Tuna said. “Simply consider the way you’re treating Naomi.”

“And that Doug dude,” Herby added.

TJ frowned—or at least she tried to.

Tuna explained, “The young lady with the AV skills and the self-image problem . . . and the young man in science class with all the allergies?”

TJ sighed. (Well, if she could have sighed, she would have sighed.) It was true; she’d barely given either of them the time of day.

Tuna continued, “And according to our history holographs, one of your greatest traits will be your ability to look past the superficial and see what a person is really like on the inside.”

“But right now, you’re, like, totally ignoring the little dudes and dudettes, while going gam-gam over the Chad Steels of the world.”

Well, of course
, TJ thought.
Because Chad Steel is so . . . so . . . IN TROUBLE, SWIMMING INSIDE OUR TOILET BOWL!
Once again she started blinking furiously.

“What’s she saying now?” Tuna asked.

As if to answer his question, Dorie’s little voice screamed from the bathroom:

“EWWWWW!”

Tuna and Herby traded looks of alarm.

TJ blinked faster.

“THERE’S A GOLDFISH IN THE TOILET!”

That was the one thing none of them wanted to hear.

Actually, there was one other thing that was slightly worse. The sound of a toilet being

flushed.

CHAPTER FIVE

Outloopish to the Max

TIME TRAVEL LOG:

Malibu, California, October 10—supplemental of supplemental

Begin Transmission:

Thanks to incredible reflexes, neighbor boy is saved. But instead of praise, subject appears majorly unthrilled. Despite efforts to dazzle her with good looks, charm, and incredible intelligence, she remains unimpressed. 21st century girls. Go figure
.

End Transmission

Chad rolled over in bed and looked at his radio alarm.

It read 11:48 p.m.

He shook his head. What a dream. Crazy aliens . . . blinking floor lamps . . . and a few thousand laps around a toilet bowl. Talk about a nightmare.

Of course he’d be more convinced it was only a nightmare if he wasn’t still wearing his clothes and shoes.

He’d be even more convinced if they weren’t dripping wet.

And he’d be 100 percent convinced if he didn’t have what tasted like

fish food flakes stuck to the roof of his mouth and between his teeth.

He quickly threw off his covers and

to the bathroom, where he poured one glass of water to rinse his mouth

and a second glass to

breathe.

(Old habits die hard.)

Anyway, when he realized he no longer had gills, he

back to his room and got into some dry pajamas.

Only then, as he lay in his bed, did he notice that his cell phone was still open on his desk. He didn’t exactly see it. More like he