Science Fair (5 page)

“But,” said Toby, “I’m not—”

“Are you trying to get into trouble?” said The Armpit.

“No, sir,” said Toby.

“Yeah, Hardbonger,” said Jason. “Break it up.”

Toby sighed, turned, and headed down the hal , ignoring the laughter of the ME kids behind him. His thoughts were on the brief glimpse he’d gotten of Harmonee’s paper.

T
OBY FOUND MICAH AND TAMARA
at their regular morning spot, located down the halway about fifteen yards—or, in Hubble Middle status distance, 287 milion miles—from the ME kids.

“What’d you do to tick off The Armpit?” asked Micah, as Toby walked up.

“Wel , first I was walking past when he slipped on a piece of paper,” said Toby. “And then I didn’t break it up.”

“Break what up?” said Micah.

“I have no idea,” said Toby. “But get this. I think the piece of paper was an outline for Harmonee Prescott’s science fair project.”

“Real y?” said Tamara. “What was it?”

“I don’t real y know,” said Toby. “I only saw it for a second. But it was real y technical, with al kinds of numbers and stuff.”

“Harmonee?” said Tamara. “The lip gloss queen? Technical?”

“I know,” said Toby. “There’s no way she understands it. They’re up to something.” He told Tamara and Micah what he’d seen the previous evening during study hal —the ME kids walking past with envelopes, then returning without them, and his unsuccessful effort to investigate further, thwarted by Mr. P.

“Do you think Mr. P is helping them cheat?” said Micah.

“I dunno,” said Toby. “I didn’t see him holding any envelopes.”

“Those
cheaters
,” said Tamara, glaring at the ME kids. “I would so love to bust them. Or at least beat them, for once.”

“Yeah,” said Toby and Micah together.

“Did you see the paper-clip bal ?” said Micah.

“Yeah,” said Toby. “It looks cool, but it won’t win. You have to be more original than that.”

“Wel ,” said Tamara, “my project is
very
original.”

“You have an idea?” said Micah.

“Yup,” said Tamara.

“Does it involve stinging insects?” said Toby. Two years earlier Tamara’s project had been a cross-section of a beehive that Tamara believed had been abandoned by the bees.

Unfortunately, not al of the bees had been informed that they were supposed to have left. One of them stung a judge, who had an al ergic reaction and had to be rushed to the hospital.

Fortunately, he recovered, but as Tamara learned, even if your project does not actual y kil a judge, you are stil unlikely to win a prize for it.

“Ha-ha,” said Tamara. “Very funny.”

“So what is your project?” asked Micah.

“It’s cal ed, ‘Packaging: The Deadly Kil er in Your Home,’” said Tamara.

“Huh,” said Micah.

“Seriously,” said Tamara. “Think about it. You know how whenever you buy anything, it’s sealed up inside that thick, hard plastic, and there’s no way to open it, so you have to try to cut it with scissors or a knife, but it’s real y hard to cut, and it turns into these jagged pieces of plastic that are real y sharp, and you end up cutting yourself?” Micah and Toby both nodded.

“My aunt got my cousin a Barbie dol for Christmas,” continued Tamara, “and by the time she got it out of the package, she needed eight stitches in her hand. There was blood al over Barbie. She looked like
Texas Chainsaw Massacre
Barbie.”

“And this is a science-fair project…how?” said Toby.

“I haven’t figured it al out,” said Tamara. “But I’m gonna show how easy it is for package plastic to slice through human flesh.”

“Whose flesh are you going to use?” said Micah.

“Ha-ha, very funny,” said Tamara. “I’l use something to simulate flesh, like a canned ham.”

“A canned ham,” said Toby.

“Right,” said Tamara. “Or baloney.”

“Why don’t you use a Barbie dol ?” said Micah.

“That’s actual y not a bad idea,” said Tamara. “It would be more dramatic. In fact, I have this old Barbie at home that would be perfect. My mom got it at a yard sale. Rol erblade Barbie. She has these pink booties with wheels that shoot out sparks when you rol them. It’s real y stupid.”

“So,” said Toby, “your science-fair project is going to be to show that plastic can slice luncheon meat.”

“Or Rol erblade Barbie,” said Tamara.

Toby sighed and turned to Micah. “What about you?” he said. “Stil planning to levitate the frog?”

“Yup,” said Micah. “Fester is ready. He’s good to go. I just need a real y strong magnet.”

“Where’re you gonna get that?” said Toby.

“That place at the mal ,” said Micah.

“The Science Nook,” said Tamara. “With the weird guy.”

“He’s weird,” said Micah. “But everybody says he can get anything. You guys wanna go with me after school?”

“Sure,” said Tamara.

“I have detention,” said Toby. “But I can meet you there after.”

“Okay,” said Micah. “Hey, what’s your experiment gonna be?”

“I dunno yet,” said Toby. “I need to think of one.”

A real y good one, he thought. Good enough to win.

Toby hadn’t told Tamara or Micah—even though they were his closest friends—about the mess he was in. This was partly because he didn’t want them tel ing anybody else, but mostly it was because he was ashamed of himself. He wished he’d never taken the blaster, never sold it on eBay, never bought the computer. The only way out he could see was to somehow win the science fair and pay back the money to the Darth Vader guy.

That was the other thing on Toby’s mind, every minute: where were Darth and the Wookiee? He’d had trouble sleeping the night before, fearing another phone cal to his house, or worse, a knock on the door. But there had been nothing, and this morning Toby had seen no sign of the two creepy guys on his way to school.

Where were they?

Toby’s unhappy thoughts were interrupted by the bel . The crowded hal way began to empty as students headed for their homerooms. From the distance came the voice of The Armpit, tel ing people to break it up.

“So,” said Micah, as the three friends separated, “we’l go to the mal later and get my magnet?”

“Right,” said Tamara. “And I’l buy something packaged in plastic.”

“You’re real y gonna do that packaging thing?” said Toby.

“Absolutely,” said Tamara. “‘Packaging: The Deadly Kil er in Your Home.’ You don’t think that’s a winner?”

“I think,” said Toby, “you were better off with the bees.”

N
OTHING HAPPENED DURING
detention except for Coach Herman Furman yeling at nobody in particular to keep it down.

When detention final y ended, Toby slung his backpack over his shoulder and hurried down the near-empty hal way to the front door. He burst out into a spring afternoon of sunshine, humid air, and the
thunk
of aluminum bats from the bal field, where members of Hubble Middle’s basebal team—the Fighting Orbital Observatories, a.k.a the Foos—were practicing.

Toby started to cross the parking lot, the shortest route to the mal . He’d gone five steps when he saw an ancient yel ow AMC Gremlin—with two faces staring at him through the bug-stained windshield.

Darth and the Wookiee.

Toby froze for a moment, during which the Wookiee creaked open the passenger door and climbed out. For a big guy, he moved fast.

Toby turned and ran. A voice behind him shouted “Wait!” But Toby kept running, straight onto the basebal infield.

“Hey!” shouted a coach. “Off the field!”

“Sorry!” shouted Toby, not slowing down. He sprinted past the infielders into the outfield. He glanced back over his shoulder: the Wookiee, not daring to chase him onto the field and draw the attention of the coaches, had veered right and was running behind the bleachers alongside the first-base line. The detour slowed him down; Toby had gained some time. He crossed the outfield and, with effort, clambered over a six-foot wooden fence into a backyard. As he dropped down the other side, he glanced back and saw that the Wookiee was wel behind.

That was the good news.

The bad news was that the yard contained a dog. A very, very large dog, wide and hairy, like a cross between a rottweiler and the Goodyear blimp. It was coming toward Toby, making an unpleasant sound deep in its throat, its lips pul ed back to reveal two rows of drool-drenched daggers.

“Nice doggy,” said Toby, although this was not his actual opinion of the Goodyear rottweiler. He backed up until he was pressed against the fence. He felt something behind him.

The backpack.

He quickly peeled it off and dug down into it until he found the hummus-and-onion sandwich his mom had packed him for lunch. He had not eaten it; it smel ed like a dead l ama. He yanked it out and heaved it, stil wrapped in aluminum foil, toward the dog, who snatched it from the air with a terrifyingly loud
clack
of its teeth and gulped it down, foil and al .

With the dog momentarily distracted, Toby slung the backpack onto his shoulder and turned, intending to vault the fence. He got his hands on top of it and was about to hoist himself over when he heard a snarl and felt himself being yanked violently backward by the shoulder strap, which was attached to his backpack, which was in the mouth of the dog, which apparently desired another tasty helping of hummus, onion, and aluminum foil.

Toby wriggled out of the backpack and staggered to his feet. He got his hands on the top of the fence again and, with a desperate, fear-powered leap, hurled himself over it headfirst. At exactly that moment, three feet to Toby’s left, the Wookiee vaulted over the fence going the other way.

“Hey!” shouted the Wookiee. He reached out to grab Toby but missed, his momentum carrying him over the fence. As Toby tumbled to the ground, he heard the dog snarl and the Wookiee scream—a surprisingly high-pitched sound coming from a human that size. Toby scrambled to his feet and sprinted along the fence, going several more yards before he final y reached the street.

He turned and looked back. The Wookiee was scrambling back over the fence, using one arm to climb and the other to beat the dog with…

Toby’s backpack.

The Wookiee was over the fence now. Toby noted that his clothes were torn, and he was bleeding from his arms. This did not seem to have improved his mood. Seeing Toby, the Wookiee roared and began running, stil holding the backpack. Toby turned, crossed the street, and ran down a driveway and into another backyard. He vaulted a low picket fence, crossed the connecting yard, and hurried out into the next street.

He glanced back: the Wookiee was gaining.

Toby sprinted across the street and plunged into a muddy slosh, a tangle of brambles and wild shrubs littered with trash. Just beyond lay the railroad tracks. Toby slogged through the mud, thorns scratching his arms, his new white Discount Warehouse sneakers sinking into the stink. He found firmer ground as he reached the railroad embankment. Behind him, he heard the Wookiee crashing through the brambles and cursing. He’d found the thorns, too.

As he neared the top of the railroad embankment, Toby saw two things—one good and one bad. The good thing was, a freight train was coming. A long one. If he could get across the tracks, the train might block the Wookiee and enable Toby to get away. The bad thing was, sitting directly across the tracks was a police car with a policeman inside.

* * *

Unlike his fel ow officers, Lucius Broyle didn’t mind Choo Choo Patrol. The assignment was to apprehend students who took the shortcut across the railroad tracks. Young people had done this for many generations; in fact, Officer Broyle had crossed these same tracks at this very spot many times in his own youth. Nobody had ever been hurt, but in recent years, track-crossing—like rock-throwing, tree-climbing, whittling, spitting, unsupervised play, and countless other things young people once did routinely—had been deemed too dangerous, and the Choo Choo Patrol had been instituted. It appealed to Officer Broyle because it mostly consisted of doing nothing. This gave him time to work on his secret hobby: knitting. At the moment he was in the middle of a very tricky section of a sweater pattern he’d found on a knitting blog cal ed Needles on Fire.

Toby weighed his options. The policeman hadn’t seen him yet; he seemed to be occupied with something in his lap. To Toby’s right, the train was very close. Behind him, the Wookiee was charging through the bushes. In a few seconds he’d be on the embankment, and Toby would be caught.