Lunch Swap Disaster

by Bruce Coville

  “Let me go, McNally!” cried Pleskit. “Gorduck, the god of love, has pierced my clinkus with the flaming arrows of pure bliss. I have seen my future, and she is Linnsy!”

  “Pleskit!” snapped McNally. “Get ahold of yourself.”

  “You’d better go wait in the kitchen, Linnsy,” I said quietly.

  Eyes wide, Linnsy slipped out of the room. As soon as she was gone, Pleskit slumped down in the chair.

  “Hypothesis proven,” I said. “Pleskit cannot handle his peanut butter.”

  “That’s the worst allergic reaction I’ve seen since Aunt Louise accidentally ate the shrimp salad,” said Mom, her voice a little shaky. “I think I need some coffee. Would you like a cup, Mr. McNally?”

  “Love some. But I’d better wait till we’re sure Pleskit’s under control.”

  Pleskit groaned. “This is the most humiliating thing I have ever experienced. Please carry my apologies to Linnsy.”

  “It’s okay!” shouted Linnsy from the kitchen. “Just don’t get near me for the time being.”

  “I am a walking social catastrophe,” said Pleskit mournfully.

  “Nah, you’re just another victim of biology,” said McNally. “If we keep you away from peanut butter, you should be fine.”

  That, however, proved to be more easily said than done.

  CHAPTER 11 [PLESKIT]

  THINGS GET STICKIER

  “Pleskit Meenom, report to the office. I repeat: Pleskit Meenom, please report to the office.”

  “Zgribnick!” I muttered, as my sphen-gnut-ksher emitted the mid-range odor of distress.

  “Geez, Pleskit,” said Tim. “That smell reminds me of a piece of baloney I accidentally left under my bed for several months last year.”

  McNally stood to go with me.

  “Looks like your reputation has caught up with you, lover boy,” hooted Jordan.

  “Pack it in, Jordan!” snapped Ms. Weintraub. “Pleskit has already explained what happened yesterday.”

  * * *

  Mr. Grand sat behind his desk, looking very serious.

  I stood in front of him, feeling very nervous.

  McNally leaned against the back wall, showing no expression at all.

  “I have heard disturbing rumors about an event that occurred on the playground yesterday,” said Mr. Grand, steepling his fingertips in front of his face.

  “I can explain everything, sir,” I said.

  “Please do.”

  I did. When I was done, Mr. Grand shook his head and said sadly, “Really, Pleskit? I honestly expected better of you.”

  “But it’s true!” I cried.

  “Your behavior was bad enough,” Mr. Grand said, taking a sour ball out of the jar he always kept on his desk. “But trying to shift the blame in this silly fashion—peanut butter, for heaven’s sake!—is even worse. Better by far, my young interstellar traveler, to simply accept responsibility for your actions. That is more honorable, more manly. It is the Earthling way.”

  He bit down on the sour ball. “Now, I want a promise from you that this behavior will not be repeated. I will work very hard to keep word of it from leaking to the press—you know what kind of trouble we have when they get their noses into something like this. But you have to work with me here, Pleskit. You simply can’t go around exhibiting such outrageous behavior and expect to have no consequences.”

  “Am I going to be punished?” I asked uneasily.

  “Not this time. But if it should happen again—well, punishment aside, I fear we could end up in court! The world does not take such behavior lightly these days. Now, no more of this nonsense about peanut butter. Simply control yourself, and everything will be fine. If you feel an urge to spout poetry to one of the girls, take a deep breath, count to ten, and just say no. You can go now.”

  * * *

  That afternoon, the girls on the playground giggled and pointed when I walked by. So I was happy, if a bit surprised, when Linnsy came to stand with me.

  “Just figured that me standing with you might calm things down a bit,” she said.

  To my delight, it seemed to work. After a few minutes Misty Longacres and Rafaella Martinez wandered over to talk with me as well.

  “Girls have secret ways of communicating,” said Tim softly.

  “Really?” I asked. “Do they do it with smells?”

  “Beats me,” said Tim. “Maybe it’s just some kind of secret language. I only know that it happens and I don’t understand it.”

  * * *

  The next day Ms. Weintraub announced that the science fair would take place earlier than usual this year. “You’ll need to start thinking about your projects soon,” she said. “Here’s a list of possibilities.”

  “Pleskit can do something on peanut butter allergies,” said Jordan with a snicker.

  “Allergies are very serious business,” replied Larrabe Hicks, who was definitely the most serious boy in our class.

  “So is terminal dorkhood,” said Jordan.

  “What, exactly, is a science fair?” I asked.

  “It’s one of the most exciting events of the school year,” said Ms. Weintraub. “Each of you will choose a topic to research. You’ll do some experimenting, prepare a report, and even more important, figure out ways to demonstrate what you have learned. At the end, all of you bring your projects to the gym, and we all get to see what everyone has done.”

  “You could die from the thrills,” muttered Jordan.

  “I am sorry your metabolism is not sufficient to deal with the excitement,” I said. “From my point of view, it sounds like fun.”

  “We’ll pick our subjects next week and start serious work the week after that,” said Ms. Weintraub.

  * * *

  The next couple of days were quiet. Tim and I talked every night on the new comsystem, mostly discussing ways we could convince our parental units to allow a sleepover. Ms. Weintraub distributed a list of suggestions for science fair projects. Homework was assigned. Tests were taken. Spitballs were thrown.

  Then, on Friday afternoon, Brad Kent offered me a cookie.

  I was slightly startled by this, as Brad had never been particularly friendly toward me. However, it is a truth of diplomatic relations that the sharing of food is one of the prime ways of building personal connections on almost every planet. So, wary, but not wanting to offend, I accepted Brad’s offer.

  “Hmmm,” I said, sniffing. “A delectable aroma. Slightly familiar, and…” I closed my eyes and took a deeper breath. “Ah, yes. Irresistible!”

  CHAPTER 12 [TIM]

  ALIEN ROMEO

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Brad handing Pleskit the cookie. I was talking with Linnsy when it happened, and at first it didn’t register as anything suspicious. But even as we continued to talk, my brain began asking questions—questions such as:

  Why is Jordan’s official flunky and chief butt-kisser offering Pleskit a cookie?

  Can this possibly be a good thing?

  If not, why not?

  And then came the key question: What kind of cookies has Brad Kent brought to school at least once a week every year since first grade?

  The answers came rushing together in a moment of terror. “Pleskit!” I cried. “Don’t eat that cookie!”

  It was too late. Even as I cried out for him to stop and McNally lunged forward to grab it from him, Pleskit had taken a bite.

  Another dose of peanut butter had just entered my alien friend’s bloodstream.

  “What’s the matter?” cried Pleskit, his sphen-gnut-ksher emitting an odor unlike anything I had ever smelled before.

  “Peanut butter!” I cried. “Pleskit, that’s a peanut butter cookie!”

  Pleskit’s eyes widened. The odor from his sphen-gnut-ksher changed to the now familiar burning-hair smell that indicated panic. He held the remainder of the cookie away from him, staring at it in horror.

  McNally snatched it from Pleskit’s hand, sniffed it, took a bite. “That’s peanut but
ter, all right,” he said grimly.

  “Gosh, Pleskit, I’m sorry,” said Brad, and I could tell he was trying to control the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t even think about that.”

  I glanced to my side. Jordan was leaning against the building, holding his sides and squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to contain his laughter.

  “You okay, Pleskit?” asked McNally.

  Pleskit placed his hands on his stomach and closed his eyes. “I think I will be all right, O Guardian of My Well-Being. I took only one bite, and now that we know what to anticipate, I hope/expect I will be able to control my reaction. Even so, perhaps we should go inside for now.”

  “Good idea,” said McNally.

  As they left the playground, I stalked over to Jordan and said angrily, “That was a rotten thing to do!”

  “What?” cried Jordan, spreading his hands. “What did I do?” His eyes were wide with fake innocence, and he could barely get the words past his ongoing attempts to control his laughter.

  “You know what I mean,” I snapped. “You told Brad to give Pleskit that cookie!”

  “Why, Tim, I wouldn’t do a thing like that to your little purple pal. Besides, it’s not like I control Brad or anything. Anyway, that peanut butter stuff is just an excuse Pleskit was using to get out of trouble. My father says its total baloney.”

  “It is not!” I said fiercely.

  Jordan yawned in my face.

  “It’s jerks like you who give Earthlings a bad name!” I yelled.

  I turned to stalk away. Jordan deftly stuck out one foot, tripped me, and sent me sprawling facedown in the dirt of the playground.

  “It’s people like you who give clumsiness a bad name,” he said mockingly.

  “Maybe you should join Dweebs Anonymous,” hooted Brad, who had slid over to stand beside Jordan.

  Laughing uproariously, the two of them walked away.

  CHAPTER 13 [PLESKIT]

  ME AND MY BIG MOUTH

  When the class came back from recess, I was sprawled on top of my desk, leaning on one arm. “Why, Ms. Weintraub,” I said. “You’re looking sweeter than a skibwee today.”

  A faint, flowery smell drifted from my sphen-gnut-ksher.

  Ms. Weintraub blinked in surprise, then said firmly, “Pleskit, take your seat!”

  I sighed but did as she asked. I rested my chin on my hands and stared at my teacher longingly—until Misty Longacres walked past, at which point I turned and said, “Misty. Ah, Misty. A name like a poem. Was yours the face that stilled all hearts at Kilgaddurr? Are those the hands that wove the sheelkirk’s robe?”

  “What’s with that alien trash talk?” snapped Misty.

  “Don’t mind me,” I murmured. “It’s part of an old poem from Hevi-Hevi.”

  As I thought about that poem, and the dramatic gesture that its hero, Morcandus, makes in honor of his love, I felt a sudden eruption of joy in my smorgle. Suddenly I knew that I, too, had to make a grand gesture. Without a word I leaped from my desk and raced to the main office. I vaguely wondered where McNally was, but since he was not there to stop me, I didn’t truly care.

  Mr. Grand’s secretary was not at her desk. The door to Mr. Grand’s office was closed. I was alone. Perfect!

  I crossed to the control board for the school’s public address system. It should have been easy to use, but the technology was so primitive that it took me a few moments to figure out how to work it. Once I got it, I was surprised at how simple it was. I flipped a switch, then picked up the microphone.

  “Attention, students,” I said. “This is your alien friend, Pleskit Meenom, and I wish to tell you of the great joy that fills my heart in being a part of this school. Truly, it is a wonderful thing to be here with you, even with Jordan Lynch, who has tried to sabotage my time here. I am too filled with love and gratitude to let his treachery bother me now.

  “Now I must speak of the even greater joy that fills me when I consider the honor and delight of being in the class of Ms. Weintraub, who is possibly the most beautiful teacher in the known universe. She walks in clouds of glory, and has the heart of a yabinoff! And that is not to mention the other great beauties in my classroom, such as Mist—”

  That was the moment when McNally burst in and snatched the microphone from my hands.

  “What are you doing?” I wailed. “I need to share my love and joy with the entire school!”

  “What are you doing?” he growled. “Trying to get me fired? I turn away for a few minutes to try to scare some sense into that Jordan punk, and you do this to me?”

  I was startled by the fear in his voice, and knew at once that I had done something terribly wrong. That knowledge snapped me out of the peanut butter trance and back to reality.

  “Oh, McNally,” I said. “I fear I have created another incident.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “No kidding. Come on, we’re getting out of here!”

  * * *

  When we got back to the embassy, I hurried to my room and locked myself in. Though I knew Tim would not be home yet himself, I fired up the communicator to send him a message.

  “Tim,” I said, my face and my odors serious. “Please call me as soon as you can. If you can come to the embassy, that would be even better.”

  I burped twice, made a few knuckle cracks, and then signed off.

  * * *

  I was waiting for Tim when the entry capsule opened. The Veeblax was with me, riding on my shoulder.

  “I can see he’s been practicing,” said Tim.

  I glanced to the right and saw that the Veeblax now looked exactly like my head… which made me appear to be a two-headed creature.

  “Soooo, how do things stand?” Tim asked. “Did your Fatherly One find out about school today?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “Though I am sure he will before long.”

  “It wasn’t really your fault,” said Tim. “Brad gave you that cookie on purpose. And I’m positive Jordan was the one who set him up to do it.”

  “I figured as much,” I said. My face got serious, and the Veeblax imitated my expression. “I called because I want you to help me talk to the Fatherly One about all this.”

  “Geez, Pleskit. Your Fatherly One is like this interplanetary big deal. He’s not gonna listen to a kid like me. Besides, he’s kind of scary.”

  “How do you think I feel about him?” I asked. “But it is a well-known phenomenon that parental units will accept information from their childling’s friends that they will not accept from the childling itself. Please?”

  Tim sighed. “He won’t vaporize me if he gets mad, will he?”

  I shook my head, and the Veeblax copied the gesture. “That would be against the Interplanetary Code of Conduct. Actually, if he does not like the idea that I asked you to speak on my behalf, the one most likely to suffer is me.”

  “Well, I don’t want to get you in trouble either,” said Tim.

  “I am in trouble already. Come on, let’s go to the Fatherly One’s office to wait for him.”

  * * *

  When we reached the office of my parental unit, we were surprised to find no sign of anyone. Not only was the Fatherly One not there, but Ms. Buttsman, Barvgis, and Beezle Whompis were all missing as well.

  “They must be having a staff meeting,” I said. “We’ll go in and wait for him to come back.”

  “He might not like that,” said Tim uneasily. “Remember the last time we went into his office?”

  “Well, yes. But that time we were borrowing his Molecule Compactor, which turned out to be a very bad idea. This time we’re just going to wait for him. We won’t touch anything.”

  Tim sighed and followed me into the office. The Fatherly One’s command pod floated halfway between the floor and the ceiling. It was empty, and I could tell that Tim was longing to touch it.

  “Zgribnick!” I said suddenly. “I just remembered: the Fatherly One does not like me to bring the Veeblax in here. I’d better take him to my room
.”

  “Wait!” cried Tim.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, turning and walking backward as I spoke. “I need you to stay in case the Fatherly One comes. If he has not already heard about today’s events, I want us to be the first to tell him.” I turned again and hurried down the corridor.

  * * *

  As I was heading back to the Fatherly One’s office to rejoin Tim, I was stopped in the hallway by Ms. Buttsman. “I don’t think you should disturb your Fatherly One right now,” she said. “He has just received some unexpected visitors.”

  “But I need to speak to him!”

  “It will have to wait. The visitors are from the Interplanetary Trading Federation. Meenom gave strict orders that he is not to be interrupted.”

  “Off-worlders?” I cried.

  “They arrived unexpectedly. They appeared to have very serious business.”

  I stared down the hall, wondering what would happen when my Fatherly One and the off-world visitors discovered an Earth boy in his office.

  CHAPTER 14 [TIM]

  THE ACCIDENTAL SPY

  I looked around Meenom’s office. It was filled with fascinating objects.

  “I won’t touch anything,” I muttered to myself. “I won’t touch anything. I won’t touch anything. I won’t touch anything.”

  I repeated the command ten times before I broke down and picked up a strange-looking sphere that kept changing color. As soon as I touched it, a smell like swamp water surrounded me. Yikes! I thought, and quickly moved to set the thing back on the counter. Since I am a klutz, I dropped it instead. I watched in horror as it rolled under the counter. I made a quick dive to the floor and began frantically looking for the little thing.

  Before I could spot it, I heard voices from the outer offices.

  Swinging around on my knees, I saw Meenom standing near the door. He was talking to someone, but I couldn’t see who. Waving his hand, Meenom gestured for them to follow him into the inner sanctum.