I Shrank My Teacher

by Bruce Coville

  “So what are we going to do?” I asked.

  “We’re going to go on just as if this had never happened. The class will be told that you and I had to step away for a while, Tim—which is pretty close to the truth.”

  “But who’s going to take over the class?” asked McNally.

  “You are,” growled Ms. Weintraub, and even though her voice was tiny, it was clear that she meant business.

  McNally groaned, and from the look on his face I realized that though he might be brave in battle and have nerves of steel, the idea of facing a classroom full of sixth graders had him downright terrified.

  CHAPTER 15 [PLESKIT]

  CHAOS IN THE CLASSROOM

  We decided to station Tim and Ms. Weintraub in the top left drawer of Ms. Weintraub’s desk. That way McNally could sit at the desk and, by leaning over, get advice from Ms. Weintraub on how to handle things.

  If I had not been so upset, I would have laughed out loud at the look on my bodyguard’s face when he tried to pick up the diminutive duo. I had not had a chance to explain the fact that they were still at their full weight. So when he wrapped one hand around Tim and the other around Ms. Weintraub, it was clear he was expecting them to weigh a few ounces each.

  “Wait!” I cried.

  He didn’t wait. But when he tried to stand up it was as if his arms had been anchored to the floor.

  “What the heck?” he growled.

  “I tried to tell you—it is only their size that has been reduced. They have retained their original weight.”

  McNally made a face of disbelief, and tried again. After a bit of a struggle, he succeeded in lifting Ms. Weintraub.

  “How much do you weigh, anyway?” he gasped.

  Even I knew this was not a question you should ask a female Earthling.

  “None of your business,” Ms. Weintraub snapped. “Just get me in the desk like we planned. If you don’t head outside soon to take my place, they’re going to send someone in to find out what’s keeping me.”

  McNally put Tim in the drawer, too. “Do not worry,” I said peering in at the two tiny people. “You will be back to normal in just a few hours.”

  “It’s those few hours that I’m worried about,” muttered Ms. Weintraub.

  Tim said nothing, but he looked miserable. I did not blame him. I had to go outside with McNally, of course; for him to leave the room without me would have been a major violation of his duty. But this meant Tim was going to be left alone with Ms. Weintraub.

  I was sure she had plenty to say to him.

  And I was glad I wasn’t going to be around to hear it.

  * * *

  The playground wasn’t too bad, because there were two other teachers on duty, so McNally did not really have to handle things. But when we got back to the classroom it soon became clear that my bodyguard was not born to be a teacher.

  The kids, sensing this, were like gnucks who have scented blood. You could tell a feeding frenzy was building.

  It was not that McNally could not have handled any one, or even two or three of them, individually. But they sensed that he couldn’t handle the group. Even worse, they sensed that he did not want to go for outside help. So it was McNally against the rest of them, and they knew it.

  Jordan got things started, which should be no surprise. When McNally announced that he was going to be handling the class until Ms. Weintraub returned, Jordan said, “Are you a certified teacher?”

  “I’m a certified butt-whupper,” said McNally. “That ought to do for now.”

  From where I was sitting, I could hear a faint sound from the desk. I’m pretty sure it was Ms. Weintraub, trying to get McNally’s attention.

  Whatever the reason, he leaned toward the drawer.

  When he sat up again, he said, “All right, it’s time for the math test.”

  A chorus of groans filled the room. But this was a good move on Ms. Weintraub’s part. McNally didn’t actually have to teach to do this—just hand out the test and keep the class in line. Other than an astonishing number of pencil drops, and an occasional epidemic of coughing, it seemed to go fairly well.

  Unfortunately, the test was not something he could make us do all afternoon. After about forty minutes even the slowest of the kids was done, and the class was getting restless.

  So we had to move on to science.

  The current unit had to do with simple tools. (Really simple, as far as I was concerned, since I had learned this stuff shortly after leaving the egg.)

  The lesson for the day was on levers. We were supposed to make our levers with rulers, which most of us already had of course, and a small block from the science kit that went underneath the ruler to use as a fulcrum.

  Chris Mellblom and Misty Longacres passed out the fulcrums. They hadn’t even finished when Jordan placed his ruler atop the fulcrum, put an eraser shaped like a hamburger on the lower end, then smashed his fist against the raised end. “Bombs away!” he cried.

  The eraser sailed across the room, smacking Michael Wu in the head.

  Michael sent it flying back toward Jordan.

  Within moments the air was thick with unidentified flying objects.

  I looked to see what McNally was going to do about the situation. His head was bent close to the desk drawer, and I could tell he was desperately trying to get advice from Ms. Weintraub on how to regain control of the class. But just as he stood up, there was a knock at the door.

  Before anyone could answer, it swung open.

  I heard a final clatter as the erasers, small pencil sharpeners, blobs of chewed-up paper, and other items that had been flying about the room made their final landing. Everyone, including me, immediately tried to look innocent.

  I suspect I did not succeed. Though I had not been participating in the catapult game, I still had plenty to feel guilty about.

  Especially when I saw who was standing at the door.

  CHAPTER 16 [TIM]

  THE BOTTOM DROPS OUT

  Being stuck in a desk drawer with a teacher that you have just shrunk is not a pleasant thing. Ms. Weintraub may be nice, and very pretty, but she is no softie.

  “Sit down, Tim,” she said when McNally first deposited us there. Her voice was hard and cold.

  I sat on the edge of a pack of flash cards.

  She began pacing back and forth in front of me (something she could do only because her drawer was a lot neater than any of mine have ever been) muttering angrily to herself. I had never seen her so upset. Finally she stopped and said, “What in heaven’s name were you two thinking of to come up with a plan like this?”

  “Desperate times require desperate measures,” I said glumly, repeating a quote she had taught us in social studies.

  “What desperate times?”

  “The times of living with Jordan.”

  She sighed. “Look, Tim—I know Jordan bothers you. Frankly, he bothers me. But that’s no excuse for this kind of stunt.”

  I hung my head. Then I started to cry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to. It just came out. “You don’t know what it’s like,” I sobbed.

  Ms. Weintraub looked at me in astonishment.

  “No,” she whispered after a long time. “No, I don’t.”

  Neither of us said anything for a while. She had one of those small packets of tissues in her drawer. She tore a corner off one and handed it to me. I wiped my face. Tears and snot. How charming.

  Ms. Weintraub started to say something, stopped, started again. But before she could get out more than a few words we heard the class coming back in. She put a finger to her lips. I nodded.

  * * *

  Listening to McNally try to handle the class would have been pretty hilarious, if things weren’t so tense.

  Then, just when things were really getting out of control, we heard the room fall totally silent.

  “What’s going on?” asked Ms. Weintraub, whispering despite the fact that her voice was already so tiny.

  “I don’t know,” I s
aid. “I’ll see if I can find out.”

  I tried to grab the edge of the desk drawer so I could haul myself up to look, but it was a half inch or so higher than I could reach. I figured with one good jump I might be able to snag it.

  I had underestimated myself. Since my muscles had lost nothing except the emptiness that fills most molecules, they were exactly as strong as they had ever been. Fortunately, my weight was also exactly the same as it had been before I shrank—otherwise, that jump might have sent me straight through the ceiling! As it was, I jumped exactly as high as I would have when I was full size—in other words, somewhere between eight and ten inches straight up. (That’s without a running start, of course; just a straight jump.) But since I was only two inches high, an eight-inch jump sent me to four times my height!

  What made it even worse was that since I had started from the desk drawer, at the peak of my jump I was about three feet above the floor. For a person who is about five feet (like I usually am), this would be like suddenly finding yourself ninety feet in the air—ninety feet up, and coming down fast.

  Before I landed, I had a chance to see who had come into the room. Then I understood the gasp from the classroom.

  Standing at the door were three people.

  The first was a short man who looked vaguely familiar.

  The second was the school principal, Mr. Grand.

  The third was the dreaded Ms. Buttsman.

  They did not look happy.

  I saw all this in the briefest flash. Then I dropped back into the desk drawer.

  The thing was, when I hit the bottom of the drawer, it was with the full force of my hundred and seven pounds.

  Desk drawers are not constructed to survive having a two-inch object that weighs over a hundred pounds dropped into them. So when I hit the bottom of the drawer, I crashed right through it and kept on going.

  And where was it I went?

  Straight into the trash can that McNally had left underneath the drawer.

  Ms. Weintraub came with me, of course, since I had pretty much ripped the bottom out of the drawer.

  We plunged through layers of paper and trash, which helped cushion our fall and soften the noise of our landing. The other thing that saved us from disaster was that our bones and muscles, squeezed down to such a small size, were super dense and super strong.

  Even so, the impact stunned us. After all, we hit with the full force of our regular weight. I can remember gazing around groggily at the crumpled papers that loomed over me like huge white boulders. My left foot was embedded in a wad of gum. A nearby apple core, a head taller than me, nearly overwhelmed me with its sweet smell.

  “Help!” I called. “Help, someone!”

  Despite the strength of my lungs, my vocal cords were tiny, and I couldn’t get much volume.

  And the layers of paper above me, blocking out my view of the classroom, further muffled my voice.

  Which was just as well, as it turned out. I was still squeaking for help when Ms. Weintraub put her hand on my shoulder and hissed, “Shhh! Listen!”

  CHAPTER 17 [PLESKIT]

  MR. TOMMAKKIO

  When I saw Ms. Buttsman walk through the door of our classroom, I thought I was going to go into kleptra. What was she doing here? And what report would she make to the Fatherly One when she discovered what had been going on?

  Even in my terror, I was distracted by a sound from Ms. Weintraub’s desk. Because I was so aware of Tim and Ms. Weintraub being in the drawer, I turned in that direction at once. I heard another sound, a slight metallic thunk, as if McNally had accidentally kicked the trash can. But I saw nothing. So I turned my attention back to the door.

  Mr. Grand’s face was tight, grim, unamused. “Where is Ms. Weintraub?” he asked, looking directly at McNally.

  “She… ah… well, that is… Tim had a slight… accident! Nothing serious, but it required immediate attention. I told her I would cover the class while she took Tim to get it taken care of.”

  “I’m not sure that was the proper way to deal with such a situation,” said Ms. Buttsman.

  “Well, it seemed like the human thing to do,” replied McNally tartly. He glanced down at the drawer where Tim and Ms. Weintraub were hiding. He was good at controlling his facial expressions, so probably no one else saw what I did—a flash of terror and disbelief.

  I felt my clinkus tighten in fear. What was going on now?

  “I’ve brought some people to observe the class,” said Mr. Grand. He turned to the room. “This is Ms. Kathryn Buttsman, who is the new protocol officer our government has assigned to the alien embassy. And this”—and here he gestured toward the short man who had come in with them—“is Mr. Tom Tommakkio, who is a federal school inspector.”

  “Don’t mind us, Mr. McNally,” said Ms. Buttsman with a terrible fake sweetness. “We’ll just take a seat in the back of the room.”

  “I wish I could stay,” said Mr. Grand. “Unfortunately, I have a pressing meeting. Mr. McNally, please tell Ms. Weintraub I’ll want a report on whatever accident young Tompkins had.”

  “I’ll be sure to give her the message,” said McNally.

  Mr. Grand nodded and left the room. Ms. Buttsman and Mr. Tommakkio headed for the back to take their seats.

  The good news was that the arrival of the adults settled the class down some. The bad news was that poor McNally looked truly terrified. He waited until Ms. Buttsman and Mr. Tommakkio were seated, then cleared his throat and said, “We were just doing an experiment regarding… uh…”

  I took advantage of his hesitation. “Regarding trajectories,” I said loudly.

  McNally looked at me in surprise. I could see relief in his eyes as he said quickly, “That’s correct, Pleskit! Would you care to demonstrate?”

  I had jumped in like that for two reasons. The first was that I knew the Fatherly One would be very unimpressed if Ms. Buttsman told him I was studying something as simple as the lever. The second was that poor McNally looked so terrified I felt I had to help him out—especially since it was my fault he was in this situation to begin with.

  I joined him at the front desk. Looking out at the class, and especially toward Ms. Buttsman, I said, “The science of calculating trajectories is very interesting. By considering the angle, the length of both sides of the lever, the height of the fulcrum, the weight of the payload, and the force applied to send the payload flying, you can calculate the landing spot with great accuracy. That was what we were doing when you came in, O Honored Guests, which was why there was so much debris flying through the air. Allow me to demonstrate.”

  Going to the board, I drew an example of a lever, and quickly worked out some basic mathematics. Then I went to the desk and said, “Let us test my calculations, which were designed to send an object flying from the desk to the clock.”

  Putting a ruler on a wooden triangle, I picked up a red game piece called a checker and placed it on one end. “The trick,” I said, positioning my hand above the other end of the ruler, “is to make sure I apply the correct amount of force.”

  Slamming my hand down, I sent the checker flying through the air. It struck the exact center of the clock.

  The class broke into cheers. Ms. Buttsman smiled and gave me a tight little nod.

  “Perhaps we should try one more,” I said. “Let me make some notes.”

  I grabbed a piece of paper. But instead of equations, I scribbled, “Where are Ms. Weintraub and Tim?”

  I slid the paper to McNally.

  He looked at it. Out loud, he said, “Let’s change those numbers just a bit, Pleskit.” But on the paper he wrote, “I think they fell in the trash can!”

  I barely managed not to yelp. Instead I stared at the paper for a minute, as if thinking about it, then said, “That’s a tricky one, Mr. McNally. If I am going to do it, we’ll have to retrieve the notes I made earlier.”

  McNally looked puzzled.

  “The ones I threw in the wastepaper basket!” I said urgently.

/>   “Oh, right!” said McNally. “You start the calculations, Pleskit. I’ll get the old notes for you.”

  The class was looking pretty puzzled.

  “Mr. McNally has challenged me to calculate a trajectory for landing this…”

  “Peach,” said McNally, grabbing the nearest thing he could find on Ms. Weintraub’s desk.

  “This… peach,” I agreed, taking it from him, “into Ms. Buttsman’s lap. Linnsy, would you measure the distance from the desk to Ms. Buttsman while I start the calculations?” Grabbing the container that had held the science materials, I added, “And would you give her this to catch it in, Jordan?”

  Jordan scowled, but clearly did not want to create a scene in front of the visitors. He and Linnsy walked to the front of the room. Jordan took the container, while Linnsy grabbed a tape measure. I turned to the board and pretended I was trying to work out the calculations. I had already figured out the problem in my head, of course. But I wanted to give McNally time to get Tim and Ms. Weintraub out of the wastepaper basket.

  “I can’t find them…” he muttered.

  Finally he just tipped the can on its side—which wasn’t easy, given that there was over two hundred pounds of living mass at the bottom.

  “Ah, here they are!” I said, grabbing the first piece of paper that came to hand. I was relieved to see Tim and Ms. Weintraub scoot out of the basket and hide under the desk.

  Quickly I finished my calculations. “Ready, Ms. Buttsman?” I called, placing the peach on the ruler.

  “Really, Pleskit,” she said, standing up. “I think this is a bad idea. Mr. Tommakkio, I think we should go now, and come back when the real teacher is here. But before we leave the school, I want to register a complaint at the head office. This is simply not proper.”