“Sit down, Ms. Buttsman,” said Mr. Tommakkio quietly.
“No, really,” said Ms. Buttsman. “It is time for us to leave.”
Mr. Tommakkio reached into his coat. When he withdrew his hand, he was holding a large purple ray gun.
“I said, sit down.”
Ms. Buttsman sat.
CHAPTER 18 [TIM]
UNDER THE DESK
Ms. Weintraub and I crouched in the trash can listening to what happened when the visitors came in. When she heard Mr. Grand introduce Ms. Buttsman and the government inspector, she groaned. “That’s it! My career is over.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “We’ll explain what happened.”
Of course, once we had done that, it would probably be our lives instead of Ms. Weintraub’s career that came to an end. But I didn’t say that out loud.
While Pleskit and McNally tried to bluff their way through the lesson, I scraped the gum off my foot. Then I explored the bottom of the trash can—which wasn’t easy, since I couldn’t get all the gum off, and it kept sticking to things. Also, given our height, it was like trying to explore a round room that was more than twenty feet across, and covered from one side to the other with pieces of trash the size of sofas.
We considered trying to knock the can over—with our combined weight and strength I think we could have managed it. But that would have ruined any chance we had of keeping our condition secret.
At one point I stumbled into a heap of something like dirty sawdust. After a second I realized it was the grindings from the pencil sharpener that someone had dumped into the can. I managed to smear black stuff all over my hands trying to get out of that. Before long I had it on my clothes and my face, too.
Then McNally tipped the can over for us.
“Tim!” whispered Ms. Weintraub. “Come on—now’s our chance!”
Fighting my way through the wads of paper, I followed her out of the can. Hoping we wouldn’t be seen, we scurried under her desk, then climbed up onto one of the chair legs. I was a little surprised at how easily Ms. Weintraub made the climb—more easily than I was able to—until I remembered that she was a gymnast.
We had just settled on the crossbar under the chair, which was a little like sitting on a square tree branch, when we heard a cry of outrage from Ms. Buttsman, then a general hubbub from the classroom, then an unfamiliar voice bellow, “No one move!”
Ms. Weintraub clutched my arm. “What’s going on now?”
“I don’t know. I’ll find out.”
Scrambling down from the chair, I crawled to the edge of the desk.
I didn’t need to worry about being seen. Everyone’s attention was riveted to the back of the room, where Mr. Tommakkio was pointing something that looked like a big, goofy water pistol at Ms. Buttsman. Suddenly I realized where I had seen Mr. Tommakkio before: He was the guy who had been watching me in the park last Saturday, when I left the embassy after our trip to the mall.
“No one is leaving this place until the teacher returns with Tim Tompkins,” said Mr. Tommakkio.
That sizzled my brain, I want to tell you. What did this guy want with me?
Fortunately, I was going to be very hard to find at the moment.
Unfortunately, I had no idea when the compacting ray was going to wear off, and I would shoot back to full size. Suddenly I realized that I didn’t want to be under the desk when that happened.
“If you will all sit quietly, no one will get hurt,” said Mr. Tommakkio. “Mr. McNally, how much longer do you think it will be before the teacher returns with young Tompkins?”
“I honestly have no idea,” said McNally.
Tommakkio looked around at the classroom. “I’m sure you all have work to do. Take out something and get busy. Remain quiet. Pleskit, return to your seat. Mr. McNally, deposit your gun on the desk and do the same.”
I felt a hand on my shoulder and barely kept myself from jumping—which was just as well, since I probably would have smashed my head against the desk.
It was Ms. Weintraub, of course. (No one else was small enough to put their hand on my shoulder anyway!)
“What are we going to do?” she whispered.
“Come on,” I said. “I’ve got an idea!”
“It was your ideas that got us into this in the first place,” said Ms. Weintraub bitterly.
But she followed me anyway.
* * *
The trip to Pleskit’s desk was not easy, since it was important that we not be seen. We darted out from under the side of Ms. Weintraub’s desk and scurried behind a nearby book rack.
Dropping to my belly, I crawled to the edge and peered out at the room, which was filled with towering giants.
Luck was with us. Everyone was still staring at Mr. Tommakkio. Ms. Weintraub and I scooted to the far wall. This was a good place for us, because the shelf units had a space under them, about three inches high and six inches deep, where we could move without being seen.
“If we ever get out of this, I’m going to have a little talk with the janitor,” muttered Ms. Weintraub as she pushed aside a dust bunny that came up to her shoulder.
Moving cautiously, we followed the wall until we came to Pleskit’s row. Getting over to his desk was a little trickier, because we were in the open for much of the time, but by hiding behind backpacks and bookbags, we managed it.
Now all I had to do was get his attention.
CHAPTER 19 [PLESKIT]
TIM’S BRAINSTORM
Mr. Tommakkio ordered McNally and me to return to our seats.
We did as he directed. Inside, I felt the coldness of pizumpta. And though McNally’s face was expressionless, I could sense his fury and despair.
I went to my desk and took out some work. I bent over it, just as the others had. However, I suspect no one was really working. I certainly wasn’t. Who could concentrate with this strange man holding us hostage?
Suddenly I felt something tugging at the leg of my jeans. Looking down, I barely kept myself from shouting.
It was tiny Tim!
He motioned for me to bend over so I could talk to him. I glanced toward the front of the room. Mr. Tommakkio had his ray gun in his hand and was glaring around. I moved my hand slightly, causing my pencil to fall to the floor. “Oops!” I said, and bent as if to pick it up.
“I’ve got an idea!” said Tim when I was close enough for him to speak into my ear.
“What is it?” I whispered.
“Let’s use a catapult to knock Mr. Tommakkio out! You can calculate the trajectory, and we’ll smack him right between the eyes.”
“Are you crazy? I can’t knock him out with a checker! We don’t have a missile heavy enough to do anything more than slightly annoy him.”
“Yes, we do.”
“What?”
“Me! I’m only two inches tall, but I’ve still got my full weight! I’d knock him on his butt in an instant.”
“And how am I going to send you flying there to begin with? I couldn’t hit the ruler hard enough to lift you, much less send you flying through the air.”
“Pleskit!” said Mr. Tommakkio sharply. “What are you doing?”
“Just getting my pencil,” I said, sitting up quickly.
A minute later I felt another tug at my leg. I looked down. Tim was gesturing frantically for me to talk to him again. I glanced at Mr. Tommakkio. His gaze continued to shift around the room, his eyes darting back and forth as if nothing could escape them.
“Ow!” I said. “Something bit me!”
I bent down again, as if to check my ankle.
“Change of plan,” said Tim. “Set up the lever. I’ll jump on the end, and send Ms. Weintraub flying. If I jump from the rung of your desk, it should give us enough force.”
With excitement, I realized that this could work. Since he still had his full weight, Tim could provide the force needed. But the calculations were going to be difficult. I needed exact numbers, and I did not have them. I had to estimate the
distance from my desk to the front of the room. And I was going to have to guess at both Tim’s and Ms. Weintraub’s weights. What if I made a mistake and sent our teacher splatting against the blackboard?
I felt another tug on my jeans.
I glanced down. Tim and Ms. Weintraub were standing in the shelter of my backpack, which hid them from most people’s sight. I started to bend over, but Tim shook his head—which was just as well, because I was already making Tommakkio suspicious. Tim pointed at Ms. Weintraub. Then he held up both hands and spread his fingers. He did this twelve times, then held up just two fingers. Then he spread his hands in a gesture that he later explained to me means, “Get it?”
I didn’t get it. My puzzlement must have shown on my face, because he started again.
This time I got it. He was telling me that Ms. Weintraub weighed 122 pounds!
Next he pointed to himself and made the same set of gestures, only this time he held up both hands ten times, then held up seven fingers.
107 pounds.
Now I could do the calculations with much greater accuracy.
This left three problems. The first was the matter of the tool. Obviously we could not use one of the school’s wooden rulers. With 122 pounds on one end, if Tim jumped onto the other end, it would simply snap in half.
The second was getting Tim in position to make his jump. Since he weighed 107 pounds, I could not lift him. He was going to have to climb into position himself. I was not sure he would be able to do this. I liked Tim a lot, but I had already noticed that physical education was not his specialty.
The third problem was getting the catapult set up without attracting Tommakkio’s attention. It would not take long, but it was going to be tricky.
The first problem was actually fairly easy to solve. In my desk I had a straight-edge measuring stick that I had brought from Hevi-Hevi. The material is low-grade by our standards. Even so, it can withstand an impact of several thousand pounds. It was also a little longer than a standard Earth ruler, which gave me more freedom in working out my calculations.
The second problem was trickier, but not impossible. My backpack was leaning against the desk, and I hoped Tim would be able to climb it to get himself into position. Of course, I also had to let him know where he was supposed to position himself.
I caught his eye—not hard, since he and Ms. Weintraub were watching me like sparrziks. Reaching under my desk, I tapped the spot I wanted him to leap from.
To my surprise, even though the rung of the desk was more than three times his height off the floor, he jumped up and grabbed it. I had forgotten that his muscles still had their full strength.
Now all I had to solve was the third problem—getting the catapult in place.
Alas, this one seemed impossible. My activity had already attracted Tommakkio’s attention. He was glaring at me. His eyes, which did not turn away, had a hard look of hatred in them.
A familiar look.
Suddenly I realized who Tommakkio really was.
Cold fear twisted my clinkus.
CHAPTER 20 [TIM]
THE HUMAN BULLET
It was incredibly frustrating not to be able to talk to Pleskit. But if we tried to communicate too much, Tommakkio would be sure to realize something was going on. So I had to figure out on my own what was holding him up.
Well, not entirely on my own. When I muttered, “What’s he waiting for?” Ms. Weintraub replied, “He needs some sort of distraction before he can set up the catapult.”
I was sitting on the rung of the desk, exactly where Pleskit had indicated. Ms. Weintraub was standing below me, ready to take her place on the catapult. She had closed her eyes and seemed to be doing some sort of deep-breathing exercise. Also, she had her fingers crossed on both hands. Suddenly I realized that my idea was not entirely foolproof. I was expecting her to give an Olympic-level performance without any real practice!
Of course, she wasn’t even going to be able to try unless Pleskit could set up that catapult.
I glanced around. No one had noticed us—not surprising, considering our size. Besides, even though everyone was supposed to be working, all attention was riveted on the front of the room. I dropped to the floor. The desk legs rising next to me looked like mighty tree trunks. Pleskit’s backpack was like a huge canvas hill.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
Jordan was sitting two rows over. Ducking, crawling, sprinting, hiding, I made my way to his desk. As I went, I picked up a pencil I had noticed on the floor. I was pleased to see that it was still sharp. It was nearly twice as long as me, and thicker than my leg, but since I still had my full strength, carrying it was no problem.
I scurried under Jordan’s desk.
“Sorry, Jordan,” I whispered. “I’m only doing this for the good of the class.”
Then I jabbed him in the ankle as hard as I could.
Jordan howled and jumped up, clutching at his ankle.
“Sit down!” roared Tommakkio, pointing his ray gun at Jordan.
Jordan flung his hands into the air. “Something stung me! I think it was a bee!”
“I’m allergic to bees!” cried Tyrone Walker nervously.
“Me, too!” shouted Misty. “I could die from a bee sting!”
“Sit down!” bellowed Tommakkio. “All of you. Now!”
During the confusion I scurried, unnoticed, back to Pleskit’s desk.
“That wasn’t very nice,” whispered Ms. Weintraub. But I noticed she was smiling.
Pleskit had put the catapult in place during the confusion.
I scrambled back into position on the desk rung.
Ms. Weintraub climbed onto the end of the lever.
I heard a little gasp. Rafaella Cruz, who sits across the aisle from Pleskit, had just seen us.
Ms. Weintraub put her finger to her lips in a sign to be silent. Rafaella, wide-eyed, nodded.
I tensed myself, waiting for Pleskit’s signal. His head—so big compared to me at this size that it looked like a weather balloon—appeared at the edge of the desk. He was frowning. “Not yet,” he mouthed, and I knew he was waiting for Tommakkio, who had moved during the fuss, to get back in place.
Jordan was still complaining about his “sting.” The kids who were nervous about bees were shifting their chairs.
Suddenly Pleskit shouted, “Now, Tim! NOW!”
I leaped from the desk rung, directly onto the raised end of the lever. The full force of my 107 pounds drove it straight to the floor.
Ms. Weintraub soared over my head—122 pounds of gymnastic ability packed into a living, two-inch-high projectile.
Then, to my horror, Tommakkio moved! Ms. Weintraub shot past him and struck the blackboard! I thought we were sunk. But she struck the board with her feet, bounced off it, did a perfect double flip, and slammed into the back of Tommakkio’s head.
With a groan, he fell face forward on the desk.
The class burst into cheers.
McNally sprinted for the front of the room. In an instant he had Tommakkio in an armlock. At the same time he kicked the purple ray gun and sent it skittering across the floor.
Ms. Weintraub, acknowledging the cheers of the class, was dancing along the edge of her desk, smiling and waving.
I couldn’t see what happened next, but Pleskit told me about it afterward. Linnsy was the one who started it. She tore a piece of paper out of her notebook, wrote a big 10 on it, and held it up. Soon every kid in the room was holding up a “scorecard” and shouting, “Ten! Ten! Ten!”
* * *
We had one more surprise coming. When McNally pulled back Tommakkio’s head, the movement loosened the intruder’s mask. McNally pulled it off to reveal the furry face of… Mikta-makta-mookta!
Which was one reason Pleskit and I didn’t get in nearly as much trouble for borrowing the Molecule Compactor as we had expected to. If Ms. Weintraub and I had not been shrunken when Mikta-makta-mookta fooled the Butt into bringing her into the classroom, she m
ight have succeeded in her plan to kidnap Pleskit and me. Her motive? Revenge, of course, for our thwarting the plot she and her evil partner Harr-giss had been hatching to ruin the peaceful alien mission.
* * *
Ms. Weintraub was still standing on her desk when the compacting ray wore off. She was so surprised she stumbled backward—which was odd, given her gymnastics skills. Fortunately, McNally—who had already tied up Tommakkio/Mikta-makta-mookta—caught her.
I shot up at the same time, of course. Fortunately, I was standing in the middle of the aisle, so I didn’t bump my head on anything.
Ms. Buttsman was so startled by our sudden growth that she fainted. Unfortunately (for her) no one caught her.
I noticed that McNally took just a moment longer to set Ms. Weintraub down than he really should have. At least, I thought he took too long. My mother has told me it’s none of my business.
She has also threatened me with permanent grounding and several other forms of doom and destruction if I ever, ever, EVER do anything like this again. But aside from the fact that she is incredibly upset that I have been in so much danger twice since the beginning of school, I think she was pretty pleased with my part in capturing Mikta-makta-mookta.
* * *
One other thing happened as a result of all this. The next day, and against my advice, Pleskit wore his “Victory Outfit” to school. That was the purple-and-green one-piece with sparkling spirals all over it.
Do you know what happened when he walked through the door wearing it?
Everyone shouted, “Hey, that’s cool!”
I swear, I wanted to scream.
CHAPTER 21 [PLESKIT]
A LETTER HOME
FROM: Pleskit Meenom, on the slightly cool Planet Earth
TO: Maktel Geebrit, on the beloved Planet Hevi-Hevi
Dear Maktel:
Well, there you have it—the story of how I survived my second major crisis on Earth.
I Shrank My Teacher Page 7