The Joke's on Us

by Gordon Korman

  A four-by-four was attempting to sneak out of line and get ahead by driving on the lawn. Out of nowhere, the nose of a station wagon swerved right to block its way. A barrage of insults shot back and forth between the two drivers.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen.” Mr. Sturgeon rushed into the fray. “I must demand that you watch your language. You are on the grounds of a school.”

  “Hey, get a load of the guy in the pyjamas!”

  Mrs. Sturgeon hurried from her cottage, carrying a bucket of water for the overheated Mercedes.

  No sooner had they gotten things going again than Miss Scrimmage’s van pulled up, with the Headmistress leaning on the horn.

  Mr. Sturgeon turned to his wife. “I was just about to comment that things could not possibly get any worse. How foolish of me.”

  Miss Scrimmage pulled onto the lawn, knocking over the mailbox. She emerged from behind the wheel, seething with indignation. “What on earth is going on? It has taken me fully twenty minutes to get here from the highway!”

  “Why ever are you driving?” exclaimed Mrs. Sturgeon. “You live just across the road!”

  “I am returning from Toronto,” replied Miss Scrimmage harshly. “From a scientific laboratory.”

  Mr. Sturgeon was not paying attention. He was busy directing cars around his fallen mailbox, which now jutted right out into the lane.

  Miss Scrimmage grabbed the sleeve of his bathrobe and spun him around. “You dare to ignore me, sir?” There was a pop as an eighteen-wheeler drove over the mailbox, squashing it flat as a pancake.

  “Your number fifty-seven has struck again!” the Headmistress shrilled. “The same girl who received that repellent little skull was sent this package!”

  The Headmaster frowned. “Not another voodoo curse?”

  “Hah!” Miss Scrimmage fumed. “Voodoo is a mere hobby for such an accomplished terrorist!” She held out the box. “This came with a note claiming that the material in the plastic bag was bird droppings!”

  Mr. Sturgeon grimaced. “My goodness! What did you do?”

  “I had it analyzed, of course! And you will simply not believe what it is! Bird droppings! Of all things!”

  The Headmaster took a step backward. “Well, in that case, will you kindly cease and desist waving it in my face.”

  Miss Scrimmage choked back tears of rage. “This has been my problem for twenty-five years! I come to you with a legitimate grievance and you mock me!”

  Mr. Sturgeon sighed heavily. “I do apologize, Miss Scrimmage. As you can see, I am somewhat distracted at the moment.” He indicated the snarl of traffic with a sweep of his arm. “Now, have either of these packages contained, by any chance, a feather?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” snapped the Headmistress. “What do feathers have to do with anything?”

  “We have been experiencing some difficulty with a practical joker,” Mr. Sturgeon explained patiently. “I thought your incidents might be related.”

  “Well, this is no joke,” Miss Scrimmage retorted crossly. “The poor girl is terrified and so am I. I’ve instructed my girls that they are to be helpless no longer. We are taking the matter of safety into our own hands. I have brought my shotgun up from the basement, and now sleep with it by my side.”

  “Your shotgun?!” The red flush started at the collar of Mr. Sturgeon’s pyjamas and soon turned his face the colour of his bathrobe. “Madam, I have repeatedly told you that you are not fit to be in possession of a firearm! I forbid it!”

  In answer, Miss Scrimmage raised her foot and brought it down on the Headmaster’s ingrown toenail.

  “Yee-o-o-o-ow!!”

  He began hopping around, cradling his injured foot.

  “Would anyone like some tea?” offered Mrs. Sturgeon, ever the peacemaker.

  But Miss Scrimmage was already climbing into her van. With a squeal of tires, she backed out into the stream of traffic, narrowly missing a Winnebago. There she sat, looking straight ahead as the line of vehicles inched forward.

  * * *

  The traffic jam was in full swing on the lane that snaked between dormitories 2 and 3. A crowd of pyjama-clad boys was milling around, taking in the rare sight of a big-city rush hour on their quiet campus.

  Bruno pulled the feather from the detour sign stuck in the bushes in front of Dormitory 3. “We’ve got the Phantom this time!” he exclaimed. “We had total surveillance all night, so we’ll know which one of our suspects set this up!”

  “Well, not total surveillance,” Boots confessed. “I sort of fell asleep during my shift at the telescope.”

  “What? For how long?”

  Boots hung his head. “Pretty much all of it.”

  Bruno glared at him. “Aw, Boots —”

  Boots looked at him reproachfully. “I’m pretty sure I heard a couple of snores coming from your shift.”

  Bruno looked startled. “Really? I thought I might have dozed off, but I was hoping I just dreamed it.”

  Boots sighed. “So Cathy and Diane could have done this and we missed it.”

  “Maybe it was Mark,” said Bruno. “Or Edward. Hey, Sidney!”

  Sidney started to cross the road between the two dormitories. But the radio antenna of a passing convertible snagged his arm. In an instant, the antenna was up his sleeve and out the neck of his pyjamas.

  “Stop!” croaked Sidney. “Hey — you got me!”

  With a noise like popping corn, all the buttons flew off the pyjama top. Sidney twirled once, and suddenly he was shirtless in the cool fall morning. The convertible moved on, flying Sidney’s pyjama top from its aerial like a diplomatic flag.

  Sidney shuffled over. “Anybody got an extra T-shirt?”

  “Never mind that,” said Bruno briskly. “Did Mark leave the room last night?”

  Sidney shrugged. “How should I know? I was sleeping.”

  “But you were on surveillance! You weren’t supposed to sleep!”

  Sidney stared at him. “Ever?”

  “Forget it,” said Boots. “Who was watching Edward?”

  “Me,” came a deep voice behind them. There stood big Wilbur.

  “What’s your report?” demanded Bruno.

  “Nothing,” Wilbur admitted.

  “You mean Edward never left his room?” asked Boots.

  “I mean I forgot to go on surveillance,” said Wilbur, shame-faced. “My shipment from the Decadent Dessert of the Month Club arrived yesterday. It was called ‘Death by Chocolate.’ Amazing.”

  “I’d be more worried about death by Walton if I were you!” growled Bruno. “Well, this is just great! The biggest practical joke of all happened, and we don’t even have a clue!”

  Coach Flynn jogged by, plucking the detour sign out of the bushes. “I guess you find this pretty funny,” he growled at them. “It’s really hilarious to inconvenience hundreds of people!”

  “But it wasn’t us!” Boots protested.

  “I’ve heard that one before.”

  Chapter 9

  Diddly-Squat

  Cathy slipped into her room, struggled over to her bed and dropped her armload of books.

  “Sorry I’m late, Diane. I had trouble getting that cheesecake to Rex. Miss Smedley’s been watching him like a hawk ever since the diet started.”

  Diane looked up from her homework. “What’s with the books?” She squinted at the titles. “Guerrilla Warfare? Booby Traps for Beginners? Military Fortifications? The Official Special Forces Manual? Cathy — are we at war?”

  “You heard Miss Scrimmage at the assembly,” Cathy replied. “She wants us to defend our turf.”

  “All I heard was that we should keep our eyes open around the school,” Diane pointed out.

  “And take responsibility for our own security,” Cathy finished.

  “She’s just worried because Marylou got another weird package,” Diane argued. “Military fortifications aren’t going to keep the post office from delivering another baggie of bird droppings.”

  “That’
s the beauty of it,” Cathy reasoned. “Miss Scrimmage gave us the green light. We’re covered. We can lay booby traps all around the grounds and then say it was her idea.”

  Diane grimaced. “Maybe. But everyone except Miss Scrimmage knows that the only ‘intruders’ are the guys from Macdonald Hall — and we want them. What’s the point of putting up defences?”

  Cathy rolled her eyes. “Because it’s fun. Don’t you get sick of all that baking we do? If I have to spend my day training to be a young lady, I want to blow off a little steam as a commando at night.”

  Diane sat down on her bed, looking miserable. “Cathy, this is crazy. We can’t do it.”

  “Oh, it’s not just us,” said Cathy airily. “I’ve recruited tons of girls to help. We meet in the orchard at 2 AM.”

  * * *

  The next day after school, the surveillance team — Bruno, Boots, Pete, Sidney, Larry and Wilbur — met in room 306.

  Bruno called the meeting to order. “First of all,” he announced, “don’t forget to thank Elmer when you see him. It was his idea to hook up the video camera to the telescope so we wouldn’t have to stay up all night watching Scrimmage’s. It’s also his camera and his telescope, so we owe the guy big-time.”

  “Where is Elmer?” asked Larry.

  “Well,” said Boots, “let’s just say he’s got a lot on his mind.” He knew the school genius was holed up in his room, brainstorming snappy lines for his big meeting with Marylou.

  “Now,” began Bruno, “I don’t have to tell any of you guys about the size fifty-two women’s underwear up the flagpole this morning.”

  Pete snickered, and Bruno fixed him with a withering glare. “It’s not funny. There was a feather on those bloomers, so we all know it’s a Phantom job.” He held up a videocassette. “We were taping all night. If it was Cathy and Diane, we should see them leaving their room.”

  He popped the tape in the VCR and pushed Play. A dark image of the side of Miss Scrimmage’s appeared on the screen. The camera was focused on the drainpipe outside Cathy and Diane’s window. Bruno hit the Fast Forward button and the boys sat back to await developments.

  “Great movie,” cheered Wilbur. “I nominate the drainpipe for best supporting actor.”

  “Don’t knock it,” Larry told him. “It sure beats sitting up all night squinting into a telescope.”

  Pete yawned. “How long is it going to take to go through the whole thing?”

  “Hold it,” said Boots suddenly. “Run that back.” Bruno rewound for a moment and hit Play. For just a few seconds, a shadowy figure darted across the corner of the screen, disappearing behind the building.

  “Back up and freeze,” ordered Boots.

  The picture reversed frame by frame. It was just a silhouette, but the profile shone in the moonlight for a split second.

  “Edward!” cried Boots in agony.

  Bruno squinted at the screen. “Are you sure?”

  Boots held his head. “I grew up with that little jerkface. I’d know him anywhere!”

  “He sure likes Scrimmage’s,” Sidney commented.

  Larry frowned. “But the bloomers were on our flagpole, not theirs.”

  “He’s up to something,” muttered Bruno. “There must be a connection.”

  “Well, he’s not going to see Cathy and Diane,” Boots put in. “The only way to their room is straight up the drainpipe.”

  “Maybe he went to Scrimmage’s first to put us off the trail,” suggested Wilbur. “Then he doubled back here to put the underwear up the flagpole.”

  “Gee, too bad we didn’t have the telescope focused on the flagpole instead of Scrimmage’s,” said Sidney.

  “Who knew?” shrugged Bruno. “There’s no way we can ever predict where the Phantom is going to strike next.”

  “I say we slap it out of Edward,” gritted Boots. “I mean, lean on the kid until he tells us exactly what he does over there!”

  Bruno shook his head. “Bad idea. If he is the Phantom, we don’t want him to know we’re onto him. We have to catch him in the act.” He hit Fast Forward again. “Let’s see what else there is.”

  At first, it looked like a brief flash of white light. Everyone sat forward. Bruno fiddled with the controls and isolated the sudden action.

  Pete was the first to recognize it. “Hey, look. It’s a guy.”

  Once again, Bruno advanced frame by frame. The “flash” was caused by someone walking past the telescope. The extreme close-up view of the figure’s white T-shirt made the frame seem bright.

  “You can’t see his face,” observed Wilbur, disappointed.

  “Maybe it’s Edward coming home,” suggested Larry.

  Boots’s keen eyes narrowed. “Hey, what’s that on his shirt?”

  Bruno sharpened the VCR’s focus as best he could. “It’s some kind of crest, I think.”

  Larry picked up a pad and pencil and began to sketch. The crest looked like a greyish egg surrounded by many large and small circles. The whole design was topped off by what seemed to be a crown.

  The boys passed the drawing around. All agreed that was pretty much what they saw, too.

  “Listen up,” said Bruno. “Somebody’s got that shirt, and someday he’ll wear it again. We want to know why that guy was out the night the underwear went up the pole.” He hit Play and Fast Forward and they continued to scan the tape.

  Five minutes went by, then ten. Pete dozed off and began to snore gently. Wilbur tiptoed to the bathroom and back in again. He had missed nothing.

  “I wonder what time it is on the tape,” mused Sidney.

  Bruno flashed the display. “Two hours, fifty-five minutes. We started taping at around eleven, so that makes it almost 2 AM.”

  “Forget it,” grumbled Wilbur. “It’s too late. Nothing’s going to happen now.”

  No sooner were the words out of his mouth than a whole army of figures seemed to explode down the drainpipe.

  “Whoa!” cried Bruno. He hacked at the remote control and the tape slowed down to normal speed. It was hard to make out faces, but there were at least thirty girls, most of them weighed down with heavy equipment.

  “What are they carrying?” asked Larry.

  The girls hit the ground and set to work, but what they were doing was not clear either. The camera had been focused on the drainpipe; the action was all on ground level. Only the bottom corner of the screen displayed vigorous activity. Sticks and shovels shot through the frame; clods of dirt were airborne; blurred faces rushed around; leaves, branches, rope — all passed before the boys’ bewildered eyes.

  Larry was bug-eyed. “It looks like they’re laying the foundation for a fifty-storey building!”

  There was a mad dash for the telescope. Bruno got there first and focused on the spot where the previous night’s activity had taken place.

  “There’s nothing there,” he reported.

  “Impossible!” Wilbur replaced him at the eyepiece. “From the action on that tape, we could be across from the SkyDome by now.”

  “Maybe they’re digging a tunnel,” said Sidney. He got a pillow across the back of the head for his suggestion.

  “Well, I’m totally confused,” said Boots, aggravated. “I mean, have we learned anything here?”

  “Let’s make a list,” Bruno decided.

  1. Edward was out, but in the wrong place to put the bloomers up the flagpole. That doesn’t mean he didn’t do it before or after appearing on the video.

  2. Somebody wearing a white T-shirt with a crest on it was out on the campus. Insignia: unknown. Identity: unknown. Mission: unknown.

  3. A large number of girls were involved in a major operation at Scrimmage’s. However, there is no sign of what they built and no proof that any of this was Phantom-related.

  4. Cathy and Diane may or may not have had the chance to sneak over to Macdonald Hall and put the underwear up the flagpole.

  “In other words,” groaned Wilbur, “we know diddly-squat.”

  Sidney was
examining the list. “I’m getting a headache.”

  Pete’s eyelids fluttered and he yawned himself awake. His gaze fell on the TV and VCR. “Oh, a movie. What did I miss?”

  “The most baffling mystery in the history of the world!” growled Bruno. “But it’s not over yet!”

  Chapter 10

  Counting Shirts

  Mr. Sturgeon’s ingrown toenail suffered greatly from being stomped on by Miss Scrimmage. The entire toe turned purple and grew even more swollen. Every step was misery.

  His limp worsened, along with his mood. Finally, at the urging of his wife, the Headmaster called the doctor.

  “Well,” said Dr. Haupt, “the accident really aggravated your condition.”

  “It was no accident,” said Mr. Sturgeon darkly. “I was attacked by a crazy person.”

  The young doctor looked shocked. “Really? Who?”

  “Oh, the Headmistress of the finishing school across the road.”

  Dr. Haupt raised an eyebrow. “If this is the work of a Headmistress, I’d hate to see what a hired assassin could do.” He packed up his medical bag. “I can prescribe a stronger painkiller to help you get a good night’s rest.”

  The Headmaster shook his head. “I’m out like a corpse from the pills I already have. I sleep so heavily my wife has been taking my pulse to make sure I’m still alive.”

  The doctor shrugged. “I’m sorry, but my prognosis remains the same.” He opened the office door. “You need the operation. Nothing else is going to do any good.”

  * * *

  “… that’s exactly what the doctor said!” Larry told Bruno and Boots as he handed over photocopies of his sketch of the crest. “I was right there by the Xerox machine making these and I heard every word.”

  Classes were over for the day and the boys were heading in the direction of the dormitories.

  “That doesn’t sound good,” said Bruno. “The Fish definitely needs an operation.”

  “The doctor said nothing else would help,” Larry added breathlessly.

  “But what kind of operation?” Boots asked.

  “What difference does it make?” said Bruno. “It’s an operation and that’s serious.” He shuddered. “Poor guy. On top of it all, he’s got the Phantom to worry about.”