Middle-School Cool

by Maiya Williams

  “Interviews are simple,” Mr. Mister assured her. “Come up with a list of questions you want to ask. Start with the simple ones, then move on to the ones that are more difficult: personal questions, or questions that force your subject to reveal something he or she doesn’t want to reveal.”

  “How do you get them to do that?” Leo asked. “What if they refuse to answer?”

  “Yeah, or if you get too personal, they might answer by punching you in the face,” added Ruben. Everyone forced hearty laughs, but Edie could easily picture that scenario actually happening.

  “True, you should take into account who you are interviewing. For example, when talking to a violent felon, you might not want to grill him about his bed-wetting. But generally, once you’ve warmed up your subjects with simple questions and put them at ease, you’ve got them hooked. It’s a strange psychological phenomenon, but they won’t want to stop the flow of conversation. They may feel uncomfortable about your questions, but they’ll answer if they trust you.”

  This sounded a little more interesting, thought Edie. If she understood Mr. Mister correctly, it was like setting a trap. She was the spider weaving a web, poised to catch the fly unaware. Yes, this interview thing might be fun after all.

  “Now, don’t get the idea that interviewing people is easy,” Mr. Mister cautioned. “It’s something you need to practice. A good interviewer has a pleasant demeanor without being too chummy. He or she groups his questions thematically, all leading up to the Big Question. He or she listens for the answer and doesn’t speak until the subject is finished answering. Sometimes just being quiet will force the subject to reveal more information than they intended to, just to fill the awkward silence.”

  “Really?” Edie was definitely intrigued now. She didn’t know information gathering could be so simple.

  “Let’s practice,” Mr. Mister suggested. “Aliya and Taliya, why don’t you give it a shot? Just sit in these two chairs.” Mr. Mister set two chairs facing each other at the front of the class. “Aliya is the interviewer and Taliya is the subject.”

  The twins sat in the seats. Aliya picked up her notebook and a pencil.

  “Good afternoon. What is—”

  “Taliya Naji,” Taliya answered.

  “How—”

  “Thirteen.”

  “What is—”

  “History, but I like math too.”

  “What would—”

  “Maybe a pediatrician, or an archaeologist. I can’t decide.”

  “Did you—”

  “You know I did!” Taliya burst out laughing, and then Aliya joined her. They went on until Mr. Mister waved them away.

  “Well, most interviews don’t work quite so swiftly, or mysteriously. Let’s try another pair. Victoria and Ruben. Ruben, you’re the interviewer; Victoria, you’re the subject.”

  Ruben and Victoria took their places. Ruben crossed his legs, and Victoria looked at him with the same consideration she might give a worm she’d found drying on hot pavement. Most kids were afraid of Ruben, but she wasn’t like most kids.

  “Thank you for meeting with me, Miss Zacarias,” Ruben began. “Tell me, what is your favorite color?”

  “Bloodred,” Victoria answered. Ruben wrote down her response.

  “Why are you so mean?”

  “I’m not mean, I’m honest.” Ruben jotted this down.

  “What is fifteen percent of a hundred and sixty?”

  “Twenty-four.”

  “And what is the unit rate if someone sold thirty apples over three hours?”

  “Ten apples an hour.” Ruben scribbled again in his notebook.

  “Deedle-deedle-doria, I think Ruben is getting homework done by Victoria!” the garden gnome commented.

  “I think you’re right, Sam,” Mr. Mister said. “Okay, out of the chairs, you two.”

  “Wait! I have one more question,” Ruben said. “What is negative three-fifths divided by four-sevenths?”

  “This interview is over,” Victoria growled.

  Mr. Mister sighed. “This isn’t rocket science, folks. Let’s do this right. I’ll be the subject, and Edie, you be the interviewer. After all, you’re the one who’s going to have to speak with Dr. Kaboom. Now, I’m not going to take it easy on you. You need to be quick on your feet. An interview is a little like a mental boxing match, a test of wits, pitting one mind against another. So don’t be surprised if when you jab me, I jab back. Got it?”

  Edie nodded. “Got it.”

  “Start when you’re ready.” Mr. Mister folded his arms over his chest and leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, bouncing casually.

  “Okay, well, what is your full name?”

  “Mister Mister.”

  “I mean your first name as well as your last name.”

  “My first name is Mister.”

  “Really? Your name is Mr. Mister Mister?”

  “Yes. I’ve answered the question, now move on.”

  “Sorry, it’s just a strange kind of name.”

  “No stranger than Robert Roberts or William Williams. It’s just a name.” Mr. Mister Mister looked irritated. Edie moved on to another question.

  “Okay, uh, how did you get this job?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Moisture had started to collect on Mr. Mister’s upper lip and a bead of sweat dripped from his forehead.

  “I don’t know, I can ask another one, I guess.…”

  “No, forget it, I can answer this. Last spring I applied … I mean, I tried to apply but they wouldn’t … that is, I submitted an application.…” Mr. Mister’s hands trembled. His leg bounced more furiously than ever. “Stop looking at me like that! You’re confusing me!”

  “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to. It’s a simple question.…”

  “I … I can’t … Stop badgering me!” Mr. Mister leaped to his feet, frantic. The students watched, stunned, as he paced the room, wild-eyed and agitated. “I said I applied, that’s enough! Go on to your next question!”

  “Well, ah, okay, what are your qualifications for teaching journalism? Have you ever worked at a newspaper?” Edie felt like she had pulled the pin from a grenade that would explode any second. She was not disappointed.

  “Why are you persecuting me? Who put you up to this?” Mr. Mister screamed. “My probation officer? My social worker? My mother? Cat and mouse, cat and mouse, that’s your little game, isn’t it? But I’m not falling for it. Not this time. Not again! I used to live here before it became a school! I lived in room two ten! That was my safe place! You’re the strangers. You’re the ones who don’t belong!”

  And with that, Mr. Mister bolted from the room. The students waited a full minute before someone spoke.

  “Deedle-deedle-doggin, methinks he’s got butterflies in his noggin,” Sam the garden gnome said, wagging his finger.

  Jory turned to Edie. “You think you’re ready for your interview?”

  Edie nodded. Dr. Kaboom definitely had some explaining to do.

  EDIE’S STORY–PART ONE

  New School on the Block

  By EDIE EVERMINT

  Kaboom Academy, possibly the most unusual private school in the country, and certainly the noisiest, uses fantastically offbeat teaching tools and techniques. Named after its founder, Dr. Marcel S. “Hot Mustard” Kaboom, the academy is situated on five acres of land twenty-two miles northwest of downtown Horsemouth. The school has twenty-five sixth graders, twenty seventh graders, and only ten brave eighth graders willing to take the chance that an experimental school can prepare them for high school.

  Edie read over her introduction. It wasn’t bad for a beginning, but she knew the meat of the story was her subject, Dr. Kaboom. She had already set up an appointment with his secretary to meet him for an interview at lunchtime the next day, but Edie had to make sure that she came in prepared. She had taken Mr. Mister’s advice and written down her list of questions, putting the easy ones first and the more complex ones at the end. It was true
that at first Edie had not been crazy about this assignment, but after formulating her questions, she found herself truly curious about the man who had created this school.

  To come up with her list, Edie had started with a little research. First she’d done the obvious thing, which was to type Dr. Kaboom’s name into the search engine on her computer. The names “Marcel S. Kaboom” and “Doctor Marcel S. Kaboom” yielded nothing. Do you mean March Kabul? the search engine asked. But when she clicked on that, it brought up sites promoting spring vacations in Afghanistan, so she was pretty sure she did not mean March Kabul.

  Edie found it strange that a man who had founded a private academy would not have his accomplishments recorded somewhere on the Internet. But maybe she was just looking in the wrong place. She decided to search for information about Dr. Kaboom’s areas of expertise, learnomology, thinkonomics, and edumechanics. Again she came up empty. Did you mean dermatologist? Limnologist? Laryngologist? queried the search engine. No she did not. Did you mean theology? Theocracy? Again, no. Did you mean edu mechanics? it asked, providing several sites with information about mechanical engineering. She didn’t think so, but she clicked on a few just to confirm. She’d been right the first time. Her Internet research was a complete bust.

  But it did help her formulate a list of questions. She wrote them down in her notebook.

  Edie knew that she would have to ask those last two questions very carefully. After all, she was only thirteen years old. Dr. Kaboom was the head of the school, whereas she was only a student. She didn’t want to appear rude or disrespectful; she might end up in Mr. Gruber’s classroom, hypnotized into thinking she was a mealworm. Cole, Marlon, Janno, and Aliya seemed to have recovered from the hypnotherapy, but every once in a while she would catch Aliya making kissing motions with her lips, and Marlon had started keeping a carrot in his pocket. Edie definitely wanted to avoid being disciplined.

  Perhaps she could ask the more dicey questions offhandedly, like she was just joking, then gauge his response. Would he laugh back and give a credible answer, or would he freak out like Mr. Mister? That was its own mystery! … But one thing at a time. “Be patient, Edie Evermint,” she said to herself, as she often did. “Be persistent and observant and time will reveal all.”

  The next day after fourth period, Edie went to her locker and retrieved the list of questions to reread before the interview. Suddenly, a stampede of students charged through the hallway, screaming. She watched in amazement as they rushed by, and then she saw what had set them off: the four dodgeballs had returned, led by the abusive purple ball. They descended upon the students, terrorizing them, pounding them, nipping at them, caroming off the walls, banging into the lockers, and causing a great deal of confusion. The students fought them off, kicking and punching, but the balls returned with redoubled viciousness. Then they abruptly bounced off, escaping through the open door.

  Ruben appeared at the end of the hallway, punching his fist into his open palm. “Where did they go?”

  “They went that way,” one of the kids said, pointing at the door.

  “Thanks,” Ruben said. He charged past Edie and was gone.

  Edie shook her head. Things were getting very strange around here. She couldn’t wait to hear Dr. Kaboom’s explanation. Dr. Kaboom! The interview! She checked her watch. She had only two minutes to get to his office!

  Edie shoved her notes into her binder and raced out the door, across the courtyard, and into the administration building. She bounded up the stairs, taking two at a time, finally arriving at Dr. Kaboom’s office, out of breath and slightly sweaty.

  “May I help you?” said a frumpy secretary with frizzy brown hair pinned into a messy bun. Edie glanced down at the desk, looking for the secretary’s nameplate. It was a little hard to find, as the top of the desk was completely covered in clutter: numerous coffee cups, stacks of Post-its, piles of worn-down pencils, and a mound of paper clips. Finally she spied it: MRS. MARBLECOOK.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Marblecook,” Edie said pleasantly. “How are you today?” Edie knew that if you butter people up, they often become very free with information. Mrs. Marblecook probably knew a lot of things about Dr. Kaboom, so it wouldn’t hurt to get on her good side.

  “I’m well, thank you,” Mrs. Marblecook said. “Is there something I can do for you, dear?”

  “Yes, I’m from the school newspaper, the Daily Dynamite,” Edie explained. “I’m here to interview Dr. Kaboom about his founding of the school.”

  “Oh my, that sounds wonderful.”

  “It will be wonderful,” Edie assured her. “I’ll be very quick. Is Dr. Kaboom free right now? I have an appointment.”

  “Oooh, I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Mrs. Marblecook offered a sympathetic look. “Dr. Kaboom is a very busy man. He had to step out for a moment. You’ll have to make another appointment.”

  Rats. Edie knew sometimes these things happened when dealing with important people. Schedules can change at the last minute. “When is he available? Before or after school or during lunchtime works best for me.”

  “Okay, let’s take a look at her schedule.…” Mrs. Marblecook consulted one of the several day calendars on her desk.

  “Her schedule? I thought … Isn’t Dr. Kaboom a man?”

  “Yes, but I was talking about Mrs. Cookmarble, his secretary. She sits right next to me.” Mrs. Marblecook gestured to a nearby desk that had a much tidier surface. The only things on it were a pencil holder with two freshly sharpened pencils in it, a stapler, a tape dispenser, and an appointment book, all neatly squared and precisely placed. There was also a nameplate that read MRS. COOKMARBLE. “Unfortunately, she’s not here right now, and she’s the one who makes Dr. Kaboom’s appointments. I’m her assistant. You’ll have to make an appointment to come back later and speak with her.”

  “Can’t you make his appointments while she’s gone? The appointment book is just sitting on her desk.”

  “I’m sorry, dear, but setting up Dr. Kaboom’s appointments is not in my job description. If you’d like, I can make an appointment for you to meet with Mrs. Cookmarble to make your appointment with Dr. Kaboom.”

  “Okay.” Edie sighed. This seemed to be getting overly complicated, but she made an appointment with Mrs.

  Cookmarble for the next day, Thursday, at lunchtime.

  Meanwhile, she would try to do more research.

  • • •

  On Thursday, Edie showed up in the administrative office at her appointed time. Mrs. Marblecook was now sitting at Mrs. Cookmarble’s spotless desk. There was more clutter on Mrs. Marblecook’s desk than before. Now, in addition to all the desk supplies, there were several small spider plants, a large collection of family photos in various frames, a mass of thumbtacks, and a rubber-band ball the size of a honeydew melon.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Marblecook,” Edie said brightly. “I’m here for my appointment with Mrs. Cookmarble.”

  “I’m Mrs. Cookmarble,” the woman snarled.

  “Oh! Are you and Mrs. Marblecook identical twins?”

  “Technically, yes. But only a nincompoop couldn’t tell us apart.” Edie looked at Mrs. Cookmarble closely. Mrs. Marblecook and Mrs. Cookmarble indeed had identical features, but their styles were completely opposite. Mrs. Marblecook’s hair had been pinned in a messy bun, but Mrs. Cookmarble wore her hair in two tight braids wrapped around her head, with not a strand out of place. Mrs. Marblecook had worn a brightly patterned blouse and colorful, whimsical reading glasses, while Mrs. Cookmarble was dressed in a gray blouse buttoned all the way to the top, and her glasses had severe black frames.

  “What? What is it?” Mrs. Cookmarble snapped. Edie realized she must have been staring.

  “I’m sorry. I have an appointment with you to make an appointment with Dr. Kaboom.”

  “That responsibility now belongs to my assistant, Mrs. Marblecook,” Mrs. Cookmarble said, hooking a thumb at Mrs. Marblecook’s desk. “And she’s out today.”

&
nbsp; “Can’t you just fill in for her? The appointment book is right there on her desk.” Edie pointed at the appointment book, which only yesterday had been on the desk she was now standing before.

  “No, I’ve been training her for months, and I don’t want to undermine her confidence by taking over at this very sensitive time,” Mrs. Cookmarble said. “If you’d like, I can make an appointment for you to meet with Mrs. Marblecook to make an appointment with Dr. Kaboom, even though I am technically on my break for another four minutes.”

  Edie looked hard at Mrs. Cookmarble, who stared back smugly. Edie was pretty sure she was being given the runaround. “This is what comes with trying to get something done the straightforward way,” she thought. But again, she didn’t have much of a choice.

  “Yes, please.” Edie sighed.

  She made the appointment for Friday morning, but she was through being nice. The next time she came back, she would be armed.

  On Friday morning Edie didn’t take the bus; she had her dad drive her to school on his way to work. Waving as he drove off, she checked the time on her cell phone. In half an hour the cannon and the gong would signal the start of classes. That was all the time she needed.

  Edie had done an exceptional job researching her subject, if she did say so herself. She had gotten reams of information from newspaper articles, interviews with neighbors, and even a little good old-fashioned snooping. The night before, after her parents had gone to sleep, she had slipped out her bedroom window and ridden her bicycle to a small blue house with a broken picket fence. This was her subject’s residence. She pushed open the front door, which had been left unlocked, to find some firsthand evidence. Yes, it was breaking and entering, but she didn’t worry too much about being caught—her subject no longer lived there. Nobody did. But it wasn’t Dr. Kaboom she was investigating. This time she had set her sights on somebody else. What she found in that house was shocking, and perfect for her purposes.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Marblecook,” Edie said sweetly. Mrs. Marblecook was sitting at her desk, practically hidden by the ever-growing pile of stuff that had gathered there. Edie noted that she now had several electric pencil sharpeners and a collection of scissors: twelve pairs, to be exact.