This Can't Be Happening at MacDonald Hall!

by Gordon Korman

  “Ah,” said Elmer, squinting into the eyepiece and turning two knobs on the side, “it’s coming clearer. Yes, I see it — the horsehead nebula!”

  “Mmm-hmm,” grunted Bruno. Instead of contemplating the universe, he was concentrating on the problem of getting out through the window with Elmer so firmly established there.

  Elmer was providing a running commentary. “Look! Can it be? Yes — the crab nebula! Caused by an exploding star millions of years ago!”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Bruno repeated. He tiptoed through the room gathering up some of Elmer’s more recognizable possessions — the skull of a rodent, a signed membership in the Toronto Horticultural Society and a corked test tube bearing the label: Drimsdale, Test 3-A, Sept. 15. Now how am I going to get out of here? Bruno thought. I’ll never get past the housemaster at the main doors.

  Elmer was still raving about the crab nebula and was even starting to sketch it when Bruno opened the door. “Bruno, this is fabulous! I’ve never seen such a clear night!” The door shut silently. In a second Bruno was knocking on the door of 205.

  “Who is it?” demanded Perry Elbert.

  “Me. Bruno.”

  “You! Go away,” groaned Perry. “I refuse to open the door.”

  “No trouble,” Bruno promised. “Honest. I just have to borrow your window.”

  Reluctantly Perry opened the door and let him in. “So long as you’re just passing through,” he said.

  “Thanks, Perry, you’re a pal. I’ll be back in an hour.” Bruno swung his legs over the sill and dropped down onto the grass.

  At the old cannon, Boots was waiting for him. “What took you so long?” he asked indignantly.

  “You won’t believe this,” Bruno said, “but Elmer is an astronomer. His world is out of this world! Tonight is a clear night, the crab nebula looks sharp — and I had to find another window. Now, where are we going?”

  “Miss Scrimmage’s.” Boots grinned in the darkness. “Elmer Drimsdale and George Wexford-Smyth III are going to stage a shameful panty raid on the young ladies.”

  In no time they were across the road, over the wrought-iron fence and under Diane Grant’s window. Again pebbles were thrown and the familiar blonde head leaned out.

  “Go away, Bruno,” grumbled the girl. “I’m already grounded for a month. Haven’t you done enough?”

  Bruno ignored her question. “I’ve got Boots with me,” Bruno whispered. “Can we come up?”

  “Are you crazy?” Diane exclaimed. “I’ll be shot!”

  But Bruno was already climbing the drainpipe to the window ledge. Diane and Cathy, her roommate, reached out and pulled him inside. Boots followed right behind him.

  “If we’re caught …” Diane threatened.

  “Don’t be silly,” interrupted Bruno. “I never get caught. Can you cut the legs off an old pair of panty hose for us?” Then he turned to Boots. “Go ahead. It’s your show.”

  “Get the girls together for a briefing,” Boots ordered, “and tell them to bring their panties — this is a raid!”

  Without a word or a question, Cathy and Diane grinned and set off to gather their friends. As each girl slipped into the room, she deposited a pair of panties in a pillowcase that Boots held out. They showed no surprise at the boys’ presence. Miss Scrimmage’s young ladies were always ready for some excitement.

  Boots cleared his throat. “Girls, this is a panty raid. We are the raiders, but it isn’t us. We are really Elmer Drimsdale and George Wexford-Smyth III. Got it?”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” one girl protested. “George? That pill? He wouldn’t raid anything if it wasn’t for money. Give me my panties back.”

  “Quiet! Quiet!” Cathy hissed as the girls started to scream with laughter. “Do you want old Scrimmage down here dropping her bloomers in the bag?”

  “Who was the other guy?” another girl asked, shaking with laughter. “Elmer Drysdale?”

  “Drimsdale,” replied Bruno. “You wouldn’t know him. He doesn’t like girls — ants are more his type.”

  Boots held up his hands for order, then passed around George’s and Elmer’s belongings. The girls fell silent. “Now, here’s what I want you to do,” he explained. “Plant these things around your rooms and mess up your drawers. Then wait. When Bruno and I start yelling up and down the halls, I want to hear screaming. Real screaming — bloodcurdling screaming. I want chaos and disorder. In short, I want a riot — a full-fledged riot. Can you handle it?”

  “Certainly,” said Cathy. “Riots are our specialty.”

  “All right,” Boots nodded. “Everybody to battle stations. You’ve got two minutes to get ready.”

  When the girls were gone, Bruno and Boots pulled the nylons over their heads and tiptoed into the hall. “Boy, this is going to be fun,” whispered Bruno.

  “If we get away with it,” said Boots. “Okay, now!”

  The two galloped up and down the hallways like wild horses, shouting in the deepest voices they could manage and banging on the walls. Right on cue, the girls began to scream. They were extremely good at it — adding howling and screeching and slamming of doors for effect.

  “Boys! There are boys in the dormitory!”

  “Help! They’re in my room!”

  “Miss Scrimmage! Miss Scrimmage! Help!”

  Satisfied that the riot was progressing nicely, Bruno and Boots slipped back into Diane and Cathy’s room and shinnied down the drainpipe. Just as they reached the ground Cathy had a great flash of inspiration. She raced down the hall and yanked on the fire-alarm lever. At the deafening clang of the fire bell Bruno and Boots shot over Miss Scrimmage’s fence, across the road and onto their own campus. At Macdonald Hall a crowd was already beginning to gather.

  Boots grabbed Bruno from behind. “The stocking, you idiot! You’re still wearing the stocking!” He snatched it from Bruno’s head. “Now’s our chance to head for our own dorms and get back into our rooms unnoticed.”

  Bruno nodded. “Give me some panties first. If Elmer’s going to get blamed for all this, he might as well have something to show for it.”

  The two separated. Boots slipped in with the boys from Dormitory 1 and tried to look sleepy in spite of the fact that he was fully dressed. “Hey, where’s everybody going?” he demanded.

  “Are you deaf?” someone replied. “Miss Scrimmage’s is on fire!”

  The boys from Dormitory 2 were also outside milling around in confusion. Bruno suddenly found himself standing beside Perry Elbert, who stared at him accusingly.

  “You promised,” Perry wailed. “You said no trouble. You lied!”

  “No way,” Bruno answered. “I didn’t pull that fire alarm.” Then he turned to the noisy crowd and bellowed, “Miss Scrimmage and the girls are in danger! Who can save them?”

  “We can!” roared the crowd.

  “Follow me, men!” Bruno screamed in delight. “On to Scrimmage’s to save the girls!”

  With Bruno bellowing at the head of his army, the brave men of Macdonald Hall poured across the road and stormed Miss Scrimmage’s campus. Their cries of “Don’t worry, girls!” and “Hang in there, girls!” were met by Cathy’s ear-splitting scream, “The boys are here! We’re saved!”

  Suddenly Miss Scrimmage appeared on the front balcony of the residence, wrapped in a bathrobe, her hair in pincurls, her glasses askew on her nose. She was waving a shotgun and shouting hysterically. “Where’s the lion?” she screeched. “Hang on, girls, I’ll save you!”

  BOOM! The shotgun went off by mistake, blasting a large hole in the sign over the main gate. All screaming stopped abruptly. The girls, who had been carried across the highway to safety by the courageous Macdonald Hall army, began to straggle back.

  Finally Mr. Sturgeon and several members of his staff arrived on the scene. They entered the residence and investigated until they could assure Miss Scrimmage that there was no fire — and no lion. A few minutes later Mr. Sturgeon came out onto the balcony and addressed his boys. “Ret
urn to your rooms at once,” he ordered. “There is no fire. I repeat, return to your rooms at once.”

  * * *

  When he got back to his room, Boots discovered that George had not yet returned from the scene of the commotion. Whistling cheerfully, he extracted a pair of pink panties from the pillowcase and stuffed them into the pocket of George’s tan jacket. The rest of the panties he pushed under George’s pillow. Then he climbed into bed and promptly fell asleep.

  * * *

  Bruno beat the crowd back to Dormitory 2. As he quietly opened the door to his room, Elmer’s voice floated out: “Did you know, Bruno, that some scientists think the crab nebula was formed before our solar system? Do you realize that means I’m looking at it as it actually was hundreds of millions of years ago?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” said Bruno. Unbelievably, Elmer had never missed him, nor had he noticed the commotion on the two campuses. He had been glued to his telescope all this time — gazing and drawing and theorizing.

  “Elmer, old buddy, you’re one in a million,” marvelled Bruno.

  Elmer took this as a compliment. “Thank you, Bruno,” he said,

  * * *

  The battlefield was deserted. A light breeze whispered through the evergreens on both campuses. In front of Miss Scrimmage’s, soft moonlight illuminated tattered bushes and trampled flower beds — and a sign which read: Miss Scrimmage’s Fishing School for Young Ladies.

  Chapter 9

  Expelled?

  At precisely 9:00 on Sunday morning a knock sounded at the door of room 201. Bruno was still in bed, but Elmer was awake and dressed, taking care of the new algae eater in his fish tank. He dried his hands and opened the door.

  There stood the school messenger, one of the freshmen. “Boy, Drimsdale,” he said, “are you ever in trouble!” He handed Elmer a note which ordered him to present himself at the Headmaster’s office in one hour’s time.

  Elmer collapsed in a heap on his bed. “I knew it,” he moaned. “Someone must have seen my telescope at the window last night and reported that I was up after lights-out. My telescope will probably be confiscated — I may even be punished! I’ve never been punished in my whole life!” In agony, he hugged his pillow — and his hand closed on a pair of silk panties. Elmer screamed so loudly that Bruno bounded out of bed in alarm.

  “What are these?” cried Elmer, waving the panties in Bruno’s face.

  “If you don’t know,” Bruno replied, “then I can’t help you. I can only assure you that they’re not mine.”

  “But where did they come from?” Elmer shrieked. “How did they get here?”

  Bruno pretended to think about it for a moment. Then he stared at his roommate in horror. “Elmer! You?”

  “What do you mean, me?”

  “The panty raid at Miss Scrimmage’s last night,” said Bruno. “It was you! I wouldn’t have believed it — I thought you said girls were so icky.”

  “What panty raid? I’m innocent!” Elmer screamed. “Am I going to get blamed for something I don’t even know about?”

  “Into each life some rain must fall,” said Bruno philosophically. “Whatever you sow, you must reap.”

  * * *

  The messenger had continued to Dormitory 1. Boots took the note from him and woke George. “Note for you, George. From Mr. Sturgeon’s office.”

  George yawned sleepily. “Oh, that must be about my allowance from Papa.” He accented the second syllable. “He always sends it by special messenger. I can hardly wait to see if I got the raise I asked for.”

  Boots smiled. “Maybe you’ll get even more than you asked for,” he said.

  When George reached the office the door was open; so he knocked, then went right in. As he entered the room, he was surprised to see Elmer Drimsdale seated meekly on the bench. George walked towards the visitor’s chair, but Mr. Sturgeon motioned to him to sit beside Elmer. George was puzzled. Mr. Sturgeon opened his top desk drawer and pulled out a plastic bag. From it he took out one rodent skull, one Toronto Horticultural Society membership card and a labelled test tube. He made a second pile with a money clip, a cell phone and a pen and pencil set, all clearly monogrammed.

  “I believe these belong to you,” the Headmaster said grimly.

  “Y-yes sir,” George stammered, now thoroughly confused. Elmer was speechless.

  “These items were gathered at Miss Scrimmage’s last night after a disgraceful episode during which some articles of — er — underwear were stolen.” George began to sweat. “The discovery of these items,” Mr. Sturgeon continued, “has led everyone to conclude that you two were the raiders. Unfortunately I have no alternative but to agree.” He smiled grimly. “You were even identified by name by several of the young ladies.”

  George began to sweat even more. He reached for his handkerchief to wipe his forehead — and pulled out a pair of pink panties. “Yipes!” he cried.

  “That will do,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “I rather think that that strange substitute for a pocket handkerchief completes the case against you.”

  “But, sir,” pleaded George, “I have no idea how that got into my pocket!”

  Mr. Sturgeon’s smile changed. “Then I imagine your thinking is a little slow, Wexford-Smyth. I’m quite certain that I know how it got there.”

  “I found some things like that under my pillow,” Elmer gasped.

  “I’m not surprised to hear that,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “It seems that you two boys have been very nicely framed.”

  For the first time since he had received the summons Elmer felt a surge of hope. He still had very little idea of what he had been framed for, but so long as he wasn’t going to be punished, his world looked as if it would keep on turning.

  “Melvin!” George exclaimed. “It was Melvin, wasn’t it, sir? And that uncouth friend of his, Bruno Walton?”

  “Bruno,” echoed Elmer sadly. “I’ve had enough of Bruno to last me a lifetime!”

  “Is Walton harassing you?” asked Mr. Sturgeon.

  Elmer shook his head. “Oh no, sir. It’s just that he’s so — unrestrained. And I’m so — I guess I seem dull to him, sir. I don’t think he likes me.”

  “Melvin is certainly harassing me, sir,” George broke in. “He should be punished, if you ask me.”

  “I fail to recall asking you,” said Mr. Sturgeon, giving George his infamous grey look. Then he leaned back in his chair. “Boys, I would like to try an experiment. This is what I want you to do.”

  * * *

  Elmer Drimsdale, head down and feet dragging, returned to his room and flopped down on his bed.

  “What’s the matter, Elm?” asked Bruno, bursting with curiosity. “Aren’t you going to crack the old books?”

  “Books?” sobbed Elmer. “What’s the point? I’ve been expelled!”

  Bruno’s normally ruddy face turned chalk-white. “What? They can’t do this to you! You’re innocent! You didn’t do anything!”

  “I know that,” said Elmer, “but Mr. Sturgeon didn’t believe me. He expelled me. My mother is going to kill me!”

  “But you were scanning the skies!” Bruno howled. “The crab nebula, remember?”

  Elmer didn’t answer. He took his suitcase from the closet, opened his dresser drawers and began to pack. Bruno stalked up and down the room like a madman.

  “You don’t have to pretend you’re upset just to make me feel better,” said Elmer sadly. “I know you hate me and will be glad to be rid of me.”

  “What do you mean hate you?” Bruno cried. “I’m crazy about you! I love your ants! I love your goldfish and your plants! I’m absolutely wild about your experiments! I’m a Drimsdologist! My world is the Elmer Drimsdale world!” On that note, he ran wildly out of the room.

  * * *

  “I have been expelled, Melvin,” George announced bitterly. “I leave immediately.”

  “Expelled?” Boots echoed. “Leave? Why?”

  “Elmer Drimsdale and I are being blamed for whatever happened at Miss Scrimma
ge’s last night,” said George. He began to pack his medicines into a large leather chest marked Health Care. “We’ve both been expelled and —” He turned around to find he was talking to an empty room.

  Boots tore across the campus towards the Faculty Building. He didn’t know what he was going to say to Mr. Sturgeon; he only knew he could not allow George to be expelled for something he hadn’t done. He ran blindly, his mind in a turmoil. Just at the foot of the cement walk he collided heavily with another running figure.

  “Bruno, we can’t let it happen!”

  “You too, eh?” Bruno replied. “What are we going to do?”

  “What can we do?” asked Boots. “Besides confess, that is.”

  “Confess nothing!” countered Bruno. “If The Fish is ready to expel Elmer and George, he’ll be ready to hang us! Listen — we don’t have to say we did it; we just have to say that Elmer and George didn’t. We’re their roommates, after all. What better alibi could they have?”

  “He’ll never believe us,” Boots said dejectedly. “it was the stupidest thing we’ve ever done.”

  “Well, it was your idea,” muttered Bruno. “C’mon.”

  The oak doors had never been heavier. The echoes of their footsteps on the marble floor sounded like a death march in some great tomb. The desks in the outer office had never seemed so high, nor the white walls so desolate.

  The office was deserted, but Mr. Sturgeon’s door was open a crack. Boots knocked lightly. “It’s Melvin O’Neal, sir. Bruno and I would like to talk to you.”

  A muffled sound escaped from the inner office. It sounded very much like a chuckle, and the words, “Right on time.” Then the Headmaster called out, “Come on in, boys.”

  On their way in, Bruno and Boots exchanged puzzled looks. What was going on?

  Mr. Sturgeon did not speak until the two were seated uncomfortably on the hard wooden bench. Finally he said, “Why are you two boys together?”

  “Uh — we aren’t exactly together, sir,” said Bruno. “We just ran into each other on the way over here.”

  “Very well. Now, what brings you here?”

  “Sir,” Bruno began, “you can’t expel Elmer Drimsdale.”