This Can't Be Happening at MacDonald Hall!

by Gordon Korman

  “This has gone far enough!” Mr. Sturgeon bellowed. “There are no aliens! There is no spaceship! This is all a horrible mistake …”

  “Who’s this old geezer?” asked the UFO man. “Are you trying to interfere with a scientific investigation?”

  Mr. Sturgeon’s face turned purple. He stood up, soaked to the skin and shivering, trying to muster what dignity he had left. “Enough of this nonsense!” he spluttered. “Students, return to your rooms at once! Immediately! I will deal with this in the morning. I repeat: there is no danger; there are no aliens.”

  Under the Headmaster’s icy gaze, the crowd began to drift away. Mr. Sturgeon turned to the UFO investigator. “Doubtless you are able to recognize the basket of a balloon,” he said. “That is your UFO.”

  “Oh,” mumbled the man. “Well then, never mind.” He scurried to his truck, shut off the loudspeaker and drove away.

  * * *

  “My word, William! Whatever happened to you? Is it raining?”

  “No, Mildred, it is not raining,” Mr. Sturgeon responded with admirable control. “One of the well-bred young ladies from across the road sloshed a bucket of water on me.”

  “Gracious! Why would she do a thing like that?”

  “Oh, it was purely accidental,” said Mr. Sturgeon bitterly. “She misjudged. Actually, she was bringing the water to revive Elmer Drimsdale.”

  “What was wrong with Elmer Drimsdale?”

  Mr. Sturgeon sighed deeply. “A basket fell on him,” he explained, “after Miss Scrimmage shot it down. Mildred, that woman is going to kill someone one day!”

  “Yes, yes, dear,” his wife soothed. “I’m sure everything will be fine in the morning. Let’s not wake up Francisco. The poor child is just exhausted. Thank heaven for Bruno and Melvin!” she added.

  “I wouldn’t put it quite that way,” Mr. Sturgeon replied sourly. “Those two have finally gone too far. Tonight was the last straw.”

  “Nonsense. All they did was save a child. They didn’t create the disturbance. They went out to try and stop it.”

  Mr. Sturgeon opened his mouth and then closed it again. There was no use trying to explain to his wife about Bruno and Boots. Instead, he marched upstairs in search of a towel and dry pyjamas.

  Chapter 14

  No End to Miracles!

  Bruno was sleeping in. Elmer, who had not slept a wink since the incident, could only marvel at his roommate’s tranquillity.

  There was a knock at the door. Elmer answered it to admit the office messenger.

  “Greetings, Alien Elmer,” the boy pronounced. “I am the bearer of a message from Earth.”

  “For me?” Elmer quavered.

  “Nope, for Walton. From Mission Control.”

  Elmer breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Bruno, wake up. There’s a message for you from Mr. Sturgeon.”

  Bruno rolled over and yawned. “I’m too tired. He’ll have to wait.”

  “Oh no, he won’t,” said the messenger. “The place is crawling with cops.”

  Bruno bounded out of bed and began to dress.

  * * *

  “I just knew that you and your unsavoury friend had to be behind that uproar last night,” growled George. “This came for you.” He handed Boots a message from the office.

  “Doesn’t bother me a bit,” shrugged Boots with as much false confidence as he could muster. “I intend to put the blame squarely where it belongs — on you.”

  “You wouldn’t dare!” cried George, but Boots was already out the door and gone.

  He ran full tilt to the Faculty Building, where he narrowly avoided another collision: Bruno was running from the other direction.

  “Are you as scared as I am?” asked Boots.

  “Me? Scared?” lied Bruno. “Never worry about what you can’t avoid, I always say.” He cleared his throat. “I hear there were cops here this morning.”

  “Oh no!” moaned Boots. “Expelled and arrested.”

  “It’s only our first offence,” Bruno offered hopefully. “Maybe we’ll just get bawled out.”

  “I hope I do get arrested,” said Boots grimly. “I’d like to have iron bars between me and The Fish. When Cathy dumped that water on his head …” He shuddered — then grinned and added, “I just about cheered!”

  “And when Francisco asked if he was The Fish … We may be in big trouble,” chuckled Bruno, “but it sure was funny! And Miss Scrimmage shooting at the balloon …”

  “And the way it conked Elmer Drimsdale!” howled Boots.

  “And then that looney from the UFO Society called The Fish an old geezer!” screeched Bruno.

  “And now The Fish is going to kill us!” screamed Boots.

  “And the cops are after us!” moaned Bruno.

  The laughter died abruptly as the boys were jolted from the hilarious past into the uncomfortable present.

  “Why put it off?” said Boots sadly. “We’d better get in there.”

  They entered the Faculty Building and found the outer office deserted.

  “What do we do now?” asked Boots.

  Bruno shrugged and knocked as lightly as he could on the Headmaster’s door. “Maybe no one’s here,” he whispered.

  “Come in,” said a voice they recognized only too well.

  Bruno and Boots walked into the office like two prisoners about to face a firing squad. Mr. Sturgeon, Francisco Diaz, and a small, dark gentleman were waiting for them.

  Mr. Sturgeon spoke first. “Sir, here are Bruno Walton and Melvin O’Neal, the two boys who rescued Francisco from the balloon. Boys, this is Ambassador Diaz.”

  The small man walked over to Bruno and Boots. He bowed slightly, then shook hands with both of them. “I am Francisco’s father,” he began. “I find it difficult to express my gratitude to you. You are certainly two very brave and resourceful young men.”

  Boots blushed to the roots of his blond hair. Bruno’s face broke into a grin.

  “If it had not been for you,” Mr. Diaz went on, “my son might very well have been lost: I owe you his life. In my country we bestow medals upon people who display such unselfish courage.”

  A strangled sound erupted from Bruno. He covered it up with a bout of severe coughing. Boots felt he had to say something — Bruno was certainly in no condition to speak. “We’re very grateful, sir,” he finally managed. “Thank you very much.”

  “I have arranged an outdoor assembly for this afternoon,” said Mr. Sturgeon, staring at the ceiling. He took a deep breath and continued. “And I understand the Royal Canadian Mounted Police have some medals to present as well.”

  At last Bruno found his voice. “Did you — uh — mention Elmer Drimsdale, sir?” He caught Mr. Sturgeon’s eye. Elmer was likely to suffer ridicule for a long time because of his UFO scare. “Elmer spotted the balloon with his telescope and started the — uh — alert,” he explained to Mr. Diaz.

  Mr. Sturgeon’s steely grey eyes searched Bruno’s earnest dark ones. The Headmaster understood. “I shall certainly mention Elmer Drimsdale,” he said slowly.

  “By all means! There will be a medal for him too,” said Mr. Diaz. “I wish we could have an official ceremony, but I left Ottawa in such a hurry that I neglected to bring our flag.”

  “That is unfortunate,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “I am afraid Macdonald Hall does not possess a Portuguese flag.”

  “Excuse me?” said the ambassador questioningly. “We are not Portuguese.”

  “Oh …” said Mr. Sturgeon in embarrassment. “When I heard Francisco speaking Portuguese, I naturally assumed — that is — er — what is your country, sir?”

  The ambassador drew himself up to his full height and announced proudly, “I have the honour to represent the government of Malbonia.”

  Twin gasps from Bruno and Boots punctuated the sudden silence. Mr. Sturgeon cleared his throat carefully. “In that case, Mr. Diaz, I am pleased to be able to tell you that, by a fortunate coincidence, I just happen to have the flag of Malbonia right here i
n my safe.”

  “But this is splendid!” exclaimed the ambassador. “Until two o’clock, then.”

  * * *

  Mr. and Mrs. Sturgeon entertained the ambassador and Francisco at lunch. While the adults were finishing their coffee in the living room, Francisco glanced over the morning’s Globe and Mail. The politely hushed conversation was suddenly interrupted by a peal of laughter from the boy.

  “What is it, Francisco?” asked Mr. Diaz.

  Francisco could hardly speak. “Read this, sir,” he said, handing the paper to Mr. Sturgeon.

  The Headmaster adjusted his glasses and read the article aloud: “BANK ROBBERS SNAGGED BY NET. Buffalo, New York. Three armed bank robbers were apprehended by a volleyball net which fell on them as they were being chased by police early this morning. Almost $500,000 was recovered. Police are still baffled about the origin of the net which, according to the report, dropped suddenly from the sky, entangling the fugitives. The net bears a tag reading Macdonald Hall.”

  Mr. Sturgeon looked up from the newspaper and met his wife’s eyes. “It would appear, Mildred,” he sighed, “that there is no end to these miracles.”

  * * *

  Under the bright Ontario sunshine and the briskly fluttering flag of Malbonia, Bruno Walton, Boots O’Neal and Elmer Drimsdale were solemnly decorated with that country’s medal of civic heroism. The entire faculty and student body of Macdonald Hall were present, as well as the girls from Miss Scrimmage’s Finishing School for Young Ladies, who cheered lustily. Standing on the platform were representatives of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, the Ontario Provincial Police and the Macdonald Hall Board of Directors. In addition to the Malbonian medal, each boy received the RCMP Bravery Medal and the OPP Youth Award.

  Bruno looked down at his chest. Three medals gleamed on the front of his best navy blue blazer. He glanced at Elmer standing beside him, then past Elmer at Boots. Even in their moment of glory, Bruno reflected, The Fish had seen to it that he and Boots were separated.

  The ceremonies had just ended and the boys were making polite conversation with the officials when their attention was diverted by the arrival of yet another police car. It proceeded up the driveway and halted next to the platform.

  Boots poked Bruno. “New York State Police?” he whispered questioningly.

  Bruno shrugged. “Who knows?” They stared as two tan-uniformed State Troopers got out of the car, opened the trunk and took out a volleyball net.

  “I expect you’re wondering about that,” said Mr. Sturgeon’s voice behind them. “It was in the morning paper. It seems the net found its way to Buffalo just in time to capture three bank robbers.”

  Bruno spun around to face the Headmaster. “You’re kidding!” he exclaimed.

  Mr. Sturgeon shook his head. “I never kid.”

  Coach Flynn hurried forward to retrieve his volleyball net. “I don’t know how it got to Buffalo,” said one of the officers, “but it sure came in handy. Thanks a lot.” The two officers got back into their patrol car and drove off.

  As the crowd began to disperse, Mr. Snow, chairman of the Board of Directors, turned to Mr. Sturgeon. “William,” he said, “everyone has rewarded these fine boys except Macdonald Hall.”

  “Quite right, Jim.” The Headmaster turned to his students. “Elmer, what can the school do for you?”

  Elmer was in a daze: he had no idea why he had been awarded the three medals which now hung on his jacket. He was merely grateful that no one was about to expel him.

  “Ask for a new telescope, Elm,” suggested Bruno in a stage whisper. “Yours got all banged up in the — uh — excitement.”

  “What’s that? A telescope?” repeated Mr. Snow. “Granted. I will personally take you shopping for it next week. And what about our other two fine young heroes?”

  “Well,” said Bruno, trying to word his request with great care. “We’re pretty good friends, sir, Melvin and I. We’d like to room together.”

  Mr. Snow smiled broadly. “That’s certainly not an unreasonable request,” he said. “William, is there any reason why these two boys can’t be roommates?”

  Mr. Sturgeon sighed, then spoke slowly. “Not a reason in the world, Jim. I believe room 306 is vacant. They can move into it immediately.”

  * * *

  Boots crammed the last of his possessions into his suitcase. “Well, that’s that,” he said.

  “Good-bye, Melvin,” sneered George. “I hope you haven’t forgotten anything.”

  “Good-bye, George,” said Boots. “Uh — about all those mean things I did to you …”

  “Yes,” said George expectantly.

  “If I had half the chance,” Boots grinned wickedly, “I’d do them all again. And I hope Magneco goes down fifty points!”

  “The next time a balloon gets lost, I hope you’re aboard,” snapped George.

  “And I’ll do my best,” promised Boots, “to land on you.” Then he was gone.

  * * *

  Bruno’s departure was slightly warmer. “About all those rotten stunts, Elm,” he said, “it was nothing against you, really. I’m sorry if I’ve made your life miserable.”

  “On the contrary,” said Elmer sadly, “I think I’m going to miss you. Here, I have a little gift for you.” Elmer held out a small glass bowl which contained a lively baby goldfish. “His name is Bruno,” he said shyly. “He hatched in the bathtub yesterday. I’d like you to have him.”

  “Wow!” said Bruno, and quickly helped himself to some of the aquarium supplies on the table.

  “So you do like him?” Elmer asked.

  “Like him! I’m crazy about him!” Bruno replied. “You’re a good friend, Elmer.”

  “You’re a good friend too,” Elmer said. “It was you, wasn’t it, who got me all those medals and a new telescope?”

  Bruno shrugged. “Well, look at it this way: since you spotted the balloon, Francisco would have been saved anyway. You’re a hero too, Elm.”

  With his suitcase in one hand and the fish bowl in the other, Bruno left Dormitory 2. He moved slowly, almost reluctantly, until he caught sight of his old room. The blinds were up and he could see Boots hanging up the old movie posters.

  “Home, sweet home,” he sighed.

  Be sure to read the next hilarious Macdonald Hall adventure:

  Chapter 1

  The Big Fizzle

  “Come on, Boots! Swim!” shouted Bruno Walton. His usually overpowering voice was drowned out by the competing roars of the Macdonald Hall rooting section and their York Academy rivals on the other side of the pool.

  In lane number 3, Boots O’Neal, Macdonald Hall’s star swimmer, churned his arms in a steady, powerful crawl. His pace was good, but not good enough. Dimly he could see at least two figures ahead of him.

  As he bobbed up and down at the end of the race, the loudspeaker blared: First place, York Academy. Second, York Academy. Third, York Academy. Fourth, fifth and sixth, Macdonald Hall. The winners of the meet, victorious in all events, York Academy!

  Wild cheering erupted from the host benches, accompanied by good-natured, though half-hearted, applause from the boys of Macdonald Hall.

  As Boots heaved himself out of the pool, Bruno threw him a towel. “Nice try.”

  Boots nodded breathlessly. “Those turkeys can swim!” he panted.

  “Why not?” Bruno shrugged indifferently. “They have their own pool. Our team gets an hour a week at the Y.”

  Boots shook his head dejectedly. “It really gets to you,” he said. “Only two weeks at school and already they’re one up on us. I sure wish we had a pool.”

  Silence fell as the boys from both schools watched Mr. Hartley, Headmaster of York Academy, and Mr. Sturgeon, Headmaster of Macdonald Hall, present a large gleaming trophy to the smirking captain of the winning team. Boots and the rest of his team lined up for the traditional handshake, but led by their captain, the winners disdainfully turned their backs and walked out. Their jubilant supporters followed.


  “Boy!” exclaimed Sidney Rampulsky, withdrawing his outstretched hand to flip the wet hair back from his forehead. “I never saw anything like that before!”

  “Gracious winners, aren’t they?” someone commented.

  “Jerks!”

  “Such class!”

  “They’ve been swimming too long! They must have water on the brain!”

  “Turkeys!” snarled Bruno. “Someone’s going to have to teach them some manners!”

  “I don’t mind losing,” said Pete Anderson mildly, “but that was pretty rotten. I’d like to fix them for that.”

  There were murmurs of agreement throughout the Macdonald Hall crowd.

  “Fortunately,” announced Bruno with a diabolical grin, “I happen to have the very thing. Wilbur, you’re strong. Go get the crate I hid under the back seat on our bus. The one marked Fizz-All Upset Stomach Remedy.”

  Boots stared at him in horror. “Fizz-All! I thought you were kidding! Did you really bring that stuff?”

  “Of course,” replied Bruno. “I believe in being prepared for any emergency. We’ll mix them a cocktail they’ll never forget!”

  As the bus pulled out of the parking lot a half-hour later, twenty pounds of Fizz-All crystals were turning the York Academy pool into a white, boiling torrent. There was great jubilation on the bus, and much song and laughter.

  Mr. Sturgeon turned to his athletic director, Alex Flynn. “I’m very proud of our boys,” he said. “They suffered an honourable defeat and were treated rudely, but they’re not letting it upset them.”

  As the bus turned off Highway 48 onto the tree-lined driveway of Macdonald Hall, students swarmed out to meet it. Across the road, a delegation of girls from the famous Miss Scrimmage’s Finishing School for Young Ladies waved and shrieked to welcome the boys’ swim team home. The travellers rattled off the bus in great good humour.

  “Well?” asked Mark Davies, editor of the school newspaper. “How did we make out this time?”

  “Oh,” laughed Bruno airily, “it was a fizzle.”

  * * *

  “My boys did what?” Mr. Sturgeon exclaimed into the telephone.