AAAARGH!!!

by Bill Myers

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  AAAARGH!!!

  Copyright © 2011 by Bill Myers. All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration copyright © 2010 by Peter Bollinger. All rights reserved.

  Designed by Stephen Vosloo

  Edited by Sarah Mason

  Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920, www.alivecommunications.com.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  For manufacturing information regarding this product, please call 1-800-323-9400.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Myers, Bill, date.

  AAAARGH!!! / Bill Myers.

  p. cm. — (TJ and the time stumblers ; bk. 2)

  ISBN 978-1-4143-3454-7 (sc)

  [1. Conduct of life—Fiction. 2. Cheating—Fiction. 3. Time travel—Fiction. 4. Junior high schools—Fiction. 5. Schools—Fiction. 6. Malibu (Calif.)—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.M98234Aaf 2011

  [Fic]—dc22

  2010029275

  Build: 2013-04-11 13:17:58

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE: Beginnings . . .

  CHAPTER TWO: Temptations

  CHAPTER THREE: Temptations x 2

  CHAPTER FOUR: Crystal Ball . . . 23rd Century Style

  CHAPTER FIVE: Amped-up Ambitions

  CHAPTER SIX: Caffeine Jitters

  CHAPTER SEVEN: A Not-So-Bright Future

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Stranger than Fiction . . . or Not.

  CHAPTER NINE: Hide and Go EEEK!

  CHAPTER TEN: Ahoy, Ye Surfers!

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: Mopping Up

  For the Kristi Toler-Harding family

  CHAPTER ONE

  Beginnings . . .

  TIME TRAVEL LOG:

  Malibu, California, October 19

  Begin Transmission:

  Time-travel pod still zworked. Subject is growing used to our presence. She barely groans when she sees us. Big-time improvement. Currently assisting her in studies, though she doesn’t exactly appear grateful.

  End Transmission

  “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” TJ Finkelstein yelled as she dropped the book she was reading and jumped up from her desk. “HERBY!”

  Now, TJ really wasn’t a yeller. But when your room is suddenly filled with two dozen pirates from the 1700s (and none of them are as cute as Johnny Depp), well, that’s enough to make anybody a little irritable.

  Actually, it wasn’t the pirates that bothered TJ as much as their

  sword fighting.

  “TUNA!?” she shouted.

  And even that wasn’t as bad as their

  falling down all wounded on her floor.

  “Great!” she cried. “How am I going to get those bloodstains out of my carpet? HERBY!”

  There was still no answer, except for the

  of another pirate as he swung toward her on a rope.

  She screamed and dropped to the floor as he flew past, missing her by inches. Scrambling back to her feet, she searched the room—ducking this sword, dodging that saber as the pirates continued to

  Once again she shouted, “TUNA! HERBY! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

  Suddenly two frightened heads popped out from under her bed. The good news was the heads were still attached to their bodies. (With all the swinging swords and sabers, that was good news.) The first belonged to Herby. He had long blond bangs and was not the brightest candle on the birthday cake. (Sometimes he couldn’t even find the party.) The second belonged to Tuna, who had red hair and was sort of chubby. They were both a couple years older than TJ and perfectly normal . . . except for the part about them coming from the 23rd century.

  The 23rd century?!

  That’s right. And don’t worry about the shouting—that was TJ’s first reaction too. It was also her second reaction and her third . . . and her reaction every time she woke up in the morning to see them standing in line to use her bathroom. (Apparently even 23rd-century time travelers need to use the facilities.)

  It seems she was the subject of their history project back at their school. Someday she would grow up to be a brilliant leader doing brilliant things (hard to believe, since she was still having a hard time opening her locker).

  Anyway, the two boys had traveled back to her time to observe her.

  The only problem was they got stuck. Their time-travel pod broke down and ran out of fuel. And until they could fix it, TJ Finkelstein had become their reluctant hostess. It wasn’t bad enough that she’d just moved to California from a small town in Missouri. Or that the kids at Malibu Junior High were the richest (and snobbiest) in the world. She also had to deal with all the catastrophes created by her brain-deprived friends from the 23rd century.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  Tuna (aka Thomas Uriah Norman Alphonso the Third) cleared his throat. “You appeared to be having some difficulty with your Treasure Island book report.” “It’s due tomorrow, and I haven’t had a chance to—”

  “Step lively, mateys! Comin’ through!”

  The boys ducked back under the bed and TJ jumped aside as two pirates rolled a heavy black cannon up to her window. She could only stare in disbelief.

  Herby was the first to pop back out. Flipping his bangs to the side, he explained, “We figured the coolest way to read a book is to, like, live it.”

  TJ glanced around. “You mean to watch it, like a movie.”

  Suddenly a gnarled hand reached around and covered her mouth, while another shoved an old-fashioned pistol into her side. Her eyes widened in terror as she turned to see a pirate with a wooden leg and a parrot perched on his shoulder.

  “Uh, no,” Tuna corrected, “we mean to actually live it.”

  The pirate growled, “And who might ye be, missy? Someone out to steal me treasure?”

  “Pieces of eight!” the parrot squawked. “Pieces of eight!”

  Of course TJ screamed: “Mmumoumrrmformmumrormf!” (Which might have sounded more like “Excuse me, I’d appreciate not dying at this particular time in my life!” if his hand weren’t still over her mouth.)

  “Are you saying you wish for us to stop?” Tuna asked.

  TJ glared at him.

  “I think we should take that as a yes,” Herby said.

  TJ gave a huge nod.

  “Well, all right, if you’re certain.” Tuna pulled out a giant Swiss Army Knife (the type sold at time-travel stores everywhere). He opened the blade labeled Story Amplifier and

  absolutely nothing happened. (Well, except for the cool sound.)

  “Try it again, dude!” Herby shouted.

  Tuna shut the blade and reopened it. Again, nothing happened, except for the still very cool

  Meanwhile, one of the pirates with the cannon at the window shouted, “Stand by!”

  His partner produced a giant wooden match and yelled, “Standing by!”

  Only then did TJ notice that the cannon wasn’t just pointing out her window. It was pointing out her window directly at her neighbor Chad Steel’s bedroom!

  “Nuummmermumblemuffin!” she shouted. Only this time she made her point clearer by raising her foot high in the air and stomping hard onto the pirate’s one good foot.

  “ARGH!” he shouted, letting her go and jumping up and d
own on his other foot (which, unfortunately, was not there). So, having only a peg for a foot, he did a lot more

  onto the ground than jumping. And with all the ker-plop-ing came a lot more “ARGH!”-ings followed by a ton of “Bleep-bleep-bleep, bleep-bleep-bleep”-ings (which is all pirates are allowed to scream in a PG-rated book).

  Meanwhile, the other two pirates were preparing to fire the cannon.

  “Ready!” the first pirate shouted.

  TJ raced to the window. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” She turned to the boys still under the bed. “Tuna! Herby! Do something!”

  “As you have no doubt observed,” Tuna explained, “our equipment is once again experiencing technical difficulties.”

  “Ready!” the second pirate echoed his partner’s command as he struck the giant match. But before he could light the cannon’s fuse, TJ spun around and blew it out.

  He frowned. “What ye be doin’ that for, missy?”

  She twirled back to Tuna and Herby. “Hit it on the ground again! Hit the knife thingy on the ground!”

  Once again the pirate lit a match and once again she spun around and blew it out.

  “ARGH,” the pirate argh-ed. (He would have thrown in a few bleeps of his own but figured his mother might be reading this book.)

  Tuna called back to TJ, “I fail to see how hitting the knife upon the—”

  “It’s worked before!” Herby shouted at Tuna. “Give it a try.”

  The second pirate struck a third match, and this time blocking TJ from it, he managed to light the fuse. It started smoking and sputtering.

  Tuna continued arguing with Herby. “I fail to see the logic in thwack-ing the Story Amplifier on the ground.”

  “Guys!” TJ shouted.

  “That’s how we fixed it before, dude.”

  “Guys!” TJ whirled back to the fuse, watching it burn toward the cannon.

  “This is extremely expensive equipment,” Tuna argued. “Such handling would be foolish and—”

  “Aim!” the first pirate shouted.

  “Aim!” the second pirate repeated as he adjusted the cannon so it would clearly destroy Chad’s house. “Fire!”

  “Fire!”

  Both men plugged their ears and closed their eyes . . . which gave TJ just enough time to throw herself at the cannon and

  move it 6¼ inches before it finally

  The good news was the cannonball missed Chad’s house by mere inches. (Close, but when it comes to total demolition of a neighbor’s house, every inch counts.)

  The better news was Tuna finally agreed to

  the knife on the floor until the Story Amplifier

  finally shut down.

  Suddenly everything in the room was back to normal. No fighting pirates, no shooting cannons. Everything was gone . . . well, except for one or two parrot feathers floating to the ground and the gentle sound of

  a light evening breeze blowing through the new hole in TJ’s bedroom wall. The new hole that was roughly the size of a very large cannonball.

  It had been a rough day for Hesper Breakahart, too. Besides the usual problems that came with being a super-rich, super-spoiled, and super-famous TV star on the Dizzy Channel, she had a terrible headache. There were three whiny reasons for her suffering:

  WHINY REASON #1

  The thirteen-year-old beauty queen had found a split end in her perfectly styled and perfectly blonde (because it was perfectly dyed) hair.

  But that catastrophe was nothing compared to

  WHINY REASON #2

  Hesper had nearly broken a nail—which is a danger you risk when your PTB (Personal Tooth Brusher) calls in sick and you have to brush your teeth by yourself.

  But even that was small potatoes (or in Hesper’s case, very small portions of caviar) when compared to

  WHINY REASON #3

  She was still having to talk to the common people. (Insert gasp here.) That’s right, the great Hesper Breakahart, star of stage, screen, and her own ego, actually had to pretend to like her fellow students.

  It had all started last week when the new girl from Memphis—or Miami or whatever that Midwest state that starts with an M is called—embarrassed her in front of the entire school. For five terrifying minutes, every student at Malibu Junior High had heard Hesper’s real thoughts broadcast through the school’s PA system. Now they all knew how much she loathed them. (It’s not that Hesper was a snob, but when you’re as big a winner as she is, it’s hard to ignore how big a loser everyone else is.)

  So for the last week, she’d had to go around school telling those awful, average people how much she respected them (insert second gasp here). Talk about embarrassing. Talk about humiliating. It was almost as bad as when she had to share the cover of Teen Idol with some stupid brother band that everyone was all gaga over.

  But now it was

  Hesper Breakahart was going to think up a plan so nasty and so evil that TB—or BLT or whatever that new girl’s name was—would wish she’d never been born.

  “So what will it be?” Hesper’s very best friend since forever asked while sitting at Hesper’s feet. (All of Hesper’s subjects—er, friends—sat at her feet. Usually around the pool, working on their tans.)

  “I don’t know,” Hesper said, drawing her perfectly plucked eyebrows into a perfectly plucked frown.

  “Make her drink regular tap water?” Hesper’s other very best friend since forever asked. (When you’re a TV star, you’ve got plenty of very best friends.)

  “Take away her credit cards?” another very best friend asked.

  “Make it so she can’t get a pedicure for a whole month?”

  All the girls shuddered.

  “Oh, I know; I know,” the first very best friend said.

  Hesper turned to her. “Yes, er, um . . .”

  “Elizabeth.”

  Hesper flashed her recently whitened, glow-in-the-dark-teeth smile. “Yes, of course it is. What’s on your mind, um, er . . .”

  “Elizabeth.”

  “Right.”

  Elizabeth didn’t need Hesper to know her name. Just letting her hang at the pool and breathe the same air was enough. “You know how weird stuff seems to be happening whenever the new kid is around?”

  “Yes,” another very best friend since forever said, “like the book that flew across Mr. Beaker’s class when she came into the room?”

  Another very best friend (I told you she had plenty) added, “Or that dodgeball that made a U-turn and hit you when she was in PE?”

  “Or how ’bout when she—?”

  “Please, please.” Hesper held up her perfectly manicured hand. “Must we always be talking about her?”

  Elizabeth frowned. “But I thought—”

  “We were talking about what I was going to do to her.”

  “Oh, right.” Elizabeth glanced down, embarrassed. If there was one thing you didn’t talk about when you were around Hesper Breakahart, it was other people.

  Hesper reached out an understanding hand and patted Elizabeth on the head. “That’s okay, um, er, whoever you are.”

  Another very best friend since forever spoke up. “What if you hired a private detective?”

  Hesper turned to her, waiting for more.

  “You could have him find some dirt on her for you, and then you could tell everybody what you learned.”

  “I could?” Hesper asked. She was already liking the plan. (Well, not so much the plan as the star of the plan.) “But where would I find a detective to do that for me?”

  Elizabeth’s hand shot up in the air. “I could do it! I could do it!”

  Hesper scowled.

  Immediately, Elizabeth realized her error. “That is, for you. I could do it for you so you could tell everybody what you learned.”

  “Hmm . . .” A smile slowly crept around the corners of Hesper’s all-too-perfect lips. “I like that . . . what’s-your-name. Yes, I like that a lot.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Temptations


  TIME TRAVEL LOG:

  Malibu, California, October 20

  Begin Transmission:

  Subject’s gratitude has not improved. After receiving outloopish gift, she appears more gur-roid than ever. Cause unknown. Maybe she’s allergic to parrots.

  End Transmission

  The sun was just rising as Chad Steel sat on his surfboard, waiting for the next set of waves to roll in. School wouldn’t start for another hour. But that was okay. He never minded getting up early to surf. There were three things he loved about it:

  1. The beauty and silence of being alone on the water.

  2. Leaving his phone on the beach so he couldn’t receive Hesper’s calls.

  3. The thrill of catching the right wave and working its power.

  4. Leaving his phone on the beach so he couldn’t receive Hesper’s text messages.

  Actually, that was four things, but Chad was a surfer, not a math geek. He’d leave the math (and the geekiness) to such brainiacs as

  “How’s my ten-four, Chad? Do you (sniff-sniff) copy? Repeat, do you (snort-snort) copy?”

  Doug Claudlooper, who was currently speaking through Chad’s earpiece. And if you couldn’t tell it was Doug by all the sniff-sniff-ing and snort-snorting (Doug had a permanent case of hay fever), you could tell by the way he was waving at Chad from the beach like a madman (or in Doug’s case, a mad scientist).

  The reason was simple: he’d learned Chad was going to compete in the big surfing event this weekend and had convinced him to try out his newest invention:

  The Lifter-Upper-a-Few-Inches-from-the-Water Surfboard

  (All right, so he’d work on the name later.)

  The point is, Doug had created a surfboard that had little jet engines built into the bottom. So whenever he pressed a button, the board would fire up and rise a few inches off the water. Without the extra friction, Chad would be able to do a lot more stunts and maneuvers during the championship.