by Bill Myers
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep
beep beep beep beep beep beep beep
beep beep beep beep beep beep
“Look out! It’s going to—”
No one knew if Doug ever finished shouting. It’s hard hearing anyone shout when a gazillion gallons of water suddenly
straight at you. We’re not talking some little trickle of water. We’re talking some huge
tidal wave.
The wall of water swept them off their feet and sent them flying down the alley at just under the speed of sound. It was like they were shooting rapids in a mighty
river.
(Okay, another exaggeration—but they did get a little wet.)
(Actually, a lot wet.)
And there was one other sound. The sound of a very nice surfer guy getting his foot hurt in a very big
Let’s try that again. The sound of a very nice surfer guy getting his foot hurt in a very big
way.
“What happened?” Doug shouted.
“Are you pain?” Naomi asked.
Chad clenched his teeth, trying not to yell. He tried to stand but fell back to the ground.
“Here, let me see.” Doug knelt down and reached for Chad’s foot. “It doesn’t look too bad.”
“Doug?” Chad said.
Doug unlaced Chad’s shoe and carefully pulled it off. “Hm, I don’t see anything.”
“Doug?”
He pulled off Chad’s sock. “Are you sure it’s hurt, ’cause it looks perfectly normal to—”
“Say, Doug?”
“Yes, Chad?”
“It’s the other foot.”
“Oh, right.” Doug reached for the other shoe. “I knew that.”
“What do you think?” Naomi asked. “Is it sprained?”
Doug pulled off Chad’s sock and stared. “I don’t think so.”
Chad leaned back and sighed in relief. “Good, ’cause I sure don’t want to miss the surfing meet.”
“It’s definitely not sprained,” Doug said. Then, touching Chad’s foot and causing another
he added, “But broken? Oh yeah. Big-time.”
CHAPTER SIX
Caffeine Jitters
TIME TRAVEL LOG:
Malibu, California, October 20—supplemental
Begin Transmission:
Subject again under secret surveillance. Tuna hates the taste of motor oil, and I’m not gonzoed about scraping paint off my eyelids.
End Transmission
TJ felt good hanging with little Dorie as they headed for the beach. Ever since they’d moved to Malibu, things had been crazy in a mental-hospital kinda way. Life out here was like a car with no brakes and the gas pedal stuck on Ultra-Blur. Oh, sure, TJ’s dad tried to make quality “family time” but it was pretty impossible with
—DAD’S BUSY SCHEDULE (TJ still wasn’t sure what he did for work. Is any kid completely sure?)
—VIOLET’S SCHOOL STUFF (Besides being the family Einstein, Little Miss Perfect had to be president of all the school clubs . . . including Overachievers Anonymous.)
—TJ’S TRIPS THROUGH INSANITY (A daily event now that she had 23rd-century goofballs as her tour guides.)
So by comparison, agreeing to take Dorie swimming was a good thing.
“Now remember,” TJ said as they approached the beach, “it’s not the same as swimming in the lakes back home.”
“Uh-huh,” Dorie said.
“Back home, there’s no surf.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Back home, there’s no undertow.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Back home, there’s—”
“How come you keep calling back home ‘back home’?” Dorie asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, isn’t this our home now?”
TJ pushed her hair behind her ears and finally sighed. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
The truth was it would never be home. At least to TJ. Home meant friends she’d grown up with. Home meant people and places she knew. Home meant a mother who had not left them by dying of cancer.
That last thought made the back of TJ’s throat ache—just like it did at least once a day, ever since the funeral.
As if reading her thoughts, Dorie reached up and took her hand. “Do you ever think about her?”
“Who?” TJ asked. Her voice was thick with emotion and she coughed to hide it.
“Mom.”
“All the time.”
“Me too.”
TJ wasn’t sure what to say. But she didn’t have to worry—Dorie was a nonstop talking machine. “Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, I think she’s still alive.”
TJ nodded.
“And then I remember she isn’t and I get this big weight on my chest. You ever get that?”
“Yeah.” TJ took another breath and repeated, “All the time.”
“Yeah,” Dorie repeated more softly, “me too.”
TJ turned, pretending to look out toward the beach so Dorie couldn’t see the tears filling her eyes. She missed Mom more than anything. It was like a big, gaping hole in the middle of her heart. People said the pain would eventually go away, but she had her doubts. And even if the pain did, she knew the hole would never leave.
“Yahoo!” Dorie shouted as they arrived at the sand and she began kicking it. “We’re here!”
Yes, they were. And if you couldn’t tell by all the beautiful, tan bodies (guys and girls), you could tell by the way all those beautiful tan bodies were staring at TJ and Dorie. Well, not really TJ and Dorie. More like TJ. Well, not really TJ. More like TJ’s bathing suit.
Her one-piece bathing suit.
Back home, lots of girls wore them. It was something called modesty.
But modesty did not seem to be a word they understood in Malibu, California. Running around half-naked (actually more than half-naked) was more their style. While wearing modest, one-piece bathing suits was definitely not. It’s hard to explain exactly what TJ was feeling—unless, of course:
1. your parents have ever dropped you off in front of school driving their horse and buggy,
2. you’ve ever given an oral book report in front of the class while wearing your old Star Wars pajamas that nobody knows you still have, or
3. your mother has ever popped into a slumber party and shouted, “Dear, here’s an extra pair of undies in case you have one of your accidents.”
Fortunately TJ’s cell phone rang. She dug into her bag to find it, grateful for something to do.
She was not so grateful to hear who was at the other end of the phone.
“JB, this is Elizabeth, Hesper’s best friend since forever.” The girl’s voice was barely above a whisper. “We need to talk.”
TJ glanced at Dorie, who was laying her towel on the sand. “Uh, I’m a little busy right now.”
“Oh, you’re going to be a lot busy.”
“Is this about Hesper’s report?”
“For starters, yes.”
TJ swallowed. “Listen, I’ve been giving that some thought. I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”
“Meet me at the coffee shop.”
TJ frowned. “What? When?”
“Now.”
“I just told you, I’m—”
“I know how you got that book report you handed in,” Elizabeth said.
TJ went cold. “What do you mean?”
“I also know how that boy got in your locker and how you poured milk all over Hesper, and how you suddenly vanished.”
“I didn’t—”
“The coffee shop. Fifteen minutes. Be there.”
“But—”
“Hello?” TJ said. “Hello?”
“Who’s that?” Dorie asked, squinting at her and shading her eyes from the sun.
TJ looked at her little sister as she thought.
Did Elizabeth really know what was going on?
Probably not.
But could TJ take the chance?
Probably not.
With a heavy sigh, TJ closed her phone and said, “Sorry, Squid.”
“About what?”
“We’ll have to go swimming another day.”
“But . . .” There was a catch in Dorie’s voice. “You promised.”
“I know, I know, and I’m sorry.”
“But—”
“Grab your towel. We’ll go swimming tomorrow.”
“You promise?”
“Yeah, yeah, I promise,” TJ said. “Now let’s get you home.”
Little Dorie was anything but thrilled. Not that TJ blamed her. After all, she had promised. In a way, Tuna and Herby were right. Cheating did have its consequences. And you didn’t have to travel into the future to see them. All you had to do was look at the disappointed face of one six-year-old sister.
But TJ had to see what Elizabeth knew—or pretended she knew. After that, she was certain things would finally settle down. At least that’s what she told herself as she opened the door to the coffee shop.
It was a pretty cool place, and it was swarming with kids. The line stretched forever. It was like her whole generation was hooked on coffee. Some even shuffled along the hallways at school with bottles of it attached to hospital IV drip stands.
(All right, another exaggeration. But not as bad as . . .)
And the kids seemed to get younger all the time. Rumor had it, some mothers were even slipping coffee into their baby’s bottles.
(I told you.)
What wasn’t an exaggeration was having to pay $5.95 for a small coffee with a bunch of whipped cream on it. Well, that’s what others paid. To be honest, TJ didn’t have that kind of money. To be honester (don’t try that word on your English teacher) she hated the taste: burnt and bitter. Yes, sir, how could anyone pass up paying a fortune for that?
It wasn’t hard spotting Elizabeth sitting off in the corner. There was something about the orange coveralls, black rubber boots, and white surgical gloves that gave her away. And if that didn’t do it, there was always the bee hat with the net draped over her face. Or the smell of garlic coming from a garlic bulb necklace hanging around her neck.
“Elizabeth?” TJ asked as she approached.
“Stay back.”
TJ came to a stop.
“The Internet says witches can’t work their magic if we’re over six feet away from them.”
“All right . . . ,” TJ said slowly. She reached for a chair and pulled it from the table to sit.
As she did, Elizabeth produced a giant cross from her pocket and held it toward TJ . . . just to be safe.
TJ frowned. “Isn’t that supposed to be for vampires? And what’s with the bee mask?”
“It protects me from deadly photon rays that shoot from the eyes of outer-space aliens.”
Cautiously, TJ eased herself into the chair. “I’m confused. What do you think I am? A vampire, a witch, or an alien?”
“Maybe all three,” Elizabeth said as she pulled a bottle of holy oil from her pocket and poured it on the table between them. “The point is to stop you from reaching me with your superhuman powers.”
TJ tried not to laugh. “What about the kryptonite? You forgot the kryptonite.”
“It’s in the mail.”
TJ could only shake her head in amazement. She glanced around the coffee shop, noticing the portrait of Mrs. May K. Buck, the owner, that hung behind the counter. It was your average, run-of-the-mill painting of some average, run-of-the-mill lady. What was not so average and run-of-the-mill were her eyes. Eyes that were shifting from side to side. Eyes that just happened to look like they belonged to . . .
“Herby!” TJ hissed.
The eyes blinked.
“What did you say?” Elizabeth asked.
TJ gave Herby another glare before turning back to Elizabeth and trying to smile. “Nothing; nothing at all. What were you saying?”
Elizabeth looked at her skeptically. “I’m saying I know you’re not human. And if you don’t write Hesper Breakahart’s history report, I’ll expose you to the whole world.”
TJ stole another look at Herby, who blinked and scowled. But she didn’t need his help to say no. She turned back to Elizabeth and said, “I told you, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”
“Why, because you want someone else to have a better report?” She looked around and lowered her voice. “Haven’t you learned by now that Hesper always has to have the biggest and best of everything?”
“No, that’s not it,” TJ said.
“Then what?”
TJ hesitated, then explained, “It’s cheating.”
“So? Everybody cheats.”
TJ took a breath. She had a point. It seemed everyone cheated. And not just kids. Grown-ups, too. Businessmen, lawyers, movie stars, politicians. Everybody. And if doing it just one more time would keep Elizabeth from blabbing whatever she thought she knew to the rest of the world . . .
TJ glanced back to the portrait of Mrs. May K. Buck, whose eyebrows were now pointed down in a scowl. TJ looked away, out the window into the parking lot.
Elizabeth continued. “If you don’t do Hesper’s history report and if you don’t make it the biggest and best ever written, I will totally expose you.”
“Expose me as what? How?”
“Oh, we’ve got our ways.” Elizabeth nodded. “Believe me, we’ve got our ways.”
It was TJ’s turn to scowl. The girl still hadn’t said anything about Tuna or Herby. Maybe she was just bluffing. Then again, Elizabeth had seen the boy in her locker, she had seen the milk pouring over Hesper’s head, and she had seen TJ’s vanishing act in the cafeteria.
Maybe cheating just one last time wouldn’t be so bad.
“So,” TJ said, “if I write this one report for Hesper, you’ll leave me alone?”
“Completely. No questions asked.”
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
“And you won’t tell anyone?”
“Not a soul.”
TJ hesitated. It was a pretty sweet deal. And if she could get Herby and Tuna to do the report for her, like they did her book report, well, it would be even sweeter.
“What do you say?” Elizabeth asked.
TJ was about to answer when, suddenly, a car alarm to a Ford pickup
went off in the parking lot . . . along with its flashing lights. It wasn’t a big deal. It happened all the time. What was a big deal was the lights were not the lights to a Ford pickup. They were Tuna’s eyes, which kept opening and closing, opening and closing!
“TUNA?!” TJ cried out.
“What did you say?” Elizabeth shouted over the alarm.
TJ didn’t know whether to
A) Be frightened
B) Be surprised
C) Be angry
D) Be all of the above
Unfortunately, she chose D.
“TUNA!” Rising from her chair, she raced through the crowded coffee shop and out into the parking lot.
Elizabeth followed right on her heels (while staying at least six feet away and holding out her cross). “What’s going on?” she shouted. “Is the mother ship trying to contact you?”
“It’s nothing!” TJ yelled. “Absolutely nothing!”
“Are you sure?” Elizabeth shouted.
“I’m sure.”
“Then why is it doing that?”
TJ turned to see Tuna (aka a Ford pickup) not only
but beginning to
like a pogo stick after one too many cups of Mrs. May K. Buck’s brew.
Of course this made TJ even angrier. How dare the boys do this to her! Di
dn’t they trust her?
“What’s wrong with it?” Elizabeth shouted.
TJ spun back to her and yelled, “How should I know? It’s just some stupid truck with some stupid short in the alarm. Listen, about doing that history report for Hesper?”
“Yeah?”
“I’d be happy to!” TJ yelled nice and loud, making sure Tuna could hear her over the honking. “In fact, I’ll make it the best report the whole school has ever seen!”
As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Herby and Tuna both
morphed beside her, and the car alarm abruptly came to a
stop. (It’s hard to keep a car alarm going when there’s no longer a car.)
“What do you think you’re doing!?” she shouted at Herby.
He shrugged.
“Tuna?!”
Without a word, Tuna opened the blade to their Swiss Army Knife and they were
transported back to TJ’s house.
That was the good news.
The bad news was she’d have a little more explaining to do about why she, a Ford pickup, and a portrait of Mrs. May K. Buck had all vanished from the coffee shop.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A Not-So-Bright Future
TIME TRAVEL LOG:
Malibu, California, October 20—supplemental
Begin Transmission:
More glimpses into future. Subject still unable to see what huge zworkedness comes from a little torkedness.
End Transmission
“Why do you keep spying on me?” TJ demanded once she and the boys were back in her room.
“Why do you keep thinking of cheating?” Tuna asked.
TJ felt her face growing hot with anger. “You’re the ones who started this.”
“And you are the one who can stop it.”
“By confessing to Miss Grumpaton and getting an F in English?!”
“An F in English is better than an F in life.”
TJ put her hands on her hips. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
As an answer, Tuna reached for his Swiss Army Knife and pulled out another blade.
“Oh no,” TJ moaned, “not
again.”