by Ginger Rue
“Rounder in the face,” Ford said. He was squinting at Brett, like he was studying the overlapping man. “Wrinkled. Redder. Oh, and bald.”
“Bald!” I replied. “Brett’s going to go bald?”
“It would seem so.”
“Yippee!” I yelled. I high-fived Ford. Well, first I put Ford’s hand up to catch my high five. I think he’d never high-fived anyone before in his whole entire life, and I had to teach him how.
I was so excited that in the future Brett would be bald. He deserved it for making fun of my dad’s bald spot. That is what you call “just desserts.” I don’t know why they call it that, because when I do bad things, I don’t get a dessert.
“Is he bald all over or just in one spot?”
“All over,” Ford informed me.
Ha-ha on you, Brett Lasseter! I said to myself, or maybe even out loud. You’re going to be bald when you get old! So there!
Then I realized it would be years before Brett got old. That was a long time to wait, in my opinion. Brett needed some ha-ha on him right now. “Maybe I should go ahead and shave all his hair off,” I told Ford. “Kind of jump-start things?”
“Aleca, don’t be absurd,” Ford said. He sounded like a grown-up again. “For one thing, where are you going to get a razor? And the electrical current for clippers would be time-frozen anyway. Besides, isn’t that a bit childish?”
Did someone say “childish”?
“Ford, you’re a genius!” I said. “Wait right here!”
8
It’s Not Stealing If It’s for a Good Cause
I rushed down the hall to the pre-K classrooms, because to preschoolers the Whoop-Dee-Doos are still the coolest. “Sorry, kids,” I offered, even though they were all frozen in time and couldn’t hear me. “But I need to borrow a few things. I promise I’ll return them later.”
I rooted around in desks, backpacks, and lunch boxes. Then I returned to my classroom, where Ford was waiting.
“What did you do?” Ford demanded.
“I just borrowed some Whoop-Dee-Doos merchandise,” I replied. “Don’t worry. I’m going to return it.”
Then I moved Brett’s chair back far enough that I could stuff the things into his desk. “Let’s see,” I said, more to myself than to Ford. “Whoop-Dee-Doos fruit snacks? Check. Whoop-Dee-Doos pencil pouch? Check. Whoop-Dee-Doos markers? Check. And if this isn’t the icing on the cake, then what is?” I showed Ford the small stuffed BeepBopBoop doll.
“How are you going to explain those getting into Brett’s desk?” Ford asked.
“Easy,” I answered. “By not explaining. Everyone will just assume they’re in there because Brett put them there.” For a smarty-pants, Ford needed a lot of simple concepts spelled out for him sometimes.
“But Brett will know he didn’t put them there,” Ford countered.
“Yeah, well, Brett can know the truth all day long. That doesn’t mean anyone’s going to believe him. And the more he insists that he’s never seen these things before in his life, the less anyone’s going to buy it. It’s funny how that works out.”
“Well, you still can’t be too obvious,” said Ford. “In fact, you shouldn’t even be stopping time at all, and while we’re talking about all this, time is staying stopped for a longer time. I guess. If there is a time when time is stopped. Which is a deep question. And anyway, I thought you wanted me to show you the bridge.”
Ford was right, of course. I wasn’t supposed to stop time, and I knew I’d better hurry up and finish my trick, especially if we were going to keep time stopped long enough to go investigate the bridge. It was kind of amazing that Aunt Zephyr hadn’t already teleported to my classroom to let me have it. Maybe she was napping again and didn’t even know. “I’ll make this quick,” I concluded. “Then we’ll go check out the bridge.”
“Aleca, you’re not thinking this through,” Ford said. “Brett is going to begin to suspect that something magical or mysterious is going on. You’ll draw attention to the very problem you went to such lengths to cover up. Besides, is this really ethical?”
“Ethical?” I said. “Brett Lasseter doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘ethical’!” Neither did I, but from the way Ford had said it, I assumed it meant “doing the right thing.” “You’re talking about a kid who pours water on people’s laps and then tells everyone they’ve wet their pants. You’re talking about a kid who put a stick in Wilson Chicarello’s wheelchair wheel last week during the bakery field trip so that Wilson would get stuck in the dough-mixing room. Do you know how traumatizing that is? Wilson can’t even make a sandwich anymore without reliving that humiliation! And last but not least, this is the kid who, only moments ago, made fun of my very own dad, right to my face! I think Brett Lasseter’s got it coming!”
“Very well,” Ford sighed. “Get on with it, then.”
I grinned at Ford because he saw my side of it now, and I made sure all the Whoop-Dee-Doos items were carefully tucked into Brett’s desk. “All done!” I said. “Now let’s go check out that bridge!”
9
The Most Majestic Bridge I Never Saw
I followed Ford to the side of the school where the lunchroom was.
“East,” Ford said.
“Huh?”
“We need to go to the east side,” he replied.
“Which side is that? The right or the left of the lunchroom?”
“East,” he said again, seeming sort of annoyed.
“Yeah, the thing is, I don’t know what that means.”
“Can’t you read a map?” Ford asked.
“Well, sure, but I’m not on a map. On a map the east is on the right, but that is only if the map is right-side up.”
Ford shook his head. “Just follow me.” We rounded a corner, and Ford caught his breath. “Look! It’s still there!” he gasped. “Oh, Aleca, isn’t it . . . isn’t it . . . majestic?”
“Umm . . . isn’t what majestic?”
I didn’t see anything except the Dumpster, which was definitely not majestic. Unless you count big green things with a horrible smell, rotten food smears, and a lot of flies as majestic. Which I do not.
“Don’t you see it?” Ford insisted. “It’s right here!” He pointed in front of him.
“Sorry, bud,” I said. “I got nothing.”
“You mean you really can’t see it?”
“I mean I really can’t see it,” I replied. And in fact, I was wondering if Ford really could see it. Maybe he was imagining it.
Ford sat down on the ground, like he didn’t have any breath. Like he was a deflated balloon. Like he had nothing left in him. “I can’t believe you can’t see it,” he said. “It’s so big. It’s a bridge, after all. And such a lovely one.”
I could tell he was really disappointed. “I’d like to see it,” I said. “I just . . . can’t.”
Ford put his chin in his hand and made a thinking face. At least I figured it was a thinking face, but I suppose he could have just had a stomachache.
Then he snapped his fingers. “How ridiculous of me!” He jumped up. “Of course you can’t see the bridge! Why should you?”
“Well, bridges are kind of hard to miss, if they’re actually there,” I said.
“But you couldn’t see the future deejay or the future Brett,” Ford explained. “So why should you see a past bridge?”
Now I understood what he was getting at. “Right!” I said. “Seeing stuff out of their time is your thing, not mine. Duh! Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Oh, I wish you could see it, though,” Ford said.
“Why don’t you try it out?”
“Try it out?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Go for a walk on it. See how it feels.”
“I can’t just walk on a bridge that no one besides me can even see!”
“Well, can’t you at least touch it? I mean, have you touched any of the things you’ve seen? Like, did you touch the old desk you saw in your classroom the first time I stopped
time? Or did you touch young Mrs. Young when she was standing by old Mrs. Young? Or did you touch the future deejay?”
“I didn’t,” said Ford. “It never occurred to me.”
“Well, now that it’s occurring, how about giving it a try?” I suggested.
Ford put his hands under his upper arms. “I’m kind of scared.”
“Come on. You don’t have to walk across it. Just touch it.”
“What if it . . . I don’t know . . . zaps me into another dimension?”
“Oh, Ford, that’s impossible,” I said.
“So is stopping time.”
The kid had a point. He was good at having points. “I’ll hold your hand,” I said. “If anything tries to zap you, I’ll hang on extra tight. I promise.”
Ford almost smiled. “I really would like to touch it,” he said.
I held out my hand, and he took it.
We walked a few steps, and Ford slowly reached out his other hand. He let out a sort of “ahhh” sound. Not like, Ahhh! A tornado is heading this way! but like, Ahhh! This is awesome.
“I take it that you can feel it?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said. “Here, you try too.”
I put out my other hand, but I didn’t feel anything.
“Remarkable,” Ford said. “Your hand just went through.”
“If you say so,” I replied. “Do you want to try to walk across it?”
“I’d have to do it alone,” Ford answered. “I’m not ready. Not today.”
“You’re probably right,” I agreed. “We need to talk to Aunt Zephyr about this before we do anything else. This is a lot of new information.”
For another few seconds Ford patted the bridge that only he could see and feel, and then we had to get back to my classroom so that I could get time started again. Aunt Zephyr wouldn’t be napping forever.
10
Number One Fan
Once we got back to my classroom, I waited a little while after Ford left. When I felt sure he must have gotten back to his class, I said, “Aleca Zamm!”
Brett and his friends picked right back up with singing the Whoop-Dee-Doos theme song like nothing had happened. The only good thing about their obnoxious voices was that they took my mind off Ford’s bridge and put it right back on getting even with Brett.
When they finished the song, I said very loudly, “That was great, Brett. But then, I guess you’ve had a lot of practice, since you’re the Whoop-Dee-Doos’ biggest fan!”
“Yeah, right,” Brett challenged.
I looked at his friends. “If you don’t believe me, just look in his desk.”
They stood there a moment and then bent down to dig in Brett’s desk.
“There’s nothing in there,” Brett insisted. “Hey, what’re you doing?” They kind of shoved him out of the way and went right on digging.
“Look!” said Tate. “Whoop-Dee-Doos fruit snacks!” The class gasped.
“Man, Brett!” yelled Braxton. “What’re you doing with a Whoop-Dee-Doos pencil case and markers?”
“Forget the pencils and markers,” Tate chimed in. “He’s got a doll!” He held up the stuffed BeepBopBoop.
It was pretty funny the way everyone moved quickly away from Brett. It was like they thought that liking the Whoop-Dee-Doos in fourth grade was contagious. I mean, no kidding—you’d have thought Brett had lice. Lice that would also throw up all over you! Lice that would throw up all over you and then make you eat fish eyeballs!
“Those are not mine!” Brett yelled. “It’s a trick!”
But no one was listening. They were laughing too hard.
Mrs. Floberg blew her coach whistle. I bet she was glad she got to do that. The class grew silent. “That is ENOUGH!” she said.
“But I can explain . . . ,” Brett began. Mrs. Floberg stood there, and we all waited. But Brett didn’t explain anything, because how could he?
Once class started again, I whispered “Aleca Zamm” and stopped time once more so that I could put the Whoop-Dee-Doos merchandise where it belonged. I didn’t want the kid who had the BeepBopBoop doll to start crying or anything.
I was very quick about it so that maybe Aunt Zephyr would be less mad. I did a fast disco dance I’d seen on the Internet, where you just point your finger up and down a few times and that is considered a dance. Then I ran down the hallway to the pre-K rooms. I had to pass Ford’s classroom on the way.
“Not again!” he called when he heard me run past.
“Don’t judge me!” I called back. And I kept on running.
11
I’m Pretty Sure Everyone Secretly Still Likes the Whoop-Dee-Doos
Once I started time again, Brett faked a stomachache so that he could go to the office and call his mom to take him home. What a big baby! He is such a baby that he should still watch the Whoop-Dee-Doos. At least when I told everyone that my dad was BeepBopBoop, I stayed at school and took it like a boss.
The funny thing was, now that everybody thought Brett was a secret Whoop-Dee-Doos superfan, nobody seemed to think it was that bad that my dad was supposedly one of them. Madison and Jordan still sneered and giggled at me during lunch, but a few kids in my class actually seemed kind of starstruck and wanted to know if my dad knew any other people who were legit famous without dancing around in goofy costumes. They’d say, “Does your dad know . . .” and then name somebody famous. I would say no, but no one would believe me. They would just think I was being modest or that I wasn’t supposed to tell. The more I denied that my dad hung with celebrities, the more everyone wanted to believe he actually did. Kind of like how the more Brett denied liking the Whoop-Dee-Doos, the less everyone believed him. People are funny that way.
I guess the whole Whoop-Dee-Doos thing didn’t really end up being so awful after all. And the best part was, Maria wasn’t mad anymore. In fact, she was the opposite of mad.
“Oh, Aleca, how can you ever forgive me?” she asked at lunch. “I’m a terrible friend!”
It made me feel guilty, so I told her, “No, you aren’t.”
And then she continued, “Yes, I am! If it weren’t for me, you never would have had to tell your embarrassing secret!”
Well, she had a point. All of this had kind of been her fault. But on the other hand, I had kept something important from her and I had accidentally ditched her club meeting. But just to make Maria feel better, I let her give me half of the homemade churro her mom had put in her lunch, and then we called it even.
“Isn’t that strange, about Brett loving the Whoop-Dee-Doos? At our age?” Maria asked.
“Strange,” I said.
“And what was he thinking, keeping those things in his desk? It’s almost like he wanted to get caught!”
“You’re right,” I replied.
“It’s all so strange that it’s almost like . . . like . . . magic!” Maria theorized.
“There’s no such thing as magic,” I said, maybe too quickly.
“I don’t know,” Maria said. “It’s so odd, the way he got caught right when he was making fun of you about it. It’s almost like something happened . . . or somebody did something. . . . I don’t know. All I’m saying is that if I were magic, I would have magically put all that stuff in Brett’s desk right then, at that very moment.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” I smiled. “Even if you could, you’re too nice to even think about doing something like that. It wouldn’t be like you at all.”
Maria laughed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right,” she decided. “It doesn’t sound like me.” She paused. Then her eyes got kind of big. “It doesn’t sound like me, Aleca. It sounds more like . . . well, like you.”
Now I laughed. The nervous kind of laugh.
“Aleca . . . Did you . . . Do you . . .”
I laughed again, trying to sound less nervous this time. “Do I have magic powers to make people suddenly have Whoop-Dee-Doos pencil pouches in their desk?”
Now Maria saw how silly it sounded. She really started laughing. “Woul
dn’t it be fun if you did?” Then she stopped laughing. “So, I mean . . . do you . . . I mean . . . is it . . .”
Maria couldn’t find the words to say what she wanted to say. So I tried to help her out. “What is it, Maria? Don’t worry. You can ask me anything.”
Maria blushed. “I just . . . I mean . . . is your dad really BeepBopBoop? I find it kind of hard to believe that for all the times I’ve been to your house, I never once had any clue.”
I didn’t want to lie directly to Maria, because she was my friend. So I asked, “Why would I make up something like that?”
Maria looked at me like she was studying me. Kind of the way Ford had that morning, when he’d been trying to figure out if I was superbrave or just didn’t have common sense. (Come to think of it, he never did tell me what he decided about that.)
“What is it?” I asked Maria.
“I don’t believe you,” she said. “I’m sorry, Aleca, but I know you. And I know you’re hiding something from me.”
Uh-oh! “You do?” I asked.
“Yes,” she proclaimed. “And I know what it is.”
I gulped. And this time I asked even more nervously, “You do?”
“Your dad isn’t a Whoop-Dee-Doo,” Maria said. “I know why you said he is, though. It all makes sense now.”
I didn’t say anything back. I didn’t know what to say.
“Aleca, I know your secret. And I know why you didn’t want to tell me.”
Suddenly I got this great feeling. Because Maria knew! I had kept my promise to Aunt Zephyr about not telling Maria that I was a Wonder, but Maria had figured it out on her own! And now life would be so much easier and so much less stressful because Maria knew everything and we could talk about it and not have this big giant secret between us. But I wouldn’t get in trouble for telling her! Of course, I’d have to swear her to secrecy. And knowing how Maria couldn’t keep a secret, that was going to be hard, but still.
“You really know?” I asked.
“It’s so obvious!” Maria replied.