Toby found his friends in their traditional hallway spot. As he walked up, Micah, Tamara, and Pencil Wenzel were gathered around Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer, who was telling them something that required a lot of arm motions.
“Hey,” said Toby. “I found out—”
“Wait,” said Micah. “You gotta hear what B.P.W.’s doing for his project.”
“But I—”
“A nuclear Mentos!” said Tamara.
“A what?” said Toby.
“You know how, when you put a Mentos in a Diet Coke, it shoots up, sploosh, like a geyser?” said Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer.
“Yeah,” said Toby, who’d seen video of this on the Internet. “It’s like a chemical reaction.”
“Wrong,” said Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer. “It’s a physical reaction. The Mentos lowers the surface tension of the Diet Coke, so the dissolved carbon dioxide turns to gas really fast, sploosh.”
“Okay,” said Toby. “But how’s that a science fair project? I mean, everybody’s already seen the videos.”
“Of regular Mentos, yes,” said Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer. “But I’m gonna make a huge Mentos, a giant mint, and drop it into a whole tub of Diet Coke, like fifty gallons.”
“What science thing would that prove?” said Toby.
“I dunno,” said Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer, “but it’s gonna be awesome. A nuclear Mentos. Think about it!”
“I’m not sure I want to,” said Toby.
“You’re just jealous,” said Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer.
Before Toby could answer, Tamara said, “Hey, Toby, what happened at the mall? We waited, but you never came back.”
Toby glanced back toward the ME kids, then, lowering his voice, said, “That’s what I was trying to tell you. They’re definitely cheating. The Science Nook guy is making their projects for a thousand each.”
“A thousand dollars?” said Micah.
“Each,” said Toby. “And that’s not all.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the piece of paper he’d found on Sternabite’s desk. The others gathered closer to look.
“What is this?” said Pencil Wenzel. “I don’t understand most of these words.”
“Me, either,” said Toby. “But I heard the Science Nook guy tell the ME kids that it’s classified stuff. They’re gonna get their parents to get it for them.”
“Classified, like, classified?” said Pencil Wenzel. “Like top secret?”
“That’s what he said,” said Toby.
“You sure you heard them right?” said Tamara.
“They were in the back,” said Toby. “I listened by the door. I heard everything.”
“So how’d you get the list?” said Micah.
“I took it,” said Toby. “I was hiding behind the stuffed owl, and the Science Nook guy locked the store with me inside. Only it turned out the owl is this, like, robot that protects the store. So I ran into the back room and—”
“Waitwaitwait,” said Micah, holding up a hand. “The owl is a robot?”
“Yeah,” said Toby. “It has these laser eyes that track you, and these sharp pointy claws, and it flies fast.”
“So how’d you get away from it?” said Micah.
“I threw eggplants,” said Toby.
Tamara and Micah nodded, remembering the eggplants.
“So,” said Pencil Wenzel, speaking slowly, “you escaped from a robot owl by…throwing eggplants.”
“Right,” said Toby.
“And you’re mocking me because of nuclear Mentos?” said Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer.
“Watch it,” said Micah. “Mr. P’s coming.”
Toby quickly folded the paper as Mr. Pzyrbovich, the algebra teacher, stalked toward them with the facial expression—normal, for Mr. P—of a man who had not gone to the bathroom for at least four days. As he passed, he glared at Toby’s group. It seemed to Toby that Mr. P glared a little extra at him.
“So, Toby,” said Tamara, after Mr. P had passed. “What’re you gonna do about this? Did you tell anybody?”
“Just you guys so far,” said Toby. “I thought about telling my parents, but…you know. They’re weird.”
The others nodded in unspoken confirmation of the weirdness of Toby’s parents.
“Even if they believed me,” continued Toby, “they’d come to school acting all weird, and nobody would believe them.”
“So what’re you gonna do?” repeated Tamara.
“I’m gonna tell Neckstrom,” said Toby.
“I dunno,” said Micah. “You think he’d do anything to the ME kids? He’s like their personal slave.”
“I know,” said Toby. “But he’s the science teacher and head of the fair.”
“No,” said Tamara. “Micah’s right. You have to go over Neckstrom’s head.”
“You mean…” said Toby.
“Yep,” said Tamara. “The Hornet.”
The Hornet was Helen Plotz-Gornett, the principal of Hubble Middle, a short but terrifying woman. Nobody had ever seen her smile; nobody could say for sure that she even breathed. She knew everything about everybody in the school and could strike anywhere at any time without warning. You’d be doing something you shouldn’t be doing, and you’d turn around, and YIKES, there would be The Hornet. Even in the boys’ room.
“I don’t want to go see The Hornet,” said Toby.
“You have to,” said Tamara. “She’s the only one who’s not afraid of the ME kids.”
Toby’s reply was interrupted by the ringing of the bell, and the approach of The Armpit, weaving wetly toward them through the corridor bustle. “Let’s break it up!”
The little group began to break up, its members joining the throngs of students heading for their various homerooms. Tamara and Toby were the last to leave. She put her hand on his arm.
“Seriously,” she said. “Do it. The ME kids have been cheating way too long. It’s got to stop, and the only way to make it stop is for honest people to stand up to them.”
“So you’ll go with me to see The Hornet?” said Toby.
“Are you nuts?” said Tamara.
She turned toward her homeroom, leaving Toby to trudge, alone, toward the principal’s office.
GRDANKL THE STRONG WAS UNHAPPY. He did not like being interrupted at any time, but he especially did not like it today, during one of the Republic of Krpshtskan’s most important national holidays, the Tournament of the Fighting-Death Hamsters.
On this day almost everyone in the capital city of Krpsht stopped working to gather in the national arena, where a circle three feet in diameter—the Circle of Doom—had been drawn in the middle of the concrete floor for the death match. After the opening ceremony, which concluded with the singing of the Krpsht national anthem (“Krpshtskan, My Country, for Now”), the audience fell silent as two men entered the arena, each carrying a cage.
The men set the cages down on opposite sides of the Circle of Doom, then opened the cage doors and stepped back.
The crowd watched in anticipation as, from each cage, a legendary Krpsht Fighting-Death Hamster emerged. Or not. Sometimes the hamster wranglers had to shake the cages to get them moving. But eventually they came out and, with prodding from the wranglers, waddled into the Circle of Doom. Each hamster was dressed in a little tank top—one red, one yellow. The one wearing red, known as Lethal Thunder, was the five-time Fighting-Death Hamster champion and the favorite of Grdankl the Strong. The hamster in yellow—known as Harmful Killer—was the number one-ranked challenger.
The crowd watched expectantly for several minutes as the hamsters simply sat there, noses quivering. Then, as the crowd held its breath in anticipation, Lethal Thunder took a tiny step forward and pooped.
The crowd exhaled. The hamsters were once again motionless, as they would be for most of the death match. The one thing the Fighting-Death Hamsters never actually did—being hamsters—was fight. The death match was, in fact, more of a staring contest; the loser was the first hamster to leave the circle. But this could take hours. Days, eve
n.
Nobody could remember how this event got its name, or why it became a national holiday. It was an ancient tradition, and the Krpshtskanis observed it for the same reason they did everything else: because they always had. Also, it was a day off work.
Grdankl the Strong especially liked the Tournament of the Fighting-Death Hamsters because he got to sit in the Presidential Chair, which was a recliner—in fact, the only recliner in the Republic of Krpshtskan. He enjoyed reclining it and normally fell asleep during the tournament.
Grdankl the Strong had been snoozing today when he was awakened by a tentative tap on his arm. He opened his eyes and glared angrily at the person who had dared interrupt his nap. This was the fourth vice president, formally known as Drmtsi the Medium-Sized, who had been assigned the unpleasant task of waking the president by the first, second, and third vice presidents, who were hovering nervously in the background.
“What?” snarled Grdankl the Strong, using the form of the word “what” that, in the Krpsht language, caused the speaker to eject as much as two ounces of saliva.
“I apologize with deepest sincere groveling regret, Your Utmost Excellency,” said Drmtsi, wiping his face with his sleeve. “But there is a message for you.” He lowered his voice. “From Prmkt.”
Grdankl the Strong smacked Drmtsi the Medium-Sized.
“Why did you not tell me!” he roared, in a voice so loud that it echoed throughout the arena, causing Lethal Thunder to make weewee on his wrangler.
Drmtsi might have pointed out that he had, in fact, just told Grdankl the Strong about the message. But he was not that stupid.
“Where is the message?” said Grdankl the Strong.
“It is on the computer, Your Utmost Supreme Excellency.”
Grdankl the Strong grunted unhappily. The only way to read the e-mail was to go look at the screen, as the Republic of Krpshtskan did not have a printer.
“Up!” he said.
Drmtsi pushed the lever that un-reclined the Presidential Chair; the first, second, and third vice presidents heaved Grdankl the Strong to his feet. He turned toward the hamster wranglers and bellowed, “Nothing may happen until I return!” Then, followed by his vice presidents, he waddled out of the arena and into the presidential limousine, a 1961 Checker that had once been a New York City taxi. For a change it started on the first try, and it soon arrived at the presidential palace, which was directly across the street.
Grdankl and his vice presidents entered the palace and descended into the bunker. Waiting nervously in front of the computer screen was Vrsk, the Krpshtskani minister of technology. He stepped aside as Grdankl the Strong waddled to the computer and, frowning deeply, read the e-mail on the screen. This took some time because Grdankl the Strong was a poor reader.
Finally he turned to the vice presidents.
“It is from Prmkt,” he said.
The vice presidents nodded.
“There is a problem at the school,” continued Grdankl the Strong. “A student has found out about our plan. Prmkt says he can deal with it, but he needs help.”
Vrsk’s eyes widened. He had read the e-mail, and Prmkt had in fact specifically stated that he did not need help. Grdankl the Strong had read the e-mail wrong. But Vrsk did not even consider correcting Grdankl the Strong; that would be suicide.
“It is a dangerous mission,” said Grdankl the Strong. “Probably it means certain death. But we must help Prmkt. I will send two men.” He pointed to Drmtsi. “You are one.”
Drmtsi, looking like he had just eaten a live spider, managed to say, “I will not disappoint you, Your Utmost Supreme Excellency.”
“If you do,” said Grdankl the Strong, “I will make your liver into a pudding. The second man to go will be…” Grdankl the Strong looked around at the others, all of whom avoided his gaze “…you.”
Vrsk realized, with horror, that Grdankl the Strong was pointing at him. Vrsk knew a lot about computers but absolutely nothing about helping a spy. He didn’t even own a passport.
“You will leave now,” said Grdankl the Strong. “Go! Do not be afraid! If you die, it is okay!”
Drmtsi and Vrsk, both pale, stumbled from the room. Grdankl the Strong and his remaining three vice presidents returned to the presidential limousine, which failed to start. This greatly displeased Grdankl the Strong, who ordered the chauffeur imprisoned, then walked, most unhappily, back across the street to the National Arena and the Tournament of the Fighting-Death Hamsters.
TOBY HAD BEEN SITTING IN THE HORNET’s outer office for twenty minutes, watching J.D. the Janitor Dude mop the same spot in the hall over and over, and listening to the semituneless humming of The Hornet’s secretary, Mrs. Breetle. She was tapping on her computer and humming a song that Toby had finally figured out was “Oops!…I Did It Again.” This surprised Toby because Mrs. Breetle did not strike him as a Britney Spears fan. Mrs. Breetle struck Tony as being, by a conservative estimate, one hundred and fifty years old.
Also in the office was Mr. P, who glared briefly at Toby before resuming whatever he was doing with the fax machine; and five students who were also waiting, unhappily, to face The Hornet. One by one they were summoned in to see The Hornet, emerging a minute or so later looking as if they had just had dental work without anesthetic. Toby was about to abandon his plan when Mrs. Breetle pointed at him and said, “Your turn.”
Toby stood and shuffled into The Hornet’s office. The Hornet was sitting behind her desk, which had nothing on it but a letter opener the size of a bayonet. She looked at Toby with the expression of a person who had seen thousands of students standing in exactly the same spot and had not yet been impressed.
“Yes?” she said.
Toby found that his throat didn’t work.
“Urg,” he said.
“I see,” said The Hornet. “Was there anything else?”
“Urg,” repeated Toby.
The Hornet sighed. “Mr. Harbinger,” she said, “I enjoy a good frog imitation as much as the next person. But if you’ve nothing else to say, I have work to do.”
The amazing fact that The Hornet actually knew his name jolted Toby out of his paralysis.
“They’re cheating,” he blurted. “On the science fair.”
“Who is?” said The Hornet.
“The ME kids,” said Toby.
“Close the door,” said The Hornet.
Toby closed the door.
“By ME you mean—”
“The Manor Estates kids.”
“How are they cheating?” said The Hornet.
Toby told The Hornet about overhearing the ME kids talking in the cafeteria about envelopes and the fifty dollars; about seeing ME kids after school in the corridor, first heading one way with envelopes in hand, then returning without; about picking up Harmonee Prescott’s paper in the corridor and seeing that it was covered with technical terms; about listening outside the back-room door at the Science Nook and hearing Sternabite tell the ME kids that the price of a project was a thousand dollars, and that some of the components were classified technology. Toby then gave The Hornet the list he took from Sternabite’s desk, telling her only that he picked it up while Sternabite wasn’t looking. He didn’t think now was a good time to mention the robot security owl.
The Hornet read the list, placed it on her desk, and frowned at the wall for a minute while drumming her fingers on her desk. Then she picked up her phone, pushed a button, and said, “Please have Mr. Neckstrom come to my office. Yes, now.”
Two minutes later, Neckstrom entered The Hornet’s office, looking every bit as nervous about being there as Toby did.
“Toby,” said The Hornet, “tell Mr. Neckstrom what you just told me.”
Toby did. As he spoke, Mr. Neckstrom’s face got red, and then redder, and then very close to purple. When Toby was finished, Mr. Neckstrom glared at him then turned to The Hornet and said, “This is ridiculous. He’s making it up.”
“Why would he do that?” said The Hornet.
&nb
sp; “It’s obvious,” said Mr. Neckstrom. “He wants to win the science-fair prize money. He made up this story to eliminate his competition.”
Toby started to say something, but The Hornet held up her hand. “What about this?” she said, sliding Sternabite’s list across her desk.
Mr. Neckstrom picked up the list, looked at it for a moment, then tossed it back on the desk. “This is probably just technical-sounding gobbledygook he made up from words he found on the Internet,” he said. “Who knows if these things even exist?”
The Hornet looked at Mr. Neckstrom, then at Toby, then back at Mr. Neckstrom.
“I’m going to talk to the other students,” she said.
The color of Mr. Neckstrom’s face went immediately from borderline grape to skim milk.
“Bu…but do you think that would be wise?” he said. “If you accuse them of cheating, it could be very…I mean, their parents . . .”
“I’m well aware who their parents are,” said The Hornet. “But this is a serious charge, and I intend to…”
She was interrupted by the harsh electronic beeping of the Hubble Middle School fire alarm. As The Hornet rose to her feet, Mrs. Breetle appeared in the doorway.
“It’s a locker,” she said, “in the main corridor. Some kind of smoke or something. The fire department’s on its way.”
“Start the fire drill,” said The Hornet. As Mrs. Breetle hurried away, The Hornet said, “We’ll finish this later. Mr. Neckstrom, please see to your students. Toby, you’ll join your homeroom class out on the ball field.”
Mr. Neckstrom, with a last glare at Toby, stalked out, followed by The Hornet, followed by Toby. The corridor echoed with the earsplitting sound of the alarm. Students were streaming from the classrooms in reasonably orderly lines, heading toward the main exit. Toby looked back down the corridor and saw the cause of the alarm: a cloud of what looked like bright green, glowing smoke was wafting from a locker just past Miss Cooney’s classroom.
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