Science Fair

by Dave Barry, Ridley Pearson

  Toby frowned. He counted the lockers leading to the smoking one.

  Three, four, five…

  He felt a cold lump in his stomach.

  It was his locker.

  AN HOUR LATER, the students still stood waiting on the ball field. The excitement of watching the fire trucks arrive, with sirens whooping, had gradually turned into the disappointment of realizing that the school was not, in fact, going to burn down.

  Now, as they watched the firefighters load their gear back onto the trucks, most of the students were bored enough to actually be glad to hear it was time to go back into the school. The exception was Toby, who would have preferred to go anywhere else, including another planet. He had no idea why his locker had been emitting glowing green smoke, but he was pretty sure that whatever it was, it was not good for him.

  As Toby’s class filed through the main door, The Armpit was waiting.

  “Harbinger,” he said, “come with me.”

  Toby shuffled behind The Armpit down the corridor to where a small group of grown-ups had gathered around his locker. The Hornet was speaking softly to a fire-department guy. Mr. Neckstrom and Mr. Pzyrbovich were watching as J.D. mopped up something on the floor.

  Each locker had a combination dial with a key slot in the center of the dial. The firefighters had taken a crowbar to Toby’s locker rather than wait for the master key. His locker door was now badly bent and had been sprung open. In front of it, on the floor, was a pile of Toby’s stuff: some random papers, a copy of PC Gamer magazine, an old banana that he’d forgotten about that was now a really gross banana-shaped mass of mold, some dead double-A batteries, a lone white sweat sock, and a baseball cap that Toby had been required to remove the day he wore it to school because it said BITE ME.

  Included with Toby’s stuff was a canister about eight inches tall made of brushed steel. Its screw-on lid was off and lying next to it.

  “Toby,” said The Hornet. “Is this your locker?”

  “Yes,” said Toby.

  “A little over an hour ago,” said The Hornet, “Mr. Pzyrbovich happened to be walking by and noticed that your locker was emitting some kind of smoke or gas. He sounded the alarm.”

  Toby looked at Mr. P, who was staring at him with an unreadable expression.

  “The firefighters forced the locker open,” continued The Hornet, “and found that the gas was leaking from this.” She pointed at the canister. “Toby, why was this canister in your locker?”

  “I don’t know,” said Toby. “I never saw it before.”

  Mr. Neckstrom snorted.

  “Really!” said Toby. “I swear I never saw it!”

  “What about this?” said The Hornet. She handed Toby a piece of paper, on which was a brief printed note:

  This is the plasma that will power the robot for your science project. You will get the robot and the instructions when you pay me the rest of the money. Keep the plasma in a safe place and KEEP THE CANISTER UPRIGHT OR IT WILL LEAK.

  “I never saw this either,” said Toby.

  “Really?” said The Hornet. “It was also locked inside your locker.”

  “You didn’t follow the instructions, Harbinger,” sneered Mr. Neckstrom. “Your plasma leaked.”

  “It’s not mine,” said Toby. “I don’t have a robot! I don’t even have a science-fair project yet!”

  “We have two serious issues here,” said The Hornet. “First, we cannot have students bringing unknown substances to school. Fortunately, Chief Nichols”—she nodded toward the fire chief—“has determined that this…plasma is harmless.”

  “We don’t know that,” said Mr. Neckstrom. “Look what it did to that banana.”

  “That’s mold,” said Toby.

  “So you claim,” said Mr. Neckstrom. “But why should we believe somebody who cheats on his science-fair project?”

  “But I didn’t—”

  “AND,” continued Mr. Neckstrom, ignoring Toby, “tries to frame other students? Good students.”

  “But—”

  The Hornet held up her hand, silencing Toby and Mr. Neckstrom. “As I was saying,” she said, “the first problem we have is this plasma substance—where it came from and how it wound up in your locker. The second issue is your accusation of other students cheating on the science fair, when in fact the evidence seems to suggest that the cheater, Toby, is you.”

  Toby could feel his throat tightening and tears welling up in his eyes.

  Don’t cry. Not now.

  “What I said before,” he choked out, “about the Science Nook…that was true. I don’t know if this,” he said, indicating the canister, “has anything to do with that. But the rest of it is true. The stuff on that paper from the Science Nook…I bet that stuff is for real. I swear I didn’t make it up.”

  “Just like you didn’t know about the plasma in your locker,” said Mr. Pzyrbovich.

  “But I didn’t,” said Toby.

  “That’s enough,” said The Hornet. “We’ll sort this out in my office. Chief Nichols, thank you for your prompt response. Mr. Neckstrom, Toby, come with me. Mr. Pzyrbovich, you may return to your students.”

  The Hornet led the way, followed by Toby, with Mr. Neckstrom behind. They passed through the outer office, where Mrs. Breetle was back at her computer, once again humming “Oops!…I Did It Again.” The Hornet opened her office door and went inside, followed by Toby and Mr. Neckstrom.

  The Hornet stopped, frowning at her desktop. She turned and went back to the doorway.

  “Mrs. Breetle,” she said, “did you remove a piece of paper from my desk?”

  “No,” said Mrs. Breetle. “I haven’t been in your office at all.”

  The Hornet turned back to Toby and Mr. Neckstrom.

  “I left that paper on my desk,” she said.

  They looked at the desktop, which was empty except for the letter opener.

  “Somebody must have taken it,” said The Hornet.

  “It wasn’t me,” said Mr. Neckstrom. “It was here when I left for the fire drill.”

  The Hornet frowned, remembering. “Yes, it was,” she said. “And I followed you out. Which means”—she looked at Toby—“you were the last one in here with it.”

  “I didn’t take it,” said Toby. “Why would I? I’m the one who brought it in the first place. It proved I was telling the truth about the Science Nook!”

  “Perhaps,” said The Hornet. “But it might also have proved you were lying.”

  WHEN TOBY FINALLY LEFT SCHOOL—after a very unpleasant hour in The Hornet’s office—he found Micah and Tamara waiting for him outside the main door.

  “So?” said Tamara.

  “I’m suspended,” said Toby.

  “Suspended?” said Micah. “From school?”

  “No, moron, from Major League Baseball,” said Toby. Shoulders slumped, he started trudging along the sidewalk, his friends walking on either side of him.

  “How long?” said Tamara.

  “The Hornet said three days, while she investigates,” said Toby. “And then if she decides I’m guilty, I get expelled.”

  “Whoa,” said Micah.

  “Yeah,” said Toby.

  “But you didn’t do anything!” said Tamara. She paused. “Did you?”

  “No!” said Toby. “I don’t know how that stuff got in my locker. Or that note.”

  “Well if you didn’t put it there,” said Tamara, “who did?”

  “It had to be somebody with a master key to the lockers,” said Toby.

  “I think that’s, like, a lot of people,” said Tamara.

  “Or somebody could have stolen a key,” said Micah.

  “True,” said Tamara.

  “So that narrows it down to…let’s see…everybody in the universe,” said Micah.

  “I can narrow it down more than that,” said Toby.

  “What do you mean?” said Tamara.

  “According to The Hornet,” said Toby, “the person who discovered the stuff coming out of my
locker was…guess who? Mr. P.”

  “Interesting,” said Tamara.

  “Yeah,” said Toby. “Quite a coincidence, him being the one who discovered it, and him being around yesterday when the ME kids were dropping off their envelopes.”

  “So you think Mr. P put the stuff in your locker?” said Micah.

  “Who else?” said Toby. “And maybe Neckstrom’s in on it, too.”

  “But why would they do that?” said Tamara.

  “I dunno,” said Toby. “Maybe the ME kids are paying them, too.”

  “But they’re teachers,” said Tamara.

  “Right,” said Micah. “And teachers don’t need, like, money or anything.”

  “Good point,” said Tamara.

  “The point,” said Toby, “is somebody set me up, and somehow I gotta prove that to The Hornet.”

  “What about the paper?” said Tamara. “From the Science Nook?”

  “It’s gone,” said Toby. “Somebody took it during the fire drill.”

  “Man,” said Micah. “You are dead.”

  “I appreciate your support,” said Toby.

  “So what are you gonna do?” said Tamara.

  “I’m going back to the Science Nook,” said Toby.

  “With the robot owl?” said Micah. “Are you insane?”

  “That’s where the proof is,” said Toby.

  “But what if the weird dude recognizes you?” said Tamara.

  “He never saw me,” said Toby.

  “Yeah, but I bet he has a security camera,” said Micah. “A guy who has a robot owl is gonna have cameras.”

  “I’ll have to risk it,” said Toby. “And I’ll go with a distraction.”

  “What distraction?” said Micah.

  “You,” said Toby. “You’re going back there, right? For the magnet for whatshisname? Your frog?”

  “Fester,” said Micah. “But that was before I heard about the robot death owl.”

  “C’mon, Micah,” said Toby. “I really need to go back there.”

  “All right,” said Micah. “But if the owl moves, I’m gonna point at you and yell, ‘I’M JUST THE DISTRACTION!’”

  “I appreciate your support,” said Toby.

  “So when are we going?” said Tamara.

  “You’re going, too?” said Micah.

  “I can be distracting,” said Tamara, batting her eyelashes.

  “Is there something wrong with your eyes?” said Micah.

  “Never mind,” sighed Tamara.

  They had reached the intersection, where, to get to their homes, Toby went right, and the other two went left. They agreed to meet at the Science Nook the next day after school, said their “see-yas,” and split up.

  By the time Toby got to Milkwort Court, night had fallen. He stopped at his front door and took a deep breath, bracing himself for the moment when he’d have to tell his parents about the suspension. Then he noticed that the house lights were off, and he relaxed a bit, remembering that his parents had told him they’d be at a seminar on vitamin B.

  Toby opened the front door with his key and went inside. He had taken two steps into the darkened living room when he caught sight, through the archway, of a black-clad figure sitting at the dining-room table. He froze for a moment, then turned to run to the door. He froze again when he saw that his path was blocked by the massive form of the Wookiee.

  “Hello, Toby,” said D. Arthur Vaderian. He was talking through his electronic voice-changer again. “Please come sit down.”

  The Wookiee started moving forward, forcing Toby into the dining room. Toby saw that, in addition to the voice-changer, Vaderian had tucked a light saber into his belt.

  He’s completely out of his mind, thought Toby. And he’s in my house.

  The Wookiee pulled out a chair and pointed at it. Toby sat, his mind racing, trying to remember when his parents said they would get home.

  “You know, Toby,” said Vaderian, “you shouldn’t leave your bedroom window unlocked. Anybody could get in.” He chuckled in what he apparently thought was a Darth Vader manner. “Oh, and here’s your backpack.” He pointed to the backpack on the floor in the corner. “I found nothing interesting in it. Other than your address, of course.” He chuckled again. He had clearly been working on the chuckle.

  “What do you want?” said Toby.

  “I want brvvvrtt brrrrvvvppppp.” The voice-changing device made a sound like a squirrel passing gas, then went silent.

  “What?” said Toby.

  Vaderian angrily yanked the device off his face and tossed it at the Wookiee, shouting, “I told you, no more discount batteries!” Without the device, Vaderian’s voice was high-pitched, almost girlish. Toby could see why he wanted to change it.

  Vaderian drummed his fingers on the dining-room table while the Wookiee changed the batteries in the device. When he was done, he handed it back to Vaderian, who put it on and said, “What I want, Toby, is to know where you got the autographed BlasTech DL-44 you sold me.”

  “It’s real,” said Toby. “I swear I…”

  “I know it’s real,” said Vaderian.

  “You do?” said Toby.

  “Yes,” said Vaderian

  “But you told me…”

  “I know what I told you,” said Vaderian. “I told you I thought the Harrison Ford autograph was a forgery. His signature is often forged, and the one on the blaster looks different from the others in my collection. But as a precaution, I e-mailed a photograph of the blaster to an autograph expert, and today I received his response. He says the signature is authentic. It looks different because Mr. Ford signed it on a curved surface, rather than on a piece of paper.”

  “So,” said Toby, “you broke into my house to apologize and return my backpack?”

  Vaderian chuckled again. It was getting on Toby’s nerves.

  “No, Toby,” he said. “I’m here because I want to know what other items you can get me.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Toby.

  Vaderian leaned forward. “That pistol wasn’t yours, Toby. You’re too young to own an item of such historic value.”

  “I don’t get what you mean,” said Toby.

  “I mean that pistol belonged to a real collector, Toby, and no real collector would have put such an item on eBay. Which means you stole it. That’s why you didn’t tell anybody when I came after you. I’m guessing that the owner doesn’t know you stole it. Does he, Toby?”

  “No!” said Toby. “I mean he…” He fell silent.

  Vaderian nodded. “I thought so,” he said.

  “What do you want?” said Toby softly.

  “I want more,” said Vaderian.

  “More what?” said Toby.

  “You know what,” said Vaderian.

  “He doesn’t have any more.”

  “You are a poor liar, Toby. Of course he has more. Only a serious collector would have had that blaster, in that condition. He has more items, and you’re going to help me get them.”

  “No,” said Toby.

  “Would you prefer that I tell your father about the blaster you sold on eBay?”

  Toby looked down.

  “It was your father’s, wasn’t it?” said Vaderian.

  Toby put his head in his hands.

  “Show us where the collection is,” said Vaderian, “or I call your father, anonymously, and tell him about your little eBay business.”

  “No,” groaned Toby.

  “Then tell us,” said Vaderian. “It’s in the house, isn’t it? We noticed the basement was locked.”

  “It’s my parents’ business,” Toby said. “They keep the stock down there.”

  Vaderian was about to say something when car headlights shone through the living-room window, and a car pulled into the driveway.

  Vaderian rose quickly. “I will be in touch with you soon,” he said. “I will tell you where and when you will meet me with something else from the collection. Something valuable. If you don’t cooperate, I w
ill call your father.” He drew the light saber from his belt and, in his most Vaderesque voice, said, “Do not disappoint me, young Toby.”

  With a flourish, he pressed a switch on the light saber. Nothing happened.

  Vaderian whirled toward the Wookiee.

  “No more discount batteries,” he hissed.

  There were footsteps at the door. Vaderian, followed by the Wookiee, hurried down the hallway to the bedrooms. As they disappeared, the front door opened, and Toby’s parents entered. Toby’s mom was first, followed by his dad, who looked the way Luke Skywalker would have if he got older and lost his hair and had that pasty, unhealthy appearance that comes from years of eating health food.

  “Toby?” said his mom. She switched on the light and saw him sitting at the dining-room table. “What are you doing sitting there in the dark?”

  “Nothing,” said Toby.

  There was a clunk as the window in Toby’s room closed.

  “What was that?” said his dad.

  “Nothing!” said Toby, leaping up.

  “Are you all right?” said his mom.

  “Yes,” said Toby. “No,” he added.

  “Toby,” said his dad, “what’s going on? Is there someone in your room?”

  “No!” said Toby.

  “Are you sure?” said his dad, moving toward the hallway. “Because I definitely heard…”

  “I got suspended from school,” said Toby.

  “What?” said both of his parents.

  “It’s a mistake,” said Toby. “I didn’t do it.”

  “Didn’t do what?” said his dad.

  “Put the stuff in my locker.”

  “Stuff in your locker?” said his dad.

  “Drugs?” said his mom. “Are you doing drugs?!”

  “I’m not…”

  “It’s those video games he plays,” said his father. “That’s where this started.”

  “But it isn’t…”

  “What kind of drugs was it?” said his mom. “Was it pot? Ohmigod, was it crack?”

  “Crack? Mom, no!” said Toby.

  “So it was pot,” she said.

  “I didn’t mean that!” said Toby.

  “It was STP, wasn’t it?” said his dad. “It’s showing up in middle schools. I heard about this on NPR.”