Go Jump in the Pool!

by Gordon Korman

  “Does this mean we’re not allowed to raise any more money?” asked Boots anxiously. He saw himself packing for York Academy.

  “Not exactly,” said the Headmaster. “But in future, any funds raised will have to come from outside sources.”

  Bruno cleared his throat carefully. “As a matter of fact, sir, we just so happen to have two hundred dollars coming to us from an outside source.” From his shirt pocket he produced a lottery ticket and a crumpled newspaper clipping. “We matched the last four digits.”

  Mr. Sturgeon’s eyes glared with cold disapproval. “You are well aware of my feelings concerning gambling,” he said. “I fail to recall giving my consent for the purchase of a lottery ticket. May I ask how you came by the ticket?”

  “One of the girls from Miss Scrimmage’s bought it for us when they went into town,” Bruno confessed.

  “And no doubt she sent it to you here by mail,” Mr. Sturgeon added sarcastically. “Let me see the ticket.” He examined it carefully. It was made out in the name of Donald McHall at the school’s address, and was indeed a two-hundred-dollar winner. “Why Donald McHall?” he asked finally.

  “Well, Cathy — uh — the girl just put it down that way,” Bruno explained. “You know, Macdonald Hall — Donald McHall …”

  “Yes, yes, I understand.” The Headmaster sighed. “Since the money belongs to the pool fund, I shall collect it this afternoon when I am in town.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said Boots.

  “Sir,” said Bruno, “I have an idea about how we can raise money from other sources. It’s fruit harvest time, and we could set up a rent-a-student service for the farmers around here. We could take a couple of weeks off school and —”

  “That will do,” interrupted Mr. Sturgeon. “Your parents did not register you at Macdonald Hall to turn you into farm labourers.”

  “Yes, sir,” chorused Bruno and Boots.

  * * *

  A dejected Bruno Walton sat on the small hill on Macdonald Hall’s front lawn and stared absently at the cars going by. There was no way, no way at all, that the school could have a pool now.

  A figure approached and sat down beside him. “Bruno,” said Boots, “you’ve been sitting here for over an hour. There’s just no way. We gave it a try and it can’t be done. Maybe it’ll all work out.”

  “And maybe it won’t!” Bruno growled. “And that’ll leave a lot of good Macdonald Hall students sitting in York Academy or some other rotten place. It’ll break up a lot of pretty good friendships too — like ours, for instance.”

  “That’s what gets me!” Boots exclaimed. “Our school is better than York Academy, even without a pool.”

  Bruno nodded. “It is, you know,” he agreed. “That’s why I just can’t stand to think of those turkeys lording it over us —” He stopped dead and sat up straight. “Our school is better than theirs. Boots,” he said with sudden new life, “look at all the cars that pass by here. Those people get to look at our beautiful school — for free!”

  Boots laughed. “What are you going to do? Set up a tollbooth and charge them for the privilege?”

  “As a matter of fact, that’s a wonderful idea!”

  “Bruno, are you crazy?” Boots cried. “The Fish would never give permission for that!”

  “We don’t have to ask him,” Bruno replied earnestly. “He’s already told us to go out and make money from other sources. The passing public is another source.”

  Boots held his head. “Bruno, this time we’re going too far! If we got caught at this, we’d be lucky if York Academy would even have us!”

  Bruno ignored him. “Come on!” he said excitedly. “We’re going to see Wilbur!”

  They dashed across the campus in the direction of Dormitory 1, raced inside and knocked on Wilbur’s door. The big boy had been doing his homework.

  “Wilbur, we need your help,” said Bruno, getting right to the point. “We need you to borrow two sawhorses out of the wood shop without telling Mr. Lautrec.”

  “Why can’t I tell Mr. Lautrec?”

  “Because,” explained Bruno, “he’ll want to know what you’re going to use them for and I don’t want to tell him.”

  Wilbur, who was not very adventurous, turned pale. “But what if I get caught?”

  “Don’t,” Bruno advised him. “Then you won’t have to worry about such things. Paint the sawhorses white and meet us down by the highway at nine o’clock tonight.” He turned to Boots. “Come on. We’ve got to go see Chris.”

  Down the hall they ran into Chris Talbot, who had just returned from the library.

  “Two signs,” said Bruno. “We need them for tonight at nine. White background, black lettering, about a metre by half a metre.”

  “Saying?” Chris prompted.

  “Stop. Pay Toll. 50¢.”

  Chris stared at Bruno in disbelief. “Are you out of your mind? You’re not going to stop cars and make them pay us a toll?”

  “Oh, yes I am!” laughed Bruno Walton.

  * * *

  Mr. Sturgeon had every piece of identification he owned spread out on the counter.

  “The way I see it, your name is Sturgeon, not McHall,” said the clerk.

  “That is what I have been telling you,” said Mr. Sturgeon. “I am the Headmaster of Macdonald Hall. You see, there is no such person as Donald McHall.”

  “Then why is the ticket made out to him?” the girl asked, eyeing Mr. Sturgeon suspiciously.

  “It is simply a pseudonym for Macdonald Hall,” Mr. Sturgeon explained for at least the third time. “The ticket belongs to the students of Macdonald Hall, and I am acting as their agent to collect their money for them.”

  “Are you sure?” the clerk asked dubiously.

  “Young woman,” said Mr. Sturgeon icily, “I assure you that if I should ever attempt to defraud an agency of the government of Ontario, it would not be for the paltry sum of two hundred dollars. I should, as they say, go for the bundle.”

  She frowned. “Are you sure Mr. McHall can’t come down to claim the money himself?”

  “Positive,” said Mr. Sturgeon sadly.

  “Well, since he seems to have given you his ticket, I guess it’ll be all right,” she said at last.

  Mr. Sturgeon breathed a deep sigh of relief and cursed Bruno and Boots in his heart for putting him through this.

  * * *

  By half past nine, two gleaming white sawhorses stood blocking both the north- and southbound lanes of Highway 48, their signs proclaiming in both directions: Stop. Pay Toll. 50¢. Bruno and Boots were manning the northbound lane, and Wilbur and Chris the southbound. The tollbooth was ready for operation.

  Boots, Chris and Wilbur were only there out of loyalty to Bruno. All three were absolutely terrified. Bruno, on the other hand, rubbed his hands with glee when he spied headlights coming along in his lane.

  “Oh, boy! Our first customer.”

  “It had better not be a police car,” called Chris from across the road. “I’m positive this is illegal!”

  Boots, who had very sharp night vision, squinted at the car and went white to the ears. “It’s The Fish!”

  Uncharacteristically, Bruno panicked. “Run for your life!” he cried and made a break for his own dormitory. Chris and Wilbur stood frozen, but Boots was hot on Bruno’s tail. They ran only a short way.

  “Hold it! Hold everything!” Bruno gasped. “We can’t take off like this! We’ve got to go back and save Wilbur and Chris from The Fish!”

  “Who’s going to save us?” demanded Boots as they trotted back towards the scene of the crime.

  “Shut up and keep running,” Bruno tossed over his shoulder.

  “Hide, Wilbur!” exclaimed Chris, unfrozen at last. The two boys took off towards Miss Scrimmage’s apple orchard, but not before the headlights of the approaching car had clearly illuminated Wilbur Hackenschleimer’s bulk clambering over the fence.

  Mr. Sturgeon veered over to the soft shoulder of the road, got out of his ca
r and surveyed the scene. He crossed the highway, eased himself gingerly over the wire fence and stepped into the shadow of the trees.

  “Talbot — Hackenschleimer — come out this instant.”

  Chris and Wilbur shuffled out from behind a row of trees and stood shamefaced and shaking before their Headmaster.

  “You both have a lot of explaining to do,” Mr. Sturgeon said sternly, “but the first order of business is to remove that abomination from the highway. Let us now —”

  He was interrupted by a piercing wail. Then Miss Scrimmage’s voice came over the public address system. “Intruder alert! Intruder alert! All girls to remain in their rooms. Do not be afraid. You are protected.”

  There was a rustling sound in the underbrush behind Mr. Sturgeon. Crack! The Headmaster dropped to the ground. Over him, brandishing a softball bat, stood Cathy Burton.

  “Oops!”

  Bruno and Boots burst onto the scene. “Cathy, you clouted The Fish!” Boots exclaimed.

  Bruno dropped to his knees beside his fallen Headmaster. “Sir! Sir, speak to me!”

  Boom!

  Mr. Sturgeon sat bolt upright. “Good Lord, she’s got her shotgun back! Flat on the ground! Everyone!”

  Miss Scrimmage appeared in the orchard, carrying a flashlight in one hand and the shotgun in the other. The bright beam illuminated Mr. Sturgeon, Cathy and the four boys all lying on the ground.

  “Mercy, I’ve killed them!” she cried, and fainted.

  Diane Grant’s white face peered out from behind a nearby tree. “Cathy, is it safe to come out yet?” she whispered.

  “Sir, are you sure you’re all right?” asked Bruno anxiously.

  “Miss Scrimmage, wake up!” Cathy was begging over and over again. “No one is dead!”

  Miss Scrimmage got shakily to her feet. Headmaster and Headmistress faced one another. Mr. Sturgeon was livid. “What do you mean by firing that weapon? You could have killed one of my boys!”

  “How dare you shout at me, sir?” Miss Scrimmage replied, outraged. “You were prowling in my orchard! I could have you arrested for terrorizing a defenceless woman and her innocent girls!”

  “Come along, boys.” Mr. Sturgeon summoned up what remained of his dignity. He herded the four boys out of the orchard, over the fence and onto the highway. There an appalling sight met his eyes. From both north and south, cars were lined up at the toll gate as far as the eye could see. Some of the drivers were beginning to get restless, and the occasional horn could be heard.

  “Take those barriers down at once!” Mr. Sturgeon ordered, holding his head gingerly. The boys ran to remove the sawhorses which had backed up the traffic.

  “Now,” the Headmaster said when they were back on their own grounds, “go to your rooms and remain there. I wish to see Walton and O’Neal at precisely eight o’clock tomorrow morning in my office. Talbot and Hackenschleimer will be dealt with later.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Bruno. He turned dark anxious eyes on the Headmaster. “Sir, are you absolutely sure you’re all right? Maybe we’d better take you home.”

  “Do as you are told!” Mr. Sturgeon roared with more anger than he had ever expressed to anyone.

  * * *

  “We’ve finally done it, Bruno,” said Boots miserably, holding his head in his hands as he sat on his bed. “We’ve gotten into trouble before, but this time nothing can keep us from being expelled. I’m doomed! My folks will kill me! Even York Academy is beginning to look good!”

  “Boots,” said Bruno calmly, “we’ve been through a heck of a lot together. If we ever needed each other for support, it’s now, so let’s not argue or go to pieces. We haven’t been expelled yet.”

  “We might as well give up,” said Boots. “The Fish will never let us get away with this. I told you it was crazy. How do you get such ideas?”

  “It was your idea,” Bruno defended himself. “Remember? You said —”

  “You know I wasn’t serious!” Boots lay back in surrender. “We may as well go to sleep,” he said. “Whatever happens I guess just plain happens.”

  “That’s the spirit!” said Bruno. “Never worry about what you can’t avoid. Wake me at quarter to eight. Goodnight.”

  * * *

  “Here are the groceries, Mildred,” said Mr. Sturgeon, placing a bag on the kitchen counter.

  “Oh, thank you, dear. I needed some — William! Whatever happened to you?” Her husband was a rumpled, bedraggled sight — and there was a lump on his head.

  “Oh, nothing much,” Mr. Sturgeon said bitterly. “I was only stopped at an illegal toll gate set up on the road by those boys you’re so proud of for their school spirit; then I was physically assaulted with a baseball bat by one of those well-bred young ladies belonging to the barracuda who, incidentally, opened fire on me — the police have returned her shotgun, can you imagine that? No one is safe!” He opened the closet to put away his coat. “Other than that, nothing happened to me!”

  From the closet shelf a box slipped down and struck him on his already tender head. The lid flipped open, a soft object popped out and a recorded voice said, “Hi there! My name is Jack!”

  “Mildred …”

  Chapter 12

  The Secret Ingredient

  The bench in the Headmaster’s office was especially uncomfortable that morning. Bruno and Boots sat, hands nervously folded in their laps, waiting for Mr. Sturgeon to pronounce sentence upon them. It did not raise their hopes to see that he wore a bandage around his head and appeared to be in an irritable mood.

  “I don’t suppose it occurred to either of you that what you were doing is against the law.”

  Bruno and Boots remained silent.

  “Did you take any money from passing motorists?”

  “No sir,” said Bruno. “Your car was the first one to come along.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that, anyway,” said the Headmaster. “You did not actually break the law then. But you certainly intended to. Specifically, receiving money under false pretenses constitutes fraud. And that is very serious.”

  Boots’s stomach growled noisily. He had been too nervous to eat breakfast.

  Mr. Sturgeon paused to allow his words to sink in, and then continued. “This time you have not only got yourselves into serious trouble, but you have also corrupted two boys whose previous records were spotless. I wish to know what part Hackenschleimer and Talbot played in this escapade.”

  “It was all my fault, sir,” said Bruno steadily. “I got Chris to make the signs and Wilbur to get the sawhorses, and at the last minute I talked them into working the tollbooth. I’m completely to blame, sir.”

  “And me,” Boots added quickly.

  Mr. Sturgeon nodded and began to tell Bruno and Boots what he had been telling himself ever since the swim meet. “This entire fund-raising campaign was sparked by the lowest of motives — jealousy. You have kept it going by feeding this jealousy, and I blame myself for not putting a stop to it sooner. Your aim is not so much to have a pool because you want one as to have a pool because they have one. That attitude is childish and unworthy of you.

  “And now, your punishment. At seven each morning you will report to the kitchen to assist the staff in any duties they may find for you. During the noon hour you will do the same. At four in the afternoon you will pick up every scrap of litter on the campus until five, when you will report to the kitchen once more to assist in the serving of dinner. You will eat all your meals in the kitchen. After dinner, from seven-thirty to nine, you are assigned to wash dishes without the usual payment. Since it is autumn, you will spend your weekends raking leaves. After nine in the evenings you are confined to your room where you will do your homework and prepare the five thousand word essay which I am assigning. The subject — fraud.”

  The Headmaster stopped for breath. “In case this schedule leaves you any time for privileges, I hereby revoke them all. This punishment will apply until further notice. The fund-raising campaign, of course, is over. If you
are caught raising money, you will be expelled. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then,” said Mr. Sturgeon, glancing at his wristwatch, “you are dismissed. I believe you are on duty in the kitchen now.”

  * * *

  As Bruno and Boots slaved over the serving of breakfast, they were too upset to appreciate the humour of the comments from their classmates in the dining room.

  “Hey, Walton, there’s a fly in my porridge!”

  “Boots, this orange juice tastes like dishwater!”

  “Hurry up with those pancakes, Walton!”

  “Oh, bus-boy …”

  “Wash your hands, Bruno. There’s going to be an inspection by the Board of Health.”

  “What did you guys do to deserve this?”

  Bruno and Boots did not have time to talk to each other until they were finally allowed to sit down to breakfast in the kitchen.

  “I wish,” said Bruno savagely, “that he had just expelled us. That would have been kinder.”

  “He was right, though,” reflected Boots.

  “I never said he wasn’t right,” snapped Bruno. “The Fish is always right around here, even when he’s wrong. I just don’t like being punished.”

  “I hope he’s not too hard on Chris and Wilbur,” said Boots.

  “Ha! I’ll bet he’s warming up the rack right now!”

  Boots shook his head. “Why is it that you never learn from punishment, Bruno?”

  Bruno laughed. “Maybe it’s because I’m completely incorrigible.”

  * * *

  When Mrs. Sturgeon drove home from town through a gloomy, cold rain that afternoon, she was appalled to see Bruno and Boots, equipped with pointed sticks and garbage bags, cleaning litter off the front lawn of the campus. She stopped the car and rolled down the window.

  “Bruno, Melvin, what are you doing out in such weather?”

  “Mr. Sturgeon’s orders, Ma’am,” said Bruno. “We’re being punished.”