“Um, I don’t know,” I reply. “Especially considering that there haven’t been any on the planet in millions of years!”
“Yes, exactly.” Ms. Tremt laughs nervously. “That merely appears to be a Triconodon. In reality, it’s a new robot that Jay, Grace, and Morgan built for their robotics team. I’m just having a little trouble turning it off at the moment.”
“A furry robot?” I ask disbelievingly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“To be honest, Kai, at this moment, everything is not quite ‘okay,’ ” Ms. Tremt admits. “But in due time, it will be.”
Very cryptic, Ms. Tremt. Is this some kind of 4-D chess move?
“I’ve got this covered, Kai,” Ms. Tremt says. “I’d appreciate it if you could come back and see me later.”
“Sure,” I say.
“But you can do me one favor,” Ms. Tremt adds. “If you run into a man wearing green gloves, please walk in the opposite direction.”
“You got it, Ms. Tremt,” I agree. “I’ll see you later.”
• • •
A furry robot that looks like a prehistoric creature in the school library is definitely hard to believe, but what’s even more unbelievable is that Mr. Bodon is nowhere to be seen when I get to math class. There’s a substitute teaching the class today, and he doesn’t even know about the monster math packet we all did for homework last night. I spent so much time on that homework and now it’s not even going to be checked. What a waste!
As more kids come in and see the sub, the room fills with sounds of groans and complaints. Middle-school students are a tough crowd. If this sub doesn’t want to lose the class completely before the bell rings, he’d better do something. Now. But he doesn’t seem to care about anyone talking, so maybe this is just going to be free time. That would be cool.
I tap Maria on the back to see if I can get her to break Mr. Bodon’s no-talking rule, considering he’s not in charge of the class today. Just then, though, the sub turns around and holds his index finger to make a “sh” sign. And the thing is, this sub, well . . . HE’S WEARING GREEN GLOVES!!!
I gasp.
“Do you know him?” Maria whispers.
“No . . . not really . . . It’s just that . . . well,” I hesitate.
“What???” Maria asks urgently.
“I’ll tell you later,” I say. “Library. After school. Okay?”
“Deal,” Maria says.
The sub introduces himself to the class: Mr. Tempo. The green gloves aren’t the strangest thing about Mr. Tempo. Not by a long shot.
He draws a clock and a calendar page on the board.
“Today’s lesson will be about the math of time telling,” Mr. Tempo explains.
Nora’s hand shoots into the air. She’s one of the best math students in our class.
“Are you sure you have the correct lesson plan?” Nora asks. “We haven’t done a lesson on time since second grade. Mr. Bodon has been teaching us geometry for the past month.”
“I’m sure that this is my lesson plan,” Mr. Tempo says. “So it is indeed correct.”
He starts to write some dates on the board.
July 4, 1951
June 1, 1977
July 16, 1969
I see Matt whip his head around to quickly scan the room. Then he stares straight ahead, like he’s frozen or something. It looks as weird as it sounds. Mr. Tempo walks down the row of desks and taps his green-gloved finger on Matt’s desk.
“Can anyone tell me the numerical significance of these dates?” Mr. Tempo asks. “Does anyone see a pattern?”
Maria raises her hand.
“We’d need some more information to figure that out,” she says. “There doesn’t seem to be an obvious pattern.”
“Correct,” Mr. Tempo says. “If the pattern were obvious, I would have already figured it out by myself.”
I raise my hand.
“Aren’t teachers supposed to have the answers to all the problems?” I ask. “So you can show us how they work?”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Tempo says. “No one has all of the answers.”
Then he starts walking up and down the rows and looking into each of our eyes.
“Now, back to the problem at hand,” Mr. Tempo says. “Does anyone see a pattern here?”
Of course, none of us do. Kids are starting to put their heads down on their desk because they can’t stop giggling. This is the weirdest math class ever!
I’m starting to feel kind of funny, too. I raise my hand.
“How do you know if your clock is crazy?” I ask Mr. Tempo.
“What is this question?” Mr. Tempo asks. “Is there some chaos theory involved here?”
“I don’t know what chaos theory is. This is just a simple question,” I repeat. “How do you know if your clock is crazy?”
“How?” Matt yells out.
“It goes, ‘Cuckoo!’ ” I say.
There are a few groans and a bunch of giggles. Mr. Tempo looks like steam might come out of his ears.
“Okay, I can see you’ll be no help with the pattern,” Mr. Tempo says. “What about these dates? Are they significant to anyone?”
I watch Matt shrug his shoulders and shake his head as if to say, Who, me? Nah, while Mr. Tempo glares at him.
I raise my hand again.
“Mr. Tempo, why are Saturday and Sunday the strongest days?” I ask.
“Ah, a fabric-of-time question,” Mr. Tempo said. “I was unaware that some days are stronger than others.”
“Yes,” I reply. “Because all the other days are ‘weak’ days.”
More groans. More giggles. Maria even turns around and gives me a high five.
Everyone loves it. The class starts chanting, “Kai, Kai, Kai, Kai.”
“What did the digital clock say to its mother?” I ask.
“What?” everyone asks.
“Look, Ma, no hands!” I answer.
Mr. Tempo slams a math book on his desk.
“Insolence!” he says. “I will be reporting you all to the principal!”
He storms out of the room. The door slams behind him. The classroom is dead silent for a few seconds. We’re all shocked—and a little scared. Principal DiBella is not going to be happy about this.
The whole class is sitting like statues in our seats now. We’re waiting for the principal to come and read us the riot act. But it never happens. We just wait and wait and then the bell rings and we all quietly pack up our stuff and head to our next class.
“Dude, what was that?” I whisper to Faris.
“Totally comedy genius!” Faris whispers back. “Nice going, Kai!”
“I just hope we don’t get a whole-class detention,” Maria adds.
Everyone from my math class seems on edge the rest of the day. I’ve never heard the cafeteria so quiet during lunch. At the end of the day I pass by Ms. DiBella in the hallway. I figure I’ll take a chance and test the waters, so I nod at her and say hello.
“Hello, Kai,” Ms. DiBella says back cheerfully. “How’s Yumi?”
“She’s doing great,” I reply. “She loves high school.”
Faris grabs me by the shirt when I walk by his locker a few steps later.
“No detention?” he whispers.
“Seems that way,” I whisper back. “I don’t think she’d be that cheerful if Mr. Tempo talked to her. Remember how angry she got just because we sat in the wrong seats when we had the sub last fall?”
“I remember,” Faris says. “My parents punished me on top of detention when they got Ms. DiBella’s letter!”
“Have you seen Mr. Tempo since math class?” I ask. “I wonder where he went.”
“I haven’t,” Faris said. “I heard there was a different sub for Mr. Bodon’s last period.”
“I guess we got lucky, then,” I say. “That’s a relief.”
I head to the library after I say good-bye to Faris. Maria is already sitting at the computer, doing research. I wave to her but then head over
to Ms. Tremt, just to give her the heads-up about Mr. Green Gloves.
“Interesting,” Ms. Tremt says. “So Tim Raveltere was your substitute teacher today.”
“Oh no, wrong guy,” I tell her. “Our sub was named Mr. Tempo.”
Ms. Tremt laughs. “Of course he was. How obvious!”
I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Kai, I need to talk to you privately,” Ms. Tremt says. “Follow me.”
I follow Ms. Tremt into a room at the back of the library. I never actually knew the room existed, and it makes me wonder if those rumors about Ms. Tremt living here are true. But there isn’t a bed or a couch or a TV or anything like that in here. Just one book, on a wooden table. It is a pretty ridiculously cool-looking book, though. And it’s shimmering as if it’s been touched by magic dust.
Ms. Tremt holds her hand out as if she’s a game-show hostess presenting a prize.
“Kai, may I present The Book of Memories,” she says.
“Is it your family memories?” I ask. “Because my mom just gave me my great-great-great-aunt’s journals, and I just started reading them, and—”
“No, Kai,” Ms. Tremt interrupts. “This book doesn’t belong to me or my family. I can’t tell you whose memories are in there. You’ll have to find that out for yourself.”
“Ah, got it,” I said. “Like a special reading project just for me.”
Ms. Tremt laughs. “Something like that, Kai,” she says. “But the project will involve a lot more than reading.”
“Do I have to write a report, too?” I groan. “Because I have a lot of homework tonight.”
“No. There is no report writing,” Ms. Tremt says. “The Book of Memories is an adventure project. You may choose a friend or two to explore it with you. But they have to be here with you from the turn of the first page.”
Of course you know right where I go . . . back into the library to grab Maria.
“Found a friend, Ms. Tremt,” I say a few moments later. “Where are we taking the book?”
“You’re not taking it anywhere, Kai,” Ms. Tremt says. “It’s taking you.”
“Kai, what’s going on here?” Maria says. “We have a lot of work to do on our project. I don’t want to get sidetracked.”
“Don’t worry, Maria,” Ms. Tremt says. “You won’t lose any time. I promise your adventure will be over in a blink of an eye. In present time, of course.”
Ms. Tremt is kind of losing me here. I have no idea what she’s talking about.
“Can you explain it like I’m five?” I ask Ms. Tremt.
“Of course,” Ms. Tremt says. “I am the keeper of this book. And being the keeper, I also have the honor of sending a few children on time-traveling adventures.”
“Figuratively,” Maria says.
“No, quite literally,” Ms. Tremt says. “I am talking about actual time travel. Let’s do a little show-and-tell. Like you’re five.”
Ms. Tremt pulls a fountain pen out of her pocket. It’s glowing. I start thinking about all the strange things that happened today, like Mr. Tempo and the Mesozoic mammal incident. And now all this. Maybe I didn’t get enough sleep last night.
Ms. Tremt opens The Book of Memories and uses the sparkling fountain pen to sign her name on the card in it. A question magically appears on the page.
Where would you like to go today?
Maria reaches over, grabs my hand and squeezes it. Cool!
“Let me demonstrate the infinite possibilities that await you,” Ms. Tremt says.
She writes Mexico, February 1519 with the fountain pen. Then she closes the book.
I feel Maria squeeze my hand even tighter as the book begins to shake and grow bigger and bigger, until it appears to take up the whole wall.
“Open the book, Kai,” Ms. Tremt says.
I pull open the cover and it’s like a movie scene is projected onto the wall.
The scene is set in an ancient city surrounded by snowy mountaintops. There’s an enormous pyramid in the center of the city. There’s also a warrior standing right in front of us holding a golden shield and wearing a feathered helmet.
Ms. Tremt cautiously puts her hand up toward the scene. It appears inside the image. The warrior holds up the shield defensively. Ms. Tremt taps the shield, which makes a ringing sound, and then pulls her hand back into the room. Then she closes the book, and we all stare as it shrinks back down to normal size.
“What the what?” I gasp.
“I think we should go,” Maria says.
“In there?” I ask.
“No, home,” Maria says.
“I understand, Maria,” Ms. Tremt says. “Time travel is not without its dangers. And there are rules that we will have to review, because the fate of the future will be in your hands.”
“Ms. Tremt, is this really an actual thing?” I wonder. “And not a joke?”
“Not a joke,” Ms. Tremt says. “An opportunity. A wrinkle in the fabric of time, if you will, that allows a very brief trip into the past.”
“How brief?” I ask.
“Three hours,” Ms. Tremt says. “Exactly one hundred and eighty minutes to explore any place and date in the past. I understand that you may have a lot of questions. And that you may need some time to decide on your destination.”
I’m sure Maria will want more time, but I’ve always been more of an impulse thinker. I know exactly where and when I want to go.
“Oahu Sugar Company Plantation, 1900,” I say. “That’s where I want to go. I want to meet my great-great-great-aunt Akemi.”
“Have fun,” Maria says, letting go of my hand.
“Aw, really,” I say. “You don’t want to come?”
“Kai, are you crazy?” Maria says. “What if this is some kind of setup?”
“I assure you, Maria, this is not a setup,” Ms. Tremt says. “Other Sands Middle School students have successfully journeyed through The Book of Memories and have returned safe and sound. I am not able to share their names, and they are not allowed to speak of their adventures, but I assure you that they are all happy that they went along for the ride.”
Matt! I think about the way he looked when Mr. Tempo wrote the dates on the board, and I am sure that Matt’s been in this room before.
“Akemi wrote all about ocean life,” I say. “We could find out what Hawaii was like back then. Think about how awesome that would be.”
“I don’t know, Kai,” Maria says.
I take Maria’s hand and squeeze it.
“Come on,” I say. “Just think of all the jokes I can tell you in those three hours.”
“Okay, that’s a deal-breaker.” Maria laughs. “Ocean creatures, great. Lame Kai jokes, I’m staying in the present.”
I feel Maria’s hand relax, though, and can tell she’s starting to think about coming.
“So about those rules . . . ,” I say to Ms. Tremt.
Maria has a ton of questions about the rules. Every time Ms. Tremt tells us a new rule, Maria has three questions.
I’ll give you the summary version, though.
We have three hours. Not a second more. If we don’t get the book out and step into the present within the three-hour period, we’ll be stuck in the past forever.
So that one really freaked Maria out, but I assured her that I’m a pretty time-sensitive kind of guy, having to think so much about timing with my comedy routines and all.
We can’t bring anything that appears “out of time,” so we have to dress in appropriate clothes, and we have to leave our cell phones, money, and anything else related to the present behind. Maria convinces Ms. Tremt to let her bring some folded-up paper and a couple of charcoal pencils so she can sketch while she’s there.
We have to limit our interactions with people from the past. We can talk to them, but we can’t influence their decisions or anything like that. One tiny change in the past could shape the future in big, unknown ways.
And then there are the scarves. Super-stretchy safety nets
made of a special nano-fabric that can be scrunched up to the size of a small bouncy ball. In an emergency, we can wrap them around ourselves and they will make us look like nothing is amiss. Maria’s eyes get really big just at the mention of the word “emergency.”
Miss Tremt also gives us info about Hawaii in 1900.
Hawaii became an annexed territory of the United States in 1898. It did not become a state until 1959.
Sanford B. Dole was governor of Hawaii in 1900.
(Yes, Dole like Dole pineapples. His cousin James Dole founded the company.)
Sugarcane and pineapple plantations became an important industry in the 1890s. Thousands of immigrants arrived from places like China, Japan, the Philippines, and Portugal to work on the plantations.
One pound of sugar cost 7 cents.
The Iolani Palace, once home to the Hawaiian ruling family, had electricity in 1886, before the White House had electric power!
Ms. Tremt pulls out a box of clothes and starts throwing things at us.
“Okay, this outfit is going to have to stay a secret,” I tell Maria, putting on a straw hat and sunglasses.
“I’ll never tell!” Maria says. “Mine is so much worse!”
I have to agree. I’m wearing a long-sleeve button-down shirt and baggy pants. They’re not exactly today’s style, especially with the hat, but they could pass. Maria’s outfit is straight out of the history files. Straw hat, polka-dotted shirt, and long, baggy skirt.
“Are you sure you don’t want to think this through before you go?” Ms. Tremt asks when I tell her that I’m off to the bathroom to change.
“There’s no time like the present, right, Maria?” I say.
“Yeah, it’s a real gift.” She snickers.
“You made a joke!” I cry. “I am totally rubbing off on you.”
I grab the clothes and head to the bathroom, making sure none of my friends see me walking down the hall. Improv is not really my thing, and I don’t want to have to make up an excuse on the spot.
I push against the door, but it doesn’t open all the way. I shove it a little, and that’s when I hear a splashing sound. A janitor is crouched down on the other side of the door, next to a large bucket full of water. Puddles of water are pooled on the floor. I guess I did that.
Hang Ten for Dear Life! Page 3