The Mystery of the Mad Science Teacher

by Marty Chan

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” I told Remi.

  He nodded and ran out of the store. I went to the stockroom to pick up boxes, wishing my dad could ease up on the chores, but there was no arguing with him. I suspected he thought that if we looked busy in the store, the customers would feel sorry for us and come buy some groceries. I worked hard, hoping to get the next day’s chores done in one night.

  The next morning I snuck out of the store with my detective gear before Dad found more work for me to do. I had no intention of spending the rest of my summer cooped up in my dad’s store collecting paper cuts.

  Stakeout Report

  Detectives: Remi Boudreau and Marty Chan

  Subject: The Asylum House

  3:00 pm Detectives met across the street from the Asylum House. Remi kept repeating “Asylum” and laughing.

  3:15 pm Observed hedge. No movement. No sound of bicycle.

  3:22 pm Observed hedge. No one moving. No sound. Remi said he was bored.

  3:31 pm Watching the hedge, but nothing is moving. Remi starts a flinch war. Marty loses bad. Remi punches him in the shoulder and Marty cries like a baby. Remi is the king of flinch wars. Marty pees his pants. Marty is the king of peeing his pants. All hail the king of peed pants.

  3:36 pm Remi is no longer allowed to touch the official detective scribbler when I go on a bathroom break.

  3:41 pm Observed hedge. No movement. No sound.

  3:56 pm Car stops in front of hedge. Boy climbed out of the passenger side. He dropped something on the ground and got back into the car.

  3:57 pm Car drove away. A flyer for household appliances was left on the sidewalk beside the hedge. Remi believed the maniac twins might come out to get the flyer.

  4:11 pm Observed hedge. Remi thought he heard something. Nothing.

  4:14 pm Observed hedge. I heard something. Remi said I was making fun of him.

  4:17 pm Observed hedge. We both heard Trina’s bicycle bell.

  4:23 pm We plan to move in. If we don’t come back, please get this report to Trina Brewster. She will know what to do.

  Remi led the way toward the hedge. He crouched low and scuttled across the pavement like a crab. I tucked the scribbler in the back of my pants and followed. Instead of following, I edged along the hedge to the side of the house until I reached the alley that ran beside the house. Then I crept down the alley to a wooden gate. I lowered myself on my hands and knees and peeked under the gate. Pebbles dug into my palms and the ground smelled a little like rotten cabbage, most likely from the garbage cans beside the gate.

  A brick walkway on the other side of the gate led to the house. Tall grass threatened to crawl over the red brick path. I thought I saw the hint of a bicycle wheel in the distance, but I couldn’t be sure what I saw, because on the other side of the fence, someone was walking toward the gate.

  I pushed up from the ground, but the sleeve of my T-shirt snagged on the bottom of the fence. I tried to pull away, but the T-shirt was stuck. The feet drew closer.

  A maniac twin was about to find me.

  FOUR

  The black shoes clopped across the brick path, moving closer to the gate. I yanked at the T-shirt sleeve, trying to free myself, but the cloth had turned as slippery as a non-stick frying pan and my French fry fingers couldn’t grab hold. The maniac twin was right at the gate.

  I rolled away, tearing my sleeve. Just as the cedar gate swung open I curled into a ball with my back to the hedge. A man stepped into the alleyway with a huge green garbage bag. His back to me, he tossed the bag into the aluminium garbage can. The first thing that grabbed my attention was his crazy white hair. I held my breath, expecting him to turn around. As I waited, time became a caterpillar inching along a highway to a rest stop called Trouble. I closed my eyes and waited for the ride to end.

  “What are you doing there?” the man shouted.

  The sound of his voice skidded across my ears like tires screeching across a highway. I opened my eyes.

  “You! What are you doing with those binoculars?” The maniac still had his back to me. All I could see was his bushy white hair. Down the alley, Remi was looking at the maniac through the binoculars.

  “Are you spying on me?” the man asked.

  Remi lowered the binoculars. “No. I was just playing around.”

  “Come here,” the man ordered. “Did Davis send you?”

  Remi backed up.

  “I want to talk to you.”

  “Maybe another time.”

  “What did Davis pay you to do this?” The maniac walked away from me.

  I could breathe again. Remi, on the other hand, was in big trouble. I waved to my pal to run. He started to jog away.

  “Don’t you even think about running,” the man yelled.

  Remi paused, looked back at me, and then bolted. The maniac started to chase after him, leaving me free to make my escape. As I stood up, I noticed the maniac’s yard was filled with junk. There was more metal than grass behind the hedge. I wanted to take a closer look, but the sound of footsteps scared me. I hid behind the open gate and peeked between the slats.

  The white-haired man had stopped chasing Remi. Now he walked back toward me, scratching his salt and pepper beard. I needed to find a better hiding spot. I slid behind the garbage can and crouched down, balancing on the balls of my feet. I wobbled as he got closer and grabbed the can to steady myself. It rocked back an inch. I took a deep breath and got a snoot full of mouldy cheese and rotting cabbage. I held my breath wishing I hadn’t picked such a stinky hiding place.

  A hand reached around the gate. A few inches away, the white-haired maniac was about to go into his yard. Close the gate, I thought. Just close the gate. I shifted on the ground to maintain my balance, but as I did my arm bumped against the can. Clang.

  The white-haired man held the gate open and looked right at me. For the first time I saw his eyes. They were huge and round, like fish eyes.

  “Spy!” he yelled.

  I jumped up, knocked the can over and ran up the alley. Behind me, a loud metal crash and a scream filled the air. I wondered if the maniac had unleashed the washing machine monster. I sprinted for freedom. As I ran I imagined the monster behind me, reaching out to nab my torn shirt and put me through the rinse-and-munch cycle. This thought gave me the energy to sprint all out.

  I ran to the end of the block, cut through three yards, hopped over four fences, zipped past two barking dogs and crossed the street. Finally I came to a stop near a maple tree at the end of a quiet road. I leaned against the tree trunk to catch my breath. No sign of the maniac twin. I was safe.

  A hand reached around the tree and grabbed my sweaty T-shirt. Another hand clamped around my mouth to keep me from screaming. Washing machine, here I come.

  “Shhhh,” Remi hissed. “It’s me.”

  Once I relaxed, my friend released me.

  “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Did you see the guy’s eyes? They were so buggy. I’ve never seen anything like them. Have you?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to see them ever again.”

  “If you hadn’t distracted him, I’d be dirty laundry,” I said.

  “You were lucky I spotted you going around the corner.”

  “Thanks. I owe you one,” I said. Actually, I owed him 53 times for the times he saved me from sticky situations. The good thing was he never kept count and he never asked for anything in return.

  “Did you see Trina’s bike in the yard?”

  I shook my head. “I saw some big gears and wheels and I think I saw a refrigerator, but no bike.”

  “What would he want with all that stuff?”

  “Maybe the monster needs a bigger washing machine.”

  Remi nodded and looked up the street.

  “We’d better tell Trina,” I said.

  “She won’t believe us,” he said. “Not until we get her proof.”

  “We have to get into that yard,” I said.

  He bit his lower
lip. I could tell he was trying to figure out if I was as crazy as the white-haired maniac.

  “What’s your plan?” he asked.

  “We’re going to sneak in.”

  The plan was simple: wait for the maniac to leave. However, he wasn’t going anywhere. We could hear him behind the hedge, hammering and using a power saw. The whine of the blade loosened my back teeth and I had to cover my ears until the noise stopped. By then it was time for dinner. We’d have to try again tomorrow.

  The next day was a repeat of the first day: all noise and no action. The waiting reminded me of how I felt when I waited for my tooth to fall out. Part of me wanted the tooth to come out, but another part wanted the tooth to stay in. When I wiggled the tooth, I could speed up the process, but there was no way I could wiggle Mr. White Hair.

  At the end of the stake out, Remi whined, “He’s not coming out, and I’m bored. Let’s play street hockey while we’re waiting.”

  Maybe there was a way to wiggle Mr. White Hair. “Do you have a puck?”

  “Yup. We can use some branches for sticks.”

  “Hand me the puck,” I said.

  He dug into his pocket and pulled out the puck. I grabbed it and walked to the hedge around the Asylum House.

  “Are you going to ask him to play hockey with us?”

  I explained my plan. Remi would hide next to the gate while I launched a puck over the hedge. I would throw the puck into the middle of the yard. Mr. White Hair would notice it and charge out looking for the puck’s owner. I would taunt the maniac until he chased me and Remi would look for the bike in the maniac’s yard. We’d hope that the other maniac twin never came out of the attic.

  I gave my pal the signal. Then I wound up and hurled the puck high into the air with every ounce of my strength. The black biscuit landed on the ground barely a foot in front of me. I wiped my hands on my pants, picked up the puck, charged at the hedge and tossed the puck again. This time it landed behind me.

  Remi jogged over. “Let me do it,” he suggested.

  “I can throw the puck,” I said. “My hands were slippery, that’s all.”

  “I’d like to get in the yard before the sun goes down.” He grinned.

  “Fine, fine. Go ahead.”

  I ran to the hiding place beside the gate and signalled Remi to throw the puck. He launched it high over the hedge and sprinted away. Crack! Did he break a window? The yard went silent. I crouched, waiting for Mr. White Hair to come out so I could sneak into the yard. A minute passed. Two minutes. Three minutes. I straightened up as Remi peeked around the corner of the hedge. I shrugged. He waved me over.

  “Do you have something else I can throw? Maybe the puck was too little.”

  “There’s no way he could have missed it, Remi. It sounded like you broke his window.”

  A shrill whine came from behind the hedge. We scrambled away as a loud buzz followed. The buzz and whine faded away. Then something black flew over the hedge and plopped on the sidewalk. It was half the puck. Behind the hedge the sounds of hammering and grinding started up again.

  Remi grabbed the half puck and examined the cut. “Gee, I wonder if he does that to everything that ends up in his yard.”

  I looked at the mangled biscuit and gulped.

  “Do you think Trina’s bike is worth this?” Remi asked.

  I wasn’t going to give up. I wanted to see Trina’s face light up when I returned her stolen bike. I wanted to see her flash that special smile for me and no one else. But I didn’t want Remi to know how I felt. He’d make fun of me if he knew the truth.

  So I stalled for time. “Well, we can’t do anything until next weekend anyway. School starts tomorrow.”

  He groaned. “Did you have to remind me about school?”

  We agreed to show Trina our detective report and made plans to meet in the schoolyard. That night I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned in my bed like one of the over-cooked sausages Mom made for breakfast. When my alarm clock went off, I knew I was done with sleep. While I wasn’t looking forward to starting grade five, I was excited to have a chance to sit near Trina. I only wished I’d found her bike before school started.

  That morning I scanned the schoolyard for Remi. I expected to find him on the French side of the schoolyard. Our school was split into French and English classes, which gave all the students an excuse to wage schoolyard battles. The war meant that no French kid could hang out with an English kid.

  There’d be purple nurples for anyone who broke the code. To make sure no one made any mistakes, the kids used to split the schoolyard down the middle: half for the French, half for the English.

  That was last year. This year, the warring sides had declared a truce. While the younger students still divided themselves into French and English groups, all the grade five and six students were hanging out together. The older students seemed less interested in who was French and who was English and more interested in who had the best hair and who had the cutest smile.

  In the middle of one group, Remi was talking to Trina. What was he doing with her? We had agreed to talk to her together. I jogged over, but the bell rang before I could reach them. At least Trina and I would have some alone time in class. Remi had to go to the French side for his classes.

  Our new classroom was nothing like the grade four room. Instead of pictures of kittens and puppies, there were photos of galaxies. No fancy handwriting anywhere. Everything was printed and taped to the whiteboard. Science models, like a homemade light box and a model of the solar system, sat on the back counter. The teacher’s desk looked like the control room for a space shuttle mission.

  I sat in the desk right behind Trina. She barely noticed me as she glared at the back of Eric Johnson’s blond head. He played his handheld video game, ignoring her dagger glare.

  “We’re going to get your bike back, Trina,” I promised.

  She said nothing. She watched a couple of boys gather around Eric. Trina glared right through them. There was no talking to her while she was in this mood. Instead, I pulled out my lime-green scribbler. I flipped it open to the back. I doodled my secret thoughts on the inside back cover.

  I used ultra-secret codes and doodles that captured how I was feeling. Across the top of the cover, a lot of my doodles were of Maple Leafs, which I had started to draw after Remi and I became friends and I learned that the Toronto Maple Leafs were his favourite hockey team. Today, I moved to the bottom of the cover and started to draw little hearts. Inside each heart, I wrote “M.C. plus T.B.” I was pretty sure no one would ever be able to crack my code, because the print was so small only I could read it. I drew the hearts as far away from the Maple Leafs as possible.

  Trina turned around finally. I shut my scribbler fast.

  “Eric’s so smug, but he’s going to crack sooner or later,” Trina said.

  “Did Remi say anything to you?” I asked.

  “When?”

  “This morning. I thought I saw you talking to him.”

  “Yes. He said he was going to get my bike for me.”

  “Both of us are going to help,” I said. “I have notes.”

  “Trust me, Marty. I’m looking at the thief,” she said, not taking her eyes off Eric.

  The classroom door swung open and a man entered the room.

  “Budding lovers of science,” he said. “I’m going to show you that geek is chic. My name is Mr. Eisenberg, your teacher and guide for the year. However, I understand the temptation to mispronounce it as Iceberg or Izzybug, so instead I give you permission to refer to me as Mr. E.”

  Mr. E wore a white lab coat over his suit, but the most shocking things about him were his spiky white hair and his bulging fish eyes. My mouth nearly dropped open. My new teacher was none other than Mr. White Hair — the maniac.

  FIVE

  I hid behind the lime-green scribbler, hoping my teacher wouldn’t recognize me. I wished I could turn into one of the doodles in my scribbler. Instead, I tried to shrink in my desk.


  “Now that you know my name, it’s time I got to know yours,” my teacher said, scanning his attendance sheet.

  This guy seemed nothing like the puck mangler from the Asylum House. I started to wonder if he was the suspect. I wished Remi were here so he could tell me if this was the guy.

  “Trina Brewster,” Mr. E called.

  “Present.”

  “Quick. How many planets in the solar system?”

  “Nine,” she said. “Everyone knows that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “I’ll mark you down as a nine.”

  He picked up a magnetic card with a “9” on the front and pinned the card to the board. Then he wrote Trina’s name under the card.

  “Elizabeth Carroll,” he continued.

  “It’s Liz,” said the red-haired girl in the row next to mine. She was Elizabeth in grade four, but she’d shortened her name over the summer along with her red hair.

  Mr. E tapped the board. “Do you agree with Trina Brewster?”

  Liz looked at Trina and slowly nodded.

  “Really?” Mr. E wrote Liz’s name on the board. “Is Marty Chan here?”

  I kept the green scribbler in front of my face and raised my hand.

  “Do you have a face or should I assume the scribbler speaks for you?” he asked.

  I shook no with the scribbler. The other kids snickered, but I wasn’t going to drop my scribbler mask.

  “That’s alright. Marie Curie was shy too, and she won two Nobel Prizes,” Mr. E said. “For physics and chemistry. Can you imagine that?”

  I nodded yes with the scribbler. The kids laughed.

  “Let’s move on.”

  I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Hannah Dalton,” Mr. E said.

  “Present.” Hannah always wore pink blouses and with her spiky blond hair, she almost looked like a living Troll doll.

  “Name the planets for me, Hannah.”

  “Um. There’s Earth. And Mars. Venus. Jupiter.

  Saturn. Mercury. Neptune. And, uh . . . uh . . . ” Hannah stumbled, trying to remember the other planet names.