New Kid Catastrophes: 1 (TJ and the Time Stumblers) (12 page)

Chad heard the frogs talk. It had to be his imagination, but he was sure he heard something like:

“Hey (ribbet-ribbet), check out the delicious meal on those two (ribbet-ribbet) chairs!”

“I don’t (ribbet-ribbet) know,” another said. “They look like raccoons.”

“Don’t be ridic-(ribbet-ribbet)-ulous. It’s dinner!”

The frogs began hopping wildly off the floor, trying to jump to the chairs as the two flies

in panic

And then, to top off all that stranger-than-strangeness with just a little more strangeness, the new kid leaped to her feet and shouted, “STOP IT! I TOLD YOU I DON’T WANT YOUR HELP!”

Chad stood up and glanced around. As far as he could tell, there was nobody there. Well, nobody except for the rest of the class, who were all busy staring at her . . . which still didn’t stop her shouting:

“TUNA! HERBY! TURN THEM BACK RIGHT NOW!”

Chad shook his head sadly. He had no idea how to help her. Unless, after school, he swung by her house and encouraged her parents to increase her medication.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Plot Sickens

Time Travel Log:

Malibu, California, October 11—supplemental

Begin Transmission:

Subject attempted to cut off communication. Fortunately her silence is no match for our way-cool diplomatic skills, and we reestablished dialogue. Plan to buy cookbook, as her cooking ability is majorly zworked
.

End Transmission

It was TJ’s turn to fix dinner. And since they were out of microwave meals, she had to whip up something on her own. This would explain all the

you heard around the table.

It’s not that TJ was a lousy cook; she just had lots on her mind. So much that she might have overcooked the meal just a little.

“Well now,” Dad said, trying to be positive, “this is quite the dinner. Who would have ever thought of having, um, er, uh . . . What exactly is this we’re having, dear?”

“Charcoal dust?” little Dorie asked.

“Fireplace ash?” Violet ventured.

“Mashed potatoes,” TJ snapped.

“Ah,” Dad said as he subtly slipped a handful under the table for Fido the Wonder Dog. But Fido the Wonder Dog, who will eat anything, was in the living room throwing up. (Apparently Violet had already slipped him a handful of her own “mashed potatoes”—which explained the charcoal dust all over her fingers.)

“So, uh . . .” Dad glanced around, unsure what to do with his handful of dust. “How was everybody’s day?”

“I got an A++ on my science test,” Violet said, brushing off her hands.

“Hey, that’s great!” Dad said. “How do you get
two
pluses?”

“By showing Mrs. Mindbender where she was wrong.”

“And she gave you two pluses?” Dorie asked as she hid her charcoal dust under her hamburger patty, which looked more like a burnt hockey puck but didn’t taste as good.

“Actually,” Violet said, “the other plus came from pointing out where the textbook was wrong.”

“I see,” Dad said, finally slipping his mashed potato dust into his pants pocket. He turned to TJ and asked, “And tell me, how was your—”

“Fine.”

“I see. Did you—”

“Fine!”

“And—”

“FINE!” She jumped to her feet. “Why are you always yelling at me?” She swiped at the tears running down her face. “Everything’s fine, all right? FINE, FINE, FINE!”

With that, she spun around and ran up the stairs to her room.

Dad looked on, realizing TJ was anything but fine. And as soon as he found a place to bury his dinner, nice and deep so Fido wouldn’t dig it up (he hated it when family pets died), he’d head upstairs and have a talk with her.

“Violet,” he asked, “would you get a plastic garbage bag from the cupboard so we can properly ‘finish’ our dinner?”

Violet flashed him a grin. “I’m on it.” She grabbed her dish and headed for the kitchen.

“I’m right behind you,” little Dorie said, scampering after her.

“And make sure it’s the triple-ply bags that don’t leak,” Dad called. “We need to be environmentally friendly.”

When TJ threw open the door to her room, there were Tuna and Herby sitting on her desk in their shiny time-travel suits, just as perky as if nothing had ever happened.

“Greetings, earthling.” Herby grinned, holding up his hand and spreading his fingers apart.

Tuna explained, “He saw that in one of your old sci-fi movies.”

TJ looked at them coolly.

“What?” Herby asked. “You’re not a Star Wreck fan?”

Fighting to keep her voice even, she said, “Leave my room and go back to your time pod in the attic. I’m not talking to you.”

“Ah, come on, Your Dude-ness.” Herby hopped off the desk. “You’re not still gur-roid at us about those frogs and flies, are you?”

Her cool look grew cooler.

“We did return them to their original molecular structure,” Tuna said.

“Just like we did those goldfish on the third floor,” Herby added.

Her cooler look grew colder.

“Come on.”

She folded her arms and refused to talk.

The boys exchanged looks. “I believe she really is gur-roid,” Tuna said.

Herby nodded. “To the max.”

TJ spotted the stack of unopened boxes in the middle of her room. When giving others the silent treatment, it’s always best to do something, so she crossed to the boxes and started to unpack.

“So,” Tuna said, “I suppose this isn’t the best time to point out that you’ve not improved your behavior with either Naomi Simpletwirp or Doug Claudlooper?”

TJ couldn’t believe her ears. Here she was, having the worst week of her life, and all they cared about was how she was treating a couple of loser kids. Amazing. She remained silent and dug into the box.

“Please,” Tuna continued, “how is it possible to continue meaningful communication with you if you are unwilling to share your thoughts?”

She gave no answer. Instead she started pulling out clothes her aunt Matilda had packed before they left Missouri—a heavy wool scarf, down-filled parka, thick woolen mittens—just the fashion statements she needed for life in sunny Malibu, California.

Herby nervously cleared his throat. “Do you think she’d, like, mind if we used the Acme Thought Broadcaster?”

“An excellent question.” Tuna turned to her. “Do you mind if we utilize our Acme Thought Broadcaster?”

TJ ignored them and continued to dig. Earmuffs, thermal underwear . . .

“That’s not exactly a yes,” Tuna said.

“But it’s not a no, either,” Herby said.

Tuna agreed. “Yes, it’s not a no, so yes, it could be yes. Yes?”

“Yes.” Herby reached into his pocket.

By now TJ was at the bottom of the box. Snowshoes, battery-powered socks. She was so busy, she didn’t see Herby pull out what looked like a ballpoint pen. Nor did she hear him give it a click. But she did hear:

She pulled her head from the box just in time to see an eerie blue beam shooting at her. She tried to duck but was too late. The beam struck her face and immediately she began shouting:

“What is that, what are you doing, what’s going on, hey, how come I’m talking but not moving my mouth, wait a minute, my voice is coming from those stereo speakers over there, no way, this is crazy, what’s happening, what are you doing, what—?”

“No sweat, Your Dude-ness,” Herby said. “It’s just our Acme Thought Broadcaster. Sold at 23rd century time-travel stores everywhere.”

“Saves the bother of having to speak,” Tuna explained.

“A Thought Broadcaster, what, what are you talking about, and how come we’re hearing everything I’m thinking, I don’t like this, I—”

Tuna frowned. “It appears the thought filter is malfunctioning. She is stuck on maximum broadcast.”

“Maximum what, I’m stuck on what, oh yeah, what a surprise, something else of yours that doesn’t work, imagine that, is there anything you have that works, and what do you mean by thought filter, what’s—”

“Relax,” Herby said. “It’s nothing to get torked about. It just means we hear
everything
you’re thinking.”

“Everything I’m thinking, you don’t mean everything, boy, it sure sounds like everything, I sure hope you can’t hear that I have to go to the bathroom, oh no, I can’t believe I just said that, I mean thought it, I mean—”

“TJ?” Dad called from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”

“Oh no, it’s Dad, what do I do, he can’t see me like, er, hear me like this, shut it off, shut it—”

“No problemo,” Herby whispered. “All I have to do is . . .” He clicked the pen and the blue beam immediately disappeared.

The good news was they no longer heard TJ’s thoughts.

The bad news was TJ no longer had any thoughts.