New Kid Catastrophes: 1 (TJ and the Time Stumblers) (5 page)

Since Vi was a vegetarian, health-food fanatic, and all-around germ freak, the family was lucky to get anything that didn’t taste like boiled cardboard topped with sawdust sprinkles. For dessert it was usually overcooked water (as long as it was prepared in hypoallergenic pans that had never been exposed to animal by-products).

“So how was everybody’s day?” Dad asked cheerfully. Even on his bad days he tried to be cheerful—another reason the girls loved him so.

Their answers were pretty much what you’d expect.

Dorie went on and on, and then on some more, about a ladybug she found on the windowsill of her kindergarten classroom. (Good ol’ Dorie. Give her a paper clip to play with and she’d be content for weeks.)

Violet talked about how she’d been elected class secretary, become chess club president, and scored 110 percent on her first math quiz.

And TJ? Well, she dropped into the safe and secure Fine mode. It makes no difference what you’re asked; nothing is safer than answering with the tried and true “Fine.”

“And, TJ, how was your day?”

“Fine.”

“How are you fitting in?”

“Fine.”

“How are your teachers?”

“Fine.”

Yes, sir, nothing beats the Fine mode . . . especially when you don’t exactly feel like shouting,
“IT WAS TERRIBLE! THE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE! AND I THINK I’M LOSING MY MIND!”

But Dorie knew something was up. She probably figured TJ was still nervous about last night’s voices. (And TJ would have been, if it wasn’t for the rest of the day’s migraine makers.)

So, trying to help, little Dorie asked, “Dad? Are there such things as ghosts?”

“Why do you ask, sweetheart?”

TJ threw her a
don’t you dare go there
look.

Dorie caught it and answered, “Oh, I don’t know. I was just wondering if rooms and stuff can be haunted.”

“No, sweetheart,” he said. “There are no such things as ghosts. Vi, would you pass me the pencil shavings? They’re exceptionally tasty this evening.”

TJ sighed quietly in relief. Dad had enough on his mind. He didn’t need to worry about haunted rooms. Besides, TJ doubted it was her room that was haunted. After all that happened in school today, she was beginning to wonder if
she
was haunted.

Unfortunately, she was about to find out.

That’s right, Chad was back in his room pretending to listen to his girlfriend (while secretly wishing the new kid had broken Hesper’s phone instead of her nose).

For about the hundredth time, he rubbed the back of his head, wondering about his own accident in Mr. Beaker’s class. Luckily, he wasn’t hurt. (If you count getting knocked unconscious by a flying dictionary as
un
hurt.)

And when he came to and looked up, there was the new kid kneeling beside him.

“What happened?” he asked her.

But looking into his eyes, all she could do was answer, “I . . . uh . . . er . . . um . . .” And when she got tired of that, she tried another approach: “Um . . . er . . . uh . . . I . . .”

Poor thing—she really did have some mental issues.

He didn’t know which was worse, a girl who never stopped

or a girl who didn’t know how to start.

Anyway, he was at his desk in his room, once again bruising his brain over that same book report, when a silvery reflection caught his attention. It came from inside the new kid’s house. At first he thought it was a mirror or something. Until he realized that mirrors or somethings don’t usually look like . . . two guys in silver suits crawling out of a large, glowing egg.

(That’s for any readers who forgot their glasses.)

Immediately, Chad turned and shouted into his phone. “Hesper!
Hesper!
”

But of course Hesper was too busy talking to hear.

Now, the way Chad figured, he had three options:

OPTION #1:
Explain to Hesper that he had to hang up and go save his neighbor’s life.

OPTION #2:
Hang up without explaining and go save his neighbor’s life.

OPTION #3:
Leave the phone open and go save his neighbor’s life.

Since Hesper really didn’t need him present to carry on a conversation, he chose Option #3. He left the phone on his desk and raced out of the room as Hesper continued to

Meanwhile, TJ trudged up the stairs to start the evening’s torture (better known as homework). Vi was on Dad’s computer figuring out the cure for world hunger, and Dorie was helping Dad with the dishes. That just left TJ and the two teenage aliens wearing space suits who were standing in the middle of the hallway.

(That’s for the same forgetful readers).

Great
, TJ thought.
Space invaders; that’s all I need
.

“Shh,” the taller one said to his partner. He was a surfer type with long blonde bangs hanging in his eyes. He sounded like he was right out of the seventies. “Here she comes, dude.”

“Quickly,” the shorter, chunkier one replied. He had short red hair and sounded kind of snooty. “Remove the pod before she borks into it.”

By now TJ had frozen in her tracks. She wanted to scream and run away, but she had this thing about getting zapped in the back by photon guns or whatever they’re killing earthlings with these days. Instead, she watched in terror as they pushed a giant silver egg (the perfect size for two aliens visiting planets) down the hall.

“What is she staring at?” Chunky Guy whispered. “She cannot possibly see us, can she?”

“Quick!” Tall Dude whispered. “Hide!”

They raced to the nearest wall, pressed their faces against it, and covered their eyes.

TJ just kept standing and staring in disbelief.

“What’s she doing?” Tall Dude whispered.

Chunky Guy sneaked a peek. “She is standing and staring in disbelief.”

“Maybe she actually
does
see us,” Tall Dude repeated.

“Don’t be toyped; we’re invisible.”

“Who you calling toyped? You’re the one who’s toyped!”

“I certainly am not.”

“Are too!”

“Well then you’re toyped times the square root of pi.”

“Yeah, well you’re—”

TJ knew it was rude to interrupt, especially with out-of-town (or out-of-galaxy) guests. But she figured it was time to speak up. So, opening her mouth, she shared a brave and very courageous