Tabloidology (14 page)

“Sorry, Ms. Baumgartner, but you had a frog in your hair. A teeny tiny frog. I was just brushing it off.”

“Oh, yuck!” Ms. Baumgartner said. “I can't stand frogs!”

“Hey, Ms. Baumgartner!” Trixi said. “You just talked!”

“I did? Yes! Come to think of it, I did!” Ms. Baumgartner said. “How strange!”

“It's also pretty strange that a frog landed on your head,” Martin said. “I've never seen frogs around here before.”

“I have a feeling you may see a few more,” Trixi said.

She was right. Martin looked up and saw the sky was full of tiny dots. As the dots fell, he could see it was a downpour of frogs—thousands of tiny frogs falling from the sky and croaking up a storm. Everyone who was awake ran for cover. Everyone, that is, except Ms. Baumgartner, Trixi and Martin. They kept on trying to wake up the snoozing students before they were buried in frogs. Up and down the rows they ran, desperately shaking the sleeping kids. Halfway down one of the rows, the three of them stopped.

Above the sound of croaking frogs, they heard a voice squealing, “EEEWWW! Frogs! Two of them landed right on my face! They're so icky!”

It was Jenny Butler. Seconds earlier, she had been snoozing on the grass; now she was wide-awake, on her feet and running for the safety of the school. Soon the air was filled with other sounds of “EEEWWW!” and “GROSS!” and “YUCK!” Kids were jumping up, peeling frogs off their faces and running for cover. The field quickly emptied of snoozing students as croaking frogs fell from the sky.

“If this doesn't let up, we might have to call in a frogplow,” Trixi said, as she ran toward the school.

Even though Ms. Baumgartner could now talk, she didn't say a word.

When he got home after school, Martin tried to sneak in the back door. But as soon as the hinges of the old door let out their first squeak, his mother flung the door wide-open and squeezed him so hard, Martin thought he heard his ribs crack.

“Thank goodness you're safe! I heard that everyone at your school had fallen into a deep sleep. Someone even said you wouldn't wake up for a hundred years!”

Martin rolled his eyes.

“Don't expect him to say anything, Mom,” Sissy called from the kitchen. She was putting nail polish on her poodle, Crusher. “I heard there's some weird contagious disease at the school and everyone's lost their voice. Even some of the neighborhood dogs can't bark.”

“Is that true, Martin? Is that true?” his mother said. “Speak to me!”

Razor came down the stairs and shouted, “Nobody move! If that kid's got a hamster, don't let him in the house! I heard we've been invaded by an army of alien hamsters!”

“Is that true, Martin?” his mother said. “Please tell me it isn't true!”

The phone rang and Martin shouted, “Don't answer that!”

It was too late. Sissy had already picked up the phone.

“Hello? Yep, he's here, but you can't talk to him. He lost his voice like all the other kids at school, although I think he might have just said something.”

Martin snatched the phone out of Sissy's hand and said, “What do you want?”

“Hey, Marty! It looks like we did it again!”

“Did what again?”

“You were there! You saw what happened!”

“Yes, I saw what happened. So what?”

“Man, are you thick! The paper, of course. Everything we wrote in the paper came true again!”

“
We
did not write the paper.
You
were responsible for that heap of trash. Plus, the paper couldn't possibly have anything to do with what happened at the school.”

“You just won't open your eyes, will you, Marty?”

Martin held the phone, not saying a word.

“Hey, Marty! Are you still there? Don't hang up, okay?”

“Why shouldn't I?”

“Well, because…because…because it would be rude,” Trixi said.

“I see. So now you're the expert on telephone manners, are you?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. I'm not exactly the most polite person, but I've got to talk to someone. And right now, you're it.”

“Your parents are still in New York?”

“No, not New York. That was last week. This week, I think they're in Las Vegas or maybe Atlanta. I'm not sure which.”

“Ms. Baumgartner's going to shut the newspaper down,” Martin said.

“What are you talking about? How could she?”

“I know her,” Martin said. “She'll shut the paper down.”

“It's not our fault all that stuff happened. How could she blame us? We didn't do anything wrong. Right?…Marty!…Are you there?…Talk to me, Marty!”

THIRTEEN

T
he next day at 3:00 pm, everyone was in their usual places: Trixi and Martin in their yellow plastic chairs and Ms. Baumgartner sitting behind her desk, her hands clasped together and resting on top of a file folder.

“In our first meeting, I asked the two of you to work together on the school newspaper,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “By combining your individual talents, I was hoping you'd create a really good newspaper that students in our school would want to read. I was so hopeful that things would work out.”

Martin slumped in his chair, his head flopping forward as if his neck were made of rubber. This time, he knew for sure what was coming.

Trixi sighed every few seconds, impatient with Ms. Baumgartner's need to explain everything. She also knew what was coming.

“I'm afraid, after two tries, things just aren't working out,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “The two of you can't seem to work together. Either we get a newspaper no one wants to buy, or we get a trashy tabloid full of outright fiction.”

“So I suppose you're shutting the newspaper down,” Trixi said.

“I'm afraid that's right, Trixi. The paper just can't continue.”

Martin had been sitting motionless, but he flew out of his chair, stood with his hands clenched and shouted, “NOOO! YOU CAN'T DO THIS! THIS IS NOT MY FAULT! THIS IS TOTALLY UNFAIR!” His face was scrunched and twisted, and his body shook with rage.

“Now, calm down, Martin,” Ms. Baumgartner said.

But there was no calming Martin Wettmore down. “Do you know how miserable it is to be forced to work on my newspaper with HER?” Little bits of spit flew from his mouth with each
p
,
t
and
b
. “Do you know what it's like to see my newspaper being taken over by HER?” His finger trembled as he jabbed the air toward Trixi. “Then, to top it off, because of HER, my newspaper gets closed down! If you shut the paper down, what am I supposed to do after school every day? Listen to my brother's horrible rock band? Floss my sister's dogs' teeth? Help my mother cook macaroni and cheese for the fifty-fifth night in a row?”

“I'm sorry, Martin. I've given you my reasons. Keeping the newspaper going is out of the question,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “I'm sure you could find another hobby, like playing on the basketball team or joining our public-speaking club. You did so well with the megaphone.”

“I don't like basketball, and I'm not interested in public speaking. I'm a writer!” Martin said.

“I'm sorry things turned out this way, Martin,” Ms. Baumgartner said. “There's nothing more to be said on the matter. You can go now.”

“You bet I can go!” Martin said. He ran from the office, and Trixi watched through the window as Martin sprinted across the field, headed for who-knew-where.

Ms. Baumgartner flipped open the file folder on her desk. She took a deep breath before looking up at Trixi. “I was really hoping things would work out differently, Trixi.”

“I guess it's school-bus washing for me, right?” Trixi said.

“I'm afraid that's the way it is. I gave you an opportunity, but you refused to work with Martin. Then you disobeyed my instructions by selling a newspaper I hadn't approved.”

“I thought you wanted me to write a paper that sold more copies than the old paper. And the only way to get people to buy the paper was to—”

“I know, Trixi,” Ms. Baumgartner said, nodding slowly.

“But in spite of being warned, you crossed a line with your last paper. You'll be expected at the bus yard at eight on Saturday morning.”

Trixi stood up, stepped toward the principal's desk and glared defiantly at Ms. Baumgartner. “Are you doing this because of my parents?”

“Eight o'clock at the bus yard, Trixi. That's all I've got to say to you at this time.”

“You're afraid my parents will find out you didn't exactly fix the problem.”

“Trixi, that's enough.”

“You just want to make it look like you're doing something by punishing me.”

“Trixi. I think you'd better leave before you dig yourself into a deeper hole,” Ms. Baumgartner said, closing the folder.

Trixi could argue for the rest of the day and night if she had to. But she didn't. Instead she left the office without another word. Trixi preferred action to argument. As she headed out of the office and down the hall, she was already thinking of her next move.

The next morning, Trixi stood on the sidewalk outside the school grounds and waved a newspaper. “Get yer paper here! Special edition of the
Upland Green Gossiper
! Read all about it!”

It didn't take long for a crowd to gather around Trixi and her stack of newspapers. Within minutes, Trixi's special edition was sold out. Everyone wanted to know what weird and wonderful things would be happening that day.

Just before the morning bell rang, a small group of kids gathered in the teachers' parking lot and surrounded Ms. Baumgartner's new car.

“I've never seen a swarm of gophers attack anything,” Paul Smirl said, looking around the parking lot.

“Do you think gophers can eat metal?” Kelly Brown said.

“Or maybe they'll just chew the tires off.”

“All I know is I want to be here when it happens,” Paul said.

Another group was peering through the window of the staff room.

“That must be the closet over there!” Ingrid Ludwig whispered.

“Are you sure?” Elise Warren said. “That looks like a pretty small closet.”

“It's the closest one to the coffee machine,” Ingrid said.

Meanwhile, twins Darren and Matthew Archer were pacing around the front field, making bets.

“I think it'll land here,” Darren said, digging the heel of his shoe into the ground.

“Naw. There's an easterly wind. It'll blow in this way and land right about”—Matthew ran to the ball diamond and jumped on second base—“here!”

Inside the school, a group of eight kids was standing outside the girls' washroom doors.

“No chance! I'm not goin' in there!” Melissa Watson said, backing away from the door. “Those things are supposed to be the size of a cat, and some might even be bigger!”

“Yuck!” Tasha Walters said. “How are they supposed to get from the toilet into the principal's office?”