A Pinstriped Finger's My Only Friend (18 page)

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER

Interesting note: Moldfinger doesn't seem to have much to say in the car. I wonder if it could have something to do with her not being able to take credit for getting us home.

(Boy, do I wish I could say something to her right now!)

Judd doesn't talk much, either. He just listens to Mom rambling on in whatever weird language she speaks and keeps nodding like he understands.

(Why's she driving, you ask? Because again, there's no sign of Judd's cherry red Mustang. I wonder if it only exists in our original reality. I sure haven't seen it anywhere else.)

Everything around us looks normal--the streets, the houses, the cars, the people, the buildings. There aren't any candy-striped trees dripping acid or gold-plated goggle-eyed robots cranking out sausages or exploding butterflies dive-bombing killer daisies. When Judd puts his right hand on the windowsill so I can look out, it's kind of soothing; as long as I don't listen too hard to what Mom's saying, I can almost believe we're back home.

Even the high school looks exactly the same. When Mom pulls up and drops us off, it's like any other day.

At least until she says what I think is goodbye. "Yota hygie, Junn! Poco popo!"

After she zooms away, the trend continues. Everything looks the same, but it's like we're in a foreign country. People rush around us, but not a word they say makes a bit of sense.

As Judd walks through the front doors, a girl whips past and says, "Zilzog!" Is that supposed to be "Hello?"

(It might as well be the world's worst curse word for all I know.)

We approach the admin office on the right, and a woman's voice calls out: "Haggelshmacher, listoshunashka!" It's Debbie with the horn rims and long black hair, and she's waving for Judd to come closer.

When he enters the office and steps up to the counter, Debbie slaps a piece of paper down in front of him. It's some kind of form, with unreadable blocks of text...

(Unreadable to
me
, that is.)

...followed by sets of blank lines. The title of the form is
Therahumie Hogoy
ayak Emerithug, Stellavort RAGA 6.

"Berenblocken, Joyo." Debbie smirks and jabs the point of a pen at the form. "Achdrieben helkenshmegel?"

All Judd can do is smile and shrug.

"
Berenblocken
." Debbie frowns and jabs the form harder. "
Helkenshmegel
, glockashlieber!"

Overweight gray-haired Sally chimes in from her desk. "Saba, Jiwi. Saba quo."

"Chiga?" Debbie shoves the pen in Judd's right hand, then pulls it over and plunks it down on the form. "Shmickel arenshluber, distaholikrackenstuber." She claps her hands impatiently. "Pazishlacken! Saba quo!"

So we're all getting the picture here, right? They want Judd to fill out the form and do it now. But how the rama-lama-ding-dong is he supposed to do
that
if he can't
read
the language, let alone
write
it?

"Saba quo, Jiwi!" says Sally.

Debbie drums on the counter with her fingertips. "Chiga berenblocken, Joyo! Chigaflesch!"

Finally, Judd takes the pen and draws X's over the blank lines after each block of text. There's a line at the bottom of the page, and he signs his name on it.

Then he drops the pen and pushes the form across the counter to Debbie. And smiles expectantly.

She frowns at the page for a long moment, then looks up at Judd with a confused expression. "Tunkawaffin? Shnickel shortishartfust?"

Judd just shrugs.

Debbie whisks the form off the counter and marches it over to Sally. While they huddle, Judd talks in a low whisper, pitching his voice to me and The Other Finger. "Can either of you understand a word they're saying?"

"Nada." I flick back and forth. "Sorry, dude."

He listens to whatever Boldfinger says, then sighs.

(I guess she couldn't help, either.)

"I wish I had a clue." Judd watches the women as Debbie hands over the form and Sally pores over it with keen interest. "Maybe you're right, Finga. Maybe I
should
run right now."

"'Finga?'" Let me guess. Magic Touch a.k.a. Boldfinger now has
three
names to my
two
.

(I don't count "Pinkerton" since I didn't
pick
it.)

Before Judd can make tracks, Sally calls out to him. "Jiwi!" Her voice is sharp, her face dead serious. "Saba quo
azimunk
? Saba, Jiwi?"

Judd just stands there, wondering what she means and what's coming next. Detention? Suspension? Burning at the stake? Anything's possible on the Road to Crazy.

I feel him take a deep breath and hold it. I do the same in a figurative kind of way.

"Joyo!" snaps Debbie. "Lachenflugel
sauerschocken
!
Apochryfass
!"

Judd's weight shifts; he's getting ready to run. Whatever they're saying, it's not good.

But then, suddenly, both women break into big grins and start laughing their butts off.

(What the hoo-hah?)

"Hassenfass, Joyo!" Debbie pushes out the words between laughs. "
Brugha
hassenfass!" She points at him and roars louder than ever.

"Bolo zuza, Jiwi!" Sally shakes the paper at him. "Saba quo! Saba chiga!" Then she totally breaks down howling.

On that note, Judd starts backing toward the exit. "Okay then." He eases out the door, leaving the women to cackle over the form while he gets the fudge off the stage.

(Smart move on his part! Time to get while the getting is good!)

"TTFN, ladies." Those are Judd's last words before he bolts left and zips down the hall, escaping the admin office before
real
insanity breaks out and he can't get away.

"Go, dude! Go!" I cheer him on as he ducks into the crowd of students shifting through the halls between classes.

"Go where?" says Judd.

A loud noise echoes through the hallway. It sounds like a cross between an air horn and nails on a chalkboard.

(Which, by the way, don't bother me like it does the rest of you. Interesting finger fact!)

Judging from the time of day and the way the kids are scattering into classrooms, I'm guessing it's the local equivalent of the morning bell.

"First class of the day," I tell him. "I think that's where we should head."

Judd hurries down the hall with the rest of the kids, many of whom wave and say things that must mean "Hi" on the way past. He's getting plenty of smiles all around, so it seems he's just as popular here as he is back home.

We zip around a corner, pass a few more rooms, and aim for a door on the right side of the hall--number 11, where Miss Snavely teaches communications. But just as Judd's about to dart through the open door, someone grabs his elbow and yanks him back.

Spinning around, he sees who grabbed him--his best friend Wayne Leary, the point guard. Wayne's looking old school this time, no super-powers or swords through his belly or sickles for hands. He's wearing his purple-and-orange basketball jersey over a black t-shirt and jeans, a welcome change from the circular saw blades, meat hooks, and lawn mower blades he wore the last time we saw him.

"Juggy!" Wayne grins and pulls Judd along with him across the hall. "Vis vos lib rib! Cha cha!"

As I listen, I finally realize something. Not everyone's speaking the same language in these parts. The words coming out of Wayne's mouth are different from the ones Debbie was saying, which were different from the ones Mom was saying. The words themselves are different, and so is the accent. Wayne's words are shorter, and the flow sounds more musical; Debbie's words were longer, her flow harsher and choppier.

So here's a good question: with different languages in play, how the spit does everyone
understand
each other?

"Jip jop hiz fiz fixie!" Wayne laughs as he says it. "Yep ribit zim zak, Juggy." With that, he pulls Judd into a classroom across the hall--number 13.

"This isn't my first class of the day," mutters Judd.

"Maybe it is in
this
reality," I tell him.

People grin and wave at Judd as Wayne drags him down the aisle between rows of desks. One guy, whom Judd knows from back home, even reaches up for a high five.

(A
cool
high five, right? With a little snap and a follow-up fist bump, yo.)

There are two free desks at the end of the aisle. Wayne claims the one on the left, and Judd plunks himself down behind the one on the right. As soon as his butt hits the chair, the air horn/nails-on-a-chalkboard sound screams through the room. If this is anything like home, class has just officially started, meaning the teacher ought to be...

Wham
! The door slams shut, and an enormous adult lumbers across the front of the room. He's gotta be seven feet tall...

(
At least!
)

...and he's built like Frankenstein's monster, with shoulders as squared-off and broad as a wall. His head's a big block fringed with a frizzy black beard and mustache and draped with long black hair tied in a ponytail. As he lurches along the chalkboard, I see the ponytail swinging all the way below his tapered-off butt.

"Who the heck is that?" Judd says it softly, just for me...

(...and "Finga," presumably...)

...just a whisper while barely moving his lips.

"I guess you have a different teacher for first period here," I tell him.

"Teacher?" says Judd. "I've never seen that guy before in my
life
."

*****

The giant in the front of the room is carrying a huge red and yellow plastic cup with a red straw in it, like one of those soda gulp drinks from a convenience store. He takes a big gurgling slurp through the straw and stares out at the class through his little round granny glasses.

Judd leans across the aisle and whispers to Wayne. "Who?" He bobs his head toward the giant teacher when he says it.

"Fugu mofu?" Wayne looks baffled.

"Him." Judd bobs his head toward the teacher again. "His
name
." He hikes a thumb at the teacher, then reaches out, pretending to shake hands. "Hello, Mister...huh?" He shrugs.

"Ahh." Wayne nods with what seems to be understanding. He points at the teacher and whispers to Judd. "
Zara
.
T. Zara
."

"Okay, got it." Judd gives Wayne a thumbs-up and turns his attention to the giant looming before the class.

T. Zara slurps some more soft drink, then pushes up the bridge of his glasses with his thick index finger. As he clears his throat loudly, every eye in the room is fixed upon him; he commands the kids' attention without saying a word.

Then, he lowers the drink and opens his mouth. What's he going to
say
? The suspense is so intense, I swear the room would explode if someone struck a match.

The payoff, when it comes, is so unexpected, it leaves me stunned. Seriously.

Since rolling into this latest version of reality, we've heard different languages from different people, all strange and indecipherable to us. But what comes out of T. Zara's mouth is the strangest yet.

First, he makes a series of clicking sounds, like this: "
click clack clock clock clickacluck
." Then, he lets out a shrill whistle, rising and falling like the call of a bird: "
tuh-wheeet tuh-wheeeet tu
h-wheeeet
." Then, he makes a snuffling snorting sound like a hog, followed by a sequence of spoken syllables that seem more like sound effects than actual words: "Meep meep
zing-a
bloop bleep."

I listen in a stupor to what sounds like random nonsense. So does Judd.

(If "Finga" the genius gets it, I really don't wanna know. Sometimes it's just as well I can't hear her.)

Gotta say, though, the dude and I are in the minority here. Everyone else in class nods and laughs like T. Zara's making perfect sense.

The next time he talks, he mixes together the previous sounds and adds some new ones, like so: "Meep (high-pitched) meep (low-pitched)
tuh-wheet
*hog snort*
click clock
*
belch
* cluck whoop whoop *raspberries*."

Again, I'm left dazed. "What the fudge was
that
all about?"

But most of the kids in the room are furiously scribbling notes. Somehow, they're on the same wavelength...even Wayne, who speaks a very different language.

(One that at least seemed to have a
pattern
of some kind!)

T. Zara has another drink, then plucks a black remote control from the tray under the chalkboard. When he presses a button on the remote, the green slate of the board transforms into a big digital screen. Lists of what look like names are arranged in columns along the board's length. Beside each name is a red digital number; most are in the twenties, some are in the fifties, and two are over a hundred--the ones beside "Juggy" and "Wayste."

(Translation "Judd" and "Wayne," I'm thinking. Which means the dude's got himself a high score.)

(Is that a
good
thing?)

"
Squeak
squawk
*hiccup*!" That's what T. Zara says. "
Chirrup
click
clack
zeep
." Then he pulls an old-fashioned bicycle horn out of his pants pockets and honks it three time. After which he throws his head back and makes a high-pitched yodeling sound. "Odelay-ee-oooooo!"

As he yodels, the columns of names shrink and shift to the left, making room for a new image to appear on the screen. It's an image I've seen before, in another version of West Beach High School--a big golden trophy cup, spinning around.

As we watch, it changes shape, shifting from a trophy cup to a pyramid to a crown to a goblet. It changes every time it turns, just like it did when we first saw it projected overhead at the Basketball Game of the Gods in the school of super-powered wonder-teens.

We both recognize it, but I'm the one who says it out loud. "The Living Cup." Not sure which of T. Zara's weirdo sounds is its name in this world, but that's what it's called everywhere else we've been. "We saw your face on it, remember?"

Just as I say it, the trophy changes from a gleaming star to a horseshoe to a golden replica of Judd's head. It stays like that, rotating on the screen in front of the whole class...though nobody else seems to notice the resemblance.

"The numbers on the board must be scores in the Permanent Tournament," I say. "I wonder if the prize is the same here as in the other realities?"

Judd raises me to his mouth and whispers. "To stop changing for the rest of your life. That's what Kaela said."

(
Super
-Kaela, he means.)

"I've wondered about that." I give his lower lip a jab. "Maybe there's a reason this thing keeps popping up, dude."

Judd frowns. "What kind of reason?"

I jab him again for emphasis. "Like, if this
is
some kind of a game, what if the trophy's a
way out
? Maybe it'll make us stop changing realities and send us
home
."

He thinks it over. "So it's a good thing I've got a high score then."

"Might not be a bad idea to get it higher," I tell him.

Judd sighs. "Too bad I don't understand a word anyone says around here."

Just then, T. Zara makes a noise like he's gargling mouthwash, and everyone in the room puts their hands up. Slowly, Judd does the same.

"
Meep
deedle
hoo-haw
*whinny*," says T. Zara. "
Zooma
*hiss*
mee-ow meow meow
." While snapping the fingers of both hands, he nods at a brown-haired girl in the front row. Then, he pulls a little jingle bell out of his pants pocket and shakes it.

Beaming, the girl bounces up out of her chair and joins T. Zara in front of the class. The rest of the kids applaud and stomp their feet, and the girl waves at them.

T. Zara whistles three tones--high, low, high--then wiggles his tongue like a snake and shakes his butt. "Vootie!" he says, followed by a loud yawning sound.

The girl nods as if she understands. Then, she walks over to the row of desks closest to the window. Still smiling, she walks up to the first person in the row, a dark-haired boy, and bends down to peck him on the cheek.

She does the same for the next person, a blonde girl, and the one after that, a redhead. The sandy-haired boy behind her gets a peck, too, as does the last person in the row, a heavyset boy with curly black hair.

But as the girl starts up the next row, she doles out smacks instead of kisses. Every kid in the row gets a slap in the face--sometimes light, sometimes head-spinning hard. By the time she makes it back to the front of the room, everyone in that row has a rosy left cheek.

When she gets to the next row, she alternates kissing and slapping...at least for the first three kids. Then, she marches to the front of the room, where T. Zara hands her an open can of paint and a big brush.

The fourth kid in the row, a blond-haired boy, gets painted. The girl slathers his face and upper body with bright red paint, slopping it all over him with swirling strokes of the brush. He just sits there, smiling, as she coats him with glossy red, then lifts up the can and tips it over his head, pouring paint all over him.

Finally, she takes the half-empty can and hurls it at the back of the room, splattering the wall (and the kids closest to it) with red paint. After which, she bends down and plants a long kiss on the lips of the boy she painted.

Springing up straight, she thrusts her arms in the air and shouts something that needs no translation: "Woo-hooo!!" Her face, at this point, has its own splotchy coat of glossy red.

The class claps and cheers wildly. Most of the kids give her a standing ovation.

Meanwhile, T. Zara presses buttons on the remote control. The number beside the name "Trixie" brightens and changes from 25 to 48.

Everyone cheers louder. Impulsively, Trixie throws her arms around the red-painted boy and gives him a big hug, sharing more of his paint job.

"Tib fib hoka hey!" says Wayne, grinning at Judd as he applauds. "Shuba ruby cous cous, Juggy deesh!"

Judd doesn't understand a word of it, but he nods in agreement.

*****