Fabulous Five 016 - The Hot-Line Emergency

THE
FABULOUS FIVE #16

THE HOT-LINE
EMERGENCY

BETSY HAYNES

A BANTAM SKYLARK
BOOK®

NEW YORK • TORONTO •
LONDON • SYDNEY • AUCKLAND

RL 5, IL age 009-012

THE HOT-LINE
EMERGENCY

A Bantam Skylark
Book
/ March 1990

Skylark Books is a
registered trademark of Bantam Hooks, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell
Publishing Group, Inc. Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and
elsewhere.

All rights
reserved.

Copyright © 1990
by Betsy Haynes and James Haynes.

Cover art
copyright
© 1990 by Andrew Bacha.

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and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

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address: Bantam Books.

ISBN 0-553-15781-7

Published
simultaneously in the United States and Canada

Bantam Books are
published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing
Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words Bantam Books® and the
portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and
in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 666 Fifth Avenue, New York,
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PRINTED IN THE UNITED
STATES OF AMERICA

CW         0 9 8 7 6
5 4 3 2 1

Christie Winchell sat at the desk in her tiny cubicle in
room 206 of Wakeman Junior High, staring nervously at the phone. She didn't
know whether she wanted it to ring or stay silent. She blew out a deep breath
and glanced anxiously at her watch. Two minutes until seven, when the calls
should start.

Christie wished she didn't feel so nervous. She had had
several days to get over her jitters. Mr. Snider, her math teacher, had asked
her, Curtis Trowbridge, Whitney Larkin, Kevin Walker-Noles, Melissa McConnell,
and Liza Vernon, who were all seventh-graders, to meet with him in his
classroom after school last Friday.

"I'm the faculty adviser for the homework hot line
Wakeman Junior High is setting up," he had said. "We're asking teams
of students to man a hot-line center in the evenings at Wakeman to help other
students who call in with questions about their homework. There will be
separate teams for the seventh, eighth, and ninth grades, and the center will
be open from seven to nine P.M., Mondays through Thursdays. We need at least
four students from each grade, and hopefully a couple of backups in case
someone has to miss one night. The six of you are excellent students in every
subject, and I've been asked by Mr. Bell to see if you'd be interested in being
on the seventh-grade team."

Christie had glanced around at the others. Having brains was
definitely what they all had in common.

"I'm not sure I'll be able to do it," said Curtis.
"Being class president takes up a lot of time."

"I know I can't," said Kevin. "My parents
work, and I have to watch my little brother until they get home. Sometimes they
work pretty late." Christie thought he looked truly disappointed.

"Is there anyone else who has a problem?" asked
Mr. Snider.

"I'll have to check with my parents," said Liza.

"Me, too," agreed Whitney.

"Since you'll be out late on a school night, you'll all
have to talk to your parents. If any of them have any questions, have them call
me. Except for Kevin, who already knows he can't be on the team, I'd appreciate
it if the rest of you could give me your answers on Monday."

Christie had asked her parents and they had quickly given
their approval, saying that they were proud of her for the honor. Whitney and
Melissa both said they would be on the team, and when Curtis saw that Whitney
was going to do it, he decided to, also. Liza Vernon couldn't be on the team
full-time, but she said she would substitute if they needed help. That meant
Mr. Snider had to find one more person for backup.

Tim Riggs was talking to Mr. Snider when Christie entered
the hot-line center, and Pam Wolthoff was sitting at one of the cubicles,
thumbing through schoolbooks. Tim was in the eighth grade, and Pam, the ninth.
Both had been on the Super Quiz team with Christie.

A big grin blossomed on Tim's face when he saw her. "Hi,
Christie." Pam looked up and smiled, too.

"Welcome to your first evening on the job, Christie,"
said Mr. Snider. "Everything should be ready for you."

Christie went to the cubicle she had been assigned to and
checked the books on the shelf to make sure there was one for each of the
seventh-grade subjects. Then she took the pencils from their box and went to
sharpen them one more time just to make sure they were perfect. She didn't want
to interrupt a conversation about homework with a caller because she didn't
have a decent pencil. Finally, she sat down and picked up the phone to see if
it was working. The soft hum told her it was.

As she sat waiting for her first call, she began to worry.
What if she couldn't help someone, or even worse, what if she gave someone a
wrong answer? She wouldn't be able to face them in school. She shook her head
to get rid of the terrible thoughts. She liked the idea of helping other kids,
and she would just make sure she did it right.

She looked at her watch again. Now it was five after seven.
The phone should ring any moment. Five more minutes passed and then ten. She
looked at the phone that sat silently like a fat toad on the corner of her
desk. She almost expected it to go
ribbit.

Christie took one of the pencils and started doodling on the
pad in front of her. What if no one called? What if everyone thought it was
weird to call another kid to ask for help with homework? Well, she sighed, I
might as well do some of my own homework. She took down the algebra book from
the shelf and opened it to the chapter they were working on and looked at the
odd-numbered problems, which Mr. Snider had assigned as usual. She started
writing down problem number one.

"RINNGG!"

Christie broke the point of her pencil as she grabbed for
the phone.

"Hello!" She lowered her voice and added quickly, "Homework
hot-line center. This is Christie. How may I help you?"

"Do you have a
hot line
to tell to girls?"
a boy's voice asked.

"What?"
Christie snapped. "Is this
Clarence Marshall?" She could hear muffled talking as if someone had a
hand over the phone. "Clarence, why don't you just grow up," she
hissed. "And I can hear Joel Murphy, too."

The phone line clicked silent.

"Is everything okay, Christie?" asked Mr. Snider.

"Fine," she answered quickly. "Just a wrong
number." Clarence Marshall was such a dork. He was always playing stupid
tricks on people. She hoped he wouldn't call back.

Christie stood on her tiptoes and peeked over the top of her
cubicle. Pam was talking to someone on the telephone and had a book open. At
least she had gotten a
real
call. Christie was wondering how many prank
calls she would get when the phone rang a second time.

"Homework hot-line center. This is Christie. How may I
help you?"

"Hello. I'm having trouble with my homework." It
was another boy's voice, and she listened carefully to detect laughter in the
background. His voice was a little muffled, but he sounded pretty serious.

"Are you in the seventh grade?"

"Yes."

"What subject do you need help with?"

"Algebra. I'm having trouble with problems three, five,
and nine."

Christie checked the problems in her book. They were pretty
simple, and a feeling of pride welled in her as she realized she would be able
to help her first real caller.

As she worked through the problems with the boy, he caught
on easily. In ten minutes they had done all three.

"Thanks," the boy said, but instead of hanging up
he asked, "How do you like working in the hot-line center?"

"I just started, and you're my first real caller. You
actually helped me, too, you know. I was nervous, and now I feel better."

"Does it make you feel good?"

Christie hesitated. What a strange question, she thought. "I
guess so," she answered finally.

"It's like being a teacher, isn't it? You're the boss,
I mean."

"Well, no. I'm not the boss of anything. I'm more like
a helper." She really didn't feel as if she were the boss, and what he was
saying was confusing.

"I'm the boss sometimes," he said.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, I make things happen that are really important,
and nobody can do anything about it unless I tell them."

"I don't understand," said Christie. "What do
you do?"

"Oh . . ."

He seemed to want to tease her. Was this going to turn into
another crank call after all?

"Sometimes I set fires."

Christie almost dropped the phone. "You what?" she
whispered.

The caller sounded pleased at her reaction. "I set
fires," he repeated, as if it were something that people did every day.

Christie was at a loss of words. Was he kidding or did he
mean what he was saying? He probably just thought it was fun to tease a girl.
She looked back to see where Mr. Snider was. He was helping Tim with a call. "It's
not funny to say things like that," she said.

"Oh, you think I'm kidding, do you?" Now he
sounded irritated with her. "Well, you know the fire in the empty lot on
Catherine Street and the one on Pleasant Hill? I did those."

Christie's mind raced. She remembered seeing an article in
the paper a few days ago about a fire in a lot on Catherine Street. She couldn't
be sure, but she thought she had read about one on Pleasant Hill, too. From
what she remembered, both had been small fires that were put out quickly.
Still, he
had
to be kidding.

"I said that's
not funny,
" Christie
retorted angrily. "People can get hurt when there are fires."

"I call the fire department so no one gets hurt."

"Look, I'm supposed to be helping kids with their
homework, and you're tying up the telephone with your dumb story. I've got to
go," she said irritably.

"You don't believe me, huh? Well, would you believe me
if I set another fire and told you where it was going to be?"

Fear grabbed at Christie's insides. What if he
was
telling
the truth? "Wait a minute!" She scrambled for time to think. "Don't
do anything silly."

"Now you're not so sure of yourself, right? I'll tell
you what. I'm going to do something, and it won't hurt anyone. But I can't tell
you exactly what it will be because you'd tell." He seemed to stop and
think for a moment. "What I'm going to do will be the opposite of playing
with fire, and it will be funny, and I'll do it tonight. It will be big and
important enough that you'll know about it."

"What are you talking about? What are you going to do?"
Christie demanded.

"Never mind," he said, laughing. "You'll see.
This one will be
really
funny."

"Wait a minute," Christie said frantically. "I
. . ."

He hung up. She stared at the dead phone in disbelief.

Christie slowly put the phone back in its cradle, her hands
were shaking. She couldn't believe what had just happened. She wanted to think
the caller was just some kid who was using the homework hot line to play dumb
tricks, but she couldn't help wondering if he had been telling the truth about
setting fires. Was this what working on the hot-line team was going to be like,
dumb phone calls from Clarence and scary ones from kooks?

But yet the last caller had seemed serious. He hadn't
laughed, and she hadn't heard anyone in the background talking. Kids almost
never pulled pranks by themselves. They always wanted other kids around when
they were showing off. She shivered a little. Should she tell Mr. Snider?

As she was debating whether or not to talk to the teacher,
the phone rang again. She jumped. Was it
him
calling again? Rut to her
immense relief, this time it was a girl, and it was obvious that she badly
needed help with her social studies. Christie was busy answering calls for the
rest of the evening. They were all from kids who truly needed help, and she
didn't have time to say anything to Mr. Snider about the caller who said he set
fires. By the time the evening was over, she had relaxed and decided that the
boy was just being mean and wanted to scare her because she was a girl. When
nine o'clock came, she put her things together and got ready to leave.

"Well," said Mr. Snider, beaming at Christie, Pam,
and Tim. "I'd say we had a pretty successful evening. All three of you
were busy most of the time. You can be proud that you're providing a valuable
service to your fellow students. Did you have any problems? Did you have
everything you needed?"

Christie hesitated. She was tempted to tell Mr. Snider about
the caller, and then she changed her mind. She would probably never hear from
that boy again, and besides, she would just sound like a baby anyway.

"Everything was fine," she mumbled.

As Christie walked onto the school grounds the next morning,
everything looked normal despite the caller's threats. She spotted Katie, Jana,
and Melanie at The Fabulous Five's regular spot by the fence, and Beth was
nearby talking to Dekeisha Adams. Maybe the caller hadn't been serious about
doing something big and funny that she would know about.

As Christie called hello to her friends, she couldn't help
thinking about how glad she was to see them. The five of them had been best
friends for as long as she could remember, even though they were all very
different. Katie Shannon, who had red hair and freckles, was The Fabulous Five's
feminist. Jana Morgan always seemed to have things under control and was accepted
as their leader. Melanie Edwards was boy crazy, and Beth Barry was the dramatic
one who wanted to be an actress. Christie noticed that today Beth was wearing a
bright purple jacket that came down to the middle of her thighs and matching
headband and earrings. As usual, she really stood out among the crowd of junior
high students.

Clarence Marshall gave Christie a sheepish grin as she
passed him and then returned to his conversation with Geena McNatt.

"How did the hot-line center go last night?" asked
Katie. "Did you get any goofy calls?"

"One from our friend Clarence Marshall wanting to know
if I had any
hot lines
to tell to girls," said Christie.

Melanie rolled her eyes. "Just what you'd expect. At
least he got it over with right away. Now you can talk to all the
normal
people."

"Actually I had one call
after Clarence's
that
was really weird," Christie said, frowning.

"What happened?" asked Jana. "You look so
serious."

Christie shrugged. "The caller could have been just
another show-off, but when it happened, it scared me a little bit." She
told them word for word what the boy had said, including his claim to have set
the fires in the vacant lots on Catherine Street and Pleasant Hill.

"Oh, come on," scoffed Katie. "That doesn't
make sense. Catherine Street and Pleasant Hill are on opposite sides of town."

"Yeah," said Jana. "How would he get to both
places? Even if he lived near one of them, it would take an eternity to get to
the other one on a bike, and I'm sure his parents wouldn't
drive
him."

"I can hear it all now," said Melanie. "Dad,
would you drive me across town for a few minutes? I want to set a fire."

Everyone burst out laughing, and Christie found herself
giggling along with her friends.

"You're right," she admitted. "Besides, if I
read about the fires in the newspaper, he could have, too. What a jerk! He only
wanted to scare me."

Just then Beth walked over to the group, and she was
laughing, too. "Did you hear what Dekeisha was telling me?" She was
barely able to talk she was giggling so hard. "She . . ." Beth broke
into another fit of giggles. "Her school bus goes by City Hall, and she
said you wouldn't believe what someone had done to the big fountain in front of
it. It was filled with so many soap bubbles that they were running onto the
sidewalk and out into the street. According to Dekeisha, they must have been
ten feet high, and they were blowing everywhere. All you could see of the
fountain was a little teeny squirt of water coming out the top of the bubbles.
People were standing around trying to figure what to do with it. She said
someone must have put a dozen boxes of detergent in it."

By the time Beth had finished telling the story, Katie,
Melanie, and Jana were laughing along with her. In spite of herself, Christie
laughed, too. At the same time she was thinking,
Is this what that boy meant
when he said he was going to do something funny?
If it was, he had
certainly succeeded.

All morning long Christie found herself looking at each
seventh-grade boy and wondering if he might be the anonymous caller. Certain
boys, such as Jon Smith, Randy Kirwan, Keith Masterson, Tony Calcaterra, Shane
Arrington, and Scott Daly, who hung out with The Fabulous Five, could be easily
eliminated. She knew their voices too well. Even if one of them had been trying
to disguise his, she thought she would know. Besides, they definitely were not
the type to set fires or fill the City Hall fountain with soap bubbles. She
could also eliminate Curtis Trowbridge, Clarence Marshall, and a few others she
had known in Mark Twain Elementary.

She still couldn't believe that the caller had really set
the fires. He may have put the soap bubbles in the fountain, but he had
probably lied about the fires to get her attention. That had to be it, because why
would a seventh-grade boy want to set fires anyway? And was he even in the
seventh grade? He might be an eighth- or ninth-grader who was trying to hide
his identity. He had caught on to the algebra problems pretty easily.

Christie shook her head. She was making too big a deal out
of some dumb boy's having what he thought was fun at her expense, and she was
falling for it. The more she thought about it, the angrier she got at herself
for walking into his trap.