Science Fair (8 page)

The rest of the kids—the ones who had actual y done their own reports—showed up with a few stapled-together pieces of construction paper, on which they had pasted maps and pictures cut out from magazines. Jeanette could not imagine what kind of parents would al ow such a thing to happen to their children. Losers.

Every school assignment Jason was given received a 110 percent effort from Jeanette, who had produced, over the years, dozens of detailed, wel -researched, error-free, professional-quality reports. In addition, there was her beautiful y crafted miniature medieval vil age, her rainforest simulation complete with actual running water, and her solar-system model with planets that revolved
and
rotated, to name just a few of the projects she had done for Jason. She gave just as much effort, night after night, to Jason’s homework. As he progressed through the grades, this had become more and more of a chal enge for Jeanette; trigonometry, for example, did not come easily to her. But she had, through hard work and perseverance, mastered it. That’s how involved a mom she was.

Jason’s test scores, often below average, were her biggest headache. Jeanette was certain he was gifted—had
had
to be gifted—so she had concluded that he must have some kind of learning disability. This she dealt with by hiring tutors for Jason and volunteering at his school, where she could keep an eye on Jason’s teachers, who quickly learned the importance of always giving Jason the benefit of the doubt and then some.

Thus Jason had managed to compile an impressive academic record as he progressed through the grades. He was right on course to get into one of the best col eges, as his brother had. Jeanette would see to that.

“What’s your project this year?” she asked Jason. “Do you need help with it?”

“Nah,” said Jason. “The Science Nook guy is doing it.”

“You mean he’s helping you,” said Jeanette. “Like a coach.”

“Whatever,” said Jason.

It bothered Jeanette, a little, that the strange man at the Science Nook was so involved with her son’s project. But the strange man got excel ent results—he’d done a marvelous job for Jason’s brother—so Jeanette tried not to think about it.

“Oh, yeah,” said Jason, pul ing a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and handing it to his mother, “I need this stuff.” Jeanette unfolded the paper and read it. It was a list of technical words, meaningless to her. She tapped her husband, who looked up from his BlackBerry. She handed him the paper.

“Jason needs these things for his science-fair project,” she said.

Carl looked at the paper, frowned, and looked up at Jason.

“Where did you get this list?” he asked.

“From some guy,” said Jason.

“Can’t you get him those things?” said Jeanette.

“I can get them,” said Carl. “But this is highly restricted technology. This isn’t supposed to be available outside of—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Carl,” interrupted Jeanette. “It’s for
your son’s science-fair project
.” Carl could feel his face burning under his wife’s gaze. He turned to Jason.

“Al right,” he said. “But you have to get this stuff back to me as soon as the science fair is over.”

“Whatever,” said Jason.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, Toby squished through Hubble Middle’s main doorway on sneakers stil wet and mud-stained from the previous evening’s Wookiee adventure. Toby had seen no sign of either the Wookiee or Darth this morning; that was good. Not so good was the fact that they had his backpack. Also not so good was the fact that Jason Niles was detaching his large self from the clot of ME kids to block Toby’s path.

“Nice shoes, Hardbonger,” he said.

“Good one, Niles,” said Toby. “That must have taken al four of your brain cel s.”

Haley Hess, behind Jason, giggled, which made Toby secretly pleased and Jason openly infuriated. He stepped toward Toby and gave him a shove, sending Toby staggering backward, directly into The Armpit.

“Hey!” said The Armpit. “Break it up!”

“But he—” began Toby.

“I said BREAK IT UP!” said The Armpit, giving Toby a shove with his sweat-slimed hands.

Toby stumbled forward past the smirking ME kids. He detoured around a ladder in the middle of the hal way occupied by J.D., the Janitor Dude, who was replacing a fluorescent ceiling lightbulb, a task that often took him more than an hour, because he spent long stretches of time staring into space. This spawned many jokes about how many Janitor Dudes it took to screw in a lightbulb.

Toby found his friends in their traditional hal way spot. As he walked up, Micah, Tamara, and Pencil Wenzel were gathered around Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer, who was tel ing them something that required a lot of arm motions.

“Hey,” said Toby. “I found out—”

“Wait,” said Micah. “You gotta hear what B.P.W.’s doing for his project.”

“But I—”

“A nuclear Mentos!” said Tamara.

“A what?” said Toby.

“You know how, when you put a Mentos in a Diet Coke, it shoots up,
sploosh
, like a geyser?” said Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer.

“Yeah,” said Toby, who’d seen video of this on the Internet. “It’s like a chemical reaction.”

“Wrong,” said Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer. “It’s a
physical
reaction. The Mentos lowers the surface tension of the Diet Coke, so the dissolved carbon dioxide turns to gas real y fast, sploosh.”

“Okay,” said Toby. “But how’s that a science fair project? I mean, everybody’s already seen the videos.”

“Of
regular
Mentos, yes,” said Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer. “But I’m gonna make a
huge
Mentos, a giant mint, and drop it into a whole tub of Diet Coke, like fifty gal ons.”

“What science thing would that prove?” said Toby.

“I dunno,” said Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer, “but it’s gonna be
awesome
. A nuclear Mentos. Think about it!”

“I’m not sure I want to,” said Toby.

“You’re just jealous,” said Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer.

Before Toby could answer, Tamara said, “Hey, Toby, what happened at the mal ? We waited, but you never came back.” Toby glanced back toward the ME kids, then, lowering his voice, said, “That’s what I was trying to tel you. They’re definitely cheating. The Science Nook guy is making their projects for a thousand each.”

“A thousand
dollars
?” said Micah.

“Each,” said Toby. “And that’s not al .” He reached into his pocket and pul ed out the piece of paper he’d found on Sternabite’s desk. The others gathered closer to look.

“What is this?” said Pencil Wenzel. “I don’t understand most of these words.”

“Me, either,” said Toby. “But I heard the Science Nook guy tel the ME kids that it’s classified stuff. They’re gonna get their parents to get it for them.”

“Classified, like,
classified
?” said Pencil Wenzel. “Like top secret?”

“That’s what he said,” said Toby.

“You sure you heard them right?” said Tamara.

“They were in the back,” said Toby. “I listened by the door. I heard everything.”

“So how’d you get the list?” said Micah.

“I took it,” said Toby. “I was hiding behind the stuffed owl, and the Science Nook guy locked the store with me inside. Only it turned out the owl is this, like,
robot
that protects the store. So I ran into the back room and—”

“Waitwaitwait,” said Micah, holding up a hand. “The owl is a robot?”

“Yeah,” said Toby. “It has these laser eyes that track you, and these sharp pointy claws, and it flies fast.”

“So how’d you get away from it?” said Micah.

“I threw eggplants,” said Toby.

Tamara and Micah nodded, remembering the eggplants.

“So,” said Pencil Wenzel, speaking slowly, “you escaped from a robot owl by…
throwing eggplants
.”

“Right,” said Toby.

“And you’re mocking
me
because of nuclear Mentos?” said Brad Pitt Wemplemeyer.

“Watch it,” said Micah. “Mr. P’s coming.”

Toby quickly folded the paper as Mr. Pzyrbovich, the algebra teacher, stalked toward them with the facial expression—normal, for Mr. P—of a man who had not gone to the bathroom for at least four days. As he passed, he glared at Toby’s group. It seemed to Toby that Mr. P glared a little extra at him.

“So, Toby,” said Tamara, after Mr. P had passed. “What’re you gonna do about this? Did you tel anybody?”

“Just you guys so far,” said Toby. “I thought about tel ing my parents, but…you know. They’re weird.” The others nodded in unspoken confirmation of the weirdness of Toby’s parents.

“Even if they believed me,” continued Toby, “they’d come to school acting al weird, and nobody would believe them.”

“So what’re you gonna do?” repeated Tamara.

“I’m gonna tel Neckstrom,” said Toby.

“I dunno,” said Micah. “You think he’d do anything to the ME kids? He’s like their personal slave.”

“I know,” said Toby. “But he’s the science teacher and head of the fair.”

“No,” said Tamara. “Micah’s right. You have to go over Neckstrom’s head.”

“You mean…” said Toby.

“Yep,” said Tamara. “The Hornet.”

The Hornet was Helen Plotz-Gornett, the principal of Hubble Middle, a short but terrifying woman. Nobody had ever seen her smile; nobody could say for sure that she even breathed. She knew everything about everybody in the school and could strike anywhere at any time without warning. You’d be doing something you shouldn’t be doing, and you’d turn around, and
YIKES,
there would be The Hornet.
Even in the boys’ room
.

“I don’t want to go see The Hornet,” said Toby.

“You have to,” said Tamara. “She’s the only one who’s not afraid of the ME kids.”

Toby’s reply was interrupted by the ringing of the bel , and the approach of The Armpit, weaving wetly toward them through the corridor bustle. “Let’s break it up!” The little group began to break up, its members joining the throngs of students heading for their various homerooms. Tamara and Toby were the last to leave. She put her hand on his arm.

“Seriously,” she said. “Do it. The ME kids have been cheating way too long. It’s got to stop, and the only way to
make
it stop is for honest people to stand up to them.”

“So you’l go with me to see The Hornet?” said Toby.

“Are you
nuts
?” said Tamara.

She turned toward her homeroom, leaving Toby to trudge, alone, toward the principal’s office.

G
RDANKL THE STRONG WAS UNHAPPY
. He did not like being interrupted at any time, but he especialy did not like it today, during one of the Republic of Krpshtskan’s most important national holidays, the Tournament of the Fighting-Death Hamsters.

On this day almost everyone in the capital city of Krpsht stopped working to gather in the national arena, where a circle three feet in diameter—the Circle of Doom—had been drawn in the middle of the concrete floor for the death match. After the opening ceremony, which concluded with the singing of the Krpsht national anthem (“Krpshtskan, My Country, for Now”), the audience fel silent as two men entered the arena, each carrying a cage.

The men set the cages down on opposite sides of the Circle of Doom, then opened the cage doors and stepped back.

The crowd watched in anticipation as, from each cage, a legendary Krpsht Fighting-Death Hamster emerged. Or not. Sometimes the hamster wranglers had to shake the cages to get them moving. But eventual y they came out and, with prodding from the wranglers, waddled into the Circle of Doom. Each hamster was dressed in a little tank top—one red, one yel ow. The one wearing red, known as Lethal Thunder, was the five-time Fighting-Death Hamster champion and the favorite of Grdankl the Strong. The hamster in yel ow—known as Harmful Kil er—was the number one-ranked chal enger.

The crowd watched expectantly for several minutes as the hamsters simply sat there, noses quivering. Then, as the crowd held its breath in anticipation, Lethal Thunder took a tiny step forward and pooped.

The crowd exhaled. The hamsters were once again motionless, as they would be for most of the death match. The one thing the Fighting-Death Hamsters never actual y did—being hamsters—was fight. The death match was, in fact, more of a staring contest; the loser was the first hamster to leave the circle. But this could take hours. Days, even.