Ho-Ho-NOOO! (6 page)

everything was gone.

TJ closed the door, shaking her head. She was grateful to finally be alone . . . well, except for the empty banana peel left by a 23rd-century chimpanz-kitty.

TIME TRAVEL LOG:

Malibu, California, December 20

Begin Transmission

Tuna and I are going way overboard to be more than helpful. For some unknown reason, this makes subject way more ungrateful. Guess we’ll have to try way more harder.

End Transmission

The next day, after school, Chad went with Hesper to see her manager, Bernie Makeabuck. Together they sat on his rich Beverly Hills sofa in his rich Beverly Hills office, talking about feeding the not-so-rich hungry.

Mr. Makeabuck, who was somewhere between fifty and a hundred (it was hard to tell with all the plastic surgery and hair transplants), was pacing back and forth in his office. He was dressed, tatted, and pierced like some MTV host.

“That’s absolutely fantastic, babe!” he said.

“Really?” Chad asked. “You think it’s good idea?”

“You bet! Especially if you wear your bikini.”

Chad blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You know, the one that makes all the guys go crazy.”

Chad traded uneasy looks with Hesper, who would have traded uneasy looks with Chad if she hadn’t been reading the latest article about herself in
Teen Wannabe
.

Mr. Makeabuck smiled. “So lay a big kiss on me and we got a deal.”

Chad frowned. “I’m sorry; that’s not exactly what—”

The manager turned to Chad, motioning to the Bluetooth in his ear. Apparently one conversation wasn’t enough for Mr. Makeabuck. He had two going—one with Chad, one on his cell phone—until his desk phone rang and he picked it up to start a third. “What’s up?”

As Mr. Makeabuck listened, he pointed to Chad and mouthed the words
Talk to me.

Chad cleared his throat and tried again. “I was saying, if Hesper could join my church in feeding the homeless on Christmas Eve—”

“Fantastic! Yes! Absolutely brilliant!”

Chad hesitated, unsure who Mr. Makeabuck was talking to until the manager nodded for him to continue.

He coughed nervously. “We figured if Hesper joined us, then more people would pay attention to the problems of the homeless and—”

Mr. Makeabuck clapped. “We’ll ship them all off to Afghanistan.”

“The homeless?” Chad asked.

Mr. Makeabuck motioned to his phone and continued talking into it. “Absolutely, having the band play for our soldiers is brilliant. Call me back 911 with the 411! Love ya too, babe.” He hung up and faced Chad. “Where were we?”

“I was saying—”

The phone rang again.

“Hold that thought.” Mr. Makeabuck scooped up the receiver.

Chad slumped into the couch.

Hesper looked up from her article. “So are you two having a nice talk?”

Chad motioned to Mr. Makeabuck, who was busy with his multiple conversations. “I don’t think he’s heard a word I’ve said.”

“Of course not.”

“Of course not?” Chad asked.

“No, silly. You have to be super rich and disgustingly famous for him to pay attention.”

Chad shook his head. “Then why are we here?”

“Because
I’m
super rich and disgustingly famous.”

“But—”

“Watch and learn.” Suddenly Hesper’s sweeter-than-sweet face turned to a sourer-than-sour expression as she screamed, “I AM NOT HAPPY!”

Mr. Makeabuck startled. His own face grew white with fear. “Got an emergency!” he shouted into the phone. “Call me and we’ll do lunch!” He hung up and gave Hesper his full attention. “What’s the matter, babe?”

Instantly Hesper turned on the tears. “My boyfriend (
sniff-sniff
) has a fantastic idea and you’re not (
sob-sob
) even listening.” (The gal was definitely Oscar material.)

“That’s not true, babe,” Mr. Makeabuck said as he crossed around the desk and handed her a tissue. “I heard every word.”

Hesper gazed through her tears while making her lip tremble and her chin quiver all at the same time. (I told you she was good.) “You did?” she asked in her most helpless voice.

“You bet, and I think it’s fantastic. Absolutely brilliant. It’ll be the news event of the season!”

“Just the season?” Hesper sniffed.

“Of the year. Of the entire decade!” He lowered his voice, but it quickly rose in excitement. “We’ll contact all the networks. Have them set up their cameras. And then, when everything’s set, we’ll bring you in by helicopter to greet the cheering masses.”

“Oooh—” Hesper giggled—“I like that.”

“Actually,” Chad coughed, “that might be a little more than I—”

“Better yet! We’ll lower you down to them on a cable!”

“Yes!” Hesper clapped. “I love it, love it, love it!”

“I can see it now.” Mr. Makeabuck grew breathless in excitement. “Everyone is wondering, ‘Where will the food come from? Who will save the poor and downtrodden?’ And then the lights blaze on and there you are, dropping down from the sky, like an angel from heaven!”

“Perfect!” Hesper cried.

“In fact, we’ll have the wardrobe department design a giant pair of angel wings you can flap!”

“Perfect! Perfect! Perfect!”

“We’ll even hire the Los Angeles Symphony Orchestra to play the Hallelujah Chorus as you fly in!”

Hesper clapped her hands and squealed in delight as she said to Chad, “I told you he was a genius!”

Chad fidgeted. “I was thinking of just having her work beside the rest of us. You know, showing how we’re all the same—just one human being helping another?”

The room grew deathly still, worse than the dinner table when you tell Mom you flunked the math quiz.

Finally Hesper choked out the words, “You want me to be like—” she shuddered—“everyone else?”

“Well, yeah,” Chad said, “that’s the whole point.” He glanced at Mr. Makeabuck, whose jaw hung so low it rested on his desk. Then he turned back to Hesper, whose sweet, innocent expression had become a deadly death glare.

He swallowed.

More glaring.

More swallowing (except that his mouth had gone totally dry).

And then, just before Hesper leaped out of the chair to strangle him, Mr. Makeabuck broke into a chuckle. “Hey, that’s great, kid.” His chuckle transformed into laughter. “You got yourself a keeper here, babe. I mean this kid is funnnnn-y!”

Hesper’s glare vanished as quickly as it appeared. “Yeah, he really is sweet.” She gave Chad a look making it clear he better be.

Mr. Makeabuck continued laughing. “What a sense of humor. You really had us going there, kid.”

“Actually, I—” Chad’s voice caught and he tried again. “What I mean is—”

The desk phone rang and Mr. Makeabuck grabbed it. “Speak to me!” he demanded. Next, his Bluetooth began flashing and he answered, “What’s up?” All this as he turned to Hesper and mouthed the words
Fantastic! Beautiful, babe!

Hesper rose to her feet. “Oh, goody!”

The manager gave her a wink and continued talking into his phones.

She blew him a kiss and headed for the door.

“That’s . . . it?” Chad asked as he stood to join her.

She wrapped her arm around his. “Bernie will take care of everything.”

“Really?” Chad said. “I mean, he understands what we want, right?” He turned to Mr. Makeabuck, who gave them a thumbs-up.

“Bernie’s a pro. He understands everything.”

“But—”

“Come on, I saw a photographer downstairs. We can’t let him leave without getting some pictures of me.”

“Yeah . . . sure,” Chad said as she pulled him toward the door.

“Oh, this is going to be so much fun!” Hesper said. “The most special Christmas ever!”

“Yeah, special,” Chad repeated. But even as they entered the hallway and headed for the elevators, he was afraid Hesper Breakahart’s version of
special
might not be exactly the same as his.

The good news was TJ’s second day at the department store was not as hard as her first. The bad news was (you guessed it) it was harder.

For starters, Santa was even crankier than yesterday. There were lots of possible reasons, so it’s important we give the guy a break. I mean, maybe

—he was just having a bad day

—he wasn’t taking his medication

—the FBI had just discovered he was a serial killer escaped from the local prison

Whatever the reason, Mr. Ho-Ho-Ho-and-a-Merry-Christmas-to-All had turned into Mr. I-Hate-My-Job-and-Who-Let-In-All-These-Kids?

When he wasn’t screaming at the children who were screaming at him or shouting at the parents who were shouting at him, he was yelling at TJ:

“This coffee is 10 minutes old!” He spit it back into the cup. “I told you I wanted fresh!”

“But 10 minutes is—”

“Are you arguing with Santa?”

“No, sir.”

“And I clearly said 4½ packets of sugar. You gave me 5!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, don’t stand there! Get me some more and make it fresh this time!”

“What about the children? I’m supposed to make them smile for their photos.”

“Listen, sweetie, if Santa ain’t smilin’, no one’s smilin’. Now get me that coffee!”

“Yes, sir.”

So for the fourth time that afternoon, TJ ran to the employees’ lounge to fix the jolly old grump a cup of coffee.

“What a pain in the doo-wa,” a voice said.

She looked up to see Tuna sitting on top of the snack machine. “What are you doing here?” she asked as she poured the coffee.

Tuna jerked his thumb toward the popcorn machine. “I came because he came.”

“And what are
you
doing here?” she asked Herby, who had miniaturized himself to six inches and sat in a pile of fluffy kernels, munching away.

Herby jerked his thumb toward Tuna. “I came because (
munch-munch
) he came.”

TJ shook her head. Sometimes it did absolutely no good talking to them. She counted the sugar packets as she began dumping them into the coffee.

“So why is this Santa dude so gur-roid?” Herby asked.

TJ carefully measured out the last half packet. “Maybe he’s just having a rotten day,” she said.

“Or a rotten life,” Tuna suggested.

She stirred the coffee and started for the door. “I’m sure there’s a reason for him being so cranky.”

Tuna shook his head. “We already checked with the FBI, and there are no escaped serial killers on the loose.”

TJ was stepping into the hallway when she heard a faint

which, as we all know by now, is the sound 23rd-century Swiss Army Knives make when transporting 23rd-century time travelers off snack machines and out of popcorn poppers and

into hallways beside 21st-century girls dressed up like goofy elves.

“If the dude is such a hothead,” Herby said, munching on his last bite of popcorn, “I say we cool him down a bit.”

“Guys,” TJ whispered as they entered the lobby and moved through the crowd of shoppers.

“How do you propose we do that?” Tuna asked.

Herby answered, “Maybe he needs to visit Rudolph and all his reindeer pals.”

“You’d send him to the North Pole?” Tuna asked.

“That’s crazy,” TJ whispered louder.

“She’s right. Far too extreme,” Herby agreed. “How ’bout Alaska?”

“Guys!” She was so loud that half a dozen customers turned toward her. She lowered her voice and continued. “You will not send him to the North Pole or to Alaska.”