New Kid Catastrophes: 1 (TJ and the Time Stumblers) (11 page)

The good news was the bone-jarring flight of steps didn’t last forever.

The bad news was there was a
second
flight of bone-jarring steps.

The good news (if you’re keeping track, that’s two to one in favor of good news) was that there was somebody at the bottom of the steps who would save her.

“Hang on!” that somebody shouted. “I’ll catch you! I’LL CATCH YOU! I’LL—”

TJ wasn’t sure how long she was knocked out, but when she woke up, she was lying in the arms of her hero.

“Thank you,” she said, turning to face him. “Thank you so very—”

This brings us to some more bad news (which ties the score).

“You’re (
sniff-sniff
) welcome,” her hero said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand and
sniff-sniff
ing again.

That’s right, TJ was lying in the arms of Doug Claudlooper, the boy with the perpetual allergies. And since TJ had left all her sweetness and politeness somewhere on the second flight of stairs, she leaped to her feet, staggered backward, and ran away from him screaming.

Unfortunately, things only went downhill from there. (So if you’re still keeping score, don’t bother. It’ll just depress you.)

Chad still couldn’t remember the new kid’s name. BJ? JT? JB?

Well, whatever it was, she was still her usual nontalkative self.

Since she was his new partner, he was explaining his and Hesper’s science fair project. (Actually, it was Hesper’s project, since anything involving Hesper was always about Hesper.) And so far the new kid had said a grand total of one word to him—if
uh-huh
can even be considered a word.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” she sorta croaked before ducking behind her long brown hair.

“I heard about your little fall down the steps,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” The long brown hair nodded.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Uh-huh.” More hair nodding.

Although she didn’t talk to him, more than once he heard her whispering. Weird things like “No, you cannot help!” and “Don’t you dare hurt him!”

Poor thing.

But despite her mental condition, she really was cute. Of course, he could never tell her that. Guys didn’t talk that way. They were supposed to talk about gross stuff or football scores. And let’s not forget the belching contests. But none of that stuff really interested Chad.

Still, since he was a guy, he was supposed to follow the guy rules.

But there was one guy rule he wouldn’t follow. It was common knowledge that if you liked a girl, you were supposed to make fun of her. Chad could never bring himself to do that. Not with this poor girl. She had enough problems as it was.

“Put that book down!” she hissed.

Poor kid.

Mr. Beaker had stepped out of class to go to the office. Of course he trusted everybody to quietly work on their science projects, so of course everybody was shouting, throwing spit wads, and talking on their cell phones.

Well, almost everybody.

“So,” Chad said as they looked into a cage that held their project, a skinny white mouse, “we’re investigating how few calories this little guy can eat without dying.”

The new kid nodded.

“That’s why our pal here—we call him Wendell—is so skinny. I’m no expert, but I think a celery stick a week is pretty cruel.”

More nodding.

“Anyway, let’s take him from the cage and put him on the scale for weighing.”

She nodded and reached into the cage to catch the furry creature.

Chad continued, “Hesper’s always worried about what she eats. She’s got this thing about staying thin.”

More nodding.

“But if you ask me, she’s way too skinny. A person who’s normal—well, like you—they’re a lot better-looking, don’t you think?”

Her nodding stopped. Actually, as far as Chad could tell, so did her breathing. Instead, the new kid just sort of stood there, staring at him all wide-eyed and frozen . . . until Wendell slipped from her hands and fell to the floor.

Realizing what happened, she dropped to the floor and began chasing after Wendell. Chad joined her and together, on all fours, they scampered back and forth under the desks and chairs of the science class.

“Over there!” He pointed.

They raced over there.

“Over here!” he shouted.

They raced over here.

It was really kind of funny, the way they kept almost catching Wendell and the way he kept escaping. Pretty soon, Chad was laughing. And pretty soon after that, so was the new kid. It made him feel good, kind of warm inside, to know he was helping her have a little fun. In fact, more than once he let Wendell escape just so they could keep chasing him.

Finally they cornered the little guy.

“Okay,” Chad said. “You come at him from the left. I’ll come at him from the right.”

She nodded.

“On my count. One . . . two . . . three!”

They both lunged forward and they both missed, grabbing each other instead and flopping to the floor, laughing all the harder. Until . . .

Chad noticed they were directly under the desks of two of Hesper’s friends—Emma Prinzes and Stephanie Suchasnobb. Besides being majorly stuck on themselves, the two girls were famous for wearing way too much makeup. In fact, the giant black circles around their eyes reminded Chad of raccoons.

But at the moment he wasn’t thinking of raccoons. Instead, he was thinking of the half-dozen slimy frogs in the cage the two girls were opening . . . and turning upside down . . . and purposely dumping all over the new kid.

Of course, the new kid went crazy and began screaming, “Get them off! Get them off!”

Of course, the two girls had a good laugh.

And, of course, Chad moved in to help. But as he did, four very strange things happened.

He heard a weird but somehow familiar sound of . . .

Stephanie and Emma vanished. Well, not completely. Instead, sitting in their place were two little flies. Except these two little flies wore so much makeup that the weight of all the eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, lip gloss, and lip liner made it impossible for them to take off.

All they could do was sit there and

try.

But stranger than that strangeness was . . .

A Swiss Army Knife seemed to materialize out of nowhere and clatter to the ground beside the frogs.

And stranger than that strangeness (which was strange enough) was . . .