Science Fair Read online

  The Star Wars films and characters are owned by Lucasfilm, Ltd.

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  Copyright © 2008 Dave Barry and Page One, Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Hyperion, 114 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10011-5690.

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file.

  ISBN 978-1-4231-4079-5

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Chapter Forty-five

  Chapter Forty-six

  Chapter Forty-seven

  Chapter Forty-eight

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-one

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Chapter Fifty-four

  Chapter Fifty-five

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-one

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Chapter Sixty-three

  Chapter Sixty-four

  Chapter Sixty-five

  Chapter Sixty-six

  Chapter Sixty-seven

  Chapter Sixty-eight

  Chapter Sixty-nine

  Chapter Seventy

  Chapter Seventy-one

  Chapter Seventy-two

  Chapter Seventy-three

  Chapter Seventy-four

  Chapter Seventy-five

  Chapter Seventy-six

  We dedicate this book to the students.

  Also, the teachers.

  Also, while we’re at it, the frog.

  Also by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson

  Peter and the Starcatchers

  Peter and the Shadow Thieves

  Peter and the Secret of Rundoon

  Peter and the Sword of Mercy

  Escape from the Carnivale

  Cave of the Dark Wind

  Blood Tide

  Also by Ridley Pearson

  The Kingdom Keepers—Disney After Dark

  Kingdom Keepers II—Disney at Dawn

  Kingdom Keepers III—Disney in Shadow

  Steel Trapp—The Challenge

  Steel Trapp—The Academy

  FIVE LARGE, HAIRY MEN were gathered for a top secret meeting in a bunker under the presidential palace in the city of Krpsht. Krpsht (pronounced “Krpsht”) was the capital of the Republic of Krpshtskan, a poor, mountainous nation with few vowels and a population of four million, including goats.

  The five were very powerful men, at least for Krpshtskan. The oldest and largest and hairiest man, known as Grdankl the Strong, was the president, a position he had won in a national election contest against nobody. His campaign slogan had been “Vote for Grdankl, or Die.” The other four men were Krpshtskan’s first, second, third, and fourth vice presidents, who also happened to be the president’s brothers. Their job was to agree with the president at all times.

  These five men were looking over the shoulder of a very thin and very nervous young man seated at a computer. The young man’s name was Vrsk, and he held the lofty title of Krpshtskan minister of technology. Vrsk had been appointed to this post because he was the only person in Krpshtskan who could work the official government computer, which was the only working computer in Krpshtskan.

  At the moment the screen was dark.

  “Why is it taking so long?” barked Grdankl the Strong, speaking in the Krpsht language, which has been compared to the sound of a duck burping. The first, second, third, and fourth vice presidents nodded vigorously and frowned to indicate that they, too, thought it was taking too long.

  “It’s booting up,” said Vrsk. “It takes a while. It’s Windows 98. I tried to upgrade to Vista, but the processor—”

  “No more talking!” said Grdankl the Strong, who did not like to hear people say things that he did not understand. “Turn it on!”

  Vrsk turned back to the computer screen, relieved to see that it was now flickering to life. His relief turned to horror when he saw that he had failed to disable his usual screen saver, which was a picture of Halle Berry in her Catwoman suit.

  Grdankl the Strong looked at the screen, grunted, and said, in English, “Catwoman.”

  The four vice presidents nodded in agreement and said, “Catwoman.”

  Vrsk, relieved that nobody was going to hit him, at least for now, clicked the computer mouse and opened a Web browser. He was pleased to see that the Internet connection—it was the only one in Krpshtskan—was working. Manipulating the mouse, he opened a map site. An image of Earth, seen from space, came into view. Vrsk centered the window over eastern North America, then began to zoom in, closer and closer, until the sprawling metropolis of Washington, D.C., filled the screen. He zoomed in closer until individual buildings could be easily recognized. One by one, he showed the president close-up aerial views of the Capitol, the White House, and the Pentagon.

  The president nodded. The four vice presidents nodded also.

  Vrsk then zoomed out a bit and began to pan north on the screen window. He stopped over a Maryland suburb just outside the Washington city limit, then zoomed in until the screen was filled with a large building complex surrounded by parking lots and athletic fields.

  “There,” he said.

  Grdankl the Strong frowned at the screen.

  “You are sure?” he said. “This is the place?”

  Vrsk checked a sheet of paper next to the computer. “I am sure,” he said.

  Grdankl the Strong nodded and turned to his vice presidents. “It is very close to the American government,” he said, “just as Prmkt told us.”

  The vice presidents nodded in agreement. Grdankl the Strong turned back to Vrsk, and, pointing at the buildings on the screen, said, “Prmkt is there?”

  “Yes,” said Vrsk. “He works there, under a different name. He sends me e-mails from there.”r />
  Grdankl the Strong looked at the buildings, nodded, and turned back to his vice presidents. “He is very smart, Prmkt. Very smart.”

  The vice presidents agreed.

  “If Prmkt is right,” continued Grdankl the Strong, “if his plan works, then in one instant—one instant—the whole American government will stop, and America will be like a chicken with its head cut off, running around like…like…” He snapped his fingers, trying to think what it would be like.

  “Like a chicken with no head?” suggested the first vice president.

  “Exactly,” said Grdankl the Strong. “Like a chicken with no head. And then the Americans will be sorry that they ever dared to insult the Republic of Krpshtskan. Very sorry.” Grdankl the Strong started to laugh, thinking about America’s impending doom. The four vice presidents also laughed. Vrsk also started to laugh, but he was stopped by a look from the fourth vice president, letting Vrsk know that this was strictly a high-level laugh.

  Then Grdankl the Strong grew quiet, and immediately all laughter in the bunker ceased. Grdankl the Strong gestured toward the buildings on the computer screen.

  “And the beauty of it is,” he said, “if Prmkt’s plan works—and I am certain Prmkt’s plan will work—the Americans will do it to themselves. The American children will do it. They will bring down their own country! It is genius!”

  The four vice presidents nodded, agreeing on the genius of the plan.

  Grdankl the Strong tapped the screen with a fat finger and asked Vrsk, “What is this place again?”

  “It is a school,” said Vrsk. “A public school. Its name is…” he consulted the piece of paper, then, in heavily accented English, said, “…Hubble Middle School.”

  Grdankl the Strong looked at the screen and smiled.

  “The mightiest nation on earth,” he said, “brought to its knees by children.”

  TOBY HARBINGER, backpack slung over his left shoulder, hurried through the halls of Hubble Middle School. His goal was to get to Gifted Science before the ME kids got there.

  ME was short for Manor Estates, a development of giant houses that cost millions of dollars and had more bathrooms than people. Toby knew that, based on the law of averages, there should be at least one Manor Estates kid who was not a total jerk, but so far he had not met that kid.

  The ME kids stuck together. Their families vacationed together at ski resorts and in Europe, Hawaii, and any other place where it cost a lot of money to be. On weekends, the ME kids went together to the mall, where they used their personal credit cards to buy stuff they didn’t need, like cell phones with even more unnecessary features than the cell phones they had bought three months earlier. They wore expensive clothes that were designed to look used. They made fun of kids who wore clothes that really were used.

  Such as Toby. For years the ME kids had made fun of his freckled face, his apparent lack of biceps, and his high voice, which had recently begun to break, so that at times he croaked like a frog. But they’d moved on: now it was his clothes.

  Toby reached the door to the Gifted Science classroom, took a breath, and went in.

  Oh, no.

  The ME kids were already there. They sat together, of course, right by the door, so Toby had to walk past them to get to his seat. Today they focused on his shoes, which, for a change, were new. They were a name brand, but not the right name brand. This was the kind of fashion error that ME kids, who had brand radar, always spotted immediately.

  “Nice sneakers, Hardbonger,” said Jason Niles, who had been calling Toby “Hardbonger” since third grade, and still, after five years, could not get over how hilarious this was. Toby ignored him, partly to send the message that he didn’t care, and partly because Jason Niles was the size of a UPS truck.

  “Oooh, Toby,” said Haley Hess, making her voice sound like she thought Toby was cute, which of course she didn’t, because she was Haley Hess. “I love them! They’re so…white! Did your mom get them at Discount Warehouse?”

  Toby ignored her also, but his ears turned red, because, first, that’s what always happened when Haley Hess spoke to him, and, second, his mom had, in fact, bought the shoes at Discount Warehouse. The ME kids would go to school dressed only in mud before they would wear clothing purchased from Discount Warehouse.

  The ME kids insulted Toby’s sneakers a few more times as he passed, then turned their attention to new victims. Toby slid into his seat at the back, between Micah Porter, who was his best friend, and Tamara Reilley, who was his best friend for a girl, although Toby tried not to stand next to her too much because she was four inches taller.

  “Morons,” said Micah, whose nose never stopped running, which is why he was known, unfortunately for him, as Mucus.

  “Yeah,” said Toby.

  “I don’t see why everybody says Haley Hess is so hot,” said Tamara. “Do you think she’s hot, Toby?”

  “No,” said Toby, lying.

  “Of course he thinks she’s hot,” said Micah. “She’s a moron, but she is hot. She’s a hot moron.”

  “I think she looks like Kim Possible,” said Tamara, whose name had never been used in the same sentence with hot.

  “Exactly,” said Micah. He noticed that Toby and Tamara were both staring at him. “What? You don’t think Kim Possible’s hot?”

  “Please shut up,” said Toby, who said this often to Micah.

  The bell rang, and in walked the Gifted Science teacher, Mr. Neckstrom, a small, nervous-looking man with hair that grew unnaturally far down his forehead, threatening to merge with his eyebrows. He wore khaki pants and a brown shirt with large, permanent-looking wet spots under each arm.

  “All right, settle down,” he said. “Haley, stop texting and put away that phone.”

  “Sure,” said Haley, continuing to text.

  Mr. Neckstrom turned away so he didn’t have to see her ignoring his order. “All right,” he said to the class. “It’s March first. Do you know what that means?”

  “It’s time for your monthly shower?” said one of the ME kids, just loud enough so everybody could hear, but just soft enough that Mr. Neckstrom could pretend he didn’t hear, which was what he usually did when an ME kid said something. He had learned, as most teachers had, that it was better not to mess with ME kids, because if you did, you had to answer to their parents. And nobody wanted to do that.

  The ME parents had money and power. They could have sent their children to private school; if they lived anywhere else, they would have. But it happened that Hubble Middle School was the best middle school in Maryland, and it fed its students into Spiro T. Agnew High School, which sent more of its graduates to Ivy League colleges than any other school in the United States. It was the best, and the parents of Manor Estates demanded the best.

  So their children attended Hubble, and every one of them got into the Gifted Program. This was not because they were all gifted; Jason Niles, for example, had the IQ of a zucchini. No, the ME kids all got into Gifted because it was the best program, so the ME parents made sure their children were in it. They did this in various ways—sometimes by making generous donations to the school; sometimes by threatening lawsuits, or worse. Some of the ME parents held powerful positions in the federal government, and they knew how to threaten. The teachers at Hubble did not want to mess with them or their children, and so Mr. Neckstrom pretended not to hear the remark about his monthly shower.

  “March first,” he reminded, “is the first day to register for the science fair. And thanks to the generosity of Mr. Swingle, first prize this year will be…” He paused, noting with pleasure that all of the students were paying attention. Haley Hess had actually stopped texting.

  “…five thousand dollars,” said Mr. Neckstrom.

  The classroom erupted with a chorus of whoas. Even the ME kids were impressed by the prize amount, which was double the previous year’s $2,500. The prize money came from a billionaire Hubble alumnus, Lance Swingle, who had started a hugely successful company, TranScent,
based on a system he invented for sending smells over the Internet. Swingle credited his success in part to the scientific education he got at Hubble Middle. In gratitude, he donated a generous cash prize each year to be given to the winner of the science fair.

  His goal, he said, was to create an interest in science.

  What he had actually created was a near-maniacal interest in winning first prize. The Hubble science fair was very competitive. You did not win by hooking a flashlight bulb up to a battery to show how an electrical circuit works. No, to win the Hubble Middle School science fair, you had to do something really impressive. For example, the winner two years ago had built a robot that could do professional-quality French manicures. The winner last year had created, through genetic manipulation, a mutant gerbil with an extra pair of eyeballs located on its butt, so it could go through a maze either frontward or backward.

  Both of these winners had been students from Manor Estates. In fact, every year since Lance Swingle had started offering cash prizes, the Hubble science fair had been won by an ME kid. They didn’t need the prize money; sometimes they didn’t even seem all that knowledgeable about their own projects. But they always won.

  It was widely believed among the rest of the Hubble students that the kids from Manor Estates cheated. The teachers had their suspicions as well. In fact, six years ago, a veteran science teacher named Mrs. Feeney had gone so far as to reject a project brought in by an ME student, Taylor Niles, who happened to be the older brother of Jason Niles. Taylor claimed that he had made, all by himself, a powerful handheld laser. Mrs. Feeney doubted this, because—among other things—Taylor didn’t know how to spell “laser.”

  Taylor’s father, as it happened, was a very important man in Washington. Within a week, Mrs. Feeney had been transferred to another school. On her last day at Hubble, she went out to the parking lot to discover that somebody had burned twenty-seven small circular holes through the steel body of her car. She was replaced at Hubble by Mr. Neckstrom, who never questioned anybody’s science-fair project.

  “Five thousand dollars,” said Micah, as Mr. Neckstrom walked around the classroom, passing out the science-fair entry forms. “If I had that kind of money, I could—”