Science Fair Read online

  Toby knew right away who they were and why they were looking for him. What he didn’t know was what to do about it. Ordinarily, he would have told his parents. But if he did that, he’d have to confess what he’d done.

  He’d done it because he needed money. No, that wasn’t right; he didn’t need the money, the way poor people need money for food. He wanted the money so he could buy a decent gaming computer. His parents couldn’t afford to buy him one, and even if they could, they never would. They’d given him their old Mac, and as far as they were concerned that was all the computer anybody needed, and when they were kids, they didn’t even have computers, blah-blah-blah.

  Toby didn’t even try to explain that you couldn’t be a competitive gamer with an old computer running the wrong operating system at the speed of a dead slug. His parents were clueless about electronic things. They still could not, on their own, get photographs out of their digital camera. When they wanted to show their pictures, people had to gather around and squint at the teeny camera screen, trying to figure out whether they were looking at a wedding, or the Chrysler Building, or what.

  So Toby didn’t waste time discussing his computer needs with his parents. Instead, he went down to the basement, which was mostly filled with all this supposedly valuable and sacred Star Wars junk collected by his parents. His parents were, to Toby’s ongoing horror, major Star Wars geeks. They had actually met at the premiere of The Empire Strikes Back, which was the second Star Wars movie, although it was Episode V, which was one of many reasons why Toby thought Star Wars was stupid.

  His mom had gone to the movie premiere dressed as Princess Leia, and his dad—Toby was glad he had not been alive then because he would have had to kill himself—had been dressed as C-3PO. Toby found this appalling. His feeling was, if you have to go out dressed as a Star Wars character, why wouldn’t you at least be a human? And if you have to be a robot, why would you be the dork robot?

  Fortunately, his parents were older now, and the Force was not as strong in them. But they still sometimes watched the movies, and they hadn’t thrown out any of their sacred junk. There was so much of it, they couldn’t possibly know everything they had. At least that’s what Toby told himself when he went down there and took the autographed BlasTech DL-44 blaster pistol used in the Star Wars movies by Han Solo.

  His father bought the pistol in 1978 and took it to the premiere, where he somehow managed to get it signed by Harrison Ford himself.

  Or so he had always claimed.

  Toby put the pistol up for auction on eBay, where, to his utter amazement, it sold, after frenzied bidding, for $2,038. Toby set up a PayPal account to get the money; to make sure his parents didn’t know, he used the Hubble Middle School address. When the money showed up in his account, he mailed the blaster pistol to the winning bidder, whose name—Toby later realized this should have made him nervous—was D. Arthur Vaderian. Using the money, Toby had bought, online, a totally screaming notebook gaming computer, the Tarantula Disemboweler 666X, which his parents, being clueless, did not realize was not his old Mac. For a short while, Toby was happier than he’d ever been, using his new computer to kill huge numbers of online enemies.

  Then he got the e-mail from D. Arthur Vaderian.

  Mr. Harbinger, it said. The alleged signature of Harrison Ford on the BlasTech DL-44 you sent me is a fake. I demand that you send my $2,038 back immediately.

  Which was a problem, seeing as how Toby had already spent the money. Toby couldn’t think of what to do, so he didn’t do anything. He hoped D. Arthur Vaderian would go away. But D. Arthur Vaderian did not. He kept sending e-mails, each one angrier than the last. Toby didn’t answer them. The last e-mail he had gotten said:

  Since you have chosen not to respond to my e-mails, I am going to take direct action.

  He didn’t say what direct action. But when the two weird guys showed up at Hubble Middle asking about him, Toby knew right away who they were. He also knew it was only a matter of time before they found out where he lived.

  They had his name, and there weren’t that many Harbingers.

  And so he paused at the dark end of Milkwort Court, checking the neighborhood for Darth and the Wookiee. Seeing nobody, he walked quickly to his front door and let himself in.

  “Hi, honey,” said his mother, Fawn Harbinger, who was sitting on the sofa. She actually did somewhat resemble Princess Leia, if Princess Leia had let her hair go gray and gained a little weight from pretty much never doing anything except Sudoku. “You’re late.”

  “Yeah,” said Toby. “I was busy working on my science fair project.”

  “I saved you some dinner,” said his mom. “Tofu pork chops.”

  “Yum,” said Toby.

  “After you eat,” she said, “your father needs some help packing shipments.”

  “Okay,” said Toby. His parents operated a home-based business selling health products. His mom sat in the living room, taking orders and playing Sudoku; his dad worked in a corner of the basement, packing and shipping the orders. Their big seller was a product called HydroxyPulse 3000, which, according to the label, cured basically every human ailment. As far as Toby could tell, it was water.

  He started toward the kitchen.

  “Also, Mrs. Breetle called, from the school office.”

  Toby stopped.

  “About what?”

  “She said some man came by the school, wanting your home address. Something about winning some kind of Internet contest. She didn’t give out your address, of course, but she got his name and number. He’d like you to get in touch with him. His name is…wait, I wrote it down…here it is: D. Arthur Vaderian.”

  Toby’s stomach clenched. He started toward the kitchen again, though he was no longer hungry.

  “Hey!” said his mom. “I just noticed something!”

  “What?” said Toby.

  “Well, D. Arthur Vaderian! If you take out some letters, it spells Darth Vader! Isn’t that funny?”

  “Yeah,” said Toby. “Hilarious.”

  THE ME KIDS GATHERED every morning at a certain reserved spot in the hall near the front entrance to Hubble Middle School. It was a prime location because everybody had to walk past it, which meant (a) everybody saw the ME kids, and (b) the ME kids could observe all the other students and make note of their numerous flaws.

  This morning, however, the ME students were formed into a close little clot, examining the contents of the envelopes they’d found in their lockers.

  “Wow,” said Harmonee Prescott, frowning at a piece of paper. “Mine has a lot of seriously big words.”

  “Mine, too,” said Jason Niles. “Like, what’s an alg…algri…What’s this word?”

  The Ferret glanced at Jason’s paper. “Alligator,” he said.

  “Whoa,” said Jason. “I need an alligator.”

  “Let me see that,” said Haley Hess, snatching the paper from Jason. “You morons,” she said. “It says algorithm.”

  “What’s an algorithm?” said Jason.

  “I have no idea,” said Haley, handing the paper back. “But it’s not an alligator.”

  “These are, like, way more complicated than last year,” said Harmonee.

  “Yeah,” said Haley. “But it doesn’t matter to us, does it?”

  The others smiled.

  “Whoa,” said Jason. “Look at that.”

  They turned to watch a girl come through the front door carrying a tray, on which sat what looked like a big silver ball, nearly two feet across. As the girl drew near they realized that the ball was actually thousands of paper clips. From the look of it there was nothing holding the paper clips together—no glue, no tape. The girl clearly enjoyed the looks of astonishment from the other students.

  “What is that?” said The Ferret.

  “That,” said Jason, “is the competition.”

  “It’s a magnet ball,” said Haley. “I read about one on the Internet. You charge all the paper clips until they’re magnetized. Then
they stick together and you make them into all sorts of stuff. It looks impressive, but it’s pretty lame. No way that wins.”

  “She’s already done with hers?” Harmonee said. “It was only announced yesterday!”

  “I’m not worried,” said Haley, tapping her piece of paper.

  “So when do we go see our friend at the mall?” said The Ferret.

  “Today,” said Haley. “I can’t wait to start learning all about”—she looked at her piece of paper—“co-resonant phase-shifted induction sequencers.”

  “Me, neither,” said Jason. “And alligatorithms.”

  “Algorithms,” said Haley.

  “Whatever,” said Jason.

  “Uh-oh,” said The Ferret, looking down the hall. “It’s The Armpit.”

  Striding toward the ME kids was Assistant Principal Paul Parmit, Hubble’s disciplinarian. The Armpit—as everyone, including teachers, called him, although of course not to his face—was a remarkably sweaty, prematurely bald man in his mid-thirties who always looked as though at least one of his eyeballs was about to explode. He spent the time before classes patrolling the halls, telling clots of students to break it up. Nobody knew why The Armpit felt that it was so important for clots to break up, but he did.

  “Hide the papers,” hissed Haley. The MEs scrambled to put their papers away. Harmonee, finding nowhere to put hers, shoved it up the back of The Ferret’s shirt.

  “Break it up!” said The Armpit, bearing down.

  Haley’s paper slipped back out of The Ferret’s shirt and fell to the slick hallway floor directly in front of The Armpit. “Let’s break it UUUUUUNNHOOF!” he said, stepping on the piece of paper in such a way that his foot slid violently forward and the rest of him flew backward, causing him to land hard on his butt, sweat spraying outward from his body in a small perspiration typhoon. The paper flew forward and into the air, directly into the face of Toby, who had just entered the school and was hoping to slip past the ME kids while The Armpit was breaking them up. Reflexively, he reached out and grabbed the paper.

  “Give me that!” said The Armpit, scrambling to his feet, his face a deep, glistening red. He snatched the paper from Toby with one hand and grabbed Toby’s shirt with the other.

  “Do you think that was funny?” The Armpit yelled.

  “Yeah, Hardbonger,” said Jason. “Do you think that was funny?”

  “But I didn’t—” Toby began.

  “Quiet!” said The Armpit. “You’re going to come with…”

  “Excuse me,” said Haley, sweetly, putting her hand on The Armpit’s arm. “But there’s been a mistake.”

  “There has?” said The Armpit, softening, as all males did when targeted at close range by Haley’s blue-eyed gaze.

  “Yes,” said Haley. “This paper belongs to Harmonee. She dropped it. Didn’t you, Harmonee.”

  “I did,” said Harmonee, batting her eyelashes at The Armpit. “And I am so sorry, Mr. Armp…Mr. Parmit.” She, too, put her hand on The Armpit’s arm, trying hard not to show how seriously grossed out she was by its dampness.

  The Armpit looked at the piece of paper. “Ah!” he said, nodding. “I see.” With an odd smile, he handed the paper to Harmonee. Then he turned to Toby and said, “Okay, break it up.”

  “But,” said Toby, “I’m not—”

  “Are you trying to get into trouble?” said The Armpit.

  “No, sir,” said Toby.

  “Yeah, Hardbonger,” said Jason. “Break it up.”

  Toby sighed, turned, and headed down the hall, ignoring the laughter of the ME kids behind him. His thoughts were on the brief glimpse he’d gotten of Harmonee’s paper.

  TOBY FOUND MICAH AND TAMARA at their regular morning spot, located down the hallway about fifteen yards—or, in Hubble Middle status distance, 287 million miles—from the ME kids.

  “What’d you do to tick off The Armpit?” asked Micah, as Toby walked up.

  “Well, first I was walking past when he slipped on a piece of paper,” said Toby. “And then I didn’t break it up.”

  “Break what up?” said Micah.

  “I have no idea,” said Toby. “But get this. I think the piece of paper was an outline for Harmonee Prescott’s science fair project.”

  “Really?” said Tamara. “What was it?”

  “I don’t really know,” said Toby. “I only saw it for a second. But it was really technical, with all kinds of numbers and stuff.”

  “Harmonee?” said Tamara. “The lip gloss queen? Technical?”

  “I know,” said Toby. “There’s no way she understands it. They’re up to something.” He told Tamara and Micah what he’d seen the previous evening during study hall—the ME kids walking past with envelopes, then returning without them, and his unsuccessful effort to investigate further, thwarted by Mr. P.

  “Do you think Mr. P is helping them cheat?” said Micah.

  “I dunno,” said Toby. “I didn’t see him holding any envelopes.”

  “Those cheaters,” said Tamara, glaring at the ME kids. “I would so love to bust them. Or at least beat them, for once.”

  “Yeah,” said Toby and Micah together.

  “Did you see the paper-clip ball?” said Micah.

  “Yeah,” said Toby. “It looks cool, but it won’t win. You have to be more original than that.”

  “Well,” said Tamara, “my project is very original.”

  “You have an idea?” said Micah.

  “Yup,” said Tamara.

  “Does it involve stinging insects?” said Toby. Two years earlier Tamara’s project had been a cross-section of a beehive that Tamara believed had been abandoned by the bees. Unfortunately, not all of the bees had been informed that they were supposed to have left. One of them stung a judge, who had an allergic reaction and had to be rushed to the hospital. Fortunately, he recovered, but as Tamara learned, even if your project does not actually kill a judge, you are still unlikely to win a prize for it.

  “Ha-ha,” said Tamara. “Very funny.”

  “So what is your project?” asked Micah.

  “It’s called, ‘Packaging: The Deadly Killer in Your Home,’” said Tamara.

  “Huh,” said Micah.

  “Seriously,” said Tamara. “Think about it. You know how whenever you buy anything, it’s sealed up inside that thick, hard plastic, and there’s no way to open it, so you have to try to cut it with scissors or a knife, but it’s really hard to cut, and it turns into these jagged pieces of plastic that are really sharp, and you end up cutting yourself?”

  Micah and Toby both nodded.

  “My aunt got my cousin a Barbie doll for Christmas,” continued Tamara, “and by the time she got it out of the package, she needed eight stitches in her hand. There was blood all over Barbie. She looked like Texas Chainsaw Massacre Barbie.”

  “And this is a science-fair project…how?” said Toby.

  “I haven’t figured it all out,” said Tamara. “But I’m gonna show how easy it is for package plastic to slice through human flesh.”

  “Whose flesh are you going to use?” said Micah.

  “Ha-ha, very funny,” said Tamara. “I’ll use something to simulate flesh, like a canned ham.”

  “A canned ham,” said Toby.

  “Right,” said Tamara. “Or baloney.”

  “Why don’t you use a Barbie doll?” said Micah.

  “That’s actually not a bad idea,” said Tamara. “It would be more dramatic. In fact, I have this old Barbie at home that would be perfect. My mom got it at a yard sale. Rollerblade Barbie. She has these pink booties with wheels that shoot out sparks when you roll them. It’s really stupid.”

  “So,” said Toby, “your science-fair project is going to be to show that plastic can slice luncheon meat.”

  “Or Rollerblade Barbie,” said Tamara.

  Toby sighed and turned to Micah. “What about you?” he said. “Still planning to levitate the frog?”

  “Yup,” said Micah. “Fester is ready. He’
s good to go. I just need a really strong magnet.”

  “Where’re you gonna get that?” said Toby.

  “That place at the mall,” said Micah.

  “The Science Nook,” said Tamara. “With the weird guy.”

  “He’s weird,” said Micah. “But everybody says he can get anything. You guys wanna go with me after school?”

  “Sure,” said Tamara.

  “I have detention,” said Toby. “But I can meet you there after.”

  “Okay,” said Micah. “Hey, what’s your experiment gonna be?”

  “I dunno yet,” said Toby. “I need to think of one.”

  A really good one, he thought. Good enough to win.

  Toby hadn’t told Tamara or Micah—even though they were his closest friends—about the mess he was in. This was partly because he didn’t want them telling anybody else, but mostly it was because he was ashamed of himself. He wished he’d never taken the blaster, never sold it on eBay, never bought the computer. The only way out he could see was to somehow win the science fair and pay back the money to the Darth Vader guy.

  That was the other thing on Toby’s mind, every minute: where were Darth and the Wookiee? He’d had trouble sleeping the night before, fearing another phone call to his house, or worse, a knock on the door. But there had been nothing, and this morning Toby had seen no sign of the two creepy guys on his way to school.

  Where were they?

  Toby’s unhappy thoughts were interrupted by the bell. The crowded hallway began to empty as students headed for their homerooms. From the distance came the voice of The Armpit, telling people to break it up.

  “So,” said Micah, as the three friends separated, “we’ll go to the mall later and get my magnet?”

  “Right,” said Tamara. “And I’ll buy something packaged in plastic.”

  “You’re really gonna do that packaging thing?” said Toby.