I Shrank My Teacher, Page 3

Mrs. Tompkins looked a little sad. She didn’t say anything else, but I could tell I had upset her. Only I couldn’t figure out how.

  McNally was talking into a device in his hand as we pulled up in front of the main entrance. “All right, see you guys inside” was the last thing I heard him say. Then he clicked the device shut, slipped it in his pocket, and opened the limousine door.

  As we walked through the entrance, I saw two more men dressed just like McNally (and wearing the same kind of dark glasses) standing off on either side. Ahead of us was a moving stairway. At the top stood three more men, obviously also part of McNally’s group.

  I found it all a little scary.

  The mall itself, though, was very pleasant. It had many stores selling strange and interesting items. The number of clothing stores astonished me, but also demonstrated to me that Tim was correct when he said that how I dressed was going to be important to getting along. External appearance seems to be an obsession among the Earthlings.

  We passed an entire store devoted to soap. The smells were so strong that I nearly fainted. And the variety of messages I could read from those smells was astonishing—not to mention embarrassing. Yet my friends barely noticed them.

  I was surprised by the number of kids I saw who were doing nothing. And I was terrified when we passed a place where you could pay to have holes put in your ears!

  I was also surprised by the things I did not see. When I asked for a poetry shop, Tim showed me a bookstore. When I asked about buying music, Linnsy pointed out a store filled with little packages filled with songs.

  But where would you go to buy a fresh poem? I wondered. Or to have someone sing your friend a brand-new song?

  There did not seem to be any living artists at the mall. Everything was packaged and brought in from somewhere else.

  Tim insisted we go into a place called an arcade that truly confused me. It was filled with young people, and it was such a confusion of loud noises and flashing lights that I assumed it must be a room where children were sent to be punished. I was disturbed by the idea that Earthling parents could be so vicious.

  I was surprised to realize that I was the only one who was screaming. In fact, even though most of the people were slapping the machines—which made sense to me—some of them actually seemed to be having a good time. (Others, however, had glazed looks on their faces, as if they had been placed under some mind-controlling drug.)

  Then I saw that one of the machines was labeled “Alien Destruction” and had pictures of gruesome monsters on it.

  “Look!” I cried in horror. “What does that mean?”

  Tim and Linnsy quickly dragged me out of this torture chamber.

  “Geez, Pleskit,” said Tim, when we were outside. “It’s just a game room.”

  I found this terrifying. If Earthlings play games like this in public, what kind of things do they do in private? I decided I did not want to think about it.

  Things improved when we went to a place called a food court. Here I was almost overwhelmed by an astonishing variety of odors. I sampled several Earthling foods, including french fries (delicious!), ice cream (even better!), and something called ketchup, which comes in funny little packets that make it hard to get at, but was really the best thing of all. The strange part was, they gave this item away for free!

  I was not able to get used to the fact that everywhere we went people stared and pointed and whispered. But they didn’t get too close, because McNally and his men wouldn’t let them. Sometimes people would shout out, “We love you, Pleskit!”—which I thought was odd, since they had never actually met me. A few others shouted, “Go back where you came from, you alien freak!” which I thought was equally odd, for the same reason.

  We were still eating when I heard someone say, “Come on, you guys, you can let me through. I go to school with him.”

  McNally looked over, then nodded to one of his agents. The man shrugged and lowered his arm, which he had been using to hold back a girl that I recognized from class. Her name is Misty Longacres. She has black hair that hangs nearly to her waist. Her eyes are large and dark. Her skin is a very pretty shade of brown, somewhat lighter than McNally’s, but much darker than Tim’s.

  “Hi, Misty!” said Linnsy. Her voice sounded a little strained, and I could not tell if she was really happy to see Misty or not.

  “Hi, guys,” replied Misty. “What are you doing here?”

  “Shopping for Pleskit,” said Tim. “We’re trying to help him fit in better.”

  Misty looked at Tim in astonishment. “You’re going to be his fashion consultant?”

  Tim wrinkled his nose, which was some sort of Earthling signal I did not quite understand yet. “No, I’m just here to watch. Linnsy and my mother are going to do all the thinking on this one.”

  “Well, that’s a relief,” said Misty. She pulled up a chair and sat down next to us. “Listen, I got some news today.” She looked around, then added dramatically, “You’re not going to like it.”

  We waited in silence.

  “Well, come on!” said Tim at last. “What is it?”

  Some people clearly enjoy delivering bad news. Her eyes sparkling, Misty said, “Jordan’s coming back. He’ll be in school on Wednesday.”

  Tim’s cry of horror caused several of McNally’s men to pivot in our direction.

  “Tim,” said his mother sharply. “Control yourself.” She had to look down to say this, because he had slid out of his seat and was lying flat on the floor.

  “What’s the point of controlling myself?” he moaned. “My life is over.”

  This statement made perfect sense to me. Given a choice between Jordan returning to class and catching a horrible infectious disease, I would probably opt for the disease.

  “I’m sure it’s not going to be that bad,” said Mrs. Tompkins. “Jordan probably learned a lesson after what happened last week.”

  “I doubt it, ma’am,” said McNally. “My impression of that kid is that he’s a born weasel, and he’s going to stay a weasel no matter what happens to him.”

  Tim’s mother shot McNally a look that was clearly meant to tell him to mind his own business.

  “Where did you hear this?” demanded Linnsy.

  Misty smiled. “My big sister told me. She’s going out with Jordan.”

  “Jordan is too young to be going out!” said Mrs. Tompkins indignantly. “Especially with someone who’s two years older than he is.”

  Misty just shrugged and cracked her gum.

  I could contain myself no longer. “I am confused! Jordan is obviously a manifestation of the dark side of the universe. Why are they letting him back in school?”

  “Oh, you gotta be a lot worse than Jordan to get kicked out of sixth grade,” said Misty. “When my sister was in sixth, she had two kids in her class who had their own parole officers.”

  I tore open a ketchup package and sucked out the contents, which seemed to calm me a little.

  Deciding there was no point in lingering at the table—my clinkus was so upset by the idea of Jordan coming back to class that I couldn’t even finish my dessert—we went back to our shopping expedition.

  Between all the new experiences and Misty’s terrible news, I was already on edge. Then I saw the most horrifying thing of all. Grabbing Tim’s arm, I screamed. “It’s her! Look! It’s her, it’s her!”

  CHAPTER 8 [TIM]

  MISTAKEN IDENTITY

  When Pleskit started to scream, McNally’s men rushed to form a circle around us.

  “Who?” I cried, glancing around in terror. “Who is it?”

  “Mikta-makta-mookta!” cried Pleskit.

  He was pointing at the window of a pet store. I stared at it for a minute, not understanding, then burst out laughing. “That’s just a hamster!”

  “A what?” asked Pleskit, obviously still frightened.

  “A hamster. It’s a pet—like your Veeblax.”

  Pleskit looked at me disbelievingly.

  “I’ll a
dmit that it looks like Mikta-makta-mookta. But it’s only two or three inches long. Mikta-makta-mookta was taller than we are, Pleskit.”

  “What does height have to do with it? It’s not like shrinking something is any big deal.”

  My mother put a hand on his shoulder. “This really is a very common pet on our planet, dear.”

  Pleskit moved closer to the window. “It would be a good place for Mikta-makta-mookta to hide,” he said, still suspicious.

  “Yeah, but look—the hamster’s naked. Mikta-makta-mookta wouldn’t go out in public like that, would she?”

  “It depends on how desperate she was,” said Pleskit. He pressed his face to the window, then sighed. “But I fear you are right, Tim. I have made a fool of myself. Again. That is not Mikta-makta-mookta. The eyes are different.”

  “Geez, kid,” said McNally. “You scared me out of a year’s growth.”

  “I thought you were already fully grown,” said Pleskit, which caused Misty to giggle.

  McNally sighed. “Let’s go get your clothes.”

  * * *

  Shopping with Pleskit turned out to be kind of fun, mostly because the clerks were incredibly attentive. Everyone—well, almost everyone—wanted to meet the alien and help him find the right things to wear. I had a feeling some of them were hoping they might be able to get him to do an advertisement: “Pleskit Meenom Shops Here,” that kind of thing.

  We got him four pairs of jeans, some T-shirts (including one that said JUST VISITING THIS PLANET, which Pleskit briefly thought had been made specifically for him), a sweatshirt, and a baseball cap.

  The cap was a problem, of course, because of Pleskit’s sphen-gnut-ksher, the knob that grows out of the top of his head. But McNally said he would cut a hole to make room for it, and my mother said if he did, she would stitch up the edges so it wouldn’t tear.

  We were all pretty tired by the time we left, but satisfied that we had done a good job. We gave Misty a ride to her home, then dropped off Mom and Linnsy at our apartment complex. I went back to the embassy with Pleskit and McNally so I could pick up my bike.

  Ms. Buttsman was waiting for us in the kitchen. Her eyes had all the warmth of a package of ice cubes. “I can’t believe you did that, Mr. McNally.”

  McNally looked puzzled. “Did what?”

  “Took Pleskit to the mall. The mall of all places! There is no need for the boy to be exposed to the public like that. The better clothing stores would have been glad to bring their items here.”

  “Chill,” said McNally, which seemed to really infuriate Ms. Buttsman. “The kid got a little taste of Earthling culture.”

  “A very nice taste,” put in Pleskit. “Ketchup is a superior foodstuff. We should stock up on it.”

  Ignoring him, Ms. Buttsman glared at McNally. “I intend to have a serious conversation with Meenom Ventrah about this!”

  McNally stifled a yawn. “Yeah, whatever you want. If you’ll excuse me, I’m off duty now.”

  And with that he turned and walked away.

  Ms. Buttsman sighed in exasperation. “That man and I are not going to get along,” she muttered.

  Actually, I was beginning to doubt that Ms. Buttsman got along with anyone. But I kept the thought to myself. I already suspected that she didn’t like me. I didn’t want to give her anything additional to hold against me. I was afraid she might bar me from the embassy.

  Pleskit led me back to the little transport room. I took the silver tube to the blue-domed guard shack, where I picked up my bicycle.

  It was getting dark now. As I was riding away from the park, I noticed a smallish man standing under a tree. He waved to me, and I realized that I had seen him at the mall, more than once—almost as if he had been following us.

  “Hey, Tim,” he called. “I want to talk to you for a minute.”

  I hesitated. His voice was friendly. But I had no idea who he was—or why he would know my name.

  “Sorry!” I called. “I gotta get home.”

  I started riding faster. At the edge of the park I glanced back over my shoulder.

  The man was about twenty feet behind me—which surprised me, since he was on foot, and I was riding.

  I began pumping the pedals as hard as I could. Behind me I heard a shout of anger. I glanced over my shoulder again. The man was running—running faster than I would have thought possible.

  Cold fear blossomed in my gut, and I began pedaling even harder. My bike bounced and jolted as I blasted over potholes, jumped curbs, spun around corners.

  I heard the man shouting, but his voice was beginning to fade. I didn’t slow down—and I didn’t head straight for home. Just because this guy knew my name, didn’t mean he knew where I lived, and I saw no reason to lead him there. I shot down Ackerman, turned on Lancaster, then zigged over to Westcott Street.

  When I was sure I had lost him, I headed for home. My calf muscles were burning and my lungs felt as if they had been sandpapered. But I felt really good about managing to elude the guy.

  When I got home, I called Pleskit and told him what had happened. We talked about it for a long time. Finally we decided the guy was probably just a reporter.

  Even so, I didn’t sleep very well that night.

  CHAPTER 9 [PLESKIT]

  THE WORM (RE)TURNS

  The Earthlings divide their time into seven-day cycles called weeks.

  Our shopping trip was on the day they call Saturday.

  On the next day, which is called Sunday, I stayed home doing schoolwork and playing “Interstellar Trader” on the embassy’s computer. The Earthlings had given us some devices called cell phones, and I used mine to talk to Tim a couple of times. These phones are useful, but very primitive. I decided to ask the Fatherly One if we could give Tim and his mother something more sophisticated, so that I could at least smell Tim when I am talking to him.

  On the next day; which is called Monday, it was time to go to school again. I was excited, because I hoped this would be a better week than my first week—especially since I felt that Tim, Linnsy, and Misty were all my friends now.

  I put on some of my new clothes. The jeans felt rough and stiff against my skin, but I was willing to put up with that if it would help me fit in.

  Unfortunately, I had some trouble getting past Ms. Buttsman with my new clothes.

  “Pleskit!” she cried when she saw me. “You’re not going to school like that, are you? You really ought to dress more properly; at least go back and put on a white shirt and a tie!”

  “But none of the other kids dress formally.”

  “That is no reason to demean yourself or the planet you represent. You should set an example for the others.”

  “I don’t want to set an example! I just want to fit in! I thought that was one of your jobs—to help me fit in with the Earthlings. Or are you going to sabotage me like Mikta-makta-mookta did?”

  Ms. Buttsman looked pained. “My job is to advise you and your father on proper protocol. Your father has already shown a disregard for that in his insistence that you attend a public school when there are so many fine private schools available. Obviously, I can only do so much. But I must at least make my opinions known.”

  McNally, who had been listening to this conversation, said, “In my opinion, you should give the kid a break.”

  Ms. Buttsman’s nostrils grew wide, which I took to indicate indignation. “You are not being paid for your opinion, Mr. McNally.”

  “That’s true. But I am being paid to get Pleskit to school on time—and to make sure that he doesn’t get the crap kicked out of him once he’s there. The first part calls for me to get him out of here now. The second part will be easier if he’s not dressed like a dork. Come on, Pleskit. Let’s go.”

  I smiled at Ms. Buttsman as I walked past.

  She smiled back, but I could tell she didn’t mean it.

  “That woman is going to drive me out of my mind,” muttered McNally when we were in the limousine.

  “Tim calls he
r ‘The Butt,’ ” I said.

  McNally laughed. “That’s nicer than my name for her.”

  I asked what his name for her was, but he wouldn’t tell me.

  * * *

  When I walked through the door, my teacher, Ms. Weintraub, said, “Why, Pleskit—you’ve assimilated!”

  A cold fear seized my heart and I felt my clinkus begin to shrivel. Clutching her hands, I cried, “You don’t really mean it, do you? Please, say you don’t mean it!”

  She looked baffled. “I only meant that you are dressing like the other kids. I think it looks quite nice.”

  I relaxed, but just a little. “Perhaps I did not understand. When we speak of ‘assimilating’ we mean someone has abandoned his home planet and given himself over to another culture. It is one of the greatest crimes a diplomat—or one of his family—can commit. If my father thought I was assimilating he would splork.”

  Ms. Weintraub laughed. “I’m sorry, Pleskit. We use the phrase more casually here. I did not mean to offend you.”

  “I was more terrified than offended,” I replied. “But now I understand. Thank you, Ms. Weintraub.”

  I heard a few giggles behind me while this was going on, but when I turned, most of the kids just looked sort of wide-eyed and confused. I saw Tim, Linnsy, and Misty, which made me feel somewhat safer—especially when Tim nodded in greeting, Linnsy gave me a little wave, and Misty smiled and tilted her head. I was not alone. This was going to be a better week!

  Hah! If I had only known.…

  Even so, things did start well.

  On Monday at recess Tim, Misty, and Linnsy all spent time with me. And Misty introduced me to another boy named Chris Mellblom who was pretty funny and knew some interesting tricks to do with coins. I enjoyed seeing them. As the Fatherly One always says, “Tricky is good.”

  On Tuesday we had a class called physical education. I did not participate because no one had told me that I was going to have to bring a pair of short pants.

  “Looks like we’ll have to make another trip to the mall,” said Linnsy afterward.