Norman and I stopped at the office to get his locker combination, and a note from Principal Jackson introducing Norman to our teachers. Dad talked Principal J. into giving Norman the same class schedule as I had, so his first days at an American school would be “less traumatizing.” Between you and me, I wouldn’t have minded having a break from Norman—he can be pretty intense. But no one asked for my opinion.
Most of the lockers were in the main hallway. When Norman saw them, his eyes lit up and a smile took over his face.
“Boxes!” he cried, peering at the long rows of lockers. “Hundreds of vertical boxes neatly lined up!”
I could see how Norman might make that mistake, but . . . “They’re lockers, not boxes,” I whispered, looking around, hoping no one had heard him.
“And one of them is mine?” the robot asked, bouncing on his toes. I was almost expecting to see fireworks shoot out of his ears.
We found Norman’s locker, 207, eight down from my locker. After I showed him how to work the combination, he slipped inside his locker and pulled the door closed.
“Ç’est merveilleux!” came his voice through the vents at the top of the locker. “I fit perfectly. Bye-bye, Matt. Enjoy your studies.”
“Uh, Norman?” I said, bending closer to the locker. “You’re not supposed to live in those things. And we have to get to homeroom, like right now.”
That was when the bell, the one that means, You better already be in class, sucker, rang. So I ran to homeroom, planning to check on the robot later.
After homeroom:
Me: “Hey, Norman. Ready to come out of your locker?”
Norman: “No thank you, Matt. Bye-bye!”
After English:
Me: “Come out of there, Norman, so we can go to our next class together.”
Norman: “Sorry, Matt, but I have never been this happy before!”
If you say so, buddy!
After social studies:
Me: “Ready to come out of there, brother?”
Norman: “Alouette, gentille Alouette, Alouette, je te plumerai.”
Whatever!
After computer lab:
Me: “Are you—”
Norman: “Bye-bye, Matt!”
After lunch I asked Jeter to help talk Norman out of his locker. Jeter’s real name is Dylan, but everyone calls him Jeter because he sort of looks like that guy on the Yankees. But I don’t think my Jeter will ever be a pro at anything. He’s even suckier at sports than I am.
Me: “Hey, Norman. Come out of your locker so you can meet my friend Jeter.”
Norman: “Bonjour, Jeter. It is pleasant to meet you.”
Jeter: “You too, Norman. But why are you inside your locker?”
Norman: “Tout le monde doit être quelque part.”
Jeter: “Huh? What did he say?”
Norman: “Everyone has to be somewhere. So why not here?”
Jeter shrugged. I shrugged. And then we slogged to our next class.
“Your brother from France is kind of nutty,” Jeter said.
“Tell me about it,” I said.
“I think I just did,” Jeter said, scratching his head.
Sigh. Did I mention that Jeter is sometimes as dumb as gum?
After math class, I asked Annie to help talk Norman out of his locker. As you can see, the situation must have been desperate if I was asking Annie for help.
“Why is he inside his locker?” she asked as we headed to the lockers. “Did you stuff him in there, Matt?”
“Not my style,” I said, hoping my brain would kick in and shoot out an answer. Um . . . Got it! “You’ve heard of claustrophobia, where people are afraid of enclosed spaces? Poor Norman has a severe case of reverse claustrophobia. It’s a popular disease in France.” Someone give my brain a gold star!
“So he’s afraid of non-enclosed spaces?” Annie said, giving me a doubtful look. I nodded, trying to look super concerned about Norman.
When we arrived at the lockers . . .
Annie: “Hi, Norman! Come out of there so I can give you a big hug!”
Norman: “Bonjour, Miss Annie. There will be plenty of time for hugs later. Stop by early next week.”
Annie: “And I want to give you a big kiss! Come out and get kissed, Normy!”
Me: Bleck!
Norman: “I will graciously accept your kisses in the near future, Miss Annie. Bye-bye!”
The class bell rang. Annie gave me an ugly look. “Norman has only lived with you a week and already you made him weird!” She stomped away.
Actually, it was probably just some bad programming.
After art class, I was trying to talk Norman out of his locker when Oscar, the fiftysomething janitor, slid up to me pushing a broom. “Is there a problem here?” he asked. I guess it must have looked a little weird, me talking to a locker. Maybe even crazy weird.
So I told Oscar that my brother was stuck inside the locker, and asked if he had some kind of tool that could open locked lockers. He rubbed his chin while gazing at Norman’s locker, like he was professionally assessing the situation.
“I guess we could cut him out with an acetylene torch,” he said. Yikes! Sounded super dangerous! “But I might have a simpler solution. What’s the combination?”
Didn’t know, so I tapped on the locker. “Norman, can you tell us the locker combination?”
“Oui. Twenty-six right,” he said, and Oscar turned the dial to twenty-six.
“Eight left,” Norman said, and Oscar twisted the dial back to eight.
“Seventy-two right,” Norman said, and the janitor started to . . .
“Hey, there is no seventy-two,” Oscar said. “The numbers stop at forty!”
Th-th-th-th-th, Norman snickered.
Oscar scowled. “You kids . . . You’re all a bunch of jokers!” He left, pushing the broom. Sorry, guy!
The bell rang. As I scooted to the library, I could hear Norman saying fake locker combinations. “Eight thousand two hundred and twenty-six left . . . Th-th-th-th-th . . . One million, seven hundred and twenty-six thousand, nine hundred and forty-three right . . . Th-th-th-th-th . . .”
He’s such a riot.
After study period, I didn’t bother checking on Norman.
And the same with science class.
But when school was over, I had to get Norman out of his locker. Otherwise, I would be in big trouble with Dad. I was the older brother. I was supposed to be responsible for the mechanical rat. Plus, there was probably a serious law about leaving kids locked inside school lockers overnight. I was too young to go to prison!
“Norman, it’s time to catch the bus and go home,” I said. Silence, so I added, “Your crate’s at home, waiting for you.”
“I’m fine, Matt,” Norman said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Bonne journée. Have a nice day.”
Wow. Not even the crate thing worked. “But it’s just not normal, living in a locker,” I sputtered.
“Célébrons nos différences!” he said. “Let us celebrate our differences. What’s good for the goose is not always good for the gander.”
True, but Norman and I weren’t geese. It was time to scare the little creep out of his locker.
“All right, see you tomorrow, Norman,” I told him. “Unless the vent monster eats you.”
Norman bit. “Eats me?”
“Yep. Every day at this time he leaves his vent and goes searching for kids still in the building. He can even slither in through locker air vents. The sad fact is, there are no safe places to hide.”
The locker door flew open. “I’m ready to go home,” Norman said, scampering toward the main exit.
Am I good, or what?