My dad stayed home from work so he could repair Norman. I tried to get out of going to school so I could help, but that didn’t fly.
It was a big chore just to get to homeroom. Nearly every kid I ran into wanted to know where Norman was. “Where’s your cool brother from France?”—that kind of thing. Some of the kids like Annie Bananas and Jenny Huffleman were even being pushy about it, like I must be hiding Norman from them.
That was when Principal Jackson saved me. He pushed through the crowd of kids, telling them to get to class. The kids fled. But there was still Principal J. to deal with.
“You and I need to have a talk, Mr. Rambeau,” he said in his super-serious voice. Come to think of it, that might be the only voice he has.
On the way to the office I tried to think of stupid things I’d done lately to draw Principal J.’s interest, like that day in September when I stumbled around like a zombie all morning because Jeter had dared me to. No reason to play Truth or Dare if you’re not willing to do the dares. My mistake? Telling Kayla Rafferty that I wanted to eat her brain! She tattled. I nearly got a detention.
In the office, Principal Jackson leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers against each other. If I did that, I’d probably be told to sit up straight and stop playing with my hands.
“Your brother is not like the rest of our students, is he?” Principal Jackson said carefully. “I mean, it’s almost like night and day. Am I the only one seeing how different he is?”
I froze. This could be bad. Very bad. If Principal Jackson went public with the fact that Norman was a robot, and reporters invaded our lives, my dad might end the experiment early and scrap Norman, to keep Mom from freaking out. The same thing could happen in France, if word got out that there were two robots. I could lose my robot brother and my robot cousin, all due to Principal J. spilling the beans.
But maybe there was a way to stop him, I thought. Like what if I offered to wash his car once a week, or something like that, in return for silence? I didn’t think he’d take a cash bribe, since he’s a principal. Besides, I’m a kid. I never have much cash.
“How did you figure out that Norman is . . . different?” I asked, thinking that my dad would want to know that information for his research.
“Well, the early reports I’m getting from faculty suggest that Norman is gifted—perhaps even a genius—and also a skilled gymnast.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “You know what this could mean for our school, don’t you?”
I shook my head while thinking, Phew, what a relief! The Norman-is-a-robot beans had not been spilled. Not yet, anyway.
“It could mean we’ll finally win first prize at the state science fair in January”—Principal Jackson’s voice was getting weirdly high-pitched and excited, I must point out—“and the biggest trophy at the Math Olympics in April. Heck, maybe Norman will even win the National Spelling Bee for us. So what this means, Mr. Rambeau, is that with your brother’s help West Side Middle School may finally get the recognition it deserves!”
Fascinating, in a yawn yawn yawn kind of way. Principal Jackson was completely clueless that Norman was a robot. Yay!
As I was waiting for a “Dismissed,” Principal J. leaned over the desk, like he wanted to take me into his confidence. I was seeing his nose hairs. It was way too early in the day for nose hairs.
“But here’s the thing,” he told me. “If word of Norman’s talents spreads beyond the walls of this building, no doubt your brother will be transferred to one of the gifted schools. We need him here more than they need him there, so I’d like to put that off for as long as possible.”
Thinking that Principal J. was about to ask for a favor, I slouched, figuring I could get away with it.
“So I’m wondering if you might ask Norman to turn it down a notch,” he asked, “not give everyone the idea that he’s the next Einstein or a future Olympian. Could you do that for me, Matt?”
Why not—I had also been hoping my brother would turn it down a notch. “I’ll talk to Norman as soon as he’s feeling better,” I said.
“He’s not well?”
“He might have caught a virus.”
“Lots of nasty things are going around this time of year,” Principal Jackson said. “I’m sure he’ll be fine in a few days.”
Principal J. then signed a pass so I wouldn’t get in trouble for being late to homeroom. “There is one more thing,” he said, before I could grab the pass. “Stop slouching! Slouchers never go far in life.” You know, he might have been right. Think of presidents, famous athletes, and movie stars. You almost never see them slouching.
So I straightened up, stood up, and left for homeroom. On the way there I passed the janitor, pushing a mop bucket down the hall. “Hey there, Oscar,” I said, but then I realized that this person was not Oscar. Instead it was a younger guy with a beard and mustache, but the weird part was that the mustache and beard were different shades of brown, and neither of them matched the color of the hair on his head.
He looked at me, frowned, and turned away. Thanks for the love, new guy!
Hmm. I thought that I had seen this dude before, but where? Not the comic book shop . . . Not the cleaner’s . . . Not the bagel bakery . . . Maybe I’d remember later, I told myself, if I could remember to remember.
I turned down a hallway, but stopped when I thought I heard the janitor talking to someone. I inched along the lockers until I could see him again. He was talking on a cell phone, which we students aren’t allowed to do. Man, grown-ups. They get to have all the fun.
“Clean out your ears, idiot,” he said to someone. “I said it looks like he’s not here, so maybe it worked. But we really need to stop wasting time and get this job over with. The sooner the better, so we can return home and get on with our lives.” Whatever the other person said back to him, the janitor didn’t like it. He hissed, snapped the phone shut, and slipped it into a pocket. He then started pushing the mop bucket toward the main doors like he was planning to mop outside. Innovative!
Well, that was strange, but I’d have to think about it later: I was running late for class.
Just as I was nearing homeroom I saw Oscar, the normal janitor, cleaning a water fountain. “We have a second janitor now?” I said, trying to be friendly.
Oscar glared at me in a hurt kind of way. “A second janitor?” he said. “Don’t tease me like that, young man. A second janitor to share the workload has been a dream of mine for twenty-three years.” He sighed and went back to work. Sorry, Oscar.
As soon as I opened the door to homeroom . . .
“Hi, Norman!” a few kids said, but then they got all frowny and disappointed when they saw that it was only me.
Yep, just me. Nothing to get excited about, kids.