The next morning Dad dropped me off at school before going to work; he had decided that Norman could use more time off for testing and adjustments. It felt kind of weird, being dropped off. I had always been a ride-the-bus kind of kid. But suddenly I was a dropped-off-by-a-parent kind of kid. It was going to take some time to get used to it, I figured.
Annie ran up to me while I was getting books out of my locker. “Hi, Matt! Where’s Norman, and why weren’t you guys on the bus?” she demanded.
So I told her with all the excitement you might get from a sleepy turtle that Norman wouldn’t be returning to school until next week, and that he and I were going to be getting rides from now on.
“There’s plenty of room for me in your car, Matt,” she hinted, smiling and batting her eyelashes at me. “Talk to your dad! I could sit between you and Norman. Wouldn’t that be great?”
Sure. In the same way screaming nightmares are great.
Annie wiggled her nose. “By the way, I figured out what your big secret is,” she announced.
But I didn’t want to know what Annie knew, so I closed my locker, told her I was late for class, and took off down the hallway. Of course she followed me.
“I looked up the name of the worm Norman said he caught, the Doomsday Sandwich worm, on the Internet,” she said. “It’s a computer worm. Norman is a computer. Make that a computerized robot! Ha! I figured it out!”
Dog poop served with a side of french fries and coleslaw!
But I put on a poker face. “You’re insane,” I told her, scrambling to think of something smart to say. “Um . . . Robotics isn’t that advanced yet. The only robots we have are those machines that can vacuum rugs or mow lawns. It will probably be a hundred years before we have robots that look and act like people.” Not too bad, for eight thirty in the morning.
“Liar!” Annie said, narrowing her eyes. “Norman being a robot makes perfect sense. Like how he can do gymnastic things that no other kid can do, how he’s smarter than the rest of us, and how he knows every language ever invented. Robot! And I’m going to tell everyone.” Then she paused, a better idea clearly coming to her. “Unless you do something for me.”
Oh no. This was going to be bad. What if she wanted me to kiss her, or something just as out-of-this-world gross, like hold her hand? No way! But I quickly realized that if I just ignored Annie, my usual strategy, she really would tell everyone that Norman was a bot. Don’t believe it? Just look at her relentless pursuit of me! She’s ruthless!
“What do you want to stay quiet?” I asked as we turned down a hallway.
“So Norman is a robot. Nailed it!” she cried.
I thought fast. “I’m not saying he’s a robot, but it would be bad for Norman if people started thinking he was one. What do you want to keep your mouth shut? Spill it, Bananas.”
“Easy, Matt,” she said, with what I can only describe as a sinister smile. “I want us to go out. You know, dating. Boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“I’m not allowed to date until I’m eighteen,” I told her, trying to look bummed out. Actually, I wasn’t sure that was true. I hadn’t talked about that subject with Mom or Dad, but eighteen sounded right to me. “Ask for something else.”
“Darn it!” she said, frowning and doing some thinking. It’s not the easiest thing, watching Annie Bananas think. I always feel bad for her puny brain.
The class bell rang and saved me. I slipped inside my homeroom, and Annie hurried to hers. Phew!
Jeter and I were at our lunch table, talking about the mystery of boogers—how exactly they’re formed, and why the different colors, and their amazing finger-clinging abilities—when Annie stopped by and sat next to me.
“Girl alert!” Jeter said, a million years too late.
Might as well get this over with, I thought. “What do you want?” I asked Annie.
She giggled. “I want you to stand on your table and shout to the entire lunchroom, ‘I’m crazy in love with beautiful Annie Bonano.’”
No way! Jeter laughed so hard and quick he was suddenly snotty.
“How about you just stab me in the arm with a fork?” I said. There are times when a flesh wound is the lesser of two evils.
“Nope,” she said. “Say you’re in love with me and I’ll keep the secret. Come on! I’m waiting.”
Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.
Hoping this wasn’t going to be as horrible as I knew it would be, I set my fork down, climbed onto the table, and stood up. I was hoping no one would notice me—there was a lot of jabbering going on just ten seconds earlier—but wouldn’t you know it, the lunchroom had gone quiet while hundreds of eyes gazed at me. Gulp.
“Uh, hey,” I said, stalling to give time for Jeter, or a sudden earthquake, or a rip in the time-space continuum if this was a cheesy episode of Star Trek, to stop me.
No such luck.
“So guess what, everybody,” I said in a normal voice.
“Louder!” Annie hissed, so I cranked up the volume.
“I’m crazy in love with beautiful Annie Bonano!” I nearly shouted, disbelieving that those words had actually come out of my mouth. I had just confessed love to a she-devil. Stupid mouth!
“Hurray!” Annie said, clapping like a goof.
When I returned to my seat, she kissed me on my cheek. More bleck! I wiped at my face and gave her my fiercest look. “We’ve got a deal now,” I reminded her. She smiled happily, jumped up, and scooted back to her table. The other kids went back to jabbering and eating. I guess they were expecting a bigger announcement from me, like the United Nations had just declared the rest of the day a school holiday. Everyone go home!
“That was totally weird, what you just did,” Jeter said, shaking his bangs away from his face. “I didn’t know you liked Annie. You dog! Why didn’t you tell me? I’m your best friend!”
Did I mention that Jeter is not the brightest kid on earth? Or even in the top billion?
“It was a sudden crush,” I said. “It’s already worn off.”
Before I could get to math class, Principal Jackson pulled me into his office. I guessed that standing on the lunch table was off-limits, and I wondered who ratted me out. Maybe that one lunch lady who got all huffy when I asked her to check if there was more chocolate pudding in back, when there was none left up front. She didn’t check. But hey, I just knew there were big barrels of pudding somewhere in back.
As soon as we were seated, Principal J. started talking about “the roller coaster ride” that is adolescence, and how “jumpy hormones” had caused many young men to “engage in highly erratic behavior,” and how it was important that we “restrain our passions” while on school grounds, and for that matter while off school grounds.
I just sort of nodded to speed things along, thinking I truly understood the meaning of the word “mortified.”
And then Principal Jackson said that standing on lunch tables was a “hygiene and safety issue,” so if it happened again he would have no choice but to call my parents and give me a detention. Since I’m hoping to be one of those kids who skates through middle school and high school detention free, I promised that I would never for the rest of my life stand on a table and say I love a girl. I even crossed my heart.
“Very good.” He nodded and leaned a little closer. I sensed a Norman question coming on. “So how is Norman doing?” he asked. Yup, I was right. “For some reason this place just doesn’t seem as lively when he’s not here. Norman is an exceptional child.”
Yes, he truly is. So exceptional he comes with a warranty!
“He’ll be back next week,” I assured him. “He just needs a few more software updates.” Argh! What was wrong with my mouth?
But Principal J. just laughed and waved an arm at me. “You kids and your computer lingo. When I was your age, personal computers were the size of this office and were programmed by cards with holes punched in them. Ah, those were the days.” He leaned back and seemed to be having a sentimental moment. I took that as my cue to get out of there and head to class.
On the way to math I kept my eyes open for fake janitors, wonky security guards, holographic hall monitors, and so on. Nothing. Was it possible that the spies had given up their mission, whatever that mission was? Didn’t know, but I sure as heck hoped so.
As it turned out . . . Well, please stay tuned—it’s almost time for the good stuff. (Yeah, I know, I hate waiting for the good stuff too, but my mom says it’s important when telling stories to relate the events in the proper order so people don’t get confused. So, um . . . blame her!)