All the clocks at school had stopped working. They must have — it just wasn’t possible for time to move that slowly. It was prolonging the agony of being branded a robot smasher and a thief. I needed the bell to ring. I needed to set things right with Mr. Z.
Honestly, I was hoping it had been a bad dream. But then I saw Mr. Z’s face in science class and, well, I quit hoping. He looked like he hadn’t slept at all. Usually, Mr. Z likes to joke around and make his lessons fun, but this one was as dry as old paint. Worse, he never once called on me for an answer. I raised my hand and bounced up and down, but it was no use. I was invisible, a smudge on an empty desk.
When class ended, I kept my seat.
“Mr. Z . . .”
“After school, Howard.”
That’s all he said. So now I was trapped in an even longer prison of minutes waiting for my release.
Finally, the bell rang for the last time that day. I cleared the door at a run and was halfway down the hall to Mr. Z’s room when I hit a roadblock. It wore a blue and white skirt with matching scrunchie.
“I need your help,” Crystal Arrington told me.
“Maybe later. I’m in kind of a hurry.”
Crystal’s eyebrows came together in an angry V, but then they separated and her face broke into the sweetest smile good dental coverage can buy.
“Aw, come on. It’ll only take a second. Pleeeeeeease!”
Crystal is conceited, pushy, manipulative, snobby, and rude. She’s also a cheerleader.
“OK,” I said.
I followed her to the gym. A group of girls was spread out on the floor surrounded by markers, glue, and every color of glitter in the sparkly rainbow. We stopped next to a long paper banner lying on the floor. It said:
DMMS WINTER FORMAL
7 PM FRIDAY
DON’T MISS THE MAGIC!
“I need you to put this up there,” she said, pointing to a spot just below the ceiling.
“That’s high,” I informed her.
“Duh. Mr. McGinty is bringing a ladder.”
Painful minutes passed before Mr. McGinty, the school janitor, arrived with a tall stepladder. Mr. McGinty is a nice man with a mustache that looks like it’s made out of milk. He helps out with decorations and stuff sometimes, but I thought he was probably too busy and too old to be climbing the giant ladder. Besides, it wasn’t his job.
His job was to clean up the mess when I fell off of it.
Crystal widened her dark brown eyes and looked at me.
“Up,” she said.
“Ummmm, I have a little problem with heights,” I confessed. “I get nosebleeds.”
“Gross,” she said. I’m pretty sure this is as close as Crystal ever comes to sympathy.
She tapped her foot. Reluctantly, I started the long, slow trek up the ladder. I could only use one hand to climb because I had to grip the banner in my other hand. The banner was so long, it fluttered around my toes like a huge glittery flag. I had reached the top and was dangling perilously from one side when I heard a voice below say, “It’s a nerd, it’s a plane — it’s a flying brain!”
“Dino!” Crystal squealed.
Dino Lincoln had entered the gym. Dino is the captain of the basketball team and probably the most popular boy at Dolley Madison. He has this way of making everyday, ordinary things look cool. Like walking. Or sitting. Or wearing sunglasses.
Dino wears them indoors.
“What’s How-Bow doing up there?” Dino asked.
“Ruining my banner,” Crystal said. She glared up at me. “I told you not to wrinkle it!”
“Come on down from there, dawg,” Dino said. “The A-team’s here.”
I gladly surrendered my place in the stratosphere and rushed down the ladder.
“Thanks!” I told Dino, and hurriedly turned for the door.
“Wait a second. We’re not done here,” Dino said.
Instinctively, my feet slammed on the brakes. I should have known I wasn’t getting out that easily. I mean, Dino’s not a bad guy — not compared to Josh and Kyle anyway — but he’s still an UP. And UPs have a reputation to protect.
He summoned me with his index finger.
I didn’t have time for this. Quickly, I reached back, grabbed hold of my own underpants, and administered a self-wedgie. Dino looked surprised — but only for a second.
“Nice form,” he said. “But I would have made it atomic.”
“Next time!” I yelled, and dashed out of the gym.
I ran down the hall until I was standing in front of Mr. Z’s classroom. The door was closed. When it opened, Gerald Forster walked out.
I looked at him. He looked at me. We said nothing. Gerald turned his eyes down the hall and then followed them.
I went inside.
“Sit down, Howard,” Mr. Z said.
I sat down in my regular desk. Mr. Z took the one next to it.
“How’s Putt-Putt?” I asked.
“I think he’s going to make it,” Mr. Z said.
Then we both sat there in silence, wondering who was going to make the next move.
“Howard,” he said at last, “what happened yesterday was very serious. It goes against everything Believer Achievers stands for. See, we try to live by a certain code — we treat other people the way we’d want them to treat us. In a way, we’re kind of like a family. And families have to be able to trust each other.”
“I didn’t do it,” I said, my voice cracking in a way I hadn’t expected.
Mr. Z looked down at the desk, then back up again.
“I’ve spoken with the directors, Howard. They think it’s best if you withdraw from the contest.”
“Withdraw?”
“You don’t have to leave the BAs,” he said. “We don’t want you to — we’re not about turning kids away. And you don’t have to worry. Nobody is going to say anything to the police — ”
“Police!”
“Calm down, Howard. We just think, after what happened, a withdrawal would be best for everybody.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “You say it’s best for everybody, but, to me, it sounds like I’m being punished. But how can you punish me for something I’ve told you I didn’t do?”
Mr. Z closed his eyes.
“You don’t believe me,” I said. “No one believes me.”
“It’s not that, Howard. We don’t want to punish you. It’s just that they think — we think — there are certain lessons you need to learn before you’re ready to compete with the others.”
Compete? I was competing just fine until Gerald spotted those solar cells.
“But I already built the robot!” I said.
“I’m not talking about those kinds of lessons, Howard!” Mr. Z said, growing frustrated. “Look, from the very start, your only concern has been winning. Did you know I can tell you what went into almost every robot in that contest? That’s because the kids can’t wait to share it, to talk about it, to teach the others how to do what they did. But I don’t know the first thing about Monster, Howard. It’s like he’s this mysterious toy that nobody gets to play with but you.”
Looking at it that way, I guess I must have seemed pretty selfish. But the truth was, I couldn’t tell Mr. Z how Monster worked. I didn’t know how. He just did.
“I’m sorry, Howard. You built a fantastic robot, and you should be proud. I mean, that’s your creation! But the thing is, Howard, you’re a creation too. An incredibly gifted creation. What I’m trying to say is — do you really think you were given those gifts just so you could put a trophy on your shelf?”
What could I say? He was right. I did just want the trophy. But when I saw how everybody came together to help Richard, I don’t know, something changed.
“I’ll do better,” I promised.
“I’m sure you will, Howard. But because of what happened, some of the kids have said they wouldn’t be comfortable with you being there.”
“You mean Gerald,” I said coldly.
Now we were getting to the truth.
“Gerald? Howard, did you see G-Force leaving here?”
I nodded.
“This has nothing to with Gerald Forster.”
“Oh really?” I said. “He didn’t come in here to tell you that he wouldn’t be ‘comfortable’ being in a group with a lying, robot-smashing thief?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Gerald. He’s out to get me. He’s been out to get me since I joined.”
Mr. Z gave me an odd look and then a sort of a grin. But not the happy kind of grin.
“Howard, G-Force came here to defend you. He doesn’t think you did it.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“He said it doesn’t add up. For one thing, the solar cells on Monster were in plain sight where anyone could have seen them. And they weren’t hooked to a battery, so there was no way to store the power. He said you were too smart to make stupid mistakes like that. But mainly, he said you couldn’t have done it because that would be cheating. And Howard Boward doesn’t cheat.”
I felt sick and lost and ashamed. How could I have been so wrong about Gerald? And how could he have been so wrong about me?
Howard Boward did cheat. I cheated the second I opened the barrel and took out the goo.
“I’ll withdraw from the contest,” I said.
I got up and headed out of the classroom. The school was nearly empty now. Just before I reached the heavy exit doors, I heard Mr. Z’s voice echoing down the hall.
“I believe you, Howard.”