Chapter 18

What a morning. I woke up late, so I had to skip my synthesized scrambled-eggs-and-bacon breakfast. Not that I really minded—they taste pretty much like the synthesized hot dogs. And the synthesized pizza. And the synthesized lemonade. The real issue was not having enough time to gel my hair after my daily run-in with the Vacuu-Suk 3000. I spend most of Ms. Gassias’s first-hour math class using the old saliva-in-the-hand method to get it to lie down. My success level is not high.

When first hour ends, I meet up with Spotch on our way to Professor Plutz’s galactic geography class.

“Whoa, Kelv. What did you do—stick half your head in a shuttle engine?”

I haven’t known Spotch for long, but I’m getting the feeling he speaks his mind. No sugarcoating with old Spotcho.

“Nah, I didn’t have time to use any hair gel this morning. Hey, you wouldn’t have any on you, would you?”

“Nope. I have some antenna gel, but it would probably just make your hair fall out. Which, come to think of it, might be an improvement.”

Now, that may be Spotch’s idea of a joke or just a factual statement. It’s hard to tell sometimes.

We make our way into the classroom and grab the last two open desks, way in the back. My chair has a backpack sitting in it. A blue tentacle reaches across from the next desk over and snatches the backpack.

“Sorry about that, Kelvin,” the tentacle’s owner says. He has three other tentacles, too, but they’re all busy at the moment, writing and turning notebook pages and scratching what I guess must be his nose.

“Didn’t know you wanted to sit here, pal,” Tentacles continues. “Hey, maybe we could be homework buddies, huh? I’d even let you do most of the work! I know you smart guys like to do most of the work! What do you say?”

“I’ll think about it,” I answer, knowing full well I won’t. It’s amazing how popular a genius becomes when homework is due.

Professor Plutz calls Gil up to the front of the classroom and activates a holographic map of the galaxy.

“Mr. Lagoonie. Please point out to the class where our fine school is located within the Milky Way galaxy.”

Poor Gil. He clearly has no idea where we are on that map, and he’s starting to panic. I can’t watch anymore, so I let my eyes wander. And they just happen to wander a couple rows over.

“So, what’s up with Luna?”

“Luna? Let me guess. You think she’s cute.”

“Well… yeah. I mean, she is pretty awesome. She almost seems to have a glow about her.”

“She does have a glow about her. Everybody from her planet does. Something about bioluminescence.”

Gil looks like he’s really sweating it out up there, although it’s hard to tell, since he’s in a water-filled sphere. He’s pointing all over the place on the map, and Professor Plutz keeps shaking his head no. It’s as if Gil is continually pushing the head-shake button on a Professor Plutz remote control. I sure am glad it’s not me up there.

“You may take your seat, Mr. Lagoonie. Mr. Klosmo, why don’t you give it a try.”

What? Yikes! I don’t know anything about galactic geography. And I definitely have no idea where we are on that map. The only reason I even know it’s the Milky Way is because Plutz said it is. Gil is going to look like Copernicus navigating that thing compared with me.

I’ve seen it happen a lot at other schools. A new kid shows up and gets labeled by the other kids right away. And it usually sticks. If he’s lucky, it will be something like the cool kid. Or the funny kid. Or the smart kid. If he’s not so lucky, it could be the weirdo. Or the dummy. Or the slob. And once you get a label, it’s really tough to get rid of.

I was lucky. I arrived with a reputation of being a genius right off the bat. But it’s one thing to be called a genius because you actually are one. It’s another thing altogether if it’s because you’re the exact opposite—if it’s because the kids think you’re actually a doofus. It’s like calling a short kid Paul Bunyan. Or a slow kid Speedy Gonzales. Sarcasm is big in junior high. As of right now I’m still the smart genius to these guys. But the way things are going, it won’t be long before I’m the other one. And then who will want to hang out with me?

I get up and head toward the front of the class. Slowly. As in two-inch steps. Maybe if I take long enough, my Mighty Mega Supergeniusness will kick in by the time I get up there. Or maybe the bell will ring.

It’s no use. Everybody is staring at me. Luna is looking at me like I’ve got a porcupine stapled to my head. I make my way to the map, at regular speed, and prepare to begin my life as a doofus genius. Mom and Dad will be so proud.

“I must say, Mr. Klosmo, that it certainly is an honor to have you in our class! There aren’t many teachers who can say they’ve had the pleasure of teaching the smartest student in the galaxy.”

Here we go again.…

“This must seem like such a simple question for you. Perhaps we could make it a bit more challenging by having you close your eyes first?”

Oh, sure. Why the heck not? Maybe I could stand on my head and juggle penguins with my feet at the same time, too. It’s not like any of that is going to make a difference. The jig is up. Nothing can save me from embarrassing myself this time—