In history class Ms. McKenna collects our homework. I always get 100%, but there is little joy in that, knowing that Digger is getting 100% too.

Ms. McKenna is telling the class about a place called Colonial Williamsburg, where people dress up the way they did in the eighteenth century. She’s wearing an old bonnet as she shows us some photos of someone milking a cow. I’d like to visit there someday. I could wear my Benjamin Franklin jacket and glasses.

Suddenly, Ms. McKenna starts doing a rap about Williamsburg. It’s so bad it hurts.

Don’t be a fool,

History can be cool.

Let learning be a tool.

Sha boom, sha boom!

In Williamsburg you can see

A Colonial city

And how it used to be.

Sha boom, sha boom!

After school, I climb the stairs to the apartment and flop on the couch. Mom puts her Italy book on pause so we can talk. “How’s school?” she asks, giving me a hug.

“Fine.”

“Have you made any new friends?”

“Well, I guess so. There’s this new kid, Max, that Ramen and I eat lunch with.”

“What’s he like?” she asks as she straightens the pillows on the couch.

“Max is a girl.”

Instantly, Mom lights up. “A girl? Well, tell me all about this Max!”

“It’s not like that,” I moan. I’m sorry that I even brought it up. “She’s in AV Club and not really like a girl-girl. Max is more like one of the guys.”

“Well, you should invite Max to the theater sometime,” Mom says, adding, “I promise not to embarrass you.”

“Who’s not going to embarrass whom?” Dad asks as he comes into the room. He’s carrying a box of paperwork.

My father has an office downstairs off the concession stand, but he likes to do the accounting in the apartment. It’s interesting to watch him hunched over the kitchen table with a calculator. It’s like there are two different Dads: the movie buff and the businessman. After he counts the money, he slips a thick rubber band around the bills, then puts the bundle into a Ziploc bag and places it in our freezer until he has a chance to go to the bank.

“Marley has a friend who’s a girl,” Mom tells him.

“Marley,” Dad says, hardly hiding his grin, “who’s this girl that has your mother all in a dither?”

I shake my head. “Just a new kid. It’s nothing. Can I go now?”

“Be back in time for dinner,” Mom tells me.

I wander around downtown Rancho Rosetta for a while. I wave to Libby at Stout’s Coffee Shop, and stop in at RadioShack. Mr. Min shows me the new cell phones. They do everything. It would be so cool to have one, and it wouldn’t matter that I don’t have anyone to call — I could just play the games and stuff.

As I head toward the Dinosaur Farm toy store to see if the new juggling balls have come in, I suddenly spy Emily Ebers! She’s feeding coins into a parking meter. Wait. That’s odd. Now she’s putting money into all the meters up and down Mission Street. When she looks in my direction, I take off running and don’t stop until I get to Sweeteria. Mom doesn’t have to know.

As I leave with my ice-cream cone, I spot Stanford with his pals heading toward me. Do basketball players always travel in packs? I turn in the other direction and see the Gorn coming my way. Luckily, they only harass me at school. Still, I duck into a store and crouch down.

“Do you have an appointment?” the lady asks. She’s tall and has short hair that looks metallic, like bronze, and she has the same bemused look that Uhura, the communications officer of the USS Enterprise, often wears. They could be sisters.

I stand up and look around. There’s a sign above the counter that says SALON FERRANTE. “Um, no,” I say as I begin to back out of the place. “I was just —”

She smiles at me. “No problem. Drop by anytime. Ask for Mimi. I specialize in making good-looking guys look even better.”

I try not to blush when she winks at me. When I leave, I notice my hand is all cold and sticky. I’m still holding my ice-cream cone. It’s practically melted. I look for a trash can. Just then, I hear someone say, “There he is, get him!”

There’s no time to look. Instinctively, I start to run. I can hear the Gorn grunting as they chase me. I toss the cone into the street and dodge an old lady who yells, “Young man, you’re a litterbug!” Then she yells at the Gorn, “You big boys — this is a shopping area, not a racetrack!”

I run past Stahl Miller stationery store and City Hall. Mr. Min and I wave to each other as I run past RadioShack. I don’t stop until I’m at the Rialto.

“Whoa, slow down, Marley,” Mom says as I burst into the apartment. “Your timing is impeccable. Dinner’s ready. Here, take this plate up to your father.”

I nod and run the broccoli noodle casserole up to the projection booth. Then I trek down to the basement and slip on my Spock ears to decompress. I’ve decided to call this the Transporter Room, because this is where I need to be when I want to escape.