“We are going to learn about one of the most famous people in American history.” Mr. Caruthers, the most amazing teacher on planet Earth, leaned back on the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his chest.

It was 8:05 and Mr. C had just arrived in class. Every Monday Mr. C is late. And totally messy. Today, his hair was sticking up. His suit was a crumpled disaster. And his glasses were falling off his nose.

Mr. C didn’t seem to notice his appearance. Or maybe he didn’t care. It is part of what made him so cool. Mr. C is super smart and also a little absent-minded.

We didn’t used to know why he was late and a mess, but now we do. . . .

Every Monday morning, just before school, Mr. C creates a time-travel cartridge for our History Club meeting. When he seals the lid on the cartridge, there is always a huge explosion. He says the time-travel cartridge doesn’t work without the explosion.

Why Mr. C doesn’t make the cartridges on a different day, or get up early enough to shower and change clothes afterward, I’ll never know. Maybe, like doughnuts, time-travel cartridges are better fresh.

“This American is so famous, everyone recognizes his name,” Mr. C said as he pushed up his glasses. “We’ll be studying his accomplishments all week.”

Usually, whoever Mr. C talks about in class is the same person we visit after school. Of all the kids in the third grade, Mr. C chose just Jacob, Zack, Bo, and me for History Club. The four of us are table partners and we take the responsibility very seriously.

“Who do you think we’ll meet today?” I leaned over and whispered to Zack while Mr. C paused to straighten his tie and run his fingers through his hair.

“Hmm,” Zack wondered aloud. “Someone so famous, we can talk about him all week . . . Maybe Elvis Presley?” He played a little air guitar and wiggled his knee under the table. “Wouldn’t it be rockin’ to visit the King?”

“Groovy,” I said with a laugh. Zack is the funniest guy I know. And, yeah, it would be cool to visit Elvis, but I didn’t think that’s who we were studying today.

I looked past Zack to his twin brother Jacob.

Jacob and Zack might look the same, but their personalities are totally opposite. Jacob is neat and clean and organized, whereas Zack is always a wreck.

Today Zack was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, with parts of his breakfast on the front. I could easily recognize syrup and chocolate milk.

“Who do you think Mr. C’s talking about?” I asked Jacob.

“Bill Gates would be my guess,” Jacob replied. “He’s ‘the father of modern computing,’ you know.” Jacob was wearing khaki pants and a T-shirt with a computer on the front. He really likes computers.

It was a good idea, but usually we only visit people who have been dead a long time. As far as I know, Bill Gates lives in Seattle.

Bo was sitting the farthest away from me at our table. He was wearing sweatpants and a long-sleeved gray sweatshirt. Bo’s real name is Roberto, but we call him Bo for short. I would have asked him who he thought it was, but Mr. C had cleaned himself up and was now pacing in front of the room, lecturing as he walked.

“The man we will be learning about was an inventor, politician, soldier, statesman, poet, ambassador, shopkeeper, bookseller, printer.” Mr. C stopped to catch his breath before adding, “Cartoonist, scientist, journalist, chess player, weight lifter, and he loved to read, too.”

Now I was certain it wasn’t Elvis or Bill Gates.

“Please get your textbooks,” Mr. C instructed. There was a rustling of papers as we all rushed to pull our books out from the little shelves under our desks.

When we were ready, Mr. C said, “Turn to page one-forty-four.” He paused, giving us just enough time to find the page number. “There, in the middle of the page, is a picture of an American legend: our famous forefather, Benjamin Franklin.”

Mr. C started searching for the correct page in his teacher’s guide, when Maxine Wilson’s hand flew up in the air. “Excuse me, Mr. C,” she interrupted. “There’s no picture of Ben Franklin in my book.”

Hands were popping up all over the classroom. Everyone was reporting the same thing: Ben Franklin was not in our textbooks.

Mr. C looked down at his teacher’s guide. He had a confused look on his face. I could tell that Ben Franklin wasn’t in there either.

Khoi Nguyen raised his hand and then informed him, “There’s a painting of some woman in the middle of page one-forty-four.”

“That’s odd,” Mr. C said as he stood tall and slowly wandered toward Khoi’s desk. “Just yesterday I reviewed my notes for this morning’s class.” Mr. C scratched his head, then pushed up his glasses. He glanced down at Khoi’s book. “I am certain that Ben Franklin is on page one-forty-four.”

I looked at my own page 144. I checked the number. And then double-checked.