CHAPTER 17 [PLESKIT] MR. TOMMAKKIO

When I saw Ms. Buttsman walk through the door of our classroom, I thought I was going to go into kleptra. What was she doing here? And what report would she make to the Fatherly One when she discovered what had been going on?

Even in my terror, I was distracted by a sound from Ms. Weintraub’s desk. Because I was so aware of Tim and Ms. Weintraub being in the drawer, I turned in that direction at once. I heard another sound, a slight metallic thunk, as if McNally had accidentally kicked the trash can. But I saw nothing. So I turned my attention back to the door.

Mr. Grand’s face was tight, grim, unamused. “Where is Ms. Weintraub?” he asked, looking directly at McNally.

“She… ah… well, that is… Tim had a slight… accident! Nothing serious, but it required immediate attention. I told her I would cover the class while she took Tim to get it taken care of.”

“I’m not sure that was the proper way to deal with such a situation,” said Ms. Buttsman.

“Well, it seemed like the human thing to do,” replied McNally tartly. He glanced down at the drawer where Tim and Ms. Weintraub were hiding. He was good at controlling his facial expressions, so probably no one else saw what I did—a flash of terror and disbelief.

I felt my clinkus tighten in fear. What was going on now?

“I’ve brought some people to observe the class,” said Mr. Grand. He turned to the room. “This is Ms. Kathryn Buttsman, who is the new protocol officer our government has assigned to the alien embassy. And this”—and here he gestured toward the short man who had come in with them—“is Mr. Tom Tommakkio, who is a federal school inspector.”

“Don’t mind us, Mr. McNally,” said Ms. Buttsman with a terrible fake sweetness. “We’ll just take a seat in the back of the room.”

“I wish I could stay,” said Mr. Grand. “Unfortunately, I have a pressing meeting. Mr. McNally, please tell Ms. Weintraub I’ll want a report on whatever accident young Tompkins had.”

“I’ll be sure to give her the message,” said McNally.

Mr. Grand nodded and left the room. Ms. Buttsman and Mr. Tommakkio headed for the back to take their seats.

The good news was that the arrival of the adults settled the class down some. The bad news was that poor McNally looked truly terrified. He waited until Ms. Buttsman and Mr. Tommakkio were seated, then cleared his throat and said, “We were just doing an experiment regarding… uh…”

I took advantage of his hesitation. “Regarding trajectories,” I said loudly.

McNally looked at me in surprise. I could see relief in his eyes as he said quickly, “That’s correct, Pleskit! Would you care to demonstrate?”

I had jumped in like that for two reasons. The first was that I knew the Fatherly One would be very unimpressed if Ms. Buttsman told him I was studying something as simple as the lever. The second was that poor McNally looked so terrified I felt I had to help him out—especially since it was my fault he was in this situation to begin with.

I joined him at the front desk. Looking out at the class, and especially toward Ms. Buttsman, I said, “The science of calculating trajectories is very interesting. By considering the angle, the length of both sides of the lever, the height of the fulcrum, the weight of the payload, and the force applied to send the payload flying, you can calculate the landing spot with great accuracy. That was what we were doing when you came in, O Honored Guests, which was why there was so much debris flying through the air. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Going to the board, I drew an example of a lever, and quickly worked out some basic mathematics. Then I went to the desk and said, “Let us test my calculations, which were designed to send an object flying from the desk to the clock.”

Putting a ruler on a wooden triangle, I picked up a red game piece called a checker and placed it on one end. “The trick,” I said, positioning my hand above the other end of the ruler, “is to make sure I apply the correct amount of force.”

Slamming my hand down, I sent the checker flying through the air. It struck the exact center of the clock.

The class broke into cheers. Ms. Buttsman smiled and gave me a tight little nod.

“Perhaps we should try one more,” I said. “Let me make some notes.”

I grabbed a piece of paper. But instead of equations, I scribbled, “Where are Ms. Weintraub and Tim?”

I slid the paper to McNally.

He looked at it. Out loud, he said, “Let’s change those numbers just a bit, Pleskit.” But on the paper he wrote, “I think they fell in the trash can!”

I barely managed not to yelp. Instead I stared at the paper for a minute, as if thinking about it, then said, “That’s a tricky one, Mr. McNally. If I am going to do it, we’ll have to retrieve the notes I made earlier.”

McNally looked puzzled.

“The ones I threw in the wastepaper basket!” I said urgently.

“Oh, right!” said McNally. “You start the calculations, Pleskit. I’ll get the old notes for you.”

The class was looking pretty puzzled.

“Mr. McNally has challenged me to calculate a trajectory for landing this…”

“Peach,” said McNally, grabbing the nearest thing he could find on Ms. Weintraub’s desk.

“This… peach,” I agreed, taking it from him, “into Ms. Buttsman’s lap. Linnsy, would you measure the distance from the desk to Ms. Buttsman while I start the calculations?” Grabbing the container that had held the science materials, I added, “And would you give her this to catch it in, Jordan?”

Jordan scowled, but clearly did not want to create a scene in front of the visitors. He and Linnsy walked to the front of the room. Jordan took the container, while Linnsy grabbed a tape measure. I turned to the board and pretended I was trying to work out the calculations. I had already figured out the problem in my head, of course. But I wanted to give McNally time to get Tim and Ms. Weintraub out of the wastepaper basket.

“I can’t find them…” he muttered.

Finally he just tipped the can on its side—which wasn’t easy, given that there was over two hundred pounds of living mass at the bottom.

“Ah, here they are!” I said, grabbing the first piece of paper that came to hand. I was relieved to see Tim and Ms. Weintraub scoot out of the basket and hide under the desk.

Quickly I finished my calculations. “Ready, Ms. Buttsman?” I called, placing the peach on the ruler.

“Really, Pleskit,” she said, standing up. “I think this is a bad idea. Mr. Tommakkio, I think we should go now, and come back when the real teacher is here. But before we leave the school, I want to register a complaint at the head office. This is simply not proper.”

“Sit down, Ms. Buttsman,” said Mr. Tommakkio quietly.

“No, really,” said Ms. Buttsman. “It is time for us to leave.”

Mr. Tommakkio reached into his coat. When he withdrew his hand, he was holding a large purple ray gun.

“I said, sit down.”

Ms. Buttsman sat.