The gym buzzed with activity. Tables hung with streamers, and colored posters and decorations lined the gym in rows. Nick had rigged a pie-throwing station in one corner. Robyn, dressed in flowing gypsy skirts, hurried between booths, giving everything a last-minute check. “Trevor!” she called as she caught sight of me. “Isn’t this terrific? Everyone’s done something great.”
I had to admit, it looked like fun. Most of Robyn’s fundraising schemes involved Nick and I doing a whole lot of grunt work. But this time students signed up to run a booth, with the agreement that all proceeds would go toward the museum’s planned dig site. The students decided what they wanted to do at their booth and set it up themselves. Mr. Kowalski had arranged to hold the carnival in the gym.
Some grade-nine girls had made beaded jewelry to sell. Another sold origami birds. Mr. Joe had set up a station with a bunch of rubber discs and a portable cd player.
“What’s this?” I asked him.
“Musical whoopee cushions,” Mr. Joe said.
“What do you do?”
“I play the music and everybody dances. When the music stops, everybody sits on a whoopee cushion. If you don’t get one, or yours doesn’t emit…uh…a gaseous noise, you’re out. I eliminate a cushion each round until we’re down to one, with two players left. It costs a dollar to play, and the winner keeps his cushion.”
I snorted.
“Boys usually like this one,” Mr. Joe said. “I’ll have tons of customers.”
“Do you think we’ll raise enough money today to save the dig?” I asked.
Mr. Joe looked uncomfortable. “Uh… probably not quite enough. We need thousands, even with the government grant we’re hoping to get. But it’ll be a start. And if word gets out, maybe great things will happen.”
“Maybe. Especially if Robyn and Hailey have anything to do with it.” I grinned. “I’ll be back later.”
I walked around the gym, stopping where a small tent had been set up. The tent was draped with sheets covered with colorful swirls and designs cut from construction paper. I lifted the flap. “Robyn?”
Lit up by a flashlight covered in red cloth, Robyn’s face had an eerie glow. Her hair was wrapped in a silk scarf, and her huge earrings sparkled in the dim light. “Robyn isn’t here,” she said in a gravelly voice. “Would you care to speak to Madame Robison instead?”
I tried not to laugh. “Madame Robison? That doesn’t sound very mysterious, Robyn.”
“Don’t bug me,” Robyn said in a normal tone. Then she resumed. “I am a teller of great fortunes. For a small fee”—she lowered her voice to a whisper—“I can reveal your future!”
“Yeah, sure,” I said.
“Do you doubt me? Then give me your hand.” Robyn reached for my palm. In spite of myself, I felt a shiver run down my spine.
“Yes,” she rasped, “I see it now. You are very unlucky in jumping. You must guard against accidents in this respect. Beware!”
“If you’re talking about the situation at the museum, I didn’t jump on the dinosaur, I fell,” I said. “And some fortune that is. You’re not supposed to predict stuff that’s already happened.”
“You’ll see,” Robyn said. She adopted a grave expression. “The powers of the universe hold many secrets.”
“I’ll send in your next client,” I replied, ignoring that last bit of wisdom. I pushed up the tent flap.
“Put up the In Session sign,” Robyn called from inside the tent.
I propped up the cardboard sign as the next kid ducked eagerly inside.
A short line had formed outside the tent. The rest of the school had been allowed into the gym, and the carnival was now in full swing. I wandered among the booths, checking out the items for sale. One boy’s homemade chocolate-chip cookies were selling briskly. I bought one and munched on it as I walked.
Nick’s pie-throwing station was busy, but most of the commotion came from Mr. Joe’s musical whoopee cushions. I moved closer and watched. Mr. Joe started the music again. The kids danced, some of them awkwardly, others exaggerating the moves to make their friends laugh. As the song wore on, kids edged closer to the whoopee cushions. The music clicked off. Everybody dove for a cushion. A raucous noise filled the air.
“Phhbbllat!” the cushions said. Everyone laughed. One girl hadn’t fought hard enough and found herself sitting on the floor. She was out.
“Next round!” Mr. Joe called.
Most of the kids opted not to play again, but there were others to take their place. I shook my head. The game was stupid, and probably better for younger kids, but it did look kind of funny. Besides, the money was for the dinosaur dig. I handed over some change and took a spot near a whoopee cushion in the corner.
Mr. Joe handed out clean straws and everybody blew up a cushion. Then he started the song.
At least the music’s cool, I thought. I turned and found myself facing Hailey, who giggled at my dancing attempts.
When the music suddenly stopped, Hailey and I both jumped for the same cushion. Her knee knocked it sideways, and in the true spirit of competition, I leaped on it with both feet. The cushion exploded in a flatulent noise of mammoth proportions and slipped out from under me. I skittered across the gym floor like I’d just stepped on a banana peel.
“Whoooaaa!” I cried, crashing into the booth next door, which happened to be selling dried macaroni bracelets. They rained down on top of me.
“Trevor, are you all right?” Mr. Joe asked.
“Yeah. What happened?” I sat up, picking a string of macaroni off my ear.
“Spit happened, that’s what,” he said as he examined the broken whoopee cushion. “When you jumped on this thing, you split it wide open. It’s been blown up so many times it’s slippery and wet on the inside. That must have been what came in contact with the floor. This rubber is normally so sticky, it would never have slipped.”
I thought of Robyn’s warning about being unlucky in jumping, and brushed it away. Splitting open a whoopee cushion could happen to anyone, right?
“Who’s going to fix up this mess?” demanded the grade-nine girl from the ruined booth. “I have hardly anything left to sell!”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I’ll help you clean up.”
Mr. Kowalski came to investigate. Before I could move, a clamor of voices rose above the noise in the gym. A grade-seven girl ran up to Mr. Kowalski, panic etched on her face.
“What is going on?” he said in bewilderment.
“Robyn really is psychic!” the girl cried. “She just saved my life!”