New Kid Catastrophes: 1 (TJ and the Time Stumblers) by Bill Myers Page A

coolly.
    “What?” Herby asked. “You’re not a Star Wreck fan?”
    Fighting to keep her voice even, she said, “Leave my room and go back to your time pod in the attic. I’m not talking to you.”
    “Ah, come on, Your Dude-ness.” Herby hopped off the desk. “You’re not still gur-roid at us about those frogs and flies, are you?”
    Her cool look grew cooler.
    “We did return them to their original molecular structure,” Tuna said.
    “Just like we did those goldfish on the third floor,” Herby added.
    Her cooler look grew colder.
    “Come on.”
    She folded her arms and refused to talk.
    The boys exchanged looks. “I believe she really is gur-roid,” Tuna said.
    Herby nodded. “To the max.”
    TJ spotted the stack of unopened boxes in the middle of her room. When giving others the silent treatment, it’s always best to do something, so she crossed to the boxes and started to unpack.
    “So,” Tuna said, “I suppose this isn’t the best time to point out that you’ve not improved your behavior with either Naomi Simpletwirp or Doug Claudlooper?”
    TJ couldn’t believe her ears. Here she was, having the worst week of her life, and all they cared about was how she was treating a couple of loser kids. Amazing. She remained silent and dug into the box.
    “Please,” Tuna continued, “how is it possible to continue meaningful communication with you if you are unwilling to share your thoughts?”
    She gave no answer. Instead she started pulling out clothes her aunt Matilda had packed before they left Missouri—a heavy wool scarf, down-filled parka, thick woolen mittens—just the fashion statements she needed for life in sunny Malibu, California.
    Herby nervously cleared his throat. “Do you think she’d, like, mind if we used the Acme Thought Broadcaster?”
    “An excellent question.” Tuna turned to her. “Do you mind if we utilize our Acme Thought Broadcaster?”
    TJ ignored them and continued to dig. Earmuffs, thermal underwear . . .
    “That’s not exactly a yes,” Tuna said.
    “But it’s not a no, either,” Herby said.
    Tuna agreed. “Yes, it’s not a no, so yes, it could be yes. Yes?”
    “Yes.” Herby reached into his pocket.
    By now TJ was at the bottom of the box. Snowshoes, battery-powered socks. She was so busy, she didn’t see Herby pull out what looked like a ballpoint pen. Nor did she hear him give it a click. But she did hear:

    She pulled her head from the box just in time to see an eerie blue beam shooting at her. She tried to duck but was too late. The beam struck her face and immediately she began shouting:
    “What is that, what are you doing, what’s going on, hey, how come I’m talking but not moving my mouth, wait a minute, my voice is coming from those stereo speakers over there, no way, this is crazy, what’s happening, what are you doing, what—?”
    “No sweat, Your Dude-ness,” Herby said. “It’s just our Acme Thought Broadcaster. Sold at 23rd century time-travel stores everywhere.”
    “Saves the bother of having to speak,” Tuna explained.
    “A Thought Broadcaster, what, what are you talking about, and how come we’re hearing everything I’m thinking, I don’t like this, I—”
    Tuna frowned. “It appears the thought filter is malfunctioning. She is stuck on maximum broadcast.”
    “Maximum what, I’m stuck on what, oh yeah, what a surprise, something else of yours that doesn’t work, imagine that, is there anything you have that works, and what do you mean by thought filter, what’s—”
    “Relax,” Herby said. “It’s nothing to get torked about. It just means we hear everything you’re thinking.”
    “Everything I’m thinking, you don’t mean everything, boy, it sure sounds like everything, I sure hope you can’t hear that I have to go to the bathroom, oh no, I can’t believe I just said that, I mean thought it, I mean—”

    “TJ?” Dad called from the other side of the door. “Are you okay?”
    “Oh no, it’s Dad,