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

totally treat Chad and Hesper like royalty—”
    “—and Doug and Naomi like beggars.”
    TJ sighed wearily as they reached the bottom of the stairs. She’d almost forgotten their earlier lecture.
    As they headed toward the kitchen, Herby continued. “No offense, Your Dude-ness, but you have to be, like, the world’s slowest learner.”
    “Come on, guys,” she argued, “Doug and Naomi—they’re so, so . . .”
    “Doug-ish and Naomi-ish?” Herby asked.
    “Well, yeah.”
    Tuna cleared his throat and quoted: “‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ But if you favor some people over others, you are committing a sin.”
    She turned to him and frowned. “That sounds like something I’ve heard in church.”
    “It should; it’s in the Bible.”
    “Whoa, you guys still use the Bible?” she asked.
    “Of course,” Herby said. “We’re not totally torked.”
    “That’s a matter of opinion,” TJ muttered.
    “Pardon me?” Dad asked, looking up from his morning paper.
    “Nothing,” TJ said as she arrived and pulled out a chair. Before her sat a dozen dishes of fried grass, poached celery, scrambled birch bark, and three different types of organically grown mold.
    Violet had really outdone herself this time.
    “Listen, sweetheart,” Dad said, “with all the drama going on right now, if you want to skip school today, I’ll certainly understand.” He reached over and poured himself another cup of steaming pinesap.
    TJ looked hopefully across the table, where Herby and Tuna sat invisible—well, invisible to everyone but her. Both were shaking their heads.
    “So what do you think?” Dad asked.
    The boys shook their heads more violently.
    Reluctantly, TJ answered, “That’s okay, Daddy, I think I’ll go.”
    “Are you sure?”
    She glanced back to the guys, who were nodding and grinning.
    “Yeah,” she said, “I’m sure. Besides, maybe I’ll actually learn something.” Then, under her breath, she muttered, “I’d better.”

    “And since we have finally come upon the final day to finally finish your science fair projects . . .” Mr. Beaker stood before the class doing what he did best—boring everyone to tears (or at least to sleep).
    TJ tried her best to listen, but it’s hard listening when you’re busy

    dozing off every few seconds.
    “ . . . gather your projects and proceed directly to the gymnasium, where the judges will begin judging first thing tomorrow morning and where, if you are fortunate enough to . . .”
    It’s not just that Mr. Beaker was boring, but you could make millions selling his voice. Forget tranquilizers or sleeping pills—just drop in a CD of Mr. Beaker and everyone would immediately nod off.
    “ . . . and furthermore and therefore and so forth and so on . . .”
    TJ wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep before she was startled awake by something rubbing against her leg and the quiet

    of a cat.
    She looked down to see Doug’s mechanical kitten at her feet. Talk about cute. It still looked like a robot, with all the steel and stuff, but he’d added a pair of little ears and furry pipe-cleaner whiskers. It really was cute. And in its little mouth it held a card.
    TJ glanced up to Mr. Beaker, who was still furthermoring, thereforing, and so-forthing. She reached down to take the card and read:
I didn’t mean to be a bother.
Can we start over just as friends?
    She looked across the room and saw Doug operating the remote controls. It was a sweet gesture and she had to smile. He smiled back. Not all goofy and weird like before. More like . . . well, like a friend.
    And when Mr. Beaker had finally finished (by putting himself to sleep), she got up and joined Doug.
    “So what do you think?” he sniffed.
    She looked down to the kitten. “I think he’s really cute.”
    “He’s a she,” Doug corrected.
    “Oh, and does she have a name?”
    “I call her TJ.” He beamed.
    TJ frowned and fidgeted.
    He winced. “A little much?”
    She