Lunch Swap Disaster Read online

  FOR ASHLEY GRAYSON, DEALMAKER EXTRAORDINAIRE

  CHAPTER 1 [PLESKIT]

  A LETTER HOME (TRANSLATION)

  FROM: Pleskit Meenom, on the emotionally dangerous Planet Earth

  TO: Maktel Geebrit, on the relatively sane Planet Hevi-Hevi

  Dear Maktel:

  Sixth grade is beginning to wear me down. Not only do I have homework and social problems, but I have the issue of being the only kid from another planet in my classroom. Actually, the only kid from another planet on the planet, as far as we know. Not to mention the only kid who is purple, totally hairless, and has a sphen-gnut-ksher growing out of the top of his head.

  After the events you will find recorded here, it is clear that the suspicions you shared with me in your last letter are correct; someone is trying to sabotage the Fatherly One’s work. Or maybe many someones. The Earthlings do not yet realize what hangs in the balance for them. The Fatherly One has agreed to let Tim and me release these stories in the hope that the books will help Earthlings feel more comfortable with our presence.

  Please do not laugh too much when you read about what happened to me when I was subjected to the amazing effect of peanut butter on my Hevi-Hevian brain. It may seem amusing to you, but the results were very painful to live through.

  I hope, hope, hope that it works out for you to visit soon. Until then… Fremmix Bleeblom!

  Your pal,

  Pleskit

  CHAPTER 2 [TIM]

  LUNCH SWAP

  I stared at my lunch. A peanut butter sandwich.

  Again.

  I like peanut butter, but this was getting ridiculous.

  “Hey, Pleskit,” I said. “What do you have today?”

  “Squambul. Again! I like squambul, but this is getting ridiculous.”

  I thought for a moment. I had already had one bad experience with alien food. On the other hand, I was interested in all things alien. And I was truly, deeply tired of peanut butter.

  “Wanna swap?” I asked, holding out my sandwich.

  Pleskit looked at it, and a fruity smell drifted from his sphen-gnut-ksher. “Sounds like a good idea to me!” He glanced over at his bodyguard, Robert McNally.

  McNally was leaning against the wall about ten feet away. With me being white, Pleskit being purple, and McNally being black, the three of us made a first-rate multicultural group.

  McNally was looking in our direction. As usual, he was in supercool mode. Given his dark sunglasses, I couldn’t tell if he approved of the lunch swap or not.

  Pleskit passed me the squambul pod.

  I handed my sandwich to Pleskit.

  My purple friend sniffed at the bread-and-peanut-butter combination. “The aroma is strange, yet enticing,” he said after a moment.

  “I can’t say the same for this.” I coughed, setting the squambul on the table.

  “You haven’t opened it yet. You have to squash it to get the full effect.”

  “I’m not sure I want the full effect,” I said, remembering the hilarious photograph of our enemy Jordan Lynch the first time he had smelled squambul. The photo had showed up in The National News a week ago. “Maybe we should swap back.”

  Pleskit’s eyes widened, and a smell like burning hair burst from his sphen-gnut-ksher. “Please say that you are joking!”

  “Hey,” I said, “settle down! It’s only lunch. Come on, let’s swap back.”

  Very slowly, Pleskit put down the peanut butter sandwich. Placing both hands flat on the table, one on either side of the sandwich, he looked straight into my eyes. “I am asking one more time,” he said, his voice deadly serious and tinged with something that sounded like anger. “Tim, are you joking, or do you really mean it?”

  I blinked. “Uh… I guess I was joking.” I reached forward and retrieved the squambul pod, astonished by my friend’s behavior.

  Pleskit let out a heavy breath. His face relaxed into its usual cheerful look. “That’s a relief,” he said. Then he took a big bite of the sandwich. “Oh my, this is good!” he cried excitedly. “Very good!”

  I looked down at the squambul pod and wished I had my sandwich back. Oh well, I told myself. If I’m going to be an interstellar explorer, I’m going to have to get used to new and weird stuff. Might as well start with this.

  I squashed the pod between my palms the way I had seen Pleskit do. The sharp odor attacked my nose and made my eyes water.

  “Lick it fast, while it’s still fresh,” said Pleskit. “That’s when it’s best.”

  I looked at my palm and shivered. Then I took a deep breath and began to lick the green-and-purple mess.

  “Hey,” I said, “this isn’t bad! Tastes kind of like chicken.”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, when we were outside for recess, I said to Pleskit, “So what was that thing at lunch all about?”

  “You mean my distress at your violation of the basic social code?” he asked.

  “I suppose so. I never saw anyone get so bent out of shape about someone wanting to do a trade back.”

  “Bent out of shape?” asked Pleskit. He reached up to make sure his sphen-gnut-ksher was not disfigured.

  “Upset,” I clarified, ducking as a soccer ball went flying past my head. “You were really upset. Why?”

  Pleskit replied with a question of his own. “What is the Fatherly One’s mission all about, Tim?”

  I blinked, then said uncertainly, “Uh… to establish diplomatic relations, connect Earth to the galaxy, and bring us the benefits of your advanced technology?”

  “And why, exactly, would we want to do that?”

  “Because you are a wise and benevolent and superior species?”

  “So benevolent that we crossed trillions of miles of space just to do you a favor?” His face showed amazement. “Do you really think we came all this way simply because we are nice?”

  “Uh… yes?”

  “Uh… no.”

  “Then why did you come?”

  “I’ve told you before, this is a trading mission. It is trade that binds the worlds in friendly alliance. The Fatherly One hopes to find something of value on Earth—something that will let your planet become a trading partner with us.”

  “You came here to do business?” I asked in astonishment.

  “Of course! Our whole culture is based on trade. And we are taught from the time we leave the egg that a deal is a deal. We do not make a trade and then expect to be able to trade back instantly if we do not like it. Everything would fall apart if we lived like that. That is why I was so shocked when you wanted to go back on our trade in the cafeteria. It was a warning sign of bad cultural habits.”

  “Okay, I’m starting to get it,” I said. “But what about—”

  “Wait!” said Pleskit urgently. “Look!”

  I turned around. Linnsy Vanderhof, my upstairs neighbor, was walking toward us. I shrugged. “What’s the big deal? We see Linnsy every day.”

  “Are you so blind to beauty?” cried Pleskit. “Is your soul so dead to poetry on the hoof?”

  I turned back and stared at Pleskit. “Are you okay?”

  “No! I am not okay. I have been pierced by Gorduck’s arrow!”

  “What?”

  “It has gone directly into my smorgle!”

  “What?” I said again.

  He turned to me with a desperate look in his eyes. “Tim, I am in love!”

  CHAPTER 3 [PLESKIT]

  GA-GA-GOOPY!

  The smorgle is the internal organ of friendship and love for a Hevi-Hevian. It is located somewhere between the stomach and the heart. It is hard to describe what was happening to mine as Linnsy drew closer. I can only say that I felt a surge of warmth and tenderness.

  “Tim,” I cried
, grasping my friend’s arm. “Fountains of joy are rising within me!”

  Linnsy stopped and looked at me oddly. “You okay, Pleskit?” she asked.

  “Do not be alarmed, my little squiboodlian,” I crooned. “The music of the spheres is playing just for us.” I dropped to my knees. “I do not know the source of this blessed event, but your beauty and the purity of your soul have filled me with a radiant delight hitherto unknown!”

  “Pleskit, what’s going on?” asked Tim.

  “I feel… I feel… such…”

  That was when I passed out.

  * * *

  “Pleskit!” said McNally urgently. “Pleskit, are you all right?”

  I blinked and discovered I was being held upright by my bodyguard.

  “Let me go!” I cried, squirming to escape his grip. “I must speak to my beloved!”

  This time McNally actually shouted. “Pleskit! What in heaven’s name is wrong with you?”

  I blinked and shook my head. I blinked again, then said, “Why are you holding me, McNally?”

  “Because you started talking like you’d been taken over by some crazy poet, and then you passed out. I’ve called for the limo. We’re heading back to the embassy. Pronto.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “Could someone please tell me what has been going on?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” said Tim. “We were talking about your weird trade rules when all of a sudden you looked at Linnsy and went all ga-ga-goopy. Next thing I knew, you were spouting ucky loveness at her.”

  “Yeah,” said Linnsy, who had come cautiously back to join us. “What in heck was that all about?”

  I turned to look at her, and my eyes grew wide.

  “About?” I cried. “It was about a feeling so pure and perfect that it shattered my world and nearly burst my smorgle. I cannot believe I am lucky enough to stand within a few feet of such beauty!”

  “Okay, Pleskit, cut the comedy,” she said. “You’re not that good at it.”

  “Let me prove the purity of my feelings!” I cried. I started toward her. As I did, McNally grabbed me and lifted me off the ground again.

  “What is going on with you?” he demanded.

  “I must tell the most divine creature in the land of my pure and stainless love for her!” I cried, pointing toward Linnsy. I continued to move my feet as if they were still touching the earth.

  Other kids had noticed the uproar and were turning in our direction. Most were laughing.

  Ms. Weintraub came racing over. “What’s going on here?” she cried.

  “That’s what I want to know,” growled McNally.

  “Pleskit’s lost his mind,” said Tim. Getting scientific, he added, “Maybe it’s an effect of the atmosphere, or hormones in the water acting on his alien body, or something like that.”

  With no warning, I felt a change come over me. I stopped squirming and said calmly, “McNally, please put me down.”

  “Nope,” said my bodyguard. “At least, not without a harness.”

  “Perhaps you could put Pleskit down and just hold his arm, Mr. McNally,” said Ms. Weintraub gently.

  “Yeah, I suppose I could do that.” My bodyguard set me down, but kept a tight grip on my arm. “Don’t try anything,” he warned.

  I glanced around. “I am confused. Also, I do not feel very well. I believe you are right. We should return to the embassy.”

  “Definitely,” said Ms. Weintraub. “You’re excused for the rest of the day, Pleskit.”

  I turned to Linnsy. “If I have caused you distress, I am most sincerely apologetic. I do not know what came over me.”

  Jordan Lynch, who had joined the crowd surrounding us, said, “You oughta be, you creeper.”

  “Can it, Jordan!” snapped Ms. Weintraub.

  Jordan rolled his eyes. So did Brad Kent, his official tagalong.

  Brad always did whatever Jordan did.

  Still holding me tightly by the arm, McNally led me off the playground.

  * * *

  “So what was that all about?” asked McNally when we were in the armored limousine that carries us back and forth from the embassy. “Was this step one of another wacko scheme you and Tim have cooked up?”

  “No!” I cried earnestly. “I swear by the shards of my egg—and that is an oath that is meetumlich, as you can ask the Fatherly One—I am utterly mystified and embarrassed by my own bizarre behavior.”

  I saw Ralph, the driver, glance at me in his rearview mirror. But he didn’t say anything. He never does.

  I put my hand on McNally’s arm. “Do you think the Fatherly One will be disturbed?”

  “Depends. Do guys on your planet usually have complete personality transplants and start swooning over girls?”

  “Never!”

  “Then he’s probably going to be disturbed.” He paused, then added, “Actually, it’s the Butt that I’m really worried about.”

  I groaned. The dreaded Ms. Buttsman! I had nearly forgotten that we would have to face her as well!

  CHAPTER 4 [TIM]

  LINNSY’S MOM

  Linnsy and I walked home together that afternoon, something we had not done much during the last two years, despite the fact that we live in the same apartment building. We had started to pick up the habit again since Pleskit’s arrival—mostly because there was so often something disturbing or confusing we needed to discuss.

  “Okay,” said Linnsy. “If Pleskit going wack-a-doo on the playground today wasn’t part of one of your goofy schemes—which I am still not convinced of!—then what was it all about?”

  “I don’t have the slightest idea!”

  Linnsy frowned. “You do realize this means big trouble, right?”

  “Why? He didn’t actually do anything that bad.”

  Linnsy rolled her eyes. “No. But it was plenty weird. And… and this is the important part… he doesn’t seem to have any idea why he did it. Which means it might happen again.”

  “I’d been thinking about that possibility. I was hoping I was wrong.”

  “Well, you were right for a change. The question is, what can we do about it?”

  For that, I had no answer.

  We stopped on the bridge to stare at the embassy. It’s located above the central hill in Thorncraft Park, where it dangles from a tall, silvery hook. It looks something like a flying saucer attached to the top part of a coat hanger, except about a thousand times bigger.

  “What do you suppose it’s like to live in there?” Linnsy asked.

  “Only the coolest thing in the universe,” I replied. I loved visiting the embassy, with all its weird, otherworldly furnishings.

  “I bet it’s lonely,” said Linnsy. “I bet Pleskit thinks about home a lot.”

  I snorted. “That’s so girl!”

  “And you’re so dork,” replied Linnsy. Then she gave me a little punchie-wunchie, which was what she called it when she socked me on the biceps to try to get me to straighten up. “Come on, let’s go see if my mother baked today.”

  “Why should this day be different from any other day?” I asked, torn between annoyance at the punchie-wunchie and delight at being asked up to Linnsy’s place. I could not remember a time I had gone up after school when Mrs. Vanderhof hadn’t had something just coming out of the oven. Only, I hadn’t gone up there very often in the last year or so, after Linnsy and I had drifted into different social groups.

  Well, Linnsy had drifted into a social group; I had just drifted, until Pleskit arrived and I finally found someone as weird as myself to hang out with.

  “How nice to see you, Mr. Timothy,” said Mrs. Vanderhof when we came through the door. (“Mr. Timothy” had been her nickname for me from before I was even in kindergarten.) “You’re just in time for some butterscotch brownies.”

  “Ah,” I said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Just what I was hoping for!” I picked up one of the brownies and took an enormous bite. It was as rich and delicious as I remembered.


  “So, how was your day?” asked Mrs. Vanderhof, pulling out a chair to join us.

  Linnsy glanced at me uncertainly. I paused, chewed thoughtfully, then gave a nod that indicated I thought she should spill the whole story.

  “Well,” she said slowly, “it was sort of weird.”

  Then she told what had happened with Pleskit on the playground.

  “Goodness,” cried Mrs. Vanderhof, putting her hand to her chest. “It sounds like the last time I went crazy.”

  I choked on my brownie.

  CHAPTER 5 [PLESKIT]

  WAITING FOR WHOMPIS

  Ms. Buttsman is the protocol officer that our host country’s government assigned to the embassy to help us navigate the strange ways and customs of Earth. She is very… fussy.

  “The Butt is definitely not going to like this one,” said McNally. “I’ve got a feeling she keeps a copy of Politics and Protocol under her pillow. And believe me, Pleskit, this afternoon’s display was anything but politically correct.”

  I looked at McNally in alarm. “ ‘Politically correct’? Is there going to be a vote about what I did? That is a very disturbing thought. Who will do the voting? The class? The PTA? Or maybe—”

  McNally laughed. “ ‘Politically correct’ is a way of referring to things you’re not supposed to say or do for fear of offending someone, somewhere, somehow. It’s a good idea that goes bad when it gets out of control.”

  “I know how that feels,” I said ruefully.

  * * *

  At the base of the hill where the embassy is mounted, we have a closely guarded tunnel. This allows us to bypass the crowds that gather every day to gaze at the home of the first aliens to make open contact with Earth.

  When McNally and I stepped out of the elevator that carried us from the limousine’s underground parking space to the embassy foyer, we found Ms. Buttsman waiting for us. Her face was grim, her arms were crossed, and she was tapping her right foot.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” she said coldly. “Principal Grand called a few minutes ago to fill me in on today’s events. I’m sure your Fatherly One will have a great deal to say to you about this matter later on, Pleskit.”