Part 3 (1/2)

Then I thought of something else. ”I don't think it will do any good,” I said. ”There's not much in there. He doesn't have any furniture or anything.”

”How do you know that?”

”I told you, I was in there yesterday.”

”Oh, yeah,” said Peter. ”I forgot.”

I could tell he still thought I was making this up.

”Did you see the whole place?” he asked.

I shook my head.

”Well, maybe there's something in his bedroom,” he said. ”Or the attic. Or the kitchen.” His face lit up. ”That's it!” he said. ”The kitchen. Who knows what they eat on the planet he comes from? I bet we'll find all kinds of gross alien slime in his refrigerator!”

”Peter, you're brilliant!” I said. I was actually starting to feel hopeful. All we needed was just one thing that would prove I wasn't making all this up.

”Now, when can we do it?” I asked. ”We can't let him catch us!”

Peter thought for a minute. ”There's a PTA meeting tomorrow night,” he said. ”I heard Dr. Bleekman say that all the teachers have to be there. That's the only time we can be sure Broxholm will be out of his house.

”Tomorrow it is,” I said.

That was Wednesday. By the time Thursday afternoon rolled around, I was a wreck. I had spent two full days sitting in that cla.s.sroom, staring at Mr. Smith and knowing his handsome face was only a mask-a mask that hid the terrifying face of an alien.

While none of the other kids were crazy about Mr. Smith, they didn't think there was anything really wrong with him. Only Peter knew the secret-and he thought it was a game I had invented.

”What about Dr. Bleekman?” he said to me during afternoon recess.

”What about him?” I asked.

”Do you think he's in cahoots with Broxholm? They seem pretty chummy.”

I shook my head. ”My mother told me Dr. Bleekman was really angry with Ms. Schwartz for quitting so suddenly. He wouldn't have been upset if he'd been wanting to put Broxholm in her place.”

Peter looked at me in astonishment. ”Don't you know a cover story when you hear one?” he asked. ”Of course he acted like he was upset! If he hadn't, it would have been suspicious. The way I figure it, Broxholm asked Dr. Bleekman which teacher he wanted to get rid of the most. Then he zapped Ms. Schwartz so there would be a spot for him to fill.”

I felt like there were ants crawling on my skin. Peter was just playing a game. But what he said made sense-too much sense. I still couldn't believe that Ms. Schwartz had just quit without saying anything to us. Something must have happened to her.

My head was whirling. Was Dr. Bleekman really in on the whole thing? Had Broxholm really fried Ms. Schwartz? If so, what would happen if he caught Peter and me in his house? If Broxholm found some way to get himself excused and came home early to catch us rummaging through his house would he zap us, too?

That last question really terrified me.

But if the ideas Peter was spinning out were true, it was more important than ever that we unmask Broxholm.

”How are you going to get out tonight?” I asked Peter.

”What do you mean?” he asked.

”What do you mean, what do I mean? How are you going to get out of your house tonight?”

I had no problem myself. My parents were officers in the PTA, and they always went to meetings. They had decided at the beginning of the year that I was too old for a baby-sitter, so as long as I was back before they got home, it wouldn't make any difference. I didn't really like sneaking out on them, but this was a matter of life and death.

Peter looked at me in surprise. ”Are you really planning to break into Mr. Smith's house?” he asked.

”His name isn't Smith,” I said. ”It's Broxholm. And, yes, I'm really planning to search his house.” (I couldn't bring myself to call it a break-in). ”I have to have some way to prove what he really is.”

Peter looked troubled. He rubbed his hands over his skinny face. Then he looked me straight in the eye and said, ”This isn't a game, is it?”

I shook my head.

Peter's eyes got wide. He swallowed a couple of times. Then he took a deep breath and said, ”Don't worry, I'll be there.”

I could have hugged him.

That night I met Peter at eight o'clock on the corner of Pine and Main. He was carrying a flashlight, which made me feel stupid, since I had forgotten mine. It was nearly dark. The crickets were singing, and the moon had already risen. Even though it was May, it was cold. Or maybe I was just cold because I was scared.

”Ready?” I asked.

Peter nodded. ”Ready,” he said.

We each took a deep breath.

Then we set off for the alien's house.

”I was afraid you might not come,” I said after we had gone a few blocks.

Peter shrugged. ”I didn't want you doing this alone,” he said. ”For a while I was afraid you were trying to pull a joke on me. I thought when I got to the corner, you and some of the others might jump out and start laughing at me.”

”Hey!” I said. ”I wouldn't do something like that!”

”I didn't think so,” said Peter. ”That was one reason I came. The other reason was, I figured if you really were going to break into Mr. Smith's house, this must be for real. You're not the kind of kid who would do something like that unless it was serious.”

”Believe me,” I said, ”this is serious.”

”I believe you,” he said nervously.

We didn't say anything else until we got to Broxholm's house.

”Well,” said Peter. ”Here we are.”

”Here we are,” I echoed.

But neither of us moved. We just stood there looking at the dark empty house. I don't know about Peter, but I was trying to talk myself into taking the next step. To tell the truth, I was so scared I thought I might wet my pants.

CHAPTER EIGHT.