Part 5 (2/2)

”Dad!” I said. But that was all I could think of. I tried, but I just couldn't bring myself to explain the situation. After a full minute of silence he turned to me and said, ”Are you all right, Susan?” I knew he was really concerned, because he let the glue on the end of his toothpick dry out while he was waiting for my answer.

”I'm fine,” I said at last. ”Well, not exactly fine. I've got a problem.”

”What kind of problem?” he asked. He put down his toothpick and gave me his full attention.

This was terrible! Can you imagine trying to tell your father that your teacher is an alien? He was going to think I was out of my mind.

But I had to do something. So I took a deep breath and said, ”It's about Mr. Smith.”

He nodded, inviting me to continue.

Look, I tried. I really did. But I just couldn't bring myself to say the words, ”My teacher is an alien.”

After a long, uncomfortable silence I finally said, ”I don't think he likes me very much.”

Dad looked appropriately worried. ”Why not?” he asked.

”Well, he shudders whenever he sees me go to my music lesson.” I hoped that might sound weird enough to get him to ask another question.

Come on, Dad, help me! I thought. Ask the right questions.

But he just laughed. ”As long as Mr. Smith doesn't actually say anything, I don't think you can complain too much,” he said. ”Maybe the guy just doesn't like music. Not everyone can be as cultured as we are, you know. He's probably just a philistine.”

Yeah, I thought, A Philistine-from the planet Philis!

But all I said aloud was, ”Yeah. A Philistine.”

Figuring he had solved my problem, Dad turned back to his toothpicks. ”I wouldn't let it get to you, honey,” he said. ”The school year's almost over. You can tough it out till then. Now, you better scoot back to bed before your mother catches you out here.”

I gave him a hug and trudged back to my room.

Now what? If I was going to do anything about this mess, I had to get some proof, and fast.

I was still trying to figure that all out when Peter called.

”Nice try today,” he said. ”You're really brave. I just hope Broxholm didn't figure out what you were up to.”

Great! That was the last thing in the world I wanted to think about.

”I wasn't brave,” I said. ”Just desperate. What I want to know is what are we going to do next? We've got to find some way to prove the truth about Broxholm.”

”Actually, that's why I'm calling,” said Peter. ”I wanted to know if you had a camera.”

”Sure. Why?”

He hesitated, then said, ”Well, are you game for another expedition into Broxholm's lair?”

I smiled for the first time that day. ”So we can take a picture of Ms. Schwartz! Peter, you're brilliant. Only when can we be sure he won't be there?”

”How about during school?”

”Peter, I can't skip school! My mother would kill me!”

”Would you rather get kidnapped by aliens?” he asked I sighed. ”All right. I'll bring my camera to school on Monday. We'll talk about it then.”

I hung up and tried not to think about the fact that in two days, I was going to go back into the alien's den.

In fact, I spent most of that whole long, sleepless night trying not to think about it.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

Things Get Weirder I didn't think it was all that weird when Stacy Benoit called me Sat.u.r.day morning to see how I was doing. After all, she's my friend, and she did think I had fainted in school the day before. I didn't realize when I laughed and told her there wasn't anything wrong with me that I was only confirming her worst fears.

I didn't figure that out until Monday morning, when our cla.s.s turned into something from the Twilight Zone.

Until that point, I had other things to worry about-like what to do about Ms. Schwartz.

Since my mother still wouldn't let me out of the house, I spent a long time discussing this force field thing with Peter over the phone. He told me he was pretty sure Ms. Schwartz was actually safer inside that thing than she would be walking the streets.

”She probably doesn't like it in there,” he said. ”I know I wouldn't. But nothing's going to hurt her.”

”Well, doesn't she have to eat or go to the bathroom, or something?” I asked nervously.

I could almost see Peter's shrug over the telephone line. ”I don't think so,” he said. ”I have a feeling time is pretty much holding still inside that thing. So unless she had to go to the bathroom when he put her in there, she's probably fine.” He paused, then added, ”Come to think of it, that force field could be a woman's dream-she won't age a bit!”

”Don't be a male chauvinist piglet,” I said angrily. ”This is serious.”

”I know it's serious,” snapped Peter. ”But we can't do anything about it this weekend-unless you know of a time when we can be sure that Broxholm won't be there.”

”I suppose you're right,” I said.

But the thought of Ms. Schwartz trapped in that force field gnawed away at me for all the rest of the day and all of Sunday, too. I had to get her out of there!

I was still stewing about that on Monday, until things got so weird that I forgot about Ms. Schwartz for a while.

It started with Duncan Dougal, who walked into cla.s.s carrying the biggest apple I had ever seen in my life.

”Good morning, Mr. Smith,” he said. ”How are you today?” His voice was so syrupy-sweet it made me want to throw up.

<script>