My Teacher Is An Alien by Mike Wimmer

Author:Mike Wimmer
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: IBooks

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Parent Conference

Failure! I had hoped to hit the floor with Mr. Smith’s face in my hand and Broxholm’s real mug exposed for all the world to see. Instead, I ended up with a handful of air and a bump on the head.

The other kids in the class shouted and jumped to their feet. Smith/Broxholm waved them away. He told Mike Foran to go get the nurse. Then he knelt over me to see if I was all right. He was acting so tender and concerned that I almost felt bad about trying to pull off his face. But all I had to do was think of Ms. Schwartz trapped in that force field in his attic, and any guilt I might have felt just floated right away.

“Susan! Susan, are you all right?” he asked, fanning my face.

I moaned and fluttered my eyes. “What—what happened?” I asked.

“You fainted,” said Broxholm. He patted the side of his head. “Almost took my ear with you,” he added. He gave me a cute little smile that showed the dimple in his right cheek.

Between the two of us, the air was thick with fake innocence. Was it really possible he didn’t know what I was up to?

A minute later Mike came running back with Mrs. Glacka puffing along behind him. She checked my pulse, felt my forehead, and then helped me to her office to (surprise!) lie down.

She also decided to call my mother. This meant that I had to go home, and then to the doctor’s, and then spend the rest of the afternoon in bed with my mother fussing and worrying about whether or not I was about to get my first period.

She even decided that I had to spend the evening in bed, too, after she brought my supper to my room.

“Gracious, Susan,” she said when she burst through the door. “This place looks like an explosion at a garage sale. Can’t you keep it a little neater?”

“I was planning to clean it today,” I said. “Only I didn’t feel up to it after I fainted.”

“Poor baby,” she said, setting the tray on my nightstand.

She seemed so pleased I decided not to tell her I had been kidding. She never could understand that I liked my room the way it was.

After supper I slipped out of bed and went to see my father.

He was sitting in his den, building a model of the Empire State Building out of toothpicks. That’s his hobby—making famous buildings with toothpicks. If you ask me, it’s pretty weird. But it keeps him happy, which is more than I can say for most adults I know. So I guess I shouldn’t complain.

“Hi, Pook,” he said when I walked in. “Feeling better?”

I nodded, not wanting to tell him I hadn’t been feeling bad to begin with. I sat down next to him and started handing him toothpicks.

“So, what’s on your pre-pubescent mind tonight?” he said holding up a toothpick and dabbing a bit of glue onto the end of it.

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