Part 9 (1/2)

He shrugged. ”That still doesn't mean they're bad. They may be so far above us they think of us like we think of ants or something.”

I didn't say a word. But he could tell by my expression that I thought that was stupid.

”Maybe they're scared of us,” he continued.

That made me laugh.

”I'm serious,” said Peter. ”Think of that conversation you had with him yesterday.”

”I can't,” I said. ”It still scares me.”

”No, think about it,” said Peter again. ”Maybe these people are really peaceful. Maybe they've seen how much we fight, and they're afraid if we get much farther into s.p.a.ce, we'll cause some huge war.”

”You don't know that,” I said stubbornly. ”Anyway, maybe we won't have to worry about it. Let's go to the drugstore to get our pictures.”

It took all our money for the pictures. I thought about explaining to the girl behind the counter that we were trying to stop an alien invasion, but I figured she probably wouldn't buy it.

We forced ourselves not to open the envelope until we were in the park.

”You open it,” I said, handing the envelope to Peter.

He hesitated for a moment, then tore the envelope open and pulled out the pictures.

His face fell.

”What is it?” I asked.

Without saying a word, he handed me the photos.

My heart sank as I flipped through them. Peter had done a good job. The beams and timbers of the attic showed up perfectly. The focus and exposure were fine. But the force field with Ms. Schwartz in it had come out as nothing but a blue streak-that was all, just a blue streak down the middle of each picture. It looked like a flaw in the film, or maybe some trick of the light. You couldn't see Ms. Schwartz at all.

”These aren't going to do us any good,” I moaned.

Peter nodded. ”I'm sorry,” he said.

”It's not your fault,” I replied. But I knew he didn't believe me.

By Thursday the whole school seemed to be on the brink of nervous breakdowns. Stacy got caught drawing dirty pictures on the blackboard. Mike tried out a new word he had learned from his uncle, who was a sailor. And Peter waved his hand like crazy every time Broxholm/Smith asked a question.

The ones who were really having a hard time were the kids in the middle. See, by this time, everyone was starting to believe the rumor about our teacher being an alien. I think the fact that Peter and I knew it was true, combined with the fact that we weren't trying to convince them was what really did convince them. They figured if it was a joke, we'd be trying to fool them. Since we weren't, it had to be for real. Or something like that.

Anyway, the kids in the middle were going nuts because they knew Broxholm wanted the three most average kids in the cla.s.s. But what was an average kid? No one knew. So none of them knew how to behave to keep from being kidnapped. Most of them just acted the same as usual, except that they were really nervous. Every time one of them answered a question, you had the feeling they were trying to decide whether they should answer it right or wrong. It was like they were asking themselves: ”Will a right answer get me a one-way trip in an alien s.p.a.ces.h.i.+p?”

”I'll be glad when this is over,” I said to Peter that afternoon during recess.

”Me too,” he said. But I didn't like the kind of dreamy way he said it.

”Aren't you scared?” I demanded.

”I'm terrified,” he said. ”But that doesn't change my mind.”

School just got wackier as the day went on. By the time the last bell rang I got the feeling every kid had heard there was supposed to be an alien invasion at the concert that night.

If I wasn't so worried, it would have been funny. ”Did you hear about the invasion?” kids would say. ”Did you know that the aliens are coming tonight?”

I wanted to say, ”No, the aliens aren't invading. They're just coming to kidnap some of us.” Although, for all I knew, the reason they wanted to study us was so that they could invade sometime in the future.

I felt sorriest for Mr. Bamwick. He had hoped to have the best spring concert ever. Now it was beginning to look as if it would be the biggest disaster of his career.

”I'm cutting 'The Stars and Stripes' from the program,” he told me that afternoon. He was trying to be nice about it, but I could tell that he was really disappointed.

”I'm sorry,” I said. ”I just couldn't get that trill.”

”No, it's not just you,” said Mr. Bamwick sadly. ”The whole band has fallen apart. I don't know what I've done wrong.”

How could I tell him that he hadn't done anything wrong-that his concert was just another casualty of the alien invasion.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

Piccolo Power The alien-invasion rumors hid reached the adults, too-as I found out that night at dinner.

”My goodness, Susan,” said my mother as she was dis.h.i.+ng up my broccoli. ”I hope you don't believe any of this nonsense.”

Believe it? I thought. I started it!

But I didn't say that. Instead, I put down my soup spoon and looked at her. ”What if I did believe it?” I asked. I tried hard to sound like I was interested, not like I was challenging her.

”Well, I suppose we'd have to get you counseling,” she said.

I could have cried. Obviously, there was no point in asking my parents to help out with this mess.

I went upstairs to get ready. Which ones will it be? I wondered as I slipped into my dress. Just who is the alien going to steal?

I looked in the mirror and crossed my fingers, praying that it wouldn't be me.

My parents drove me to the school. They dropped me off and went to find a parking place.

I wonder how he's going to do it, I thought as I walked through the door. Will he just freeze everyone here on the spot? Will his s.h.i.+p use some sort of tractor beam to lift up his targets? Or will he wait until later, when everyone is asleep, and then sneak into their homes and s.n.a.t.c.h them?

The school was fairly zinging with nervous energy. The rumors about the alien invasion had spread to all the grades. The third graders were walking around in pairs, checking over their shoulders every other step. If I hadn't been so scared myself, I would have laughed. I wanted to grab them and say, ”Stop worrying. The alien's not after you.”

”Hey, Susan,” called Peter. ”Wait up!”

Peter was in the chorus. The chorus was bigger than the band; almost every kid in the sixth grade was a member. They would be singing last of all.

Peter looked very nice. He had on a white s.h.i.+rt and a red tie. His pale blond hair was slicked down.