The Summer Experiment Page 3

  When they had stored the stuff under the front porch, where Johnny would most likely find and destroy it tomorrow, they kicked up the stands on their bikes. I watched as they pedaled away into the night, back to Billy’s house most likely. I imagined they would tell the tale over and over until dawn, until they couldn’t laugh anymore. Who else would they tell? The other kids when school started again in the fall? Maybe they would call up Good Morning America so the whole country could be in on the joke.

  “It was nothing but mean,” Marilee said, now that the bikes were just creaking noises in the night. “They’ll be paid back for this one day. You watch and see, Roberta.”

  I stepped off the swing. We would tell no one what happened. We would pretend it had been a great night on Frog Hill looking at the stars. We came home because we were cold. Tell no one, for that’s what Johnny would want. I imagined him grinning his toothy grin as we told Mom and Dad about the silver-colored alien.

  “Johnny is gonna pay for this, all right,” I said. My voice was no longer shaking. In the place of fear was anger. Anger mixed with shame. I think I’d like to go on a date with Billy Ferguson one day. “This is now a declared war. And it’s gonna be deadly.”

  4

  Earthly Revenge

  With the sun shining in my window the next morning, I could think of nothing but revenge. I didn’t care if Mom and Dad grounded me for life. If what happened last night got around school, my life was over anyway. I thought of moving to a cabin in the middle of the Allagash wilderness where no one would ever find me. But what good was that? Besides, my brother would win that way. And I was determined that he lose the next battle and, therefore, the war.

  “Roberta!” Mom’s voice, loud and clear at the bottom of the stairs. “Marilee’s mother is on the phone.”

  I reached over and shook Marilee awake.

  “Your mom wants to talk to you,” I said. I reached for the cordless phone in my bedroom, clicked it on, and said, “Hey, Catherine.” That’s what Marilee’s mother said I should call her, by her first name. I guess things are different in Boston than they are in Allagash. I handed the phone to Marilee. I left her talking to her mom, telling her how much fun we had last night. I closed the door behind me and went down the hallway to Johnny’s bedroom. I cracked open the door and saw that his bed was still made. So he had spent the night at Billy’s after all. Good. I hope they had an awesome time, a memorable night. I sat down at his laptop, which was still open on his desk. I flicked it on and waited as it whirred to life, a little spaceship of its own. When I had his e-mail account pulled up, I searched until I found the e-mail address for Miranda Casey: MirCase@mail.com.

  So how mean is too mean? What’s the limit? I wanted to be mean, no doubt about it, since that’s what Johnny had been. But I had more good in my bones than Johnny did. You’d think we were raised in totally separate families. Mom keeps saying my brother is going through a rough period. “Adolescence is tough for young boys,” she says. “He’ll grow out of it and you two will be great friends one day.” Right. Maybe in a galaxy far, far away. But not on Earth. Not in my lifetime. I just couldn’t see it. Mom said that the day I gazed up at my beloved Star Wars poster, pinned to my bedroom wall, and was shocked to see that Princess Leia had two front teeth missing. There were just black spaces where those beautiful white teeth should have been. She also had a thick, black mustache and two bushy, black eyebrows, which made her look like Chewbacca’s little sister. But at least my mom made Johnny buy me a new poster.

  I copied Miranda’s address in a new e-mail and then sent it to myself. I had to have more time to think about this. How mean is too mean? I knew all about those kids who were so terrible on Facebook that some teenagers even changed schools just to get away from them. Big, cruel bullies. And adults did it too. There was no way I could be that mean. I wanted to be kind of lukewarm mean. Now that I had the e-mail address I needed, I would plan carefully.

  In the kitchen, Mom had pancakes waiting for us in a dish on the stove. There was a note propped up against the cookie jar.

  Tina and I gone shopping. Fresh fruit and orange juice in refrigerator.

  Love, Mom

  I brought the pancakes over to the table. Marilee was just pulling out a chair.

  “Last night sucked,” I finally said, since we weren’t talking. We were reliving the horror instead. The silvery creature. The scary run down a hillside with no path. If I told on Johnny, I think this trick would really get my parents’ attention. They’d punish him good. I could hear my dad’s voice now. “Do you realize your sister and Marilee could have broken a leg or even worse? You need a serious readjustment, buddy.”

  But if that happened, I couldn’t put my payback plan in motion. All I’d get would be a few days of satisfaction in knowing that Johnny wasn’t allowed to go on the Internet for a week or watch his favorite sports shows. I was thinking far bigger than that.

  “You’re up to something,” said Marilee, and I remembered that we were having breakfast together. “I have a hunch it’s not about the science fair and Henry Helmsby’s project.”

  “Sorry,” I said, “but you’re right. My mind is working on revenge, not science. And it’s gonna be priceless.”

  “I have to go,” said Marilee. She seemed upset, and I knew it wasn’t just about last night.

  “Something wrong I don’t know about?” I asked. I could always read her like a bestselling book.

  “My mom says she heard from Dad this morning. He’s getting married next month.”

  I watched out the kitchen window until Marilee’s bike disappeared down the road.

  ***

  First, I rode my four-wheeler out to Frog Hill to pack up our tent and sleeping bags. Then, sleep deprived as I was, thanks to my evil brother, I went out to the swing with a pillow and a notepad. I positioned the pillow behind my back as I began to scribble ideas. So how mean is lukewarm mean? I probably couldn’t use Super Glue or a staple gun. Mom and Dad would really freak out. But I wanted to scare Johnny even more than he had scared me. How? That was my dilemma as I pushed the swing into motion. It was warm and sunny in the yard. I could hear the buzz of bumblebees as they visited Mom’s flower garden. I wondered if other galaxies would have flowers. Or maybe there is a planet of giant orange poppies and all the aliens look like bumblebees! I yawned once or twice before I let the notepad fall into my lap.

  I am running. There are beings chasing me. I can’t see them well in the moonlight, but they have big eyes in big bug-like heads and I am terrified. One reaches out a tentacle and wraps it around my wrist. He is wearing a white jacket and he seems to be the leader. I feel my insides heave up. I am trying to tell this creature, this insect, to let go of me. But it is holding me tight, another tentacle now circling my other wrist.

  And now I see more insects, bug-like things with bug-like hands. They are standing outside a spaceship that looks like a loaf of French bread, long and narrow. I’m screaming and screaming, and now the head insect—maybe he’s a doctor on their planet or something like that?—leans down close to my face. He looks just like a bumblebee! He isn’t saying the words but I can hear them. I can pick up his thoughts, his brain sending them to my brain. I’m horrified. I can’t move an inch. But Dr. Bumblebee is telling me not to be afraid.

  “Wake up, idiot!”

  Excuse me? What did that big bumblebee just say, or think, to me?

  “Wake up, Robbie.”

  How does this alien insect know my name? Now Dr. Bumblebee is shaking me hard.

  “Please don’t!” I shout. “Don’t touch me, Dr. Bumblebee! I want to go home!”

  “WAKE UP!”

  I opened my eyes, squinting at the bright sunshine, and there was Johnny, leaning down over me in the porch swing. He had his hands on my shoulders. Why was my brother shaking me? He should be protecting me instead.

  “Save me, Johnny
.” I mumbled the words.

  “You’re dreaming,” Johnny said. “You are such a girl!”

  Now I opened my eyes really wide and looked around. I was in the swing in our yard, right where I had fallen asleep. So I dreamed that whole thing? That’s what I get for watching the Allagash Abductions on YouTube. It was an old episode of Unsolved Mysteries. I wondered which was scarier, Dr. Bumblebee or Johnny’s stupid face. But there it was, looming in front of me, with his stupid grin and that tiny gap between his front teeth.

  When I want to be mean back, I say, “Dude, what’s that gap in your teeth? A parking space for a brown M&M?” That always gets to him. So that’s what I said.

  “Hey, Indiana Jones,” he said, ignoring my insult. “Shouldn’t you be in Roswell looking for spaceships? What are you doing sleeping in the middle of the day?”

  I said nothing. I grabbed my pillow and my notepad where I had even drawn some alien faces with big bug eyes. But, mostly, I had made some important notes for my Plan of Revenge. I stomped off to my room.

  “Be patient,” I told myself as I slammed my door. “Victory will soon be yours and it will be oh so perfect.”

  In my room, I sat at my computer and typed the words I’d scribbled on my notepad. I read them again carefully to be sure they were correct. I can’t help myself. This is why I get all As in school. I always check spelling, grammar, neatness, food spills, cat paw prints, you name it.

  Dear Miranda,

  Please meet me TONIGHT after dark at the picnic table on Peterson’s Mountain, near Calley’s Creek. PLEASE do not tell anyone or it will spoil my plans! I have something IMPORTANT to tell you. Tonight’s the night! Keep this secret, okay? I know I can trust you.

  Always, Johnny.

  I figured Miranda had to know Peterson’s Mountain. Everyone in town knows that mountain well. But I couldn’t take any chances. I attached the crude map I had drawn up, simple enough that a Neanderthal could find Calley’s Creek and the picnic table. I marked the e-mail “To Send Later.” I wasn’t ready yet. I had lots of things to do in order to prepare. Just as my brother prepared when he bought all that aluminum foil and tape.

  Back in the kitchen, my mom was just hanging up the telephone. She turned to look at me.

  “That was Grandma,” she said. “This sounds unbelievable, but Sheriff Mallory is calling a press conference this afternoon with the local TV station. Apparently, he saw a UFO last night and he wants to talk about it.”

  5

  A Close Encounter

  “You folks have known me a lot of years,” said Sheriff Mallory. He was staring into the TV cameras like that deer you hear about, the one that’s gazing into the headlights. “I always try to be upfront and truthful.” He paused, nervous. He pulled at the top button of his shirt collar, as if it might be choking him.

  “He’s never been good in front of the camera,” my grandma whispered. “We were in the same graduating class. In 1965. Stanley Mallory was the valedictorian, but he was too shy to give the address. So we didn’t have one that year. He’s as honest as the day is long.”

  We were all sitting in our living room. The whole gang had gathered for this press conference. My mom and dad. Grandma and Grandpa. Uncle Horace, who is Mom’s only brother, and his wife, Aunt Betty. Johnny the Menace. Marilee’s mother had come over to watch with us. She was sitting next to Marilee on the sofa. Even Baby Tina was there, lying on her stomach on the floor, coloring some picture in a book.

  “So I have to tell you the truth,” Sheriff Mallory was saying now, “about what I saw last night on Highway 42, about a mile from where you turn off to Tom Leonard’s farm. My job is to protect this town. And that’s why I called this press conference. Last night, I saw a genuine UFO.”

  A lot of reporters had turned up. They all began to shout questions at once. It looked like a big-city story and we were all pretty impressed.

  “Did you see actual beings?” one reporter yelled. He had a little plastic card pinned to his shirt that said PRESS.

  “Were you taken aboard the spacecraft?” yelled another.

  “What did the craft itself look like?” shouted a woman in a crisp red suit.

  Sheriff Mallory held up his hand, asking for order.

  “Poor Stanley,” said Grandma. “He’s never been camera-friendly.”

  “No, I didn’t see any beings and I wasn’t taken aboard the craft,” said the sheriff. “Please be patient and let me tell you what happened. It was just before midnight. I had driven out to Tom Leonard’s farm. As some of you folks know, Tom is visiting his daughter in Florida for a couple weeks. He asked me to keep an eye on the place while he’s gone. So I’ve been driving out there each night before I go off duty. Last night, on my way back from the farm, I noticed a light out my passenger window. What I saw was a large, triangular craft with a lot of white lights circling it. It was flying about fifty feet above the ground and traveling at the same speed I was, which was about forty-five miles an hour.”

  “That’s not very fast for a spaceship,” a reporter commented.

  “I understand that,” said Sheriff Mallory. He pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat from the back of his neck. “That’s why I was under the impression it was following me.”

  “Did you stop your car?” Someone I couldn’t see, at the back of the room, shouted that question.

  Sheriff Mallory shook his head.

  “No, I didn’t think that would do any good. I felt I was in danger enough as it was. I gotta tell you, folks. It’s a hair-raising experience to be out on that farm road alone and see something like that.”

  Grandma passed a bowl of popcorn she’d made over to my reaching hand. I saw Johnny staring at the television set, his face all concerned. So aliens weren’t so funny now, were they? Marilee also saw, so she and I exchanged a quick smile.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen Stanley so worked up,” Grandma said. “Not even when Allagash lost the big basketball game to Fort Kent and, therefore, the 1964 tournament. He was our captain.”

  “Was there any noise, Sheriff?” This question came from Andrew Birden of Fiddlehead Focus in nearby Fort Kent. I recognized him because he visited our class on Career Day to talk to us about becoming journalists. I happen to think I’d make a good one.

  “The craft made no noise whatsoever,” said the sheriff.

  “When did it disappear?” This question was again from the red-suited woman. She wore lipstick to match her outfit.

  “It followed me for about two minutes, all the way down Highway 42. Then the lights on the craft began to glow brightly. As I watched, it rose slowly into the air and hovered at about three hundred feet. I saw just how huge the thing was. It had to be twice the size of a football field. Then it banked to the left over Paul Ellory’s dairy farm. And when it did, the entire area below was lit up just like it was day. I could see Paul’s cows and his red tractor and his two silos. I tell you, I’ve never witnessed anything like it before in my life.”

  “Could it have been an Air Force craft?” asked a man in a blue sweater. He was scribbling furiously on a yellow legal pad.

  “I suppose it could,” said Sheriff Mallory. “And I suppose it could have been a pig that learned to fly.”

  “Ha-ha!” Grandma said, and slapped her knee. “Stan is terrible with cameras, but he’s got a sense of humor that won’t quit!”

  “I wish you’d stop talking about him,” said Grandpa.

  “Now, now,” Grandma said. “I only dated Stan a couple times. There’s no need for you to be jealous.”

  “Quiet!” said my mom, and cranked up the volume on the TV. Someone in the front row had his hand up to ask a question.

  “Oh, that’s crazy Joey Wallace!” said Mom. “Twenty-five years old and going on ten. He’ll ask something foolish for sure. He’s such a showoff.”

  “Sher
iff, I know you like a beer or two to relax,” Joey was saying, all smiling and pleased with himself. “Any chance you had a six-pack in the car?”

  I saw smiles on the faces in the room. Some of the reporters lowered their heads so Sheriff Mallory wouldn’t see them laughing at Joey’s question.

  “Shame on you, Joey,” said Grandma. “What an insult to a fine man.”

  “I thought you only dated Stan once,” said Grandpa.

  “Quiet, everyone!” said my dad.

  Sheriff Stanley Mallory put his hat back on and straightened his tie. He looked Joey Wallace right in the face.

  “I won’t dignify that question with an answer,” he said. “This press conference is over.”

  ***

  Mom turned off the television but everyone stayed to talk about what had just happened. Dad and Grandpa and Uncle Horace still believed that with Loring Air Force Base closed, this was the perfect place for secret testing by other bases.

  “When planes leave the Air National Guard Base in Burlington, Vermont,” my dad said, “they fly northward, right over the Allagash wilderness.”

  I figured he had a good point. Since we’re so isolated here, well, better a few people seeing strange lights than everyone in New York City.

  “And remember,” said Uncle Horace, “it wasn’t too many years ago that the Flying Wing would have scared the religion out of us. That’s one weird-looking craft.”

  “That’s true,” said Grandpa. “They’ve been experimenting with tailless planes since the Wright brothers. And there are helicopters out there now that don’t even look like helicopters.”