It was Thursday morning at Tootville High School and first period was almost over. Miss Limburger stood writing with great enthusiasm at the blackboard. It seemed to have been an exciting class for her, full of nouns and predicates and dangling participles. The chalk she was using made terrible screeching sounds, causing the students’ hair to stand straight on end, but Miss Limburger seemed not to notice the noise. She finished with her writing and turned to the group, a beaming smile on her face. “Class, your assignment for tomorrow is on the board,” she announced. “Now, before we go, Lardo has a special artistic treat for us.”
The class groaned. The last thing they wanted to hear was some boring nonsense from a fellow student. Lardo marched majestically to the head of the class with a look of determination on his face. He needed the extra credit to make up for slacking off earlier in the semester. He stood silently before them, as any theatrical thespian would, dramatically placed the back of his hand to his forehead, and began to recite from Hamlet. “To be, or not to be – that is the question,” he began. Lardo’s stomach gurgled loudly enough to be heard in the back row. The students in the front row began to hunch down in their seats. Things did not sound good. “Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer,” Lardo placed his hand on his stomach as he said the word suffer. This recital was not proceeding as he had planned but he badly needed the extra credit. He had to continue. His public was waiting. His stomach gurgled again. Lardo began to frown and look very uncomfortable. The students in the front row started to sweat and even Miss Limburger began to look worried. “The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” Lardo continued, unsurely.
Lardo’s stomach growled and gurgled loudly. He grimaced and suddenly grabbed at his backside with both hands. A huge, cheesy farting sound echoed throughout the classroom as volumes of gas mixed with amber-colored liquid spewed forth from Lardo’s backside, staining his pants. The students in the front rows began to gag and choke. Miss Limburger’s face turned a bright crimson and tears sprung from her eyes. Lardo, hands still holding his backside, ran from the room, followed by gagging and hacking students. Miss Limburger remained at her desk, weeping profusely. One student remained seated in the back of the room watching Miss Limburger sob. Tommy looked down at a list with the names of Mr. Beaker, Luscious Frappé, Miss Limburger and Captain McBust. He appeared recovered from the incident in the park but it was obvious that he wore bandages underneath his shirt over his injured shoulder. Tommy drew a line through the name of Miss Limburger, stood up from his seat, and holding his nose with one hand strode purposefully from the classroom.
In second period, Mr. Beaker stood before the for once attentive class delivering perhaps the finest lecture of his career, at least in his unvoiced, humble opinion. Stretch sat in the front row, arms immobilized by two large casts. Linda sat next to him. Tommy once again was seated in the back next to Spaz. “What ultimately matters,” Mr. Beaker announced solemnly, “is the density of the universe. Enough interstellar matter will allow our universe to go on expanding forever, but an insufficiency of this dark matter, the basic building block of the cosmos, will result in the eventual collapse and extinction of all that we know. Is everyone clear on this concept? Remember,” Mr. Beaker explained kindly, “There is no such thing as a dumb question.”
Tommy chose this moment to raise his hand. He had a burning thirst for increased knowledge.
“Yes?” queried Mr. Beaker, happy in the thought that his profound dissertation had stimulated the mind of at least one avid student of the sciences.
“Where were you last night at ten-thirty?” asked Tommy with a serious look on his face.
“That’s about the stupidest question I’ve ever heard,” said Mr. Beaker with a look of great exasperation on his face. “I spend forty-five minutes explaining the most important concept of the semester and you come up with something totally irrelevant. “What is it with you, Tinkle?”
“It’s Dinkle,” said Tommy evenly, “and maybe my question isn’t so stupid after all. I mean, who really cares if in twenty billion years the universe comes collapsing back in on itself? None of us are going to be here. But maybe by giving me a straight answer you could help solve a problem and make life a little easier for all of us. Then you’d be a real teacher.”
“All right, all right,” snapped Mr. Beaker, still irritated, but somewhat mollified by Tommy’s statement. “If it’s so important to you, I spent the entire evening with Luscious Frappé.”
The students in the classroom began to whistle in appreciation.
“No wonder he’s talking about the big bang theory,” said Spaz with wonder in his voice.
In third period, Luscious Frappé and her home economics students stood at a table discussing the intricacies of cooking. Miss Frappé held up a tablespoon and a teaspoon. “Now girls,” she asked. “Who can tell me which one is the teaspoon?” Several girls raised their hands, but Miss Frappé noticed that Fishface had her mind elsewhere. “Fishface, do you know?” she asked.
Fishface hesitated and then hazarded a guess. “The big one?”
“Close,” replied Miss Frappé, encouragingly, trying not to reveal her disappointment.
Fishface looked carefully and then hazarded another guess. “The little one?” she asked, still uncertain.
“Much better,” said Miss Frappé in her kindest manner. “Any questions, class?”
“Where were you last night at ten-thirty?” came a strange sounding, high-pitched voice.
“I was with Mr. Beaker,” said Miss Frappé and began to blush.
Underneath the table, Tommy crossed the names of Mr. Beaker and Luscious Frappé off of his list.
___
Tommy stood indecisively at the door to the English literature classroom. He had some important information that he had to share with someone but it had to be someone who would believe him. He also needed some serious advice. Now that he had deduced the identity of the alien menace, how should he proceed? How was he to go about eliminating this terrible threat to Tootville? Tommy pushed open the door and entered. Miss Limburger was alone in the room, seated at her desk, correcting homework assignments. She appeared oblivious to Tommy’s entrance. Tommy approached his teacher. “Miss Limburger?”
She looked up from the peanut butter and jam stained paper she was reading. “Hello, Thomas. Are you worried about your grade for career day? I gave you a B plus for originality, although I must admit your chosen profession seems somewhat impractical.”
“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about,” said Tommy. “Miss Limburger, you may find this hard to believe, but I’m on the trail of a killer from outer space. It’s a shapeshifter that escaped from a Martian prison. It can take the shape of anything it wants to.”
“Oh?” responded Miss Limburger, raising her eyebrows.
Tommy felt relieved that his teacher was willing to listen to him. “It’s already murdered Officer Down,” he continued, “and it has to be stopped before someone else gets hurt.”
“Well, a killer alien shouldn’t be too difficult to find. What does it look like?’ Miss Limburger eyed Tommy narrowly.
“That’s the hard part,” said Tommy. He leaned over the desk toward Miss Limburger.
“Can you keep a secret?” he asked in a low voice.
“What secret is this?”
“I think the killer may be Captain McBust,” said Tommy.
“No,” said Miss Limburger in great surprise.
“Yes,” replied Tommy. I followed the shapeshifter into the teacher’s lounge. Only you, Mr. Beaker, Luscious Frappé and Captain McBust were in the room. Mr. Beaker and Miss Frappé have alibis for when I saw the alien last night so neither of them can be the killer. Showing a strong emotion causes the shapeshifter to change into its original form. You cried like a baby during Lardo’s recitation this morning so you can’t be the killer. That leaves Captain McBust. What do you think?”
Miss Limburger leaned forward and asked Tommy in a low voice, “Thomas, can you keep a secret?”
“What?’ asked Tommy, ready for some good advice.
“I’m changing your grade to a D.”