Smek for President Read online

  I held the door. “Trusting people more is this new thing I’m gonna try from now on,” I said. “Don’t make me regret it, okay?”

  Emerson grinned and practically pranced out of the elevator, then tried to look cool, then grinned again. “Where now?”

  “Garbage pit,” I said.

  After I slid down through tubes and past the wrecked chomper and landed in the trash next to Emerson, I saw his pained face looking back at me.

  “When you said ‘garbage pit,’ I thought it was a figure of speech,” he said.

  “It wasn’t.”

  “Like when people say they’re ‘in the belly of the whale’ but they’re not really in the belly of a whale.”

  “Nope, literal garbage pit.”

  We slogged and waded toward the pagoda.

  “Bill!” I sort of shout-whispered. “Why didn’t you tell me there was another bluzzer on my back?”

  Bill spelled out all kinds of complicated stuff. Emerson squinted at it.

  “Um...” he said. “Well, I’ve only been studying Boovish for like a year, but it’s like he thought you knew it was there. I don’t think he understands how a human could have something like that on them and not know it. He thought you’d made a new bee friend and he got jealous? Or something?”

  I sighed. “Oh, Bill. I didn’t know, I swear. You’re the only bee for me.”

  YES.

  We crept up to the pagoda, the three of us, and peeked inside. Nothing. But the door to the basement was open, and I hadn’t left it that way.

  “Follow me,” I whispered.

  I stepped lightly into Funsize’s home and cast about for some kind of weapon. The gun I’d had earlier was out of juice, and besides, I didn’t want to erase anyone. Instead I found a couple of heavy tools, like a cross between a pipe wrench and those little wooden things you use to serve honey. One of them was larger than the other, so I gave Emerson the small one. Then we started down the ramp to the basement.

  Turning and turning we descended, until I threw out an arm and stopped us both about halfway down. I’d heard something. Voices. I crept closer, carefully.

  “What are they saying?” whispered Dan Landry, below. “Was that the Squealer or the one with the mask and gun?”

  Gun? I gasped. The assassin?

  “I do not know and also I do not care,” said Captain Smek. “Just keep the camera on them. Not on me, on them!”

  “Sorry,” said Landry.

  There was another voice, a distant voice. It sounded like J.Lo, sort of.

  “I invented a time machine too, you see,” this voice was saying. “And when I fired it up, there was then a rumble, and terrible heat, and I saw the planet’s core go CRITICAL-NOVA! And start to EXPLORE!”

  “Did he say ‘time machine’?” whispered Landry over the sounds of more distant conversation.

  “Quiet and keep videoing,” said Smek. “And do not point the camera at me when I put the waveform device on the stabilizers!”

  “But this is definitely safe,” Landry said. “Of course.”

  “Of course. It will cause momentary tremors and then I will take it off. And our video will show what looks like the Squealer trying to destroy New Boovworld.”

  I turned, and waved for Emerson and Bill to head back up the ramp. When we were farther up I explained what I wanted to do, and Bill flew back down.

  Emerson and I waited on either side of the basement door with our weird tools. He was breathing hard. I guess I was too.

  “When they appear...” I said. “When they appear, do you want to hit Smek, or your dad? I’d understand if you’d rather hit Sm—”

  “I want to hit my dad,” said Emerson.

  TWENTY-TWO

  The Boovish military police held us all—J.Lo and Dark J.Lo and me and Emerson and Smek and Landry and even Bill—in the Oval Office until they figured out the whole story. But luckily Smek and Landry had been videoing the whole thing, so there was never really any doubt.

  “It was a joke!” Smek was saying. “A funny joke!” They had him confined to a little office chair in the middle of the room, and anytime he looked like he might be trying to stand and make speeches, a trio of grim-looking guards stared at him until he sat down again. “Seriously, a joke,” he added, more quietly. “You should all see your faces!”

  Their faces looked like this:

  Another guard was way up near the skylight, messing around with Smek’s throne, opening and closing the turret. I guess he didn’t realize the hologram was projecting his head all giant-size over the floor below or he wouldn’t have been picking his teeth like that.

  Dan Landry sat miserably in a different chair, surrounded by different guards, smack in the center of that tooth-picking hologram—just sitting and muttering about wanting to see his lawyer and wondering why all the Boov were snickering at him.

  “Why is everyone snickering at him?” I whispered to J.Lo.

  “Ahyes,” J.Lo said, twiddling his fingers. “‘Lawyer’ sounds just alike the Boovish word for these tiny face pumpkins we get.”

  “Tiny...what?”

  “Every youngBoov, he is taught: ‘If you’re good and wash your face/Then you wills not gets the lawyers.’”

  “Ah.”

  “It rhymes in Boovish.”

  “Neat.”

  “Emerson?” Landry was calling now. “Emerson? Come to Daddy.”

  But Emerson was standing apart, near J.Lo and me, trying to look like he didn’t care. Which is impossible to pull off.

  “Come here. Emerson? Emerson, you’ve got to get a message to Daddy’s lawyers—hey! Stop that laughing! I outrank you and I order you to stop laughing!”

  And if the video footage weren’t enough: soon Dark J.Lo woke up and started talking, and everyone realized that in his timeline it had been Smek and Landry’s waveform device that caused all of New Boovworld to explode. Dark J.Lo seemed pretty psyched that it had never technically been his fault after all. And about equally embarrassed about all the assassination attempts.

  “Ohhey, do not worry about it,” J.Lo told him.

  “I do, though,” said Dark J.Lo. “I do worry about it.”

  “The important thing is that you did your best,” J.Lo insisted.

  The authorities were talking about putting Dark J.Lo in jail, but then regular J.Lo spoke up on his behalf, and in the end he got off with some community service. I hear he changed his name to Rihanna to avoid any confusion.

  J.Lo and I sat together while they decided where to hold Smek. Rihanna had shot up one of their better prisons.

  “How come it’s so easy for us?” I asked J.Lo. “Staying friends, I mean. Sure, I got mad at you for a while, but we’re good now, right?”

  “Yes,” said J.Lo, wiggling his legs.

  “Well, you wanted to erase our whole timeline, and look at us. And yet I’m still a little mad at my mom for recording over a Gladys Knight cassette I had when I was six.”

  J.Lo looked pensive. “I am thinking,” he said, “that we are easy because you and me, we never did expect to understands each other. We are happily surprised every day to be friends at all. But with our own peoples...we cannot forgive their differentness.”

  “You can’t hold me!” Landry was shouting. “I am an American citizen! And a best-selling author!”

  A Boov in a white uniform approached J.Lo and me.

  “Squealer,” he said, and gave a little bow while snapping his fingers.

  “J.Lo,” said J.Lo.

  “Of course. You will be taken to the HighBoov’s private mansion to await next week’s election. Anything you want will be yours.”

  “I want not to be taken to the HighBoov’s private mansion to await next week’s election,” said J.Lo.

  The Boov in white furrowed his face and looked back at the others. “This has never happened before,” he said.

  “I want to go home,” said J.Lo.

  “Ah!” said the Boov. “I did not realize. Do you have an apartme
nt here in New Smek City, or—”

  “My home is Earth,” said J.Lo. “For now.”

  I exhaled. I hadn’t been worried, but, you know. I’d been a little bit worried.

  “Even though sometimes it’s really hard there?” I asked.

  “Home is where the hard is,” said J.Lo. “As the humans say.”

  “No one says that.” I smiled.

  “There he is!” said someone, and we looked up to see a throng of Boov surging in from the reception room. “The Squealer!”

  “He squeals for freedom!” shouted someone else. “And gun rights!”

  “No he doesn’t!” said a Boov wearing natural fibers. “He squeals for wildlife protection and recycling!”

  The military police tried to hold them back, but a hundred Boov or more spilled into the room, some with signs.

  “AAH!” squealed J.Lo, standing up on his chair as they came for him. “Heynow!”

  They crowded around, pulled him down, then lifted him up over their heads.

  “Stop that!” I shouted, reaching for J.Lo’s arm. “Knock it off!” But they grabbed me, too.

  “Humansgirl! Humansgirl! Look at my shirt slogan! It says ‘Don’t Be Afraid to Love’!”

  “That’s really flattering!” I shouted back. “Please put me down!”

  And now they were separating us, parading J.Lo away, fighting over who got to carry him and what it meant if they did.

  “Stop!” said J.Lo. “Please! Do not put your hand there!”

  “J.Lo!” I said. “I don’t know what to do!”

  “Do not lets them take me!”

  They passed him hand over hand. Toward the door of the Oval Office they passed him, toward reception, toward a tall figure standing in the entrance. A familiar figure.

  Everyone fell silent when they saw her, and froze.

  “Mom?” I gasped.

  “HEY!” Mom said, her face like something the Greeks would have painted on a shield to frighten their enemies. “TAKE. YOUR. HANDS. OFF. MY. DAUGHTER.”

  The Boov who had grabbed me quickly put me down and stepped away.

  “Sorry,” one of them told me.

  “Sorry.”

  “Sorry.”

  Mom thundered into the room, and now I could see Ponch Sandhandler behind her.

  “NOW WHERE IS J.LO?” asked Mom. J.Lo waggled his hand. “I’M SORRY, J.LO, I COULDN’T TELL.”

  “Is okay.”

  “PUT HIM DOWN TOO.”

  “But,” said a Boov, who probably wished he hadn’t.

  “BUT WHAT? BUT WHAT? MY NAME IS LUCY TUCCI AND I HAVE DRIVEN EIGHT HUNDRED MILLION MILES AND I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR ANY BACK TALK.”

  The Boov put J.Lo down.

  “Sorry, Ms. Tucci,” they mumbled, looking at their feet.

  “Sorry, Ms. Tucci.”

  “Sorry.”

  I ran to her.

  “I am so glad to see—”

  “ZIP IT AND GET YOUR THINGS. WE ARE LEAVING.”

  I zipped it and grabbed J.Lo and Bill and rushed to her side. Emerson appeared there too.

  “Ms. Tucci,” he said, “can I get a ride?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  It was a long drive back.

  Ponch Sandhandler arranged to get Slushious out of impound so we could fly her home to Earth. It was Sandhandler who had flown to Earth in the first place when J.Lo’s initial broadcast had revealed that there was a human girl on New Boovworld. She-he had found my mom and brought her here. She-he was a good egg, Sandhandler.

  So: Mom and J.Lo in the front seats, Emerson, Bill, and me in the back. For about the first hundred million miles I tried to get a conversation going with Mom, but she’d never liked airing our family business in front of strangers, and Emerson was in the car. So we all fell into this brittle silence, apart from J.Lo’s nanowave radio.

  “...and after pulling the Boov to safety, that koobish was given a medal and had its ears eaten by a very famous chair designer. Back to you, Bish.”

  “Bish Bishley is taking some vacation time with a former coworker, Chad. This is Lala Hombalamilay filling in.”

  “Welcome aboard, Lala! Can you bring us the latest on the hunt for fugitive and former HighBoov Captain Smek?”

  “The council is staying tight-lipped about both Captain Smek and the human Dan Landry, Chad, except to say that Landry is being held in Detention Nub Seven until they can consult with authorities on Earth. But secret sources tell us that after evading custody late last night, Captain Smek fled to his mansion atop the artificial hill known as Smek Peak—and would still be there now if the hill hadn’t collapsed this morning from crumplepits.”

  “Interesting.”

  J.Lo turned down the volume. I was about to ask him to turn it up again when I heard Mom snoring in the front seat. So I stayed in the back, thinking.

  I got to be there for the Chief when he passed. I’ll always be glad about that. That morning he was looking better. I thought he was getting better. I didn’t know he would die that afternoon.

  He said, “I don’t bet anyone gets to the end and says, ‘I wish I’d kept my mouth shut.’” And then he paused to catch his breath and added, “No matter how much time you get, there’s something you forgot to say.”

  From now on I’d leave nothing unsaid, I decided. From now on it was going to be easier at home thanks to all my incredible openness. So the rest of the way to Earth I practiced what I’d say to Mom, because I was dumb and thought practice would help.

  For the last million miles the CHECK OIL light was on, but we still made it okay.

  We dropped Emerson off at his mom’s place, which meant taking a side trip to California.

  “Your mom’s gonna be surprised when you tell her all this,” I said as he stepped out onto the curb.

  Emerson turned. “Maybe not,” he said. “She always says Dad’ll end up in the White House or the Big House. I mean, she always says that. Like three times a day.”

  I smiled. “Friend me, okay?” I said. “And good luck.”

  Emerson glanced briefly at Mom, then me. “Good luck to you,” he answered.

  We waited until he was safely inside. Then forty minutes later we were descending over Pennsylvania, and home.

  We landed in the driveway. Before the dust settled Mom was already in the yard, stomping toward the house, one shoe in hand and eyes like a cartoon owl. She got the front door open and Lincoln bounded out of it, knocking her over—like a Marmaduke comic strip, but funny. And now Lincoln was barking, running around and around the car and then jumping inside when we opened the doors. Pig came out onto the front step, looked at us like she’d just now realized we’d been gone, and went back inside.

  I came up to Mom, smirking at how she’d landed butt-first in the flower bed, but then she shot me a look and I put that smirk away. This was not the part of the story where we both laughed despite ourselves and realized that Everything Was Going to Be Okay.

  Then, suddenly, Mom rocked forward and hugged me. She hugged me in a way that was kind of terrifying, actually, and pushed me out to look at me. And hugged me again.

  “I know,” I said. “I’m grounded.”

  “Oh, you do not know,” she hissed. I realize there aren’t any s sounds in there, but I swear she hissed all the same. “You’ve never even heard of grounding like this. A person could die from this much grounding.”

  “I just...Life is short and I want you to know that I love you and I always will, and...things are going to be better now, I promise—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Gratuity, you don’t get to talk your way out of this! (Pardon my language.) You screwed up way too big this time!”

  Mom was barking, so I guess Lincoln thought it was a good time to start barking too. He licked us and put his paws on us and barked until Mom stuck out her arm.

  “Lincoln! In the house!”

  Lincoln went in the house. Bill flew around and around, writing a whole novel over our front yard. I think we were making
him nervous.

  I quailed a little. “I’m...not trying to talk my way out of it. I’m trying to talk through—”

  “Nope! I give you all this credit for being so mature, so wise for your age, but you’re the same thirteen-year-old sneaking out with her boyfriend that I was!”

  I put my hands up. “Okay, waitaminute. Credit? You give me credit? Do you not remember what I’ve done? I earned my own credit. I should have a giant credit card made out of regular-sized credit cards, I have so much credit.”

  Mom pursed her lips. “This from the girl who says she doesn’t want anyone to know—”

  “Oh man...” I said, and I broke down a little. “Oh man, of course I want people to know! Are you kidding me? I want every single person to know!”

  I flailed my arms and fell backward onto the grass.

  “I saved the world. I should get to turn in homework late because I saved the world. That girl Stephanie shouldn’t make fun of my hair clips anymore, because I saved the world.”

  I felt dizzy. It felt good to admit this, despite the circumstances.

  “I...want everyone to treat me like a regular person,” I finished. “A regular person that they think is amazing.”

  Mom actually looked like she felt sorry for me for a moment. That seemed like a good sign. She sat down in the grass too.

  “So I guess deep down I expect all this credit for taking care of myself all those years,” I said, and Mom looked down. “But instead you’re all SuperMom lately, and I like it and hate it at the same time.”

  “That’s normal,” said Mom. “That’s how you’re supposed to feel about being parented.”

  “I guess. I guess I just...I decided recently that I maybe have trouble trusting...things, and—”

  “And so you’ve been testing me,” said Mom. “Oh, believe me, Gratuity, I know.”

  I flinched—I hadn’t even known. But as soon as she said it, I realized it was true.

  “Well, but I’m done doing that!” I said quickly. “Things are going to be better now!”

  Mom sighed.

  “Things are not going to just ‘be better’ now, Gratuity,” she said. “Things are gonna pretty much be lousy for a while. And I am so, so proud of what you did in the invasion, but I still get to treat you like a little girl, because you are a little girl and that’s my right.”