Here Comes Mr. Trouble Page 2

  Gurgly. Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu–

  SNAP!

  The air split open and the whole building began to shake.

  As Eric grabbed the bookcase so he wouldn’t fall down, he could hear yelps of surprise from the other side.

  Then, when the shaking reached its height, a book shot out from the rip in the air.

  The moment it landed on the ground at Eric’s feet, the gurgly suck stopped.

  2

  “Everyone, please remain calm,” Mrs. Kim called out. “It was just a small earthquake. Please return to what you were doing and keep your voices down. This is still a library.”

  A small earthquake? It had felt pretty big to Eric.

  He looked around, expecting to see books covering the floor, but the only book on the ground was the one that had popped out of the air.

  The rip it had come through was gone now and everything looked normal again, like nothing had ever happened. Cautiously, he waved his hand through the area where the bubble had been.

  Nothing. Just your average, everyday air.

  He knelt down next to the book. It was one of those old-fashioned phone books nobody he knew used any more. Thick, with yellow-colored pages.

  When it hit the floor, it had fallen open to the “T” section—Trailers in the upper left, and Trucking in the lower right. In the middle of the right-hand page was an ad surrounded by a thick red border. Though he knew it was impossible, the ad seemed to be glowing.

  ARE YOU FORGETTING THINGS?

  LOSING THINGS?

  ARE PEOPLE YOU KNOW ACTING STRANGE?

  IS SOMEONE CLOSE TO YOU MISSING???

  DO YOU FEEL LIKE THINGS ARE BEYOND YOUR CONTROL?

  ARE YOU IN…TROUBLE?

  Help Is Standing By

  Call 678768253

  This is a Free Call. In fact, you won’t pay a cent for anything. EVER.

  TFS

  TROUBLE FAMILY SERVICES

  THE TROUBLESHOOTING EXPERTS

  Eric stared at the page. It was like the ad had been written especially for him. Yes, he’d been forgetting things. Yes, some of his stuff had gone missing. Yes, there were plenty of people around him acting strange. Yes, even if his father said his mom was on a business trip, it felt to Eric like she was missing. And, yes, yes, yes, he felt like his life had suddenly spun out of his control.

  How could it know?

  Maybe this was the final proof that his mind was slipping. He’d obviously been hearing things no one else heard. Couldn’t he just as easily be seeing things?

  Slowly, he extended his index finger and lowered it toward the book. He’d all but convinced himself it wasn’t really there and that his finger wouldn’t stop until it hit the carpet.

  But he touched paper, not carpet. Thin, phone-book-type paper.

  It’s real, he thought.

  Curious now, he flipped back several pages and stopped. He was still in the Ts. In fact, he was still on the same Trailers-to-Trucking pages he’d been on, complete with the same glowing ad. He looked through some more. Same. Same. Same. The whole thick directory just a repeat of the Trailers-to-Trucking page. And the ad.

  As his hand rested on the open book, he felt the page beneath his palm start to rip. He was alarmed for a moment until he realized the page was meant to be removed.

  Carefully, he tore the rest of it out.

  Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Gurgly.

  The book started vibrating, then the carpet sucked it into the floor like it was being flushed down a high-powered toilet. And like that, it was gone.

  Eric was left kneeling in the otherwise empty aisle, staring at an empty spot on the carpet, the torn page in his hand.

  “There you are.”

  He looked over his shoulder. Maggie was standing at the far end of the aisle, but she wasn’t alone. Peter Garr was lurking right behind her.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  Had she seen the book disappear?

  He was about to ask her when she said, “Did the earthquake knock you down?”

  “Uh…no. I was looking at…at the bottom shelf. So you felt it?”

  She shrugged. “Kind of. At first I thought it was just a big car driving by.”

  “Just a car?” he said. It most definitely didn’t feel like a car to him.

  “Why are you even back here?” she asked.

  “Just…uh…checking some books,” he said.

  Her gaze dropped down to the paper in his hand. “What’s that?”

  “What? This?” He held up the paper. She’d seen it. She’d actually seen it. It wasn’t something that only he could see. “I…” He paused. What was he going to say? That he ripped it out of a book that then disappeared? “It’s, um, trash. Someone left it back here. Thought I’d throw it away.”

  “Well, whatever you’re trying to find, hurry up. We still have a lot of work to do.” She turned and walked away.

  Peter, on the other hand, took a few steps toward Eric, tilted his head, and began sniffing the air.

  Eric stood up, keeping his eyes on the bigger boy.

  Sniff. Sniff.

  Peter continued down the aisle, his head swiveling back and forth, his nostrils flaring with each breath.

  Sniff. Sniff.

  As he neared, Eric moved back until he bumped into the bookcase and could retreat no more.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Sniff. Sniff.

  Peter stopped a few feet away and sampled the air again. Sniff. He leaned forward, his nose hovering next to Eric’s shoulder. Sniff. Then the other shoulder. Sniff. Then down his arm. Sniff. Sniff. And then, when he reached the hand that was still holding the page out of the phone book, his nose went into overdrive. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.

  “Hey, uh, that’s kind of weird,” Eric said.

  The bully looked up at Eric, his eyes wide. Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. He reached out to grab the page from Eric’s hand, but Eric yanked it back just in time. He then twisted out from between Peter and the bookcase.

  Eric took a big step backward. “I’ve got to…get back to my friend,” he said, then turned and ran the rest of the way down the aisle.

  When he reached the end, he looked back. Peter had dropped to his hands and knees and was sniffing the area where the book had been before it vanished.

  Not sure if he was more creeped out or confused, Eric made his way back to the study table. His plan was to grab his books and get out of there. He thought if he left now, he could probably get most of the way home before Peter even realized he was gone.

  “Oh, no,” Maggie said as he started shoving his notebook in his backpack. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I gotta get home.”

  She pushed her glasses all the way up her nose. “Eric Morrison, you’re going to sit down and help me work on this report. You promised me.”

  “I’m sorry, Maggie. Maybe…maybe we can get together tonight and finish it after dinner.”

  “We’re already going to do that, remember? We need to work on it now and tonight.”

  Eric sensed something move behind him. As he looked over his shoulder, he realized he’d lost his chance. Peter was back.

  “Eric?” Maggie said.

  He took a breath then put his backpack down. “Fine.”

  “I thought you were going to throw that away,” she said.

  “What?”

  She pointed at the piece of paper—the page from the phonebook—he’d set on the table when he started packing up.

  “Oh, right,” he said.

  He picked it up, intending to take it to the trash, but glanced at the ad again. Should I? Really, it was kind of ridiculous. A company that helped people in trouble? He’d never heard of anything like that before. It was probably just a joke.

  But…what if it wasn’t? It wouldn’t hurt to call, would it?

  There was a pay phone in the back of the library near the restrooms. He reached into his pocket to see how much change he had,
then realized he’d spent the last of his money on his lunch. He leaned toward Maggie and whispered so Peter couldn’t hear, “Do you have some change?”

  “What do you need change for?” she asked, suspicious.

  “I need to make a call.”

  Her face scrunched up. “Why do you need money to make a call?”

  “Pay phones aren’t free.”

  “Ugh! When are your parents going to buy you a cell phone?”

  Despite the fact all his friends had one, Eric’s parents thought he was still too young. “Do you have change or not?”

  She frowned at him, then reached into her backpack and pulled out some coins.

  As she handed them over, he said, “I’ll pay you back.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

  “No, I will.”

  “Just go make your call,” she said. Then, as if she’d forgotten she should be mad at him, she added, “And hurry up. We’ve still got a lot to do.”

  There was no one near the phone when he got there, so he pulled out the ad, stuck a couple coins in the slot, and started dialing. It wasn’t until he’d finished punching in the last of the digits that he realized it was too short for calling long distance and too long for local. The number on the ad was obviously a misprint.

  Disappointed, he was starting to hang up when two odd things happened: 1) his coins fell into the change cup, and 2) the number he’d dialed began to ring.

  Before he could decide what to do, someone answered.

  “Hi. This is Trouble Family Services. The troubleshooting experts! You gotta problem, we gotta help.”

  Eric suddenly found himself unable to speak.

  “Hello?” the girl who’d answered said.

  He tried to push a word—any word—out of his mouth, but his throat was clinched tight.

  “Hello?”

  He had the sudden desire to just hang up and forget he’d even found the ad.

  “Hello, is anyone there?”

  He drew in a deep breath.

  “Ah, someone is there. Good,” the girl said. “Don’t worry. You’re not our first nervous client. But you can talk to me. I’m a friend.”

  “Who…who is this?” Eric croaked.

  “Excellent! You do know how to talk. I was getting worried that we might have gotten a really young one this time.” She paused. “Of course, I guess a young one wouldn’t have known how to dial…but you never know.” Again, she fell silent, this time like she was waiting for him to say something. “Oh, right. Who am I? Sorry. My name is Fiona and I am your point of contact representative.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re my what?”

  “Your point of contact representative.”

  “And what exactly is that?”

  She said nothing for a moment, then, “Hold on, please.”

  The line clicked, then music even his parents wouldn’t have listened to started to play. This went on for several seconds before it finally cut out mid-tune. Eric could hear papers moving around and then Fiona said, “I apologize for the delay.” More movement. “Ah, here it is.” Then, as if she were reading, “Your point of contact representative is here to help you.” A pause. “How’s that?” Before he could respond, she started speaking again. “Now, I have several questions I need to ask you.”

  “Wait,” he said, looking at the ad in his hand. “Tell me how you did this.”

  “I, uh, haven’t done anything yet.”

  “The book! How did you make it pop out of the air?”

  “Book…pop out of the air,” she repeated, obviously not following him.

  “It made this really weird sound, but I was the only one who could hear it.”

  After several seconds, Fiona let out a long, “Ooooooh.” Then, like a machine gun in an old war movie, said, “Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh. Oh.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Of course, I’m all right. I’m just looking for the right question…ah…here it is. Number thirty-seven. Method of contact. I hate skipping ahead like this so if you don’t mind, we’ll get to that in a few minutes, okay?”

  “No. Not o—”

  “Question one. First name?”

  “Uh…Eric.”

  “Eric. I like that. Mine’s Fiona, or did I already tell you that? It’s Irish. My mom’s idea. She’s actually from Ireland.” Eric could hear a voice in the background. “I’m just bonding, Keira,” Fiona said, her voice muffled by something held over the receiver. Her next words came back clear and strong. “Question two. How many bikes do you own?”

  “Excuse me? Don’t you want to know my last name?”

  “That is question seven. Right now, I want to know how many bikes you own.”

  “Me personally or my family?”

  “You personally.”

  “One. Why would I need more than that?” he asked.

  “Question three. Age?”

  “Thirteen. Fourteen in a month and a half.”

  “No rushing ahead. Four. Birthday?”

  “November 21st.”

  “Five,” she said. “If you had the choice of pepperoni pizza or Hawaiian pizza, which would it be?”

  “Hawaiian?”

  “Is that definite or are you just guessing?”

  “Is this really important?”

  “I assure you our questionnaire has been put together and refined over many, many years. Everything I ask you is potentially important. So Hawaiian then?”

  “Sure.”

  “Great. Six. Shoe size?”

  The questions went on and on. Besides telling her his last name, where he lived, where he went to school, the color of his eyes, and how he had gotten their phone number, Eric also answered questions on such things as favorite TV show, what grade he got on his last math test, and how many cavities he had. It was all very confusing.

  When she finally finished, she said, “And how can we help you today?”

  “Help me? I…I don’t know.”

  “You are in trouble, right? I mean, that’s why you called. So what seems to be the problem?”

  Everything! he thought.

  “It’s like my whole life is suddenly the opposite of what it usually is.”

  “Suddenly…the…opposite,” she said.

  He could picture her writing the words down on her questionnaire. Perhaps there was a space for that, too.

  “I’m forgetting homework,” he said. “I’m getting into fights with people who never bothered me before. I’m losing things like my house key. That got me grounded for two days.”

  “Please. No details unless I ask for them. So how long has this been going on?”

  “A couple of weeks.”

  He could hear her write something down. “Okay. So, here’s what will—”

  “There’s more,” he said.

  “What more?”

  “My mother.”

  “What about your mother?”

  Eric hesitated for a moment, then said, “My dad says she went on a trip. But I don’t believe him.”

  “Then where is she?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “She’s missing.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.

  “She could be, I guess. I just don’t know.”

  More writing.

  “Am I going crazy?” he asked.

  “Well, as a professional, I can guarantee you that you’re not going crazy.”

  “Then how do I make everything normal again?”

  “The first thing I want you to do is calm down and stop worrying. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be there to help.”

  “Wait, you’re coming here?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He didn’t know who these people were.

  “How are we supposed to help you if we’re not there?”

  “I don’t have any money. I can’t afford to pay you.”

  “Who said anything about money?” Fiona asked. “Did I mention it? I’m sure I didn’t. That ad you got, somewhere on there it
must say our services are free.”