Read Online My Teacher Is an Alien by Bruce Coville - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bruce Coville
Tags: Fiction, General, Humorous stories, Science-Fiction, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Education, School & Education, Life on other planets, Schools, Extraterrestrial beings, Teachers, Professional Development, Substitute teachers
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in front of the "mirror," screaming for all he was worth.
I can't say that I blamed him—the communicator was on, and Duncan was looking into the bridge of Broxholm's starship. And one of those hideous aliens from the ship was looking back at him, talking to him in that language of growls and shrieks.
I took a deep breath and slithered into the room, crawling across the floor as fast as I could move. I scooted right under the table and hit the switch I had seen Broxholm use to turn the set off.
It made a crackling noise and then fell silent. Duncan stopped screaming.
"You idiot!" yelled Peter, jumping into the room. "What are you doing in here?"
"I got bored," sniveled Duncan.
Talk about a short attention span. He couldn't have been out there more than five or ten minutes.
"And I wanted to see if you were telling the truth or not," he continued. "So I went around the house and came in through the cellar. This was the only room with anything in it, so I came in. When I touched the switch, that—that—that thing showed up and started growling at me."
Duncan was blubbering now, with big tears cutting clean paths down his dirty face.
He turned to me and said, "Is that what Mr. Smith really looks like?"
I nodded my head.
Duncan's eyes rolled back in his head—and he fainted.
By the time we got him on his feet and out of the house, I only had ten minutes to get back to school.
"Maybe I shouldn't go back," I said.
Peter shook his head. "You have to," he said. "We can't afford to be more suspicious than we already are. Anyway, I don't think the aliens actually saw you—at least not your face. You stayed down low enough."
"What about me?" blubbered Duncan. "What about me?"
Peter hesitated. "You'll have to hide out at my house," he said. "It's the last place anyone would think to look for you. If you stay there, you may be safe. Get going, Susan; you've got to get back to school as soon as possible. Don't worry about the pictures; I'll take care of that. Just move!"
I hopped on my bike and headed for school. By riding extra hard I got there just about the time my lesson was supposed to be ending. But I was all hot and sweaty when I sneaked back in. Even worse, I ran into Mr. Bamwick the moment I walked through the door.
He was furious."Susan, where have you been?" he shouted. "I've spent the last forty minutes waiting for you. We've got a concert in two days, and my star soloist can't even show up for her lesson!"
I did the only thing I could think of: I started to cry. It wasn't hard to do, since I was on the edge of tears, anyway.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bamwick," I sobbed. "I'm just so frightened I couldn't come to my lesson."
W qw ! So far so good. I was actually managing to tell him something that was pretty close to the truth.
But then I felt bad, because Mr. Bamwick, who really is a good guy, got upset about scaring me and started apologizing for putting me under so much pressure.
In the end it worked out better than I could have imagined. Mr. Bamwick went to Mr. Smith and explained that there had been a problem with my lesson, and since we had this important concert coming up, would it be possible for him to keep me for a little while longer, and so on.
It was great! I had a real excuse, and I even got to work on my solo.
Back in class things were pretty quiet, until just before the end of the day when Mike Foran started throwing spitballs at Stacy. I wondered if the two of them weren't actually enjoying themselves. After all, they had been so well behaved for the last several years that maybe this was the perfect chance for them to let off a little steam.
But it wasn't Stacy and Michael who were asked to stay after school that day.
No, that honor was reserved for yours truly. I was sitting at my desk, thinking that maybe we had actually gotten away with our litle photo session when Mr. Smith walked up to me and said, "Miss Simmons, I want you to stay after school. I need to talk to you."
It was
I can't say that I blamed him—the communicator was on, and Duncan was looking into the bridge of Broxholm's starship. And one of those hideous aliens from the ship was looking back at him, talking to him in that language of growls and shrieks.
I took a deep breath and slithered into the room, crawling across the floor as fast as I could move. I scooted right under the table and hit the switch I had seen Broxholm use to turn the set off.
It made a crackling noise and then fell silent. Duncan stopped screaming.
"You idiot!" yelled Peter, jumping into the room. "What are you doing in here?"
"I got bored," sniveled Duncan.
Talk about a short attention span. He couldn't have been out there more than five or ten minutes.
"And I wanted to see if you were telling the truth or not," he continued. "So I went around the house and came in through the cellar. This was the only room with anything in it, so I came in. When I touched the switch, that—that—that thing showed up and started growling at me."
Duncan was blubbering now, with big tears cutting clean paths down his dirty face.
He turned to me and said, "Is that what Mr. Smith really looks like?"
I nodded my head.
Duncan's eyes rolled back in his head—and he fainted.
By the time we got him on his feet and out of the house, I only had ten minutes to get back to school.
"Maybe I shouldn't go back," I said.
Peter shook his head. "You have to," he said. "We can't afford to be more suspicious than we already are. Anyway, I don't think the aliens actually saw you—at least not your face. You stayed down low enough."
"What about me?" blubbered Duncan. "What about me?"
Peter hesitated. "You'll have to hide out at my house," he said. "It's the last place anyone would think to look for you. If you stay there, you may be safe. Get going, Susan; you've got to get back to school as soon as possible. Don't worry about the pictures; I'll take care of that. Just move!"
I hopped on my bike and headed for school. By riding extra hard I got there just about the time my lesson was supposed to be ending. But I was all hot and sweaty when I sneaked back in. Even worse, I ran into Mr. Bamwick the moment I walked through the door.
He was furious."Susan, where have you been?" he shouted. "I've spent the last forty minutes waiting for you. We've got a concert in two days, and my star soloist can't even show up for her lesson!"
I did the only thing I could think of: I started to cry. It wasn't hard to do, since I was on the edge of tears, anyway.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Bamwick," I sobbed. "I'm just so frightened I couldn't come to my lesson."
W qw ! So far so good. I was actually managing to tell him something that was pretty close to the truth.
But then I felt bad, because Mr. Bamwick, who really is a good guy, got upset about scaring me and started apologizing for putting me under so much pressure.
In the end it worked out better than I could have imagined. Mr. Bamwick went to Mr. Smith and explained that there had been a problem with my lesson, and since we had this important concert coming up, would it be possible for him to keep me for a little while longer, and so on.
It was great! I had a real excuse, and I even got to work on my solo.
Back in class things were pretty quiet, until just before the end of the day when Mike Foran started throwing spitballs at Stacy. I wondered if the two of them weren't actually enjoying themselves. After all, they had been so well behaved for the last several years that maybe this was the perfect chance for them to let off a little steam.
But it wasn't Stacy and Michael who were asked to stay after school that day.
No, that honor was reserved for yours truly. I was sitting at my desk, thinking that maybe we had actually gotten away with our litle photo session when Mr. Smith walked up to me and said, "Miss Simmons, I want you to stay after school. I need to talk to you."
It was
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