Read Online This Isn't What It Looks Like by Pseudonymous Bosch - Free Book Online

He’s on hiatus. It’s what they call summer vacation when you’re on a TV show. Except when my blog goes on the food channel,
     we won’t really have a summer vacation because cable is on a different schedule.” He pulled a half-eaten popcorn kernel out
     of his mouth and inspected it. “These things are totally disgusting, but you kind of want to keep eating them—it’s weird.”
    “Oh,” said Daniel-not-Danielle. “Well, either way, he’s definitely a genius. They say he’s fluent in twelve languages. Like
     even Belgian.”
    “That’s impossible,” said Max-Ernest, cutting in. He was finding himself increasingly resentful of this brilliant new student.
    “Why? Because it’s more languages than you speak?” Glob asked. (His sarcasm was a little less sharp than it might have been,
     owing to his mouth being full of green popcorn.)
    “No. Because there’s no such thing as Belgian.”
    “Is so. What about Belgian waffles?”
    “What about them? Waffles don’t speak any languages at all, last time I checked. The point is, in Belgium they speak French
     and also Flemish, which is actually a kind of Dutch. How ’bout that?”
    “Whatever,” said Daniel-not-Danielle. “So maybe he speaks Flemish.”
    “Yeah, and don’t dis Belgian waffles,” said Glob. “Medieval Days Restaurant gave me, like, a hundred bucks’ worth of coupons
     to try theirs. Now they’re gonna sponsor my blog during Ren-Faire. And this time they’re paying cash!”
    Max-Ernest turned away. He felt like a jerk. Why was he bothering to talk to them? And why had he gotten so worked up about
     this aristocrat or actor or whatever-he-was new kid? He was supposed to be focused on saving Cass and saving Cass alone.
    Suddenly, Max-Ernest missed her intensely. If a moment ago he was feeling an ache, this was more like a searing pain. With
     Cass he could argue about Belgium for hours and not feel like a jerk. She might laugh at him for obsessing about the differences
     between, say, Flemish Dutch and Dutch Dutch, but whenever she laughed
at
him she was always laughing
with
him at the same time. If that made any sense.
    “Wait—that’s him!” said Glob.
    “He’s not coming to the Nuts Table, is he? Now
that’s
impossible,” said Daniel-not-Danielle.
    Glob and Daniel-not-Danielle were openly staring at a boy who was walking—no, sauntering—toward them. Even at a distance,
     there was no mistaking him for anybody else at school. Instead of jeans and a T-shirt, he wore a striped suit and abowtie, and instead of a backpack, he carried a briefcase, giving the impression of a dapper businessman rather than a middle-school
     student. Sunlight illuminated his golden curls and created bright sparkles in the large glass lens that covered his left eye.
    “It’s not impossible. Anybody can sit here,” said Max-Ernest stubbornly, although he knew what Daniel-not-Danielle meant.
     “Besides, it’s always possible he’s really allergic to nuts,” he added. *
    “What’s that over his eye? Is it a magnifying glass or something? Maybe we can use it to light a fire,” said Glob excitedly.
    “It’s a monocle,” said Max-Ernest. “It’s like glasses for one eye. Rich guys used to wear them in the old days.” And some
     magicians, he thought. Which was how he knew about monocles.
    “He is—he’s totally coming to our table,” said Daniel-not-Danielle.
    Indeed, he was waving in their direction.
    “Hullo, Max-Ernest, my dear fellow!”
    Daniel-not-Danielle and Glob turned in unison toward Max-Ernest. Judging by their expressions, the only thing they thought
     more unlikely than the new boy visiting the Nuts Table was that he should know Max-Ernest by name.
EMERGENCY DRILL
    ATTENTION, READER:
    WE ARE SORRY TO INTERRUPT YOU IN THE MIDDLE OF A CHAPTER BUT AS YOU KNOW, EMERGENCIES ARE NOT ALWAYS SCHEDULED AT CONVENIENT
     TIMES. INDEED, THEY ARE NOT SCHEDULED AT ALL. THAT IS WHY THEY ARE EMERGENCIES.
    THE AUTHOR OF THIS BOOK HAS