Ho-Ho-NOOO! (5 page)

was watching TJ with a sad little smile—the type you give crazy people on the street or prisoners on their way to being executed.

It was 8:00 p.m. when TJ staggered home from work and opened the front door.

“Hey, sport,” Dad said as he looked up from the TV remote, which he’d been trying to figure out since 2008.

“TJ!” Dorie cried as she raced from the Christmas tree she was trying to decorate near the stairs.

“No, Squid, don’t!” But TJ’s warning was too late. The little girl leaped into her arms, practically knocking her over.

Meanwhile, Violet sat quietly in the corner, working on her laptop—no doubt selling stocks that would pay for Dad’s big-screen TV.

But something was wrong. TJ could tell instantly. Why else would all of them be together in the same room at the same time? It’s not that they didn’t spend time together, but for them, “quality family time” usually just meant passing each other on their way to the bathroom in the morning.

Dad did his best to smile, but it was more of a grimace—which meant he either had terrible news or a bad case of indigestion. “Sweetheart, you better sit down.”

So much for the indigestion.

Filled with dread, TJ headed for the sofa. The last time they’d had a meeting like this was when he told them Mom was sick. “What happened?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

Once again Dad tried to smile . . . and once again he didn’t quite succeed.

TJ braced herself for the worst as Dorie plopped down beside her and Violet actually paused from typing.

He cleared his throat and began. “Remember I was telling you how my company has been in bad shape the past few months?”

TJ nodded.

“Well . . .” He took a deep breath. “In order to cut back expenses, they had to let me go.”

“Let you go where?” Dorie asked.

Dad smiled. For real this time. “It means I was fired, honey.”

“You lost your job?” TJ croaked.

“Only for a little while. They promise to rehire me just as soon as things get better.”

“So you’re, like, on a vacation,” Dorie said.

“Sort of, yes.”

“Cool.”

Finally Violet spoke up. “But with no salary, no health benefits, and unemployment pay amounting to a fraction of your current gross income.”

All three looked at Violet like she was speaking a foreign language.

Dad slowly nodded. “That’s right.”

“Is that a good or bad thing?” Dorie asked.

Dad took another breath. “Actually, both. It means Christmas gifts are going to be real slim this year.”

Silence filled the room.

“But—” he returned to his smile—“it also means we’ll be able to focus on more important things, like spending time with one another.”

“So you’re spending more time with us?” Dorie said as she hopped off the sofa and crawled onto his lap.

“That’s right,” Dad said. He pulled her closer. “I’m going to have all sorts of time.”

“But you’re still going to let us do the cooking, right?” Violet asked in alarm.

“Oh, I don’t know. With all my free time, I might be able—”

“No, Dad, please,” TJ said.

“No offense,” Violet explained, “but if they had an event in the Olympics for awful cooking—”

TJ finished her thought. “You’d bring home the gold every time.”

“And the silver and bronze,” Violet said.

“Please, Daddy,” Dorie begged. “Please don’t cook for us.”

“For the good of your family,” TJ said.

“For the good of the human race,” Violet added.

“All right, all right.” He laughed. “I promise, I will not cook.”

“And that includes trying to boil water,” TJ said.

Dorie agreed. “I hate burnt water.”

He chuckled. “I won’t even boil water.”

The mood in the room lightened and Dad gave Dorie another hug. “We may not have presents this year, but we’ll have each other.”

“And that’s what really counts,” Dorie said, hugging him back.

Dad held her close. “And that’s what really counts.”

Everyone seemed to agree . . . or at least pretended to. But even as they nodded, Violet returned to her typing, working all the more feverishly. And TJ knew what that meant. Now, more than ever, Violet was going to get Dad that big-screen TV. Which meant now, more than ever, TJ would have to earn enough money to beat her.

TIME TRAVEL LOG:

Malibu, California, December 19–supplemental of supplemental

Begin Transmission

Invited subject to go shopping. Hoped to make a sale for Uncle Dorkel. But alas and alack (whatever that means), there's no pleasing her. 21st-century chicks can be so picky.

End Transmission

TJ opened the door to her room and sighed. You'd sigh too if you spotted two goofballs from the 23rd century floating above your desk.

“Hey there, Your Dude-ness.” Herby grinned, sucking in his stomach and doing his usual failure at looking buff. “You miss us?”

If TJ rolled her eyes any harder, she would have sprained them.

“How was your first day at work?” Tuna asked.

She plopped down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. “You're telling me you didn't drop by to spy on me?”

“Of course not,” Tuna said.

She looked at him.

“Well, not
all
the time.”

She gave another weary sigh. “Why don't you guys head up to your attic and we'll talk tomorrow. I'm really wiped out.”

“Actually, that's what we want to talk with you about,” Tuna said. “We've concluded that you are placing far too much emphasis on the material aspects of the holiday season.”

“In English, please?” TJ asked.

Herby translated: “Christmas is way more than spending outloopish bucks and getting gonzo gifts.”

She sighed again and looked at the ceiling. “Not around here it isn't.”

Tuna argued, “But as a future leader, who will one day save the planet—”

“And bring back the hula hoop,” Herby added.

“—you must ignore what others say and do the right thing,” Tuna explained. “In this case, it is experiencing the true nature of Christmas.”

“You mean like ‘Away in a Manger' and ‘Silent Night' and all that?” TJ asked.

“If ‘all that' includes loving others as God loves them, then yes.”

“But giving cool gifts shows love,” TJ said.

“Sometimes,” Tuna agreed.

“But there are even more fantabulouser ways,” Herby said.

TJ closed her eyes. “Well, giving Dad a big wad of cash and beating out Violet is going to be my way.” Suddenly she had an idea and sat up. “Unless you guys could whip up something with that fancy knife of yours.”

Tuna stiffened. “The 23rd-century Swiss Army Knife doesn't
whip up
things.”

“Right,” TJ snorted, “except trouble for yours truly.”

“There is absolutely no blade on that knife that manufactures gifts.”

“Except . . .,” Herby said, thinking deeply (obviously a new experience for him), “you could buy something really groovy from the future and have it FedEx-ed back to you.”

“Herby!” Tuna warned.

“Hey, I'm just trying to help.”

“You're just trying to get her to like you,” Tuna argued.

“What makes you say that?” Herby said, sucking in his gut a little more and flexing his arms a little bigger.

But TJ barely noticed. “You're telling me I can buy stuff from the future for my dad? And that your Swiss Army Knife can ship it back to me?”

“Yes!” Herby said at the same time Tuna was saying, “No!”

“Really?” she asked.

More “Yes!”es and “No!”s (with an extra “Absolutely not” thrown in by Tuna).

“Ah, come on,” TJ said. She rose from the bed and approached Tuna. “That would be so cool.”

He looked away.

“Please?”

He folded his arms, but she could tell he was already starting to weaken.

“Pretty please . . .”

“It goes entirely against the character you should be developing for the future.”

“Just this once?” She batted her eyes, trying to look sweet and innocent.

Tuna cleared his throat and faced his partner . . . who was also batting his eyes and looking sweet and innocent.

“Please?” TJ repeated.

Tuna swallowed uneasily.

“Just this once?”

“Well . . .” He hesitated. “Okay, but just once.”

“All right!” TJ cried.

“Wazferk!” Herby shouted as he high-fived her. Then, reaching into his pocket for the knife, Herby opened a new blade and

a bright orange light filled the room.

“So what hobbies does your father enjoy?” Tuna asked.

“Besides burning our meals and trying to figure out the remote?” TJ said.

“Correct.”

“Well, he likes to read books.”

“Don't tell us, Your Dude-ness,” Herby said, holding out the knife. “Talk to the blade.”

TJ leaned toward the knife and said, “Books.”

Suddenly

a thousand different bottles of pills floated around her—small, big, clear, amber.

“What's this?” she said. “He likes books, not medicine.”

“They're books,” Herby said.

“They're pills,” she argued.

“Exactly,” Tuna agreed.

“How do you read a pill?”

“You don't read pills,” Herby said. “You swallow them.”

“By prescription only,” Tuna clarified. “That's how 23rd-century citizens get information from books.”

TJ frowned and reached for the nearest bottle as it floated by. She read the label. “
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
You mean if I take this pill, I'll have all the information that's in the book?”

“Once you digest it, it goes straight to your brain.”

TJ nodded, thinking how lucky 23rd-century students would be. Forget school; just go to the doctor and get a prescription. “But . . . what about the actual reading? Dad likes to read.”

“Reading?” Tuna scoffed. “That's so 21st-century.”

“But it's what he likes.”

“Sorry.” Herby shrugged.

“How 'bout travel?” Tuna asked. “Does he enjoy traveling?”

“We went to Detroit once, for a convention.”

“Not exactly what I meant.” Turning to the blade, Tuna spoke the word
vacation
, and immediately

a giant model of a planet was floating in TJ's room. (At least she hoped it was model.)

“What's that?” she asked.

“You can buy your father his own private planet,” Tuna said.

“Perfect for those times he wants to get away,” Herby explained.

“Really?” TJ asked in growing excitement.

“Absolutely,” Tuna said. “Though it will involve putting him into hyperfreeze for the several hundred years it will take to travel to his destination. However—”

TJ shook her head. “What else do you have?”

“Does he like pets?” Herby asked.

“Sure, we got the cat, the dog, my hamster, my goldfish—”

“No, I'm talking unique pets.”

TJ knew she shouldn't ask the question (especially with these guys), but she couldn't help herself. “What do you mean . . .
unique
?”

As an answer, Herby spoke into the blade: “Uncle Dorkel's Pet Store.” And suddenly

scurrying around her room were a couple of very strange animals. And we're not talking your average strange (even for TJ's life). We're talking your stranger than strange.

“What are they?” TJ cried in alarm.

“Design-a-Pets,” Herby said proudly. “My uncle owns the store.”

“Really?” TJ asked. She reached down and caught what looked like a tiny chow chow—except for the part about its jumping only on back legs and having a cute little pouch in its tummy. “What's this?”

“A miniature kanga-chow,” Tuna said. “Quite popular among the rich and famous.”

“Why's that?”

“Not only do their owners keep them in their purses, but they can use their little pouches to hold their makeup.”

TJ sighed. “That's not exactly Dad's style.” She set the kanga-chow down and watched it hop off.

Not far away she spotted something that resembled a cat, except it walked on two legs and was holding a banana. “What's that?” she asked.

“A chimpanz-kitty,” Herby said.

TJ watched as it jumped up to her chair and then onto her desk, where it picked up a pencil and examined it.

Tuna explained, “It's the perfect pet for those who enjoy cats but want them to empty their own litter box.”

TJ raised an eyebrow. “How much does it cost?”

Herby reached for the chimpanz-kitty and read the tag on its collar. “Just $34.95.”

“That's it?”

“Plus shipping and handling.”

“And how much is that?”

“One, maybe two billion.”

“Dollars?” TJ choked.

“Give or take a million.”

“That's terrible!” TJ said.

“Well, you have to figure for inflation.”

“And two hundred years is an outloopish distance to travel,” Herby said.

“Sorry, guys. That's a little out of my range. I think I better stick to Plan A. With Dad being out of work and everything, the more money I can give to him, the better.”

“But, Your Dude-ness, we just explained—”

“I know what you explained,” she said as she crossed to her door and opened it. “I also know what I've decided.”

“But—”

“Good night, guys.” She motioned to the hallway. “I'll see you in the morning.”

Reluctantly, they nodded and floated toward the door.

“And take your pals with you.”

“What if Uncle Dorkel dropped the price to $29.95?” Herby asked.

“Plus shipping and handling?” TJ asked.

He shrugged.

“Good night.”

“How 'bout two for the price of one?”

“Good night, guys.”

“Good night,” they muttered as they floated out of the room and down the hallway.

She called after them, “Herby? The animals?”

He pulled out the knife, pressed the blade, and