Double Trouble Read online

  Praise for Too Much Space!

  “Pretty sporky, as Bob would approvingly put it.”

  —Booklist

  “A strong addition to any library’s chapter book selection. Offer to kids who love funny stories but may be too young for books like Diary of a Wimpy Kid.”

  —School Library Journal

  CONTENTS

  Splog Entry #1: Hard Work Is Hard!

  Splog Entry #2: Sad and Sadder

  Splog Entry #3: Trouble Times Two

  Splog Entry #4: Backward Bob

  Splog Entry #5: Space Jam

  Splog Entry #6: Bad Breaking

  Splog Entry #7: Deep, Deep, Deep

  Splog Entry #8: Dancing Pirates?

  Splog Entry #9: Moon Mall Fifty-One

  Splog Entry #10: And the Winner Is . . .

  Splog Entry #11: Ribbon Blues

  Splog Entry #12: Outside the Dome

  Splog Entry #13: Lani, Too

  Splog Entry #14: Shrinking Hopes

  Splog Entry #15: So Confusing

  Splog Entry #16: Making the Grade

  Bob’s Extra-Credit Fun Space Facts! (Even though nothing is fun about space!)

  Too Much Space! Teaser

  About the Author

  For Gwen and Arthur

  SPLOG ENTRY #1:

  Hard Work Is Hard!

  Dear Kids of the Past,

  Hi. My name’s Bob and I live and go to school in space. That’s right, space. Pretty sporky, huh? I’m the new kid this year at Astro Elementary, the only school in orbit around one of the outer planets. There’s just one micro little problem:

  GETTING GOOD GRADES HERE IS NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE!

  I mean, back on Earth at my old school, I got a trophy for learning how to Velcro my shoe. But if you dare ask the teachers here for a little help putting on your space helmet the right way so your head doesn’t explode, they deduct six points from your grade average and make you sharpen pencils for a week!

  Beep just clapped and said, “Head go pop, yay!” Beep is a young alien who got separated from his 600 siblings when they were playing hide-and-seek in some asteroid field. Then he floated around space for a while, until he ended up here. Sad, huh?

  You know what’s even sadder? I was the one who found him knocking on our space station’s air lock door and let him in. Now he thinks I’m his new mother!

  On the bright side Beep not only likes sharpening pencils but also most of the other mind-numbing tasks I give him. Which frees up my time to do more important things like . . . like . . . like . . .

  “Bob-mother like sleep late!” Beep said.

  Well, who doesn’t?

  Beep is also really good at drawing, so I let him do all the pictures for these space logs (splogs, as we call them) before sending them back in time for you to read. Beep says to tell you that he once was terrible at drawing, but that he worked really hard and that you can too. (Unlike me, of course, who was smart enough to give up art the second I realized I could draw only stick figures!)

  Anyway, I promise to try to write more entries soon, maybe between my after-school nap and my predinner rest time.

  Enjoy!

  Splog Entry #2:

  Sad and Sadder

  Okay, so things didn’t go exactly as planned. Somehow, I accidentally napped through dinner, and then I accidentally played video games for four hours, and now it’s past midnight and I still haven’t started my giant homework project that was assigned only two weeks ago and is suddenly due tomorrow.

  Beep patted his tummy as he floated across the dorm room we share. (Sadly there’s no gravity in space.)

  “Din-din yummy tonight,” he said. “Beep eat for Beep, and Beep eat for Bob-mother, too.”

  “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  “Bob-mother look cute when drool on pillow.”

  No one had ever called me “cute” before. But that was beside the point. “Listen, Beep, we have to focus on this project. Are you going to help me or what?”

  Beep clapped. “Or what!”

  “Help me look for the work sheet with the assignment written on it.” I opened a drawer, and a bunch of papers and junk floated out.

  “This work sheet?” Beep said, holding up a floppy manila time-velope.

  “No, that’s for mailing our splog journals to the kids of the past.”

  Beep studied the time-velope. “Mail Beep and Bob-mother to past too?”

  “We’d have to be two inches tall, Beep, to fit in there. Besides, those aren’t meant for mailing people.”

  Beep shoved the time-velope in his pouch. “This work sheet?” he said, holding up a crumpled paper.

  “That’s the one!” I grabbed it from him and read. “All we have to do is build an accurate model of a famous structure, such as the Eiffel Space Tower, using ice pop sticks.”

  Beep clapped again. “Ice pop sticks, yay!” Ice pops were kind of Beep’s weakness.

  “The best model in the class will be chosen to represent our school at the Ice Pop Stick Finals on Earth’s moon. Which, you know, actually sounds kind of fun. I’ve never been to the moon.”

  “Beep neither.”

  I lowered the paper. “I’ve also never won anything. I wonder what that’s like, to win a contest in front of everyone. With all the kids and teachers gazing up at you and everything. It must be the best feeling ever.”

  Beep clapped. “Bob-mother win prize! Go to moon!”

  “Well, not yet. But I suppose there’s a chance. If we work really hard.”

  “Bob-mother no like work hard.”

  “That is a problem.” I straightened with resolve. “But you know what, Beep? We’re going to do this project thing, and we’re going to do it well. Okay, first we need about ten thousand ice pop sticks.”

  Beep raised his hand. “Oo, oo! Job for Beep! Job for Beep!” He spun. “Where ten thousand ice pop for Beep eat?”

  “Sorry, Beep, that’s not how it’s done. Professor Zoome gave me one ice pop stick”—I reached into my backpack—“and this duplicator ray.”

  “Ray not look yummy.”

  “That’s because it’s a tool, not a treat. Watch.” I let the ice pop stick float, aimed the duplicator, and pushed the button. A yellow ray zapped out. Suddenly, there were two floating sticks.

  “See, Beep. Now we just have to do it”—I tried to subtract two from ten thousand in my head—“about ninety thousand and eight something more times.” (I’m not so great at math.)

  Beep folded his arms. “Beep like eat ice pop better.”

  “Well, we don’t have ten thousand ice pops. So this will have to do.” I handed the ray to Beep. “Here, you work on that while I start gluing the sticks together.”

  Beep immediately pointed the ray at my head. “Idea more better! Make two Bobs. Then work go two time fast!”

  “No, Beep, wait—”

  He pushed the button. Click.

  Beep pouted. “No work.”

  “That’s what I was trying to tell you. Duplicator rays are designed to work on objects only. Not life-forms.”

  “Bob life-form?”

  “Yes, I’m a life-form!”

  Beep pointed the ray at my desk. “Desk life-form?”

  “No, but—”

  Zap! Suddenly, there were two desks.

  He pointed at the dresser. “That life-form?”

  “Beep, we don’t need another—”

  Zap!

  “Pillow life-form?” Beep said.

  Zap! Zap! Zap!

  “Stop that, Beep! This room is crowded enough!”

  “Beep life-form?” He pointed at his foot.

  Click.

  His face grew sad when it didn’t work. “But Beep want more Beeps.”

  “Sorry, B
eep, that’s not how it works.”

  He unscrewed a panel on the back of the duplicator ray, exposing the wiring inside. “Beep have idea! Beep switch blue and red wire!”

  I shot forward. “Beep, stop fiddling with that! You don’t know how it works.”

  Beep put the panel back on. “Now Beep make ray work on life-form!”

  “Give me that!” I said. But as I yanked it away, my finger may have brushed the button . . . just as the ray was pointed at Beep!

  Zap!

  “Oh no!” I froze. “What have I done?”

  Beep looked down at himself and pouted. “Ray still not work on life-form. Beep sad.”

  Next to him, another Beep nodded. “Beep Two sadder.”

  “Here tissue,” the first Beep said, turning.

  The second Beep dabbed his eyes.

  And I promptly passed out.

  Splog Entry #3:

  Trouble Times Two

  My eyes opened to the sight of Beep patting a wet cloth on my forehead.

  “Thanks, Beep,” I said. “For a second there I thought you had—”

  A second Beep patted me with another wet cloth.

  “Gaaahhhhh!” I said. “Beep, what have you done?!”

  They looked at each other. Then the truth finally hit them, and the two Beeps squealed, high-fived, and hugged.

  “Guys, keep it down!” I said just as there was a knock on my dorm room door. It was followed by a voice: “Bob, are you okay in there?”

  I pointed to the bunk bed. “Quick,” I whispered to the Beeps. “Hide!”

  Beep took his normal spot on top while, annoyingly, the duplicate Beep took my bed.

  I opened the door a crack. “Oh, Lani, hey,” I said.

  Laniakea Supercluster is my best human friend at Astro Elementary. She’s smart, cool, and fun, so I do my best to also act smart, cool, and fun whenever she’s around. (The key word there is “act.”)

  “What’s going on?” she said. “I was passing by and heard all this commotion.”

  “Oh, that was just Beep making some noise,” I said. “And me. And Beep. I mean, Beep making more noise. Not a second Beep.”

  She gave me a funny look.

  “So,” I said, trying to change the subject, “what are you doing up so late?”

  “Homework,” she said.

  “Me too!” I admitted. “After all, our ice pop stick thingies are due in just a few hours.”

  “Not that assignment, Bob. I finished that ages ago. I’m studying for my final exams for eighth grade.”

  “Eighth grade! But that’s”—I counted on my fingers—“sixteen years from now!”

  She laughed. “Not quite.”

  Beep and Beep giggled from the bed. I tried to talk loudly so she wouldn’t hear them. “Speaking of science,” I said, “I was wondering: What would happen if someone, uh, switched the red and blue wires on a duplicator ray, and accidentally zapped their little buddy?”

  Lani thought. “Theoretically, switching the wires could allow for animate organic matter, or life-forms, to be duplicated too. But as I said, only theoretically.”

  The Beeps giggled again.

  “So if someone theoretically duplicated someone,” I went on, “it would be pretty easy to reverse, right?”

  She pinched her chin. “As far as I know, the creation of matter cannot be reversed without risking total annihilation of the universe. Why do you ask?”

  I gulped. “No reason. Well, nice talking to you. Good night!”

  I felt bad about closing the door on her, but I was in a near panic. I shot around the room. “Quick, Beep, I’ll throw away the duplicator ray, and you get rid of the extra Beep.”

  The other Beep floated out from the sheets. “Get rid of Beep Two make Beep Two sad.” He flashed those big Beep eyes.

  “Listen,” I said, “I’m really sorry, but . . . would you stop looking at me like that?!”

  “Bob-mother mean,” Beep said.

  Beep Two nodded. “We need new Bob-mother,” he said, and promptly grabbed the duplicator from my hands.

  I lunged forward. “NO, WAIT, I—”

  Zap! A yellow flash blinded me. Then all I saw were blinking spots. But as those faded, a face came into focus. A face that looked exactly like mine.

  “Hello, Bob,” the other Bob said.

  “Oh, hey,” I answered back. And once again passed out.

  Splog Entry #4:

  Backward Bob

  When I opened my eyes again, I tried not to freak out at the sight of the other me who was staring right back.

  “This. Is. Weird,” I said.

  “Rather,” the other Bob replied.

  I studied him for a moment. “Do I really look like that?” I asked.

  Beep Two shook his head. “No, new Bob-mother more handsome.”

  Original Beep nodded. “More handsome much!”

  “But we’re the same!” I said.

  “Not same same,” Beep said. “He backward.”

  I studied him closely. “He doesn’t look backward to me. It’s like staring into a mirror.”

  My reflection folded his arms. “Exactly. And reflections are flipped.” He grabbed the duplicator from Beep Two. “It appears someone switched the red and blue wires, reversing the polarity, which not only reverses the life duplication settings, but it also reverses what it duplicates.”

  “And make backward Beep and Bob-mother!” Beep said.

  “Backward or not,” I said, “mistakes were made, and we have to focus on a way to unmake them.”

  “Throw old Bob-mother out space station door?” Beep Two offered.

  Original Beep nodded. “May be only way.”

  “Whoa, wait!” I said. “Let’s not be hasty. In fact, maybe there’s a positive side to all this.”

  Backward Bob lifted an eyebrow. “Such as?”

  “Like”—I thought for a second—“Beep and I can sleep in and play video games while the new Beep and Bob go to class.”

  Beep clapped. “Idea good!”

  “And every night when we have to do homework,” I went on, “our duplicates can do it for us!”

  Beep clapped again. “Idea super good!”

  “And when we get assigned to go on a hazardous space mission . . .”

  “All right, we get the point,” Backward Bob said. “It’s a deal.”

  I blinked in surprise. “It is?”

  “Why ever not?” he said. “After all, you gave us life. Helping you out is the least we can do. I am you, right?” His eyes glinted, and he arched an eyebrow.

  “If you really insist,” I said, “you and Beep Two can make our ice pop stick model while we sleep. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just best in the class and then better than anyone’s at the finals. Got it? Thanks!” I stretched and yawned. “Nice meeting you, backward me. See you in the morning!”

  I put my head on my pillow, and in a second I was out.

  I woke with a start, not knowing if it was day or night (a problem with living in space), so I rubbed my bleary eyes until the clock came into focus. When I saw the time, I sprang up.

  “Beep, why didn’t you wake me?!”

  “Bob-mother look cute when drool on pillow again.”

  Could I help it if I was so cute? I shot out of bed. “Quick! We’re going to be late for class!”

  “But Backward Bob-mother already go.”

  I froze. “So that wasn’t a dream? There really is another me?”

  “And Beep!”

  “Hmm,” I said, “this could be a pretty sporky turn of events. You know what this means?”

  “Seem good now but then get worse and then end very, very bad?”

  “It means, Beep, that for the first time all school year, we’re going to have a nice, leisurely breakfast.”

  Beep clapped. “Strawberry waffle time, yay!”

  And, without rushing for once, we were off.

  Splog Entry #5:

  Space Jam

  About a half
hour later Beep and I patted our bellies.

  “Breakfast is actually good, Beep, when you don’t shove it down in ten seconds.”

  “Beep shove for thirty minute!” He belched strawberry jam.

  I stretched my arms. “So what should we do now, Beep? Morning nap? Or video games? Or . . . or . . .” I tried to think of a third option but came up blank.

  “Beep miss class. Beep want go say hi.”

  “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Don’t want to interrupt our doubles, you know.”

  “What if just look?”

  I thought about it. “No harm in spying, I suppose,” I said. “Okay, let’s do it.”

  We floated from the cafeteria to our classroom. As we arrived outside the door, I heard Professor Zoome saying, “Very good, Bob! Very good indeed!” followed by lots of clapping.

  I peeked inside. Everyone was gathered around a giant ice pop stick model of the Eiffel Space Tower.

  “It’s beautiful, Bob,” Lani was saying. “But how did you get all those colorful little blinking lights inside?”

  “It wasn’t all me,” Backward Bob said. “I used this Temporary Shrink Ray to reduce Beep to a one-inch height, and he ran strands of decorative lighting from bottom to top. He also installed a working elevator and a replica of the actual Eiffel Space Tower gift shop, complete with tiny overpriced T-shirts.”

  “Very good, Beep!” Professor Zoome said.

  “But late last night you’d barely even started,” Lani said to Backward Bob. “How did you complete it so fast?”

  “That’s true,” Backward Bob said, “which is why Beep and I decided to stay up all night and even skipped breakfast. Great work demands great effort.”

  Lani looked a bit suspicious, but everyone else clapped. Oh, please.

  “Not only do you earn a stellar grade, Bob,” Professor Zoome said, “but due to the results of the Clap-O-Meter, it is clear that your model will represent our school at the Ice Pop Stick Finals this evening on Earth’s moon. And I believe you have a very good chance of winning the coveted Platinum Ribbon and trophy! We will make a class trip of it later this afternoon.”