Punished! Read online

  by David Lubar

  Millbrook Press / Minneapolis

  Text copyright © 2006 by David Lubar

  Cover illustration by Chris Sheban

  Illustration copyright © 2006 by Lerner Publishing Group,Inc.

  All rights reserved.International copyright secured.No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic,mechanical, photocopying,recording,or otherwise—without the prior written permission of Lerner Publishing Group,Inc.,except for the inclusion of brief quotations in an acknowledged review.

  Millbrook Press

  A division of Lerner Publishing Group,Inc.

  241 First Avenue North

  Minneapolis, MN 55401 U.S.A.

  Website address: www.lernerbooks.com

  Cataloging-in-Publication

  Lubar,David.

  Punished! / by David Lubar.

  p.; cm.

  978-1-58196-042-6 hardcover edition

  978-1-58196-063-1 paperback edition

  Summary: Logan and his friend Benedict are playing tag in the library. Logan gets caught when he runs into a mysterious man. When Logan doesn't apologize sincerely, the mysterious gentleman punishes him by causing him to speak in puns. Only finding seven examples each of oxymorons, anagrams, and palindromes within the time limits will return Logan to normal.

  1. Boys—Juvenile fiction. 2. Friendship—Juvenile fiction. 3.Word games—Juvenile fiction. [1. Boys—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction. 3.Word games—Fiction.] I.Title. II. Author.

  PZ7.L96775 Pu 2006

  [Fic] dc22

  OCLC: 61050749

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  5 — SB — 8/1/10

  eISBN: 978-0-7613-8279-9 (pdf)

  eISBN: 978-1-4677-3146-1 (ePub)

  eISBN: 978-1-4677-3145-4 (mobi)

  For Uncle Ben,

  who passed along to me

  his passion for puns;

  and for Joelle,

  who graciously endures

  the results.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE Bound for the Library

  CHAPTER TWO Running into Trouble

  CHAPTER THREE Bad Words

  CHAPTER FOUR A Confusing Explanation

  CHAPTER FIVE Opposites Attract

  CHAPTER SIX Slowly Running Out of Time

  CHAPTER SEVEN Scrambling for Answers

  CHAPTER EIGHT Either Way, It’s the Same

  CHAPTER ONE

  Bound for the Library

  “This is a terrible idea,”I told Benedict as we walked up the stone steps toward the huge wooden door. “We could be having fun.” It was wonderfully warm outside—a perfect day for tossing a baseball around.

  “It’s a great idea,” Benedict said. He dashed ahead of me and yanked the door open.

  “But we have two weeks. The reports aren’t due until the end of the month.” I left the beautiful May weather behind and followed Benedict into the cool darkness of the old building. The half-dozen lamps scattered around the floor tried their best to brighten the place, but the tall ceiling soaked up most of the light.

  “It’s way too soon to get started,” I said as the door closed behind me.

  “We’ve got half days next week,” Benedict said. “If we do our reports now, we’ll be free then. Trust me, Logan. This is a good idea.”

  “I get it,” I said. “You’re trying to be picked as Student of the Month.” As long as I’d known him, Benedict had wanted that—especially since the award came with a coupon good for a free super-deluxe pizza from Zio’s Kitchen. I’d won the award last January, but I promised myself I’d save my coupon for the perfect summer day. That would be the day I hit my first home run of the Little League season. Perfect pizza, perfect hit, perfect day—it would be worth the wait.

  I didn’t think Benedict would ever have to figure out when to use a pizza coupon. One way or another, no matter how hard he tried, he always messed up before the end of the month.

  “I’ve got a real shot this month,” he said. “I can almost taste that pizza. Especially since I’m going to write such a great report—as soon as I figure out a good subject.”

  “Come on. Let’s just get this over with.” There was no way I’d admit it to Benedict, but his idea sort of made sense. Our teacher, Mr. Vernack, had assigned us reports. We had to write five whole pages on the topic: “What’s So Great about Being a Human?” As far as I was concerned, I could answer that in one word. Baseball. But I had to fill five pages. And we couldn’t just make stuff up. Mr.Vernack said we were supposed to use at least three different sources, not counting the Internet. That meant stuff like books and magazines—which, naturally, meant the library. So Benedict and I had come here right after school.

  We walked past the towering rows of bookcases in the adult area and through the hall that led to the kids’ department. I didn’t expect we’d stay very long. Benedict has a hard time sitting still. So do I, but he makes me look calm. Even so, I thought we’d stay for more than five minutes.

  I was wrong.

  When we got to the kids’ area, I grabbed a couple of baseball books from the shelves in the sports section. I knew right where they were because I always checked to see if they’d gotten any new ones in. I love 796.357. That was their Dewey decimal number. I opened the first book and started to flip through it when, WHACK, Benedict ran past, smacked me on the back, and yelled, “Tag! You’re it.”

  He dashed down the hall. I had no choice. It’s impossible to sit still once you’re tagged. Totally impossible. It’s like if someone sings, “Row, row, row your—” and then stops, you just have to finish it by singing, “boat.” I chased him. He didn’t head back to the adult section. Instead, he made a sharp left and raced down the stairs to the basement.

  I followed. A sign near the steps said: REFERENCE SECTION. By the time I reached the bottom, Benedict had vanished among the shelves. But I could hear his footsteps. I rushed after him. “I’ll get you!” I shouted.

  I reached the end of the aisle. From the echo of his footsteps, it sounded like he’d turned right. I swung that way and caught a glimpse of him as I hurried to the end of the next aisle.

  “Slowpoke!” he called.

  “Oh yeah?” I put my head down and pumped my legs hard,running full force.Benedict might be fast, but I knew I could catch him.

  I didn’t even see the old guy until I crashed into him.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Running into Trouble

  “Ooofff,” I said as I bounced back from the collision.A quick glance at the man showed me I hadn’t done any damage. He barely even looked surprised. “Sorry,” I said as I started to run around him.

  He put out a hand and stopped me. “This is a library,” he said, staring at me through the bottom part of those glasses that have a line right across the middle of each lens. “Not a playground.”

  “No kidding.” I hate it when people tell me obvious stuff. I wondered if he worked in the library. I’d never seen him before, but I didn’t pay much attention to the people outside the kids’ area. He was an old guy, dressed kind of like a teacher, with a jacket but no tie. He had a book in his other hand—the hand that wasn’t keeping me from chasing Benedict.

  “Hey, I said I was sorry,” I told him.

  “Words aren’t always enough.” He glanced at the books that surrounded us and let out a small chuckle. “They should be, but they aren’t. That’s a lesson you obviously haven’t learned yet. Maybe you need to be punished.”

  Punished? My stomach squeezed tight as his words sunk in. Was he threatening me? I backed away from him and got ready to make a sprint for the stairs.

  He didn’t try to stop me. Instead, he nodded and said, “Yes. Punis
hed. I suspect it would do you some good.” He raised the book he was holding and blew on it. A puff of dust swirled through the air. I closed my eyes as the dust tickled my face.

  “Hey, cut it out!” I wiped my face with my sleeve and then opened my eyes. He was gone.

  WHACK!

  “Tag again!” Benedict shouted, running up from behind and giving me another slap on the back.

  “Cut it out,” I said. I glared at him so he’d know I wasn’t fooling around. “You almost got me in trouble.” I rubbed my eyes. They still felt dusty. I blinked hard. Everything looked funny for a moment, like I was seeing through someone else’s eyes. But after another hard blink, things looked normal again.

  “Sorry,” Benedict said, but he couldn’t keep from grinning. He started to climb one of the bookcases.

  “Will you please try to behave your shelf?” I said.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Behave yourself,” I told him again.

  We returned to the kids’ section, and I got back to work. Benedict worked a tiny bit, too, but mostly he ran around until Mrs. Tanaka, the kids’ librarian, told him to stop. Then he sat for a while. Actually, he sat for thirty-eight seconds. I know, because I counted. Then he ran around some more. He reminded me of one of those old wind-up toys that are all shaky and jerky. The kind that will stop so it looks like they’ve run down, then jerk back to life and start moving again. But Mrs. Tanaka took it easy on him. She’s pretty nice. She never shushes us. And she’s always seeing if she can help us.

  While I was working, she came over and asked, “Did you find everything you needed?”

  “Yup,” I told her, “Eyebrows the books all the time to see what’s new.”

  She smiled. “I browse the books all the time, too. I really enjoy it.”

  “Alphabet that you do,” I said.

  She laughed like I’d made a joke. “I’ll bet I do, too.”

  “I don’t see what’s so punny.”

  She groaned, then muttered, “Very punny.” Shaking her head, she walked away from me.

  I had no idea why she was laughing. Or why she was groaning. I took a few more notes, then got my stuff together and grabbed Benedict as he ran past my table, making airplane sounds.

  “Ready to go?” he asked.

  “Yeah. House about we head home?”

  “Stop that,” he said.

  “Stop what?” I didn’t understand what he was talking about.

  But instead of answering, Benedict turned away from me and walked toward the door. I had no idea what was bothering him, so I just followed him outside.

  When we got to the bottom of the steps, he said, “Want to come over and throw around the football?”

  “Sure,”I said.Benedict likes football as much as I like baseball, so we usually take turns playing each game. “We can tackle the reports later.”

  “Will you please knock it off, Logan? You’re starting to sound like my Uncle Horace. And he’s really annoying.”

  “Knock what off?” I wished he’d tell me what he meant. “If you expect me to hike all the way over to your yard, you’d better start making sense. Besides, I don’t really field like football. Baseball is a batter game.”

  “Oh, just forget it,” Benedict said. “Call me when you decide to be normal again.” He walked off, slapping parking meters as he passed them and shouting, “Hi-i-i-i-yah!”

  I had no idea why he was angry with me. I also had no idea that things were about to get a lot worse.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bad Words

  “How was the library?”Mom asked when I got back home.

  “Okay.” I took a deep breath through my nose. Mmmmmm. Something smelled great.

  “I’m making pot roast,” Mom told me.

  I lifted the lid and peeked into the pot. “It smells totally stew-pendous.”

  “Can you stick this in the fridge for me?” Mom asked, pointing to the dessert she’d just made. “It’s your favorite flavor—butterscotch.”

  I took the bowl from the counter. It was still warm. “Sure. I don’t mind pudding it away.”

  Mom stared at me for a moment. “We’ll be eating in fifteen minutes,” she finally said.

  “The spooner you lettuce eat, the better,” I told her.

  I left the kitchen and headed to my room to drop off my backpack. Behind me, I heard Mom muttering something about me going through a phase.

  I ran into Dad as I was coming out of my room. “Hey, Logan,” he said, “don’t forget we have some yard work to finish this weekend.”

  “Is there a lot mower to do?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Dad said, giving me a funny look, “there’s a lot more to do. We need to put that fence around the tomatoes.”

  “Right. Weed need to be garden them from the rabbits.”

  Dad groaned and shook his head.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked. I was getting tired of all the groaning. Benedict had groaned at me. So had Mrs. Tanaka. Mom had groaned, and now Dad was groaning, too.

  “Nothing,” Dad said. “I guess I was just as silly when I was your age.” He reached out and ruffled my hair the way he does when he talks about the good old days. Then he headed downstairs. I followed him into the kitchen.

  My little sister Kaylee was already there. I sat, and we started to eat. But every time I said something, they all groaned and rolled their eyes up at the ceiling. Except Kaylee. She kept giggling.

  I bent under the table and looked at Buster, my dog, who was waiting for me to slip him a treat.

  Buster panted. That was a relief. “At leash my own dog doesn’t groan at me,” I whispered as I patted him.

  Buster groaned.

  Maybe it was really a yawn, but it sure sounded like a groan. I dropped a piece of pot roast on the floor for him anyhow.

  After dinner, when we’d finished clearing the table, Kaylee came over to me, grinned, and said, “You’re funny, Logan. Just like my cartoons.”

  “Thanks,” I said, although I wasn’t sure it was a compliment. But she was the only one who wasn’t groaning at me, so I figured I’d better take whatever nice words I could get.

  And it turned out the problem followed me to school. I had trouble right away the next day. First thing after morning announcements, we had language arts, which is a fancy way to say English. There was a woman standing up front with Mr. Vernack. She was short and thin with a friendly face and long, black hair. “Class,” Mr.Vernack said, “this is Ms. Glott. Say hello.”

  “Hello, Ms. Glott,” we all said.

  “She’ll be joining our class for the next month as a student teacher,” Mr.Vernack told us.

  “I’m thrilled to be here,” Ms. Glott said, giving us a big smile that made her look even friendlier.

  “You’ll find we have some very clever students,” Mr. Vernack said. “And I don’t think there will be any problems while you are here.” He glanced at Benedict as he said that. “Now, let’s get to work.”

  He pointed to the vocabulary list on the board. “Logan, the first word is isolate. Can you use it in a sentence?”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’m sorry isolate getting here.”

  Everyone started laughing. Everyone except Mr. Vernack. He frowned and gave me the next word. Justice.

  “Justice I was leaving home, my dog got loose.”

  Mr. Vernack’s frown grew so big, his eyes became slits. He said one word: “Decide.”

  “My dog chased a cat around decide of my house.”

  “Logan, is this some kind of joke?” Mr. Vernack asked.

  “No, Mister Vernack. I was jest doing wit you asked.” I clamped my mouth shut. Nothing seemed to be coming out right.

  He stared at me for a long time. Then he sighed and said, “Very well, I’ll give you one more chance. The next word is industry.”

  That was easy. There was no way I could mess it up. “The cat got stuck up industry and wouldn’t come down.”

  I listened, as surprised as ever
yone else when the words came out of my mouth. I sure hadn’t meant to say that.

  Mr. Vernack spoke just two words of his own. He pointed toward the door. “Principal” was the first word. “Now” was the second.

  I walked down the long hall.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Principal Chumpski asked when I stepped into her office.

  I started to explain. But every time I said something, she chuckled. Then she started laughing. Finally, I sat back and waited for her to stop laughing.

  “You’re quite some boy,” she said between laughs.

  I nodded, afraid to open my mouth.

  “Don’t lose that sense of humor, no matter how much other people groan,” she said after she’d managed to catch her breath. “But keep it to yourself in class. Mr. Vernack is a wonderful teacher, but I suspect he’s never going to appreciate your talent for word play. Now go buzz on back to your room and behave.”

  “Thanks. I’ll try to beehive myself.” I got up from the chair and breathed a big sigh of relief.

  Principal Chumpski started laughing again. Finally, she shook her head and waved toward the door.

  As I left the principal’s office, I thought about the strange stuff that had been happening to me. I hadn’t noticed right away, but once I started paying attention, I realized one thing for sure: Words weren’t coming out of my mouth the right way. They left my brain just fine, but after that they went horribly wrong.

  I was so used to saying what I meant, I had to listen carefully to catch the mistake. But there was no doubt. Every time I opened my mouth and said more than two or three words, a joke came out. No, not a joke. Worse than a joke—a pun. And people seemed to hate puns. They might laugh, but after they laughed, they groaned.

  Why was this happening to me? It was almost like I was being punished.

  Pun-ished!

  Oh my word.

  As I thought about the man in the library, a shiver ran down my spine. And then it ran back up. And then it slipped into my stomach and gave it a hard kick with a pointy boot.