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    TJ and the Rockets
    TJ and the Rockets
    TJ and the Rockets
    Ebook76 pages50 minutes

    TJ and the Rockets

    By Hazel Hutchins

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    About this ebook

    TJ overcame his fear of cats in TJ and the Cats and his fear of ghosts in TJ and the Haunted House. Now, he's not so keen on facing his fear of failure. His best friend Seymour is determined to come up with the latest greatest invention and TJ's gran expects TJ to build a rocket. The kittens, T-Rex and Alaska, are eager to get involved. When the first rocket that TJ builds plummets out of the sky, no parachute in sight, TJ is sure that his efforts are doomed. But are they?
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOrca Book Publishers
    Release dateApr 1, 2004
    ISBN9781554697977
    TJ and the Rockets
    Author

    Hazel Hutchins

    From her home in the mountain town of Canmore, Alberta, Hazel has written over forty books for children of all ages. She gives lively presentations at schools and libraries across Canada. For more information, visit www.hazelhutchins.net.

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      Book preview

      TJ and the Rockets - Hazel Hutchins

      —H.H.

      Chapter 1

      My name is TJ Barnes and sometimes I should quit while I’m ahead.

      Early Thursday morning, Gran turned up at our door with a long, skinny box. Inside were cardboard rolls, balsa wood and knotted string.

      It’s a kit I picked up for you at a garage sale, TJ, she said. Smell this.

      She placed a small gray tube in my hand. The smell was sharp and smoky all at once.

      Gunpowder, said Gran.

      I couldn’t believe what Gran was saying.

      You want me to build a bomb? I asked.

      Gran shook her head no and looked totally pleased at the same time.

      Model rockets—the kind that really fly, said Gran. That’s a used rocket engine. The smell really does remind me of gunpowder.

      I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know anything about model rockets.

      Do you remember telling me that the worst thing about school this year was going to be the science fair? asked Gran. I thought this might help.

      The science fair—just the mention of it was enough to ruin my day. I didn’t mind doing projects in class, but the idea of a science fair, when everyone in the whole school was going to walk by and say, Look what a dumb thing TJ’s come up with, made me feel sick to my stomach. It especially made me feel sick when the person who taught science to the other class was Mr. Wilson.

      Mr. Wilson is Mr. Super Science himself. He’s built an entire laboratory in the back of his classroom. He has all kinds of special equipment—beakers, batteries, microscopes, chemicals and books about everything under the sun. If you believe the rumors, he practically does the projects for the kids—not that anyone ever admits it. Would you admit it if you had the most amazing project ever?

      And there’s another problem. Ever since I was little, things go wrong, wrong, wrong for me whenever Mr. Wilson is around.

      In grade one, on the first really cold day, it was Mr. Wilson who found me with my tongue stuck to the bike rack.

      In grade two it was Mr. Wilson who figured out that I was walking funny because I’d Crazy-Glued my fingers to my kneecap.

      In grade three it was Mr. Wilson who was standing by the garbage pail in the hall the time I had to be sick and missed the bucket.

      I could go on, but I think you get the picture. I guess I must have looked sick again because Gran tried to reassure me, even if she didn’t know what I was feeling sick about.

      You can do it all yourself, TJ, she said. I only have to be there when you launch. There are instructions and safety rules right in the box.

      Suddenly there was a thumping noise overhead. We looked up. Neither of us had X-ray vision, but we could guess what was going on.

      Say hi to the wild teenagers for me, Gran said with a grin. I’ve got to run.

      The next moment Gran was out the door and I was on my way upstairs.

      The teenagers were my kittens, Alaska and T-Rex. I’d taken care of Gran’s four cats last year and now I had two of my own. They were nine months old and full of the kind of energy that sometimes got them into trouble; that’s why Gran called them the wild teenagers.

      As I reached the top of the stairs the thumping noise stopped and something small and metal came flying—smack— out the bathroom door.

      I looked into the bathroom. T-Rex was sitting innocently in the tub. He’s gray with little white paddy paws and great big kitten eyes. Those big eyes were looking up and they were very bright and shiny. Hunting eyes.

      Clink.

      A hairpin fell into the tub. Instantly, T-Rex attacked it. When T-Rex cuffs something around the bathtub, he puts his whole body into it. Thump, thump, thump, thump—plop. This time he sent it shooting out of the tub and into the toilet. Yuck! I didn’t want to have to fish hairpins out of the toilet!

      But T-Rex was sitting innocently, looking up again. I looked up too. There was Alaska, all black and orange and white, sitting on top of the medicine cabinet. She had squeezed in between the shampoo and the hair gel. She was pushing hairpins into the bathtub below.

      Clink.

      This one landed on the floor instead of in the tub. T-Rex ignored it.

      Be careful, I told Alaska.

      There wasn’t much room for her between the hair gel and shampoo. She had to keep reaching further and further behind

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