Tj and the Rockets by Hazel Hutchins

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.
    â€œIt’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.
    â€œGunpowder,” said Gran.
    I couldn’t believe what Gran was saying.
    â€œYou want me to build a bomb?” I asked.
    Gran shook her head “no” and looked totally pleased at the same time.
    â€œModel 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.
    â€œDo 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.
    â€œYou 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.
    â€œSay 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 bigkitten 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