Beware the Fisj by Gordon Korman Page A

running feet in the hall outside. The door flew open and in burst Cathy Burton in a pink quilted dressing gown and matching fleece slippers.
    “Oh, sir,” she panted, throwing herself at Mr. Sturgeon’s feet, “I confess! The pop cans — they’re mine!”
    Mr. Sturgeon jumped back as if he had been burned. “You will remove yourself from the floor, young lady,” he commanded sternly.
    Cathy got up and sat down on the bench between Bruno and Boots.
    Oh, no, thought Boots miserably. If she’s trying to get away with the same stuff she pulls on Miss Scrimmage, The Fish’ll cut all three of us to pieces!
    “Cathy …” murmured Bruno warningly.
    “Silence!” thundered Mr. Sturgeon. He seated himself at his desk. “You are Miss Burton, I believe. Tell me, Miss Burton, how did you come into the possession of so many soft-drink cans?”
    “I’m a collector, sir,” Cathy explained. “I can never pass up a pop can. When I see them, I just have to have them.” She detected the beginnings of a smile on Mr. Sturgeon’s face and decided to elaborate. “I now have 41,683,” she said proudly. “I’m one of the foremost collectors in the country.”
    “Congratulations,” said Mr. Sturgeon dryly. “May I ask how this formidable collection came to reside in my dormitory?”
    Cathy hung her head dramatically. “My collection got so big that it was clogging up my room. I needed more space. Of course, cans can’t be stored outside. Rust and corrosion are the can collector’s nightmares.”
    Mr. Sturgeon nodded understandingly. “Do go on,” he prompted.
    “The fact is, sir,” Cathy confessed, “I talked Bruno and Melvin into letting me keep my collection in your empty dormitory. It was all my fault. I’m sorry.” She gave him her most innocent, dark-eyed look.
    Mr. Sturgeon indulged in a long coughing spell. Finally he asked, “Does Miss Scrimmage know about your celebrated collection?”
    “Uh — no, sir,” replied Cathy.
    “Well,” said the Headmaster, smiling broadly, “why don’t we tell her?” He reached for the telephone.
    “Hello, Miss Scrimmage,” he said genially, much different from the man who had just ordered her off the campus. “I think I have straightened things out around here. There is a Miss Burton in my office at the moment … No, she is here of her own free will. We have not kidnapped her … I was hoping you would ask that. She is here to confess to ownership of the 41,683 soft-drink containers which are currently in my dormitory. Isn’t that right, Miss Burton?”
    “Yes, sir,” mumbled Cathy half-heartedly.
    “Yes, they belong to her,” Mr. Sturgeon continued in great good humour, “and therefore to you … But it is the girl’s
collection
, Miss Scrimmage, and quite an impressive one at that. It is not often that you see this sort of dedication in young people … Well, from what she tells me, you allotted no space at your school for this monumental project. It seems to me that you have sadly neglected the specialized interests of one of your young ladies. The poor girl is very upset. That is why I do not intend to punish my lads. Even though they did not consult me, I consider their housing Miss Burton’s collection an extremely commendable act. However” — he was enjoying himself hugely — “now that you know about the existence of this wondrous collection, I’m sure that you will want to claim it for your school. So I expect it — all of it — to be out of my dormitory by noon tomorrow … Oh, no, no, don’t disturb yourself at this hour, Miss Scrimmage. I shall escort Miss Burton home. Goodnight.” By the time he had hung up, the smile had grown even broader.
    “Off to bed, boys,” he said to Bruno and Boots. “Come along, Miss Burton. I’ll take you home.”
    * * *
    “I could just choke!” exclaimed Bruno Walton as he and Boots walked down the hall of Dormitory 2. “When I think of all those cans! We had a world record in the palm