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| 1 The Stranger
“David Waters! The principal will see you now.” David sighed, got off the cold, wooden chair and headed towards the Office Of Death. Silently, he cursed the despicable secretary Ms. Tempsley as she adjusted her revolting new flowers in their hideous, gigantic vase. He hated the door behind him, he hated everything between it and his back, and he hated the door he was going through now. He hated it because he knew it so well and was bored of it. He knew it so well because he saw it so much. He saw it so much because he was there every three days or so.
“Sit down, Son,” said Mr. Halvers, the overweight principal, after the door was closed behind David. He sat and thought about how much he despised being called “son” by a person who was no more his father than his neighbor's cat. “David, I seem to see you quite often.” David simply looked into the dark, brown eyes that seemed to bore into his skull. “Now, why is that do you think?” He offered no response, as usual. It was annoying hearing the same rant over and over he thought, as he gazed fixedly beyond his principal's head.
“I asked you a question. Aren't you going to answer me?” David heard but did not show it. “Come on, son!” pleaded Mr. Halvers, “I am a busy man, I have important matters to attend to and I can't with you committing these horrible acts of vandalism to Crosstown so often.” For the first time, David looked up. “Why would I purposefully clog the toilet, sir?” inquired David. He emphasized the last word because it gave him a secret pleasure to mock this position of power. “Do you think I would vandalize school property for any reason whatsoever? I don't even know why I would do something like that!”
“Well, frankly, I'm not sure, but you seem to do these things constantly and-”
“Constantly? I have never committed an act of vandalism in my life and I never would!” It was true; David did seem to always end up in trouble for things he didn't do.
“But David, all of the evidence points to you!” said Mr. Halvers, who was now looking quite exasperated. “You went in when nobody else had been in for perhaps twenty minutes, then just as soon as you came out there was a flood!” David, becoming angry with the injustice of it all, felt as though nobody would ever believe him.
He was just about to retort when Mr. Halvers held out his hand. In it was a small envelope which, David knew, concealed a note to his parents. “Now David, you will take this note home to your parents. It explains the damage you have caused and asks them to please restrain their son.”
Why he would even say that was beyond David, but he didn't care as he, numb and defeated, took the envelope and left the Office Of Death without a word. As the door closed behind him, he heard the awful man say: “We will call to make sure it gets home with you-” but then the door was closed and he heard no more. Ms. Tempsley smirked at him as he crossed straight through the waiting room to the door leading to the hallway. He ignored her and hurried through the door, down the hall, and back to class.
The rest of the school day passed in a blur. David really had no interest for math which usually intrigued him. He wasn't in any position to care about Spanish, his favorite subject. All that really mattered was the wording of his forgery.
By now he knew his principal's handwriting so well that he could duplicate it perfectly. He just barely caught himself from using it on their pop quiz in spelling, but it was a good thing that he did because if he hadn't there would have been some awkward questions to answer.
Finally, the last bell rang and David hurried outside to begin his creation. He rushed off down the block toward his favorite spot, which was in the best climbing tree in the neighborhood.
He hopped up to the first branch, swung back and forth, back and forth until his foot hit the second branch. He pushed himself away from the one he hung on, steadied himself, then climbed what could have been a ladder to his left. This opened out into a place that was practically a platform the branches were so thick underfoot. He walked around the side of the tree, climbed a few more feet on random branches, then stopped; he was at his spot.
The only two people in the world who knew about this spot were David and his friend Joe. It could have been a throne but for the fact that it was made of tree branches. David had carried old blankets and things up here over time to cushion it slightly because, after all, it was a tree.
He plopped down and overlooked the creek which was about five feet ahead and sixty feet below. His favorite part of this spot was that he could see down on people but they couldn't see up at him. He took out his pen, a sheet of blank paper and the note. He scanned the note, snorted, and threw a crumpled up ball into the creek.
A crumpled up ball that had recently been the note to his parents.
He started on the new one with To Mr. and Mrs. William Waters. His father went by Bill and it amused David slightly to be referring to his parents this way. I am sending this note to inform you that.... This was the part where David always faltered. He had used up most good ideas for notes; it was getting harder and harder to think things up. Of course, he could put just about anything in, the phone conversation was never anything more than a few seconds:
Ring ring ring.
“Hello?”
“Hi this is Ms. Sarah Tempsley from Crosstown Middle School. I was just calling to ask about whether you had received a note from our principal.”
“Why, yes we did in fact.”
“Thank you, that will be all, good night.”
David had a sudden flash of inspiration: ...that your son has painted the best picture for his class's competition in art and will be returning home with an award. Thank you for your continued support of Crosstown Middle School, Signed Principal F. Halvers.
With that done, David stuck a half inch golden star sticker to his shirt, reluctantly climbed down from his spot and ran off towards home.
David took the long route home. He was in no hurry to get there and he preferred this way because it passed Lake Weston. Lake Weston was the only lake anywhere near David's house, and he loved the three-thirty sun which reflected off of it.
It was a small pleasure of David's to just stop and admire the serene beauty. When he was there, David felt as though he were the only one in the world and everybody else's energy had come into his body. He felt alive as the cool September breezes ruffled his hair.
He felt... free.
Today, David decided to walk on the beach a bit just for those few extra seconds of lake, which he savored so. But today something was wrong. The sand felt rougher than usual under his now bare feet and the water seemed oddly still, as if some giant being had reached out, grabbed all the waves and pushed them down into the water.
David decided to utilize the stillness of the water and bent down to search for the perfect skipping stone. Along the way of the search, he got sidetracked when he felt the fine sand on his hands. He stuck them down in it and felt it running over his hands... wrists... arms....
Elbow deep in sand and grinning like a crocodile, David felt something. Something hard and extremely smooth; it felt like glass. He groped at it blindly with his sand-submerged fingers until he found a handle. David needed this handle too; if he tried to grab it otherwise it merely slid away as though it was covered in lard. As he removed his hand and its treasure from the sand, David felt a strange tingling coming from his fingers. Assuming it was just the sand rubbing off, he excitedly removed his find from the ground and peered at it.
The first thing David noticed about it was that it was... powerful. He had no idea why or how but he knew that it was. The second was that it was not glass. It was actually some strange sort of metal, but he couldn't tell what. Something seemed... off about it though, like a two dimensional sketch in a three dimensional world. It reminded him vaguely of the strangeness of the beach around him. He couldn't quite put his finger on it but he knew something was wrong. He could just feel it. There was another very weird thing about it: its texture was rough and smooth at the same time. Or at least it looked craggy, like tree bark, but it felt like a newborn baby's cheek. It seemed very delicate and yet David knew that no matter what he did to it, this thing, which he could now tell was a lamp (the old-fashioned kind that looks more like a tea kettle), would not break. Its spout had the smallest carvings on it, smaller than David had ever seen, so minuscule he could hardly make them out: a dog, a man, and a dragon all standing on top of clouds. And now that David looked at it closely, the dragon was attacking the man and the dog was laughing. No, the man riding the dragon and the dog following dutifully. No they were standing side by side by side, all content with the world and each other...
David was confused how these could be such wildly varying perspectives and yet he could see them all as though they were rotating, shifting forever between themselves, all so extreme. Could these carvings be... moving?
Just as David dismissed this ludicrous idea from his mind he heard a whoop of elation. He looked up and all around himself but he could not locate the source of it. Suddenly, an old man who appeared drunk to David stepped out from behind... nothing. It was as though the very air itself had parted to let him into sight. But no, thought David, there was a bush just feet from where this man was standing, surely this preposterous thought was just from the stress of school. Then the strange man spoke: “Iddz gone! All nay-ver hafta SHEE IT AGI.... WAHOOOOO!”
David got to his feet. This guy could be dangerous! he thought as he stared at the wacky old man, dancing in circles and yelling random words at the top of his lungs. David started to back away slowly so that the man wouldn't know he was leaving. Just then, he started bawling.
“Little David! Don't take the short route home ever again! Y-Y-Y-You C-C-C-C-C-C-C JUST CANT!”
Astonished that this man knew his name but more than slightly creeped out, David stopped.
“Who's David?” Inquired David, thinking perhaps it was a coincidence.
“Heh. Hee hee. HA HA HA HA HA! You're David, David! Oh I remember it so vividly! It was like it was yesterday but it was TODAY! TODAY OF ALL DAYS! Our anniversary. HA HA HA HA HA!” As he laughed, David took a pencil and some paper out of his backpack and began to write down all of the things the man was saying, even his random words from before which were: Rag, toothbrush, windowsill, soup, terrace, and wheel.
The man's speech was becoming more and more garbled and David took note of that, too. Finally the man stopped his raving and spoke very seriously to David. “David. I may be thin as a rail but you need to heed my advice: NEVER take the short route home again. Well at least not until September nineteenth!”
David asked “Who are you? How do you know my name? What is this about September nineteenth?” But the man just smiled a crazy smile, laughed a manic laugh and sprinted to the water. He was inexorably fast, faster than David had ever seen anyone, ever.
“Wait!” called David, “What do you mean by all that?” The man turned, looked at David and shouted “You'll know! I promise you will by September twentieth!” And with those parting words, the man jumped six feet in the air, landed, bounced again, and sprang far out over the water. He executed a perfect swan dive into the lake and was gone without a ripple.
On impulse David checked his watch for the date: September fourteenth.
He had five days until he knew.
Five days until he knew the horrible truth.
2 Loss
Walking home after the incident with the man, David stared off into the distance, feeling the strange lamp in his hands. He ran his fingers along the cool, smooth inside curve of the handle, thinking about old stories he had heard about genies popping out of lamps to those who rubbed them. Absently, he brought his hand to the side of the lamp, rubbing it wistfully even though he knew nothing would come of it. Nothing did and David sighed and put the fascinating object into his pocket.
Instead, he began to reflect on his encounter with the strange man. Who was he? Where had he come from? Had the lamp had something to do with his sudden appearance? David released this preposterous idea from his mind and focused on getting home. He turned onto his street and continued past all of the houses on his block until he came to his, the corner house. As he walked up the first set of steps, David gazed up at the architecture of his home. It was three stories (counting the basement) and had red shingles and white shutters on the windows. The chimney loomed above him, like a monstrous beast stuck out of the front of his house. He strolled down the short walk from the first set of steps to the second, ascended these and took the handle of the glass door. Pulling it open, he flung it behind him then took the golden doorknob of the big oak door within and pushed. He didn't need to turn it; it was extremely broken and couldn't even lock.
The glass door slammed shut behind David and he stepped into the entryway. Once inside, he kicked off his shoes and called out “I'm home!” His mom hollered back to him, “Hi David! How was your day?” And as usual, he replied “Fine,” without even thinking about it. It was a procedure repeated so often that even if he had planned not to on the way home, the routine lodged in his brain would have flown out of his mouth and given the customary response.
David plopped his backpack down on the nearest surface and headed into the kitchen. He approached the fridge and pulled open the door, surveying its contents. He let it swing shut in disgust; nothing interesting was in it as usual. Suddenly, David stopped what he was doing. Looking slowly around, he noticed that something was wrong. “Mom? Where's Goodie?” he asked, looking all around his feet for the missing Cocker Spaniel. It was funny; she usually greeted him at the door. Normally, she loped up to him just as soon as he entered, cantering on her old feet. She was so fat that you couldn't even tell she was a Cocker- she weighed 60 pounds! And she was completely blind in the one eye that she had.
David's mom came into the kitchen where he was. His dad came right behind her. “Dad! Why are you home so early?” He asked curiously. “David... Goodie...” Began his mom. Getting suspicious, and more than a bit nervous, David asked, “Where's Goodie?” His mom began to sob. His dad took a deep breath. “David... Goodie died today at 1:04 PM. Her tumor had become so enlarged that it had popped completely out of the skin casing it was in and we had to put her down.”
David wasn't breathing. He didn't notice. The hand that was in his jacket pocket holding the lamp unclasped. Had David been aware of anything going on around him, he would have thought it was about to crash to the ground, but it didn't. Goodie was... Dead? It seemed like an absurd idea, out of the realm of possibility completely. David wavered. He slowly pushed past his parents, off in a dream-like state of wonder. True she was old. True she had that tumor. True the vets had predicted that she 'only had a couple weeks left' a year and a half ago. But she couldn't possibly have died.
Upstairs in his room, David sat on the edge of the bed, completely silent. He laid down. And then the tears fell in torrents. He cried so hard that he couldn't breathe most of the time. His legs kept feeling as if the nerves were coming out of them, then going back in, like he was swishing them- but he wasn't. It was an unearthly feeling. He cried laying face down on his pillow, the tears soaking two circular spots and making it sopping wet. At one point he sat up and saw his own red face, even though there wasn't a mirror in his room. He fell back to the pillow, the tears coming with screams of anguish. He cried for an hour and a half, and for about the second forty-five minutes, he was choking out illegible sentences not even he would ever know about.
David sat on the bed, rocking back and forth, hugging his knees. Then his legs fell from his grip and he stopped moving. He was gasping, and it sounded like hiccups or a freight train. After the initial wave of utter and complete horrifying sadness washed over, David fell asleep.
Goodie woke him up by licking his face. Her wet tongue lapped over his eyelids, and he picked her up, cradling the four-pound puppy in his arms. Being only two years old, David couldn't have enjoyed the company of a puppy more, especially in his feverish state. Her eyes were so wet, and they looked up at him with everlasting love, promising her devotion. Then they were both older and outside, playing on a warm, sunny afternoon in the front yard. She climbed up and sat on his chest, and he smiled at the twenty pound dog. She smiled back, possibly hoping to devour one of the treats that were abundant in his pocket. And he gave her some, laughing, and she gave him the same expression she had given him six years ago, assuring their undying relationship. And they were older again, and he was coming home from school after being lectured by Mr. Halvers. He showed her the note, but then he remembered that with her new surgery, she could only see it half as well, and couldn't tell how far away things were. The overweight Goodie accidentally struck it with her nose, leaving a wet print on it. Then they were the age they were that morning, and David had petted her sadly, wishing that the horrible tumor hadn't become so overgrown that it was sucking away her life. Then she sneaked some of his cereal when he wasn't looking, and he spanked her. “Bad, Goodie! Bad! You don't do that again!” he shouted, and stomped out the door. He didn't know that she had hid in her favorite spot under the table until her tumor fell out. He did know how his parents had rushed her to the vet, hoping to get it repaired. He did know that they gave the go-ahead to administer that vicious pink liquid to take her pain away. He didn't know that they had to shave three different legs and inject her three times before she finally let go.[i] “Goodie!” he exclaimed, waking up with a start. But he did know he would never see her again.
David trudged downstairs to dinner. He saw two of his siblings, Lizzy and Randy, at the table, sitting on their bench. Caroline was probably off watching TV and David felt pretty certain that Olive was at a friend's house. They were seven and fourteen, respectively. Lizzy was eighteen, Randy sixteen. Neither of them even had their driving permit yet though. Lizzy was involved in a dog rescue and brought three or four new foster dogs home every Saturday, despite their parents' constantly reinstated ban from bringing home any more and Lizzy's own repeatedly vocalized hate for dogs. She'd smuggle them in most of the time, though David had a feeling that on occasion his dad would secretly allow it behind his wife's back. Usually they'd be adopted the next Saturday when they'd hold adoptions though, and David wouldn't have to deal with them much. Sometimes she'd bring pregnant dogs which she wouldn't relinquish her hold upon until they'd given birth- one time she'd even brought a small pregnant dog home which was due any day. Unfortunately, Lizzy hadn't foreseen that it might give birth while their whole family was away that weekend. They had had to take it with on their four-day vacation, where it had given life to nine puppies, though only eight had retained it.
But Lizzy's defining features didn't involve dogs at all- she greatly enjoyed inducing misery and emotional pain, was supercilious and spoiled beyond repair and was the most power-hungry person David had ever known.
David sat at his place, picking up his fork and eating mindlessly. “So, Dave-o, I heard your dog died,” said Lizzy gleefully from the other side of the table. “Lizzy! Go to your room. Now.” said Mom, her voice venomous and full of anger. “Yeah, she did, you want to go meet her?” he growled, pushing his fork at her menacingly. “But mom! I haven't had anything to eat today and I'm hungry!” exclaimed Lizzy, her voice rising. “Get. Down. Stairs. Now.” said mom, her eyes reduced to slits, teeth clenched. “Ugh! Fine. Whatever.” Said Lizzy, reaching for the spoon protruding from the bowl of mashed potatoes. “Are these real potatoes or fake ones?” she asked, her lip curling in disgust. “It doesn't matter. You won't be eating with us,” said mom, taking the spoon. “Hey give me that! What are you doing?! I want some!” Lizzy shouted, getting angry. “No! If you're going to treat your brother like that then you won't get any,” said mom, taking the mashed potatoes in one hand and the spoon in the other. “I'm hungry! Dad, make her give me some!” said Lizzy, turning to her unfailing weapon. “Just give her some...” he muttered, looking down at his plate. He was cutting some sort of gray meat thing with his knife. David's mom was in a temporary state of disbelief that he would allow Lizzy that privilege after saying such a horrible thing. During this time, Lizzy stole the potatoes and the spoon, rushing madly down to her room with them. “Eew, these are sick,” she said, stuffing them down her throat. “Hey! Give those to me! Bill!” David's mom got up from the table and chased Lizzy downstairs, swinging her arms madly for the bowl and spoon. “NO! They're MINE! I'm hungry, I haven't eaten anything today...”
During this entire exchange, David just sat with his face on his cool plate, wishing he were somewhere else. He stared blankly ahead, before mumbling an excuse and leaving the table. He went up to his room and shut the door behind him. [i]I wish mom wouldn't make such a big mess out of it; Lizzy and Randy say that stuff all the time... As the door bumped shut behind him, he heard a small thump on the carpet. Turning around, he noticed that it was the lamp. It had dropped out of his coat, which was hanging from a plastic hook held on the door with sticky pads. Until now, he had forgotten all about the lamp. He sat on his bed playing with it. Again, as he rolled it between his fingers he noted the eerie way that it looked so rough and yet felt so smooth. He peered at the engravings on the spout. Right now the dragon seemed to be hidden with the man somewhere, and the dog sat, looking sad and lonely.
David thought back to times when he had read books and seen movies in which genies popped out of lamps like this one found lying on beaches, like his. Then they would grant wishes for the finder, making their life better. He rubbed it wistfully, though he knew nothing would come of it. When nothing did, he sighed and stuck it in his desk. He headed towards his bed and collapsed onto it, feeling small, wishing Goodie were here with him. As he unzipped his backpack and got out his Spanish book, he started crying silently again, and couldn't concentrate on the words before his eyes. Soon after he finished all of his homework, he fell asleep, but it was a troubled sleep plagued with nightmares of Goodie...
A face appeared at David's window, first peering in at him then glancing feverishly around his room. David stirred in his sleep and the face was gone. After a short time the now very frightened-looking face popped up from underneath David's window and continued wildly looking around the room. After a few more minutes of this, the face adopted a frustrated expression and disappeared below the window again. It didn't come back.
3 New Kid
The next day, David woke up and felt the horror of the previous day return instantaneously. He sighed, feeling morose, then plodded into the bathroom to get himself ready for school. He mindlessly brushed his teeth, staring blankly into his reflection's greenish-blue eyes, which were staring blankly back at him.
David surveyed his reflection. His dark brown hair was longer than most boys'. He brushed it to the side since it was sticking in his eyebrows. His eyes had bags underneath them, as usual, and his rather thick eyebrows sagged heavily down on them, giving him an angry look.
As he rinsed his mouth out with water, he began to anticipate the end of the day with something like an emotionless eagerness, just so that he could fall back asleep and forget his troubles again.
As David left the bathroom, he thought he heard a bump from his room. Any excuse to avoid seeing THOSE two, he thought bitterly, his mind's eye settling upon Lizzy and Randy. He opened the door to his room, and looked around. Nothing was out of the ordinary except for the lamp, standing upright on the ground beneath where he had set it on his desk. At least, he seemed to remember putting it there...
As he stuck it back on top of the desk, David turned around and jumped with a start. A brownish stub of a tail had just disappeared into the bathroom. He cursed himself for believing the tricks his eyes were playing on him; Goodie wasn't coming back. He took a peek in the bathroom to prove it to himself. Seeing the empty space, David sighed and headed down to breakfast.
“Good morning!” greeted David's mom, unnaturally cheery. David knew why though, and sat down listlessly. There was bacon on the table and Lizzy was staring at it hungrily. “We saved you some bacon,” said his mom. He grunted in response. “Do you want it, or can I have it?” asked Lizzy impatiently. David shook his head, then laid it down on his cool plate. It wasn't a particularly interesting plate; he'd probably washed it a hundred and fifty times in his life without knowing it, but something in the back of his mind took note of just how much everyone would care if it were to accidentally shatter...
“...ecause it's HIS, Lizzy, and if he doesn't want it now then he can eat it later,” David's mom was saying. “Come ONNNNNN-NUH!” Lizzy shouted back, adding the 'uh' as some sort stressed emphasis. “He doesn't want it! Can't I just have it?” David, irritated, decided to relinquish his ownership of the bacon, just to shut Lizzy up. “Eat it,” he muttered quietly. Lizzy's face lit up, and half of the bacon was soon down her throat. David's mom came into the room.
“David, here's a baggie for you to put your bacon i-LIZZY WATERS!” In the time it had taken David's mom to offer David a baggie, which now sat forlornly on the ground since she had dropped it in her shock, Lizzy had shoved the rest of the bacon in her mouth and was now gnashing her teeth with such vehemence that David was almost surprised they didn't chip on each other. “THAT WAS David'S BACON! YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO TAKE THA-”
“Hey, chill out, Ruth, he said I could have it!” Said Lizzy, taking on a face of innocence.
“It was HIS BACON!”
“He SAID I could HAVE it!”
“YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE EATEN IT!”
“WELL TOO BAD FOR HIM, BECAUSE I DID!”
David's mom started to retort but David intervened: “It was just some bacon! I don't care! Just let it go! You're making a big deal out of nothing!” He stood up, nearly knocking over the bench in the process, and strode to the front door with his head down. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he stepped into his sneakers without bothering to tie them or even stuff his feet into them properly. As a result, his feet stuck awkwardly out the backs and crushed the shoes' heels. He yanked open the oak door and shoved on the glass one, not caring what they crashed into.
David took a deep breath of fresh air and squinted his eyes against the bright morning sun. He picked his way down the six steps that led to the path in front of his house. After the path came the four steps that led to the sidewalk. He just jumped over those. Maybe I'll beat Joe to school today, thought David wryly. Joe was David's best friend at Crosstown, and he hadn't been late for school once in his life. This was why he'd beaten David there every single day. He was half British, but for some odd reason David couldn't quite figure out, he considered himself fully British. David had tried time and time again to convince Joe that he was far more American than British, and Joe always seemed to listen. But then he'd do something that suggested that he hadn't absorbed a word of David's talk, such as meet a new person and say, “Hi! I'm Joe. I'm British!”
David remembered one time in particular when he had tried to knock some sense into Joe's head, which had gone just like all the discussions of this manner had. Something about this particular time had lodged in David's brain though, and he couldn't quite figure out why.
“Joe, look at the facts,” David had said. Joe was sitting across his video game complex from David. He had taken the TV from his room and found one in somebody's trash in his alley. He'd put them back to back, then plugged a DVD player and his video game system into a VCR, which he'd then attached to both TVs. So he and David were facing each other and shooting at each other, making it a more realistic experience. Unfortunately, there was no possible way to make each player's screen full screen unless they had two of the same game system, two of the same game, and an internet connection. Plus Joe would have to do a lot of tedious plugging and unplugging cords from the backs of the TVs and the VCR.
“You live in America. You speak in an American accent. You only go to the UK for what, two weeks out of every year? That's still 52 weeks in America. You must see my logic.” Joe was listening politely. “True,” he agreed.
“Nobody can tell that you're British in any way at all! Unless they meet your dad, but he's not the subject of our conversation.”
David could tell Joe was about to say something, but he cut himself short. David realized that maybe Joe was about to say that 'conversation' might not have been the perfect word. “All I'm saying is, maybe you should stop naming yourself 'UKdude216' on every game, website and gaming website you come across. “Mhmm.,” was Joe's less-than-extensive reply. David's controller rumbled and his playing screen turned red. His view changed to third-person and he saw his body lying motionless on the ground. Some words flash across the screen: “UKdude216 is going for the last kill!” Joe winced. David sighed and continued the game. He found an invisibility power-up and sneaked past Joe, hoping he wasn't screen-peeking. Luckily he wasn't, and David continued up the stairs into the tower.
He got Joe, who was down on the ground shooting David's old body and laughing himself silly, in his cross hairs and zoomed way in. He aimed carefully, then fired. Joe's body fell right on top of David's corpse, which was finally beginning to disappear. David shot the late Joe and laughed right back at Joe. Some words flashed across the screen: “David is going for the last kill!” Joe reappeared and David knew he must have been screen-peeking, so he faced the wall, leaving Joe to guess at David's whereabouts. Joe wandered around fearfully for a few minutes, afraid of being sniped again. Suddenly, David turned away from the wall and launched a heat-seeking missile Joe's way.
“Ohhhh, you were in the tower...” said Joe in wonder. Long before the missile hit, Joe cursed David, then grinned in spite of his position. He was in a wide-open space and knew he had no cover at all. “You win,” said Joe. Two seconds later the missile made impact, winning the game for David, who stood up. “Good game. Now I'm gonna go drink your chocolate milk.” As David reached the kitchen, he heard Joe mumble “Meh. You won 'cause I'm British.” David shook his head.
David kicked at a leaf on the sidewalk. It had an interesting green swirl mixed in with the brown of the rest of it. It blew away though, and he watched it spiral onto the boulevard. He spied a candy bar wrapper right next to the leaf and a short length of string curled near both of them. It looked like some sort of bizarre smiley face, grinning up at the sky until the wrapper blew away. David sighed and wandered on a ways until he noticed he was passing by the lake. It seemed like he should be seeing swimmers and beach balls, despite the bitterly cold wind that attacked his face. His foot suddenly stopped moving and he stumbled. The thing that had almost caused him to trip proved to be a perfectly flat stone, round and completely smooth. David picked it up excitedly. After weighing it, he deduced that this was quite possibly the ultimate skipping stone.
David took a step towards the lake, his eyes hard-set. He turned sideways so that the lake lay to his right, path to his left. He held the position for several seconds... adjusted the angle of the stone... pulled back... “DUDE!”
David almost fell over. He had been about to skip it but the call of his name had interrupted his thought process. He recognized the voice though. “Joe! I was about to skip the most perfect skipping stone in the entire world. You almost made me lose it to the lake!” David turned and looked expectantly at Joe. He mumbled, “Oh... Sorry... I was just wondering what you were doing out here do early.” David gave him a funny look. “You're always at school this early. Why can't I?”
“Well, the thought process differentiates so vastly from your regular patterns, I was only inquiring-” David interrupted, “It was a rhetorical question, you dunce.” Joe grinned. “Oh.” David turned back to the water. The waves seemed choppier than they had been before Joe had interrupted. David concentrated, lined up his aim and his feet took their stone-skipping course. His right one, the one nearest the water, shot forwards, and his left one followed. It surpassed his right foot, which pulled up into the air and then kicked to David's frontal left side. The momentum carried him through a 180 degree turn and his left foot landed on the water side, right foot in back. His left arm, holding the stone, snapped outwards and his wrist flicked. The stone sailed through the air in what was possibly the best throw David had ever performed. And he'd performed quite a few, too- stone-skipping was a serious business for him.
David watched as the disc-shaped rock smacked the water once, twice, hopped right over a small wave to skip a third time, then a fourth, fifth, sixth and time! David fist-pumped- it was his new record, after all. Unfortunately, the seventh time it hit the water, the stone went under with a sploosh. “Whoa, was that THREE?!” asked Joe in bewilderment. “You're halfway there,” said David, grinning and starting off for school again. Joe refused to believe that it had been six skips. (“I mean, I got two once, but that was my all-time high. Six probably isn't even possible!”)
As they walked, David told Joe about Goodie. He felt slightly misty-eyed at the thought of her, but his tears for her were all shed. Joe offered his condolences: “Dude... Wow, that's terrible...” Joe was extremely saddened too; he had liked Goodie, and she him. They were always wrestling and barking at each other, and David sometimes couldn't tell who the throaty hacks were coming from.
“I remember one time,” said Joe, “I had eaten at your house but you had this awful casserole stuff. I don't even know what it was. Anyways, I couldn't stomach one bite of mine, so I fed it all to Goodie. That night I saw your dad out my window walking her at least eight times, and struggling terribly with the plastic bags. He just couldn't- OOF!” He'd walked into David's outstretched arm.
“What?” Joe asked, irritated. David was staring at Crosstown middle school aghast. Joe followed his gaze. “Oh my...” he said.
David raced as fast as he could towards the building. “Dude!” Joe called, tearing after David. He put Joe out of his mind as he bolted straight towards the throng of kids he could now see gathered around the wall of the school. He heard disembodied voices and whispers as he fought his way through the crowd.
“He's gonna be expelled!”
“What was he thinking?”
“Halvers is going to KILL him!”
“How'd he even get up there?!”
David ignored them as he reached the front of the crowd, which didn't get much closer than five feet from the wall of the school. Upon seeing him, everyone went quiet. He gazed upwards with a cold sense of dread forming in his mind which drove him and eliminated any thought he may have had. About ten feet up, between rows of windows, were a jumble of spray-painted letters in horrible oranges and pinks that spelled out:
DAVID WATERS ROOLZ DA SKOOL!
“Hey, look!” A kid David didn't really know was pointing at him. “It's our resident vandal!” The kid standing next to the speaker barked a laugh, but everyone else remained eerily silent. “No...” muttered David, feeling disconnected and numb. “No... No... No... That's not... I didn't-” Suddenly a girl yelled out, “Here comes Mr. Sanchez!” The janitor was striding over to where everyone was standing, and his eyes were fixated above their heads. His face was impassive, but something about it betrayed what Mr. Sanchez was really feeling: sheer, limitless fury. All the kids recoiled as he drew quickly nearer. They all drifted away from the crime scene, like water flowing out of a half-empty cup that had just been knocked over.
David's mind was reeling. Get rid of it! He saw it! What do I do? His legs carried him away at an inconspicuous pace towards Joe, who had reached the crowd but hung back and not delved into it. But the biggest questions on David's mind were simpler: Who? How? Why? Everyone was talking about perfectly average things such as favorite books they were reading and the homework they'd done the previous night. But there was an airy feel to all the conversations around David and Joe, and people kept glancing over their shoulders at the wall and Mr. Sanchez, who was now speaking quickly and quietly into his walkie talkie.
“Dude... You're not exactly having the best day of your life, are you?” said Joe, gaping up at the words. David shook his head in awe. “That wasn't there yesterday, was it?” asked Joe. He was still staring up at the words with awe and incredulity plastered on his face. David wished he wouldn't- it felt like Joe was staring at some horribly disfigured person or something. David shook his head, trying to clear it of the awful feeling in it. Joe thought David was agreeing with him.
“I mean, who did it?” Joe continued.
“I don't know, alright? Just stop talking about it!” David was surprised at his own irritability. Taken aback, Joe said, “Oh... Yeah... Okay... Well, I'll see you later, then...” and he hurried away.
David suddenly wished Joe was back, since he would've preferred not to face Mr. Sanchez alone. Mr. Sanchez was stalking over toward David, his eyes narrowed, his jaw evidently clenched very tight. David's first instinct was to run, but he knew that would only land him more trouble. So he stood resolutely, waiting for Mr. Sanchez to reach him.
“You are David Waters,” Mr. Sanchez said in a determinedly level voice.
“I know,” replied David, but he instantly regretted it; Mr Sanchez looked as though he were going to strangle him with dental floss.
“You are coming,” he said, and turned away from David. David breathed in a calming way, then trudged after him. Kids all around were gawking at them as though watching a particularly interesting TV show. Mr. Sanchez marched all the way to the Office of Death, knocked once, then sent David inside. Mrs. Tempsley was there. She snickered.
“Dear me, someone's in trouble, aren't they?” David felt like slapping her old, wrinkly face. She pointed at a wooden chair, indicating that David should sit. Smiling to herself, she went back to her work. Several minutes passed. David was starting to wonder how long it would be before Mr. Halvers called him in, when Mrs. Tempsley pressed a button on her intercom.
“The Waters boy is finally here. I'm sending him in.” David willed himself not to be angry with her, otherwise he'd be in far more trouble. He stood and crossed the room. Gripping the wooden handle to Mr. Halvers's office, he steeled himself, then adopted a face of innocent bewilderment. If he walked in looking as though he knew why he were there Halvers would have an easier time convicting him.
As he entered, Halvers was just picking up the phone. “Sit-” he began, but David sat down before Halvers could call him 'son'. Halvers dialed some numbers which David couldn't see from where he sat.
“Hello, Ruth! Yes, I was just calling about David.” David's mouth went dry.
“Yes, again. This time it's graffiti.... I'd have to agree with you.... Yes.... Actually, he's right here. Would you like to talk to him?” Halvers passed the phone to David, saying “It's your mother.” David resisted the urge to say “Duh!” and instead gripped the receiver much harder than was necessary. “Hello?” he said. There was a pause. Then his mother's voice on the other end said, “David? Why?” His stomach gave an uncomfortable plummeting feeling. “I didn't,” he gave as an answer. Halvers snorted loudly. “David... why does your principal say you did then?”
“Because that's how it looks. But I can assure you that I didn't.” His mother sighed. “Just give the phone back to Mr. Halvers.”
David pulled the phone from his ear and said, “It's for you,” unnecessarily while handing it back to Halvers. David's mind wandered from what Halvers was saying. Who could have done it? Why would they do it? After what felt like hours, his attention was called back to Halvers, who was hanging up the phone.
“Okay, son, you have been hereby suspended from Crosstown for three weeks, or until you find a way to clean it off.” David could have sworn he saw a smirk flit across that face for a hundredth of a second, but then it was gone.
“Your suspension will begin at the end of today. And I believe you can have the pleasure of telling your parents what your punishment is.” David nodded. He stood and left. As he entered the waiting room, he heard Mrs. Tempsley say, “Ooh, you're in trouble, aren't you?” As David passed her desk, he 'accidentally' brushed past the massive vase on her desk. Water spilled everywhere: On Mrs. Tempsley's paperwork, her computer, her lap, the intercom, and to top it all off, the vase rolled off the desk and shattered into hundreds of tiny shards. “Whoops,” said David, then added, in an undertone just loud enough for her to hear, “Ooh, you're in trouble, aren't you?” He left the office before she had a chance to do anything except seethe with a livid rage.
Outside the office, David gave himself a great, whooping internal cheer, then trotted around the corner. Unfortunately, he ran right into some kid he'd never seen before and bowled him over. “Oh, sorry,” said David. The kid was about David's height, with dark skin and short, black hair. He was wearing glasses, but they were sort of hanging off of his face as a result of his recently being smashed into. His eyes were a dark, dark brown, almost black. They had a strangely hypnotic quality to them, and David had the intensely odd sensation that if he stared into them long enough he'd fall asleep....
“'S okay,” said the kid straightening his glasses. David maneuvered around the boy and kept going. From behind him, though, he heard the boy say, “I believe you, you know.” David stopped dead in his tracks. Turning, he saw that the kid hadn't moved at all and was talking as if David was still in front of him. “Sorry?” said David. The boy swiveled around to face David, and David found that he couldn't look the boy in the eye and listen at the same time, so instead focused on the boy's nose. “I believe you,” repeated the kid, taking a step closer to David, who automatically took a step back. “I believe that you didn't vandalize the side of the school.”
“Thanks,” said David, his suspicions suddenly rising. There was a few moments' silence, then the bell rang and David said, “Well, I'd best be going to class, then. Bye.” As David walked quickly away, he could feel the kid's eyes, those deep, omnipresent eyes staring at the back of his head, and he could feel them long after he rounded the corner and sat at his desk in his classroom.
David was the first one to the room, not even his first-hour teacher was there yet. He had several minutes alone, left to his thoughts and concerns. What was the deal with that kid? David wondered to himself. Why haven't I seen him before? Was it him who wrote that on the wall? That would explain why he supposedly believes me.... He hadn't had time to do more than ponder these thoughts before people started filing into the room. He could tell they were staring at him, but when he looked at them they'd always avert their eyes, becoming extraordinarily interested in the front of the room or the window. The last person to come in was the teacher, Mrs. O'Neil. The energy and chatter died away; everybody liked Mrs. O'Neil and her jokes.
“Now, I know this is sort of a cliché way to put this,” she began, “but... Class, today we have a new student.” She motioned to the door, where, unnoticed by anyone, the new kid David had bumped into earlier had appeared. Several girls in the room gasped audibly- one, who thought that only her friend was watching, clutched her heart and slumped backwards in her chair.
“This is Sam, everyone and-”
“Hey, I know a Sam!” everyone turned to look at Joe, who had spoken. “What's your last name?”
After a second's hesitation, Sam muttered, “Sartillian.”
“Oh... Different Sam,” Joe said, and the class resumed.
The rest of the hour went by uneventfully, other than half the girls in the class turning around every six seconds to bat their eyelashes at Sam. Penny Anderson probably did it the most often of any of them, except her expression was that of recognition and concentration more than obsession. Another odd thing was that every once in a while David would catch a glimpse of Sam in his peripheral vision, and Sam would be staring intently at David, looking grim and ominous, like David was a gigantic plate of vegetables Sam had to eat sometime soon.
The ring of the bell an hour later was a sound that fell gracefully on David's ears. He jumped up and shoved his stuff into his backpack, knocking pens flying wildly in his near-hysteria. When he had finished his frenzied backpack-pack, he strode to the door, feeling like he was emerging from underwater where he'd just been trapped. This panic to get out surprised David, but he could feel surprised later- now was the time to get out of that classroom.
By the end of the day, David had considered every possible option to escape his predicament, none sounding very appealing. Finally he made his decision, and when the bell rang at the end of the day he didn't leave school any faster than was necessary.
“Hey- Joe!” he called when he finally saw Joe heading off for home. “Is it alright if I come over for a while?”
Joe's expression was unfamiliar, as though David had some awful contagious disease. “Nah, I can't, I have to go to my great aunt's funeral,” he said. And sure enough, just as he said it, his car pulled up. David could see a Joe-sized tuxedo in the back.
“You're wearing a tux?” asked David, grinning slightly despite his dismal situation. Joe grimaced. “Yeah, but it's against my will.”
The car's window rolled down, and David saw Joe's mom waving her son over. “Gee tee gee,” he said, and he hurried off in the direction of the car. When the door slid open, David could momentarily see Joe's little sister waving her feet in the air, singing. Then the door slammed shut and the car drove off. David was at a loss. His plan wasn't going as planned. Just as he was about to start heading in the direction of his tree-throne a voice spoke right in his ear.
“Hey.” David almost jumped out of his skin. Turning around he discovered that it was Sam who had spoken.
“Oh... Hi,” said David.
Sam spoke again: “Do you want to come to my house?” David was so glad that he didn't have to spend four and a half hours sitting in a tree that he'd accepted before he knew it.
“Great,” said Sam, “follow me.” He turned on his heel and began walking across the school lawn. David followed him, starting to slightly regret his own acceptance.
Neither of them spoke the whole time they walked- David felt slightly awkward and Sam just marched on without looking back. A few blocks later though, Sam turned left and started up the walkway leading to the front door of a huge, baby blue house. The curtains were all drawn and the lawn was slightly overgrown. Flower boxes hung under the front windows. A 'SOLD' sign was in the front yard. If he had to guess, David would've said that it was occupied by a fifty-year old woman. He was about to say, “This is your house?” but realized that Sam might be offended that he was so surprised by Sam's obviously abundant money, so said nothing. The door was unlocked and they walked right in.
The living room into which they entered was ornately decorated with three squashy-cushioned chairs and a leather couch stationed around a coffee table whose wood was polished so thoroughly that it gleamed into David's eyes and he had to look away- the chairs' wood was the same way. This furniture was on a leopard-print rug with a frilly edge. The floor shone too, but since it was darker wood David could at least look at it without blinding himself. A grand fireplace was on David's right, below a fine mantelpiece with an intricately carved pattern of swirls and lines on it. Above that was a mirror which reflected both the living room and dining room and made them feel even bigger than they actually were. On either side of the mirror were two candle holders, each with two candles. The wicks had never been lit. Across the room from where David was standing was a massive, plasma-screen TV, on either side of which two speakers the size of small ponies hung from the wall.
A small cabinet beneath it housed what looked like a DVD player/VCR combo, a box that David assumed picked up TV signals and a block of gaming consoles Joe would've given his legs for.
“Put your stuff wherever you want,” said Sam, dropping his own backpack on the coffee table and heading into the dining room. He tracked mud all the way. David copied him, minus the mud. The dining room was attached to the left side of the living room, the two rooms connected by a tall, wide arch which David suspected was only there to divide the two rooms. The table here was surrounded by four more chairs. The table itself was a general rectangle shape, but without the corners. So really it was an octagon. A white tablecloth was draped over it, hanging four inches down. It was the brightest white cloth David had ever seen. There was no rug here, just more floor which looked like someone had poured three gallons of lacquer over each square foot.
“You have a really nice house,” said David as Sam went through a door which led off to what David assumed was the kitchen. His suspicions were confirmed when he was able to snatch a glimpse of state-of -the-art appliances and more shiny surfaces. Sam appeared seconds later bearing a tray laden with food. “Thanks,” he grunted, giving David the tray. This was much to David's liking. “Do you want to see my room?” asked Sam, and David nodded, his mouth full to bursting with potato chips.
Throughout the whole house it was more of the same: everything was pristine. David couldn't find a speck of dust or dirt anywhere. David was getting the tiniest hint of a nagging feeling but he pushed it from his mind. This house was perfect. They hung out in Sam's room for a little while then left to see the basement.
“So, where are your parents?” David asked, taking in the snow-white carpet and perfectly straight pillows on the couch facing the basement's home theater system.
“Gone,” said Sam simply, spraying cheesy popcorn bits all over the carpet (he shot any food that was in his mouth everywhere every time he talked with a mouth full of food, which he did quite often.)
David's suspicion seemed to have inflated a bit, but again he shoved it from his thoughts- it was ridiculous, after all. They went back upstairs and since it was chilly outside, Sam switched on one of his game consoles and they started playing. He flopped down on the couch, upsetting its perfectly smooth surface in the process,
“Do you have a maid?” asked David, his suspicion now impossible to ignore, but still very stupid.
“Nope. Why? Do you?” responded Sam curiously, focusing intently on the game.
“No, I was just curious...” David was now almost considering his suspicion, and it was making him uneasy. A while later Sam won the game and they played another round in silence. Sam won that one too.
“Want to play something else?” said Sam. David agreed and Sam got up and opened a door on the cabinet under the TV that David hadn't noticed before. It was crammed with alphabetically arranged games which Sam began taking out at random and dropping on the floor.
“I randomly just found this game,” he said, holding up a game that hadn't gotten very good reviews, “Just lying there in the street. I liked it. It's neat how we just find cool stuff sometimes isn't it?” David agreed, but inside his suspicion was quite large and David felt very edgy.
“How often are you parents here?” he asked.
“Never,” mumbled Sam. “I never see my parents.”
“They're here while you're at school?”
“No.”
“Well, do you have any siblings?”
“No. So, have you found anything interesting lately?”
David was almost starting to feel scared. He checked his watch- he'd been here almost four hours. “Yeah,” he said, “the other day I found this neat lamp at the beach...” and he launched into the story about the lamp and the old man. The whole time Sam listened with the most rapt attention anyone had ever paid David. The whole time David kept hearing him muttering things under his breath, but David couldn't tell what. When David finished, Sam stood up and began pacing, crunching game boxes under his feet and apparently oblivious to anything going on around him.
“Sounds neat,” he said, finally stopping his pacing and turning to look at David. “Maybe you could show it to me sometime... like tomorrow?”
“Yeah, sure. I guess,” said David, and the most elated look he'd ever seen appeared on Sam's face. It was gone a moment later though.
“Actually, I think I'd better be heading home now,” said David, checking his watch: 7:36. He stood up and grabbed his backpack and Sam followed him to the door.
“See you tomorrow,” said David. Sam just waved. As the door shut behind David the only thought on his mind was his suspicion, which he now regarded as a full-fledged fact: Nobody that messy could POSSIBLY live in a house that immaculate. If nobody is ever there to clean up after Sam like he says, the place would be a disaster area. Sam Sartillian does not live in that house!
If anyone cares, I'll continue... |
My booky thing
