Strikeout of the Bleacher Weenies (9 page)

“Yeah. I see that. It would be like if we were running around the track, and someone picked you up and dropped you ahead of me.” It was easier to think about time if I put it in terms of space.

“Good analogy,” Toby said. “Though I'm not sure how you caught up with me. We'll figure it all out eventually.”

“Maybe you will,” I said. My head was starting to hurt as I tried to absorb all of this.

“I wonder what it will be like when I go back in time,” Toby said.

“
When
you go?” I said. “You're not really planning to risk that, are you? You're lucky going into the future didn't mess you up.”

“I have to try it,” he said.

“Look, going forward didn't do anything bad. But, think about it, going back could make all sorts of weird stuff happen. You've already
been
there.”

His face got this blank look, like he was so deeply lost in thought that he might as well already have sent his brain back in time. “Yeah … it's deep. I guess there's only one way to find out.”

“I don't think this is a good idea,” I said.

Toby flashed me a grin. “I never said it was. But I have to see what happens. Someone had to be the first man in space. Someone had to be the first to try a vaccine or test out a parachute. Someone has to be the first to go back in time.”

Before I could come up with any sort of argument, Toby grabbed another time grenade from the box, gave the stem a twist in the other direction, then pushed the top in with his thumb.

I flinched at the click. Toby didn't vanish. But we looked at each other, both silent as we digested what had just happened.

“Cool…” Toby finally said.

“Weird,” I said.

It was definitely weird. And hard to describe. Toby had gone back in time. But he'd gone back to where he already was. And where I was. So, all of a sudden, I had a memory of there being two Tobys with me for a little bit. The second Toby—the one who'd traveled back in time—had popped up maybe ten seconds ago. He'd looked at us, flashed the typical Toby smile, and said, “Awesome. I figured it would be like this. I won't be here for long.”

Then, he'd vanished just when Toby number one sent himself back in time.

“Wow,” I said, “that was amazing, but you really took a big risk.”

“Worth it,” Toby said.

“What if you'd stopped yourself from sending yourself back?” I asked. That was just one of the dozens of questions that shot through my mind. “Then, there'd still be two of you here,” I said.

“Maybe I should try that,” he said.

“Maybe you shouldn't,” I said. “You've been pretty lucky so far.”

“You're right. But there's one other thing to try right now. I want to go back at the same time you go forward.”

He set two time grenades, one for the past and the other for the future, matching the symbols, though one was blue and one was green.

“That sounds even more dangerous,” I said.

“It will be the greatest thing ever,” he said, holding one of the grenades out to me.

“What will be great?”

We both spun toward the voice. Oh no. Rooney had found us. He'd probably heard me when I'd been screaming for Toby right after he'd vanished.

“Nothing,” Toby said, dropping his hands to his sides. “We're just fooling around.”

“Give me those,” Rooney said. He took a menacing step toward Toby.

Toby looked like he was going to argue, but when Rooney clenched a fist, Toby sighed and handed over the time grenades. “Be careful,” he said.

“Don't tell me what to do.” Rooney held up the two grenades, one in each hand, with his thumbs on the stems. “Is this some kind of game?” he asked.

“Stink bombs,” I said, blurting out the first thing I could think of that might make him drop them.

“Sweet,” Rooney said. “Let's stink up the woods.” He pressed his thumbs down on both buttons.

“No!” Toby shouted. He reached out to try to snatch the time grenades away. But it was too late.

Rooney traveled to the past and the future at the same time. Unfortunately, he also occupied all of the time between those points. People aren't meant to get stretched out across a span of time any more than they are meant to get stretched out over an expanse of space.

Once my brain understood what my eyes had fed it, I puked. Big time. I splattered a tree three feet away from me. But I couldn't keep from staring at the ropelike mess that was stretched out in front of us. It was sort of fleshy, and sort of wet. Parts of it pulsed and throbbed weakly. It was Rooney—flesh, bones, and blood—extending through the present to the past and future.

We all travel through time—one second at a time. That's the way it's meant to be. And, as Toby and I had just learned, we could even jump back or forward without any permanent damage.

But going both ways at once proved to be a very bad idea.

“I don't think he's coming back,” I said after several minutes had passed.

“Yeah. He's permanently stretched between the past, present, and future.”

“Tough break,” I said.

“Better him than me,” Toby said.

I looked at Toby. He looked at me, then at the remaining time grenades. He picked up the box.

“You're keeping them?” I asked.

“Sure. We can't leave them here where anyone could find them. Who knows what would happen?”

“We know,” I said. I gave Rooney one last glance, shuddered, then followed Toby out of the woods. It was definitely time to leave.

 

TANKS FOR YOUR CONTRIBUTION

Okay, so I was
tapping on the glass at the aquarium. And, yeah, there are big signs all over saying,
PLEASE DON'T TAP ON THE GLASS.
So, big deal, I broke a rule. But there was no reason a couple guards should come over, pick me up, and drag me to an office in the basement of the place. I hadn't even wanted to come here, but my folks had dropped me off on the way to some sort of meeting and told me they'd be back for me in two hours.

The guards plopped me down in this chair by a desk. It wasn't even a regular chair. It was one of those beanbag things that looks like a giant pillow.

There was a guy on the other side of the desk. He was wearing a shirt and tie, but no jacket. He was sitting in a regular chair, which meant he was a lot higher than I was. I guess that made him feel powerful. I shifted around in my seat. It might have been low, but it was pretty comfortable.

“Well,” he said, looking down at me, “I see we have a problem.”

“
We
don't have a problem,” I said. “
You
have a problem. This is kidnapping.”

He laughed, like I was making some sort of joke. “We are perfectly within our rights to detain vandals.”

“Vandals? You've got to be kidding. I just tapped the glass. I didn't smash it.”

“You disturbed the fish. You caused them discomfort. If it was up to me, I'd have you converted into fish food. Unfortunately, that happens to be illegal.”

I stared at him. He had to be crazy. Even though I was pretty sure I wasn't in any danger of being chummed, a chill ran through me. No joke. I actually shivered. I wanted to get out of there. I figured the quickest way to get him to let me go was to show I understood what I'd done. “Okay—I learned my lesson. Tapping is bad. Fish have sensitive hearing. I'm a vandal. I did a terrible thing. I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Are we done?” I asked.

“Not yet.” He glanced at his watch for a moment, as if he was figuring something out, then stared at me and said, “You young people have no idea what a treasure this place is. We have so much to offer. And we have to squeeze by with so few resources. The state cut our funds again this year.”

I yawned. He was boring me now. I guess that was my punishment for tapping on the glass. I hoped he'd be finished soon. I shifted in the chair and enjoyed the way it moved beneath me.

“Do you have any idea how much it costs to feed one shark for a month? Can you even guess how high our electric bill is?” he asked. “All our tanks have to be controlled for temperature.”

I shrugged. I hadn't bought any shark food recently. And I'd never even seen an electric bill. I thought about telling him this, but there didn't seem to be any point. He wasn't really talking to me. Like most adults, he was talking to himself.

He kept on talking. “We have to be very clever to survive,” he said. He glanced back down at his watch. “Well, I believe that's long enough. If you give me your word you won't tap on the glass ever again, you may go.”

“I promise.” I pushed myself to my feet. It wasn't easy. The chair was sort of squishy. But it felt a bit firmer than it had when I first sat down. I staggered as I got up, and put a hand on the desk to balance myself. The room seemed to spin.

Weird.

I walked out of the office and found the stairs that led to the first floor. I still felt dizzy, like I was about to faint. I put my hand out to steady myself, grabbing the top of a sign that was standing right next to the steps. I glanced down at the sign, but didn't read it. I was halfway up the steps when I realized what I'd seen. I staggered back down and read the large letters:

COMING
SOON

THE
BRAZILIAN
GIANT
LEECH

NEVER
BEFORE
SEEN
IN
THIS
COUNTRY

Below that, in smaller letters, there was a lot more information about this creature. I learned that, like all leeches, it lived on blood. And, like all leeches, it had an anesthetic in its mouth that kept the victim from feeling anything while it feasted.

Most leeches were small. Some grew a bit larger. This one, the Brazilian Giant Leech that was going to be on exhibit soon, was huge. Based on the picture, it was the size of a beanbag chair.

The last line of the sign urged people to
COME FACE TO FACE WITH THIS AMAZING CREATURE.
“No thanks,” I muttered as I stumbled up the stairs. “I've already come face to butt with it.” That was more than enough for me.

 

THE GIRL WHO COVERED HER FACE

Maybe this time will
be different.

It was her fifth school in two years. She handed her slip to the homeroom teacher.

He stared for a moment, then performed that sudden half-shift of his eyes, as if trying to pretend he'd never dream of staring.

But it was obviously hard for him not to stare.

“Anywhere,” he said, waving a hand in the general direction of the desks.

Helen weighed the disadvantages of the three available seats. One was in the back. Two were near the front.

If I sit in the back, it will attract more attention, since they will all have to turn to stare at me.

As if the cloth around her face wouldn't draw attention all by itself. This time, it was a simple cotton scarf. She'd tried bandages. That had brought far too much interest. And she'd tried a burka. That had brought too much curiosity.

She took a seat on the left side of the second row. The boy on her right, his own face awash in an angry smear of acne, stared at her. She could feel other eyes probing the covering as the students tried to guess what horror lay behind the light-green cloth.

“What happened to your face?” the boy asked.

Ignore him?
She'd hoped to avoid such blunt confrontations.

The boy repeated the question.

Helen decided it was best to satisfy his curiosity. “I was in an accident. My face was burned.” She reached for the corner of the scarf, where it was double-knotted at the nape of her neck. “Want to see?” The memory of screams caused her to choke off the last word.

The boy started to nod, then shook his head. Helen left her hand where it was, waiting.

“Benton, leave the new student alone.”

Helen nodded at the teacher, thanking him.
Maybe it will be okay this time. Maybe I can stay here for a while.

Acts of rude curiosity were thrust upon her only three more times that day, and once the next. But Helen soon became part of the landscape—another desk, a bookcase, an object in the classroom.

Twice, someone tried to befriend her. She was polite, but distant. She couldn't have friends. Friends would lead to suffering. She'd tried it once, in a moment of weakness. Never again. She needed the daily freedom of uncovering her face at home. Even the sheerest fabric had weight that grew heavier with time.

Then, her caution muted by a string of uneventful days, she made a mistake. The boy on her right had started staring again. She could tell he was getting bolder. Maybe even bold enough to snatch the scarf from her face. So she dealt with him.

It was easy enough to slip the knife in his locker and make an anonymous call.

The next day, his seat was empty. A week later, the new boy came. And that was her mistake. She'd traded a known problem for an unknown one. Worse, he was an unexpected one.

His face was burned. One side was raw and red. The other had the smooth look of skin grafts. She watched a replay of her own entrance, including the dismissive hand wave and the muttered “anywhere” from a teacher pretending there was nothing to notice.

She watched the boy scan the seats and weigh the disadvantages, just as she had done. She knew his decision even before he made it. She tried to will it away.

No. Go to the back.

He sat next to her.

He didn't speak the first day. Or the second.

On the third, he said, “Hey, people will get used to you if you show them what you're hiding. It's better. Really.”

He must have heard the story of her accident from the others. Helen turned her head away from him. He persisted. For the rest of the week, he kept trying to get her to listen to him. Eventually, he seemed to accept her silence.