The Gravity Keeper (16 page)

The gymnasium was filled with dodgeball chaos. Rubber balls flew back and forth, causing groans and, occasionally, screams with every
boing
of impact.

Simon looked around at his team. It was a massacre. Marcus and Barry were the undisputed champs of dodgeball, after all. He saw the fear in Owen's eyes as Marcus threw a ball that whizzed right past his face. His face! If that had hit Owen, it could have broken his nose!

“Marcus, what is your problem?” Alysha screamed.

Marcus sneered. “Ask your new boyfriends, the loser twins!” He grabbed another ball and hurled it. Alysha ducked. Barely. Marcus was out for blood. “This stops here. Now,” Simon said.

Owen looked over at Simon. “What-did-you-say-what-are-you-doing-grab-that-ball-oh-no-they're-going to-kill-us-they're-going to-kill-me!”

Owen dove out of the way of the latest throw. As Owen rose shakily to his feet, Simon made a decision.

There were only a couple of kids still standing on their team besides Owen, Alysha, and him. Marcus and Barry had probably told their teammates to save the three friends for last. A quiet, chubby girl was one of the other two remaining teammates. She ran screaming near Simon as she narrowly dodged a ball. The next throw, hurled by Barry, streaked toward her head. But Simon got there first.

He grabbed a rubber ball from the floor and quickly threw it at the incoming one. He whispered his gravity formula so his ball was drawn to Barry's, as if Barry's ball was the ground and Simon's ball was falling sideways toward it. Then Simon increased the gravitational pull many times; the ball flew as if he'd thrown it extremely fast.

Simon's ball knocked into Barry's a foot away from the terrified girl's face, saving her from a painful hit. Simon canceled the gravity attraction just as they collided (otherwise the balls would have stuck together). A gasp went up from everyone in class, and Barry snarled. He looked at Marcus, who nodded. Barry grabbed another loose ball and hurled it at Simon's head with intent to pummel.

Simon again used his gravity control, reducing the weight of Barry's ball so the ball drifted higher than aimed. He also lessened the friction on his own feet. The other kids probably thought Simon was the luckiest kid in the world when he dodged the throw. Owen and Alysha knew the truth, though, and their jaws dropped.

In that moment, the girl Simon had saved and the other remaining player, a tall, skinny boy, were eliminated. That left Simon, Alysha, and Owen against Marcus, Barry, and six others. Eight against three: tough dodgeball odds anywhere, but with Marcus and Barry against them, it should have been impossible.

Simon locked eyes with Alysha and Owen. He nodded slowly and with meaning. They returned the gesture…they were ready.

Alysha and Simon both grabbed loose balls. Owen whispered his formula and nodded to Alysha. She had good aim and, with Owen's velocity boost, her ball whizzed across the gym and nailed one of the boys. Simon used his friction to help her slip under a throw from Marcus. Then Simon shifted gravity so the next ball he threw zoomed and hit another boy's leg.

A girl on Marcus's team threw her ball at Simon, but Simon curved it, using gravity, and grabbed it, using friction (it literally stuck to his hands). Several students gasped at this, but it was Owen who caused the most stir.

Barry threw a ball with bone-cracking speed; it should have smashed Owen in the ribs. Instead, Owen canceled its velocity so the ball stopped just as Owen wrapped his arms around it. As far as anyone in the class knew, Owen had just caught a ball thrown by Barry. Barry was out!

Everyone gasped. Then those on Simon's team got over their shock and cheered.

The noise alerted Mr. Wanderby, who looked up from his research. Simon saw the shocked expression on the teacher's face and smiled. Mr. Wanderby would never forget this day: the day Marcus and Barry fell.

Alysha, Simon, and Owen got the last three members of Marcus's team out. That left Simon, Owen, and Alysha against Marcus.

Marcus grabbed a ball. “I'm going to pound all three of you!” he snarled.

Owen, having grabbed a new ball, cocked back his arm. “Hey, Marcus, how does it feel to be losing to losers?”

The whole class fell silent: a nobody like Owen had dared to taunt Marcus.

Marcus threw first, but Owen used velocity, and his rubber ball rocketed across the room. It struck at the perfect angle, sending Marcus's own rubber ball streaking back into his face. He was out! Marcus's team had lost, and his nose was bleeding all over his gleaming white gym T-shirt.

Simon's team erupted in applause and cheers. They had just witnessed the impossible. Even some members of Marcus's team clapped; in the past they, too, had suffered welts and bruises from playing against Marcus and Barry.

Mr. Wanderby did not look excited. In fact, he glared at Owen, Alysha, and Simon. For a long moment, the students watched him and waited for some reaction. After all, the game had just ended.

Finally, Mr. Wanderby walked over to Marcus and checked the boy's nose. “Van Ny, do you want to go to the nurse?”

Marcus stared evilly at Owen, Simon, and Alysha. “No. I want to play again.”

Wanderby shifted his angry stare over to Simon and his friends. “Well done. Play again,” he said through gritted teeth.

Only this time, Mr. Wanderby never looked down at his map. As Simon, Alysha, and Owen used their formulas to lead the team to a crushing victory over Marcus's (with Barry and Marcus both receiving painful hits this time), Mr. Wanderby watched every move. He glowered the whole time.

I was pleased to see how well Simon, Owen, and Alysha did; I'm no fan of bullies. Simon's team won so easily that there was time for four games total. By the end of the second game, every student seemed to realize that Simon, Owen, and Alysha were unstoppable.

By the end of the third game, Barry had developed a limp and Marcus had one eye swollen shut. By the end of the fourth, they were bloody and badly bruised. Wanderby didn't look at them; he only had eyes for Simon, Owen, and Alysha.

When the bell rang, Wanderby dismissed the class. “Except for you three. Our heroes. Why don't you get changed, get your books and such, and meet me back in the gym?”

Alysha, Owen, and Simon nodded; why not? They'd just caused the greatest upset in Martin Van Buren Elementary's dodgeball history!

Marcus and Barry hobbled off to the locker room. Barry swore off playing ever again; for days after, he was heard whispering that he could still hear the balls bouncing.

As for Marcus, he was convinced that Simon, Alysha, and Owen were working some terrible magic on him. He shambled to the nurse's office to have his many injuries looked at; he'd have his father pick him up later.

In the boys' locker room, Owen and Simon received congratulations from everyone else. For the first time in their lives, Simon and Owen knew what it felt like to be embraced by their classmates. Alysha also welcomed the cheers the girls gave her in the locker room. After a day of being snubbed by her old friends, she was glad to have other classmates be nice to her.

After getting changed, Simon, Alysha, and Owen went to their lockers and walked back to the gym together. Simon and Owen were feeling weary again, but they weren't worried. In just a few minutes, they would leave the school, find Eldonna, and explain the Book situation. As far as they knew, their problems were nearly solved.

Mr. Wanderby came out of his office. “Good, you're here.” His voice was especially harsh. “I won't mince words. I know one of you has the Book, so let's have it back before things get worse.”

Simon, Alysha, and Owen stared blankly. Could Mr. Wanderby possibly mean the
Teacher's Edition
? Could he know about the Knowledge Union?

Wanderby sneered. “Playing dumb, are you?” He spoke a formula and gestured to a garbage can in the corner of the gym. They watched in bewilderment as it spun faster and faster, rotating in place until the lid went flying and trash spewed all over the polished floor.

Wanderby glared. “That was a warning. Next time, it'll be your heads.”

Owen stared at the wrecked garbage can. “But we won at dodgeball!” he sputtered.

“Owen, he must be in the Order,” Alysha said. “Mr. Wanderby, let us explain!”

“Oh, I'm sure I know enough. Give me the
Teacher's Edition
.”

“Let's skate out of here,” Simon said. “We'll talk to Eldonna, and she'll clear things up with him later.” He spoke the words for friction, and the three friends slid for the exit.

Wanderby gestured, reactivating his formula. The kids stopped sliding forward and instead started to spin. It was slow at first.

“I do not like having to repeat myself. Lass, lads, I want that Book!”

Wanderby spoke a few new words. Simon, Alysha, and Owen spun in place, going faster and faster; the lack of friction on their feet made Wanderby's formula especially effective. The world soon became a blur as they whipped around.

Finally, they slowed down and the world came back into focus. They collapsed to the ground, and though they'd stopped spinning, everything seemed to keep whirling.

Wanderby walked over to them and folded his arms across his chest. “Which of you has it? Come now, cooperate or I'll start again. If your heads pop off, the blood will make an awful mess.”

A commanding English accent echoed within the gym. “Mr. Wanderby, explain yourself!” Simon, Alysha, and Owen strained to look around the room and see who had spoken. It was Miss Fanstrom!

She took long strides across the floor, swinging her arms angrily.

Wanderby was stunned. “Miss Fanstrom? This does not concern you.”

Miss Fanstrom shook her head, her gigantic column of black hair remaining still. “Oh, I disagree. I am the principal, not you. In this school, the principal is responsible for discipline. And I certainly do not approve of your methods.” She pointed to the spilled garbage can. “It's bad enough you can't remember the children's names, but to spread trash like that?” Then she gestured to the kids. “And there is
no
spinning in school.”

Wanderby frowned. “Please leave us alone. These are matters that you could not possibly understand.”

Miss Fanstrom stepped up to Wanderby and looked down to meet his gaze. (She was several inches taller, not even counting her hair.) “I understand far more than you think. Far more than
you
understand.” Her voice was clipped and stern.

“You leave me no choice,” Wanderby said. He started to speak his formula, but then Miss Fanstrom's hair went into motion.

The tower of hair stretched forward like the extremely thick tentacle of a shaggy octopus. It smacked Wanderby across the face, cutting him off before he could get halfway through his formula. Then the hair rose up above him and banged down on his head like a gigantic, fuzzy hammer.

Willoughby Wanderby sank to the floor, unconscious.

Miss Fanstrom walked over to the kids and clucked her tongue. “Tut, tut, children. If you were using your heads, you would have found a way to counteract Mr. Wanderby's formula. He was only controlling rotational motion.”

The three friends lay staring, unable to respond. A few seconds later, Owen leaned over and threw up.

Miss Fanstrom sighed. “Mr. Walters, that is not a proper answer.”

She tapped a button on a remote control attached to her belt, and the kids' dizziness stopped immediately. She had canceled out the effects of Wanderby's formula! She winked at them. “A little gizmo a friend gave me long ago. Comes in handy.” She waited a moment. “Very well, up you go. This is no time to rest. Miles to go before you sleep, so to speak.”

Simon, Alysha, and Owen slowly rose to their feet. Although the dizziness was gone, Simon and Owen were still a bit drained from using their formulas so much.

Miss Fanstrom gave Owen a breath mint, which he popped in his mouth and chewed. “Well done earlier, by the way. Since I arrived I've felt that Mr. Van Ny and Mr. Stern could use a good drubbing.”

She turned and headed for the gym's exit. After a moment, she turned back to the three friends. “Are you coming or not? I do have other matters to attend to, you know. I'd hate for Mr. Wanderby to wake up while we're standing here; I don't want to use more-drastic measures on him. Other things aside, he's a very good gym teacher.”

They walked with Miss Fanstrom, too numb to ask any questions. She pulled out a small yellow pad and scribbled a number onto a sheet of paper. She handed the sheet to Simon. “Here. This is the apartment you want. See the man who lives there and he'll give you a bit of information. Not too much, I imagine, but just enough to get you through this. Frankly, he could use the company.”

Simon cleared his throat. “Get us through what, Miss Fanstrom?”

Miss Fanstrom smiled. “Ah, already asking questions. Very resilient. That's good. You'll need the questions and the resilience. Miles to go, miles to go.”

She herded them toward her office. “I must say, I'm quite proud of you all so far,” Miss Fanstrom said. “You've handled yourselves admirably. Quite. But you'll have to start reacting more quickly than you did with Mr. Wanderby. Villains don't always chatter before striking or start their attacks so slowly. If you let every surprise freeze you, you'll never make it through. Use your heads and act with confidence.”

Miss Fanstrom opened the door to her office, and they followed her inside. She shut the door behind them, stepped behind her desk, and placed her notebook computer on it. She pointed to the sheet of paper in Simon's hand. “Do you understand what you're to do?”

Simon glanced down at the paper, over to Alysha and Owen, then back to Miss Fanstrom. “No.”

“Good,” Miss Fanstrom said dryly. “Wouldn't do for me to give you the answers. Wouldn't be much of an adventure.” She opened her notebook computer and tapped at its keyboard. It beeped, and there was an answering beep from the mechanical box above the door. “Be smart and be brave. I have faith in you.”

Surprisingly, Owen had the nerve to ask, “Miss Fanstrom? Is your hair alive?”

Miss Fanstrom arched an eyebrow. “Why, Mr. Walters…how bold.” She winked and gripped the sides of her tower of hair. She wriggled her fingers into the base of the hair and lifted; the entire column rose off her head, revealing a mechanism at the bottom. It was a machine!

Underneath, Miss Fanstrom had perfectly normal hair, though it was cut very short. She winked. “Yet another useful device for someone in my position.”

“Your position?” Simon asked.

Miss Fanstrom replaced her mechanical hair. “Yes. Principal.” She pointed to the door. “The exit is that way. Off you go.”

Simon, Alysha, and Owen nodded, a little uncertainly. They opened Miss Fanstrom's office door and behind it saw an unfamiliar corridor with dull gray-and-black carpeting, off-white walls, and several brass-fixture lamps mounted along it. It definitely wasn't part of the school. It looked more like the hallway in an apartment building.

They stepped past the doorway and turned back to look at Miss Fanstrom. She waved her hand forward. “Go on. Ahead on the right.”

Still confused, Simon led Alysha and Owen down the hall. Miss Fanstrom's door shut on its own, and when the kids turned to look, it had vanished.

Simon took a deep breath and rechecked the paper in his hand. “This is it. Number one-oh-six.” He knocked on the door in front of him. Nothing happened, so he knocked harder. There was the sound of locks being undone, and then the door swung open.

Simon, Alysha, and Owen looked up at a tall man who stared back at them. He was older, but they couldn't tell by exactly how much. He had dark brown hair with many strands of white throughout, a pair of thin spectacles pushed forward on his nose, and faint lines on his face. He could have been thirty or three hundred.

From the brown bathrobe he wore over striped flannel pajamas and the thick-soled slippers he had on his feet, it was clear he wasn't expecting any company.

And from the way his bespectacled eyes bugged out and his thin-lipped mouth froze in an O shape, it was clear he was shocked to see them.

The man opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words came out.

“Hello?” Alysha finally asked. “Are you alive?”

At last the man found his voice, speaking in a clear, crisp English accent. “What on Earth are you doing here?” He frowned and mumbled, “I knew that hallway looked familiar.”

“We don't even know where here is,” Simon said. “Who are you?”

“Why, I'm your Narrator,” he said without thinking. Then he gasped and clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, goodness. I'm going to get into so much trouble for this!”