The Gravity Keeper (4 page)

Simon trotted alongside Miss Fanstrom, who swung her briefcase as she walked. Minutes stretched by with neither saying a word. The halls were a different place during classtime; there was no noise but the squeaking of his sneakers and the clunking of her heeled shoes on the tiled floor. Simon had started to wonder if she'd forgotten about him when she asked, “So, Mr. Bloom, how are you enjoying your school experience?”

“It's okay,” Simon said.

Miss Fanstrom chuckled. “My, how descriptive. Any subjects you like?”

Simon thought for a moment. “I like reading. And science is all right.”

Miss Fanstrom nodded. Simon noticed that the top of her hair was still bent toward him, but when he looked directly at it, it seemed to pop back up again. Simon shook his head, not sure whether he'd imagined it.

“Reading: always a good thing,” Miss Fanstrom said. “And science; like father, like son, yes?”

Simon gaped. “My…father? How did you—?”

“I've had time to examine a few of the students' files.”

Simon just blinked and hurried to follow her out the exit to the playground. For some reason, Miss Fanstrom turned to the brick wall on the left, which faced out into the playground, and nodded. She reached out and knocked against it. “Well done,” she murmured. “Blends right in.”

Before Simon could ask her what she meant, she turned back to the school.

“Mr. Bloom, do you know the way to my office?”

“Yes, Miss Fanstrom.”

“But not from personal experience, eh? Like to keep your nose clean, so I see. That's good. Science is a fine subject, Mr. Bloom. Just watch yourself, dear boy. There are other dangers to watch for besides tough fellows roaming the halls. Keep alert outside the school, but also inside. Ah, here we are!”

They'd arrived at her office. Simon wondered what use the tour had been; they'd barely explored the first floor, much less the whole school. Before Simon could ask, he noticed the two workers in Miss Fanstrom's office.

They were dressed in denim overalls covered with pockets practically overflowing with tools. Simon saw rulers, compasses, pencils, X-Acto knives, and screwdrivers poking out. But there were also coiled wires, circuitry boards, and strange fixtures that he didn't recognize. On the floor was a large toolbox filled with more tools, many unlike anything he'd ever seen. Both workers wore caps with the word
Guild
neatly embroidered on the front.

One worker was up a ladder at the top of the doorway. Simon noted a piece had been cut out of the wall to make the doorway extra high, probably to accommodate Miss Fanstrom's hair. He gawked at a beige metal box with wires, tubes, and even a small compass coming out of it that the worker was installing just above the expanded doorway.

Miss Fanstrom entered her office and pulled a fancy gray notebook computer out of her briefcase. She placed it on her desk, and Simon stared at it; it looked sturdy, like it was made of solid metal.

“Thank you, Mr. Bloom. This has been a lovely tour; an honor, really. Please return to class and tell Mrs. Desmond that yours was a job well done.”

Simon looked back to Miss Fanstrom. That was it? He said good-bye and walked back to class.

For the rest of the morning, Miss Fanstrom's hair and the tour gave him plenty to ponder. He wondered what she had meant about science. And about danger? Besides, how odd was it that Mr. Shimshamp quit suddenly and a new principal got hired the very next day? She seemed nice, but was that just a cover? And if it was—a cover for what?

Simon was jolted from his thoughts by the lunchtime bell. He waited until the streams of kids were gone from the halls so he could avoid the bumping and pushing. He got his lunch box from his locker without seeing a single classmate.

The peace was broken by the distant sound of a door slamming, followed by a yelp of fear; Simon turned and, moments later, saw Owen Walters rush past toward the staircase at the end of the hall. Fearing the worst, Simon ran, too; he didn't want to meet whoever was chasing Owen.

Simon found the boy cowering against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, with his arms crossed in front of his face. “Please-I'm-sorry-I-spilled-your-lunch-on-you-I-promise-I won't-do-it-again-just-leave-me-alone!”

Simon, as always, was impressed that Owen could say so much without taking a breath. “Owen, what are you doing?”

Owen lowered his arms and tried to calm down. “Oh, it's you, Simon. But where are they?”

“Who?” Simon looked around.

“Marcus and Barry. They're after me, but it was an accident. It's not my fault I'm such a klutz!”

“You spilled Marcus's lunch on him?” Simon asked.

“And it's chili day,” Owen moaned. “That stains, you know!”

Simon heard the boys' room door at the other end of the hall slam open; they'd probably just checked the stalls looking for Owen and would hit the stairwell next. “Come with me. Hurry up!”

He dragged Owen out the rear double doors and through the playground. They passed dozens of screaming, romping children.

Simon led Owen to a concrete tube at the far end of the playground; it had no kids in it, so they crouched inside. It was positioned such that a person would have to go right to the opening to see them. “Now keep quiet,” he said. “They might not bother coming all the way out here to look for you.”

Simon poked his head out of the end of the tube, staring past the ankles of the playing children. At the double doors, Marcus appeared. Simon couldn't see his face, but he recognized those brand-new, ultraexpensive sneakers—named after some basketball player that Simon couldn't remember—that nobody else in school owned. Those, plus a pair of pricey jeans that Simon's mother had once said cost a fortune, made Simon sure it was him. Only now the sneakers and jeans were covered in chili.

Simon watched Marcus scan the playground from the doorway. Cool kids, especially Marcus, avoided going out there among the sticky, clingy younger kids.

Finally, Marcus went inside, and Simon turned to Owen. “Coast's clear.”

Owen was too busy panting with fear to respond. Simon wasn't close friends with Owen but had always thought he was nice enough. Owen was short for twelve (a few inches shorter than Simon), but that wasn't why the other kids picked on him. They did it because he made it so easy.

Owen was jumpy—he got scared by the smallest things. Fire drills, the bell at the start of the day, the bell at the end of the day. Clapping. Taco day in the school cafeteria (especially the shredded lettuce).

That's just the way he was. He wouldn't call a glass of water half full or half empty; he'd assume it was poisoned and run away.

“Thank-you-so-much,” Owen finally gasped. “You-saved-my-life.” When he was extra nervous, Owen also tended to speak without stopping, as if he was afraid to pause for air.

“Try breathing a little, okay?” Simon opened his lunch box and saw Owen looking at him with puppy dog eyes; he must have abandoned his own lunch when he ran. Simon sighed. “Want half a ham on rye and a cookie?”

At the end of the day, as Simon stood by his locker, gathering his homework, he saw Owen watching from around the corner. Fortunately Alysha wasn't there; Simon guessed Owen would have a heart attack if he saw any of Marcus's friends.

Once Simon had his books together, he walked toward the door where Owen was standing. Owen didn't say a word, but he had that puppy dog look again.

“You wanna walk with me?” Simon asked. Owen nodded, and they set out together. They walked in silence until they got close to Simon's house, where Simon suddenly got that tugging sensation and the inviting touch of the Breeze, just as he had on Sunday. “Do you feel that?”

Owen looked around in a panic. “Did-something-bite-you-or-sting-you?”

“No, Owen. Relax. It's just some wind. But it feels great…the best thing I've ever felt. It's coming from there.” He pointed toward Van Silas Way as the Breeze coursed through him. “Let's check it out.”

Owen sniffed the air. “Could-be-a-fire-or-the-power-lines-or-air-pollution.” But he followed Simon anyway.

 

Small towns like Lawnville usually have someplace that people tell stories about, such as a haunted house, a cursed cul-de-sac, or a petrifying parking lot. Often, kids in those towns dare other kids to run into the place and do something (knock on a door, write their name, bray like a donkey) to show how courageous they are.

Dunkerhook Woods was
not
one of those places. Nobody thought about going into the small forest at the dead end of Van Silas Way. Outsiders, young or old, simply didn't notice it. No car had ever mistakenly driven in, no loose ball had ever accidentally bounced in, no Frisbee had ever unintentionally sailed in.

In fact, if somebody was to really think about it, they'd wonder if some power was working to hide Dunkerhook Woods. But such a power would also keep Outsiders from thinking that, and that's what it did.

The trees in Dunkerhook Woods were thick and high, many tall enough to rival the famed redwoods of the Pacific Northwest. But thanks to the very old, very effective safeguards that kept the place hidden, no Outsiders noticed the trees towering over all of Lawnville. People who lived in the areas nearest the woods noticed that their neighborhoods were often cooler, as if in the shade. Once again, those powerful forces surrounding the woods stopped people from dwelling on it. Thus, the Order's meeting place remained secret, and a great agricultural wonder of New Jersey went all but unnoticed.

 

As Simon and Owen reached Van Silas Way, Simon was disappointed: it was a regular, dull-looking street. He was about to turn away from the dead end, but the Breeze grew stronger. It wrapped itself around him and invigorated him. To Simon, it felt like an invitation.

While Owen saw nothing but a dead-end street, the lush, green woods appeared before Simon. “Wow,” he said, “look at
that
place!”

Owen blinked. “What place?”

Simon pointed. “There, those woods with the gigantic trees! It looks…incredible. I guess I never noticed it somehow.”

Owen squinted in confusion. The Breeze hadn't touched him, so he wasn't officially invited. “Maybe you need some rest, or you've caught the flu or something, but Simon, it's just a street.”

Simon, naturally, thought Owen was afraid; how could he not see the woods, right there in front of them? “Come on,” Simon said. “They're just big trees.”

Simon strode down the block, and Owen, despite the feeling that his new friend might be crazy, hurried after him. Simon stepped onto the curb leading into the woods, and Owen, baffled at the sight (Simon's body seemed to be getting blurry now), ran to catch up.

Owen paused in confusion a few inches away. Simon, standing half in the woods and half out, grabbed his arm and tugged him up the curb. Owen gasped in amazement as the enormous forest suddenly became visible.

Together, the boys walked in: for the first time in history, two Outsiders entered Dunkerhook Woods.

As Simon and Owen were stepping into history, Ralfagon Wintrofline was sitting in a cramped room cluttered with piles of books, overflowing file cabinets, and scattered stacks of papers. This was his office at Milnes University. It wasn't always this messy; Eldonna straightened it up at least twice a week. When Ralfagon was lost in thought, however, he tended to invoke physics formulas without noticing. It was his version of thumb twiddling or pencil chewing, only his method caused small items to move around in random ways. It proved disastrous on the rare occasions he went into stores that sold glassware.

Ralfagon wasn't lost in thought now. He was hunched over the one clear spot on his desk, which was occupied by a thick blue Book. It was the Book of Physics, and it contained all the formulas, laws, and powers connected to the science of physics. Ralfagon never let the book out of his sight, and the cover kept it disguised from Outsiders; it read:
Teacher's Edition of Physics
, so any students or colleagues who happened to see it thought it was Professor Ralph Winter's ordinary teaching textbook.

Ralfagon's eyes were closed. If anybody walked into his office, they'd assume he'd fallen asleep and would wonder about the blue glow coming from the Book beneath his hands. Such an intrusion wasn't likely—the door to his office was closed and sealed with a force that few living beings on the planet (or off it) could break. And Ralfagon wasn't asleep; he was in a meeting.

“Now, Gilio, I thought we'd covered this: the problem is everyone's, and we must all do our part to help fix it.” Ralfagon was using the Book to commune with the rest of the Council of Sciences: the Keepers of the various other Science Orders who were seated in their own private places, resting their hands on their own Books. “No, Allobero, there's no need to be so nasty to him.” Ralfagon spoke aloud through force of habit, but it wasn't necessary; the Books linked the Keepers' minds. He listened quietly for a moment. “I agree with you on that, Gilio. I don't like the way that Board member handled matters. It seems foolish to split up. I don't think it's paranoia; I, too, have felt something unusual and unpleasant brewing.”

He listened for several moments, his mouth turning down at the corners. “Isn't there any way to change your minds? A way we could work together on this?” A long pause. “Very well. We'll resume talks in a month or two.”

The blue glow cut off; Ralfagon's contact with the other Keepers was terminated. He sighed and rested his head on his hands, speaking directly to his Book. “That's it, I suppose; we're on our own. I only hope Gilio's wrong. If there is darkness brewing, it could mean the end of the entire Union. Maybe even the universe itself.”