The Secret of Zoom (2 page)

C
HRISTINA
stared grumpily at her computer. She had already done spelling, history, and Spanish verbs. She had passed a health screening (apparently she wasn't colorblind) and finished three workbook pages, and it wasn't even time for lunch.

Dancing numbers filled the screen, each with its own happy face. “Here comes Math!” intoned a falsely cheerful voice from the speakers. “It's fun,
fun, FUN
, and YOU get to solve the problems
YOUR way
—”

Christina snapped it off, irritated, and went to her telescope on its tripod by the window.

She turned the focusing knobs carefully, first one and then the other, until the schoolyard of Dorf Elementary came into view. She flipped her straw-colored braids back over her shoulders, looked through the eyepiece, and sighed with longing. Recess again.

Of course it was fun to watch the kids arrive and leave school, too. Christina loved the bright orange flags that the big
kids held out over the street so the little ones could cross safely.

But recess was both the best and the worst to watch. It was the best because the kids were having the most fun, running and swinging and climbing up and sliding down. And it was the worst because she wanted so much to join them, and couldn't.

What were they playing today? Christina squinted at the mass of kids running about and recognized one of her favorite games—Chase and Tap. Or at least that was the name she gave it in her mind.

But today they had added something new: Kids froze in place when the chaser tapped them and ran off when someone else tapped them again. Christina pulled a small notebook out of her back pocket and penciled in “Chase, Tap, and Freeze” at the bottom of her list. If she ever
did
get a chance to play with other kids, at least she would know something about their games.

She looked through the telescope again. Some of the kids were climbing trees. Was it hard? she wondered. Maybe she could try it herself, in her yard.

She knocked at Nanny's door. “Please, can I go out early? I've done my morning work.”

The door, unlatched, drifted open. Nanny was lying down with an afghan over her legs, snoring.

Christina moved closer. Flat on her back and rather thick about the middle, Nanny sounded exactly like a lawn mower that someone kept trying—and failing—to start.

“Nanny?” Christina said softly. “Can I go outside?” She
tried not to stare at the thin line of drool that slid from the corner of Nanny's open mouth across her double chin—and then a flash of orange from the window caught Christina's eye.

She looked out. The orphans were collecting trash across the street.

“I'll stay in the yard,” Christina said in a whisper, and shut Nanny's door behind her.

“Where are you going, young lady?” Cook wagged a finger at her from the kitchen. “It's not time for your afternoon outing yet, is it?”

“I've done my morning work,” said Christina, “and I asked Nanny if I could go outside.”

“Well, what did she say?”

“She didn't say no,” Christina said cheerfully, and skipped out the door.

 

“Psst!”

Christina jumped away from the tree she had been attempting to climb. A hand beckoned from the bushes on the other side of the iron railing.

Christina peered in between the leaves to see a lean boy's face, with dark straight hair and worried gray eyes, thickly lashed. She stared, fascinated. She had never seen someone her own age up close before, at least not that she could remember.

“Don't
look
at me!”

Christina was startled. Was this what kids usually said when they met someone?

“Act like you're doing something else. I'm not supposed to be talking to you.” The boy glanced over his shoulder.

“Oh.” Christina looked down at her knee and pretended to pick a scab. She understood about trying to get around grownup rules. “I'm not supposed to be talking to you, either. Who are you, anyway?” She slanted a look upward and caught a glimpse of an orange and red vest. “Oh, wait, I know—you're one of the orphans.”

“That's right,” said the boy, sounding annoyed, “just one of the orphans. We have
names
, you know.”

Christina sat back on her heels. She had always wanted to talk to another child, but this one seemed kind of rude. “You haven't
told
me your name,” she pointed out. “I'm Christina.”

“Yes, I know. And your father's the head of Loompski Labs.” The boy's voice was eager. “What's it like to have a dad who's a scientist?”

“Boring,” said Christina.

“But—what about when his scientist friends come over, and talk—”

“Double boring,” said Christina.

“—about their experiments? That
can't
be boring.”

“Want to bet?” Christina pretended to find a rock in her shoe. “How come you're so interested in science, anyway? Do they teach it at the orphanage?”

The boy snorted. “Are you kidding? They teach us all about mop cleaning—and trash compacting—and the proper way to scrub plastic—”

“No Spanish verbs?” said Christina dreamily. “No math?”

“Just the boring kind of math,” said the boy. “All we get to learn is adding and subtracting and multiplying, enough so we can count the plastic toys that we find in the garbage
and keep an inventory. No algebra. No
x
times
y
squared. Nothing
fun
—”

“You should meet my father,” said Christina gloomily. “You'd be his dream come true.”

“I wish I
could
,” said the boy fervently.

“Taft!” a loud voice called from the street. “Keep moving!”

Christina heard a loud clang and then the grinding motorized whine of the garbage truck as it crushed the trash. Through the bars of her front gate she could see a small girl dragging an empty can back to the curb.

The boy pressed his face to the iron bars. “Look, I've got to go. But listen—” He looked over his shoulder.

“What?”

“Have you found the tunnel yet?”

Christina stared at him. “That's just a rumor.”

“It's
not
just a rumor.” The boy gripped her arm through the bars. “I heard it from a guy who heard it from his cousin's best friend who got it from the nephew of somebody who actually swept floors for old Leo himself.”

“I've looked in the cellar,” said Christina hurriedly, “and I've looked for trapdoors on the ground floor—”

“But those are the
obvious
places,” Taft insisted. “Leo Loompski was brilliant, he was a genius, he won the Karsnicky
Medal
. He wouldn't have hidden a tunnel in the first place anyone would
look.
You've got to keep trying—think bigger—look higher—”

“TAFT!”

“Coming!” Taft backed out of the bushes and onto the sidewalk. “Some litter blew into the bushes,” Christina heard him say. “I thought I should get it out.”

“You're not paid to
think
,” roared the voice. “Get a move on, boy, or I'll put you on the next truck up the mountain!”

 

Think bigger—look higher—

What had Taft meant?

Christina understood about looking higher. Up until now, she had only searched the cellar and first floor. It wasn't likely that a tunnel would be on the upper floors, but at least they were
higher
.

But think bigger? It didn't make sense. For one thing, everyone said Leo Loompski had been a very small man—probably not much larger than Christina herself. If anything, she should think
smaller
.

Maybe the entrance to the tunnel was just Leo's size?

Christina nodded decidedly. That would be easy. She had long ago searched out all kinds of small places in Leo Loompski's big old house.

There was the window seat in the music room, with its velvet curtain that could be pulled shut, hiding her from everyone.

There was a narrow space behind the couch on the landing and a dusty but private spot in back of the overstuffed chair in the corner.

The dining room had a long wooden bench with a carved seat that was hollow beneath and very convenient for playing fort. Under the table was good, too, if there was a tablecloth, and the built-in cupboard in the hall had space to squeeze in, if she was careful not to bump the dishes.

And of course there were the closets. Christina went to every one, carefully tapping the walls and floors for signs of a door or hidden panel. She carried a tape measure and wrote
numbers down in a notebook so that she would seem to be doing homework—and no one stopped her or even asked what she was doing.

But it was all for nothing. Christina slumped up the steps to the third floor. The only rooms up here were a bathroom and the large, long space that was her bedroom, schoolroom, and playroom combined.

She flopped disgustedly on her bed. She could search this level, but what would be the use? The third floor was her domain, and she had long ago examined every inch of it.

Christina let her head hang back over the edge of the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was stupid to look for a tunnel on the third floor. The only thing more stupid would be to look in the . . .

She sat up suddenly. She had never been in the attic, not once, although there was a trapdoor in the ceiling of her closet. Nanny had always forbidden her to open it, and Christina had never been able to reach the handle anyway.

But it was a long time since she had tried.

Christina bounced off the bed and dragged a chair into the closet. She pushed aside her winter coats that had been hung up for storage, stepped on the chair, and reached on tiptoe toward the polished square of wood with its brass handle that had both fascinated and frightened her since she was little.

Well, she was bigger now, and if there
was
anything in the attic—the very same attic that creaked at night and made her think of burglars and ghosts and mice—then it could just get out of her way. It was daylight now, and she was ten years old, and she wasn't afraid of anything.

C
HRISTINA
got a good grip on the brass handle and pulled. The trapdoor swung silently downward, and a ladder slid into place with a click.

She stood still, her heart beating in her fingertips.

No one was coming up the stairs. No one was calling her name.

Christina grasped the smooth wooden rail and stepped onto the rungs. Hand over hand she climbed until her head cleared the square hole and she could look around.

The attic was huge, and nearly bare. Dim light filtered in through air vents, and dust swirled through the strips of sunlight and lay thick upon the floor.

There wasn't a sign of mice or burglars. But the furniture that stood against the walls, covered with sheets, made the attic look as if it were haunted by a number of large and lumpy ghosts. Christina hauled herself up and padded across the floor in her socks.

The air vent was too high. She dragged over a chair with a
broken back, stood on it, and peered through the narrow slats. She could see more than through her window one level below. There was a tan brick building at the edge of the forest that she had never noticed before. The trees had hidden it, she supposed. There was a clearing around it, with tiny moving patches of orange, and something that looked like a garbage truck . . .

Christina started. She knew what the tan building was now.

She jumped off the chair and scrambled down the ladder, sneezing in the dust she kicked up, and grabbed her telescope from its place by her bedroom window. Then she was back in the attic, with the tripod balanced on the chair arms and herself standing on the seat.

She turned the focusing knobs, intent on the moving orange patches. There. She'd found the orphanage, and one of those moving children might be Taft.

But why were the orphans all lined up?

She flipped a knob for greater magnification and zeroed in on the faces. There was a big, burly man walking slowly down the line of orphans. Every so often, he would put out a hand, and one of the orphans would step forward.

Christina noticed that he was picking the biggest orphans, the ones who looked the strongest . . . but they slumped when they stepped forward, and none of them looked happy. And then, next to a tall boy with a large head and heavy shoulders, she saw Taft.

Of course the man would choose the bigger boy and leave Taft alone . . .

Christina tensed as the man ignored the tall boy and paused in front of Taft. The man lifted his hand halfway, hesitated, and pulled back.

Taft's big eyes and frightened face showed up plainly in her scope. He had almost been picked. Next time, maybe he
would
be chosen—but for what? And why did he look so scared?

“Christina!”

Nanny's voice was faint but insistent. Christina slid across the attic floor and down the ladder, yanked the coats back into place, and skidded out of the closet.