The Gravity Keeper (15 page)

Flangelo shook his head. “I wouldn't go now. The Order members might be visiting or keeping guard. Your best bet is tomorrow, when they're at work.”

Owen's jaw dropped. “The Order members have jobs?”

Flangelo twitter-laughed. “Of course. How much money do you think there is in stomping around magic woods? They've got bills to pay, right? Union members generally stick to educational-type jobs; it goes with their whole help-humanity-progress motif.” He saw their blank looks. “Motif. Theme. Never mind.”

“So tomorrow we skip school and go to the hospital,” Simon said.

“No way,” Owen said. “My mom would kill me!”

“Yeah, same here,” Alysha said. “I do
not
want to get grounded.”

“I can go alone,” Simon said.

“No way!” Owen said. “We're a team, and we stick together.” Alysha nodded in agreement.

Simon sighed. “Fine. After school, it's straight to the hospital. And if we run into Veenie or Sirabetta, we try to lure them here.”

“Or anywhere with lots of stuff to throw and electricity to drain,” Owen said.

Alysha clapped Owen and then Simon on the back. “Which is basically everywhere in town. Boys, we are ready!”

Flangelo was quiet as he watched them leave the junkyard. He didn't look as confident as they were; in fact, he looked very worried for them.

I felt the same way.

Simon got home from the junkyard; though worn out from the long day of practicing, he was exhilarated, too. He walked into his bedroom, tossed the Book on his desk, and sat down on his bed. A good meal, a good night's sleep, and he'd be ready for anything.

There was a knock at his door. “Come in.”

Sylvia Bloom entered. “Ah, you're home! You've been out all day.”

“Yeah, I was off with some friends. Um, science work.”

Sylvia smiled. “My boys and their science. Your father's downstairs in his office, plugging away. I'm glad you're safe, especially after what I heard.”

Simon gulped. “What did you hear, Mom?”

“Some disaster on the other side of Town Plaza yesterday evening; not too far from here, you know. They're saying it was some ruptured pipes, but I saw photos in a newspaper at the office; that street was a mess. It made me wonder about you, off on your own all day. Are you being careful?”

“Oh yeah. Taking every precaution.”

Sylvia rubbed his hair affectionately. “Good. It can be a dangerous world, you know. Terrible, terrible accidents.” She sighed and then brightened. “Okay, I've got some more work to do. Thai takeout for dinner?”

“Yeah,” Simon said. “I'm starving.” But she was already out the door. Simon looked over at the Book and frowned. That fight with Sirabetta had been so destructive. So dangerous. He and his friends would probably have to face her again. They'd have to win this time; they couldn't keep running. Would all their practice today be enough? Or would he need an extra edge after all?

Simon searched his room for anything that could be useful in a fight. He stuffed a few items into his backpack, including a paintball gun he'd gotten on his last birthday. I nodded in appreciation, realizing Simon's plan; even if it didn't work, those things really sting when they hit.

Still, Simon suspected he'd need something more. “Book, I need your help.”

The Book's clasp popped open, and the cover rose a few inches, waiting for its Keeper's request.

“I want to use a third formula, but not camouflage. I need something that might let me beat Sirabetta, something that can get past her tricks. Do you have anything that can do that?”

The Book responded in writing.
Possibly—but it could be dangerous.

Simon thought of the terrible formulas Sirabetta had at her disposal. “I understand. I'll take that risk.” The Book turned to a new chapter, and Simon gasped at what he saw.

He read the text but found it hard to follow. He wished he could just look at Alysha's
Physics for the Doofus
book, but he didn't want Alysha or Owen to know he was learning a third formula. Not until he understood how to use it.

After a few minutes of clueless reading, Simon muttered, “I told Mom I'd be careful; maybe I should be.” He went downstairs and approached the closed door of his father's home office, a cluttered room down the hall from the recreation room. He knocked gently. “Dad? Can I come in?”

There was the sound of shuffling papers and then a voice said, “It's open.”

Simon entered and looked around at the shelves crammed with hundreds of serious-looking books and a desk cluttered with more books and folders.

Steven reached over and clicked off his computer monitor, but not before Simon noticed a series of strange graphs on the screen.

“I need to ask you something,” Simon said. “It's kind of important. Urgent.” He added, “For school.”

Steven tugged on an ear and bit his lip. “I guess I can spare a few minutes.”

“It's for science class. About space-time and relativity.”

Steven's mouth dropped open. “In sixth grade? School has gotten more advanced since my day.” He scratched his frizzy hair. “Okay, what, specifically?”

“Uh, what are space-time and relativity? How do they work? Basically?”

Steven chuckled. “Oh, I was worried you had a tough question.” He cleared his throat. “Sir Isaac Newton said that everyone and everything moves through four dimensions. There are three physical dimensions—length, width, and depth—and a fourth dimension: time. We're all moving forward in time. If I wanted to describe the exact location of, say, us, I'd have to use the coordinates of
where
we are and
when
we are. But Einstein came up with the space-time continuum, which describes all four dimensions together in one system that exists all around us. He said the where and when depend on the observer; time and space aren't universal.”

Simon blinked a few times while trying to process that. “Okay.”

Steven went on. “Einstein had a special and a general theory of relativity. Both deal with space-time. The general theory talks about curved space-time, gravity, and the possibility of black holes. And I'm sure you've heard of the special theory's famous formula,
E
=
mc
²
? The relationship between energy, mass, and the speed of light?”

Simon shook his head slowly.

Steven chewed his lower lip. “What
exactly
do you want to know?”

Simon shrugged. “Maybe practical applications of space-time?”

Steven looked astonished. “Practical? Sorry, pal, they're only theories, for use in figuring out how the universe works.”

“I mean, like in the science-fiction stuff I read…”

Steven frowned. “Oh, Simon, that stuff is trash. Pure nonsense. Pseudofuturistic daydreams. Not to mention all that silly manipulating of the laws of physics however the authors want to, paying no heed to the real world.”

Simon tried hard not to smile; if his father only knew! “How would space-time work if someone
could
use it?”

Steven ran a hand through his frizzy hair. “Let's see. If you could somehow travel through space-time on Earth, you could instantly go from one place to another in time and/or space. Teleportation or wormholes would be possible, I suppose, because controlling space-time is controlling
where
and
when
something is, right? Maybe mastery of space-time could even let you change the flow of time entirely. Perhaps slow time down, speed it up, even reverse it.”

Simon felt even wearier now than before. “Got it. Thanks, Dad.”

“I am impressed that you've taken such an interest in science.” Steven seemed to quietly struggle with something, then took a deep breath and asked, “Do you want to see something interesting?”

Simon nodded.

“Now, Simon, you have to promise not to tell anybody. Not your mother, not your friends.”

Simon nodded again, surprised. “I swear.”

“Then let's go to the basement.”

Steven took a set of keys from his desk and one of the folders from the desktop, and then he led Simon into the basement. He stopped at the file cabinet with padlocks on the drawers and unlocked and opened the second drawer from the top. “I've been looking into something…odd.”

He pulled out a folder of photos, notes, and graphs. “There have been strange readings in this town for as long as there's been a science department at Milnes. Barometric pressure, seismic activity, electrical energy, and more. I usually deal with astrophysics, but lately, I've been looking into reports of local disturbances, too. For example, yesterday's alleged gas main problem, or whatever the papers called it? My instruments at the lab picked up some unique readings. And there've been fascinating eyewitness reports; a handful of townspeople claimed they saw someone—or something—fly past their houses yesterday.”

I gasped as Steven Bloom pulled out a photo of a man I recognized well. A stooped, gray-haired man, wearing a faded overcoat and holding his cane: Ralfagon Wintrofline. Although Simon didn't recognize him, he felt the Book vibrating gently inside his book bag.

“This man is a physics professor at Milnes University,” Steven said. “His name is Ralph Winter, but once when we were speaking, he referred to himself as ‘Ralfagon.' A very odd man. Some say he's just scatterbrained, some say he's insane. All agree he's brilliant. I've met with him several times to discuss my theories about this town. I think…I may be on track for major breakthroughs in the field of physics.”

Simon struggled to keep his brain from jumping out and doing a somersault. His father knew Ralfagon! His father was researching activities of the Order of Physics! And his father's instruments had picked up on Simon and Owen's fight with Sirabetta!

Steven continued. “I plan on checking in with Professor Winter to get his opinion on this latest incident.” He checked his watch and frowned. “In fact, I'd better get back to work now. You won't say anything about our chat, right, pal?”

“Top secret, Dad. And thanks for your help.”

Steven smiled. “Glad to see you so caught up in science.”

Simon coughed as he walked out. “Oh, yeah. Big fan.”

On Monday morning, I watched Alysha come to school. As soon as her father dropped her off in front, she walked by the packs of students over to Rachelle at the front steps.

“Hey, how was your weekend?” Alysha asked.

Rachelle looked at her and sniffed. “Fine. I was with my
real
friends.” She made a show of looking at her watch. “Oh, I've got to go.” Rachelle turned her back on Alysha and joined the rest of her clique on the other side of the stairway.

Alysha thought of demanding to know what was going on. Then she noticed Marcus, Barry, and some other guys standing near the girls. All were glaring at her.

She went up the steps into the school, trying to ignore what had just happened.

Alysha was startled to find Miss Fanstrom waiting just inside the entrance, her ever-present briefcase in one hand. The principal's hair didn't move an inch as she nodded to Alysha. “Well done, Miss Davis. Stiff upper lip, stay strong.”

“Miss—Miss Fanstrom?” Alysha stammered. “Uh, thanks.”

“You're doing fine, dear,” Miss Fanstrom said. She patted her briefcase, making a quiet
thunk
sound against the notebook computer inside. “You all are.” Then she turned and walked off without waiting for a response. Alysha saw the top of the tower of hair point at her and then swivel to face down the hall. She looked in that direction and saw Simon and Owen walking toward her with big grins.

Alysha wasn't sure what to think of Miss Fanstrom's words or hair, but she didn't have much spare energy that day. She had slept a lot the night before and had eaten a huge dinner and breakfast, so she didn't think her weariness was from using her new formula.

Still, she had to struggle to pay attention; it didn't help that every class included at least one person from her clique. And none of them were talking to her.

Lunch was the hardest. She was used to finding at least Rachelle, if not several other girls, too, waiting at her locker to walk with her to the lunchroom. Today, she was on her own. She joined the back of the food line and saw none of her group among the waiting students. Maybe they'd walked over to Nezzo's and had forgotten to tell her? No, she didn't believe that.

She found the truth quickly when she exited the food line and entered the main cafeteria. The cavernous room was filled with its usual din of the laughing, singing (mostly from the younger grades), and chattering of grades one through six, spread across dozens of long, drab-gray Formica tables. She gazed across the bustling room and saw the table the popular kids always sat at, nestled in the back far from the crowded entrance, food line, and garbage pails. The table was full.

Everyone was there, eating and gabbing and joking and smiling. Everyone was having a great time…without her. Alysha stood staring, holding her cafeteria tray loaded with food, and locked eyes with Rachelle. Rachelle said something that made the whole table turn to stare at her. To frown at her. Why? What had she done? She decided to ask them: maybe it was some dumb misunderstanding.

She moved quickly past all the other tables and headed to her usual spot on the popular table's bench. As she neared, though, her friends made a point of spreading out so there wasn't room for her. “Table's full,” Barry said.

Rachelle scowled. “Why don't you go sit with your loser buddies?”

“What?”

“We saw you,” Rachelle said. “We
all
saw you! On Saturday. Outside Nezzo's. With
them
. Marcus saw you holding hands with that puke boy, Simon.”

“I wasn't holding hands—wait, what did you call him?” Alysha demanded.

Rachelle spun around and flicked her hand in the air behind her, as if flinging Alysha away.

Alysha ground her teeth and for a moment thought of yelling at Rachelle. Yelling at them all. She felt a surge of energy, as if she'd just downed a full can of soda; then she noticed the lights in the cafeteria were flickering. She gasped, looking from the lights above to the nearest outlet, just a few feet away on the wall. Sparks of electricity were leaping across the distance into her legs. She'd activated her formula without even realizing it, and now she was draining from the school!

She turned and walked out of the cafeteria, tray in hand, and hurried out to the playground. She stepped carefully around the younger kids and found Simon and Owen seated inside one of those concrete tubes.

“We weren't sure what you were going to do for lunch,” Simon said, “so we figured we'd just go to our usual spot.”

Alysha frowned. “We've got trouble. Well, I do, and you two probably will. Marcus saw us in front of Nezzo's, and it looks like he—no, all of those guys—are pretty angry. You two should watch your step around them: they can get kind of nasty.”

Owen shook his head. “Maybe he should watch his step around us! We don't have to take it anymore, do we? I'd like to give him a taste of increased velocity!”

Alysha raised her eyebrows. “Wow. Bravery
and
breathing between words.”

Simon sighed. “Owen, I don't think slamming the school jerk with your formula is going to help. Flangelo said we should keep a low profile, right?”

Owen's words started speeding up. “Yeah-but-thatdoesn't-mean-we-should-just-sit-around-and-let-Marcusand-Barry-pummel-us!”

“Why don't we see if we can just avoid them for now?” Simon said. “They haven't said a word to me all day.”

Owen shrugged. “Me neither.”

“Same here,” Alysha said. “But we've got the last class of the day with them.” She nodded as Simon and Owen's faces tightened. “Gym class.”

The rest of the day passed smoothly enough. But every class, each stop at the water fountain in the halls, and every trip past a former friend's locker while heading to her next period brought more dirty looks. This all annoyed Alysha, but she managed to keep her anger under control. As she came out of the girls' locker room for her last class, she saw the gym teacher sitting in the bleachers. His name was Willoughby Wanderby—the very same Willoughby Wanderby from the Order of Physics (unlike most Union members, he hadn't changed his name on entering…with a name like that, there was no need).

Wanderby was preoccupied with a detailed folding map of Lawnville, using fluorescent green Post-it notes to mark certain spots. Then he periodically made a quiet but anxious call on his cell phone. Just as the waiting students were starting to get truly restless, Mr. Wanderby snapped his phone shut and refolded the map. Standing up, he blew a short blast on his whistle. “Okay, lads, lasses…dodgeball!”

A hush fell across the students in the gymnasium. Dodgeball was the most awful or exhilarating game in gym, depending, of course, on how good you were at it. Many schools had banned it for its brutality.

Mr. Wanderby looked around and zeroed in on Marcus. For some reason, Marcus was the only student he ever called by name (and always by his last name). “Van Ny, captain. And…” Wanderby searched the faces for the rival captain.

Alysha watched Wanderby as he tried to make up his mind for the second captain. He squinted at her (she had been chosen twice before), and then his gaze lingered on Owen, who was sitting next to her. That was strange. Wanderby usually only paid attention to Owen when he was hurt (not rare) or making a fuss (quite often).

Then Wanderby looked at Simon. This was new. Mr. Wanderby, like most other teachers, generally treated Simon as if he were invisible. But today, Wanderby's gaze landed on Simon and didn't leave. In fact, he stared.

He leaned forward for an even closer look, then shook his head, as if dismissing a crazy thought. He pointed at Simon. “You, lad. You're captain, too,” he said, ignoring the startled whispers.

Simon picked Owen and Alysha right away and then randomly chose the rest; he didn't care who else was with them. When the whistle blew, Marcus and Barry grabbed rubber balls and immediately nailed two students near Simon.

The boy Barry hit collapsed to one knee and gasped for air as he held his stomach. The boy Marcus hit lay flat for a few moments before he crawled away and curled up into a ball.

Barry and Marcus quickly scooped up another rubber ball each; Marcus glanced at Wanderby, who was studying the map again and was clearly too absorbed to pay attention to the game. Then Marcus pointed at Simon, Owen, and Alysha from across the gym and drew his free hand across his throat. “Who wants to die first?” he bellowed.

Alysha flinched as someone else on her team went down from a viciously thrown ball. So much for the day ending smoothly.