The Octopus Effect (8 page)

She was talking directly to me! “I know you do your best, Keeper,” I whispered. I wasn't sure if Miss Fanstrom could hear me, but I felt for her struggle, much as I did for Sara Beth. No matter what that girl did before, I hated to watch her suffer now.

But I felt a chill when I thought of her past. Five months ago, Sara Beth Doe knew her real name: Sara Beth Daly. She preferred her Union name: Sirabetta, or Sir.

Five months ago, those shapeless tattoos had been perfectly formed, each corresponding to a formula stolen from the various Science Orders. And every formula was hand-picked to protect Sirabetta, harm her enemies, or otherwise aid her goals: to let her steal and control the
Teacher's Edition of Physics
, then the other Books of the Science Orders and, ultimately, to take over the entire Knowledge Union.

That pretty, scared, blond thirteen-year-old girl had been in her early thirties until Simon Bloom, in a stroke of luck, used his space-time formula to defeat her by turning her into this younger version of herself.

I shuddered at the thought of her regaining the memories that had been taken from her. What if she found a way to resume her mission of conquest? A way to seek revenge on Simon for having thwarted her, especially now that Simon was reeling from his new position as sole Keeper? Worst of all, what if the vengeful Sirabetta remembered that I chroni cled her downfall and helped Simon and his friends bring it about?

Though I felt great pity for her current misery, I wanted nothing but to see Sara Beth's life stay the way it was.

My Viewing Screen shifted images, this time showing the concrete exterior of Lawnville's own Julius Henry Marx Junior High School. As was to be expected from a town called Lawnville, the grass in front of the school was neatly trimmed and a vibrant shade of healthy green. It sprang right back up after the many students stomped their feet across it on their way in. The warning bell had just sounded, and boys and girls aged twelve through fourteen were dashing to get inside and avoid being marked late.

Except for two.

Alysha and Owen shifted nervously as they waited for Simon. He was supposed to meet them before school, their custom since entering junior high. This Monday, for the first time in the almost two months since school had started, Simon was late.

“Anything?” Alysha asked Owen.

Owen, in an uncharacteristic show of quietness, shook his head while keeping his eyes trained on the sky. He was using his ability to sense velocity, seeking any movement in the distance: that of Simon Bloom flying. It was certainly cloudy enough for Simon to travel that way without being spotted, but there was no hint of him.

“Did you talk to him after he went home yesterday?” Alysha asked.

Again, Owen just shook his head no.

“Me neither. I called, but he didn't answer his phone. I've never seen him like that, not even years ago. He'd be really quiet, daydreaming, but never so—”

“Lost,” Owen said.

“Yeah,” Alysha whispered.

Finally they saw him coming toward them. Walking.

“Hey,” Alysha said. “Why didn't you fly or friction-slide over?”

Simon's eyes had bags under them, and his face was pale, as if he hadn't slept much. “You know the rules; we're not supposed to show off our powers.”

“Yeah, right,” Alysha said with a chuckle. “Really? You do it all the time.”

“I'm the only Keeper now,” Simon said. “And the Board might be watching.”

Owen nodded. “Those creeps are probably going to show up as new teachers or something so they can keep an eye on you.”

Simon looked around with a haunted expression on his face. Alysha glared at Owen, who shrugged and mouthed “
Sorry
” to her.

“Come on,” Alysha said. “You don't want to be late for homeroom. And we have that quiz today in math.” She grabbed Simon's sleeve, and Owen grabbed the other; at their tugging, he followed them into the school.

Though Owen was in a different homeroom than Simon and Alysha, he accompanied them to theirs to make sure Simon was okay. Owen and Alysha kept to either side of him through the halls, with Owen secretly using his formula to prevent the hordes of kids that swarmed past from jostling them. It was a trick Owen had perfected since getting his velocity control back; he was still the smallest kid in his grade (and now, in junior high, the smallest in the school), but subtle pushes here and there had given him the reputation of being tough.

They saw hulking Barry Stern, the biggest kid in the school and a former bully in the sixth grade, hurrying to his own homeroom. Barry spotted the trio and quickly pressed against the row of lockers to give them room to pass. Simon and Alysha barely noticed him, but Owen smiled and nodded to the much larger boy.

Barry's face went pale; he was clearly terrified of Owen. He used to tell anyone who'd listen how devastating the smaller boy was at dodgeball. Barry didn't have many people willing to chat with him, though. He'd lost most of his friends after the once-popular Marcus Van Ny, Barry's best friend in sixth grade, had annoyed everyone with wild tales of Simon, Owen, and Alysha having magical powers. Marcus moved away when his father—secretly Order of Physics traitor Mermon Veenie—suffered partial amnesia and went to prison for a number of crimes. And Barry, now a social outcast, simply tried to keep his head down and make it through each day.

In homeroom, Alysha kept a close eye on Simon as he stared off absently; she figured his imagination was wandering, as it often did. She saw the problem when their homeroom teacher tugged at her attendance book, which was somehow too heavy to lift.

“Simon,” Alysha muttered, leaning over to him, “snap out of it!”

Simon blinked and returned his attention to the class. The teacher almost fell over backward when the notebook, suddenly at normal weight, sprang up in her hands.

Owen and Alysha were both in Simon's first period class, history; a whispered warning from Alysha put Owen on alert, too. Sure enough, classmates murmured and pointed as several crumpled sheets of paper and the teacher 's empty Styrofoam coffee cup mysteriously floated up out of the garbage pail in the front of the classroom.

Owen used velocity to tip over the can. The clatter startled Simon; he realized what he was doing, and the drifting objects fell to the floor with the rest of the trash.

In third period math, in the middle of their quiz, various students dropped their pencils; chaos ensued as they chased the unnaturally slippery pencils across the floor. Alysha groaned at this. When she saw the tissue box on the teacher's desk start to slide, she rolled her eyes and took action. She briefly drained the electrical flow from the overhead lights, plunging the room into a full minute of darkness. This gave her time to rush over to Simon's desk, swat him on the shoulder, and hiss, “Knock it off!” into his ear. He did, and things went back to normal.

By lunchtime, most of the seventh grade was buzzing with talk of ghosts. The teachers, on the other hand, were sure that a coordinated prank was being played on them by their students, and they were discussing how to catch the culprits.

Owen and Alysha confronted Simon, pulling him outside for privacy.

“What is going on with you?” Alysha demanded. “Some kids in your second period English class said the teacher 's chalk couldn't leave a mark on the blackboard!”

Owen nodded. “And at least three kids walking through the halls smacked into lockers as if they'd jumped, but they swore they were just walking normally!”

“I didn't know I was doing it,” Simon moaned. “I can't stop thinking about maybe getting us kicked out of the Union. Or, almost as bad, staying on as boss and having all those Order members—no, the entire universe—relying on me!”

“You've got to stop this before someone gets hurt,” Alysha said. “And if you keep making these mistakes, it might convince those Board jerks to kick you off!”

“You know what you need to do?” Owen asked. “Talk to Ralfagon.”

Alysha snorted. “What, for crazy lessons? I mean, he's nice, but still . . .”

“He found a way to be Keeper of Physics for a long time,” Owen said. “And if anyone can understand what Simon's dealing with, it's him.”

“Okay, good call, Speedy,” Alysha said. “Simon, you should go after school.”

Simon shrugged. “I don't know.”

Alysha turned Simon's head to follow a student running out of the cafeteria. He was chasing part of his lunch—a small bag of cookies—as it floated away. “You've got to try something!”

Simon gestured, and the cookies fell to the ground with a crunch. “I guess it couldn't hurt, right?”

Alysha and Owen looked at each nervously, thinking the same thing at the same time:
could it?

I'd like to say that the rest of that day passed by uneventfully, but that would be a lie. Simon Bloom did manage to get his formulas under control in his classes, but the Viewing Screen changed scenes to show me a bigger danger brewing.

The image on my Screen was of a home in Lawnville. It was a tidy place, with the kind of neatness that shows the owner was far too concerned with straightening up and not enough with actually living there. It was clearly the residence of someone with a rigidly controlling, cruelly forceful type of mind. A torturer, maybe. A dictator, perhaps.

A telephone rang. A middle-aged, unremarkable-looking man stepped into his living room and grabbed the phone in the middle of the first ring. His name was Willoughby Wanderby, Order of Physics member and grade school gym teacher.

“Wanderby here,” he said into the phone. His voice was commanding, unyielding, and basically not much fun to listen to.

“The time has arrived.” The voice was distorted, making it impossible for me to get a bead on it. Male, yes; adult, certainly; but other than that, it was indistinct.

Wanderby seemed equally confused. “What are you saying? Who's this?”

“I don't repeat myself. This is the call you've been waiting for. Your mission is about to reach its next stage. Your true duty is upon you.”

Wanderby didn't exactly have a pleasant complexion normally, but the words he heard turned him startlingly pale. “I . . . I understand.”

“Of course you do,” said the voice. “Now be quiet, listen, and understand more.”

Wanderby was silent; whoever he was speaking to got all the obedience he wanted.

“It happens tonight. Don't delay and don't fail. Understand?”

Wanderby nodded, then realized he was on the phone and had to say yes.

Before he could say it aloud, the voice responded. “Excellent. You know where to go after that. An instruction packet will arrive for you with additional details. Guard it with your life, because that's exactly what you'll lose if anything happens to it.”

Wanderby nodded again, chilled at the threat and the realization that he was being watched. He waited for further instructions or words; a dial tone alerted him that his caller had already hung up.

Wanderby stomped away to another part of his house with an unnerving look of resolve on his face. “It's time, Sir,” he whispered. “It's finally time.”

My Viewing Screen image faded away, leaving me shaken and confused. What was all that about?

There were too many unknowns going on in this Chronicle. Too many possible dangers. First Loisana's mysterious—maybe dangerous—conversation. Then the bear-man Grawley and his jungle-controlling friend, Kushwindro, who were definitely up to no good. After that, a secret back-and-forth communication between Board members Janathus and Madda . . . what could
they
be up to? And finally, Willoughby Wanderby and his secret phone call.