The Seventh Crystal

Before Jimmy could talk him out of it, Chris crept closer to the dragon’s nest. The creature was sound asleep, nestled in a mass of dead thorns and brambles. It was covered with green scales and bigger than three elephants. Every time it breathed out, flames shot from its nostrils.

Chris tiptoed around the beast, searching for the crystal. He spotted a stairway cut into the wall behind the dragon and started up it. At the top he discovered a glass case on a marble pedestal. Inside it was a single large crystal, surrounded by six slight depressions, on a red velvet cushion.

It was bigger and more beautiful than Chris had even dreamed. He took it out of the case and held it gently in his hand. The crystal sparkled with every color of the rainbow.

“Hurry, Chris. It’s awake!”

Dear Readers:

Real adventure is many things—it’s danger and daring and sometimes even a struggle for life or death. From competing in the Iditarod dogsled race across Alaska to sailing the Pacific Ocean, I’ve experienced some of this adventure myself. I try to capture this spirit in my stories, and each time I sit down to write, that challenge is a bit of an adventure in itself.

You’re all a part of this adventure as well. Over the years I’ve had the privilege of talking with many of you in schools, and this book is the result of hearing firsthand what you want to read about most—power-packed action and excitement.

You asked for it—so hang on tight while we jump into another thrilling story in my World of Adventure.

Chris Masters watched the clock on the classroom wall. His palms had begun sweating. There was nothing on his desk. He’d already stuffed his books and papers into his backpack.

Timing was crucial. He tried not to blink, so that he wouldn’t miss the exact instant the minute hand began to move.

The long black hand of the clock edged forward. His heart started beating faster. He turned sideways in his desk and sat in a crouched position, his left foot slightly behind his right.

Ten more seconds.

A deep voice thundered from the front of the room. “Mr. Masters, can you repeat the instructions I just gave the class?”

Chris’s whole body tensed. The bell rang, but Mr. Higgins, the science teacher, ordered the students to remain in their seats. Cynthia Rider, Lincoln Junior High’s head cheerleader, glared at Chris for holding up the class.

Mr. Higgins walked slowly down the aisle, holding a wooden ruler. He stopped in front of Chris’s desk and pointed the ruler at him. “Well?”

Chris ran his hand through his short brown hair, lowered his eyes, and tried to think. He had been so intent on the clock that he hadn’t heard a word Mr. Higgins had said in the past five minutes. He made a feeble stab at an answer. “Did you tell us to have a nice weekend?”

The class roared with laughter. Mr. Higgins’s face turned red clear up to his bald spot.

“No. I did not.” The teacher took a deep
breath and tried to regain his composure. “The rest of the class is dismissed. Mr. Masters, you will stay and write
In the future, I will pay attention in class
five hundred times.”

“But Mr. Higgins, you don’t understand. If I don’t … I mean if they get ahead of me …”

“Yes?”

Chris slumped miserably in his desk and sighed. “Nothing.” He was dead meat. There was no way he could explain to Mr. Higgins that every day at three o’clock he ran a race to save his life. Well, maybe not his life, at least not yet. But it was definitely a race for his physical well-being. That and any money he might have saved from lunch.

Shawn Stiles was the oldest and biggest kid at Lincoln. He and his friend Cliff Bacon made a career out of pushing the other students around. Lately they had targeted Chris, and for the past two weeks they had been waiting for him after school. When they caught him, they slapped him around and took anything he had that they wanted.

Chris knew better than to rat on the two bullies. If he did they would never let up on him. So he handled it by being the first and fastest kid to leave the school grounds every day.

Except today.

Chris walked out the double doors beside Mr. Higgins. The teacher had lectured him all the way down the hall about the importance of staying alert. Occasionally Chris nodded to make it seem as if he were paying attention.

Actually Chris
was
alert. He’d already checked out the parking lot and watched for movement behind the Dumpster. The shadows at the end of the building worried him. But then so did the trees by the fence.

Mr. Higgins stepped into his old blue sedan and rolled the window down. “You’re a good
student, Chris, but you’d be doing us both a favor if you’d pay more attention.”

“Right. Thanks, Mr. Higgins.” Chris waved and darted behind the next car, crouched low, and scuttled through the remaining row of parked cars.

At the last car he stopped and scanned the area. No one was in sight. So far so good. He could see the sidewalk where Shawn and Cliff, grinning and howling like hungry hyenas, usually waited. They weren’t there.

It looked clear to the oak tree. Chris’s hopes soared. Maybe they’d gotten tired of waiting and had crawled back into their holes.

Cautiously he rose from his hiding place and moved to the fence. If he could make it past the oak tree, he could blast across the street and run all the way home.

His feet flew. Everything around him was a blur. He made it to the fence. Quickly he shoved his backpack through a jagged hole and started to climb through after it.

“What’s the big hurry, Chris?”