Scratchy wiped sweat from his freckly, fair-skinned neck. “Hot! Man, you wouldn’t believe how many tubes of sunscreen I went through. And I got scorched anyway!” Scratchy scratched his shoulder. “I’m shedding skin like a snake.” Behind Scratchy was another kid I didn’t know riding in an electric wheelchair. “Guys, this is Carlos James C.J. Mendoza. He’s a RADICAL daredevil. Just moved onto my street last week.”
I reached out a fist. “Hey, dude. Nice to meet ya. Do I have to call you all those names?”
“Nah. You can pick. I answer to all of them.”
“Cool! I like options. Today I’ll call you Carlos.”
“Works for me.”
“How’d you score that sweet ride?” Doug asked, pointing to the wheelchair. I cringed a little at his bold question and waited nervously to see how Carlos would respond.
“Thanks for asking. Car accident. A drunk driver plowed through a red light and t-boned our car. We were on our way to celebrate my ninth birthday at the trampoline park that day.”
“Ah, man, I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say.
“Thanks. It’s been a rough couple of years, but I’m making it through.”
“Carlos here is a bomb gymnast,” Scratchy said.
“I can still walk on my hands at least.” Carlos smiled and swiped his hand over his perfectly smooth, dark-brown hair. “This city is a little tough to get around, though. It’s a good thing I can pop wheelies in this thing. We moved to the Upper West Side because the paths in the park are easier for me to navigate than the city streets.”
“Those are some nice wheels,” I said. “How do you get down the stairs to the subway?”
Carlos smiled and pulled out a map. “This map shows all the subway stations that are wheelchair accessible.”
“Not all of them are?” I had never noticed before.
“I wish.” Carlos laughed.
“Sounds like he needs to have a portable elevator show up whenever he needs it. That would be sweet.” Doug elbowed me so hard I almost flew into the street. At the same time, my token steamed and sent out two bolts of heat, one to my head, the other to my feet.
“Are you all ready to do this MS 230 thing?” Scratchy asked.
“I am.” Carlos pulled another paper out of his backpack. “Do any of you have homeroom with Dooley?”
“YES!” We all yelled.
“Is that good?”
I laughed. “Yeah, Dooley’s cool. But you should try to sit in the back row. Easier on the ears.”
Carlos shrugged and popped a wheelie. “I just hope they’ll have a desk I can use with this thing.”
“Aw, man, I never thought about that before.”
“I never thought about it either, until two years ago. But hey, I go with the flow now. At least I never have to worry about having a chair to sit in, right?”
“Carlos, you’re so RAD. I’m glad you’re in our class.” Scratchy revved his scooter. “Let’s go do this middle school thing!”
“Yeah! Let’s do this middle school thing!” Doug jumped up and down and pounded his chest.
“Yeah! This is gonna be good!” I reached for the token and jogged next to Carlos as he wheeled along toward the entrance to MS 230.
At least I hope so.
* * *
“WELCOME TO SEVENTH GRADE HOMEROOM!” Mr. Dooley boomed. We all flew back in our seats. “Okay, now that you’re awake . . .” Mr. Dooley went to the whiteboard and scrawled his name. Then he turned and gave us a goofy grin. “You kids from PS 23 didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?”
I scanned the room. Some kids were strangers that had come from other schools. Others were not. Bailey Martin and Amber Lin, two girls who had been on my Triple T Team for the sixth-grade career expo, sat together on the opposite side of the room. And, unfortunately, the Tolley brothers sat in the middle of the room like they did in sixth grade, smirking and grunting. Doug, Scratchy, and I had taken the back row, not only to save our ears, but also to sit with our new friend Carlos who had found one wheelchair accessible desk in the corner.
Right as the tardy bell rang, the door to the classroom creaked open. A huge kid, dressed in faded jeans and an oversized, rumpled brown T-shirt, walked in.
Some of the kids started to whisper to each other. The big kid scanned the room for an empty seat. The only one was in the front row, closest to the door.
“That’s him.” Doug leaned over to whisper to me. “That’s Wiley.”
Mr. Dooley finished writing on the board.
MR. DOOLEY–HOMEROOM–MATH AND SCIENCE.
“AS I SAID BEFORE, WELCOME TO SEVENTH GRADE HOMEROOM.” Mr. Dooley hopped up to sit on his desk. “This year, I’ll only be testing you in the areas of math and science. If you’re wondering why I followed you to this school, I’ll just say this . . .”
We all leaned forward. I expected him to say that he couldn’t live without us, or something flattering like that.
“. . . there was an opening, and I took it.”
“There was an opening and you took it?”
“Yes, Mr. Baker. You heard me correctly.”
Doug turned to me. “There was an opening and he took it.”
Mr. Dooley continued. “Now, I know that some of you struggle with math. Here’s why I think that is. Most of you don’t like to have just one answer to a question. But to me, math is comforting, because there is just one answer! Two plus two is four. Four plus four is eight.” He grinned. “See? Isn’t that relaxing?” He laced his fingers together and placed them behind his head. “Doesn’t that make you want to sink into a plush beanbag chair and take a nap?”
No one responded. Mr. Dooley began to walk around the room. “Now, science, that’s a totally different story. Science is all about discovery! As we discover new things about our world, science changes. For example, is Pluto a planet or not? It was. Then it wasn’t. Fascinating, yet not so comfortable.”
“I never liked that Pluto got demoted,” I whispered to Scratchy.
“I thought Pluto was a dog,” one of the Tolleys blurted out. There was a little bit of nervous laughter from a few other students.
I raised my hand.
“Yes, Mr. Livingston?”
“Ummm . . . but Pluto never changed. We just changed the way we looked at it, right?”
Mr. Dooley rubbed his chin. “Correct.”
“So doesn’t that make science just like math? I mean, Pluto is Pluto. Two plus two is four. Relax in the beanbag.”
Now all the kids laughed.
Hey! I’m serious!
In the past, when I’ve asked questions like that, I’d been given detention because the teacher thought I was being disrespectful. So when Mr. Dooley approached and tapped my desk with his pencil, I expected the worst.
“Keep on asking questions, Mr. Livingston. Because without questions, there is no learning.” Then he walked back to the front of the class. “Open your math books and get your ears ready to listen. We’ll be having a test next Friday, so I hope your brains haven’t become mush over the summer.” Mr. Dooley inserted a little key in his top right desk drawer and pulled out a stack of stiff forms. “These are what we in middle school call computer scan forms. Get used to the look of them. You’ll enter your test answers here. MANY A STUDENT HAS FAILED A TEST because they lost concentration, skipped a row, and FILLED IN THE WRONG BUBBLE. Here’s a tip for surviving middle school. ALWAYS PAY ATTENTION WHEN YOU ARE BEING TESTED.”
A gasp sounded from the other side of the room. It was Bailey Martin. She’s super smart, and a straight-A student, but she’s more than a bit anxious. She turned pale at the sight of the computer scan sheets.
Carlos leaned over to me. “What is that snapping sound?”
“It’s probably Bailey. She’s cracking her knuckles under the desk. She does that.”
Carlos nodded. “Oh. I thought it was coming from over there.”
I looked in the other direction. Wiley Overton was
staring right at me! And he was cracking his knuckles too.
Chapter 17
Coop
I kept a secret eye on Wiley all through the morning during class, and then searched for him in the lunch room. Thankfully he didn’t sit at our table with us. “Hey, Doug. I don’t know why but I feel like I’ve seen Wiley somewhere before.”
Doug spoke through a mouth full of hamburger. “You think you’ve seen Wiley somewhere before?”
“Yeah. And he was staring at me all morning, like he knows me or something.” Our table started filling up, so we dropped our conversation down to a whisper. I pulled out my phone. “I have an idea. Let’s stand up, face his direction, and pretend to take a selfie. Instead, I’ll take a picture of Wiley. Then I’ll text it to Zoe. Maybe she’ll recognize him too.”
“Great idea, bro.” Doug washed down his last bite of burger with a huge chug of milk and then came and stood next to me. “You and me buddy! First day of school selfie!” He said it loud enough for the whole cafeteria to hear.
I stood there, my fingers trembling a little, as I zoomed in on Wiley. I held the camera up. Yep, that’s a good shot. Oh, wait, he’s getting larger . . .
Someone pulled my phone out of my hands.
“You trying to break your phone, Livingston?”
Caught!
“Um, no. I’m just trying to take a picture. As you can see, the screen is already cracked. Accident in the subway a couple of weeks ago. Lost my backpack too.”
“Ooooh. Tragic.” Wiley narrowed his eyes at me and then turned his attention toward Doug. “You remember me, Baker?”
Doug nodded. “Yeah. How you doin’, Wiley?”
“I’m doin’ great. Just great. You havin’ eye trouble lately?”
“Eye trouble?” Doug’s hand flew up to his right eye.
“Yeah. You and four-eyes here seem to be having trouble seeing this phone screen. You see, to take a selfie, you gotta flip the camera by clicking this tiny square. Ha! You almost got a picture of me by accident. And even as handsome as I am, I’m sure that’s not what you were trying to do.”
“That would DEFINITELY break the phone.” Wiley stepped aside. Standing behind him was a short, light-skinned girl with brown, shoulder-length curls and a couple of really deep dimples that caved in her cheeks while she smirked. She elbowed Wiley out of the way and set her lunch tray down next to the chair where Doug was standing.
“Coop?!?” Doug gasped. “I thought you moved to Texas.”
The girl snatched the phone out of Wiley’s hands and gave it back to me. “I did. But we missed the city, so we moved back.”
“Hey, girlie.” Wiley tried to push back in. “We were talking here.”
Coop put her hand up in Wiley’s face. “Whiny, you just need to go way. No one at this table wants to hear anything from you.”
Wiley glared at the brave girl for a minute, but she just glared back.
She stuck out her chin. “What? Are you gonna punch me? Go right ahead. I dare ya. Get yourself expelled for the millionth time.” She glared some more.
So did Wiley. Finally, he turned and went back to the table where Casey and Kevin Tolley were eating. Wiley said something to the guys, and they all looked over at us and laughed.
Coop shook her head. “Ignore them. They’re bad news. Doug, who’s your friend?”
“I’m Arcade.”
“I’m Reagan Cooper. Nice to meet you. Doug and I have been friends since kindergarten. I moved away in the 4th grade. But I’m back now. With a drawl, y’all!” Her eyes twinkled. “How’s your grandma, Doug?” Reagan turned to me. “Doug’s gram is the sweetest person I’ve ever met.” Reagan reached into her backpack and pulled out her phone. “I know! Let’s take a selfie, Doug.”
“Yeah. Let’s take a selfie!” Doug got up and stood next to Reagan. She held her phone up, smiled, clicked the picture, and then they both sat down.
She whispered to me. “I just got that picture of Wiley for you.”
“How’d you know?”
She grinned. “I’m sneaky. It’s a gift. I think it may come in handy in middle school. What do you think?” She turned her phone around for me to see it. And there, right in the middle of the screen, was Wiley Overton’s mug, enlarged to fit the whole screen, clear as day.
After lunch, I texted the picture to Zoe.
This guy look familiar???
I got a text back immediately.
It’s him! The sack of potatoes!
I almost dropped my phone. Just as I thought. I could barely keep my hands still enough to text back.
He’s at my school.
All she texted back was . . .
Uh-oh.
Chapter 18
Bye, Bye, Doug
That night, Doug and I sat around studying chapter one in our math books.
“I don’t know, Arcade, this stuff looks hard. And now I’m supposed to worry about filling in the right bubbles? Maybe we should ditch the studying and go feed Flames.”
I sat staring at the computer scan sheet, replaying Mr. Dooley’s words over and over in my head:
“ALWAYS PAY ATTENTION WHEN YOU ARE BEING TESTED.”
The Triple T Token heated up a little, and I pulled my shirt away from my chest to check it out.
“What?”
“I said, maybe we should ditch this and go feed Flames.”
I looked up at Doug. “Huh? Oh, I wasn’t talking to you. I was talking to this . . . this . . . token. Whenever it sparks, it puts me on edge.”
“Tell me about it! We’ve been on a ton of edges! Why do edges always lead to huge drop offs?”
“They don’t. You just notice those more.”
“Nah. ALL edges are dangerous.”
Doug’s phone rang. He took a deep breath. “An unrecognized number. Here we go . . .” He put it on speaker. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Doug?”
“Doug?”
“Yes, Doug. Doug Baker.”
“I’m Doug Baker.”
The woman on the other end of the phone sighed. “Oh, good. Hi, Doug. My name is Charlotte Schmidt. We talked a couple of weeks ago.”
Silence.
“I’m your social worker. I’d like to come see you tomorrow.”
Doug’s fingers started to tremble, and he dropped his phone on his blow-up mattress. “Tomorrow? That’s not necessary. I’m not in any hurry.”
“But I have great news! Your Aunt Tianna is excited for you to come and live with her.”
Doug shot up on his feet. “Aunt Tianna?”
“Mmmm-hmmm. Your mom’s sister.”
Doug made a face like he just chewed a lemon. Then he looked at me and mouthed the words SHE’S AWFUL.
“Aw, no. I’ll pass. Who else you got?”
There was a moment of silence on the other side of the phone. “Uh, well, I appreciate your input, Doug, but this is actually your only option. Your aunt already has your room set up and has enrolled you in a private school in Miami Beach.”
“Miami Beach? Like, in Florida?”
“Well, yes, that’s where your aunt lives. I know it will be an adjustment, but the weather is beautiful in Florida.”
Doug reached over and clicked his phone off.
“DOUG! Did you just hang up on her?”
“Yeah. Should I block her?” He scrolled to his phone settings, but I grabbed his wrist before he could finish.
The phone rang again. I put my hand on Doug’s shoulder. “Answer it.”
“Awww, man!” He put it on speaker again.
“Doug? I’m sorry, for some reason we got cut off.”
“Hello, Ms. Schmidt. Yeah, sorry. That was my fault.”
“That’s okay. So, Doug, I’d like to come and meet with you tomorrow. I know our official meeting wasn’t for a couple of weeks yet, but the sooner we get you to your new home the better. School starts down there in a week. Can I come to your house in the afternoon?”
“MY HOUSE?” Doug looke
d over at me, stuck his hands out like wings, and curled one leg up. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Oookay. Would another location work better?”
I pointed to my floor. Doug raised his eyebrows.
“We could meet in my friend Arcade’s room.”
I shook my head and pointed to my bedroom door.
“Uh, no. I mean my friend Arcade’s house. It’s just three doors down from my place.”
“Oh, yes. The Livingston’s. I have their address right here in my file. That would be fine. Would four o’clock work?”
“Would four o’clock work?” Doug looked like he was going to faint. “I guess.”
“Great! I’ll give you more details when we meet. This is going to be a great new start for you, Doug. You may want to start packing your things. I’m hopeful we can finalize the paperwork and get you a one-way flight to your new home in Miami by the end of next week.”
* * *
“Arcade, what am I gonna do? I don’t want to move to Florida!” Doug and I plodded all the way down to the greenstone to check on Flames.
My mind raced.
What can I do? I don’t want my best friend to move.
I pulled my token out from under my shirt and held it between my hands.
This would be a good time for you to show me your power.
Nothing happened. Not even a spark. In fact, the token felt so cold, it sent shivers through my body, even though it was at least ninety degrees out!
We walked up the steps to the greenstone, and Doug put the key in the lock and sniffed. “I’m gonna miss the smell of shrimp.” He opened the door and took a long glance around. “This could be my last week in New York City.”
We dragged ourselves up the stairs and opened the door to Flames’s “office.” The little bird flapped and squawked and splashed when he saw us.
“Hey, buddy! Sorry it took so long. Are you hungry?” I opened the lid of the ice chest we had set up in the bathroom and pulled out a small sandwich bag of shrimp. I reached in and held a piece in my palm. Flames squawked and waddled over. An orange glow surrounded him. Or . . .
“Hey, Arcade! Look at that! He’s ORANGE!”
Arcade and the Fiery Metal Tester Page 8
