by Arthur Slade
Newt. Newt. Newt.
His mother’s voice. She was a human neon sign, glowing blue, her hair a frazzle of electric light. Am I dying? She reached out and spoke tenderly, her voice crackling like the static on a transistor radio. My darling Newt. You’ve got to try harder. Count to ten. Get better marks. Embrace your destiny. And don’t forget to brush your teeth. I love you.
Then darkness blotted him out.
What the Other Students Saw
* * *
Newton flew headfirst toward the radiator. Some students covered their eyes; others squinched them together and grimaced. A few wondered: Would he break his neck? Would his skull crack like an egg? What color would his brains be?
They were disappointed. Newton’s skull remained intact.
It was Jacob who pushed his way to Newton’s side and shouted, “Someone call Nurse Garchinzki. Now!”
Twenty cell phones were pulled out. Nineteen of the students called friends, telling them, “You gotta see this!”
Violet was the only one to call the nurse.
The Awkward Awakening
* * *
Light shot into Newton’s eyes. He stared at the sun, his best friend. He loved the sun. He would hug it if his arms were long enough and it weren’t twenty-seven million degrees Fahrenheit.
He blinked until it became clear that the light was too small to be the sun. And it was surrounded by a tiled ceiling.
His brain ached as though someone had been playing basketball with it. Ouch. Ouch!
He slowly turned his head, and the room came into focus. A small arrow-slit window with the blind drawn. On the bedside table, a pitcher of ice water and a rose in a half-filled drinking glass. On the wall, two large words painted in red: GET WELL.
So, he was in the academy’s aid station, lying on an army cot. Somewhere nearby, lurking like a giant spider, was Nurse Garchinzki.
What happened? Then his jaw throbbed and everything came back: his fancy footwork, the evil fist of Violet, that moment of weightlessness before he hit the floor.
I lost. I lost to a girl. Shame turned his guts to lead. He could never go back to his classes. There wasn’t a cave deep and dark enough to hide in.
An overpowering loneliness hit him like a truck. Why isn’t Mom here? He felt as though he had just seen her. He blinked too late to stop a tear. Why am I crying? He tried to lift his hand to wipe his eyes, but his arm flopped across his stomach like a dead fish. I can’t cry. I don’t have time. I have to plot my revenge.
The door opened, and his heart leaped. He strained, forcing his hand up to wipe his face.
Nurse Garchinzki chugged across the room like a bulldozer.
“My head hurts,” he said.
“I nursed men in Bosnia with holes in head. They didn’t whine half as much as you. You are a stupid, stupid boy.”
Newton’s eyes widened. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Get in fight with girl. Hit head. Now I must wake you every hour to be certain there is no damage on the brain.”
“I—I am not stupid!”
“I do not argue with stupid boys. I shall wake you every hour.”
She was as good as her word. All morning, on the hour, she tapped his forehead with a wooden spoon until he opened his eyes, then asked: “What is three plus two?” The first time, she cracked him with the spoon until he spat out the answer. He began shouting out “Five!” the moment he heard the creak of the door.
He yearned for the gentle song his mother used to sing: “Good morning, merry sunshine, how did you wake so soon? You scared away the lightning-bearing cumulonimbus clouds and shone away the moon.”
Newton’s Mom
* * *
Sometimes when Newton remembered his mother’s death, he thought of lobster. Baked stuffed lobster that he’d made as a treat for his parents.
As they were eating in their dome, Newton’s mother suddenly grabbed his arm and hissed, “There has to be a reason. It’s like we were chosen.” She waved a lobster shell in her other hand, scattering bits of lobster and stuffing across the table. Newton stared in horror at the crazed look on her face and the way she was treating his creation.
“There is a reason, Newt! I think I now understand. We’re being shot into a new realm. Yes, that’s what the lightning does. I know it! I know it! I know it!”
Newton and his dad gawked at her. The following day she was laid out on the couch, a cold washcloth across her forehead. “It tires you out,” she confessed, “the waiting. The knowing that one day you’ll be struck down. I don’t know how Great-grandma has lasted so long. But you can survive, too, Newt. Don’t give up the fight. Promise me!”
“I promise, Mom.”
The circumstances surrounding her ultimate encounter with lightning a few days later were shrouded in mystery. Newton’s father fetched Newton from school. His face was pale; his eyes were red. Trembling, he embraced Newton. “Son, I have bad news. Your mother . . . Mom died an hour ago. She was struck by lightning near the Presbyterian church. She didn’t suffer.”
Later, when he thought about it, Newton couldn’t figure out why she had been there. It was the first day of lightning season—they had it marked on their calendar. She shouldn’t have been outside that day.
Her funeral would forever be burned into his memory. Snohomishians, curious strangers and paparazzi gathered to watch her casket as it was carried out of the church. They looked like monkeys to Newton.
As he watched the pallbearers lower his mother’s coffin into the earth, he shook with anger. The gawkers didn’t have a clue about what it was like to be a Starker. He focused on the flowers strewn across the top of the casket. Camera flashes lit up the petals. Each flash reminded him of how his mother had died.
What the National Globe Wrote About Delilah Starker’s Death
* * *
Lightning Strikes Twice!
HERE’S A SHOCKER! Delilah Starker from Snohomish, Washington, was struck by lightning for the second time in her life and killed. Her father, her brother and other members of her family have died in the same manner. It appears this Starker family is cursed. She is survived by her husband and her son, who, it is said, lives in the basement of their dome-shaped home and never sees the light of day.
On a Cellular Level
* * *
Newton’s cell phone played a muffled version of “Ride of the Valkyries.” His eyes opened like lazy clamshells. His arms were slugs that inched toward his phone, on the bedside table. Once again he was surprised by the rose. What was it doing in a drinking glass?
He clutched his phone, brought it to his ear. “Mom?” he whispered.
“‘Mom?’” a familiar voice echoed. “Newton, is that you?”
“Yes.” He couldn’t remember who owned the voice.
“Why are you asking for Mom?”
“Dad? Dad! Why—why are you calling?”
“Why? Because I was told you’ve been injured. What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ll be released soon.”
“Well, that’s good, at least. I’ve been wondering if I should have sent you so far away.”
“It’s a great school, Dad. I like it here.”
“Well, apparently you don’t like all the students. Headmaster Dumont told me you were in an altercation.”
“It wasn’t an altercation. It was a tussle.”
“A tussle put you in a sickbed?”
Newton held his head. “Well, there were fisticuffs, too. But she deserved it.”
“She?”
“Violet.”
“You fought with a girl?”
“I . . .” Newton couldn’t think of how to explain it.
The whole thing did seem pretty doltish.
“Did you count to ten beforehand?”
“No.”
His father cleared his throat. “Well, what was the tussle all about?”
“She . . . uh . . . I think she’s jealous of me, Dad.”
“Jealo
us? What’s going on, Newton? Fighting isn’t like you.”
“She made fun of me in front of everyone.” “Ah. I know how . . . sensitive you are.”
“I’m not sensitive!”
“Then why’d you get so angry?”
“Testosterone, Dad.”
Silence. Then, “Ah, yes, of course. Testosterone.” He almost sounded proud. “But, Newton, you’ve got to control yourself. I’ve been thinking that maybe I could fly up there for a few days. I could be there as early as this evening.”
Newton wanted to say yes. It would be so good to see him. Why had he come to this school, anyway, so far from his bedroom in their dome? The safest place on earth.
“Newton?”
Newton let out a long breath. “No. No. I’m okay, Dad. I know how busy you are with work.”
“You’re more important, son. I’d come in a heartbeat. Do you need me?”
“Thanks, Dad. Really. I’m fine. It’s only a bump.”
His father laughed, that friendly chuckle Newton loved. “I still can’t believe you fought a girl. A girl.” He paused. “And you lost. How’s your male pride holding up? She must be big.”
“She’s Godzilla big.”
“Well, you’re sounding like your old self, at least. If you need anything, call. Especially if you want to talk. Anytime. You know you can do that, right?”
“Yes, Dad. Of course.”
“I miss you, Newton. Take care, now. And—count to ten!”
Doing His Best Lazarus Impression
* * *
At eight o’clock on Monday morning, Nurse Garchinzki woke Newton by tapping on his forehead. He shot up and, coming face to face with her, recoiled with a gasp.
“You are free like bird now,” she said. “Fly, fly. But eat breakfast first.” She pointed at a tray.
She turned to go, then stopped in the doorway. “Oh, and you are commanded to visit Headmaster Dumont.”
Dumont? Newton groaned.
Newton took off his green hospital gown. How he’d gotten into it was a mystery. He decided to remain in denial about the obvious: Nurse Garchinzki had dressed him.
He fumbled his kilt on and staggered to the window to survey the academy grounds. It was a castle, really, considering the long stone walls, the brick belfry and the turrets. He stared up at the sky. Not a cloud.
Outside, the first person he ran into was Jacob, cutting across the Highland Courtyard.
“Newton! This is great! You’ve arisen from the dead, Lazarus.”
“Yeah. Up and at ’em. So to speak.”
Jacob patted Newton’s shoulder and got a shock. “Ow!” He gritted his teeth, then shook his head and tried to grin. The concern in his eyes was magnified tenfold by his glasses. “I tried to visit, but Garchinzki went all Cerberus on me.”
“She did what?”
“Guarded the door like the dog that guards Hades. You know, three heads, a lot of slobber. Anyway, I couldn’t get by her. You look like you’ve been hit by the Black Plague. Are you sure you’re supposed to be walking around?”
“Of course!” Newton breathed in, hoping more oxygen would bring the color back to his face. “I’m fine. Just a little out of it.”
“Well, you’ve certainly created a stir. People are talking.”
“Oh? What are they saying?”
“The fight has already reached legendary status. Some believe it lasted eight rounds. Others say you peed your kilt.”
“Peed my kilt?”
Jacob shrugged. “Well, you know how rumors get started. The good news is that your time in sick bay means you won’t be in so much trouble. Brilliant planning on your part! Letting Violet knock you out was the best thing you could’ve done.”
“Violet didn’t knock me out! The radiator did.”
“Oh, sorry. That’s what I meant.”
Newton’s head throbbed. An electrical charge shot from the tip of his left big toe to the top of his scalp.
“Newton? You okay?”
“Fine. Has anything happened to Violet?”
“Dumont is reportedly fuming about the fight. Violet might even be expelled.”
“Ha!”
“Be careful what you wish for. He’d have to expel you, too. It’s the law of equal punishment.” Jacob squinted through his glasses. “You’ve learned your lesson from all this, right?”
“Yes. Next time I won’t choose boxing.”
“No! Just ignore her. She’s not worth your time.”
“Ignore her? Good strategy, Jacob. That’ll get on her nerves.” Newton paused. “Uh . . .”
“‘Uh’ what?”
“Did my kilt, like—was it decent?”
“You mean, did your underwear show?”
“Yes.”
“You were covered up perfectly.”
Newton sighed. “Good.”
Jacob pushed his glasses back up on his nose. “Gotta go. I have to get over to Thunder Creek for some extracurricular outdoor survival stuff. Maybe we’ll learn more about the constellations, like which one’s the Swan and which is the Great Bear. Or we’ll dig up roots, boil bark and disguise ourselves as ground squirrels.” Jacob paused. “That was a joke.”
“Oh, I get it,” Newton said. He slapped a knee. “Have fun.”
Newton walked past the belfry and followed the sidewalk around the courtyard, passing several ninth graders, who stared at him. Some giggled.
He needed to use the handrail to climb up the stone steps of the administration building. At the top it occurred to him that he couldn’t remember walking the fifty yards across the courtyard. Maybe I should have stayed in bed.
He looked back where he’d come from and saw Violet lurking beside the statue of Jerry Potts, watching him. Like a coyote watching a lamb. She’ll soon see that I’m a wolf in lamb’s clothing.
Newton sent her a withering wolf glare, but after a second he realized it was just Maggie Surtis, a girl from Alaska.
He struggled to open the heavy oak doors. Again time snapped forward. Now Newton was at the end of a long hall. The distant sun shone through tall windows, lighting several paintings of wheat fields. He blinked. I have to concentrate. One step at a time.
He shuffled to the office and stopped to adjust his kilt. Then he looked up at a life-sized painting of Jerry Potts. The tracker was testing the wind with his finger, and was dressed in leather clothes, a derby hat and tassels along his arms and circling his knees. The master survivor.
That’s something we have in common.
Newton saluted Jerry and reported in. Ms. Humphreys, the secretary, looked up. “Oh my, are you all right, Mr. Starker?”
“I’m . . . okay,” he replied. “I had to convince Nurse Garchinzki to let me go, but I just couldn’t miss a full day.”
“You poor, poor boy,” she said. “You are so dedicated. Mr. Dumont will be pleased. He asked that you be sent in the moment you arrived.”
Newton tottered over to the headmaster’s office. Before he could knock a voice behind the door said, “Come in.”
Headmaster Dumont stood next to his desk, dressed in a green lumberjack shirt and a kilt. “So. You’re not dead.”
“Oh no, sir, I’m very much alive. I do have a headache, though. I shouldn’t be given any homework. Nurse Garchinzki’s orders.”
He’d been hoping to get a smile out of Dumont. Instead the headmaster’s eyes grew stony.
“Nurse Garchinzki had a slightly different opinion when she reported on your condition this morning. She felt the strap was in order. Lucky for you, Mr. Starker, we’re not allowed to use it anymore.” Dumont crossed his arms. “Well, I won’t lecture you about boxing in the dorm—you’re intelligent enough to know better. Nor am I interested in the reasons for your fight; they’re always the same: ego and poor judgment.”
Newton’s eyes widened. “I don’t have poor judgment!”
“Lacing up against Violet was unwise. She’s trained in several martial arts.”
Newton shook
his head. How could he have known that? She’d cheated by training so much.
“So, Mr. Starker, how do you suggest I punish you?” Dumont asked.
“Nurse Garchinzki was punishment enough.”
That, Newton was relieved to see, got a slight smile.
“Newton, we thought long and hard before allowing you into our academy. I read the scientific papers about the Starkers and lightning. Having you here meant spending thousands of extra dollars on safety equipment. Even so, your presence puts everyone here at an elevated risk. Every student, every instructor. The risk is manageable, and the board, aside from wanting to help you, felt it would be good for the whole school to learn more about surviving lightning strikes. We do not turn away those in need of survival education, but you must work with us.”
Newton hadn’t given a thought to all the money spent on his account. Or the fact that they could just as easily have said no. I let them down by fighting. For a few moments he considered the impact of his mistake, but his remorse was soon wiped out by thoughts of Violet: She made fun of me. Me!
Dumont waited patiently for an answer.
“I will work with you, sir,” Newton finally promised. “I won’t let you or the board down. From this moment on I will be your best student.”
“It’s not about being the best,” Dumont said. “It’s about learning your limits. You chose to disobey academy rules. Rules are what keep this academy strong. I will give you another choice, though. Would you prefer an intellectual punishment or a physical one?”
A trap! He couldn’t imagine what either of the punishments would mean. He whispered, “Physical.”
“Fine. You have KP duty. Kitchen police. You will report to Mess Master Tawrell every morning, noon and evening. She will assign you work.”
