Invasion

by Jon S. Lewis

  Ms. Skoglund’s wrists tinkled like chimes from all her bracelets as she shuffled through a stack of papers. “Now where did I put your schedule?”

  Colt waited as she walked over to a set of filing cabinets, only to return to a nest of papers on her desk. “Ah, here we go,” she finally said, pulling out a slip of paper that had been tucked beneath the attendance folder. “I knew it was around here somewhere.”

  As Colt reviewed his schedule, the office door opened and a tall kid with an easy smile walked through. He was wearing faded blue jeans and a cream-colored T-shirt that accentuated his dark skin. It was snug, showing off his physique. Colt wanted to roll his eyes, but he didn’t.

  “Look what the cat dragged in,” Ms. Skoglund said. “Were you waylaid by all your female admirers?”

  “It’s nothing like that,” the boy said. “Besides, you know I only have eyes for you.”

  “Sure you do,” Mrs. Skoglund said. “I mean, why bother with one of those skinny little things your age when you can go for someone who’s trying to lose another thirty pounds before her twenty-year class reunion next summer? That makes sense.”

  “If you lost thirty pounds, you’d be a skeleton.”

  “That’s why they call him Romeo,” Ms. Skoglund said to Colt. “His real name is Oswaldo.”

  “You can just call me Oz,” he said, extending his hand. “I don’t usually tell people my real name. I mean, Oswaldo? What were my parents thinking?”

  “Sorry,” Ms. Skoglund said as Colt offered a half smile.

  “I’m Colt.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Oz said.

  Colt thought that was an odd response, considering they’d just met. He was about to ask how Oz knew him, but Ms. Skoglund spoke first. “Didn’t you say that you knew Colt’s grandfather?”

  “I’ve met him once or twice.”

  Colt had a nagging feeling that the larger boy was hiding something, he just wasn’t sure what it was.

  “As you can see by his bulging muscles, Romeo here spends more time in the weight room than he does on his homework.”

  “Ouch,” Oz said, putting his hand on his heart in melodramatic fashion that Colt found slightly nauseating.

  “Anyway, apart from being the object of desire for most of the girls on campus, he’s actually a sweetheart. Since the two of you have the same first-period class, I thought it would be nice for Oz to show you around today.”

  “We better get going,” Oz said. “Mr. Pfeffer freaks out when people are late.”

  “That’s an understatement.” Ms. Skoglund rolled her eyes. “He’s so wound up that . . . well, never mind. Just let me know if he gives you any lip.”

  “So how do you know my grandpa?” Colt asked as he followed Oz through the hallways.

  “My dad served in the same company when he was in the army.”

  “Wait a minute . . . how old is your dad?”

  Oz laughed. “It wasn’t at the same time, but when my father was coming up through the ranks, he was in the same company that your grandfather fought in during World War II.”

  “You already know more about my grandpa’s service record than I do,” Colt said.

  “Really? What about his nickname?”

  “Sorry.”

  “I was told everyone called him the Phantom Flyer.”

  “As in the comic book?”

  “It’s crazy, right? Did you ever read it?”

  Colt paused. People who read comic books typically didn’t rise to the top of the popularity chart, and they definitely didn’t look like Oz. “My dad had some,” he said with a shrug. “I might have had a few of the action figures.”

  “Are you serious? I had all of that stuff. What about the Phantom Flyer Airship?”

  Colt nodded.

  “You had to have the Yeti cave with the blaster cannons.”

  “Yeah, I got it for my sixth birthday,” Colt said, unaware of the growing enthusiasm in his voice. Maybe Oz wasn’t so bad after all. “After we went to the first Phantom Flyer movie, my parents took me to pick it up at the toy store.”

  “So you know about the rumor, right?”

  “What rumor?”

  Oz stopped to gauge Colt’s sincerity. “Your dad never told you that the Phantom Flyer was based on your grandpa?”

  Colt’s eyes narrowed. “Are you serious?”

  “Of course I am. Think about it . . . the Flyer’s real name is Malachai McAdams. Sound like anybody you know?”

  “Wait, you’re saying my grandfather fought against Nazi supersoldiers and robots while he flew around in a jet pack?”

  “Like I said, it’s just a rumor.”

  Colt wanted to ask more questions, but he was distracted by laughter. When he looked around to see who it was, he wished he’d taken Danielle’s advice and worn something a little nicer.

  Three girls were standing in a cluster talking, but Colt only noticed the one in the middle. Her hazel eyes were playful, and her blonde hair fell down her back like golden waves from the ocean. She wore a denim jacket over a brown dress, and her cowboy boots pulled it all together.

  Oz looked back to make sure that Colt was keeping up. “Are you coming, or are you planning on standing there and staring at Lily Westcott all day?”

  Colt’s eyes shot wide. He didn’t mean to be so obvious. If Oz had noticed, he was afraid that she had too. “What are you talking about?”

  Lily caught his gaze and smiled before her friends pulled her into a classroom.

  Oz shook his head. “You’re in luck, McAlister. She’s in our class.”

  : : CHAPTER 13 : :

  Colt’s new history teacher was squatting in front of his laptop as he tried to sync it with a projector that had a Trident Technology logo on it. They were everywhere. His shirttail had pulled out from his pants, revealing more of Mr. Pfeffer’s backside than Colt had hoped to see.

  “One of these days computers are going to rise up and enslave us all,” Mr. Pfeffer said to no one in particular. “I know most of the sheep in this world believe all these little gizmos have made our lives easier, but we’re setting ourselves up. What was wrong with filmstrips, anyway? They always worked when you needed them.”

  “Mr. Pfeffer?” Colt said.

  “Can’t you see that I’m busy?”

  “Be nice, Mr. Pfeffer,” Oz said as he took his seat. “It’s his first day.”

  “What?” The teacher turned to find Colt looking down at him. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot we were getting a new student today. Welcome to the glories of World History.”

  “Thanks,” Colt said.

  Mr. Pfeffer stood up, then motioned for Colt to hand him his schedule. The history teacher was tall, with narrow shoulders, a doughy midsection, and a face shaped like a kernel of corn— square on the top and pointed at the chin. His hair, at least what was left of it, was parted down the middle, and he wore glasses that were at least ten years out of date.

  “It looks like everything is in order. Why don’t you take a seat over there.” Mr. Pfeffer pointed to the only empty desk in the room. It was between Oz and Lily.

  Colt hesitated as he made eye contact with her. She smiled, then Colt saw one of the other girls start to laugh.

  “By the way,” Colt said to Mr. Pfeffer, “all you need to do is hit this button.” He reached down to select a different input setting and the projector flared to life, displaying Mr. Pfeffer’s desktop on the whiteboard.

  “That was dangerous,” Oz said as Colt took his seat.

  “What?”

  “Mr. Pfeffer doesn’t like it when people show him up.”

  “I was just trying to help.”

  “Now who here would like to tell Master McAlister what we’ve been studying?” Mr. Pfeffer said. “Come on, people, this isn’t a difficult question . . . no? Okay, then perhaps we should take a pop quiz.”

  Every student, save Colt, raised a hand.

  “That’s better,” the teacher said. “What about you, Master Savage? I’d l
ove to hear your response. Of course you’ll have to spit your gum out first.”

  A thin boy with messy hair retrieved an enormous wad of gum from the inside of his cheek before whipping it across the room. It fell perfectly into the wastebasket. Then he sat back, kicking a pair of black boots on the chair in front of him. “World War II, sir.”

  “How enlightening,” Mr. Pfeffer said. “No wonder your parents named you Aristotle.”

  “Thanks.”

  Mr. Pfeffer rolled his eyes and then clicked a button on his remote control. Suddenly an image of Japanese fighter planes showed on the whiteboard. “Today we will discuss Pearl Harbor.”

  As the teacher started his lecture, Colt pulled out a notebook and a pen. He intended to take notes, but Mr. Pfeffer got sidetracked. He started discussing the attack that launched the United States into the war, but he ended up spending most of the class talking about a family vacation that he took when he was seven years old.

  Colt let his mind drift as the history teacher droned. He started thinking about his own family vacation in Maui. Colt and his dad took surfing lessons, and their whole family went snorkeling and saw a school of dolphins.

  “What about you, Master McAlister?”

  As Colt came out of his daydream, everyone was looking at him. Lily Westcott leaned over in her chair, trying to look discreet. “He wants to know if you have any family members who served during World War II.”

  Lily’s voice had a melodic quality that made it sound like she was singing, even when she whispered. If that weren’t distracting enough, she smelled like orange blossoms, and it was intoxicating. Caught off guard, Colt suddenly lost the power of speech. He looked at her dumbly, and Lily just smiled in return. She was either oblivious to how awkward he felt or kind enough to ignore it.

  “Oh . . . ah, yeah,” Colt said. “From what my dad says, my grandfather was part of a special unit that was supposed to assassinate Hitler.”

  It was obvious that Mr. Pfeffer didn’t know what to say. He finally settled on “Seriously?”

  Colt shrugged, as though being related to an assassin was an everyday occurrence. “That’s what my dad said, anyway.”

  Mr. Pfeffer walked over to his desk and scratched a note in his lesson planner. “Do you think he’d be willing to come in and talk to our class about his experiences?”

  “I could ask him, but I don’t know. He’s never really talked about what happened.”

  “I understand,” Mr. Pfeffer said. “But if you’d be willing to gauge his interest, I would be in your debt.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Colt said. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Excellent. Now on to the fun,” Mr. Pfeffer said. “Let’s talk about our class project.”

  There was a series of groans as Colt turned to Lily. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Lily said. “I know how hard it is to concentrate when he starts talking about his childhood memories.”

  “Does he do that a lot?”

  Lily laughed, though quietly. “Yeah, you could say that.”

  They both turned their attention back to Mr. Pfeffer as he reviewed the semester’s big assignment. “Each of you will write an essay about an important event during the Second World War,” he said, handing the specifications to everyone on red sheets of paper. “I will have to approve the subject, of course, but you might select a battle, a political figure, or even a top secret unit that was assigned to kill Adolf Hitler.”

  Colt did his best to avoid eye contact as Mr. Pfeffer turned to look at him.

  “Wait a minute, this—”

  “I’m sorry, Aristotle, but I didn’t see you raise your hand,” Mr. Pfeffer said.

  Aristotle rolled his eyes, but he complied.

  “How can I help you?” Mr. Pfeffer said, now that Aristotle had his hand in the air.

  “This is actually going to be 50 percent of our grade?”

  Mr. Pfeffer smiled. “Think of it this way: you won’t have to worry as much about tomorrow’s test, because even if you fail, you can make up for it. Just write an incredible essay. Besides, you haven’t even heard the best part.”

  The class was quiet as they waited for more bad news.

  “I’ll be collecting your work and publishing it as a book.”

  “When do we get paid?” Aristotle said.

  “That’s the beauty of it,” Mr. Pfeffer said. “We’ll be donating any proceeds to help homeless veterans.”

  “Is that a joke or something?”

  “No, it is most certainly not a joke.”

  The bell rang, and without waiting to be dismissed, every student in the class packed up and filed out of the room. Colt tried to time it so that he would walk out the door with Lily, but he was cut off.

  “So how many German officers did he assassinate?” a pudgy boy wearing a Chewbacca T-shirt wanted to know.

  “What was that?” Colt asked. He’d been watching Lily walk out the door and didn’t hear the question.

  “I just wanted to know how many people your grandfather assassinated.”

  “What kind of question is that, Farkus?” Oz said, getting between Colt and the growing crowd.

  “It’s okay,” Colt said. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know. I mean, I asked him once, but he wouldn’t say anything.”

  “Can you imagine listing yourself as an assassin on a business card?” Farkus said to a boy standing next to him.

  “Assassins don’t carry business cards,” Oz said. Then he ushered Colt through the door and into the hall.

  : : CHAPTER 14 : :

  The rest of the morning was mundane compared to World History. Colt had hoped that either Danielle or Oz would be in another class with him, but in a school with more than two thousand students, he knew the odds weren’t good.

  “There you are,” Oz said as Colt left his fourth-period algebra class with a load of homework. “What are you doing for lunch?”

  “I should probably stay in here and try to finish some of these assignments. All this math is killing me.”

  “Why would you be thinking about homework when Chandler High’s five-star cafeteria is awaiting?”

  “I’m actually supposed to meet someone.”

  Oz smiled. “A lady friend? I don’t know why I’m surprised. Every girl on campus is talking about you.”

  “Why does it sound creepy when you say it like that?”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Danielle.”

  “It’s not ringing a bell.”

  “Salazar?”

  “The girl who drives that old Thunderbird?”

  Colt nodded.

  “Here I thought you only had eyes for Lily.”

  “It’s not like that,” Colt said. “We’re just friends.”

  “Danielle’s a little different, but I like her eyes. She’s cute.”

  “I guess,” Colt said with a shrug. “I’ve known her since we were kids. She’s like a sister.”

  “I’m sure Lily will be relieved.”

  “I was thinking,” Colt said, ready to change the subject, “are you sure we’ve never met before?”

  “Why?”

  “It’s just that . . . I don’t know, you seem familiar.”

  Oz wrapped his arm around Colt’s shoulder. “Why don’t we hunt down Danielle and grab some food before the bell rings? I had a killer workout this morning and I’m starving.”

  The food at the cafeteria was anything but gourmet—not that Colt expected any different. For the most part everything was deep-fried, canned, or loaded with saturated fat. Colt wasn’t exactly a health food nut, but when he passed by mashed potatoes covered in what looked like radioactive gravy he nearly lost his appetite.

  “So what’s going to happen to the guy who killed your parents?” Oz asked as he grabbed two chicken sandwiches off of the rack, placing them next to a gigantic chef salad loaded down with turkey, ham, and lots of chopped eggs.

  Colt might have been offended by that question
had it come from anyone else, but for some reason, Oz was able to get away with it. His direct manner of speech was actually refreshing. Colt had never met anyone who said what was on his mind without worrying about whether or not he was going to offend somebody.

  “I’m not sure,” Colt said. “He’s supposed to go through some kind of psychiatric evaluation. His blood alcohol level was nearly twice the legal limit at the time of the crash, but he claims he hadn’t been drinking.”

  “I bet the cops hear that all the time.”

  “I guess,” Colt said, contemplating whether or not he should try one of the hamburgers. “He’d just come from an appointment with his doctor, and the doctor said he wasn’t drunk. In fact, he didn’t even smell any alcohol.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re kind of fidgety.”

  Colt couldn’t say what he was thinking—that Uriah Bloc, the guy who killed his parents, probably worked for Trident Industries. And that Colt’s brother and a United States Senator thought Colt’s parents were murdered. He was pretty sure people who believed that kind of stuff ended up in padded rooms wearing straight jackets.

  “I’ve been looking all over for you,” Danielle said, interrupting as she approached the boys in the food line. “I thought we were going to eat together.”

  “We are,” Colt replied. “Oz wanted to join us.”

  “I hope that’s okay,” Oz said. He flashed a smile that would give any movie star a run for his money.

  “Yeah, sure,” Danielle said, looking up at Oz through her long eyelashes.

  Danielle’s eyes had always been her best feature, and she knew how to use them to her advantage. That’s why Colt thought the whole shy act was a smoke screen. Danielle was trying to keep Oz off guard before she lured him in.

  “Good, because lunch is on me today,” Oz said.

  “In that case, I’ll get a hamburger and a corn dog,” Colt said.

  “Knock yourself out,” Oz said, “but I thought everybody in California ate avocado and bean sprouts. Isn’t all that grease going to kill you?”