Time Castaways #1

by Liesl Shurtliff

  “But you’ve had it forever,” said Ruby. “He can’t care about it that much if he’s left it for this long.”

  “I assure you he does,” said Mrs. Hudson. “And there is no possible way I can take that box to your school. If anything happened to it, my reputation would be ruined. No one would trust me with their valuable possessions ever again.”

  “Fine,” said Ruby, stabbing at a hunk of meat.

  “Still willing to offer my own expertise,” said Mr. Hudson.

  “Yippee,” said Ruby dully.

  The family fell into another uncomfortable silence. Mrs. Hudson looked like she was going to turn on Corey again about his math test, so Matt intervened this time.

  “Mets play this Friday,” he said. “Could we get tickets maybe?”

  “Sure!” said Mr. Hudson. “How about we all go as a family?”

  “No thanks,” said Ruby. “I’ll stay home and knit or something.”

  “Oh, but I was going to throw hot dogs and soda into the deal,” said Mr. Hudson with a conspiratorial smile. “Maybe even a little cotton candy, right under your mother’s nose.”

  “Matthew Hudson,” said Mrs. Hudson. Ruby smiled just a little. Their father loved to sneak junk food to the kids. It drove Mrs. Hudson bonkers, and that made it all the more fun. She treated sweets and junk food as though they were straight poison.

  “Plus you don’t want to miss my dancing that gets me on the jumbo screen,” said Corey. “I’ll give you a preview.” Corey started shimmying in his chair.

  “Oh, please no,” said Ruby while Matt burst out laughing. Both reactions only egged Corey on. He stood up and started swinging his hips, and though Ruby had put her hand over her eyes she started laughing too.

  “All right, Corey,” said Mrs. Hudson, smiling and shaking her head. “Sit down before you break something.” But Corey was really getting into it now. He flailed his arms and threw his body around as if he were deranged.

  “Corey . . . ,” Mrs. Hudson warned.

  Corey bumped into the table and knocked over his full glass of water.

  “Watch it!” Mrs. Hudson scrambled to remove her phone, while Mr. Hudson snatched away his papers he’d been reading.

  “Whoops,” said Corey. The water was spilling over the sides of the table.

  “Va chercher des serviettes,” said Mrs. Hudson.

  “What?” said Corey.

  “Towels,” said Mr. Hudson, shaking off his papers.

  Corey ran to the kitchen and came back with a couple of towels. Mrs. Hudson snatched them and started to mop up the mess. “Mes enfants sont des singes,” she muttered.

  “I’m not a monkey,” said Corey, “and I said I was sorry. It was an accident.”

  “I told you to stop,” said Mrs. Hudson. “Why do you always have to keep going until something explodes?”

  “It’s just water,” Corey argued, but that did not placate Mrs. Hudson in the least.

  “Just clean up this mess. Then go to bed.”

  “Bed?” said Corey. “It’s not even eight!”

  “Then you can study for your math test.” Mrs. Hudson’s voice was quiet but sharp as one of her swords. Corey actually flinched.

  They cleaned up without talking, except Corey, who muttered under his breath that they lived in a museum and did they expect him to be a statue?

  Mrs. Hudson hastily made the kids’ lunches for the next day, then she and Mr. Hudson set up their computers and papers at the table, gearing up for another late night of work.

  Matt was glad to go to bed early. He wasn’t sleepy, but he was exhausted after the day’s events: his rejection, his seizure. Corey didn’t pull out his math to study. He sat in bed with a deck of playing cards, flicking them one at a time at the wall. The noise blended with the taps and clicks of his parents working on their computers, the murmurs of their hushed conversation. Matt heard his name a couple of times. They were probably talking about his seizures, placing more restrictions on what he could or couldn’t do, what he could eat, where he could go. They’d probably call the school tomorrow and have someone keep an eye on him, make a classmate accompany him at all times, even to the bathroom. Eventually they’d just bind him in Bubble Wrap and stick him in a sterile room. He loved his parents, knew they loved him, but in some ways he agreed with Corey. His parents spent so much time at the museum, they seemed to forget that their children were living, breathing beings, not special artifacts that needed to be restored or preserved.

  Sometimes Matt felt he would combust with all the energy he had building up inside him. Maybe that was the cause of his seizures. Pent-up desire and potential, bursting to get out. He wanted to make big discoveries, mind-blowing inventions, but he felt like his parents were constantly pulling him back. He was like one of those toy cars, all revved up and ready to speed down the track, only he kept getting blocked.

  He picked up the closest issue of Physics World from his shelf. He flipped through and read an article about the ability atoms had to teleport information over long distances, which some scientists believed supported the theory that people could potentially be teleported, Star Trek style. That would be cool. Then Matt could teleport himself to Paris, or anywhere for that matter, and his parents would never know the difference.

  “Mateo?”

  Matt woke to someone calling his name. At least he thought he did. Maybe it was a dream. Through the crack of his door he saw the glow of the dining room lights and a flicker of a shadow as someone moved. He glanced at the clock: 4:03 a.m. Did his parents really stay up all night working? His mother’s voice drifted through the door. She sounded a bit panicked.

  “You’re breaking up . . . Where are you?”

  Through sleepy eyes, Matt could just make out his parents’ silhouettes. Their backs were to him, but he could see his mother was on the phone. Who could she possibly be talking to on the phone at this hour?

  “The museum? But . . . Hello? . . .” Mrs. Hudson lowered the phone and glanced up at Mr. Hudson. “Matt . . . is it . . . I don’t . . .” She didn’t seem to be able to finish her thoughts out loud.

  Matt saw Mr. Hudson turn sharply toward the huge map of the world hanging above the kitchen table. It was the map they’d hung to help the children learn states and capitals and countries for social studies. Mr. Hudson studied the map intently with his glasses at his mouth, which was the position he always took when he was concentrating. “Here,” he said, pointing to a place on the map. “It’s here.”

  “But . . . the children,” said Mrs. Hudson, turning toward the bedrooms. “They’re asleep in their beds.”

  A shadow fell over the crack in the door, and a moment later Mrs. Hudson pushed it open. Matt closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep.

  “What’s done is done, Belamie,” said Mr. Hudson. “Or will be done. We have to go.”

  “But . . .”

  “Now.” Mr. Hudson had an uncharacteristically hard edge in his voice. “We can’t afford to spare a moment.”

  The door closed. Matt heard a few more murmurs in the dining room, the soft creak of the front door opening, and the click of the lock.

  Matt sat up in bed. Did his parents really just leave them alone in the middle of the night?

  He climbed down from his bunk and went out to the living room. He padded to the window and looked down at the street. It was mostly empty, only a few cars, but a minute later he saw his parents fly out of the building in their pajamas and run as fast as they could down the street. They turned left on Eighty-Sixth and disappeared.

  Matt turned around. From the dim light coming through the windows he could see that his parents’ computers and papers were still spread out on the table. There must have been some kind of emergency at the museum, a burglary or a fire or something. They would never leave them in the middle of the night like that, not without waking them or at least leaving a note.

  Matt went back to bed, but he couldn’t fall asleep. He had this nagging feeling that something wasn�
��t right, but he wasn’t sure what he should do about it. Should he wake Corey and Ruby? Should they call the police? And say what? Our parents left us in the middle of the night. The police would probably come and take them down to the station. They’d be questioned, possibly put in foster care. No way.

  His parents would come back soon. Or they’d call. Matt waited until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

  3

  Rule Breakers

  It seemed only minutes later that Matt was woken again, this time by shouting.

  “Wake up! We’re going to be late!”

  Matt squinted as morning light flooded his room. Ruby was pulling up the blinds. He glanced at the clock: 7:37! He flung off his covers and hopped down from his bunk bed. Ruby was trying to wake Corey, but he swatted at her and turned over.

  “Why didn’t Mom wake us?” Ruby shrieked. “I’m supposed to give my presentation in first period!”

  “Probably slept in themselves,” said Matt, yawning, but then he remembered. His parents had left early in the morning. Or had he dreamed that?

  “Oh, I give up!” said Ruby. “You wake him.” She walked out to the kitchen.

  “Get up, Corey,” Matt said. “Rise and shine.” Corey groaned and pulled the covers over his head.

  “Come on. We’re going to be late.” Matt pulled the covers off Corey, who shielded his eyes, then blew a big raspberry.

  “Thanks for the shower,” said Matt, wiping the slobber off his face. “That’ll save some time.”

  He went to the kitchen. He half expected to see his mom in her robe and slippers, rushing to get them breakfast, but she wasn’t there. Their dad wasn’t there either. Matt checked their bedroom. The bed was neatly made, as if it hadn’t been slept in at all. Their laptops and papers were still spread over the table. Ruby was reading something.

  “Mom and Dad already left for work,” said Ruby. “Figures.” She slapped down a piece of paper on the table. Matt went to it. The note was in his mom’s handwriting, hastily written.

  Had to run to the museum early for a small emergency. Take the cell phone and text when you get to school. Stick together always, no matter what.

  WE LOVE YOU!

  XO . . .

  “I think they left in the middle of the night, actually,” said Matt, and he told Ruby what he’d seen and heard that morning.

  Ruby didn’t seem all that concerned. “It’s their new schedule. Twenty-four/seven.”

  It was true. Their parents had been working an awful lot lately, seemingly around the clock. Sometimes his dad fell asleep in the living room and never made it to bed. Matt would wake to find him still there, a book on his chest and his glasses falling off his face, but this seemed a little more out of the ordinary. To leave them in the middle of the night . . . Matt studied the note again. It sounded weird somehow. Stick together always, no matter what. Like the kids were the ones in some kind of emergency.

  “Let’s hurry and get ready,” said Ruby. “I can’t be late today.”

  Matt rushed to get dressed. He was out of clean clothes, so he pulled a dirty T-shirt and jeans out of the laundry. He thought to wear his Mets hat to at least flatten his hair, then remembered it had been stolen. He’d just have to go mad-scientist style.

  Corey, still in his pajamas, pounded on the bathroom door. “Hurry up, Ruby! It’s an abuse of equal rights to hog the bathroom!”

  “It’s equal rights of time in proportion to length of hair,” said Ruby.

  “Matt, get me the scissors,” said Corey. “Ruby’s due for a trim.”

  “Don’t even think about it!” shrieked Ruby.

  When they were all dressed with teeth brushed and hair somewhat combed, they rummaged in the kitchen for breakfast. All they could find was a few apples and a couple handfuls of homemade granola.

  “Unbelievable,” said Corey, pulling out the bag of granola and shoving a handful in his mouth. “We might as well be starving abandoned children.”

  “We’ll take it to go,” said Ruby. She grabbed her lunch and the cell phone off the counter and slid it into her back pocket. They gathered their backpacks out of the closet, then rushed out the door.

  “Wait! I need a jacket,” said Ruby. She rushed back inside and rummaged in the closet. “Where is my gray jacket? This closet’s a disaster.” Matt could hear her tearing through the closet.

  “Ruby, just grab something,” said Matt. “We have to go!”

  “Oh fine, whatever.” She grabbed one of Matt’s old Mets hoodies.

  “Hey, that’s mine,” Matt said.

  “Well, I’m borrowing it. Ew, it smells. When’s the last time you washed this thing?”

  Matt shrugged. “I don’t know. Never?”

  “Gross.” Ruby slammed the door behind her and locked the deadbolt.

  The morning was cloudy and cool. They ran a few blocks until they turned on Lexington, and then Corey started to fall behind.

  “Corey, hurry up!” said Ruby. “I can’t be late today!”

  “But I’m starving!” he said.

  “Just eat some of your lunch,” said Matt.

  Corey grumbled and opened his backpack. “You have got to be kidding me!” he shouted. “Mom forgot to pack my lunch!”

  “Mom forgot it?” said Ruby. “It was sitting right on the counter. Don’t you mean you forgot to put it in your backpack?”

  “I swear, it wasn’t on the counter!” Corey exclaimed.

  “It was too,” said Ruby. “I saw it.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Matt. “It’s too late to go back now. You’ll have to eat school lunch.”

  “No way,” said Corey. “That stuff is barf. I’m going back.”

  “Corey, I can’t be late!” shrieked Ruby.

  Corey waved her off and turned back in the direction of their apartment. Matt was about to go after him when a man came around the corner and ran right into Corey, knocking him down so his bag came undone and all his books went everywhere.

  “Oh no, I am so terribly sorry, my friend,” said the man. He was smoking a wooden pipe. It bobbed up and down as he spoke through his teeth. The man tried to help Corey up, but Corey brushed him aside and started gathering his spilled belongings. He muttered something about old people not watching where they were going, but the man was not old at all. He was actually a young black man, maybe twenty, but dressed in an old-fashioned brown-plaid suit and the kind of hat Matt had only seen characters in old gangster movies wear. You got all kinds in Manhattan.

  The man didn’t leave, but knelt down to help Corey pick up his books and papers. “Oh no,” he said again. “I’ve gone and torn a hole in your trousers.” Corey looked down. There was indeed a hole in the knee of Corey’s jeans, but it had been there for several weeks now, worn down by his inclination to treat most places like a gymnasium.

  “That’s not right. Not right a’tall,” said the man. He took his pipe out of his mouth and fished inside his suit jacket. He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and held it out to Corey. “Here, you tell your mama I meant no harm.” Corey froze, staring at the money like he’d never seen anything like it before. The Hudsons weren’t poor, but Mr. and Mrs. Hudson certainly didn’t hand out cash to their children to spend as they pleased. The man stuffed the money into Corey’s math book and shoved the book in Corey’s arms. “Have a grand day!” He tipped his hat, put his pipe back in his mouth, and hurried away, disappearing around the same corner from which he had come.

  Corey opened his book and took out the money. He unfolded the bill and a MetroCard dropped out and fell to the ground. Corey picked it up.

  “Hey! Mister!” he shouted. He ran to the street corner where the man had turned, but he was nowhere to be seen. Corey looked between the MetroCard and the twenty. He licked his lips, and Matt knew exactly what he was thinking. Well, almost exactly. Corey made a sharp about-turn and started walking the opposite direction of school.

  “Where are you going?” Matt asked as he and Ruby ran to catc
h up.

  “Subway,” said Corey, waving the MetroCard and the twenty in his hand. “If we ride the train, we’ll have time to get churros! My treat. Or the clumsy pipe guy’s.”

  Matt and Ruby stopped and stared at each other, then chased after Corey.

  “You can’t go on the subway,” said Ruby. “Mom and Dad will kill you!”

  “Well, I’m almost dead already, and it’s Mom and Dad’s fault for leaving us alone with no breakfast or lunch, so I don’t think they’d begrudge my survival instincts.” Corey reached the steps of the subway station and paused. Matt hoped he was reconsidering, but Corey just looked back at them, grinned, and plunged down the steps.

  Ruby looked at Matt. “What do we do?”

  Matt thought quickly. He knew all too well that when Corey set his mind to something it was almost impossible to dissuade him, no matter how reckless he was being. He could let Corey go on his own and suffer the consequences, which might be nothing, but what if something happened to him? His mom’s scribbled note flashed across his mind.

  Stick together always, no matter what. Matt pressed his mouth into a hard line. “We have to go with him,” he said.

  Matt and Ruby raced down the steps. By the time they reached the bottom, Corey had already swiped the MetroCard and gone through the turnstile.

  “Come on,” he said. “There’s enough on this card for all of us!”

  “Wait!” said Matt. “Let’s make sure we’re getting on the right train.”

  “This is the right train,” said Corey. “It’s the six train. Goes straight to the churro stand right around the corner from school.”

  That sounded right to Matt, but still . . .

  “Come on. It’s not that big a deal.” Corey swiped the card again.

  “This is a horrible idea,” said Ruby.

  “I know,” said Matt, “but we can’t let him go on his own.” Matt reluctantly went through the turnstile. Corey swiped the card a third time, and Ruby finally followed, shaking her head.

  Matt couldn’t remember the last time he’d ridden the subway. His parents didn’t care for public transit at all, but the subway seemed to be their least favorite, and he sort of understood why. It smelled musty, slightly like a dumpster in summer. Movie posters and graffiti decorated the walls and trash littered the ground. The platform was pretty crowded with morning commuters waiting for the train. Most of them were glued to their phones or had headphones on. A man in ragged clothes played his saxophone against the wall with the case open, a few coins scattered in it. If their parents had been there they would have tossed some spare change to him.