He had enough things swimming around in his brain right now without adding a locker combination as well. For starters, he hadn’t had more than a one- or two-word conversation with his mom in several days. She had been too swamped with work. And when she was home, Mrs. Stitser spent most of her evenings reviewing the security footage on her electronic tablet from the supposed breach at B.R.E.W. She wouldn’t even look up or shoo Gordy away when he entered her bedroom and watched the video over her shoulder.
“Excuse me, may I have a word?”
Gordy jumped sideways into the lockers, and a deafening clatter filled the hallways. Dozens of his classmates spun around, gawking at Gordy in shock.
“Whoa, easy. I didn’t mean to startle you, son.” A dark-skinned gentleman with graying hair and wearing a navy-blue blazer reached out to steady Gordy. “You’re Gordy Stitser, correct? I’m Mr. Brexil,” he said, nodding as if trying to coax recognition from Gordy. “I’m the principal.”
Gordy opened his mouth, but other than a big mess of strange sounds, no words came out. Had he not been hugging his backpack so close to his chest, he might have dropped it. That would have been bad. Shattering all those vials together at once could possibly turn the hallway into a river of volatile chemicals.
“I’m assuming you know who I am?” Mr. Brexil’s eyes seemed kind, but he expected an answer.
Gordy found his voice. “Oh, yeah, hi.”
“I think you know my daughter, Sasha. At least, she spoke highly of you.” Mr. Brexil clasped Gordy’s hand and shook it.
Gordy’s fingers went limp. Get a hold of yourself! he thought. He tried to nod, but he could only blink in response.
“This is probably not the best place to have a conversation, out here in the hallway.” Mr. Brexil smiled at a few students hurrying past. “Perhaps you could stop by my office this afternoon before you head home. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Discuss what?” Gordy had never been to the principal’s office, not counting that one time he had poured Fuzzing Foam into the drinking fountain during the fourth grade. Half his classmates had sprouted a coating of fur on their tongues and had to be picked up by their parents. The prank had been Max’s idea, but Gordy had concocted the potion. But he didn’t get in any trouble. The principal had just asked him whether or not he had noticed anything peculiar in the hallway that day.
“Not now,” Mr. Brexil said, keeping his eyes fixed on Gordy’s. “We’ll talk later.”
“What does he want to talk about?” Max asked, trailing behind Gordy as they wove their way through the throngs of students.
“I told you already. I don’t know,” Gordy answered.
What a crummy start to the eighth grade! The whole day had flown by in a blur. Gordy had been unable to focus on any subject, which meant he had to cram several pages of homework, which he had no clue how to complete, in his already-stuffed-to-the-brim backpack. He had too many things to worry about: Mr. Brexil’s topic of discussion, Sasha’s party invitation—
Gordy skittered to a halt. “That’s it!”
“What’s it?” Max asked, plowing into his back.
“The party.” He snapped his fingers. “He probably just wants to talk to me about coming over to his house.”
“What are you rambling on about? What party?” Max raised his eyebrow and then gripped Gordy’s shoulder for balance as he dug his heel into the top of his other foot, scratching furiously. The effects of the Toe-Itch Sauce should have faded by now, but Max didn’t act that way.
“Sasha’s a Dram,” Gordy said, lowering his voice. “She’s invited me to a brewing party this Saturday night.”
“What?” Max started laughing. “She’s an Elixirist?”
“Shut up!” Gordy dove forward and clamped his hand over Max’s mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Max’s voice sounded muffled beneath Gordy’s palm. When Gordy didn’t remove his hand right away, Max licked him.
“Ah, come on!” Gordy wiped the spit off on his pants. “There’s lots of stuff I haven’t told you yet, but I was planning on it. Things just got crazy, that’s all.” He honestly didn’t know why he had kept Sasha’s party a secret. He had meant to tell Max and Adilene, but between the excitement from the incident at B.R.E.W. and the fact that Gordy rarely saw his friends at school because of their schedules, he had forgotten all about it.
“¡Sacapuntas!” Max exclaimed in his best Hispanic accent. It was Max’s first year taking a foreign language, and he couldn’t wait until he learned how to insult Adilene in her native tongue.
“Did you just swear?” Gordy asked in disbelief.
Max nodded confidently, but then shrugged. “Nah. It means ‘pencil sharpener.’ But it sounds bad, doesn’t it?”
“You seriously have problems.”
Max rubbed his hands together mischievously. “That’s why Sasha was looking for you last week. She can brew. Nice. Hey! Who’s all been invited to this soiree?”
Gordy ran his fingers through his hair. “Just the Drams in the school.”
“Those goobers? What a boring party.”
“Doesn’t matter, because I’m not going.” Certainly not anymore. If the principal of Kipland wanted to talk to him about going to Sasha’s house, no good would come of it.
“Ah, Gordy, I was wondering if you would remember.” Mr. Brexil appeared in the doorway of his office, and Gordy, sadly, jumped yet again.
“Twitchy fellow, aren’t you?” the principal asked. “And who is this young man?” He squinted down at Max.
Max slid a hand across Gordy’s chest and moved him out of the way. “Max Pinkerman,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “State wrestling champion.”
Mr. Brexil curled his lip, impressed. “I wasn’t aware Kipland had a state wrestling champion.” He glanced at the secretary behind the desk. Though she was on the phone, having a conversation, she looked up at the principal and shook her head.
“Well, not yet,” Max explained. “But I just signed up for the team. I’m gonna bring more bling to this school than ever before.”
The principal offered a curt nod. “I’m sure you will. Now, if you don’t mind, Max, I need to have a talk with Gordy.”
Mr. Brexil’s office had a desk, a window, and a filing cabinet behind a leather chair. There were stacks of papers in neat piles on the desk, as well as two paintings resting on the floor, waiting to be hung.
“Sorry about the mess,” Mr. Brexil said, gesturing to a row of chairs slid against the far wall of the office. Gordy picked the middle seat and plopped his backpack into the available spot next to him. “Typically, a new principal spends the summer preparing his office. I, on the other hand, landed this job three weeks ago. As you can imagine, I have a bit of catching up to do.”
“Those are nice pictures,” Gordy said, but then cringed. Nice pictures? What was he trying to prove? That he was the world’s biggest dork?
“Thank you! I like how art brightens up dull rooms.” He lifted one of the pieces and showed it to Gordy. “I prefer peaceful landscapes. Something to calm my mind when the day gets rough.” Mr. Brexil returned the painting to the floor and sat down in his seat. He slid a stack of papers to one side. “I won’t keep you long, Gordy. But I know what you can do. I know what you’re capable of, and I must say I’m impressed. Kids with your talent at brewing are rare. My beautiful Sasha can create things that I can only dream of.”
“She told me she was a Dram,” Gordy said, feeling the tension ease, if only a smidge.
“Indeed. And she tells me that you might be even better.”
Gordy felt his cheeks flush with heat. “I don’t know about that. When did you find out Sasha could brew?”
Mr. Brexil studied Gordy for a moment and then tapped his chin with his fingers. “When she was still quite young. Her mother and I knew it was a pos
sibility when she was born, but, as I’m certain your parents have told you, you never really know for sure until the gift manifests itself. But boy, when it did—” He laughed. “You can imagine my surprise.”
Gordy smiled. “I made all my teeth disappear.”
This evoked an even heartier guffaw from the older man. “That’s something else! And your family? Do they all brew?”
Gordy pressed his hands on his knees. “Only me and my mom.”
“I bet you have a great lab, don’t you? We have an extraordinary one. Bottles and baubles and Bunsen burners galore.”
Gordy nodded. “Oh, yeah, well, it’s kind of nice. We used to have a much bigger lab. This is our second house.” He stopped himself before revealing too much about the circumstances that had forced his family to move. Even though Sasha had mentioned knowing all about the supposed gas-leak explosion, it wasn’t smart to talk about it with everyone. Especially to an adult he had just met. Still, Gordy hadn’t expected to have such an easygoing conversation with the principal.
“I see. And you brew regularly, I assume?” Mr. Brexil asked.
“All the time,” Gordy said. “Every night, if I can.”
The principal brought his hands above the desk and pressed his fingertips together. “Do you ever bring your concoctions to school with you?”
Gordy opened his mouth to answer, but then clamped it shut. He looked embarrassedly at the backpack sitting next to him like a glaring piece of evidence.
Mr. Brexil’s smile had been completely erased. “That’s what I thought.” He leaned forward, his expression stern. “My daughter, as stubborn as she can be, understands the rules and the consequences of breaking those rules. She doesn’t bring bottles to school. Having been around potions for the entirety of my professional life, I’ve seen what an unchecked Dram can produce. I’ve witnessed, firsthand, dangerous explosions in school hallways. I’ve had to call an ambulance on numerous occasions for injured students because of unexplained phenomena linked to mysterious substances. I once watched a school bus float ten feet off the ground and into a neighboring orchard. All because some kid thought it would be cool to show off a potion to a buddy of his. Am I making myself clear?”
Gordy swallowed. “I think so, sir.”
Mr. Brexil pointed at Gordy’s backpack. “I’m giving you this one and only opportunity to walk away from my office without punishment. Consider yourself warned. Should you ever cart in just one ampoule of liquid, other than a juice box from your lunch, onto the grounds of my campus, I will expel you from my school—permanently. Understood?”
Though the principal kept his voice even and controlled, Gordy could see his jaw clenching.
“I need you to answer me, Mr. Stitser,” he said.
Gordy’s eyes widened. Mr. Brexil might have been the scariest person Gordy had ever met. “I . . . I understand, sir. I won’t bring any potions to school.”
“Not a one,” Mr. Brexil added. “Now, hurry along, and have a wonderful afternoon.”
An olive whizzed past Gordy’s face while he sat at the dinner table, on its way to striking his sister, Jessica, on the chin. Jessica giggled and smiled at Isaac, the culprit who had thrown it, and then scooped up a handful of soggy pieces of pineapple. Gordy’s dad looked up from his magazine before she could retaliate.
“Why are we throwing food?” Mr. Stitser asked, unperturbed.
“I wasn’t throwing food,” Isaac responded. “Jessica said she wanted to catch it in her mouth.”
“That’s still throwing,” Gordy said. Eating dinner with his feral twin siblings could give anyone indigestion.
Jessica slid out of her chair for a moment and then returned with the stray olive in her fingers. After blowing away the debris it had collected from rolling around on the floor, she plopped the black orb into her mouth.
“I’m no good at catching it,” she said.
Gordy shook his head. “Well, you shouldn’t be practicing at the dinner table.”
“He’s right.” Gordy’s dad tossed aside his magazine and vigorously patted his chest. “This arena is for professionals only. Give me a go, Isaac!”
“Dad, are you serious?” Gordy couldn’t believe what was happening.
Isaac grinned and selected a plump offering from the serving platter of vegetables at the center of the table. After winding up like a baseball pitcher, he took aim and tossed the olive. Mr. Stitser caught it like a seal snatching a fish from the air.
The twins laughed gleefully.
“Nice toss,” Gordy’s dad said, praising Isaac. “Your turn, Gordo.”
“What? No!” Gordy looked at his father, dumbfounded. His mom was still in the kitchen, cooking rice and chicken for their Hawaiian haystacks, while the rest of the Stitser clan was busy whittling away at the toppings.
“You don’t like olives? Well, we have plenty of other choices.” Gordy’s dad picked a cherry tomato from the platter.
“I don’t want to catch food. It’s childish.” Gordy knew how ridiculous he must have sounded to his dad, but he wasn’t in the mood for games. Not now.
“You’re a child,” Jessica said.
“Yeah, a big goofy one,” Isaac added.
Gordy glared at his younger brother. “Keep it up and tonight, while you’re asleep, I’ll spray you with a potion that covers your face in makeup. It doesn’t wipe off for at least a week.”
Isaac’s mouth dropped open in shock, but Jessica squealed excitedly. “Oh, yes! You can spray me with that right now, if you want to.”
Gordy whirled on his sister. “Nah, yours will be something that gives you a permanent unibrow.”
Her smile vanished. “Dad, make him stop!”
“Okay, someone’s being a grump,” Mr. Stitser said. “Do you want to talk about what has you all worked up?”
Gordy flinched at the question. “I just don’t like being pestered by these little dorks.”
“You know better than that. We don’t call each other names,” he scolded, his voice sterner than before.
“Isaac just called me a big goofy kid!” Gordy protested, feeling the heat rising in his throat. Why was he suddenly the enemy? All he had been doing was patiently waiting for dinner when his bratty siblings started the trouble, and now his dad was taking their side.
“Enough!” His dad stomped his foot, shaking the dinner table. “Spill it already. You’ve been distant all evening. What’s got your dishwasher churning, Gordo?”
Gordy’s shoulders slumped. “Nothing,” he muttered, staring down at his empty plate and silverware. The scolding Mr. Brexil had handed out to him earlier that day was still fresh in his mind. Plus, there was also Sasha’s party. Gordy had been fighting with himself on whether or not he should go. On the one hand, it was a chance to make potions with other Drams, but on the other, it was at the principal’s house. And apparently the principal didn’t like him.
“You sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Mr. Stitser pressed. Gordy shook his head. “That’s perfectly fine. I understand there are things going on in your life that you’d rather keep to yourself. I’ve been there myself. Okay?”
Gordy nodded somberly.
“Good. Now open up.”
“Huh?” Confused, Gordy glanced at his dad, who held a cherry tomato between his fingertips, poised to toss.
Gordy knew he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Exhaling through his nose, Gordy surrendered and opened his mouth. The tomato soared through the air at the perfect angle, and Gordy would have easily caught it had Jessica not splattered him with a handful of pineapple at exactly the same time. Everyone held their breath, waiting for Gordy to explode as tart juice dripped from the tip of his nose.
But instead of raging with anger, Gordy burst out laughing.
Then food flew.
Gordy chucked shredded cheese and green onion. Jess
ica dropped below the table, shrieking hysterically as pieces of ham—Isaac’s ammo of choice—peppered the walls. Mr. Stitser rolled up his magazine and batted the bombardment of flung food like a seasoned slugger in the World Series.
When Gordy’s mom finally emerged from the kitchen, toting a steaming container of rice, only a few veggies remained on the platter. Debris littered the floor.
“Oh, boy,” she said, whistling. She looked at her husband, who smiled brazenly back at her as if to suggest this had been the planned outcome from the beginning. “Who cares about vegetables anyways, am I right?”
“You are the coolest family in the world.” Max stood in the opening between the dining room and the foyer, surveying the aftermath and grinning. The front door had been pushed open, and Adilene cowered behind the barrier, unsure of what to do.
“What are you guys doing here?” Gordy stood, a dollop of sour cream dropping from his forehead.
“It’s Wednesday,” Max said, stooping over to rescue a clump of cheese from the floor. “We always brew on Wednesdays.”
“Since when?” That was news to Gordy.
“Since now,” his mom said. She placed the container of rice on the disheveled table. “The pressures of being a teenager can get anyone down, especially in junior high. So I invited your lab partners over for a brewing session.”
Pressure was right. Gordy needed a break, for sure, and he couldn’t wait to get a Bunsen burner ignited beneath a cauldron.
Like a skittish deer, Adilene crept through the front door, shuffling up next to Max and trying her best to conceal the backpack behind her. The bag bulged at odd angles.
“Can we go now?” Gordy asked, hunger the farthest feeling in his stomach.
“I suppose you’d better,” his mom said. “With dinner ruined, I guess we’ll order pizza.”
Gordy’s dad frowned, looking as though he regretted having destroyed the evening meal. “Pizza again? How about we go out for hoagies?” The twins cheered, and Gordy’s mom didn’t object. “We’ll bring you home a meatball, Gordo,” his dad said, pushing back from the table and flicking away several cucumber slices stuck to the front of his shirt.
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