Candy Shop War

by Brandon Mull

  *****

  After about ten minutes, Nate rode down the street to the end of the circle where the kids stood by their bikes. Summer had short brown hair and scabs on one knee. Trevor had olive skin, dark hair, and a slim build. And Pigeon was chubby with his hair buzzed short. How could such an obvious doofus be part of a club he was having trouble joining?

  “You still want to join?” Summer asked.

  “What are you guys called?”

  “The Blue Falcons,” Summer said.

  “Come on, that sounds like a soccer team.”

  “You want in or not?”

  “I guess.”

  “Follow us.”

  They hopped the curb and rode a short distance down the jogging path, stopping at the top of a steep slope covered in dry brush. Near the bottom of the slope, just before the ground leveled out, a ramp had been constructed. “You have to take that jump going full speed,” Summer said.

  “Whatever!” Nate exclaimed. “I’m not a stunt man. What are you planning to do, rob my corpse?”

  “I’ve done it,” Summer said. “We need to know you’re serious about joining. If you do the jump, we’ll believe you.”

  “You just want a free show at my expense. That has got to be the most rickety ramp I’ve ever seen!”

  “The ramp is fine,” Summer assured him. “It’s wood propped up on bricks. And I jump it just for fun.”

  Nate rolled his eyes. “Sure you do.”

  “She’s done it more than once,” Trevor said.

  “And I’m supposed to believe Pigeon jumped it?”

  “He doesn’t need to,” Summer said. “He got in on the ground floor.”

  “Lucky for the ramp. Fine. You say you jump it for fun, go ahead and do it again so I can see. If you land it, I’ll do it too.”

  They all looked at Summer. She pressed her lips together. “Okay. But if I do it and you wimp out, you’re never in our club.”

  “Deal.”

  She turned her bike to face downhill. Showing no hesitation, Summer started pedaling. Nate frowned. He had dug himself into a serious hole. If he wussed out after a girl did the jump on her goofy pink bike, he would look like the biggest chicken in the world.

  She gained speed, approaching the ramp in a rush as her bicycle rattled over the uneven terrain. Just before the ramp, her front wheel jagged sharply to the left, and the bike flipped over, catapulting her into an awkward flight. Summer tumbled through the brush until she came to a rest beside the splintery ramp.

  Dropping their bikes, the boys dashed down the hill. Nate and Trevor reached Summer together. She stared up at them, flat on her back with her head pointed downhill. Her white shirt was torn and covered in stickers, her face was smudged with dirt, and her elbow was scraped and bleeding. But there were no tears in her brown eyes.

  “You okay?” Trevor asked.

  “I’m just trying to get a tan.”

  “That was a crazy crash!” Trevor gushed. “I wish we had a video camera. You flew like ten feet!”

  She sat up, picking at some burrs in her shirt. “It knocked the wind out of me for a minute. I don’t think I broke anything.”

  “You never break anything,” Pigeon said.

  She looked up at Nate. “Your turn.”

  “Well, you didn’t actually go off the—”

  Something struck Nate in the back of his head, knocking him forward in a cloud of dust. The thrown object had not come from Trevor, Pigeon, or Summer. He had been facing them with his back to the creek.

  Nate heard ecstatic laughter from behind.

  “Denny’s in the Nest!” Trevor shouted as a second dirt clod hit the ramp, exploding in a swirl of dust.

  “He’s got our ammo!” Pigeon cried.

  Nate whirled, swiping at the dirt in his hair and on the back of his neck. Three kids were over near the creek, half hidden by undergrowth. One had black hair and wore a faded army jacket that looked a couple of sizes too large. Another was a thickset kid with curly blond hair. The third had lots of freckles and a round, flat face.

  Nate charged the strangers. It was more of an angry impulse than a rational decision. His hands were clenched into fists as he raced through the brush.

  The boys looked surprised. They stooped to grab more ammunition. Flat Face chucked a dirt clod that missed to the right. Army Jacket threw one that made Nate duck.

  Nate had almost reached them. Only a few bushes separated him from his targets. He planned to crash through the bushes and tackle Army Jacket, who was the tallest. He dimly hoped Trevor was following him into battle.

  Suddenly something blasted Nate in the face and he crashed to the ground with dirt in his teeth. He lay there stunned, unsure whether he had temporarily lost consciousness. Surely that had been a rock. No dirt clod would hurt so much. It felt like the side of his mouth had been kicked by a horse.

  “Oh, you nailed him, Denny,” a voice said solemnly.

  “Come on,” another voice said, suppressing a laugh.

  Nate heard twigs snapping as the boys ran away. Of course they were running away. They didn’t want to get arrested for manslaughter.

  Nate opened his eyes. Lying on his side, he touched the corner of his mouth and looked at the blood on his fingertips. He tried to spit out the gritty taste of dirt. Maybe the projectile had been a rock inside of a dirt clod.

  “Are you okay?” It was Trevor, kneeling at his side.

  “I’m not sure. What do I look like?”

  “Your lip is bleeding and your cheek got scraped.”

  Nate fingered one side of his upper lip. It seemed to be swelling.

  Pigeon came and squatted nearby. “You must be crazy.”

  “I don’t let people bully me.”

  “Well,” Summer said, her torn shirt still full of prickers, “the good news is you can skip the jump. That was way better.”

  “Welcome to the club,” Pigeon said.

  Chapter Two

  First Day

  “It isn’t too late,” Nate pleaded. “Just take me back.”

  “You need to go,” his mom replied.

  “I promise I won’t complain tomorrow.”

  “You’ll feel the same way tomorrow. Except worse, because you’ll be much more conspicuous.”

  They passed the Presidential Estates sign, leaving the neighborhood as they turned onto Greenway. Nate leaned his forehead against the window.

  “With a name like Presidential Estates, shouldn’t they be bigger houses?” Nate observed.

  “I like our house.”

  “We should at least have a pool. Or some pillars. They should rename the place Typical Neighborhood Estates.”

  “I like our kitchen,” his mom persisted.

  Nate sighed. He tugged absently at the zipper on his new backpack. They hit a bump, and the window jolted against his head. He sat up. “Come on, Mom, just let me skip today.”

  “This is for your own good, Nate. There is no worse day to miss than the first one. Besides, your friend Summer is in your class.”

  “I wanted Trevor.”

  “You might have Pigeon.”

  “Great,” Nate griped. “A girl and a dork. I’ll be the biggest outcast ever.”

  They idled at an intersection. A store on the corner had a sign that read Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe in old-fashioned lettering.

  “How about we get ice cream instead?” Nate proposed.

  “Nice try. You don’t hate school. What’s the problem?”

  “I’m too used to summer. It’s hard to go back, especially starting over in a new place. I wish I could ease into it, maybe just go for an hour.”

  After a few cars passed, they turned onto Main. “The start of a new school year is a transition for everyone,” his mom said. “You’ll fit right in.”

  “They all know each other.”

  “You’d feel better if you had come to the orientation,” she chided.

  “An extra day at school is supposed to make me fe
el better?”

  “Some people like to know where things are.”

  “Can’t you home school me?” Nate pleaded.

  “You would never do any work.”

  “Sounds perfect!”

  They were driving along Main through downtown Colson. All along Main Street from Greenway to the hill topped by Mt. Diablo Elementary, the buildings looked like they were trying to belong to the Old West. Most were two stories and made of wood. Some looked like saloons, while others looked like old-fashioned houses. Plank sidewalks connected the businesses, with periodic barrels doubling as trashcans. There was a general store, a dentist’s office, a town museum, a post office, a bar and grill, a craft store, an antique store, and a barbershop with a striped pole out front.

  “What time does the Wild West show start?” Nate asked.

  “I like this part of town.”

  “It looks like Frontierland.”

  “A little bit.”

  “All they need is a log ride.”

  “I’m glad it looks different,” his mom said. “So much of America looks the same nowadays.”

  “Because we all live in the same time period.”

  “Cut it out. You like it too.”

  Nate shrugged.

  Main curved up a slope. They turned onto Oak Grove Avenue and pulled into the Mt. Diablo Elementary parking lot. Kids poured out of cars and buses, heading into the school. Nate studied the crowd. Nobody looked too intimidating. Most of the kids were younger than him.

  They reached the curb.

  “All right, have a great day,” his mom said. “You sure you don’t want me to pick you up?”

  “Trevor says they always walk home. You sure I can’t just start tomorrow?”

  “We wouldn’t have made it this far if I wasn’t.”

  “Mom, this school is named after the devil. That is not a good sign.”

  “Somehow I think you’ll survive. Remember, 18-C with a blue door.”

  Nate opened his door. The nervous feeling in his stomach reminded him of the butterflies he had experienced before doing a lip sync in his fourth-grade talent show. Had he ever been this intimidated by a first day of school?

  He stepped out of the familiar Ford Explorer onto the unfamiliar sidewalk of the unfamiliar school full of unfamiliar kids. He shut the door, waved to his mom, and joined the mass of students flowing into the school.

  Covered sidewalks connected the buildings. His mom had explained that his class was in the last building on the left. He wished he had resisted begging to stay home so much. It had really gotten his hopes up for missing the day, which now made him feel even more out of place.

  He heard someone crying. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw a tiny Asian kid clinging to his mother and bawling. It made Nate feel a little better. At least he wasn’t that pathetic.

  He moved along a crowded walkway, tapping his knuckles against a metal rail. The rail protected a grassy area between the buildings. He considered ducking the rail and cutting across the grass, but no other kids were doing it.

  Up ahead, Nate identified a familiar face. The kid with black hair who had thrown dirt clods at him. He was not wearing his army jacket. It was already a hot day.

  Nate touched the corner of his mouth. After five days, the bruise had faded, but he still had the remnants of a small scab. Nate adjusted how he was walking so that the kid in front of him blocked Army Jacket from view.

  He had learned from Summer that the boy with the army jacket was named Kyle. The kid with the flat face was Eric. The blond with the curly hair was Denny. They were all sixth graders this year.

  Although Nate had spent the last few days going to the creek and riding around the neighborhood with Trevor, Summer, and Pigeon, he had not run into the irritating trio since they had stoned him. But Trevor had warned him that those guys tried to bully them a lot, both at school and around the neighborhood. Nobody was looking forward to the bullies thinking they ruled the school as sixth graders.

  Nate peeked around the kid in front of him, who looked too old to be wearing a yellow backpack with Woodstock on it. Kyle was no longer in sight.

  *****

  Summer sat at her desk watching kids file into the room. Her backpack rested on the seat of the desk next to her. Her notebook covered the seat on her opposite side.

  “Whose notebook is this?” asked a girl with long brown hair. Summer thought her name was Crystal, but had never spoken to her much.

  “I’m saving that seat.”

  “And that other one too?”

  “I have a couple of friends coming,” Summer said.

  As the girl claimed the desk in front of the backpack, Nate came through the door. He was in a green button-down shirt and jeans. He looked a little dazed. Then he made eye contact with Summer, and his face came to life. She waved him over. He looked a little hesitant, and then walked in her direction. She moved her backpack and he sat down.

  “How are you?” he asked.

  “Fine.”

  “Hot today.”

  The girl with long brown hair turned around. “Are you her boyfriend?” she asked.

  Summer glanced from Crystal to Nate and back. The question made her feel a little awkward. After all, she had saved him a seat.

  “No, I’m her fiancé,” Nate said.

  “We’ve been promised to each other since birth,” Summer added.

  “Our wedding isn’t until March.”

  “What’s your name?” Crystal asked Nate.

  “Nate.”

  “I’m Kiersten.”

  That was right. Kiersten, not Crystal. Who was Crystal?

  Summer glanced at the door. Her eyes widened. Pigeon had just entered wearing a black leather jacket with shiny zippers and metal studs. It was obviously brand-new.

  “Nate, look at the door,” Summer suggested.

  “Oh, no. What is he thinking?”

  Pigeon saw them and crossed the room. Summer moved her notebook and he took the desk.

  “Nice jacket,” she said.

  He looked like he was holding back a smile. “Thanks. Remember I said I had a surprise for today?”

  “Little hot for a coat, isn’t it, Pidge?” Nate asked.

  Summer glared at Nate. Pigeon would receive plenty of teasing today without his friends adding to it.

  “This one stays pretty cool,” Pigeon assured him.

  “All right, class, we need to begin,” said the portly woman at the front of the room. Summer checked the clock. They still had two minutes before the bell would ring. “Don’t get comfortable in your seats. We will be reseating alphabetically as we take attendance. Would you all move to the back of the room?”

  Summer grabbed her stuff and went to the rear of the room with everyone else. Her last name was Atler, so she was the second person seated. The bell rang as she reached her desk. Pigeon was really named Paul Bowen. He ended up two desks behind her.

  “Could you just call me Pigeon?” he asked the teacher when she read his name.

  “Does your mother call you Pigeon?”

  “No.”

  “Then to me you are Paul.”

  Skylar Douglas sat down next to her. What was Nate’s last name? She couldn’t recall.

  Nate was one of the last to sit.

  “Nathan Sutter,” the teacher read.

  “Here. My mother never calls me Nathan.”

  “Is it Nate?”

  “She calls me Honeylips.”

  The class exploded with laughter. Summer almost fell out of her desk. The teacher frowned. She had deep lines from her nose to the corners of her mouth from too much frowning.

  “That was not a good way to start the year, Nathan,” the teacher said.

  “Sorry. Mom calls me Nate.”

  Nate ended up sitting at the second-to-last desk of the farthest row from Summer, over by the windows. After everyone was seated and accounted for, with an empty desk left for Charlotte Merrill, the teacher wrote her name in cursive on the cha
lkboard.

  “My name is Miss Doulin,” she said. She underlined the word Miss. “Not Mrs. Doulin. Mrs. Doulin is my mother.”