by Jon Scieszka
“I need my boy back.”
Luke tries to pull free, but the old man’s grip is like a metal claw.
“Let me go or I’ll yell!” Luke croaks.
“Shhhh,” Mr. Klack hisses. “Now then. You give me the jar back. You’ve stolen from me.”
“I didn’t steal anything!”
“I could call the police. You don’t want your dad to go to jail, do you?”
“You’re the one’s going to jail,” Luke says, “for keeping him prisoner.”
“I’m not keeping him prisoner,” Mr. Klack says in astonishment, his grip still tight.
“He’s like a slave! You just make money off him.”
“I’m taking care of him.”
“You don’t own him,” Luke says. “You can’t own someone.”
“He isn’t a someone, he’s a ghost. And he’s been the property of my family for over a hundred years.”
“He wants to be free!”
“Is that what he told you?” Mr. Klack sits up and swings his bony legs off the berth.
“Yes!”
“I wouldn’t go believing what a ghost tells you, son. They’ll tell you all sorts of things. You don’t want to go letting that ghost out of the jar. Ghosts can do terrible things if you set them free.”
From the corner of his eye, Luke is aware of the ghost boy, watching him mournfully.
“See those big, sad eyes of his,” Mr. Klack says. “Don’t be fooled. He wants revenge.”
“Not on me!” Luke says, and wrenches his arm back so hard Mr. Klack spills off the berth onto the floor. Luke twists free. He feels bad leaving an old man on the floor, until he sees Mr. Klack spring up with a speed far beyond spry.
“You give my boy back now,” he says, hurrying after Luke.
Luke bolts down the length of the car to its end. The window there has a complicated latch, and it takes him a moment to figure it out. He opens it. Cold wind swirls in. He lifts the jar to throw. Mr. Klack grabs his other arm and pulls him away from the window. The jar falls from Luke’s hand. It hits the floor and the top cracks open. A bit of gray ash spills out. Mr. Klack gives a gasp and steps away like it might burn him.
From the corner of his eye, Luke sees the ghost boy smiling.
Luke snatches up the jar and hurls it out the window. For a second it catches the moonlight as it curves toward the river, and then he can’t see it anymore.
He turns and looks at Mr. Klack triumphantly, but he feels like crying. The old man says nothing, just wipes a big hand across his face and walks off.
When Luke returns to the cabin, his father sits up in his bunk and turns on the light. He looks at his son expectantly.
“Invent your own stories,” Luke says, climbing into his own bunk and facing the wall.
It takes him a long time to fall asleep. When he finally does, he’s thinking of the black river beside the tracks. The water would carry the ashes down through the mountains, through slow curves and surging gorges, to the sea.
THE WARLORDS OF RECESS
BY ERIC NYLUND
Commander Kane looked from the bridge of his mighty warship, Colossus.
The central view screen showed a blue planet swirled with clouds. A world called “Earth.” Its defenses would only take a minute to annihilate. Then it would be known as “colony world 4729-B.”
Commander Kane smoothed his neat iron-gray beard, brushed imaginary lint from the sleeve of his black uniform, and adjusted the campaign ribbons making a rainbow over his chest.
He nodded to his weapons crew to begin.
Ten junior officers straightened at their stations. Their eager faces were lit from the nearby computers that showed missiles armed and a fleet of invasion craft ready to launch.
Rule Officer Lieutenant Plagen cleared his throat.
Commander Kane grimaced. This happened every single time. He held up a hand to signal the weapon officers to halt.
Lieutenant Plagen wore a white uniform with gold buttons that should have made him stand out among the rest of the crew. Yet he had the uncanny ability to sneak up on the commander.
“Yes, Lieutenant Plagen?” Commander Kane asked.
“Sir.” Plagen snapped a crisp salute. “Rule 039? I’m sure you meant to give the order.” He arched one eyebrow, knowing very well the commander hadn’t. “It is my duty to remind the commander that The Test must be given to any world about to be conquered by the Eternal Empire.”
“Rule 039,” Commander Kane muttered. “Of course.”
The Empire spanned the galaxy. It ruled four hundred colony worlds and would last forever because of its rules—all 33,452 of them.
The Commander secretly thought most of those rules could be ignored and no one would notice.
Except, that is, the Rules Officer required to go on every mission.
Which was another rule.
Commander Kane exhaled. He turned to his intelligence officer.
She anticipated his order, leaned over her instruments, and scanned the planet Earth.
“Detecting several military bases, sir,” she told him.
A smug smile appeared on Plagen’s face.
Of course the Rules Officer was happy. He enjoyed these pointless, cruel tests.
“Very well,” Commander Kane told his intel officer. “Find an easy target. I want to make this quick. No need to make these ‘earthlings’ suffer more than they must.”
She nodded. “Filtering the results, sir.”
Rule 039 was ancient—from before the Empire had traveled to the stars. It was from a time when they had respected their enemies. Honor and courage had meant more than pushing a button and bombing planets from orbit without fear of a real fight.
The rule tested their enemies.
The Empire sent three squads against a like number of enemy soldiers. If the enemy won these battles, then they were worthy of the Empire’s respect. They would be called “friend,” and the Empire would leave in peace.
It was a worthless exercise. Not since the Empire had taken to the stars had anyone ever won a Rule 039 test.
“Found a likely candidate,” the intel officer said, looking up from her scanners. “A training camp for young warriors. They are currently engaged in simulated battle drills. Something called ‘recess.’”
“That sounds perfect,” Rules Officer Plagen said. “What is the name of this place for the official record?”
“Evergreen Elementary School,” the intel officer replied.
“Proceed then,” Commander Kane ordered. “Send in Squad Alpha.”
“Sir? Alpha?” the intel officer asked.
Alpha squad had the ship’s best soldiers. They won every fight, no matter what it cost. They were also known for leaving few, if any, survivors on the battlefield.
“Nothing fancy,” Commander Kane said. “Just take them out. Quick.”
Josh and Tony sat on the sidelines of Evergreen Elementary’s basketball court. It was a hot spring day. The smell of cut grass was thick in the air.
The boys would’ve given anything to be out there running, dribbling, and having a great time.
No. That wasn’t true.
They knew they were better off sitting out the game.
They wished they could run and pass and have a great time at basketball like everyone else.
But Josh and Tony were total klutzes.
Their classmates thundered past them and left them coughing in a cloud of dust.
So basketball wasn’t their game (neither was dodgeball or soccer). No big deal. Instead, Josh and Tony were great at chess and board games with tiny squads of men that captured military bases in historical battles. No one else in the entire school could beat them.
Instead of everyone thinking this was cool, though, it just got them picked last every time, for every sport.
And they never got put into play anymore. That was fine with them. The few times it’d happened they’d gotten bruised and scuffed and spent more time flat on their faces
.
It was humiliating.
So was sitting here. They were on display as the least athletic kids in the sixth grade.
Josh scratched a “#” in the dirt with his filthy sneaker. “Tic-tac-toe?”
Tony pushed his glasses higher onto his nose. He sweated and his glasses were always slipping and covered with greasy fingerprints.
“What’s the point?” Tony said. “We always tie. How about chess?”
“Takes too long to find rocks to make the pieces,” Josh said.
Josh knew Tony was about to suggest they draw the pieces in the dirt, then erase them and redraw every time they made a move. Last time they tried that the other kids called a timeout, came over, and trampled what had been one of their best chess games ever.
“Let’s just—”
Tony stared past Josh, ignoring him, eyes locked on the court.
Josh followed his gaze.
The game had stopped. Both basketball teams faced some new kids.
There were five newcomers.
Josh had never seen them before. He was sure. He would have remembered these kids.
The three guys and two girls were a foot taller than any other kid at Evergreen. They looked like bodybuilders, in shorts and tight T-shirts with “ALPHA” stenciled on them along with numbers, one through five. They all wore mirrored wraparound sunglasses.
“‘Alpha’ is the first letter in the Greek alphabet,” Tony said.
“Whatever,” Josh told him, annoyed because he hadn’t known that. Tony was always showing off.
The new kids must’ve said something funny, because all ten ordinary kids on the court laughed.
The biggest new kid (one with a crooked nose that looked like it’d been broken a few times) looked deadly serious as he continued to talk to them. He had the number 1 on his shirt. He picked up the basketball.
The two teams on the court lined up against the newcomers.
“How can they all play?” Tony whispered. “It’d be two teams against one.”
Josh scooted to the edge of the bench, eager to see what would happen next. “Doesn’t matter how big those other kids are,” he said. “With two teams, our guys will just dribble the ball around them.”
The leader of the new kids tossed the ball at the Evergreen teams.
Shawn, the best basketball player at school, caught it, bounced the ball, and passed it to his teammate Jordan.
That’s when the new kids burst into action.
The new kids’ leader, Number 1, sprinted toward Shawn—and tackled him!
Shawn didn’t even have the ball anymore.
He went down in a heap. The big guy bounced off him, and Shawn “whoofed” as the air blasted out of his chest.
The large kid rolled to his feet, ready for more.
Meanwhile, Shawn lay moaning, barely moving.
Josh and Tony jumped to their feet.
“That was a total foul,” Josh called out.
Tony nodded, wide-eyed.
That was just the start.
The huge kids jammed down the court.
One of them pulled out a bazooka squirt gun with a huge plunger. She aimed for Jordan and fired.
A stream of green fluid splattered Jordan—who slipped and fell and struggled in a web of blue-green slime.
The rest of the new kids tackled other players. One boy got tossed off the field (thankfully into the gym pads stacked on the sidelines).
The remaining three standing basketball players stared at the mayhem—then turned and ran!
Or, at least, they tried to run.
Two got hit with those gigantic squirt guns and went down. The last guy got straight-armed into the ground by the captain of the new kids.
It’d taken ten seconds. Both Evergreen basketball teams were on the ground, stuck in green goo, or dazed and barely moving.
And the new kids hadn’t even touched the basketball!
“They can’t do that,” Josh whispered.
“Yeah, but they kinda did do it,” Tony whispered back.
“We need to get a teacher,” Josh said.
Which is when the leader of the new kids, this Number 1 guy, turned to them. “You two,” he said. His voice sounded like rumbling thunder.
“Us?” Josh squeaked.
“You are on the team, aren’t you?”
“N-not exactly,” Tony stammered. “I mean, I guess, technically, yes. But we’re on the bench. We’re not supposed to actually play.”
Josh elbowed Tony. He wasn’t making this better.
Too late.
The captain of the new kids grinned at them, revealing a mouthful of pointed shark teeth. “Good. Get out on the field. And then we can finish this battle.”
Josh had to escape. He took two steps away from the basketball court and started to run.
But Tony was too slow. The new kids surrounded him.
Tony looked panicked. He turned to Josh like he was the only person in the world who could save him.
If Josh could just sprint to the classrooms and get a teacher . . . but these kids were seriously damaged in the head. Especially that one with his teeth filed to points. What kind of crazy person does that? He couldn’t leave Tony alone with Shark Face.
He glanced at his classmates on the ground, tangled in webs of sticky green goo. Josh didn’t think he’d get very far running anyway.
“Great,” Josh muttered.
He marched back to Tony. The gigantic kids parted and let him stand with his friend, and then closed ranks.
Josh nodded to the center of the basketball court. “Let’s get this over with.”
Tony shook his head so hard his glasses almost flew off. “We—we can’t,” he sputtered.
“There a choice?” Josh asked.
Tony sighed.
The new kids kept Josh encircled as he stopped at the half-court line.
Yeah, Josh was scared out of his mind, but he was also annoyed. None of these new kids were where they were supposed to be. They didn’t have anyone to face him for the toss-up.
The shark-toothed leader shoved the basketball into Josh’s hands.
“Play,” he demanded.
The new kids crouched, ready to pounce.
“So who’s going to throw the ball for the toss-up?” Josh asked.
The leader shook his head, not understanding. “Play!”
Tony pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Don’t you guys know how to play basketball? There are rules, you know.”
Every one of the new kids suddenly stood up straight—no longer in “crush and destroy” mode. They all stared at Tony.
The leader looked apologetically at his team. “No one told us there were . . . rules.” His gaze dropped to his sneakers.
Josh recognized the awkward reaction because he felt that way when he’d played basketball and did something stupid (which was every time).
Which gave him an idea.
“Rules,” he murmured to Tony and elbowed him.
Tony shook his head, not getting it.
“Just follow my lead,” Josh whispered.
Josh cleared his throat. “Yeah, there are lots of rules.”
The gigantic kids all started as if someone had cracked a whip. There was definitely something going on here.
A grin spread over Josh’s face. “You guys just broke about a dozen of the biggest rules in basketball.” He pointed out the leader. “Especially you, buddy!”
The color drained from the big kid’s face. His sharp smile vanished.
The other big kids muttered and looked around, everywhere but at their leader. It was as if they were embarrassed to know him.
“I . . . I didn’t know,” their leader protested.
“That doesn’t matter,” Tony said, picking up on Josh’s idea. “Rules are rules. You broke them, and there are penalties.”
The leader hung his head. He looked as if Tony had just said he was about to be shot by a firing squad.
“Free th
rows,” Josh told the leader. “That’s the usual penalty for a foul.” He counted the dazed and tangled kids on the basketball court. “I figure at least ten of them.”
Josh marched to the free-throw line, bouncing the basketball along the way. He almost kicked it. That would have looked cool.
“And since we’re the only ones left on the team,” Josh said, “we’ll take the shots.”
The big kids didn’t move.
“You guys have to line up on either side.” Tony told them. “And just watch. No jumping in to mess up the shots. That’s another rule.”
The big kids gulped and lined up.
Their leader was the last to join them. “No one told me about the rules,” he repeated to himself.
Josh stepped up to the free-throw line. He bounced the ball a few times to warm up. He wasn’t any good at this.
He launched the ball—it spanged off the backboard.
A miss.
The big kids shifted as if they wanted to jump and tackle Josh. They restrained each other, though.
They really had a thing about rules.
Tony got the ball and tossed it to Josh.
He threw again—missed.
And missed again.
And again!
Josh shook his head. He was such a spaz sometimes.
He took a deep breath and squinted at the net.
He tossed the ball.
This time it rolled along the rim . . . circled once . . . twice . . . and dropped inside.
Josh grinned.
He turned to Tony. “You want to try?”
“Sure!” Tony’s face lit up. In the few games he’d ever gotten to play in, no one had ever given him the ball.
Josh bounced the ball to Tony and he went to the free-throw line.
He threw the ball.
It bounced off the rim.
He tried again. This time he entirely missed the backboard.
Josh chased down the ball and passed it back to him.
Tony wasn’t bummed. He just took the ball in both hands, swung it between his legs, and chucked it up underhanded.
It swished through the net.
Tony jumped up and whooped.
He used the same stupid technique again—and another swish!
Tony did a war dance on the free-throw line.
