The Lodestone

by J. Philip Horne

  “Ah, Joss,” Mr. Nichols said. “Please, have a seat.”

  Mr. Nichols sat behind his big, wooden desk. As always, the desk held his laptop and about twelve stacks of papers and notebooks. He was a long man in every way. Long body. Long face. Long nose. His thin, dark hair seemed lost on the top of his long forehead.

  I sat down in one of the two chairs facing his desk. It needed a cushion. Mr. Nichols leaned forward with his elbows on the desk and his hands steepled, his chin resting on his thumbs. He sat there for a moment, his eyes flickering over me. My stomach clenched.

  He sat back in his chair.

  “Heard an interesting story this afternoon from Mr. Talbot,” he said. “You probably had Mr. Talbot for math last year. You remember him, I’m sure.”

  “Sure,” I said. His eyebrows lifted. “Uh, yes, sir.”

  “It seems,” Mr. Nichols said, his eyebrows coming back down, “that Mr. Talbot learned of a certain science experiment being performed today. A study of colloids, I believe. Why, I believe you were in the class that made the colloids, yes?”

  “Colloids. Yes, sir. We made colloids in first period science.” My stomach climbed up my throat. My parents were not going to be happy with me.

  “And these, ah, colloids were placed in the freezer. They were pure examples of colloids. Untampered with. And it seems, when Mr. Talbot learned of these colloids he took it upon himself to, uh, study them. And what better way to study such colloids than to sample them?”

  Oh. Not good.

  “Suffice to say,” Mr. Nichols continued, “that I have confirmed with Mr. Sanders that the middle of his sixth period class was disrupted when Mr. Talbot burst into the room from the utility room. You know, the room that has the freezer containing the colloids? Mr. Talbot burst in and proceeded to rinse his mouth out at the classroom sink. He rinsed it vigorously. And strangely, the ‘colloids’ he had sampled bubbled up in the sink. Soapy bubbles.”

  My shoulders sagged. It was a double whammy. I was about to be busted, and I had not gotten to witness the legendary awesomeness of my prank. I wanted something for my efforts.

  “So are you saying,” I said, “that bubbles came out of his mouth?”

  “Of course not. But there were some bubbles in the sink when he rinsed out the ice… the colloids he spit in the sink.”

  “Oh.” Disappointment after disappointment. There had been no bubbles. I had been sure there would be bubbles.

  “Mr. Talbot was quite confident that it would be beneficial to talk to you,” Mr. Nichols said. “So here you are. Please, enlighten me.”

  A sudden realization smacked me on the side of the head. They didn’t know. There had been no witnesses. Mr. Talbot was gunning for me, but he had no proof. My stomach stopped clenching, and started floating. I had to play this right.

  “Well,” I said, “I’m not sure what to say. Why do you think it was soap?”

  I made sure I didn’t glance at my backpack. The backpack that held a bottle of hand soap.

  “I had a skilled scientist on hand to make that difficult call,” Mr. Nichols said. “You’ll recall Mr. Sanders previously taught chemistry at the high school level. No? Well, he did. Mr. Sanders confirmed that the bubbles looked distinctly soapy, corroborating Mr. Talbot’s judgment that he tasted soap.”

  Holy cow. Mr. Nichols was being sarcastic. I was in uncharted territory.

  “Mr. Nichols, it sounds like someone picked my name at random, and messed up my last day of school. Today is really important to me, and I hate to take time away from my teachers.”

  It was a beautiful statement. One of my best. It was wasted.

  The door to Mr. Nichols’ office banged open. I whipped my head around. Mrs. Diebold filled the doorway, her hand to her mouth. Her perfume surged into the room and tried to gag me.

  “Mr. Nichols!” she said. “We have reports of a large dog roaming the halls!”

  Now that was interesting. Maybe I hadn’t been seeing things. I turned back to Mr. Nichols. His frown pulled his eyebrows together into a single, fuzzy line. I glanced back and forth, trying to watch both of them.

  “A large dog?” he asked, his voice pitched higher than normal.

  Mrs. Diebold nodded, her chins bouncing. “Or a wolf. But that’s ludicrous.”

  Mr. Nichols’ chair banged into the wall behind him as he surged to his feet. “A wolf?”

  “Two of the teachers who called me said wolf. One said dog,” she said. “All three teachers are in classrooms off Hallway C, back half.”

  “Two of the teachers said it was a wolf?” he asked. “Remarkable. Do you know anything about this?”

  I thought the last question was directed at me, but Mr. Nichols was staring forward over my head, his eyes intense. Well, I had nothing to do with a wolf. I kept my mouth shut. Maybe, just maybe, I could get out of here.

  Mr. Nichols jerked his head in a quick nod. “Mrs. Diebold, please buzz Officer Trent’s office. Tell him to meet me in Hallway C straight away.”

  “Dogs at school,” she said, throwing up her hands as she stepped out of sight toward her desk.

  Mr. Nichols lowered his gaze to me. “We are not through. I’ve got you for another ten minutes at least. I’ll be back shortly after I see to this foolishness.”

  With that, he strode out of the room.

  What a disaster. Not only was I busted, but I’d probably be stuck in his office way after school let out for the summer.

  Wait a second. I played back what I’d just heard. Sure, he’d said he had me for a few more minutes, but he’d never said I had to stay in his office. Maybe he’d just meant I shouldn’t leave the school until the final period ended. Good enough for me.

  I rose, grabbed my backpack, and headed out. I gave Mrs. Diebold a big smile and ignored her glare as I left the office. She was too busy fumbling with her phone to stop me. Out in the hall, I saw Mr. Nichols disappear around the corner of the cross-hall that led to Hallway C. I let out a long whistle. A giant dog-wolf roamed the halls. I really hadn’t thought the animals I’d seen had been that big.

  The large digital clock at the near-end of the hall revealed there were only eight minutes left of junior high. I headed for my locker, going the way Mr. Nichols had just gone. Then it clicked. My locker was off Hallway C, near the back of the building.

  I stopped to think. Should I follow Mr. Nichols? What would he do if he saw me at my locker? And what would I do if there was a wolf guarding it? It had to be nonsense, but the teachers had seen something. Heck, I’d seen something moving in the halls. I was sure of it. I glanced back at the clock. How had I been standing there for three minutes? I started down the hall in the direction of my locker.

  At that moment, the school security alarm started shrieking.

  Chapter 2 of Joss the Seven

  The Butterfly Seal

  I took off at a dead run toward my locker. In moments the classes would line up and let out into the hall. If a teacher spotted me, I’d be pulled into a line of kids and marched outside. I wasn’t going to sit around in the parking lot and then be made to go back into the school to clean out my locker. Or worse, end up back in Mr. Nichols’ office.

  I ran full speed through the halls, the seconds tripping by silently in my head as I counted. I figured I had about twenty seconds. I got to my locker in eighteen. A few seconds later, students poured out of the classrooms behind me. I was hidden from view by a bend in the hallway as long as I stayed mashed up against the wall by my locker. A quick glance showed everyone had turned toward the exits at the front of the school.

  The hallway bent back about twenty lockers further on. If Mr. Nichols was here, he was somewhere past that second bend. There were no classrooms on that side, just a couple utility closets and an emergency exit. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself, and then turned and unlocked my locker. I reached in to grab my notebooks along with my stash of gum. My hand froze.

  A white envelope with a thick, red wax seal sat on top of my n
otebooks. At least, I thought it was a wax seal. It wasn’t like I received mail sealed with wax very often. I picked up the envelope and checked it against the small vents on the locker door. Yep, it would fit through. So someone had probably put it into my locker without picking the lock.

  The security alarm continued its crazy-loud beeping, but the noise of students dropped off as they marched away. Between the beeps, I realized I was hearing voices coming from the other end of the hall toward the emergency exit. That had to be Mr. Nichols with Officer Trent. I grabbed the notebooks and pushed them with the envelope into my backpack. As I turned to head back down the hallway, I heard what they were saying.

  “We’re agreed, then, what…”

  That was Mr. Nichols for sure, though I lost a couple words to the alarm’s beeping.

  “Uh, yeah, I guess so.”

  That was Officer Trent. He had one of the deepest voices I’d ever heard.

  “A dog stood and pulled down the security bar, then pushed through the door?” Mr. Nichols asked.

  “Yeah, but I still say it was a wolf,” Officer Trent said.

  “A dog stood and pulled down the security bar,” Mr. Nichols said. “Look, we’re going to sound odd as it is. Can we drop the wolf bit?”

  “Yeah, alright. But just so you know, it was a wolf.”

  Wait a second. The voices were getting louder. They were coming this way. I took off running, cutting over a couple hallways, and headed toward the entrance to the school. I burst through the front doors into controlled chaos.

  The summer heat slammed into me as I took a quick glance around. Kids clustered together by class in the parking lot. Sirens wailed as fire trucks and police cars came to a stop in front of the school. Uniformed men spilled out and headed toward the school entrances. I kept my head low and hurried down the front steps to the parking lot. After a quick glance around, I headed for the closest group of kids.

  Once in with the students, I found my way to Ms. Arnett’s class and sat down on the pavement to think. Could Mr. Nichols still bust me once school was out? I thought I was in the clear, so long as he didn’t see me. And what was going on with the wolf-dog and the security alarm?

  More importantly, what was that letter I’d found in my locker? The letter with a red wax seal. Who uses wax to seal a letter? Did it have anything to do with the dog-wolf setting off the alarm?

  I thought about the questions until the cops determined there was no threat to the school and released us for the summer. I saw Thomas and Deion heading back into the school to empty their lockers among the masses of students, but Mr. Nichols was standing near them, so I didn’t dare go talk to them. It was okay. My friends all lived near my neighborhood. We’d meet up soon enough. For now, that letter consumed me. I headed out.

  Beedle Junior High was about three quarters of a mile from my house, but I didn’t go directly home. I didn’t want to risk the letter being seen by anyone until I’d a chance to open it. I cut over on Milken Street to Beckler Park. It had all the usual stuff—jungle gym, swings, merry-go-round—made out of steel pipes painted bright blue and yellow. It also had a big oak tree that reached out over one end of the playground.

  I went straight to the swing set and sat down in the green swing on the end that was shaded by the tree. My skin was prickling from the summer heat, and the shade felt glorious. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the envelope. The red seal was about an inch around and stamped with a flower or something. I picked at the edge of the seal. It felt like hardened wax. I sniffed at the tiny piece lodged under my fingernail. It smelled like a candle. Definitely wax. I turned the envelope over in my hands. There were no other markings.

  I held the envelope close to get a good look at the seal, and my breath caught in my throat. It wasn’t a plant. It was the outline of a butterfly. A butterfly that mirrored the shape of an odd birthmark I had on the back of my right shoulder. My birthmark was so exact, so much like a small butterfly clinging to my shoulder, that my doctor had thought it was a tattoo the first time he saw it.

  I never went without a shirt around other kids. What teenage boy wanted to be known for having a butterfly tattoo? Thomas and Arjeet had seen it at a sleepover when I’d been careless and taken off my shirt, but I’d sworn them to secrecy.

  The wax seal was imprinted with the same shape. My heart raced. I looked around, and saw two seventh graders I didn’t know walking home on Milken Street. I took some deep breaths with my eyes closed and tried to calm down. Thomas and Arjeet must have made the seal. No one else knew about it. I didn’t know how they could have done it from memory, but there was no other explanation. I looked around again. Nobody was in sight other than the two kids.

  “Thomas! Arjeet!” I called. “You can come out now!”

  The two kids stared at me but kept walking. No one popped out of hiding. It had to be a prank, but what was the point of a prank if there was nobody to witness it?

  I ran a finger under the edge of the envelope flap where it wasn’t glued shut and tore it open along the top of the envelope to keep the seal intact. A single, tri-folded piece of white paper was nestled inside. I pulled the paper out and put the empty envelope back in my backpack. After one last look around, I unfolded the paper.

  Perfect lines of handwriting covered the page. Some of the I’s had little hearts instead of dots above them. The cursive script was a girl’s, no doubt about it. I read.

  Dear Joss,

  You don’t know me, but I know of you. I hope you saw the seal and realized I know about your birthmark. The butterfly, symbol of an old, prestigious family. That’s your seal on the front, not mine.

  I’m going to show you that you have a special ability, and then I’m going to help you learn how to use it to help the world. I know that will sound odd to you, but it is the honest truth. Let me prove it to you.

  I’ve listed seven tests below. Tonight, before bed, try them out. Do them carefully, and keep it secret. If you do the tests, I’m confident you’ll want to talk to me. I’ll be at Beckler Park tomorrow at noon if you want to learn more.

  Sincerely, Mara

  I glanced around, turning my head this way and that, trying to catch whoever was messing with me. The letter’s author knew about Beckler Park. They knew about my locker, and about the birthmark. The birthmark was the key. How had Thomas and Arjeet made the wax seal? I looked back at the letter.

  THE TESTS

  1. Relax your mind and body. Concentrate on your index finger (either hand). Concentrate hard. Pretend it isn’t solid. Pretend it is a ghost finger. Hold this image in your mind for a full minute. Then tap on something hard with that finger.

  That test was eight kinds of crazy. I felt agitated and couldn’t finish the letter. I glanced down the page. There were six more tests listed.

  So, was Mara a real person or just a name used to set up an elaborate hoax? What were the facts? First, the letter had appeared in my locker right when a wolf-dog was seen near my locker. Second, the letter writer knew about my birthmark. Third, though the test was insane, it wasn’t big and bold. If I did the test, it wouldn’t embarrass me. No one would even know. The test didn’t require I climb a flagpole with no pants on, like I’d tricked Davey Talbot into doing last year. What was the point? It made no sense.

  Wait a second. Maybe that was why Mr. Talbot had tried to get me in trouble today. Was he still mad about me humiliating his son? I couldn’t hold onto the thought. I couldn’t hold onto any thought.

  I opened my backpack and dropped the letter in beside the envelope. I quickly looked around, but still didn’t see anyone watching. My mind buzzed. I couldn’t make any sense of it. The facts didn’t line up. They didn’t tell me anything. I felt like there were butterflies in my stomach, not just one on my back.

  Freaking out didn’t help, so I tried to stop. Deep, calm breaths. I’d do the test and be done with it. There would be no witnesses.

  I checked my watch. It would just take one minute of my life. Relax yo
ur mind and body. Easy enough. I lifted my right index finger in front of my face and slumped against the swing chain. I tried to quiet my thoughts, and concentrated on the finger. I imagined the finger becoming something less than solid. Something still visible, but insubstantial.

  I glanced at my watch. I must have gotten into it, because I was startled to see a minute and a half had gone by. I leaned way over and tapped the steel swing-set pole. My finger hit the metal.

  Only, it didn’t.

  My finger slid through the pole.

  My vision swam and my eyelids sagged closed. I was so tired.

  My finger…

  Something was wrong. My head felt like an over-filled water balloon the moment before it popped. I forced my eyes open. My vision was cloudy around the edges and too bright in the middle. I swayed on the swing and struggled to stay upright. What had just happened?

  The summer before, Dad and I had gone fishing with a bucket full of minnows for bait. There had been so many minnows in the bucket, but I hadn’t been able to grab any. My thoughts were like those minnows in a bucket, slipping between my fingers. Finally, I caught one.

  Home. I had to get home. I grabbed my backpack and stumbled forward in a fog of tiredness and confusion. It was less than a quarter mile, but my legs didn’t want to work, and I struggled with each step. My mind played tricks on me. Something about my finger. My finger and a metal pole. What had happened?

  I got home, crawled up the stairs before Mom could track me down to ask about school, and collapsed in my bed.

  I passed out.

  —————

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  About the Author

  J. Philip Horne lives in Dallas, Texas with his wife, four kids, two dogs, two rabbits, and several literary aspirations.