The Seventh Level

by Jody Feldman

  THE PROBLEM

  Prank #1 The morning dew caused the color of the construction paper to bleed on all the book covers.

  Prank #2 Removal of the jail bars left nail holes in the window frames.

  Prank #3 Breaking the lock on the door cost hundreds of dollars in repair.

  Prank #4 When removed, the cage wire left telltale snags in the carpet.

  Prank #5 Blue food coloring stained the concrete walkway.

  Prank #6 The district technology expert spent hours getting back into the computer system.

  Prank #7 The litter problem resulted in overtime work for custodians.

  THE FALLOUT

  It helped that the intentions were noble and the actions, creative. By the time the administration identified all the perpetrators, Mrs. Blumeyer had decided to stay the rest of the year with one condition: the seven students would work with her to create what was to become The Legend.

  LOGIN NAME————————

  PASSWORD——————————

  I can’t stop smiling. The rumors are true. Chase Maclin is an original Legend. And me! I’m exactly like those kids who tried to do something good but messed up. I need to find out more.

  Maybe I’m not supposed to but…No one’s around. I type my own name into the login space and try my school password. Nothing. I keep my name and type TheBluPlan for the password. Nothing. Now what?

  I look around. The clock! 7:20. I can’t have been gone for fifteen minutes.

  I can only pray Mrs. Pinchon hasn’t gotten to school yet.

  CHAPTER 15

  I run toward the office. And stop. If she’s back and I come in without my books…

  Back upstairs to my locker. Right, left, right. Click! I grab my stuff, slam the locker, shut the lock, and slide down the banister one more time. It’s faster. I round the corner, ready with an excuse, but I get lucky.

  The lights are still off in Mrs. Pinchon’s office. “Alone, alone, alone,” I say to the walls.

  “Five minutes?” The voice bellows from near the coatrack.

  I whip my head toward her desk.

  Her chair creeps around. Fingertips. Chin. Pendant. Drawn-on eyebrows. Busted.

  “I’ve been sitting here for seven,” she says.

  “I didn’t think you were—”

  “Here?” she says. “Remember, Travis, things aren’t always as they appear.”

  No kidding. “I wasn’t trying to take advantage, Mrs. Pinchon. My legs got crazy and needed to stretch. And the computer. I had to use one, and I didn’t want to touch yours without permission. And I lost track of time. You can look in the bathroom,” I joke. “No flooding.”

  She doesn’t move. I wish she’d yell at me.

  My eyeballs orbit, looking for a place to land. They find the window and cars going down the street. “Sorry you couldn’t pick me up today,” I say. “Everything all right?”

  “Everything’s fine.” Then she says nothing again.

  Has everything been fine all along? Was this a test? And I failed? “Should I stay after again today?”

  She taps her fingertips to her chin. “Let’s just say your time this morning isn’t your own.”

  It hasn’t been my own since last Wednesday. But I stay quiet.

  “I assume you have paper and pencil in your backpack.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “How about a pen? Do you have a pen? Pens are nicer.”

  “Yes, I have a pen.”

  “And don’t you think it was good of Mr. McKenzie to pick you up this morning?”

  I get it now. “Yes, ma’am,” I say. “So it would be the right thing to write him a really nice thank-you note.”

  She gives me a big fake smile, then clicks on the lights.

  Instead of ripping the holes of the paper, I open my notebook to get out two sheets. It would behoove me to write a thank-you note to Mrs. Pinchon, too. I have no clue what to thank her for besides the snacks, but by the time I finish, I thank her for understanding how a boy’s legs need to move, for letting me out early on Thursday, for smiling at me sometimes, for letting me go to The Legend Event, and for not suspending me to begin with.

  I’m writing the V in Sincerely, Travis when the first bell rings.

  I expect her to tell me to finish and leave, but she sits still, fingertips at her chin. “You’ve been here these few days, Travis,” she finally says, “but I feel I barely know you. Before you go, tell me something about yourself that you haven’t told me yet.”

  Why not? If I get her to like me, maybe she’ll give me an extra chance sometime. Maybe The Legend will, too. “Like, what do you want to know?”

  “I know you have a dog and no brothers or sisters. You like moon cookies and soccer and riding your bike. But what else do you like? What else do you do?”

  I don’t know. “Normal stuff. My mom and dad had me doing chores all weekend, and I’m still banned from our computer, which is why I needed to use one in the library this morning.”

  “I understand.” She waits for more.

  What kind of honest and decent thing could I tell an assistant principal in charge of discipline? Something tame. Something boring. Something besides hating Randall. “There’s really not much else. But I’m great at power washing the garage door, and I can cook a little, and, oh, I have a small stamp collection.” That sounds really tame.

  She smiles. “I have some stamps, too. And I also like to cook and grow vegetables.”

  “Oh,” I say, trying to think of something else to get rid of the weirdness that comes when teachers and principals start sounding like normal people. “And people don’t usually know I’m pretty good at reading maps.”

  “Ah, like the fire escape map.”

  “Road maps, too, which my parents say is ironic because I’m not so great at following directions.”

  She laughs. “If I ever need a navigator, I’ll know who to call.”

  It’s even weirder that any principal might call for my help. I smile anyway and hold up the letters. “Should I mail these?”

  The second bell rings.

  “I’ll take care of them.” She takes the letters and hands me a class pass. “You’re excused, Mr. Raines,” she says, almost as if she’s disappointed.

  Maybe she’s lonely at home and this is all the company she gets. Maybe I should visit her occasionally. Maybe I’m going nuts.

  I grab my backpack. “Bye, Mrs. Pinchon.” I head out the door, then I turn around. “Being in here with you hasn’t been as bad as I thought.”

  “Things aren’t always as they appear, are they?” She smiles at me.

  I give her my best smile back.

  But her words are sticking with me. Things aren’t always as they appear. What’s not always as it appears? The answer to the puzzle?

  I stop short of my math class and look down the hallway. Deserted! I pull the puzzle back out. Quickly. Mrs. Pinchon put a time on my class pass.

  I am toward the edge of the river,

  In the midst of the tropical tree,

  At the very start of the island,

  But never inside of the sea.

  I push birds and monkeys from my head and walk into class. And when I hand the pass to my teacher, I get more jeers. Why’d Mrs. Pinchon keep me late? Matti was right. Everyone would’ve forgotten if I’d kept under the radar, but this puts neon lights around my head.

  No one would believe me if I tell them it’s all good, so I play my normal character and grin and slink into my seat while the teacher wisely ignores me. I wish everyone else would, but the teasing follows me all day, and shoves puzzle solving from my mind, until science.

  Mrs. Bloom’s explaining biotic and abiotic factors in the ecosystem, and I totally understand those. Last week in Mrs. Pinchon’s office I read ahead. So instead of listening, I write the important words from the puzzle.

  River-toward edge

  Tree-midst (middle)

  Island-start

  Se
a-not in

  I need to forget nature and think about…what? What? I can’t think about anything because Mrs. Bloom’s voice keeps breaking my concentration. I want to shout for her to be quiet, that I already understand all this. The biotic factors are the living organisms, like the trees and monkeys and birds that’ve been driving me crazy. The abiotic factors are the nonliving things, like minerals and soil and weather. Idea!

  I’ve been over all the biotic answers in my mind. What if this is an abiotic answer? I poke and push at the paper with my pen. The paper came from a tree. But it’s not living anymore. Does that make it abiotic now? I poke my pen on the paper again and again and too much. Great. Now the ink’s leaking out.

  I entertain myself by moving the pen point over the little ink river on the paper. And I start writing river with the puddle. I am toward the edge of the river. Not the biotic river. The abiotic river. The word on the paper. With abiotic letters.

  An r! It’s toward the edge of the word river and in the midst of the word tree. No r in island, so that’s not the answer, but maybe I’m on to something.

  Next letter. I. At the very start of island. Toward the edge of river. Not in sea. Not in tree either. Wait. What kind of tree? Tropical tree! With an i in its midst! The answer is i.

  I am so slow. The puzzle tells you the answer. “I” am toward the edge of the river.

  “I” am about to beat myself over the head, but who cares now? I did it! With a day to spare. Now to get the answer posted. When? When will there be no eyes in the hall? Now.

  I rub my finger across the ink puddle, smear a line onto a clean page, then dot it with my fingerprint. I let it dry before I stuff it into my pocket. Then I raise my inky hands. “Should I go to the bathroom?” I ask. “Or should I use the sinks in here and try not to disturb the class?”

  Mrs. Bloom nearly groans, but she points to the door, and in ten giant strides I’m heading upstairs.

  The drama room is around the corner at the very end. If I can make it past eight more classroom doors with no eyes around, I’m done with this puzzle.

  A kid comes out of the French room, but he passes me going the other way. A teacher turns off her lights—movie time, I guess—but that puts me in a spotlight for a second.

  I’m just a room away. When I get there, in one motion I’ll stop, look for eyes, grab a—

  Great. Why didn’t I bring a thumbtack or a nail or a javelin or something with a point? There are no extras on the bulletin board. Just tacks holding up the cast list, practice schedule, costume information, meeting that was…last week! I untack that paper and start to crumple it. But what if it’s a Legend assignment from someone else?

  No reason why the old note and mine can’t share. I fan the two papers and tack them together, then I’m off to the bathroom.

  The thing about ink is you can’t exactly wash it off with school-strength soap. I get to a point where the ink stops rubbing onto the paper towels.

  I should head straight back to science. No way someone had time to spot my i and put another puzzle into my locker, but I can’t help myself. Even before I spin the lock, I see something barely in the vent. A smaller, non-shiny blue envelope like the warning one. No!

  I can’t wait. No eyes in the hall. I open it.

  You are about to enter greatness. The secrets are about to be revealed. Follow the directions exactly and you will become one of us.

  The Legend of Lauer

  CHAPTER 16

  All right! Does this mean I’m totally forgiven? Almost done? Back to normal? When I’m in The Legend, though, I’ll never be normal again.

  The Legend! It’s signed, The Legend! And soon I’ll know all their secrets.

  I soar back to class and don’t really care that Mrs. Bloom glares at me when I walk in. I hold up my stained hands. “The ink wouldn’t stop rubbing off on the paper towels.”

  People are snickering. “Good going, Johnny Flood,” Randall whispers. He looks to Marco to add to my misery, but Marco shakes his head and stays quiet.

  I can ignore the drama because I’m not as big a screw-up as they think. Also because I have more important things to think about, like why I left that new envelope in my locker. What if it’s really the next puzzle in disguise?

  I write down every word, at least the ones I can remember, so I can start solving—

  Wait. The puzzles come with instructions. This note didn’t. It’s probably just a note.

  But it is The Legend! I’m still flying so fast, it doesn’t bother me when they announce the winner of the Chase Maclin prize box. Some eighth grader got an MP3 player, a hundred dollar music-download card, every one of Chase’s CDs, and one of his guitars, signed. If I’d won, I swear I would’ve learned how to play the guitar. Then I could’ve written Chase to tell him how he changed my life, and he would’ve written back and maybe I’d get to meet him. I wish he’d show up here one day so I could finally see him in person.

  My mom claims he baby-sat for me when I was still in my crib and he was in college, but it’d be hard to believe any rock star changed my diapers unless he told me himself.

  Right now, though, I’d be satisfied with another puzzle in my locker. There’s nothing after school. Nothing in my gym locker either, but at least I’m here, changing for baseball practice even though it’ll be hard to concentrate on it. The Legend!

  Matti and Kip and I are tossing around the ball before practice, and the sun is shining and the breeze is blowing.

  Then an oaf-sized shadow comes around. “Good. You’re back.” Randall leers at me then thumps ahead to torment Marco.

  “Why should he care?” I say to Matti and Kip. “So he can get me in trouble again?”

  “That was weird,” says Matti.

  “I know,” Kip says. “Maybe he’s hatching an evil, new plot against you, Trav, and it starts with being nice.”

  “Maybe he actually decided it’s time to be nice.”

  Kip and I stare at Matti like she’s nuts.

  “Maybe he was being a loser.” I toss the ball to her. “You can’t trust a guy who snipes at you in science then says nice stuff out here. Either you’re my friend or you’re not.”

  “Which means,” says Matti, “that I can’t make fun of you again or you’ll accuse me of being a hypocrite?”

  I run to center field, pretending I didn’t hear that. I feel Matti and Kip right behind me.

  “I know you heard that!” she yells. “He heard that,” she says to Kip.

  I laugh and go through practice feeling really good about pretty much everything, except for how many questions I have about The Legend.

  Me plus curious equals trouble. It did when I almost fell inside the penguin area at the zoo. And it did when I got lost on a field trip to the Missouri Botanical Garden. But that wasn’t my fault. The teachers should’ve either let us in the maze or they shouldn’t have pointed out where it started.

  It’s not my curiosity that’s frustrating me when I get up to bat, though. It’s my minuscule strike zone. No pitcher can find it, which gives me nothing to swing at. So I walk to first without the satisfaction of hitting something. Three times.

  I’m up again, this time with the oaf pitching. If he doesn’t give me a ball to hit, I may come to the mound and hit him.

  He winds up and pitches, but the ball’s too high. I swing anyway. I need to.

  “Strike one!”

  I wish Mrs. Pinchon had only one strike against me.

  Randall hurls it again. This one’s almost in my strike zone. I haul off a big swing.

  “Strike two!”

  How’d I miss that? And what am I missing with the new envelope? Why does it feel like a rerun? Except the signature. Maybe they’re messing with my head like Randall the oaf does.

  He takes his windup and pitches. I wait on it. Wait on it. Wait on it. It’s there. In my zone. I smash the ball right at his oaf gut. I drop the bat. Take a step. Watch for him to get knocked down by the force—

  I ca
nnot believe it. He catches it. He wins again.

  Third out of the inning.

  All the fielders come in to congratulate Randall like he’s won the World Series. I tear off my batting helmet.

  Coach Ford pulls me aside. “Keep hitting ’em like that, Raines, and you’ll be a star.”

  I smile. I want to say I’d hit ’em like that if I keep getting pitches like that, but I’d be complimenting the oaf.

  I grab my glove from the bench, turn around, and Randall’s right there.

  “Good hit,” he says.

  “Good pitch,” my mouth says before my brain catches up. “What is it about him?” I run with Kip to take the field. “Why does he pretend to be all nice sometimes?”

  Kip shakes his head. “Split personality?”

  No. He’s devious. He knows how to get everyone else in trouble and make the teachers believe he’s the poster boy for Perfect Student of the Year. How does he get away with his oafish stares or almost killing Jackie Muggs in fourth grade or breaking Natalie Levin’s leg last year? Why hasn’t anyone shipped him off to a juvenile detention center? Why does Marco keep hanging around with him? We should really help Marco get away.

  After practice we change in the locker rooms. Then, like usual, we go to our individual hall lockers. In a minute Matti and Kip will come to mine, then we’ll ride our bikes together until we each peel off toward our own street.

  I tug open my locker, and it’s almost like my birthday. Sitting on the shelf, like one shiny blue present, is a new envelope. No one’s coming. I unwind the string and unwind, but Matti and Kip round the corner. Gotta get my envelope home. I grab for my backpack, and the envelope slides out of my grasp. Dives to the floor. I plunk my backpack on top of it and—

  “Look out!” Don’t know what she tripped over, but Matti’s suddenly careening into Kip. Who catches her. And gives me time to get the envelope into the backpack.

  When I look up, Kip’s looking at Matti like in some horribly mushy movie.

  No! They cannot ride off together into the sunset, ignore me, break up, and become enemies then make me to choose who to be friends with. That’d be as easy as deciding whether to cut off my left leg or my right.