by Chad Morris
“No,” said Charles. “I’m a visionary. There is a difference, though it may be slight.”
Oscar slowly turned and sat up. “Oh, do tell Charles. When has pride or vainglory become ‘visionary’?”
“You are trying to upset me,” Charles said, his tone even.
“No, I’m trying to help you see who you really are. You are threatening murder. Do you see the animal you have become?”
“And you are threatening to let tragedies remain when you have the power to reverse them.”
“You have not learned from the past. You cannot buy or bully your way to greatness.”
“We can change the world,” Charles said.
“You should worry about changing yourself,” Oscar said back, pointing his finger. “I would worry about that tragedy before any others.”
Charles stood silently, lips tightened. After several moments, he said, “You know you only have two more days. You are the one who decides if they live or die. The responsibility is yours. And if you let them die, perhaps it is you who should reexamine himself.”
• • •
Mr. Hendricks’s eyes drooped, and he blinked slower than normal. “Go ahead, Andrew.” He nodded at the boy with his hand raised.
The boy in the back row had red hair and freckles. “Did you read the news this morning?”
“I did.” Mr. Hendricks took a few tired steps, much slower than the day before, and sat upon his desk with a wince.
“And what’s your opinion about it?” Andrew asked.
“Overall, I never think the news is adequate, but it does serve a purpose.”
“No, I mean, I watched the vid that said Oscar Cragbridge is missing,” Andrew said. “They haven’t ruled out foul play.”
All the feelings Abby had been trying to suppress, to forget for a few moments, came rushing back. She could feel the stares of the class, but she didn’t want to look back. She did not want to break down.
“I’ll tell you what I know,” Mr. Hendricks said. “But this will be the only question about the situation today. As you can probably tell, I have had a rather long night. I’m not feeling one hundred percent well today.” He gave them a tired smile. “Also, I need to announce that I will not be in my office during lab hours today. If there is any reason you need to meet with me, please see me afterward. We can try to schedule a time. However, with the way I feel, please see if it can’t wait a day or two.” He didn’t pace in front of the room as usual.
“Now as far as your question goes,” Mr. Hendricks said, giving a subtle nod to Andrew, “I suspected someone may bring that up.” He cleared his throat. “It’s terrible news. Of course, Oscar Cragbridge is very much the reason this school exists. He founded it. Paid to build it. I’ve even heard that he designed this building we meet in. He was a pioneer in science, history, and other areas. I cannot see why anyone would bear him ill will—he is a remarkable, visionary man.” He stood and took a few steps, but then stopped. “I know Oscar reasonably well. He is likely to get an idea and go after it with speed and zeal. I hope he’s simply gone doing some research somewhere.”
“I don’t think so,” Derick interjected. “My parents are gone too, and we can’t get a hold of them.”
“Yes,” Mr. Hendricks said, and bowed his head, genuine sadness on his face. “I’m still hoping for the best regarding your parents. I worked with Oscar Cragbridge, testing some of the early Bridge prototypes to be used in history classes. We used to spend quite a lot of time together.”
“Really?” Abby asked.
“Yes, we did,” Mr. Hendricks said.
“Wait. Did you finish testing those early prototypes?” Derick asked.
“I wanted to,” Mr. Hendricks started, “but something ...” He paused and took a deep breath. “Something happened. Something in my personal life, but that is neither here nor there. All I would like to say about Andrew’s question is that I am optimistic that they’ll find all of the missing Cragbridges soon, healthy and happy. Now,” he said in a commanding, we’re-not-going-back-to-that-subject tone, “for today’s lesson, I’m going to ask you all to study the beginning of the Revolutionary War. Your Bridge labs are already prepared. If you sync to my class page, you’ll find a series of questions to answer.”
Abby didn’t move. She waited for most people to file into the Bridges and then made her way to Mr. Hendricks at his desk.
“Excuse me, Mr. Hendricks,” she said. “I have a question.”
“I’m so sorry to hear about your family,” Mr. Hendricks said. “Your grandfather is truly a great man, and I expect your parents are no less. I hope everything is well.”
“Thank ... you,” Abby said, choking back her emotions. She wanted to ask if he knew about the lockets, or about the secret and the possibility of a kidnapping. It would be so nice to ask someone older and more experienced for help—someone who knew Grandpa personally. Though she opened her mouth to speak, she decided against it. She would respect her grandpa’s wishes.
“Now what was your question?” Mr. Hendricks asked.
“For some reason, my Bridge access has been blocked,” Abby said, changing the subject. “Could you tell me why?”
“Hmmm,” Mr. Hendricks said. “That’s very unusual so early in the school year.” He turned on his rings and began moving his fingers. “What have you been trying to see?”
Abby swallowed. She didn’t want to tell him, but then again, for all she knew, he was looking at the information as she spoke. “My grandpa gave me access to some of his journals.”
“And after you watched some of them, your access was denied,” Mr. Hendricks suggested.
“Yeah,” Abby said.
Mr. Hendricks moved his fingers again. “I see the block. You had rights to whatever you were watching, I must assume, or else you wouldn’t be on a private file. But someone thought you shouldn’t. I cannot overrule the block, as it comes from another teacher. You can imagine the trouble that would cause if one teacher kept overruling another. I can submit a request to have your access restored after a probationary period. In two days, if all goes well, you should be able to log on again.”
“Thanks,” Abby said, but her stomach tightened. Two days was too long. Who knew what could happen to her parents and grandpa in two days? She had to find out more. Derick still had access, but she may need her own. She’d need the Bridge. “I don’t want to be ungrateful, but is there any way I can get access sooner? I mean, I have homework to do.” Homework was really the last thing on her mind.
Mr. Hendricks shook his head. “Not really. Like I said on the first day, the Bridge is a privilege that can be revoked. I’m not in a position to overrule that.”
“Could you tell me who blocked me?” Abby asked. “Maybe I could explain what happened.”
“Sorry,” Mr. Hendricks said. “Revealing that information is against school policy. For today, I will give you the assignment from a textbook.” He turned on his rings and flicked his fingers. Abby turned her rings on as well and found a message with a textbook chapter attached. Opening it felt like failure, like she had left behind all the wonderful inventions of Cragbridge Hall and returned to regular school.
Abby went back to her desk and began to read, but she couldn’t focus. Before the end of the period, someone would see her sitting in her desk reading on her rings because she couldn’t use the Bridge—yet another reason she wasn’t as good as everyone else. Even more upsetting was the question of who had blocked her access. Abby thought about Ms. Entrese and her fascination with Grandpa’s locket. She seemed to be the leading suspect.
Abby hadn’t even looked up the first question on the homework sheet when Mr. Hendricks walked to her side.
“My wife died,” he said. “That was the reason I quit working with your grandfather. I ... I ... gave up my work for months—actually, for over a year if I’m honest.”
Abby had no idea what to say. “I’m sorry.”
Mr. Hendricks met her eyes. “I thought
you should know. Under normal circumstances, I would never pass up a chance to work with Oscar Cragbridge. He is a great man. I hope he returns safe and sound soon.”
Abby forced a smile. Her emotions swirled together as she thought about what Mr. Hendricks had said—he knew tragedy. She wanted to ask if his wife went missing before she died. Had he experienced anything like she was going through now? But then she realized she didn’t want to know. She didn’t want a story that ended in death to be anything like her situation with her missing parents and grandpa. They would not die. She refused to believe they would die. Abby watched as Mr. Hendricks slowly walked back to his desk.
• • •
Before English class could begin, Abby quickly approached Ms. Entrese at her desk.
“Abby Cragbridge.” Ms. Entrese wore a gray shirt with her black pants and a thin, black sweater—her version of variety. “I hope your new accommodations are suitable.”
“They are. Thank you,” Abby said.
“I have never had to switch roommates so early in the semester,” Ms. Entrese said. “Of course, we’ve never had a student admitted to this academy ... quite like ...” Her voice went flat. “You.”
Had she been insulted? “I guess not,” Abby managed to respond.
“I was very sorry to hear about your parents and your grandfather,” Ms. Entrese continued. “I hope you’re doing okay.” The words were nice, but there was no indication that she meant them. Her eyes even looked around at others in the room while she was speaking.
“Thank you.” Abby wanted to quickly move on to the subject of her denied Bridge access, but she wasn’t fast enough.
“The police came. They asked me questions about your grandfather,” Ms. Entrese said. “I guess they’d heard that he and I had our share of disagreements in the past. Did you know that, Abby?” Her words felt like an accusation—like Abby had sent the police to question her.
“No,” Abby said. “I didn’t even know that you knew him.”
Ms. Entrese eyed Abby carefully. “If class weren’t about to start, maybe we could discuss this while you sat in the Chair. Of course, I’d take my turn in it too.” Abby had no desire to sit in the Chair any time soon. “Of course, I’d never seek to harm your grandfather, but I definitely disagreed with him.”
“What did you disagree about?” Abby asked, feeling suddenly brave.
Ms. Entrese raised an eyebrow. “That’s no concern of yours. Now, why have you come to talk with me?”
“My access to the Bridge has been denied, and I ... I was wondering if you knew anything about it,” Abby sputtered out. The plea sounded awkward, so Abby tried to correct it. “I’m just checking with all of my teachers. I don’t want to fall behind on my homework.”
“Your access has been denied?” Ms. Entrese asked louder than necessary. Abby wanted to shush her. Ms. Entrese had glanced around again, and out of the corner of her eye, Abby had noticed several students listening in. Jacqueline laughed. “I didn’t do it,” Ms. Entrese said.
Abby wasn’t sure whether to believe her. “Do you know what I can do to get my access back?”
The bell hummed, signaling the beginning of class. Ms. Entrese promptly stood. “I did you a great kindness by arranging a new dorm room for you. I don’t think you’re in a position to ask for any more favors.” She moved to the center of the room to address the class.
• • •
Abby watched as a leather soccer ball balanced on the edge of a peach basket before falling in. The basket hung from a balcony in an old school gym.
“This is the beginning of basketball,” Coach Horne explained, gesturing toward the Bridge image. “In the late 1890s, James Naismith, the man in the corner”—Coach Horne pointed in the direction of the man with a mustache and hair parted down the middle—“was looking for a game to keep the boys at a school in Springfield, Massachusetts, physically fit on rainy days and during long winters. He wanted something that would require skill rather than strength. With the help of the janitor, he mounted peach baskets to the balconies, and the students tried out his new game. They had no idea they were making history.”
Coach Horne chuckled and then continued. “Eventually they thought to take the bottom out of the baskets.” The class laughed, watching as a couple of students used a ladder to retrieve the ball. Abby imagined how inconvenient it would have been to have to retrieve the ball every time someone scored. “Of course, many of the rules have changed. For example, dribbling wasn’t part of the original game. That came later, with better balls. Since we’ll play by modern rules, and some of you may be unfamiliar with them, I’ll do a little overview.”
As Coach Horne spoke, Carol whispered, “Kind of weird to see them trying to throw a ball into a peach basket. I mean, now we’re used to like eight-foot-tall barbarian men crashing into each other, and dunking. Which, of course, I’m not complaining about. In fact, I think the muscles and shorts make modern basketball far superior to the original.”
Once again, Abby was at a loss for words.
Soon the two coaches had everyone divided into teams. Carol played on the other side of the gym, while Abby found herself on a team of four facing another team of four.
“We’re short two people,” Coach Horne said. “If it’s alright with you guys, I’d suggest Coach Adonavich and I join you. What do you think?”
Abby and the others thought for a moment. Did they want to play ball against someone as big and burly as Coach Horne?
“Okay,” one of the boys said. “Sure.”
“Are you okay with that?” Coach Horne asked Coach Adonavich. “You could politely withdraw if you don’t feel up to the challenge.”
“I never withdraw from anything,” the Russian said. “But that was a nice try.”
“Even with that limp you have?” Coach Horne said.
“It’s nothing,” she countered.
Abby could feel their competitive spirits kicking in. Somehow the atmosphere had changed from a scrimmage in gym class to a world-class rivalry.
Soon, Abby found herself playing one of the most competitive games of basketball she had ever seen, let alone experienced. She could keep up with many of the boys; she scored on them twice. But she stayed out of the middle—that was where Coach Horne ruled. He seemed to swat every shot that got close and grabbed nearly every rebound.
Coach Horne was definitely bigger and stronger, but Adonavich was quicker and more agile, and passed the ball well. Though she couldn’t stop Coach Horne under the basket, she managed to steal it from him several times.
Abby’s team maintained a slight lead for most of the game, but Coach Horne’s team battled back. With only a minute to go, a boy passed to Abby. She faked like she was going to make a move toward the basket, drawing Coach Horne toward the top of the key. Abby dished the ball off to Coach Adonavich, who drove to the hoop. Coach Horne tried to get in position to stop her. They collided, and Ms. Adonovich came crashing to the ground.
“Sorry,” Coach Horne said, quickly offering his hand to help her up.
Ms. Adonavich raised her arm to accept the offering. Her workout pants had slid up above one knee, revealing a jagged red wound that went up her leg. Abby watched as Coach Horne noticed the wound too. Ms. Adonovich quickly pulled down her pant leg. “I cut myself yesterday,” she explained. “I caught the inside of a door frame.”
“Are you okay?” Coach Horne asked.
“Yes, I’m fine. Lucky for you, it has made me slower than before. Otherwise, the game wouldn’t have been this close.”
Coach Horne helped her up.
A small beep sounded.
“Time,” Coach Horne said, and dismissed the class for the showers.
As Abby walked to the locker room, she wondered how Coach Adonavich had really been cut—doorframes didn’t make jagged wounds like that.
Just before Abby entered the locker room, she looked back at Coach Horne. She caught him glancing at Coach Adonavich’s leg as she returned a basketball to
the equipment box.
19
Risking It All
Derick leapt from one tree branch onto another. He tried to use his tail, but it still felt foreign. A monkey dangling from a branch several feet above him waved.
“Show off,” Derick mumbled. The other monkey was Rafa, the prodigy teacher’s assistant.
Derick’s monkey avatar leapt to the next branch and clung tight. He heard his teacher’s voice through his earpieces.
“Careful, Derick. You have shown enough promise that working with Rafael today can be a great help. But remember, though the avatar is dexterous and durable, it is also very expensive. Take it little by little. Don’t push yourself too far like last time.”
Derick took the advice and practiced clinging to the branch he was on, swinging beneath it and back up the other side. He repeated the drill over and over until it felt natural, but he was thinking about something else—a tower he needed to climb. He had tried to watch closely as Dr. Mackleprank opened the lab, but there was no way to see the code. Plus, it took a fingerprint read, and only the teacher and Rafa had clearance for that. No way could he possibly break in.
“Alright, let’s bring it in,” Dr. Mackleprank said.
Derick jumped to a lower branch, and then another. He had much more confidence than before. While most others in his class were trying to progress from walking to running, he was learning to scale trees.
Rafa’s monkey passed by, gliding downward a second or two slower than falling. He hopped from branch to branch with such agility that he seemed as at home in the tree as a human walking.
After joining Rafael’s avatar on the ground, Derick walked his monkey to the corner storage center. Then he pushed the button on the back of his neck to log off.
He felt dizzy and nauseated as he came back to reality in the lab room. Derick took a few moments to reorient himself before trying to take off the harness.
Then it came to him. He had an idea. He remembered Frederick Douglass, how waiting until the last minute had helped him. Sometimes that was when people paid the least attention. Derick would have to be as cool and calm as his namesake had been.
