by David Lubar
“Absolutely not,” his mom said.
Zack argued all the way to the pool, only giving up when his mother issued a warning for him to stop whining, backed by a harsh stare from his dad.
Stupid pool.
Zack sat on the artificial beach and glared at the artificial waves. He wasn’t going to give his parents the satisfaction of seeing him play in the water. What a way to waste the morning. Worst of all, the third curve of the Tempest, complete with a double corkscrew, jutted over one side of the pool. Zack was so close, he could see the thrilled faces of the riders as they flashed past.
Finally, his dad stretched, looked around, and said, “Well, I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready for something more exciting.”
“About time,” Zack muttered. He shivered as a small cloud passed in front of the sun. The day was barely warm enough for swimming.
His mom nodded. “Lunch would be nice.”
“Lunch?” Zack gasped. He knew what that meant—another wasted hour as they wandered from restaurant to restaurant, staring at the menus in the windows, trying to find a place that would satisfy everyone. Zack was sure that no such place existed anywhere on the planet. His mom liked fancy food, his dad liked simple stuff, and his sister would only eat food that had no fat, no sugar, no preservatives, and as far as Zack could tell, no flavor. He couldn’t remember the last time the family had ordered a pepperoni pizza.
Eventually, they settled on a sandwich shop—a compromise nobody seemed to want but everyone seemed willing to tolerate.
By the end of lunch, there was one monster of a line snaking around the base of the Titanium Tempest. “Can I ride that coaster?” Zack asked. “Please?”
“The line’s kind of long,” his mother said.
“I know it’s long!” Zack shouted. “That’s because we spent all morning in the stupid pool!”
“Zack,” his dad said, “watch your mouth, or you’ll be spending all afternoon in the motel.”
Zack opened his mouth, but he managed to keep from shouting the angry words that bounced around inside his skull. Please, he thought, willing his dad to give him permission. That’s all I want. Please. Please. Please.
“Oh, get in the stupid line,” his dad said. “Meet us at the bumper cars when you’re done.”
“Yes!” Zack ran to the line before his mom could overrule his dad. As the endless trail of humanity inched forward, he tried to decide where he wanted to sit for his very first ride. There was always a longer wait for the front car. He’d save that for later. Right now, he’d take whatever he could get.
An hour passed, and finally Zack was in the last stretch. He moved up the steps that led to the loading area. Just ahead, beyond the turnstile, the riders flowed into one of fourteen chutes that led to the fourteen pairs of seats on the Titanium Tempest.
“Soon,” Zack whispered.
He squeezed through the turnstile and looked ahead. Most of the lines were about the same, but Zack was a pro. He picked the line with the most couples. Lines with single riders—riders like Zack—would take longer. People usually didn’t want to ride with a stranger on a coaster.
Zack moved closer. There were only three couples ahead of him. Then two. He watched people as they stumbled off the ride. They all looked like they’d been shaken nearly to pieces and whacked hard on the head at least a half-dozen times. Perfect. That was the kind of ride he loved.
Finally, the last pair between him and hapiness boarded the Tempest. Zack had made it to the front of the line. The car moved out and crawled up the long climb. As it reached the crest and hurtled down the drop, another rumble mixed with the roar of the coaster.
Thunder.
Please no, Zack thought.
There was a second rumble. Then, as the car returned from the ride, a flash and a crack.
The sky drowned Zack’s hopes with buckets of rain.
“We’re sorry, the Tempest is closed until further notice,” the operator said over the loudspeaker.
“No!” Zack watched in envy and agony as the last riders climbed out of the cars. I hate them, he thought.
Zack walked to the bumper cars, not caring if he got drenched. All around him, people clustered under anything that offered shelter. At least nobody else was having fun.
He found his parents. Together, they waited for the rain to stop. It finally did, but lightning kept flashing for the rest of the afternoon, keeping the Titanium Tempest closed.
Zack rode other rides, but each mild spin on a Scrambler or a Ferris wheel just made him more and more miserable. Toward evening, the clouds thinned, then faded. But by the time the Titanium Tempest opened again and Zack got permission to go back, the line was three times as long as before. Zack could do the math. It was nine o’clock. The park closed at eleven. The people at the end of the line would never reach the ride.
“Stupid losers,” he muttered. Zack cursed and turned away from the Titanium Tempest. He didn’t even want to look at it now. Not if he couldn’t ride it. As he walked away, to meet back up with his parents, he bumped into a little kid.
“Watch it!” Zack lashed out and shoved the kid, hoping he could knock him off his feet.
The kid stumbled away without looking back. A flutter of white caught Zack’s eye. Something had fallen from the kid’s hand. Zack stooped and reached down.
“Hey!” he called after the kid. “Wait.”
Then he read what he held. ADMIT ONE, the ticket promised. Below that were words Zack almost couldn’t believe. TAKE A MIDNIGHT RIDE ON THE TITANIUM TEMPEST.
As the kid turned back, Zack dodged into the crowd. No way he was giving this up. A midnight ride. That had to be special. And if he had a ticket, he’d absolutely get his ride.
Now he just had to figure out how to slip away from his parents. As he thought about other family trips they’d taken, he realized it wouldn’t be hard to escape. His parents rarely stayed up late. And his sister never paid any attention to what he was doing.
When the family was sitting around the motel room after dinner, Zack could see his mom and dad were getting sleepy. He pulled out the convertible couch and sprawled across the mattress, but he kept his clothes on. By eleven thirty, he could hear his dad snoring in the bedroom. Across the room, his sister sat on the other couch, watching television. Zack got up and walked to the door. As he turned the knob, he glanced back at his sister. She didn’t look away from the television.
“Going for a walk,” he muttered.
Ahead, the park was nearly dark. But the Titanium Tempest, flashing all thirty thousand of its lights, called him like a beacon. Zack felt in his pocket for the ticket and wondered if it was good for just one ride. Free pass. That’s what it had said.
He reached the entrance to the park. Nobody was there. But the gate was open. Zack wove his way through the paths leading up to the Titanium Tempest, then climbed the steps.
“Hello?” he called out. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he had the wrong day. He pulled out the ticket and checked it. No date. Just midnight. A wooden sign standing next to the turnstile read: NO ADMISSION WITHOUT A TICKET.
“No problem,” Zack said.
He pushed through the turnstile.
“Anybody here?” he called.
Silence.
But the empty cars were there, waiting on the track.
Zack walked up to the front car and sat down, taking the seat on the left. He’d already figured, based on the layout of the track, that the left side would be the wildest.
He heard a hiss as the safety bar came down. Then he felt a jolt as the car lurched forward.
“Cool,” Zack said, barely able to believe his luck. He was going to get a ride. In the front car. All by himself.
The car climbed at a steep angle, pressing him against the seat. Here it comes, Zack thought as the car leveled out. For a smooth second, he moved straight ahead. Then the world dropped out from under him and he plummeted toward the earth.
Awesome.
A sharp turn jolted the car to the right.
“Ow!” Zack shouted as his left shoulder banged against the side of the car. The ticket flew from his hand. He realized it didn’t matter. He was already on the ride. Nothing could stop him now.
The car snaked to the left, then shot back to the right, slamming Zack again. He reached the first loop and braced himself against the force of acceleration.
When the car shot out of the loop, Zack was jolted twice to the right, banging his left shoulder again. Then a sharp jerk from another turn slammed his knees against the front of the car, sending a burst of pain through his legs.
As the ride reached the last drop and curve, Zack relaxed his clenched grip. He’d never been shaken this hard on a steel coaster. It must have been the empty cars, he realized. That was why the ride was so rough. The Titanium Tempest was designed to run best when full.
At least it’s over, he thought as the car approached the loading platform. He got ready to climb out.
“Wait,” Zack gasped as the car sped past the platform and headed back up the hill.
He yanked at the safety bar.
It was locked solidly around him. He looked over his shoulder. The back side of the sign by the turnstile had a message, too. NO EXIT WITHOUT A TICKET.
No exit? Zack yanked harder at the safety bar as the car climbed the steep hill, but the bar didn’t move.
The second ride was just as rough as the first. The third might have been even rougher.
Zack tried to hold himself still. He struggled to keep from being slammed and bruised, but his strength gave out. Eventually, battered, banged, and slammed, he let go and flopped inside the car, waiting for day. Waiting for light that never came. Waiting for the endless ride to end.
CHIRP
Sean Unquist had the strangest problem: Whenever he said, “Chirp,” he turned into a bird. He didn’t stay a bird for more than a moment, and he didn’t always turn into the same kind of bird, but he always turned into some kind of bird.
As inconvenient as this was, Sean realized he was lucky. He rarely said chirp by accident. If the word that changed him had been hello, feather, or some other common word, Sean knew he’d have been in a lot more trouble.
He’d been by himself the first time it happened, and had kept this secret to himself forever. His parents didn’t know. His brothers and sisters didn’t know. His best friend didn’t know. But the secret needed to be shared. And when Jennifer Marie Starkholder moved in right across the street from him, Sean knew he’d found the perfect person to share his secret. Jennifer looked—well, she just looked so understanding.
And she obviously loved birds. She owned seven different shirts with pictures of birds—Sean had counted—along with a lunch box decorated with cardinals, earrings in the shape of hummingbirds, and a variety of bird drawings on her book covers.
The very first time Sean met her, as soon as he saw the lunch box, the earrings, and the first of those seven shirts, he almost blurted out his secret. But he’d waited. He wanted to tell her, but he was afraid she’d laugh at him and walk away. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than that.
Finally, a month after she arrived, he spotted her filling the bird feeder by her living room window. He crossed the street, went up to her, and said, “I turn into a bird.” He held his breath and watched her expression, hoping she wouldn’t laugh in his face.
Jennifer didn’t laugh. She didn’t tell him he was imagining things. She didn’t mock him or sneer. Instead, she said, “How does it happen?”
“I just say…” Sean paused. He didn’t want to become a bird in front of the house, where anyone might see.
“Let’s go into my backyard,” Jennifer said.
Sean followed her around the side of the house. It was a nice yard, with a small birdbath and two more bird feeders. Like his own yard, it was surrounded with bushes. Strangers wouldn’t see him become a bird. Sean checked to make sure Jennifer was watching him. He was pleased that he had her full attention.
“Chirp,” he said.
He became a sparrow and stayed that way for about a minute. That’s how long the change usually lasted.
“See,” Sean said when he became a boy again.
“I see,” Jennifer said. “I love birds so much. Did you know that sparrows give themselves dust baths? But they aren’t afraid of water. People have actually seen them swim underwater. Isn’t that amazing?”
“Yeah, it sure is,” Sean said.
“Do it again. It would be wonderful to see something rare.”
Sean did it again. He became a stork.
“Again, please,” Jennifer said.
Sean became a robin, and then a crow, and then a goldfinch. Jennifer told him fascinating facts about each bird and asked him to keep going.
“There are birds I’ve heard about but never seen,” she said.
“I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” Sean told her. “I might become a hawk and attack you. Some birds have razor-sharp claws.” He flinched at the idea of scratching her.
Jennifer shook her head. “I feel safe with you. I’m sure you’d never hurt me. Keep changing.”
Sean kept changing.
“There we go,” Jennifer said after one of the changes. “Finally.”
Sean couldn’t answer. He couldn’t talk when he was a bird.
“An auk,” Jennifer said. “Just what I was waiting for. A nice plump bird that can’t fly. No dangerous claws. No sharp beak. How lovely,” she said, clapping her hands together and smiling. “But, Sean, you aren’t as special as you think. I have a word that changes me, too.”
Jennifer knelt on the lawn and grinned at Sean. The grin became a laugh. Then she opened her mouth and said, “Meow.”
“Awk!” Sean screeched as the cat pounced.
Jennifer Marie Starkholder had a secret. And a meal.
BRUJA
Stella is the meanest sister in the world. She got even meaner after I killed her neon tetras last month. All five of them. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t want to feed her fish while she was at camp, but she told me I had to. She knows I have a hard time remembering stuff. Mom is always nagging me to pick up my clothes, and Dad has to remind me to do my chores.
Maybe I should have put the can of fish food in my room where I’d see it. I didn’t know they’d die that quickly. I didn’t even know they were dead until I heard the scream from her room the day she got back.
“You let them die!” She stormed down the stairs and chased after me.
Mom saved me. But Stella has been glaring at me ever since then. I know she’s thinking up some terrible way to get even. And I know it won’t happen for a while. I’ve seen Stella in action. When someone gets her angry, she thinks and plots and waits until the perfect moment. And then she does terrible things.
It was bad enough when we were at home. At least I knew how to keep out of her way. But we’re on vacation this week. Dad took us all to Mexico—me, Stella, Mom, and my little brother, Kaleb.
It’s not as much fun as it sounds. Everything is hot and sticky and strange. We’d spent a couple days in Mexico City, but now we’re in this small town with a name I can’t pronounce. The name has three x’s in it, and five letters in a row without a vowel. Mom and Dad were going to take a tour of some caves to see these stupid old paintings. I didn’t want to go, but I didn’t want to stay in the room with Stella.
“Can I go to the mercado?” I asked. That’s what they call a store here. There was a shop right down the block from the hotel.
Mom looked at Dad. Dad looked at Mom. They both looked at me. “I’ll be careful,” I said.
“It’s safe here,” Dad said to Mom.
Mom nodded.
“Okay,” Dad said.
“Thanks.” I headed out for the shop. There wasn’t much to see, but there was no way I was going back into the room with Stella. Not when my parents weren’t around to keep her from getting her revenge.
Then, when I was in the
far corner of the shop, looking at these really scary masks, I saw her come in through the front door. She hadn’t spotted me yet. I slipped out a side door.
Where to go?
I walked down the street, away from the hotel. Half a block later, a little boy ran up to me. I got ready to tell him I didn’t have any money. That wasn’t true. Mom always made me carry a couple dollars. Or pesos, I guess. But there were lots of beggar kids in the city, so I expected this kid to be like them.
Instead, he said, “You are worried.”
“What?”
“Worried. Yes?”
He had an accent, but I could understand him.
I nodded, unsure how safe it was to talk with a stranger—even if he was half my size.
“The bruja—she can help you.”
“Bruja?”
He nodded and pointed down the street. “Come—it isn’t far. I’ll show you.”
I looked over my shoulder to make sure Stella hadn’t left the mercado, then followed him. Two blocks later, he stopped in front of a tiny shop. The building was barely wider than the door.
“In there,” he said.
“You go first.”
He nodded and opened the door. I took a step away from the hot street. The air was definitely cooler inside. An old woman was sitting at a table. There was a second chair on the other side.
The woman said something in Spanish.
“Come,” the boy said. “Tell her your troubles.”
As I spoke, the boy translated my words into Spanish. “My sister hates me. She asked me to feed her fish. I forgot. They died.” I paused after each sentence so he could keep up with me. When I was done, the woman glanced at a row of shelves on the wall behind her, then spoke again.
“There is a way to help,” the boy said.
The woman got up from the table and walked to the shelves. She took down three bottles, poured a couple drops from each into a smaller bottle, then placed that bottle on the table. Each of the three liquids was clear, but the mixture turned black. A smell like licorice and woodsmoke filled the air.
