by M. A. Torres
“Tomorrow’s mean girls,” observed Sylvia.
“Huh?” Jake did not understand.
“Hey, have any of you seen Robbie? He wasn’t at his locker,” asked Matthew.
“He was in chemistry class,” informed Sylvia. “I’ll text him.”
She pulled out her phone. Just as she completed her text, Robbie rushed up from behind. His face looked pale. He was panting like he’d run a race.
“Guys! I need to show you something! Come with me!”
They exchanged a worried glance and started behind him. Robbie led them around the corner and down the hall to the school’s media room, next to the school library. The other boys had never been in there, but they recognized the ‘Today at Wakefield Middle’ production set. The long brown table where Harry Miller and Wendy Perez sat for their daily show was dim and silent. Matthew and Jake rushed over and sat in the hosts’ chairs.
“iM wEnDy PeRez. LisTeN tO mE pLeAseee!” mimicked Matthew.
“nO mOrE, wEnDy! yOu MaKe mE wAnT tO sLaM mY HeAd aGaInSt a pOrCuPiNe’S bUtT!” said Jake, pretending to be Harry Miller.
“wHy, HaRrY? I tHoUgHt yOu LoVeD mE!”
“Guys! Get over here!” hollered a flustered Robbie.
He was standing by a large monitor. He took the remote and turned it on.
“So, I was watching the footage from the first night and noticed something odd. I brought the memory card here to get a better look on one of these large HD monitors.”
He grasped the computer mouse and ran the footage. The crystalline field appeared on the screen. He clicked the fast forward icon, and the footage sped by until the screen darkened into nighttime. At the 03:36:55 mark, he resumed normal playback and adjusted the brightness.
“Look, over here on the edge!” He pointed with the mouse arrow.
The crystalline field was in full view, the landscape glittering in the soft moonlight. At the screen’s left edge, something came into view—something familiar and in-season.
The boys leaned closer, squinting their eyes to get a clearer view.
“Is that... Santa Claus?” asked a bewildered Kevin.
The darkness of the screen hid the details, but the trim of the outfit and the white beard were easy to distinguish. It was Santa Claus. He walked into the edge of the field, made an abrupt turn, then fell on his back.
The friends exchanged frowns and confused looks.
“WHAT THE?!” hollered Jake.
Matthew was smirking.
Sylvia was scratching her head.
“Guys, I’ve been watching this over and over. It’s not a person! That Santa Claus is a decoration, like the one we found the other day,” explained Robbie. “Now look down here.”
Robbie moved the pointer to the lower left corner of the screen. More movement was noticeable. The friends closed in, trying to distinguish the ominous figure in the dark.
“Is that... a walking nutcracker?” asked Sylvia.
Robbie nodded. “And he’s got an ax.”
“What’s happening here?” asked Sylvia.
“The saplings are probably draining the forest animals and releasing more sentinels into our town. They’re possessing people’s Christmas decorations, just like they possessed the Jack-O-Creeper and ghost that attacked Olivia and me.”
The boys’ eyes widened with concern.
“Why are they there?” asked Matthew.
“I’m not sure. But we must arm ourselves before we go burn the field.” Robbie turned to Kevin and Jake. “The agents leave at sundown. You two need to meet me there with your weapons. That’s our only chance.”
“Have they attacked the agents?” asked Matthew.
“I’m not sure. I guess we’ll find out next time we go,” said Robbie.
“I’ll be there, but Kevin’s grounded,” said Jake.
Kevin gave a helpless nod. “I’m grounded for lying to my mom.”
“Very well,” said Robbie before turning to the others. “We’ll do it without Kevin guys. Jake has Tombstone, I’ll take my BB guns, Olivia can use her whip, and Matthew... I can lend you my dad’s pickaxe or something.”
“Okay!” agreed Jake.
“Yes!” said Matthew.
“Remember, Olivia and I took two of them out. You damage the figure enough, and the spirit will fly out and disappear,” encouraged Robbie.
“I’m in,” Sylvia added.
They turned to her, surprised.
“Are you sure?” asked Robbie.
“Yes, I’m sure. I’m meant to help you all, so I should start sometime. I need to see what I can do with these flashlight hands of mine.”
“All right!” said a joyous Matthew.
“We’ll go on Friday evening, then, after they drop Sylvia off,” said Jake.
“Yes!” agreed Robbie.
“Let’s do it!” said Matthew.
“Don’t get hurt, guys! I’ll be sitting at home wishing I were there,” said Kevin.
“We’ll plan ahead at lunch.” Robbie ejected his memory card from the computer.
Kevin sighed. “Sorry, guys, I’m out from that too. Got lunch detention all week.”
“Dude! You need to behave, you troublemaker!” scolded Jake.
“Yeah, pretty soon you’ll be sitting at Zander’s table, you delinquent!” added Matthew.
“Shut up.” Kevin picked up his backpack and swung it over his shoulder. “See you all later.”
‘Bye, Kevin,’ they responded.
HE ENTERED THE DETENTION room with his lunch tray in hand. Mr. Travis, one of the English teachers, was serving as the detention instructor. He was a pleasant and soft-spoken man, thin and medium in stature. He used thick bifocals and loved to sport plaid shirts and slacks.
Mr. Travis gave Kevin a curious stare.
“You here for detention?”
“Yes, sir, all week.”
“Oh! You’re the food fight captain, right? You can take any seat, so long as it’s not next to someone else.
Kevin scanned the room. It was a who’s who of class clowns and troublemakers. Gilbert Jimenez sat slouched in his chair near the back-left corner, his hands clasped behind his head. Luke Peters was sitting rear center; he too was slouched in his chair, his legs open, and spread across the aisle. Two other boys were present, boys Kevin knew by face, but not by name. He took the seat in the left row, at mid-aisle.
“Eat your lunch, son, then sit there quietly. No phones or tablets,” instructed Mr. Travis.
“Yes, sir.”
Kevin began to eat his pizza. Just then, Jimmy Smith entered, carrying his lunch tray.
“I’m here for detention,” he announced.
“Yes, yes. Have a seat, son. Make sure no one is sitting next to you. After you finish your lunch, remain in your seat; no phones or tablets.”
Jimmy sighed and looked around. He smiled at Kevin and started down his aisle. He brushed against Kevin’s elbow as he walked past, then plopped himself down on a seat behind him.
Kevin made quick work of his food, then washed it down with some chocolate milk. He glanced at the clock and realized he had thirty-three minutes left—thirty-three minutes to do nothing but sit and think. He closed his eyes and visualized his sword strikes. He envisioned his speed attack swing by swing, followed by his parry and defense. He imagined Raven and he, locked in vicious battle, none giving an inch to the other. He imagined himself delivering the final death blow—a burning Flameclaw sinking into Raven’s chest, its flames engulfing his body—the onetime god tasting mortal death...
The splat was wet and cold on the back of his neck. It was so sudden and so unexpected that it startled Kevin out of his daydream. He ran his hand through the back of his neck, and the spit wad stuck to his fingers. The muffled giggle came from behind.
Mr. Travis looked up from the book he was immersed in. “Quiet, folks!”
Kevin tossed the spit wad on his tray and grasped his leftover pizza crust. He used it to scoop the run-off tomato sauce fr
om his plate. He snuck a quick backward glance and made a mental note of Jimmy’s position. He looked at Mr. Travis, waiting for the perfect opportunity to turn and strike. Mr. Travis delved back into his book. Now would be his chance.
I didn’t raise you to do some of the things you’ve been doing, Kevin. This is not you.
His mother’s words echoed loud and powerfully in his mind. He bit his lip in frustration and dropped the messy crust back on his plate.
There were imminent battles more pressing than jealous Jimmy—battles he might miss if he got into further trouble and subjected to additional punishment by his principal or his mother. His anger calmed, and he found himself at peace once more.
The second spit wad was even messier than the first. Its juice splattered across and dripped down the back of his neck.
Kevin took the crust, spun, and launched it at Jimmy with all his might... and regretted it as soon as it left his hand.
The crust found its mark on Jimmy’s forehead—the tomato sauce spraying into his eyes.
“Ahh, my eyes. It got into my eyes!” Jimmy rubbed them ferociously, a painful scowl on his face.
The other delinquents laughed and cheered, a welcome respite from their otherwise hour of sustained boredom.
“Hey, everyone, I think we found next year’s quarterback! This guy throws better than Jimmy!” mocked Gilbert.
“SHUT UP!” hollered Jimmy.
Mr. Travis rushed up, taking Jimmy by his shoulders. “Run to the bathroom. Wash your eyes out, then come back as soon as possible!”
Jimmy left the room, holding his face and rubbing his eyes.
“What is your name?!” hollered Mr. Travis.
“My name is Kevin Martinez, sir, but look...” Kevin grabbed the two spit wads. “He threw these at the back of my neck, twice!”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I ...I... I don’t know...”
“And that’s where your decision-making faltered, Kevin! We’re going to Mr. Pike! I’m telling him how you tried to start another food war in my room.”
“No, please, sir. Jimmy started it!”
His pleading was futile. Kevin found himself in the principal’s office for the second time in less than a week.
Mr. Pike walked in, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Kevin had no doubt interrupted his lunch.
“You again!” he said angrily.
“I can explain! Jimmy...”
“I don’t care for explanations! You’re throwing food at other students again!”
“Jimmy hit the back of my neck with spit wads, sir.”
“And you retaliated. Remember the last time we spoke? I told you if you were ever in here again, you would be suspended!”
Kevin bit his lip. His mother would surely ground him for life if he were suspended. All their recent efforts would have been in vain. Kevin fell to his knees and clasped his hands together, as if in prayer.
“Pleeeaaase, Mr. Pike, don’t suspend me, pleeeaseee!” he pleaded. “My mother would kill me if you did! I’ll do anything! I’ll serve detention for the rest of the year. I’ll clean the cafeteria every day, just please don’t suspend me!”
“Get up, son,” commanded Mr. Pike with a stern tone.
Kevin stood, his eyebrows curved with fear.
There was a hint of pity in Mr. Pike’s eyes, giving Kevin a glimmer of hope.
“I won’t suspend you, Kevin, but you will serve an extra week of lunch detention! Christmas break is coming up, but you’ll be here the entire week once we return!”
Kevin sighed in relief. “Thank you sir.”
“And if you get into any more trouble the rest of this year... I will suspend you, no questions asked.”
“Yes, sir." Thank you, sir.”
Kevin left Mr. Pike’s office, ashamed but relieved. Nevertheless, his reputation was forever tarnished. He was now Kevin Martinez, the troublemaker; starter of food wars; beggar of mercy; seventh-grade delinquent.
Chapter Twenty-Five:
A Christmas Wonderland
Friday came quickly. Sylvia Landry followed the cobblestone path up to Olivia’s front door, as her mother watched from the car. She wore a scarf, thick and bristled at its ends and dark in color, highlighting the golden streaks in her red shoulder-length hair. She was dressed in a long, gray overcoat, which extended down below the knees, and black leather boots. She carried her backpack over her right shoulder. But it was a farce, for they would not be working on any projects this evening.
Sylvia stepped up to the double front doors, made of expensive-looking dark oak, and wondered if she should knock or ring the doorbell. She settled for the doorbell, and a moment later, Ms. Vincent opened the door.
“Hello! You must be Sylvia!” she assumed as she waved at Sylvia’s mother.
“Hi,” she said, as her mom drove away behind her.
“Come inside, Honey. Olivia’s in the backyard with the others.”
Sylvia followed Vivian Vincent through the interior of her grandiose home. She had never been inside a home as large and as beautiful as this one.
Sylvia was born and raised in Wakefield Falls, but this was her first time in the Crimson Heights neighborhood—an area she had heard from others to be the ‘snobby and rich part of town.’
In fact, there were many parts of Wakefield Falls Sylvia was unfamiliar with. Her parents were homebodies, rarely leaving the house except for work and groceries. They were a frugal family—rarely ate out and rarely attended the mall or cinema. Sylvia’s mother preferred to cook daily, and her father preferred to wait out the latest blockbuster until it was available to rent or stream.
Sylvia didn’t have many friends either. She had always found it difficult to make and keep them. She was introverted, and the few times she had tried to break from her shell had resulted in embarrassment. Because of this, she preferred the safety and security of her self-imposed silence.
Relating to other girls had always been arduous. When she was younger, the girls from her street loved to play dolls, family, and dress-up. Sylvia thought them to be bore-fests, preferring to hunt for insects or read science magazines.
As she grew older, the wedge between her and other girls grew wider. The only time she’d been invited to a slumber party was the night she realized she was no ordinary girl—interested and attracted to the normal callings of budding adolescence.
Sylvia and Noemi Flores grew up across the street from each other and had been close in their early years. They rode their bikes together and played at each other’s houses. But as the years went by, Noemi’s interests seemed to change. No longer did she fancy riding bikes, playing video games, or experimenting with Sylvia’s science kits, but preferred watching romantic movies, trying on makeup, and talking about boys—things Sylvia wasn’t ready for. In turn, Noemi distanced herself and coveted the friendship of other girls—girls like her, with similar desires and interests. Sylvia soon found herself without her only friend.
Sylvia’s mother noticed the sudden downturn in her mood, and in an effort to resolve her daughter’s woes, called Noemi’s mother to request an intervention. Noemi’s mother obliged and had Noemi invite Sylvia to her upcoming slumber party. Sylvia agreed reluctantly, and without knowledge of her mother’s intervention. But nonetheless, she attended and tried hard to fit in with Noemi and her new friends.
She laughed at their mean jokes and pretended to fancy the boys Noemi and her friends were swooning over. She even tried on the makeup and lipstick the others were experimenting with. But as the night dragged on, she found herself further outside their loop and further into her own world—the one created by her curious mind.
While the others texted the boys they were crushing on, she climbed onto Noemi’s roof to observe the night sky. She heard a meteor shower would be visible that night and into the early morning hours, so she decided to make a night of it. She took a blanket from Noemi’s room, grabbed her beanie and some snacks. Then, she climbed onto the roof and la
id herself down on the blanket.
The meteor shower began in spectacular fashion, with several flashes streaking the night sky. Left and right they fell—some long, some short, some bright enough to make her squint, some barely visible to the naked eye. She watched with fervor, awaiting the brightest of activity, expected around the midnight hour. She was confident she could stay awake, but her eyelids had a different idea.
Before long, she was fast asleep, dreaming of space, and moons, and stars. She didn’t wake until hours later, when the police lights and commotion became too noticeable to sleep through.
Sylvia sat up and glanced at her watch. It was 4:30 a.m. She crawled to the edge of the roof and observed the police cars scattered throughout her street. Policemen were pacing about, some holding K-9 dogs.
Her stomach growled. She grabbed the half-eaten doughnut and finished the rest, then washed it down with the tepid leftover soda.
She watched as the police officers walked their K-9 units up and down her street. She watched as the police officers knocked on their neighbors’ doors and spoke to the groggy folks who answered them. Even Noemi’s parents were out conversing with the police.
She felt the urge to use the restroom. She climbed off the roof, then entered Noemi’s house. Afterwards, she decided to check on all the fuss and see if she could be of any help. She exited the back door, made her way to the front yard, and approached the nearest police car. The policeman was busy using his computer.
“Sir, what happened?”
He eyed her with confusion. “Looking for a lost girl. You should go back inside before we end up looking for two lost girls.”
Lost girl?
“Who’s lost, sir?”
The policeman sighed. “Just go back home. This is no time for you to be out and about.”
Sylvia glanced at her house across the street. Why are the lights on at this hour? Oh, the police must have asked my parents about the lost girl. Oh well, I better get back. Maybe Noemi knows what’s going on.
