by Brandon Mull
*****
Sitting at his desk the next day, Nate could hardly wait for school to end. The clock seemed paralyzed. That morning, he had gotten his name written on the board for cracking jokes. A name on the board was a warning—if he got a check mark after it, he would have to stay after class, so he had forced himself to keep quiet the rest of the day.
Staying after class was not an option. He was anxious to collect his reward from Mrs. White. The previous night he had shared the white fudge with his family. His dad, mom, and sister each ate a cube. They all loved it, and wondered why he didn’t eat the last piece. He explained that he had already had some. His dad ended up splitting the extra block of fudge with his mom. Everyone seemed in an unusually relaxed mood after the fudge. They all sat around watching TV together for the remainder of the evening, which was out of character for his parents.
Earlier that day at lunch, after Pigeon had lost his dessert to Denny, Eric, and Kyle, Nate learned that the others had given fudge to their families as well. Trevor had also presented a box to his neighbors. Nate still had an extra box under his bed.
Miss Doulin paced at the front of the room, droning about homework. Nate was too excited by the thought of gliding through the air again to pay attention. He doodled in his notebook, depicting a stick figure jumping from the half-court line to slam-dunk a basketball. Then he diagrammed how a stick person would leap back and forth between two skyscrapers to reach the top.
Finally, the bell rang. Pigeon went to the front of the room and presented a box of white fudge to Miss Doulin. She smiled and they chatted for a moment. Pigeon had offered a bunch of correct answers in class again today. The guy might not have much athletic ability, but he was certainly a world-class kiss up!
“I saw you giving sweets to your new girlfriend,” Nate teased as he and Pigeon walked out of the room.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Pigeon said.
“Not yet,” Nate said. “But she’s not married, she calls you by your nickname, and you’re giving her chocolates. Give it time.”
“Lay off,” Summer said, coming up from behind. “Can’t hurt for one of us to get on Miss Doulin’s good side.”
“It isn’t just getting on her good side,” Nate said. “I bet she writes about Pigeon in her diary.”
“You’re the one who keeps talking about it, Nate,” Summer pointed out. “Maybe you’re the one with the secret crush.”
Nate found himself without a comeback. Fortunately, he saw Trevor walking toward them and jogged over to greet him. “Ready to go for a moonwalk?” Nate asked.
Trevor gave him a high-five. “For sure. Let’s get over to Sweet Tooth.”
The four friends were hurrying toward the ramp at the rear of the school when something stung the back of Nate’s ear. Nate looked over his shoulder and found Denny leering at him. As usual, Eric and Kyle were following right behind. “What’s your problem?” Nate said, turning away from the older boy, trying to ignore him.
Denny flicked his ear again. Nate whirled, angry. He wanted to tear out a handful of that curly blond hair. “Come on,” Denny invited. “Start it.”
Despite Nate’s outrage, a look at Denny’s stocky frame warned him that although this kid was only a year ahead of him in school, he was two or three years ahead of him in growth. If Nate tried to fight him, he would be playing right into his hands. For a moment, Nate considered swinging his backpack like a club. Instead, he just said, “Go find a better hobby.”
“Actually,” Denny said innocently, “I came over because I need a favor. See, I’m supposed to do an oral report about retarded kids, so I was wondering if I could follow you guys around for a few hours. Do a little firsthand research.”
Eric and Kyle burst out laughing.
“Maybe you should interview your mom,” Nate said. “None of us ever flunked a grade.”
The laughing stopped. Nate relished the hurt expression that flashed across Denny’s features. For a moment, Denny seemed to be groping for something to say, then he shoved Nate hard, sending him sprawling onto the grass. Nate looked up at him, still feeling victorious.
Denny picked up Nate’s backpack and chucked it over the fence at the back of the school. The bag tumbled down the weedy hill. “Don’t cry, Dirt Face,” Denny pouted theatrically, strutting away with Eric and Kyle.
“You really are insane,” Summer said as Nate got to his feet.
“You burned him good, though,” Trevor said.
“I’m not going to let him push me around,” Nate said.
“Looks like he just did,” Summer said. “I’m telling you, don’t egg him on—it only makes it worse.”
As they descended the ramp at the back of the school, Trevor ran off the path and grabbed Nate’s bag, rejoining the others at the bottom of the slope, where they set off along Greenway. An old woman with a curly gray hairdo and checkered pants roamed her yard watering weed-choked flowers with a hose. She smiled and waved as they walked by, a beauty-queen wave, hand near her cheek.
They were nearing the intersection of Greenway and Main when a bleary-eyed man in a stained corduroy jacket came running toward them down one of the side streets. “Summer, Trevor, Pidge, Nate! Hold up! You have to listen to me.”
The kids turned to face the oncoming stranger. He had lean features, a stubbly beard, and wild hair. “You guys know him?” Nate asked.
“Not by name,” Summer said.
“I’ve noticed him roaming around town lately,” Trevor said. “I think he’s homeless.”
“Stay away from Sweet Tooth,” the stranger warned, stumbling slightly. “You can’t trust Mrs. White. She’s dangerous. You can’t trust anyone!” He was still rushing toward them.
“That’s close enough,” Nate commanded.
The man stopped short. “You have to let me explain. Nate, it’s me. I’m you! I’m from the future!”
“Right,” Nate said. “You don’t look anything like me. How do you know my name?”
“I have no time,” the stranger said. He plunged his fingers into his hair. “What was I thinking? I forgot that you weren’t going to believe me. I guess you guys don’t want to come with me so I can fill you in on some things?”
“Sorry, we’re not going anywhere with you,” Summer said.
“This guy harassing you?” the crossing guard called, approaching from down the street.
“I think he’s drunk,” Pigeon said.
The stranger threw up his hands like he was under arrest. “No problem here, sorry to bother you kids. Keep in mind, robbing graves isn’t right. I have things to do.”
The man sprinted away from them down Greenway, swerving unsteadily. “What a nutcase,” Trevor muttered.
“Out of his mind,” Nate agreed.
“What do you think he has against Mrs. White?” Summer wondered.
“He probably can’t afford her ice cream or something,” Trevor said.
The man turned down a side street and vanished from view. “What if she did something to him?” Pigeon asked. “What if she made him crazy?”
“No way,” Nate said. “She’s too nice.”
“She does make magic candy,” Pigeon reminded them. “She might not be safe.”
“We’ll be careful,” Summer said.
“Weird that he knew our names,” Trevor observed.
“And that he was in such a hurry,” Pigeon added. “Don’t homeless drunks usually loaf around?”
“He was probably on drugs,” Summer said. “Some drugs make you hyper.”
They reached the crosswalk. “You kids all right?” the balding crossing guard asked. “What did that fellow want?”
“We’re fine,” Summer said. “He was just nuts.”
“If he keeps troubling you, let me know, we’ll get the police involved.”
“Thanks,” Pigeon said.
The guard held up his sign and helped them across Main. When they reached the door to the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe, they found it
locked. A sign in the window proclaimed that the store was closed. As they were turning away, Mrs. White hurried to the door, unlocked it, and pulled it open. “Come in, quickly!”
The kids filed in. “You’re not closed?” Pigeon asked as he crossed the threshold.
“I temporarily closed the shop so we could chat uninterrupted,” Mrs. White explained. She led them to the back of the store. “I know Pigeon and Trevor delivered their fudge because their mothers came into the shop this morning. And Nate’s dad came by on his lunch break. I trust you delivered your fudge as well, Summer?”
“Yep. My parents are divorced. I live with my dad, and he has a pretty long commute. But he really liked the fudge. I’m sure he’ll be in.”
“Good enough for me,” Mrs. White said, producing a large bag of Moon Rocks. “These are yours. Along with a new assignment, if you’re interested.”
“Jackpot,” Trevor said, accepting the bag and hefting it.
Mrs. White led them into the back of the store.
“What assignment?” Nate inquired.
“You told me that you’re explorers,” Mrs. White said, leaning against a worktable. “I have a need specific to your talents. If you accept the mission, I will provide you with a variety of new candy to get the job done, with more as a reward upon completion.”
“What kind of candy?” Summer asked.
“First, I need to know whether you accept the mission,” Mrs. White countered. “Let me share some background. An ancestor of mine named Hanaver Mills used to live in Colson, back in the old days. He witnessed the Gold Rush. A rare hardbound copy of his memoirs is on display in the town museum alongside an old pocket watch he made. As a direct descendent, I have asked the museum to return my great-grandfather’s memoirs and pocket watch to me, but they deny my claim to them. So I want you kids to acquire them on my behalf.”
“You mean steal them?” Nate asked incredulously.
“You can’t steal something that rightfully belongs to you,” Mrs. White corrected. “Even so, I only intend to borrow the memorabilia. I want to read the original printing of Hanaver’s memoirs, and I want to have a replica made of his timepiece. Then I will return them to the museum.”
“Our club sometimes trespasses for fun, but we never take anything,” Summer said.
“Or harm anything,” Pigeon added.
“You needn’t accept my offer,” Mrs. White said. “I understand that the request may seem morally complex to you. If you are unwilling, I’m sure I can find another way to reclaim these lost heirlooms. It just isn’t right. Hanaver Mills means a lot to me. It was chiefly in his memory that I chose to set up my candy shop here in Colson.”
“What sort of candy will you give us to help us succeed?” Nate asked.
“Well, if you must know, the Moon Rocks will help,” Mrs. White said. “The museum has a security system on the ground floor, covering all the doors and windows on that level. Nothing sophisticated—the sort of system you could find in a middle-class home. But none of the second-story windows are wired. I’ll also give you some Melting Pot Mixers, to conceal your identities. Little balls of chocolate that temporarily alter your race. They’re fun, you never know what you’re going to end up looking like. You’ll also get some Shock Bits, in case of an emergency. They generate an electrical charge inside you that infuses your touch with a burst of energy capable of stunning an attacker.”
“Sweet!” Trevor exclaimed.
“And one or two other mission-specific treats,” Mrs. White concluded. “What do you say?”
“Can we have some time to think it over?” Summer asked.
“Sadly, no,” Mrs. White said. “I closed the shop so we could discuss this in peace. It’s now or never. For the record, if you ever decline an assignment, our arrangement for sharing magic candy permanently ends at that moment. I require helpers I can count on.”
“When do you want this to happen?” Nate asked.
“Late Friday night,” Mrs. White responded. “Technically, early Saturday morning. Should you elect to help me out, I have a few more details for you. I’ve already conducted all the appropriate research. The task should be almost effortless if you follow my instructions.”
“I’m not sure this is right,” Pigeon said skeptically. “Remember what the guy we saw said?”
“What guy did you see?” Mrs. White asked.
“Some drunk,” Trevor said. “He seemed to have something against you.”
“He told us to stay away from you,” Summer said. “He said you were dangerous.”
“What did this man look like?” Mrs. White asked.
“Skinny and dirty,” Trevor said. “I think he’s homeless. I’ve noticed him roaming around town the past few weeks.”
“He was a crackpot,” Nate said. “I’ll help you, Mrs. White.”
“Excellent, Nate,” she said, beaming at him. “This means so much to me. You other three, if any of you feel too uncomfortable, this is not an all-or-nothing proposal. Two of you can do it, or three of you. But any who refrain get no more magic candy. I’m sorry, but that is how I do business.”
“I’ll do it,” Summer said.
“Me too,” Trevor agreed.
All eyes turned to Pigeon. He looked unsure. “What if my mom finds out?” he asked.
“The white fudge will help with that,” Mrs. White promised. “You’ll sneak out after midnight. Since you’ll be using magic candy, she won’t check on you. You’ll be back a couple of hours later, and she will be none the wiser.”
Pigeon shuffled his feet. “Can the Shock Bits kill somebody?”
“In the quantity I recommend, a small mouthful, they will give just enough of a jolt to keep others from apprehending you. Nothing lethal, or even truly harmful. Furthermore, I doubt you’ll even need to use them.”
Pigeon looked at Summer, Nate, and Trevor. “I’m in,” he said at last.
“Fabulous,” Mrs. White said. “I would hate to break up the club. One moment.” She retrieved a long cardboard cylinder from one of the worktables, uncapped it, and removed a rolled-up sheet of paper. Flattening the paper on a table, she revealed the blueprints to the William P. Colson Museum.
“You really are prepared,” Summer said, glancing at her friends in surprise.
“Here are the upper-story windows,” Mrs. White said, indicating marks on the plans. “I recommend using one of these two front windows. As you can see, there is plenty of roof in front of them. Reaching the other windows will be more precarious.”
“How do we get through the window?” Trevor asked.
Mrs. White held up a small plastic bottle with clear fluid inside. “Squirt this solution on the glass. For a few hours, the glass will become intangible, effectively vanishing, only to reappear when the effect wears off. That way you’ll do no lasting damage to the facility. I detest vandalism. I got the formula from a magician who wanted to protected her prized collection of dishware when her grandchildren visited.”
Trevor accepted the container. “Does it work on people?”
Mrs. White shook her head. “Just glass and ceramics.”
“Too bad,” Nate lamented. “There’s a certain teacher who I wouldn’t mind vanishing for a few hours now and then.”
“Once inside,” Mrs. White continued, “you’ll be in one of two rooms, depending which window you enter. Both rooms lead to the same hall.” She indicated the areas she was discussing on the blueprints. “Sadly, three of the doors on the top floor are connected to the alarm system: the door that grants access from downstairs, and both doors to the room you need to enter.”
“Then how do we get in?” Nate asked.
“This big room is where you’ll find the memoirs and the watch,” Mrs. White said, pressing a finger against the center of the largest room on the blueprint. “Over one doorway is a narrow window, about a foot high, the same width as the door. Here’s where another of my prized candies comes in.” She held up a thin paper tube the size of a soda straw. �
�This is Proxy Dust.”
“Looks like a Pixie Stick,” Trevor said.
“You tear open one end and sprinkle a little of the powder onto your specially prepared Proxy Doll,” Mrs. White said, indicating a plastic doll seated on a nearby workbench. The doll was a ten-inch male surgeon dressed in scrubs, his nose and mouth hidden behind a pale green mask. “Then you swallow the rest. And presto! Suddenly, you’re seeing through the eyes of the doll, as if your mind were inside the doll’s head.”
