IMPERFECT ORB

by K. Lorel Reid

  The redheaded boy, only fourteen years of age, suddenly made the turn onto his street and began to walk in the direction of his house, his stride purposeful but otherwise unremarkable.

  “Mike?”

  “You’d better get going David. School will be starting soon… and you need a shower.” Mike had been going for an overly light tone but his voice just came out flat, as one’s voice often does when trying to hide a barely contained rage bubbling beneath the surface. “I’ll see you after class.”

  “Yah, I’ll come call on you,” David agreed and watched, awed, as his friend’s steps quickened. After Mike had gone about ten feet he stopped to hitch the bags of milk higher onto his chest then continued walking again.

  CHAPTER SIX

  It had been five of the longest hours of Mike’s life: from the time that he had returned from the corner store to the time that he was able to head out to the Drop. Each minute that passed felt like sixty, dragging out at an unrelentingly slow pace. And during all that time Mike was tormented by the questions swirling around in his mind. Questions that, despite his long morning with nothing to do but think, remained unanswered. In truth he simply could not focus on any one thought long enough to reason out any kind of solution.

  Having his mother in the house with him did not help. For her part, Mrs. Gregory sat, perched, like a bird of prey: silent, observant, swooping in when Mike was off his guard and she was least expected. She insisted on pestering Mike with questions of her own. Her queries Mike flat out refused to acknowledge: Who was that girl? Why were you gone so long? Where did you go? It was not that Mike could not offer up plausible explanations, it was just that he couldn’t be bothered. He had questions of his own: Most urgently he wanted to know how his ability could just come back the way it had. Of course there was no real proof that it had been gone in the first place, but he had hoped….

  David knew. Mike could tell David knew. There had been a time when Mike had refused to believe this; when he had convinced himself that he couldn’t be sure; but now he could deny the obvious no longer. It was in the way David had asked him about nuclear energy. It was screaming from the smirk on David’s face. It was in the way David had blinked…. Or had he winked at Michael? Mike suspected that was it, and after a moment he believed it truly was. David had winked at him. A wink that said, “It’s okay, your secret is safe with me.” But what exactly did David think he knew? Was David even capable of understanding? Mike was unconvinced. Mike himself didn’t really understand… not completely.

  Mike’s problem was that he talked too much for his own good. When David had asked if he knew anything about nuclear energy he should have said no and helped him and Samantha rummage through the old books in the library. That would have been the safest course of action because once Mike started talking… it was just too hard to stop.

  “Wonder how long I’d been going for?” Mike spoke aloud now, without thinking, then instantly began praying that his mother wasn’t lurking somewhere close to overhear.

  It must have been a long time. When he had been startled back — mentally — to the library, that Samantha girl had looked really, really, bored. More so even than when he had first noticed her leaning against the railing of his porch and more than her tired expression had conveyed on the walk over to the library. It was obvious that her natural countenance inclined toward apathetic but still, Mike was embarrassed to admit that the only thing that had broken through the facade of boredom had been the look of pure relief when his dissertation on nuclear energy had come to an end.

  The thing that disappointed Mike the most was that he hadn’t even been consciously aware of what he had been saying. Instead his mind had wondered, taking him into the Drop. He had known then that the magic was nicely hidden in the caves where it roamed freely, travelling through the dark, spinning in a hundred directions seemingly at once. As it spun through the air the crystal threw off an array of colours — the ones in Mike’s mind — that were always different but always so alive. When it was in the light, or rather the perpetual gloom of the clearing, an assortment of blues, purples and pinks seemed to glimmer off of it. That evening the colours were more subdued: grateful for the shelter but wishing the outbursts of rain would end once and for all. Mike had been praying for the same.

  By the time the trio had left the library Mike had decided that as soon as he was sure the rains were over he would go to the caves and set the magic free. Not long thereafter the opportunity had presented itself for Mike to sneak away from the party, travel across the dirt path and into the Drop. He had gone sliding again and suspected there may have been broken bones if he hadn’t landed on a patch of oversized leaves. He wondered what kind of plant it was that had broken his fall. The leaves of the plant were gigantic, reminding Mike of something prehistoric and grew in clusters at random points around the circumference of the clearing. A few of the giant leaves were punctured with holes by hungry, summer insects. That was normal and not what struck Mike as peculiar. What Mike thought strange was the way he couldn’t figure out exactly what kind of plant he had landed on. Usually all he had to do was formulate the question and the answer would come bubbling to the surface.

  When Mike had been in and around the Drop that night — disappearing into its heart and only staying for a minute, afraid he’d be missed, or worse, someone would catch him sneaking in or out — he had noticed, and not for the first time of late, an unidentifiable stench mingled with the otherwise fresh air. Mike perceived this clearly although he highly suspected no one else did. That was probably the greatest reason he hadn’t mentioned the smell to David. His friend wouldn’t have understood what he was talking about. The smell was well obscured by the array of odours constantly generated by camp fires and barbecued food. Not to mention the clean scent of woods and wilderness; but those could only truly be appreciated in autumn when the campers were gone.

  Though he first noticed the odd smell only a few weeks ago Mike suspected it had been there longer. Of course back then it had been something minute, all but completely overwhelmed by the blatant odours supplied by campers and forest. So if indeed it had been there for as long as Mike thought, it had surely ripened. That night when Mike had snuck away from the party he had stood in the middle of the dirt path, unmoving for a full minute, in order to rate the stench on a scale of one to ten. Planting it somewhere at about two, he had promised himself he’d check back and re-evaluate the smell again when next he returned to the Drop. (Not exactly scientific but the best he could come up with in a pinch.)

  Now as he glanced at the clock Mike knew he would be returning to the Drop soon. His mother had to be at the daycare, where she worked part-time, by one thirty. Normally she left the house at one o’clock and Michael had very little reason not to believe things would go any differently today. Once she left Mike would head straight for the Drop. Unfortunately, that would also be about the same time summer school would be letting out and there was the possibility that David would head directly for Mike’s house. Most likely, though, David would go to his own home first. In that case, he wouldn’t be anywhere near the Drop. He would almost definitely cut through the forest and when he did he would exit long after he’d passed the dirt path running alongside the Drop.

  Mike smiled and glanced at the clock again. The digital numbers read 12:58, only minutes more before his mother had to leave and when she did, he’d go into the Drop and make sure the magic was okay. If men were going down there, as David had suspected, then they’d see the clearing. Mike didn’t think they’d see the magic. He wasn’t even sure if he really saw it. Most likely it was something vividly pictured in the eye of his mind like the colours radiated by the polyhedron. The men would be long gone by the time Mike got there. If not, then something was indeed terribly wrong.

  Mike let out a tired sigh. He did not want to think about the many, subtle things that were wrong. He just wanted to slip past the trees unseen and sit in the centre of the clearing, undisturbed
. He knew the magic would be dancing around him and a serene feeling would settle in his chest, as it always did. Perhaps even the nest of hornets that were his thoughts would settle down long enough for him to turn his attention to the enormous leaves and figure out exactly what kind of plant they were. The only kink in his plan was the fact that he couldn’t hide out in the Drop for long. David would be at his house soon and Mike wanted to be home when he arrived. He didn’t want to have to answer any more questions about where he had been.

  “Mikey,” his mother called in her whining voice.

  “Yeah, Ma?”

  “I’m leaving now. Remember to take the meat out of the freezer around four.”

  “Sure, Ma.”

  “Have any plans for tonight?” she asked, trying to sound casual, searching through her purse.

  “No,” Mike lied unconsciously.

  Today his mother wore a light purple sundress that reminded Mike of one of the colours that glimmered off the dodecahedron when it was out of the caves. He supposed his eyes lingered too long for she looked down in alarm and asked what was wrong.

  “Nothing! Nothing’s wrong,” he abruptly answered, guiltily.

  Mrs. Gregory left then, glancing more than once in the hall mirror as she went.

  Mike waited exactly ten minutes before he shut off the television, slid off the couch and snuck out the door. Before going he checked his pocket to make sure he had his lighter. Finally, out in the July heat Mike turned his face away from the sun and unconsciously began to whistle. This was the way it always was when he ventured into the Drop. Down there he didn’t have to explain himself to anyone and he could be exactly who he was. In the Drop he was not only needed, he was appreciated. The crystal polyhedron liked him, Mike could tell by the colours it threw off when he appeared and by the way it came spinning out of the darkness whenever he stepped foot in the caves. The polyhedron didn’t always hide in the caves, however. Much to his surprise, upon coming into the clearing not too long ago Michael had seen a blur reflecting sunlight like a mirror. It was his polyhedron, which was something he discovered after nearly being blinded.

  That day, not long ago, the polyhedron had been bobbing at eye-level through the air. It seemed to travel every inch of the clearing and every once in a while it would stop, almost inquisitively, to hover above one of the plants or wild-growing flowers. With his hands clasped behind his head Mike had rested against a moss-covered rock. Long, scrawny legs stretched out in front of him as he did nothing but watch the irregular shape. Looking back on everything now he thought that to be the first day he had noticed the pungent smell and currently, as he turned onto the dirt road running alongside the Drop, Mike brought the smell up two more notches on his ten-point scale.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Two men had gone down into the Drop. After securing a rope to one of the trees at the top of the cliff Roy lead Steven down into the thicket. Roy had only descended a few feet before his notion about the three kids being trapped at the bottom changed. He had seen the canopy of leaves overhead but he had’t guessed the forest — and that’s exactly what it was — to be as thick as was now apparent. Halfway down, trying to maneuver the climbing rope in a logical manner amongst the dense brush, he had to admit aloud that even if the kids had fallen over, it would have taken a great feat of momentum not to have at least one of the tree trunks halt their fall.

  “So do we turn back?” Steven, a light haired, bulky man, asked.

  Roy thought a while then decided they’d might as well keep going with the original plan. The three missing teens could be anywhere. They’d might as well give the Drop a thorough once-over so that it could be crossed off their list.

  Each of the young people had been reported missing to the Park Ranger’s Office throughout the course of the previous night. Although none of the three were related in any way, Roy was willing to bet that wherever they were, they were there together. Although new to Ceedon’s Valley, he had been doing this type of work for a long time. His instincts were good and he knew how these things usually played out. He was confident that all three would be found and when they were, he’d give each and every one a good talking to; though he’d probably have to get in line for that. There was a hysterical mother who kept phoning the Park Office every thirty minutes, wanting to know if her kid had yet been located. He suspected once the hugs and kisses were over stern words and due punishment would follow. Roy had left a message at his office to tell the lady that she’d know as soon as they found her boy. He hoped it would be before the day’s end but just in case there were others back at the office doing the preliminary work required to get a full scale search party on the ground by first light tomorrow.

  When the two men reached the flattest part of the Drop they saw that it would be no easy task to roam the forest floor down there. The trees were so close together that Steve moved worried eyes from one place to another, wondering between which two tree trunks he’d get stuck.

  “Stay here,” Roy said, reading his face clearly, “I’ll holler if I need you.”

  Steve nodded, not daring to disobey. He watched glumly as Roy moved off, keeping hold of one end of the climbing rope the two had used to let themselves down into the Drop, lest he be unable to find his way back.

  The two colleagues would have only been down in the thick growth of trees for half the time they actually were if Roy hadn’t somehow succeeded in entangling the rope amongst the many tree trunks. When their backs were aching and their feet were hurting the two decided that they couldn’t waste any more time with the rope and would have to leave the tangled rope behind. With that decided, they climbed back up the steep hill, untied the rope from the top and threw the loose end back over the edge to be lost amongst the trees.

  “Just so no one sees it and decides to go exploring,” Roy explained once he’d hefted the end of the rope over the side of the cliff. While he spoke he stroked his moustache, as was his habit whenever he was trying to think.

  After finishing up at the Drop the two men met up with another pair who had been combing the forested areas surrounding the campsites. The four decided it was time to check back in at the old log cabin they called an office. Having thus far come up with no leads, it was time to move on to phase two.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  David had, and quite easily, managed to beat Samantha to the isle seat. Classes began at eight-thirty but for some reason she hadn’t walked in until ten o’clock, well composed and well dressed as usual. She wasn’t wearing her sunglasses but she was wearing one of her excruciatingly tight skirts and a light weight, loose fitting blazer that threatened to rival the skirt in length. The first thing Samantha did after walking into the classroom was to silently hand Mr. Peters a light green slip of paper. By name it was known as a Late Slip, something most students didn’t want to receive too many of in summer school where apparently every second counted and accumulation of too many late slips alone was cause enough for failure. Her second action consisted of looking towards both David and the open window with obvious distaste. The wind blowing that morning had turned light and refreshing after the rain but the chances of Samantha going the next three hours without complaining were slim. About that David was, of course, right and he was almost relieved when the stout Mr. Peters started handing out thin booklets of lined paper.

  Surprise quiz. It was a ritual practised almost every day at summer school, interrupted only by quizzes and tests of the the non-surprise variety or, rarely, the necessity to spend more time on a subject. It would almost certainly be on last night’s homework but would likely also include some of the material covered that morning as well. One would think grade eleven Science would be easier the second time around but the syllabus was being covered twice as fast and David was starting to get a sinking feeling, way down in the pit of his gut, that he would be given the opportunity to retake grade eleven science yet again in the fall.

  The handing out of test books had been just the thing t
o shut Samantha up. She was — when it counted — almost intolerably polite. This probably stemmed from her belief that “images are everything,” and, as she had pointed out on a separate occasion, “Tests are very important.” When David had heard her pontificate on the latter he had toyed with the idea, for just a moment, of asking her why, if tests were so important, she rarely wrote them. Looking back now he thought himself fortunate that that moment had passed. He had no doubt avoided pushing her into one of her berating tirades against him, the school, Ceedon’s Valley and her life in general.

  Even though everything else summer school seemed to be a disaster — David had already skipped two of the five questions on his quiz — the major project was beginning to shape up nicely. If he could talk Samantha into going to the library tomorrow, they could put together some sort of rough draft and start working on the final presentation board. The class had a little over one week before the assignment was due. From glancing at the sheet of paper Samantha was concentrating on, David could tell that she had some real talent. The doodles that covered the page were nicely done. When the teacher called three more minutes Samantha was just completing a sketch of a tree — presumably one that she saw outside the window. She hadn’t even glanced up at the test questions on the chalkboard. To David that didn’t really matter. He figured even if she failed this quiz — and because her paper was filled with drawings he knew she would — if gone about the right way, she could be talked into adding a little extra to their assignment. The way David figured it, a few well-drawn diagrams and a half-decent cover page would do them a lot of good.