Leven Thumps and the Gateway to Foo Page 8

  “Remove your cloak,” Sabine demanded. He liked to see exactly what he was dealing with.

  Jamoon dropped his cloak to the floor. He was tall and strong, with a right arm and leg in top physical condition and cloaked in a smaller robe. The other half of him at the moment looked to be an astronaut.

  Sabine didn’t smile. To a rant a smile was the most insulting thing you could show them. They felt certain all smiles were aimed at their ever-changing second halves.

  “News?” Sabine asked.

  “You have our support,” Jamoon said solemnly. “We stand waiting in the shadows to flee Foo.”

  “Excellent.” Sabine twitched. “And what of the gateway?”

  Jamoon’s left side spoke out of turn. “Houston, we have a problem.” Jamoon then began to tremble . . . not out of fear, but due to the transformation he was suddenly undergoing. The astronaut part of him began to pucker and boil, then the image ran together and dripped slowly to the floor. Obviously little Bobby back in reality no longer wanted to be a spaceman. As the image dripped away it was filled in with that of a seven-foot-tall basketball player. Half of Jamoon instantly began to dribble a ball and sweat. It was easier for a rant to become half of something that was close to his same size. But since Jamoon’s right half was only 5'10'' and his left half was now seven feet tall, it looked particularly odd. The dribbling and the height were distracting, but Sabine, ever the evil diplomat, refrained from smiling.

  Jamoon ignored the gyrations of his left side and continued as if nothing was happening. “We have found no indication or clue as to the location. We are searching as fast as we can for the gateway, but we have so little to go on.”

  “Intensify your search,” Sabine insisted, ignoring Jamoon’s left half. “Your very happiness is dependent upon it.”

  “Pass it here, I’m open!” Jamoon’s new left side hollered.

  “I understand,” his stable half replied. “What of the whisps?”

  “I will take care of them,” Sabine said. “Soon they will no longer be a problem for us.”

  Jamoon bowed and Sabine waved him away. Jamoon slipped his cloak back on and ran quickly from the room as if driving down a basketball court and going in for a dunk.

  Chapter Ten

  A Marked Target

  With every mile Winter traveled away from her home, she began to feel more and more at peace with her decision to leave. It was as if she were doing exactly what she was destined to do. As she rode the bus toward Oklahoma, the image of a boy she didn’t know began playing in her mind. For some reason Winter had never experienced dreams while sleeping. She figured that was because of her awful life. She did occasionally have visions during the day. Her eyes would glaze over and she would see things. Lately, she had seen a lot of Leven Thumps. She had no idea who he was or what purpose he might have in her life, but she knew she needed to find him. Each time his face would flash into her mind, a voice within her head would whisper, “Don’t touch him.”

  The warning was so troubling and confusing, that the first time Winter heard it she had been unable to sleep the next night, but now as the images of Leven came more and more frequently, the familiar whisper seemed more a warning to be cautious than a threat. She found it perplexing that the very person she seemed to be pursuing was someone she should not touch.

  Winter arrived in Oklahoma early in the morning, unsure of just what to do next. Her wonder was answered by a poster on the wall of the bus station. It read: “Visit Burnt Culvert: Site of the State’s Worst Lightning Fire.” Winter thought two things: one, Burnt Culvert could use a new ad campaign, and two, that was where she needed to go. She was happy to learn that Burnt Culvert was only an hour away. She found a taxi and asked the driver to take her there.

  “Site of the state’s worst lightning fire,” the driver said, confirming what the sign had proclaimed.

  “Is it a big town?” Winter asked.

  “Depends on what you think is big,” he smiled. “It’s bigger than where I come from, but that’s not saying much.”

  “Do you know if it has a junior high school?” Winter asked.

  “It does,” he replied. “If I remember right, it’s the home of the Fighting Ashes.”

  “Can you take me to the school?” she asked.

  “Sure,” he smiled. “Are you starting there?” he asked, having no problem prying into her business.

  “No,” Winter replied. “I just need to pick something up.”

  The driver dropped the flag on the meter and pulled out.

  Winter knew what she was looking for was there in Burnt Culvert, but as they drove she heard the voice whisper again in her head, “Don’t touch him.” Still puzzled, she looked to see if someone else might be in the backseat with her.

  Winter was very much alone.

  ii

  The softball hit Leven squarely in the back of his head. The pain was immediate, and he could see stars and hear laughter. Leven was not a big fan of lunch break.

  “What’s a matter, Skunk?” Brick called out. “Can’t catch with the back of your head?”

  Leven turned and saw Brick laughing. Brick’s long skinny face was scrunched up, nearly pinching his little pea-sized eyes shut. His fat knees stuck out from under his shorts and were knocking together as he and Glen laughed it up. Brick had the personality of a pit bull—he picked on and chewed up anyone who got in his way or was a threat to his ego. And since he had the smarts of a week-old doughnut, almost anyone qualified as a threat to his intelligence. Brick was a large child who in reality should have been in a class two grades up, though his intellect best qualified him to attend classes two grades down.

  Leven pointed to the sky and said, “Lightning.”

  Both Brick and Glen immediately stopped laughing.

  “Ahh, forget about him,” Brick said, momentarily scared. “He’s not worth it.”

  Leven just stared at them, wondering why they took so much pleasure in picking on him. He had never said an unkind word to them or hurt them in any way, but from the moment he had started middle school, Brick and Glen had singled him out and made him the target of their animosity and hatred.

  Leven looked around the field. Students were everywhere—peers of all shapes and sizes, yet for some reason Leven was Brick’s favorite person to pick on. Leven wasn’t the heaviest, or the shortest, or the tallest, and his brown eyes were as average as his grades. Maybe it was the bright white streak in his hair that had drawn their attention. Something like that was hard to hide. He kept his hair a little longer in hopes of it helping, but that only made the streak more prominent. To most of his school he was “Skunk.” Leven got no credit for what he didn’t do: he didn’t pick his nose or laugh like a mule or cry when picked on. And he was always careful to wear his Wonder Wipes T-shirts inside out. None of that mattered; Leven stood out and probably always would. Imagine the attention he might have gotten if people knew he had Clover always clinging to him.

  Brick picked up the ball he had just thrown at the back of Leven’s head and turned—he and Glen laughing it up as they left.

  “They’re just a couple of bullies,” a voice from behind Leven said. “Not tough enough to fight their way out of a cobweb.”

  Leven turned to see who was speaking to him. It had to be someone with no knowledge of what Brick could do, to say something so bold. A girl with messy blonde hair and an angry expression on her face was staring back at him. She had her hands behind her back. Though Leven knew they had never met, he thought he recognized her. She gazed at him with her deep green eyes.

  “Excuse me?” Leven asked.

  “They’re bullies,” she sniffed, pulling back her wild hair.

  “You might want to keep your voice down,” Leven whispered. “Brick would be plenty happy to verify what you’re saying.” Leven looked closely at her. “Do I know you?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so. My name’s Winter.”

  “I’m Leven,” he replied, reaching casually to c
over his white streak with his hand.

  “Lev,” Winter said reflectively, shortening his name, like Clover often did. “That sounds right,” she added. “And don’t ask me how, but I think I already know you.”

  Leven stared at her, his mind trying to make sense of what she was saying. She was a different-looking girl. Her strong features would have made her easy to pick on at his school. He half hoped she had come to enroll so that he would drop to second in the pecking order. She had on faded jeans with flared bottoms and a thin blue shirt with a pocket in the front and long loose sleeves. She was either really cutting edge and wearing hip retro clothes, or she was poor and wearing clothes so outdated they were in style again. Her eyes stood out against her light-colored skin and long wild blonde hair—they were large and looked like wells of deep green water. She was about four inches shorter than Leven, but the shoes she was wearing made her look no more than three.

  “I think I know you, too,” Leven finally spoke.

  “Weird, isn’t it?” Winter responded, appearing relieved to know she wasn’t alone in her thoughts. “Us seeming to know each other and never having met, I mean.”

  “Do you go here?” he asked, nodding toward the school.

  “No,” she answered.

  Leven was captivated by Winter’s green eyes, and he gazed at them as he might have looked at a treasured object. As he studied her face, his head cleared and his brown eyes burned gold. Leven had tried many times since that day in the field to see the future again, but had never succeeded. Now all of a sudden it was working again. In his head he saw himself and Winter running. He blinked his eyes and shook his head, puzzled by what he had seen.

  “So you’re here because . . .” Leven let his question hang, hoping she would complete it for him.

  Winter laughed just a bit and shrugged her shoulders. “I think I’m looking for you,” she said shyly. “Is that odd?”

  Leven smiled. “It would have been a few weeks ago, but it’s no odder than some of the things that I’ve been through lately.”

  They were silent for a moment.

  Winter could hear the voice in her head whispering fiercely. “Don’t touch him.” She looked at Leven, noticing his straight nose and strong brown eyes. She could see a cautious determination buried deep beneath his somewhat insecure exterior. He seemed to be fighting himself to stand tall and slouch at the same time. His shirt was on inside out, and he had an unusual streak of white hair on the right side of his head. “Don’t touch him,” the voice warned again.

  Normally Winter would have had no problem obeying the warning, but for some odd reason she was drawn toward Leven, as though he were a piece of home or an emotional oasis.

  “So what do we do now?” Leven asked, the two of them continuing to look at each other.

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “I can’t tell you anything except that I knew something was coming,” Leven said. “I think that something is you.”

  “And I think I’ve been looking for you.”

  Leven laughed. “Disappointed?” There was a brief awkward silence.

  “I don’t think so,” Winter said, dipping her head shyly and keeping her hands behind her.

  “I guess—” Leven started to say, but he was interrupted.

  “Hey, who’s the broom with hair?” Brick sneered, breaking into their conversation. He and Glen had grown bored of playing ball, and in their boredom they had spotted their favorite victim, Leven, talking to a skinny girl with wild hair. It was too good to pass up.

  “New girlfriend, Skunk?”

  “Knock it off,” Leven warned.

  “Oh, Skunky’s unhappy,” Brick teased. “Maybe we should help cheer him up.”

  Leven looked around for someone to help—no one was there. No teacher was ever there. The schoolyard was full of kids running and screaming, but as usual, no teacher was on duty. There never was. A big kid with a bat was chasing after a smaller boy. Two girls were playing in the mud and getting dirtier than any student should ever be allowed to get, and the entire seventh grade was taking turns drawing chalk outlines around the bodies of students who were posing as dead and sprawled out on the asphalt.

  Sterling Thoughts Middle School was not exactly the best school to send your child to. It was a forgotten school where teachers with no backbone or gumption were sent to teach. Its principal was a noodle of a man who hid out in his office, making occasional announcements over the speaker system and hoping the students would leave his car alone.

  Leven’s eighth grade teacher was a tall woman who had experienced a nervous breakdown at a different school, so she had been transferred here to bide her time until retirement. All she did was sit behind her desk, begging the students to stop hitting each other and pleading with them to please open their books. Discipline was a rarity and, unlike so many of the other kids, Leven couldn’t stand it. He craved order in his life and yet he couldn’t find it at any point. Now here were Brick and Glen, threatening to rough him up once again, and there was not a single adult around to intervene.

  Leven thought of lightning—nothing. He tried to kick his gift into gear and still nothing.

  “No one’s going to help you, loser,” Brick sneered. “The sky’s clear.”

  Leven looked to the sky for a brief second, and in that instant Brick swung and punched him squarely in the gut. The air whooshed out of Leven, and he bent forward, holding his stomach. Brick grinned.

  “Leave him alone,” Winter snapped, stepping up next to Leven, her arms by her sides. “Are you all right?” she asked, looking at Leven over her shoulder.

  “I’m fine,” he wheezed, embarrassed, his eyes now on Brick.

  “That didn’t look like a very strong hit,” Winter said firmly, making fun of Brick’s punch. She stepped closer to the bully.

  Glen “Ohhhhed” seriously.

  Only one person had ever stood up to Brick, and that person was Nervous Todd. He had been just plain Todd previously, but ever since the lesson Brick had taught him he had been nicknamed “Nervous.” He spent his days sneaking around, hiding in corners, and trying to make himself inconspicuous, for fear of saying or doing anything to ever upset Brick again.

  “What did you say, you smelly piece of trash?” Brick asked, stepping closer to Winter and smacking his right fist into his left palm. A small crowd gathered, hoping to witness something exciting.

  Winter leaned close to Leven. “Want to see something cool I can do?” she whispered.

  Leven looked at her, wondering if she was crazy. Before he could think further of it, Brick lunged out to attack. He got about a foot from Winter before he was stopped in his tracks by his feet turning to solid ice.

  “What the—?” he yelled, looking down at his feet. The ice rose slowly, like quicksand in reverse, climbing up his legs and toward his waist. He reached down and tried to pull his legs up but they wouldn’t budge. Glen stepped back, eyes wide and mouth hanging open in wonder.

  “Help me!” Brick ordered. “Give me your hand!”

  Glen inched farther away. Winter looked at Glen and blinked. Glen was suddenly a solid ice sculpture.

  Winter turned back to Brick. He was staring at Glen and whimpering. The ice inched up his legs and frosted his fat bottom. He pounded at it, screaming, trying to break it apart. Leven looked on in both astonishment and fear.

  “Make it stop!” Brick yelled at Leven. “Help me!”

  Leven moved toward Brick as if to help, but Winter motioned him back. The ice continued to migrate north, covering Brick’s chest and neck and inching toward his head. The students who had gathered to see a fight were in shock over what was happening and from seeing Brick cry.

  “Help me,” he sobbed. His arms were now frozen stiff. “Help!” he cried. “H—” the ice covered his mouth, silencing him as it crept over his nose, past his panicked eyes, and then capped him off completely.

  Everyone stood there with open mouths, in disbelief. Leven gaped at Winter.r />
  “Did you do that?” he whispered.

  “I can’t stand bullies,” she said.

  “Will he be okay?”

  “Sure,” Winter said, seemingly not overly concerned.

  Some of the students had run back into the school and retrieved a few teachers to come and see what had happened. You couldn’t retrieve just one or two teachers at Sterling Thoughts Middle School, you had to get five or six before they would have the nerve to come out and investigate. A handful of them crept cautiously out of the building, looking scared. A few students pointed in the direction of Leven and Winter.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Leven said nervously, his brown eyes alive.

  “I was just waiting for you to say the word,” Winter said, smiling. It is amazing, the amount of confidence a person can have when blessed with the ability to freeze things.

  Leven reached to grab Winter’s arm and guide her back around the school.

  “Don’t touch me!” she said sharply, drawing back.

  Leven pulled his hand away, looking confused.

  “Just don’t touch me,” Winter said again, this time a bit softer.

  The teachers running toward them hollered and ordered them not to move. Leven and Winter did just the opposite, sprinting away, running around behind some portable classrooms, skirting the pond, and topping the small hill where students often met to fight with one another at the end of the school day.

  “Where are we going now?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell you when I know,” he yelled back.

  Winter smiled, happy to finally have someone besides her calling the shots. They turned a street corner and worked their way back behind a record shop and a shoe store.

  “How did you do that?” Leven asked. He was out of breath and stopped to catch it.

  “I don’t know how,” Winter answered, breathing hard and brushing her stringy hair back out of her face.