by Tony Abbott
Eric got up. “Maybe Julie had a dream —”
Suddenly, Neal clamped his hand on Eric’s mouth. “Shh! I hear footsteps.”
Reaching under his pillow, Neal pulled out a small square of blue cloth. He gave it a snap. Floop! The cloth unfolded itself into an object the size of an umbrella.
It was his genie turban.
Neal crept across the floor and tilted his head, as if the turban were helping him hear. “It’s too early for Mom to be awake…. It must be …”
Eric froze. “Holy cow … what?”
“A thief!” said Neal. “It is a thief! My genie ears tell me. He’s stealing something round … flat …”
“What could it be?” asked Eric.
“MY PANCAKES!” Neal shouted.
Eric blinked. “What?”
“Dad is stealing my pancakes!” cried Neal. He stuffed his turban into his pajama top and tore down the stairs, screaming, “Stop, thief!”
Eric stared at the open door for a second, then sighed. “Some adventure. Some mystery. Meatballs. Pancakes.”
He gazed through the window at the apple trees, which were now turning gold in the morning sunlight.
“So who would come only to me and tell me stuff?” he asked himself. “And was there more they wanted to tell me?”
A moment later, Neal was back in the room, licking an empty plate, his turban low on his brow. “I was totally right. Dad ate all my pancakes. Luckily, I used my genie powers, went into the past, and saved them. I saved yours, too.”
Eric looked at the empty plate. “You saved mine? Then where are they?”
Neal licked syrup from his fingers. “I got hungry on the way upstairs.”
“Neal —!” cried Eric.
“But guess what,” his friend said. “When I let Snorky out, I found this on the back step.”
He lifted his turban, and the magic soccer ball dropped into his hand.
“What?” said Eric. “That ball was locked in my basement.” He took the ball and examined it closely. “But there’s no message —”
All of a sudden — whammm! — the soccer ball flew out of his hands and smacked him hard on the forehead.
“Whoa, direct hit!” Neal said, laughing. Then he blinked. “Eric, that ball totally put letters on your head. They spell … anso …”
Eric stared at him. “The ball always spells things backward. So anso means … osna. But letters printed on my head are probably backward anyway so it really is anso.”
“What’s anso?” asked Neal.
Eric shrugged. “I never heard of anso —”
Just then, the ball smacked Neal in the head. Twice.
Eric nearly fell down laughing.
“Double direct hit!” he said. “The letters on your head say … asis. So that’s … asis … anso. It still doesn’t make sense —”
Suddenly — boing! — the ball flew like a rocket out the open window.
Neal jumped. “Holy cow. I bet it’s going to hit Julie’s head now! I have to see this!”
The boys dressed in seconds, then ran out of Neal’s house and across his backyard to the corner. Pausing to make sure no traffic was coming, they dashed across the street to Julie’s house and rang the bell.
Julie opened the door, holding her head. “You guys will never believe —”
“Kh,” said Neal.
Julie frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Your forehead says kh!” said Neal.
“The ball hit us, too,” said Eric. “We think there’s a message spelled out on our foreheads. Come to my house, quick!”
Five minutes later, the three friends were crowded in Eric’s bathroom, staring at their faces in the mirror.
Standing first in one order, then another, and turning the letters around once more, they finally deciphered the ball’s message.
Khan’s oasis
“Khan’s oasis in Lumpland!” said Julie. “We’re being called to Droon!”
“To rescue Keeah’s parents,” said Neal.
And learn more about my vision! thought Eric.
The three friends rushed down the basement stairs, cleared some boxes away from a door under the stairs, and entered a tiny closet.
The moment they switched off the ceiling light — whoosh! — the cement floor vanished, and in its place appeared the top step of a long, curving staircase. The staircase to Droon.
Julie leaned down, trying to see beyond the clouds below. “The air is sweet. I’d know that smell anywhere. It’s the desert.”
One by one, the three friends ran down the stairs. Passing through the clouds, they saw vast seas of sand sparkling in the pink air of dawn. Near the bottom of the stairs stood a ring of tall dunes surrounded by palm trees.
“I do like a door-to-door staircase,” said Neal. “This is Khan’s oasis, all right. Keeah must be in there. Let’s hike over the dunes.”
But no sooner had they begun to climb the sand than — whoomf! — Neal fell to the ground as if his legs were pulled out from under him. “Hey!”
Not a second later, Julie was facedown in the sand. “Who did that —?”
Before he could run, Eric, too, fell to the ground in a tangled heap. “Stop —!”
Over and over the three friends tumbled, all the way down to the bottom of the dune!
Text copyright © 2007 by Tony Abbott.
Illustrations copyright © 2007 by Scholastic Inc.
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc.
SCHOLASTIC, LITTLE APPLE, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
First printing, February 2007
Cover art by Tim Jessell
e-ISBN 978-0-545-41842-3
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