“Why do you have all this stuff anyway?”
“I’m the editor of the paper,” he mumbled. “It’s . . . research.”
“Right,” I said. “I heard about the editor thing. Congratulations. What are you researching?”
His eyes shifted around. “Nothing.”
“No, what?”
He looked at his locker door. “Actually, I’ve been checking over police and construction reports, trying to prove you were responsible for the vandalism that brought the gym down.”
I shook my head. “Great. That’s just . . . terrific, really. Thank you so much.”
Finally, All-den got himself enough together to look me in the eye. It was weird. His eyes, I mean. They were this bright green. Then he said the magic words: “Near as I can tell so far, you had nothing to do with it.”
My eyes lit up. “Really?” I asked.
All-den nodded slowly. “The construction company was using the original school blueprints, which, it turns out, have a design flaw that caused the gym to collapse during the storm in the first place and . . . probably caused the second collapse, too.”
“Great! That’s just . . . terrific! Really! Thank you so much!” I said. “Going to write an article on it?”
“I suppose I should. Yes.”
I could’ve hugged the guy. “All-den, you are one okay dude!”
“Please, call me Moore.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like the way you say All-den.”
“Fine, Moore. Everyone’s going to know. Funny, it’s just like . . .”
“What?”
“Well, it’s like what I asked for in my Crave.”
I couldn’t believe I actually said that out loud. Neither could All-den, or Moore, or whoever he was.
He tsked loudly. “Freaking Vanuatu.”
“I am not a freaking . . . what?”
“Vanuatu. Mondo Cane.”
“I don’t speak Italian.”
“It’s not Italian. It’s from a movie.”
“What’s it mean?”
“Look it up.”
I was about to explain how totally unlikely that was when a shrieking Vicky rushed up.
“Did you hear? Did you hear?” She was so loud, everyone in the hall turned to stare.
“What?”
“It worked!” she shouted. “It worked! Screech Neck High just got a grant for, like, half a million dollars! They’re going to rebuild the gym!”
I broke out in a huge grin.
“Really?”
“Really!”
“Ha!” I said. I turned to All-den—I mean Moore—and said, “Ha!”
He shook his head. I turned back to Vicky and we just stood there, wordless, grinning, shaking with excitement.
It worked!
Out of nowhere, her body was up against mine, and not like a brother and sister. This time our lips pressed together. I think she may have meant to just hug me but was so excited, she forgot where to stop.
Me? I pushed forward and opened my mouth a little. Maybe it was just out of old habit, but she, as they say, reciprocated.
And man, no matter what All-den Moore had to say about the Vana-whatsis, did I ever love The Rule of Won just then.
6
• I would still like the greatest gaming system in the world, the Xbox. A 733 MHz Intel main processor and 233 MHz graphics processor from nVidia create photorealistic graphics in real time. A huge hard drive stores saved games and characters, and a built-in Ethernet port enables super-fast multiplayer online gaming over a broadband Internet connection. —Landon
• Freaky about the funding. Some other stuff happened this week, too, not ten million dollars, which I was just kidding about, but I was thinking a few days ago how much I loved my mother’s apple crisp and how she never makes it anymore, and out of nowhere we had some after dinner. I’m starting to think this is pretty cool. There’s stuff I want for myself, too, but I’m not sure where to start, so this time, I think I’m just going to sit back and see what happens next. —Dylan
• Our lame-ass basketball team sucks. Yeah, we don’t have our own gym to practice in, but we haven’t won a game in ages. We’re the laughingstock of the state, a joke to the world and ourselves. So what say we picture the Basket Cases kicking some serious ass for a change? —Mike
• Forget the spider strength. I’ll get real. How about the school uses some of that money for a new swimming pool? —Jacob
• I’d like my grandfather’s auto repair shop to start making more money so we can start to pay off our credit card debt. He’s a smart, hardworking guy, the best in town with a diesel engine, but the customers don’t show up anymore. He says it’s the economy, but I’m thinking it feels more like bad luck. —Caleb
• Oh, algebra! Once you were the grim steel lock on the fast iron door of my dreams, but I will open you! Once you were the hairy wild beast, all red teeth and yellow eyes, that threatened to shred my poor soul, but I will tame you! Once you were forever beyond my reach, as far as the stars, but I will grasp you! I will ace this freaking class! I will! I will! I will! —Erica
• Of course I still want to win the election, but it almost seems selfish to think of that now. We have a real chance to change things around here. We’ve proved it! We have the power! I hope everyone, in the Crave and the school, starts to take part in our student government so we can all work together and make this place as great as I know it can be! —Vicky
• I knew it! I knew it! I knew it! Of COURSE the book works! I wrote to Jasper Trelawney the minute I found out about the grant, and he posted the message at his Web site! It’s one of about a trillion, and he hasn’t written back yet, but I know he will, because it’s what I really want! —Grace
• I suggested the money for the school, and I was very excited when we got it, but now it feels like there’s something creepy about the whole thing. I mean, I guess it could just be a coincidence, but if it isn’t, I’m a little worried what might happen if we ask for the wrong things. Maybe I’m just not ready to have whatever I want, or maybe I don’t think I deserve it, or whatever, but I think I’m just going to sit this round out and let someone else come up with something worthy to wish for. —Dana
• Whoa! We got our funding AND my parents caved and decided to let me stay home alone while they’re out of town! I’m going to throw a little get-together, nothing big. Vicky, maybe we can celebrate your election? I know it’s going to happen! My wish? One freaking fantastic vacation! —Jane
• This is my first time. I’m not exactly shy, but no matter how much time I spend dressing up or trying to talk to people, I never seem to be as popular as some of the other girls. Just for once, I’d like it to be me everyone says hello to. —Olivia
• I’m glad there’s finally a place in this school where we can talk about spiritual issues with each other. I know how hard it can be, especially when a lot of the other kids think it’s not cool to believe in something. The three things I want for myself are the courage to change the things I can, the patience to accept the things I can’t change, and the wisdom to know the difference. —Will
• I don’t know if this is the sort of thing you’re supposed to ask for, but there’s this hot girl in my astronomy class I just can’t stop thinking about. It’s not love or anything. More of a magnificent obsession. I’d kill for a chance with her, so, yeah, I’m happy to chant or whatever. —Jeff
• I managed to find my slate tank top on eBay. No real magic, but just the same, thanks. What I’m feeling like now are some shoes to match. —Beth
• After I found out about the money, I pulled myself together, broke those sacred clique lines, and talked to that guy. I pretended I could hear what was playing on his earbuds and told him I liked it. He actually shared an earbud with me, and we’re meeting tomorrow in study hall. What I want is for this to keep going the way it’s going! —Kathleen
• I would love for my mother to get a freaking raise, so she
can take some time off from work and be home with Angie, my little sister. I have to be home all the time and have, like, no social life. Mom’s up for review next week, so, please? —Hailey
• Last year my father’s store was robbed. He had a shotgun shoved in his face. It really scared the crap out of me and I’m still on anti-anxiety meds. I used to feel okay at school, but lately I’ve been having nightmares about this creepy guy I see in the lunchroom coming into class and shooting everyone. I try to run, but it’s like my feet are stuck in molasses. For all I know, he’s an okay guy, but I want the dreams to stop. —Lauren
• Despite all my personal imanifesting, Nicole’s iPhone has not broken yet. Someone on the revenge.net message board told me maybe I was feeling conflicted about this, like maybe I didn’t want to hurt Nicole, but that’s ridiculous. Another person said maybe I should be more specific, and that made sense. So maybe one of those metal detectors could go on the fluke as she passed through it, creating a big emf blast that would wipe the iPhone clean? —Sophia
7
Happiness is one of those things you can spend days trying to describe, weeks wishing for, years trying to find, but when it finally washes over you in one big fat wave, you still have no idea what it is. You just grab on, ride the feeling, and hope to hell it lasts, even though you know deep down things couldn’t possibly be this good forever.
In the dizzy days that followed I wore my button proudly, posted my Crave without fear, waved to fellow Cravers in the halls, and pitied any who led a lesser life. And oh, yeah, though Vicky still pulled me into a corner away from everyone whenever we met, now it was for swapping spit.
A little spork, a little chanting, and the world lay at my feet. I daily thanked the ancient Greeks, the gods of Slackerdom, and yes, The Rule of Won.
Because, I mean, who wouldn’t believe after that?
It was Wednesday morning, the day of our first Crave since the announcement. I’d woken up two hours early, all jazzed, so I finished up some homework, then, figuring I’d crash in school if I didn’t get some sleep, decided to snooze on our crappy couch until it was time to leave for the bus. I was feeling great despite the broken spring poking my back, thinking of Vicky’s lips against mine, about to slip off, when . . . wham!
Something hit me on the side of the head.
“What?”
I sprang up and looked around. Joey was next to me, a rolled-up newspaper in his gnarled hands.
“What are you smiling about?” he croaked.
“I’m happy! I’m smiling! What, it’s against the law?”
He shook the paper at me like it was a loaded gun. “Since when do you care about the law? Remember when the cops came for you? You’re up to something.”
“I’m not! I swear! Things are just going good, you know? And someone’s doing an article about how I had nothing to do with the gym. It was crappy construction!”
He narrowed his eyes. “Maybe, but you’re smiling too much. Something’s bound to go wrong.”
“Like someone smacking me in the head while I’m trying to nap?”
“Worse.”
“Geez, Joey,” I said. “Y’ever stop to think maybe things keep going wrong around here because you expect them to?”
He hit me with the paper again. “Ow!”
“You expect that?”
“No, but . . .”
“There you go.”
“I swear, Joey,” I mumbled, shaking my head.
“Fine. Just don’t swear in front of me or your mother.”
“Very funny.”
“Yeah, it was, thanks. Just remember not to keep your head in the clouds too long or you’ll trip and wind up on your butt in an alley with a new tattoo on your arm.”
He wandered into the kitchen, cackling.
I guess he was trying to say, in his special GP Joey way, that I shouldn’t get too carried away. Either that or maybe he was going into that second childhood thing and just liked hitting people. Sometimes he’s like a wrinkled version of that wise-man mandrill from The Lion King, Rafiki. Sometimes he’s just nuts.
Speaking of lovable nuts, even the dark Erica had lightened considerably. On the bus that morning, she didn’t even quote a poem about death or suicide. When I said hello, she said, Hey, like she was normal.
I was thinking of kidding her about her good mood, but figured that would make me too much like Joey with the newspaper. If she was still happy in a week or so, I’d rib her then. She did seem a little nonplussed when I talked about how well Vicky and I were getting along, but I had no idea why.
Fencing soon went up around the new construction site, and our beloved Dr. Wyatt could be seen spending a lot of QT with muscular dudes in hard hats. Even he didn’t glare at me lately. Maybe it was because he’d read that police report All-den Moore—just Moore now by request—talked about. Oh, everyone didn’t love me—the school newspaper hadn’t come out yet—but with all the excitement, they were forgetting they hated me.
Looking up, you tend to notice more things. For instance, I noticed the aforementioned Moore again between second and third period, and for a change, he wasn’t stuffing papers into something, and he wasn’t alone. He was with three other people, a girl and two guys. All of them looked sort of familiar, but I couldn’t place them. They were all headed out of the student newspaper office, walking in formation, following Moore’s lead.
I figured I could use the occasion to ask when the article was coming out, and maybe find out what the hell “Vanuatu” meant without having to lift a finger.
“Moore!” I called.
They all stopped, like a well-oiled machine. Well, maybe not a well-oiled machine, heck, maybe not even a machine, but they all stopped.
“Got yourself a posse?” I said cheerfully. I was saying everything cheerfully these days.
Seeing my pin, one of them, a square kind of guy built sort of like a short door, except with more fat than muscle, moved to block me from getting closer. He was wearing a trench coat.
“It’s okay,” Moore told him, raising his hand like he might have to hold him back.
“You sure?” he said.
Moore nodded and the square man relaxed a bit, but the other two—a lean, anxious, lanky guy in a dirty white T-shirt and denim vest who was crouching as if the ceiling were right above him, and a well-dressed brunette girl with braces, freckles, and a predatory look—kept giving me the evil eye.
“My staff: Guy, Drik, and Mason,” Moore said, pointing, in turn, to Square Man, the lanky scared kid, and the mean-looking girl.
That’s when I recognized them. I’d known them all since grade school. All three were kids everyone had picked on, only now they were better dressed, almost cool looking, and they were together, like they were getting organized. Despite the mouth breathing and the braces, Mason’s hair, for instance, cupped her face nicely, making her look kind of pretty.
I’d never gone in big for the picking-on thing myself. That jock Dylan from the Crave and a couple of his pals used to, but I think even they grew out of it.
“So when’s the Weekly Screech coming out? And, if I may be so bold, the article that clears me?”
“We changed the name,” Guy said curtly, as if I should know. “It’s The Otus now.”
“Otus is the genus that the screech owl belongs to,” Mason, the girl, chimed in.
“Changed some other things, too,” the tall guy, Drik, said in a quiet voice. He seemed to be talking more to my pin than me. “We’re getting serious. For starters we’re doing a big exposé of The Rule of Won.”
I laughed. “What are you going to expose? You have to admit we’ve had pretty good results.”
Moore laughed back, through his nose. “You really think your club got the school that grant by wishing for it really hard?”
“Well . . .yeah,” I said. Moore had a way of talking sometimes that was so arrogant, if he’d said, “You really think your name’s Caleb?” I’d have to wonder about that, too.
Moore pointed at the date. “Printed last month. The National Zetetic Foundation had to award a substantial sum of money to some school, or they’d be in danger of losing their tax-exempt status. The chairman is an SNH graduate. Dana Krull probably read the same article, which made her think of her Crave. Ethan Skinson may have read it, too, which made him pick it. Not really so magic when the odds are stacked like that, is it?”
“Oh, please,” I said. “You’re just trying to . . . hey, how did you know it was Dana’s Crave or that Ethan picked it?”
While his posse looked around nervously, Moore blinked. “We’re reporters.”
“Well, big deal.” I tossed the paper back at him. “The final decision wasn’t made yet, so we still could have had something to do with that.”
Also on the plus side for The Rule was the fact that Moore himself was going to clear me, people liked me again, and Vicky and I were back together.
Moore shook his head like he felt sorry for me. “You know what circular reasoning is, Caleb? Begging the question?”
“Of course I do. Uh . . . is it like Vanuatu?”
Sour-faced Mason stepped up again. “No, it means once you assume something is true, you can’t use reason to disprove it. As long as you believe you caused the school to get the grant, you’ll take any data and twist it around to match that assumption.”
I puffed my chest up defensively. “Ha! I will not take any assumption and . . . and . . . do what you said with it.”
“Right,” Moore said. He waved his little gang forward. They fell back into their marching order.
“Hey,” I called after them. “Still doing that article about the construction, right?”
They didn’t answer. My heart sank a little. If Moore was anything like the previous editors, there might not even be an issue until the week before summer vacation.
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