Arcade and the Dazzling Truth Detector

by Rashad Jennings

  “Can we take a carriage ride in the park?” Jacey was bubblier than usual in the afternoon. Everyone else was just tired.

  “Anything that will get us off our feet.” Zoe fell back behind everybody.

  Thankfully, we didn’t have to endure the “romantic” carriage ride, because we ran into our favorite pedicab tour guide, Elijah. He was standing in Columbus Circle with all the other bike tour guides, all bundled up for the cold, trying to drum up business.

  “Arcade! Zoe! It is so nice to see you. What are you doing out here today? It is a bit brisk!”

  “How’s business, Elijah?” Zoe gathered our whole group around our friend from Senegal.

  He shook his head. “Not so good. Who are all these friends?”

  “You know me!” Doug emerged from the back of the pack, munching on some warm chestnuts.

  “Oh, yes, my food-loving brother. How did it work out with your grandmother? Are you living with her still?”

  Doug licked his fingers. “No, she’s in a special care place in the city. I live with Arcade now.”

  Elijah clapped his hands together. “Oh, what a blessing!”

  “Hello, friend.” My dad reached out his hand to shake Elijah’s. “I would like to hire you to take us on a quick tour of the park. These kids are due back at the airport soon.”

  Elijah’s eyes widened. “I am afraid my bike will only fit three people. But I have a couple other tour guide friends who would like some work today.”

  My dad grinned. “Well, bring them over! Arcade, Doug, and Derek can ride with you, Celeste, Zoe, and Jacey can ride in another, and Dottie and I will ride together.”

  “That is wonderful,” Elijah said. “I will be right back.”

  As we waited for Elijah to return with more tour guides, Celeste pulled me and Zoe aside. “I want to ride with Doug.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Really, Celeste? He’s two years younger than you.”

  “I don’t care. He’s fun and he’s cute, and I want to hear his Central Park commentary.”

  “It’s no trouble, Celeste,” Zoe said. “Arcade will switch with you. He’s kind and understanding like that.” She reached over and yanked the top of my beanie. “Right, bro?”

  Elijah returned with two bundled-up guys with pedicabs. “Okay, friends, hop in for the express tour. I can ride fast to keep warm. But you will all have to snuggle up.”

  My heart started to pound. “Uh, you mean bundle up, right, Elijah?”

  He laughed. “Whatever works for you, my friend.”

  We all hopped into the bike taxis. I ended up squashed between Zoe and Jacey. I had no plans to snuggle up.

  When we finally arrived home, we barely had time to get everyone’s suitcases in the car. And since our car wouldn’t hold us all, Zoe, Doug, and I had to say goodbye at the house before the rest of them drove off to the airport.

  “Best day I’ve had in a long time. When you movin’ back to Virginia?” Derek popped his backward visor on his head and gave me a fist bump and a hug.

  “Not soon enough. Maybe I’ll go to college out there.”

  Derek sighed. “Okay. Well, don’t be a stranger.” He bumped my token with his knuckle and whispered. “Maybe this’ll bring you out.”

  “You never know.”

  “See ya, Arcade.” Celeste punched me in the arm. “Happy birthday.”

  I gave her a side hug. “Thanks, Celeste.”

  Jacey approached with tears in her eyes. “Thank you for a wonderful time.” She gave me a big hug.

  “You’re welcome.” I stepped back and said something else, but I can’t remember what.

  And then they were gone.

  CHAPTER 10

  Tired Morning

  Sometimes it’s a good thing that our homeroom teacher, Mr. Dooley, has a loud voice. Especially when you’re struggling to stay awake on Monday morning.

  “AHEM . . . NEW ASSIGNMENT! TIME TRAVEL. IS IT POSSIBLE? WRITE IT UP. THREE PAGES. WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT SCIENCE THAT COULD LEAD YOU TO BELIEVE IN TIME TRAVEL? CONVINCE ME, PEOPLE!”

  I sat up a little straighter and pinched myself.

  Did Mr. Dooley just ask us to write about time travel? Or am I just dreaming?!?

  “Hey, Arcade, you got any paper? I’m out.” My friend Carlos James “CJ” Mendoza patted me on the arm. I sit next to him in the back row of the classroom. It’s the only place he can fit with his wheelchair.

  “Uh, yeah, sure Carlos. I have lots.” I reached into my flamingo backpack, pulled out my notebook, and unlatched the three rings to get a few sheets of paper out. “Did Mr. Dooley just ask about time travel?”

  Carlos chuckled. “Yeah. He wants us to use our imagination mixed with some evidence.” Carlos leaned in close. “Should we write about your token? It did take us back three years.”

  Carlos was with us in the crown of the Statue of Liberty when we were looking for Loopy. The token took us back in time, before Carlos’s car accident, when he could walk. It was dope!

  “I think we better keep that a secret. But, hey! Check this out. If I got on a plane right now and flew to California, it would be three hours earlier than here, so there’s your answer. We can time travel.”

  Doug, who sits by me on my other side, chimed in. “And if we somehow kept traveling west, past the earth somehow, could we keep going back in time? Is that how we got to the pyramids when they were building them?”

  “You guys went to the pyramids? You gotta tell me about that some time.” Carlos wheeled himself a little closer to my desk.

  Doug continued, “And then, if we go east and spin off the globe, could we fly into the future, like the time I was a grown-up pastry chef on The Munch? Arcade, do you think there’s another dimension we haven’t considered here? Is that how the token works?”

  “YOUNG MEN IN THE BACK ROW, THIS IS NOT A COMMITTEE PROJECT.”

  I folded my hands on the desk. “Uh, sorry, Mr. Dooley. We were just . . . imagining possibilities.”

  “Well, for this project, imagine them all on your own, and don’t speak about it. WRITE IT DOWN.” He walked back behind his desk, sat down, and grinned. “I give such fun assignments.”

  I pulled out my own sheet of paper and tapped my pen on the desk.

  Time travel . . . hmmm. Is that how the token works? Is that why Ruah is young and then she’s old? Is that why my age sometimes changes when we go through the elevator doors? Is that why I was able to leave the Badger brothers in 1935 . . . and then bring them back? Where are those brothers right now?

  I uncapped the pen and wrote my title:

  Time Travel . . . It Is Possible!

  By Arcade Livingston

  Then I wrote my opening sentence:

  I believe that time travel is possible. We just haven’t figured out how to do it yet. Here are the truths I know about this . . .

  I’ve been doing it. And I really need to get back to Greece!

  CHAPTER 11

  Volleyball Villain

  I barely made it through the day. The only time I had a small surge of energy was during lunch, so I jetted to the school library to check out books about Greece, only to find out they didn’t have any!

  “Why not? Who checked them out?”

  The student helper, a tall girl with a huge, messy bun on top of her head, scanned the computer screen. “Looks like an eighth grader checked them out a month ago, but he returned them soaking wet. We had to damage them out, and we haven’t purchased replacements yet.”

  “WET? That’s horrifying! Who gets library books wet? Don’t they know that books are IMPORTANT?”

  The girl held up her hands. “Hey, I agree! And I feel your pain. I love books, or I wouldn’t work here.” She gave me a sympathetic glance and scanned the computer again. “Are you interested in travel? We have plenty of books on Italy, Spain, and Australia.”

  I held my head in my hands. “Noooo. I NEED Greece.”

  She turned from the screen and tapped her fingers on the counter. “S
orry. I guess you’ll have to check the public library.”

  “I did. I have a block on my card.”

  “A BLOCK? What did you do? Turn in wet books?”

  “NO! I have a sister who abused my generous nature.”

  “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry . . . uh . . .” she checked my name on the computer. “Arcade? That’s your name? Did you know that an arcade is a part of the architecture of ancient Greece?”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that! That’s one of the reasons I’m trying to check out books about Greece.”

  She put her hand to her mouth. “Oh. Now it all makes sense. I’m so sorry.”

  “No problem. You did all you could.”

  I made my way to the last exhausting class of the day—PE. I forced myself into my workout clothes, dragged myself to the gym, and came face-to-face with a bunch of . . . girls!

  “Hey, Arcade! Today we’re playin’ girls! Think you could do something athletic for a change so we don’t look so bad?” Casey Tolley gave me a little push. “Hehe, just kiddin’, buddy. Let’s kick ‘em to the curb. I’ll try not to trip you.”

  Just what I need—a humiliation tournament.

  I barely had the energy to walk to the gym, let alone play at the top of my game against a bunch of girls and watch out for Casey Tolley’s foot.

  “All right, gentlemen, it’s time to play our best female teams in the school. Be alert, these girls can spike!”

  Spike?

  Our PE teacher, Mr. Bell, stood on the sidelines of the gym. He checked his watch. “We’ll have both courts running. Each game is fifteen minutes, the winner plays the next team till the end of the period. The last team standing is the winner.” He pulled a whistle up to his mouth. “Okay, take your positions. Mr. Livingston, what side of this court are you on?”

  I was zoning out and didn’t realize I was on the wrong side of the net. The girls’ side! I did my best to keep my cool, duck under the net without clotheslining myself, and grabbed the position in the front row, middle. On the boys’ side.

  “GAME ON!” Mr. Bell announced, and blew his whistle.

  Girls served first, and the short girl in the back row missed.

  Okay, this is what I’m talking about!

  “Serve, boys!”

  My big “friend,” Wiley Overton, whose hands made the volleyball look more like a softball, smacked it over, sending it rocketing toward the back row at the girl who had missed the serve. She stuck her fist up, got a piece of it, but sent it flying out of bounds into the bleachers.

  “It’s okay, Paris, good try!” a tall, athletic-looking girl with long brown hair in the front row yelled out. Then she turned and pointed right at me. “We’re just getting warmed up.” Her eyes flickered with energy.

  I’d like to borrow some of that right now.

  Wiley got the ball again and slugged it like a beast. It went sailing toward Paris again, who backed up, just as the girl from the front row dove for it and bumped it into play!

  Whoa, she’s good.

  A tall, redheaded girl moved into the center of the court and executed the perfect set. The ball flew up in the air, just high enough for Athletic Girl to get up off the floor and move back to her position. The ball came down just in front her, a few inches above the net. She jumped up, opened her hand, and spiked the ball. I jumped up . . . and returned it!

  With my face.

  Phhhhttttttttt!

  Mr. Bell’s whistle echoed through the gym and inside my head. At least I thought I still had my head. I reached up to check.

  “Livingston! You alright?” All I knew was that I was on the floor, and I couldn’t see anything. I put my hand up to feel blood coming out of my nose. My glasses were gone.

  “Arcade?” Casey Tolley’s voice sounded in my ear. “You need us to call 9-1-1? Dude, you face-spiked it!”

  “Way to go, Arcade,” Wiley said. “You got us the point!”

  Mr. Bell handed me a rag to catch the flow from my nose.

  “GET OUT OF THE WAY, PEOPLE! Can’t you see he’s bleeding?” Through my blurred vision, I could see Athletic Girl pushing boys out of the way so she could get to me.

  “Are you okay? I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you in the face!” She began barking orders. “Someone get him some WATER! And WHERE are his glasses?” She looked at me. “You were wearing glasses, right?”

  I nodded. “Mmm-hmmm.”

  “I got ‘em,” Casey yelled. “They’re over here. Oh, wait, they’re over here too.”

  That doesn’t sound good.

  Casey came running over and handed Athletic Girl two pieces of my glasses. She gave them to me and frowned sympathetically. “I am SOOO sorry.”

  “We’re losing time, people. We’ve got a tournament going here. Let’s get him to the bench.” Mr. Bell grabbed my arm and lifted me to my feet. “I called the trainer, Livingston. He’ll be out here in a few to take a look at you.” He examined my nose. “Doesn’t look like it’s broken, but that thing sure is bleeding a lot.”

  Athletic Girl put a hand up to her mouth. “It’s my fault, Mr. Bell. I don’t think I can continue until I know he’s going to be okay.”

  “Get out there, Elena. Livingston will be fine. It was his fault for not blocking with his hands.”

  “But—” She looked like she was going to cry.

  Mr. Bell pointed to the court. “Get back in the game, Castro!”

  The girl gave me another sympathetic glance and dropped her chin. “Yes, sir,” she said quietly, and ran back to her position.

  I balanced my broken glasses frames on top of my nose and watched the game as best I could until the trainer got there. The girls took the lead when Elena finally got to the serving position. That girl could do a running overhand spike serve!

  Why didn’t I block with my hands?

  Elena was right in the middle of every single play that followed—digging, setting, or spiking the ball over the net for a point.

  Well, at least I got injured by the best.

  Mr. Lozano, the trainer, finally arrived and sat next to me. “You got hands, Mr. Livingston? That’s what most people use to block the ball.” He removed the rag from my nose. “Bleeding’s stopped. That’s good.” He shined a stick light into both of my eyes. “Responsive, good.” Then he tilted his head both ways and pushed his fingers on the sides of my nose. “That hurt?”

  “No, sir.”

  He pulled his hands back and patted me on the shoulder. “Looks like the only thing broken are your glasses.” He held his hand out and I placed the two pieces into his palm. “Broke clean right here on the nosepiece. I got tape for that.” He pulled some white therapy tape from of his fanny pack and cut a thin piece with medical scissors. He wrapped it around the nosepiece. “There. Good as new.”

  Awesome.

  “You want me to call your parents to give you a ride home today? That was a pretty good shot to the face.”

  “Nah. I can walk home.”

  He looked closer into my eyes. “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay. I’m gonna give them a call though. Might be good to let the doc take a look, just to make sure your nose isn’t broken. You don’t want to end up with a deviated septum or something awful like that.” He smacked me on the other arm. “And I’d stay far away from the person who did that to you.” He laughed.

  Phhhhtttttttt!

  “First game goes to the girls! Boys, team two, you’re in!”

  I glanced over at the girls’ team that had just annihilated us. They were high-fiving each other. All except Elena. She was looking over my way, waving, and mouthing the words . . .

  “I’M SO SORRY.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Elena Salva-DOR Castro

  Doug met me out in front of the school for our regular walk home through Central Park.

  “What happened to your glasses?”

  “I spiked a volleyball.”

  Doug reached up as if he were going to hit a volleyball. �
��So . . . what happened to your glasses?”

  “I did it with my face.”

  Doug grabbed his chest and pretended he was falling backward. “Duuuude, that’s rough! What you need is a snack. Lucky we still got tons of birthday cake left.”

  “It seems like my birthday was days ago.” I started moving toward the trail.

  Doug walked next to me, his hand on my shoulder. “That’s how things are here in New York City. We cram a lot into both days and nights. Hey! I still have to give you my present.”

  “A present? Doug, the cake was amazing. You didn’t have to get me a present.”

  “Oh, yes I did! Wait till you see—”

  “EXCUSE ME! ARCADE! IS THAT YOU?”

  A nervous knot formed in my stomach. It sounded a lot like the volleyball villain Mr. Lozano told me to stay away from.

  “C’mon, Doug.” I tightened my backpack straps and picked up the pace.

  “Arcaaaade! Wait up, please! I have something for you.”

  “Pretend you don’t hear that,” I whispered.

  Doug jogged alongside me. “But I do hear it, and she’s gaining on us. Don’t you think we should stop? She sounds like she really wants to talk to you.”

  “But I don’t want to talk to her.”

  “Why not?”

  “ARCAAAADE!” I felt a strong tug on the loop on the top of my backpack. So strong, I lost my balance and fell on my backside.

  “Oh, NO! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  Elena reached out to help me up, but I hopped up on my own, dusting my hands off.

  “So, you here to finish me off?”

  “No! I came to apologize.”

  Doug stuck a hand out. “Doug Baker, Arcade’s best friend and soon-to-be brother. Who are you and why are you sweeping my friend off his feet?”

  Elena didn’t take her eyes off me. “Elena Salvador Castro.” She reached out and pointed to the tape on my glasses. “Do you have a back-up pair?”