by Arby Robbins
Conroe was gone.
“Where did she go?” Libby asked.
Tonya said, “Check under the bed.”
“She’s not under here,” Kelsey reported.
Tonya grimaced.
Nurse Olive opened the door. “What’s going on in here?”
14
Conroe pulled the duct tape off her mouth. “Geneva, why did you bring me back?” She was standing in her own bedroom in the castle—in the Kingdom of Ampla.
Her best friend, Geneva, was sitting at Conroe’s dresser, looking at a device labeled Time Travel Computer. She turned around to face Conroe. “She was about to cut off all of your hair.”
“No, I was about to get away from them.”
“Maybe. But it was too dangerous. Tonya could have done anything with those scissors. What if she had stabbed you? You could be dead right now.”
Conroe shrugged. “I guess you’re right, but now I’m gonna have to explain how I disappeared.”
“You’ll think of something, I’m sure.”
“Send me back,” Conroe said.
Geneva turned around to look at the computer screen and saw Nurse Olive scolding the four girls for being out of their rooms after Lights Out. “Okay, I’ll send you back, but I’m concerned about this.” She pointed to the glowing indicator in the top right corner of the computer screen. “The battery level is at twenty percent. If it drops to zero while you’re in Crane’s world, you’ll be left there forever.”
“It was at twenty-five percent when I first unpacked this thing and started using it three months ago. It will be fine.”
“But maybe this whole idea of matchmaking across centuries is insanity. I know you think you love this boy, but how does he feel about you?”
“He likes me a lot—I can tell.”
“But does he love you?”
“I can’t expect him to love me this soon, Geneva.” Conroe listened to the girls lying to Nurse Olive about why they were in her bedroom. “I’ve got to go back.”
“Where do you want me to send you?”
“To the closet.”
Geneva typed a few keystrokes.
Conroe evaporated.
15
Nurse Olive glared at Tonya, Kelsey, Libby, and Emily. “You still haven’t given me a straight answer. Why are you in Conroe’s room after Lights Out?…Anybody?…Tonya?”
“We just came down to talk to her and all of a sudden she disappeared into thin air,” Tonya explained. “Maybe Conroe’s a witch or something. She shouldn’t be here with us normal kids, Nurse Olive. I think you should send her to a mental hospital before she hurts somebody.”
Nurse Olive replied, “That’s ridiculous, Tonya.”
The closet door swung open and Conroe stepped out. “I’ll tell you why they’re in my room, Nurse Olive. They came in here to beat me up.”
Tonya and her buddies stared at Conroe, dumbfounded.
Conroe wondered what the girls had done with the scissors and the flashlight. She would probably find them under her bed.
“Get back to your rooms,” Nurse Olive ordered. “And you will be losing privileges.”
Tonya protested, “That’s not fair!”
“Would you prefer to go to Solitary?”
“No, ma’am,” Tonya answered.
“Then you’d better be in your rooms in the next fifteen seconds.” Nurse Olive watched them run down the hallway and then turned back to Conroe. “Goodnight, Conroe. Sorry for the disturbance.” She started to walk out, and then she turned around. “Why aren’t you in your pajamas?”
“I…don’t know. I was reading in bed. I must have dozed off.”
“Hmm.” Nurse Olive did not seem to be convinced.
Conroe maintained her innocent expression.
“Goodnight.” Nurse Olive turned off the lights, walked out, and closed the door.
Conroe lay on her bed and winked at her ceiling, knowing Geneva was watching.
16
Geneva watched Conroe on the screen and shook her head. “Oh, sweetie, I hope you know what you are doing.”
There was a knock at the door.
She closed the lid of the time travel computer and covered it with a scarf. Then she went to the door and opened it just enough to peek out. It was Conroe’s father, the husband of the queen, Wally Williamson.
“Where’s Conroe?” he asked.
“She’s, uh, in the bath, sire.”
Wally checked the hallway in both directions. “Let me in, please.”
She opened the door, and he walked in. At six foot eight, he had to duck under the doorway. Geneva wondered how he stayed so thin, considering the daily feasts that were prepared by the royal servants. Perhaps worrying about Conroe kept his appetite in check.
Geneva closed the door behind him.
He studied her eyes. “Where is she—really?”
“Well, I…”
“She went to see that boy, didn’t she?” Wally asked. “She’s using the time travel computer.”
“You know about that?”
“Yes, but don’t mention it to anyone else. I can’t have this getting back to the queen.”
“Certainly not, sire. But the queen is your wife. Do you not tell her everything?”
“As a general rule, yes. But this was a very special secret between Conroe and me. I knew her mother would not approve. I hope you’re keeping her safe. What’s happening?”
“Not much right now.”
He followed her over to the dresser, and she uncovered the time travel computer and opened the lid. They saw Conroe lying in her bed at Philly.
“Good,” Wally said. “Now maybe I can get some sleep too. But what about you?”
“I can take a nap on Conroe’s bed. I am using the motion sensor functionality to monitor activity in her room. So, any major movement will set off the alarm and wake me up.”
He smiled. “Thanks, Geneva. You are a wonderful friend to Conroe.”
“She would do the same for me.”
“I’m certain that she would.” He started to walk toward the door. “But you’re not planning to resort to time travel to find yourself a—”
“No, no. I have sufficient time to find a suitor for myself, and I plan to find him right here in the kingdom. I have no worries of becoming an old maid.”
Wally breathed a sigh of relief, nodding his head. “Goodnight, Geneva.”
“Goodnight, sire.”
17
At the edge of the Kingdom of Ampla, atop a small hill, stood the unobtrusive OutCastle—the home of Opal Edelsburg, the twin sister of the queen. As was her habit late in the evening, Opal sat in her bedroom drinking hot tea in her leather wingback chair in front of the fireplace.
Her chambermaid, Ellie, added more logs to the fire. “Are you feeling well this evening, ma’am?”
“Yes, thank you, Ellie. I am indeed.”
“No concerns about the wedding?”
“Frederick has told me not to worry, and I have the highest confidence in my son.”
“I know, ma’am. I know that you do. Forgive me—I did not mean to imply otherwise.”
Ellie moved the fireplace screen back into position. “The entire staff is rooting for you and Master Frederick. You can be assured of that.”
“I am quite certain that you are,” Opal said.
“Is there anything else I can do for you this evening, ma’am?”
“No, thank you, Ellie. That will be all.”
Ellie curtsied and started to leave but then stopped.
“What is it, Ellie?”
“If I may be so bold, ma’am—how does Master Frederick plan to stop the wedding?”
Opal’s raised eyebrows caused Ellie to recoil. “I apologize for my insolence, ma’am. Please forgive me.” She curtsied to Opal and scurried to the door.
“Come back, Ellie.”
Ellie walked timidly around Opal’s chair and stood in front of her with head bowed.
“It’
s okay, Ellie. You’re not in trouble,” Opal said. “You are a faithful servant, and the closest thing I have to an actual friend. So, I will share this with you—but it is to go no further. And if I find that you’ve told anyone else, you will be fired on the spot. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am, of course. I understand.”
“Very well, then.” Opal set her teacup down on the lamp table and cleared her throat. “Frederick is a very bright young man.”
“That he is, ma’am.”
“And as you know, Conroe Williamson cannot become queen until she is married, and she must assume her mother’s throne on her eighteenth birthday. So, every time Conroe has become enchanted with some young man, Frederick has sabotaged the relationship before it could get started—secretly, of course—behind the scenes with a payoff or a threat. Conroe was never aware of Frederick’s cleverness. But some time ago he discovered that she had begun looking outside the kingdom for a prospective husband.”
“She’s become desperate.”
“Apparently so.” Opal smiled. “But Frederick continues to track her every move. The wedding would have to occur by this Friday evening since Conroe turns eighteen on Saturday. Yet, there has been no announcement of a wedding.”
“Frederick has succeeded,” Ellie said. “Congratulations, ma’am. Frederick will soon be crowned king.”
“I am not yet counting my chickens, Ellie. Conroe is a very determined young woman.”
“She does have a reputation for being rather…unstoppable.”
Opal threw her teacup at Ellie, but it missed and hit the hearth, shattering. “She will not be victorious this time! I tell you she will not get her way!”
Ellie shielded her face from the flying shards of glass. “Conroe?”
“No! My wretched sister—the queen!”
18
Conroe carried her breakfast tray over to Crane’s table, where he was sitting alone. “Good morning.”
Crane didn’t look up. “Morning.” He appeared to be miffed at her.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your room last night, I—”
“I stayed awake half the night waiting for you!”
“So, you didn’t hear what happened?” she asked.
“No. What?”
“Tonya and her gang came into my room after Lights Out and attacked me.”
He sat up erect. “Did they hurt you?”
“Not really. They held me down while Tonya put duct tape over my mouth. She was gonna cut off all my hair.”
“What?” Crane jumped up from his chair, sneering at the back of Tonya’s head across the room.
“I’m okay. Sit down, please.”
He sat down but continued to keep one eye on Tonya.
“Crane?”
He finally returned his attention to Conroe.
“I got away,” she said. “They didn’t hurt me. And then Old Cracker came in.”
“Thank goodness.”
“Yeah, they’re all in trouble.”
“Then why aren’t they in Solitary?”
“Because she didn’t catch them in the act. They’re in trouble for being out of their rooms after Lights Out. I guess she just took away some privileges.”
“Probably something that won’t even affect them—like taking away their toothpaste.”
“Crane.” She laughed.
“Well, why didn’t you tell Old Cracker what they did to you?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I guess I figured if I cut them some slack, they would quit bothering me.”
“I don’t think it works that way.”
“So, you’re ready to go into the Dream Tunnel again?”
“Sure. I was ready last night.”
“Okay, but this time, no falling off cliffs.”
“It’s a deal,” he said. “That was pretty scary.”
“So, same time, same place as yesterday—during recess?”
“Perfect.” He took a bite of his scrambled eggs. “You gonna come watch me play basketball this morning? I’m eating extra food to make me stronger for the game.” He wadded up a slice of bacon and stuffed it into his mouth.
“You said you were no good at basketball. Were you just being modest?”
“I’m not very good, and Coach doesn’t usually give me much playing time. But today, two of our guys are in Solitary, and since we only have seven players, he’ll have to let me play the whole game.”
“Okay, sure, I’ll come watch you. It’ll be fun.”
19
Crane’s team, the Phillies, would be playing the Bulldogs, which was made up of boys from another children’s home in the North Houston area.
Crane followed his coach and teammates into the gym. He checked the stands, spotted Conroe on the third row, and waved.
Conroe stood and waved back to him. “Go, Crane!”
One of his teammates teased, “Oh, look—Crane has a fan—and it’s a girl. Go, Crane, go.”
Another said, “Hey, Crane, here’s your chance to show her you’ve got game.”
They all laughed at him. But it didn’t bother him today. He had a girlfriend—at least that was how he thought of her—a beautiful, exciting girlfriend that liked to dream with him. He was amazed at how quickly he had become so close to her.
After a ten-minute warm up, the horn blew and the two teams huddled around their respective coaches.
Crane couldn’t believe he was a starter—for the first time in his life.
Coach assigned him the jump ball responsibility—his first test. He failed it miserably, being out-jumped by a guy who was four inches shorter.
At first, his teammates ignored him. They wouldn’t give him the ball, no matter how much he begged for it. But during a timeout, Coach told them to start passing to him. Even though he was taller than anybody else on his team, Coach had put him in the forward position instead of playing center, which was okay with him since he was no good under the basket.
Crane’s first four jump-shot attempts were ten-footers that either bounced off the rim or missed it altogether. The boy guarding him, Number 44, was the same height as Crane but much stockier.
The Phillies were up six points, so Coach instructed, “Get it to Crane.”
Crane wished they would go back to ignoring him. This was just too much pressure. He tried not to think about how stupid he was looking in front of Conroe.
He decided to stay farther back from the basket. Maybe then his teammates would not pass him the ball. He was wrong. This time he was fifteen feet out. Number 44 stepped back from him, daring him to take the shot. He did, and it popped the net.
“Yes!” Conroe screamed from the stands. “Way to go, Crane!”
Crane stared at the basket, in disbelief that the ball had passed through the net.
Number 44 said, “Lucky shot.”
The next time down, Crane got the ball again—at the same spot.
Number 44 grinned, stepping back. “Go ahead. I dare you.”
Another perfect fifteen-foot jumper.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” screamed Conroe, with an odd inflection—as though she’d never said the words before in her life and was simply mimicking what she had heard somebody else in the stands yelling.
Crane smiled and nodded his head.
As both teams ran down to the Bulldogs’ end of the court, Number 44 moved in close to Crane. “Try that again next time down and see what happens.” He elbowed Crane in the ribs.
One of the Bulldogs hit a three-pointer.
Back down the court, the Phillies passed the ball to Crane again.
This time when Crane was about to take the shot, Number 44 ran at him and knocked him down before he could release the ball. Crane hit the floor hard.
The foul was called, and Crane limped to the free-throw line. His back and elbows were aching. He missed both shots and knew his shooting streak was over.
The next few times the Phillies had the ball, they didn’t pass it to Cra
ne at all. He checked the stands. Conroe was still there, but he was sure she was no longer impressed with his playing. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He began to ask for the ball—and when his teammates still wouldn’t pass it to him, he began to demand it. Finally, the ball came to him.
Number 44 backed off a few feet, but Crane knew that if he attempted a jump shot, the guy would plow him down. That made him mad. He knew he needed to take a deep breath and relax—to cool down. But he rejected that thought as his anger continued to well up. Instead of taking the jump shot, he put the ball on the floor, dribbling toward the basket for a layup.
Number 44 positioned himself to block Crane’s path to the basket and take the charge. Crane could either pass the ball to someone else, pull up for the jump shot, or continue toward the basket, knowing full well he would be called for an offensive foul. It was too late for a change in course. Crane picked up more speed, running at his defender with all his might. Just before he reached him, he leaped into the air—his anger thrusting him higher than he’d ever jumped before. He let out a ferocious, primal growl as his left knee popped the defender square in the jaw, slamming him to the floor. Crane’s body continued to float toward the basket.
Both teams and all the spectators gaped as Crane’s right hand raised the ball a full foot above the rim and dunked it through the net. The ball fired straight down into Number 44’s face, hammering the back of his head into the hardwood.
When Crane’s shoes touched the floor, he heard the referees’ whistles blowing wildly. Yes, he was being called for an offensive foul, and the basket wouldn’t count. So what? He didn’t care.
The Philly fans cheered.
The Bulldog fans, what few there were, booed.
Number 44 jumped up and pushed Crane. “I’m gonna kill you!”
“Take it easy,” Crane said, his anger subsiding.
“Sure, I’ll take it easy—after I do this.” He punched Crane in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him.
Crane’s blood boiled. He swung at Number 44 with blind rage, connecting with his nose. The boy’s nose began to gush blood, and regret overwhelmed Crane. “I’m sorry, man, really. Are you okay?”