Homerooms and Hall Passes

by Tom O'Donnell

  “Oh,” said Devis. “Well, if you’re not going to eat the cheese puffs, I’d be more than happy to take them off your hands.”

  “Very noble of you, Stinky,” said June.

  “Yeah,” said Devis, ripping into a cheese-puff bag. “I get that a lot.”

  “All right, let’s get this over with,” said Sorrowshade, stepping inside. “I have places to be.”

  And so June Westray spent the better part of an afternoon teaching the outlanders all manner of strange and wondrous things: from social studies, to earth sciences, to Computer Applications, to English. And indeed the Bríandalörians learned much. And at last they begged June to help them with their hated algebra. But June Westray was reluctant, for math had always been her weakest subject. Yet after much pleading, she relented. And then she struggled mightily to explain the “quadratic formula” to the five adventurers.

  “If we’re trying to solve 7x² – 9x + 2 = 0,” said June, “we first need to figure out what a, b, and c are. Can anybody tell me what a is?”

  Four Bríandalörians looked back at her with blank, slightly fearful expressions on their faces. The fifth, Devis, was staring at his phone.

  “Somebody? Anybody? Nobody?” said June. “Here’s a hint: it’s the number in our equation that rhymes with eleven.”

  “Is it . . . eleven?” said Vela.

  June let out a long sigh. “No, Valerie,” she said. “Why would I say eleven rhymes with eleven? Besides, there is no eleven in the equation.”

  “I have it!” said Thromdurr. “The answer is Kevin.”

  “Kevin isn’t a number, it’s a person,” said June. “And Stinky, I’m dying to know what exactly is so interesting on your phone.” June caught herself. “Wow, I just sounded like a real teacher there, didn’t I?”

  “Huh?” said Devis, looking up. “Oh, right, Stinky is me. Yeah, no, I was just looking at this picture of a baby hedgehog with the words ‘I CAN NOM NOM A BURRITO????’ over it. It’s called a meme. It’s funny.” He shrugged and showed the others his screen. Indeed his description was accurate.

  “And how is that funny?” said Sorrowshade.

  “Sorry, I should have been more clear,” said Devis. “It’s funny if you’re capable of joy.”

  “It is not funny,” said Thromdurr, shaking his head. “It makes less sense than June Westray’s algebra lesson!”

  “Hey!” said June. “I’m trying my best here. How did you guys make it all the way to eighth grade being this terrible at math?”

  “An ancient curse,” said Vela.

  “Be that as it may,” said June, “I really don’t know what more I can do. I told you, I barely understand algebra myself.”

  “No, no. It’s not your fault, June,” said Albiorix. “We’ll try harder to focus and Stinky will put away his— Hey, where did you even get a new phone? How much did that thing cost?”

  “That’s a rude question,” said Devis. “But let’s just say that as a senior vice president at a major international foods company and the one of the top soup critics in the country, the Smith family does very well for themselves.”

  “Bestowed upon you by your parents? Bah! What coddling!” said Thromdurr. “In my tribe, you become a full adult on your ninth birthday—the day you are sent out into the taiga to hunt an ice tiger with no weapons!”

  “I think I’m losing the thread here, guys,” said June. “Are you saying on your ninth birthday, your parents made you kill a—”

  “Nope. He isn’t,” said Albiorix. “Just a little joke. Right, Douglas?”

  “Yes,” said Thromdurr through gritted teeth. “That proud and ancient custom is . . . a joke.”

  “And how is that funny?” asked Sorrowshade. “Don’t answer. I have to go. I wish I could say it’s been fun, but . . . you know.”

  “Wait, where are you off to?” said Albiorix.

  “We still don’t know what number rhymes with eleven,” said Vela.

  “Seven,” said June quietly, face buried in her palms. “Obviously, it has to be seven.”

  “I have to go be a bestie,” said Sorrowshade. “Nicole is making me go to Sophie Sorrentino’s house to watch some TV program called Las Vegas Fashion Wives. I’m sure it will be excruciating.”

  “But after tutoring, we were supposed to investigate the locker thefts together,” said Albiorix.

  “Wait, why do you guys care about that?” said June. “Did one of your lockers get hit?”

  “No,” said Albiorix. “But Mr. Driscoll thinks I did it.”

  “I knew it,” said June. “Armando Boort, international criminal.”

  “I’m innocent!” said Albiorix.

  “And the real culprit still eludes justice,” said Vela. “But not for long. The first theft is the key to solving the others. If only we knew who took Sam Keller’s shark-tooth necklace . . .”

  “Hang on,” said June, “I saw somebody wearing a necklace like that.”

  “You did?” said Vela.

  “You did?” said Devis.

  “Yeah,” said June. “My mom and I went out for dinner for her birthday yesterday. We ate at the Cheesecakery and then went bowling in this run-down old mall. Anyway, the food wasn’t very good and the bowling alley smelled weird. But I definitely saw a kid hanging out by the fountain wearing a silver shark tooth around his neck.”

  “Did you recognize him from school?” said Albiorix.

  June shook her head. “Nope,” she said, “but then again, I’ve only been a JADMS student for two days. I don’t really know many people around here.”

  Vela leaped to her feet. “Well, thank you for your wise tutelage, June,” she said, “Now we must away. Companions, to the mall!”

  The five Bríandalörians burst out the front door and dashed down the street.

  “You guys are . . . weird,” called June after them.

  But none of the intrepid heroes heard her. They were already well on their way toward the old mall, to bring the swift hammer of justice down upon the head of evil.

  Outside of class, middle schoolers often congregate in areas that paradoxically seem to offer nothing of interest. Parking lots, basements, and backyards are natural meeting places. Such dull, semisecluded environs offer a form of independence to an age group granted more responsibility than “little kids” but not yet trusted to operate motor vehicles.

  —Excerpt from The Codex of Cliques

  “THIS . . . IS A PLACE of great sadness,” said Sorrowshade.

  The five adventurers looked around the Hibbettsfield Galleria—what the locals called “the Old Mall.” What once had been a thriving enclosed bazaar now felt eerily vacant. Practically every other storefront was dark and shuttered, and those that still persisted mostly offered odd, undesired products, such as leather jackets with wolves painted on them or the odd specialty products Thormdurr knew from infomercials.

  “If I remember my Hibbettsfield history correctly, the opening of the Towne Center Mall out on Route 22 and the rise of online shopping were kind of the death knell for this place,” said Albiorix. “They do have the aforementioned bowling alley and a cart where you can buy soft pretzels, though.”

  “Look, there’s a map,” said Vela, as she pointed to a dingy, glowing sign that displayed the complex’s floor plan. “The Cheesecakery is located at 2F, so the fountain June described must be that blue circle, there, on the second floor.”

  “Guys, why are we even wasting our time with this?” asked Devis, still glued to his new phone. “We’re a day late. There’s no way the kid in the shark-tooth necklace is still going to be here. Who would ever want to come to this mall twice? Honestly, this pretty much sums up my feeling . . .” He held up the phone: another photo, this time a sleeping baby hedgehog, with the words “LESS TRYING MORE NAPPING.”

  “That hedgehog’s shameful apathy aside,” said Vela, “we may yet learn something by exploring the Old Mall, even if the culprit is gone.”

  “Nicole is not going to be happy I skipp
ed out on Las Vegas Fashion Wives,” said Sorrowshade with a sigh.

  “Bah! You are your own master, elf,” said Thromdurr. “What do you care?”

  “I don’t!” said Sorrowshade. “Nicole is deceitful, vain, and cruel. I just . . . don’t want to get on her bad side.”

  Up ahead, Vela had frozen in her tracks.

  “By the gods,” said the paladin. “What . . . are . . . those?”

  Beyond her were what appeared to be two writhing silver dragons: one slithering upward, the other burrowing down into the ground. It took the adventurers a moment to see that they weren’t dragons at all, but instead moving staircases. In all their journeys across Bríandalör—through enchanted temples, haunted fortresses, and floating castles—the five of them had never seen anything like this.

  “’Tis some sort of living stairwell,” said Thromdurr, who made the protective sign of the Sky Bear.

  “Actually, I believe they’re called ‘escalators,’” said Albiorix. The wizard was vaguely familiar with the concept from his books, yet even he was overawed by the actual sight of them.

  “How do we get past them?” asked Sorrowshade, looking around for another route up to the second floor.

  “Perhaps if we threw a grappling hook onto the railing there,” said Vela, looking upward, “we could use that sunglasses kiosk to climb up.”

  “Guys, I think—I think we can just ride them,” said Albiorix.

  “Madness,” said Thromdurr. “What if we became trapped between the steps and the floor? We would be pinched to death! What if the staircases became angry while we were clinging to their backs? It is too risky, wizard!”

  “Pardon me,” said an old lady as she stepped past the heroes and onto the escalator.

  They watched her slowly glide all the way up to the second floor and disembark at the top. And so, after a few more minutes of cajoling and steeling their nerves, the adventurers nervously stepped on and rode up, expecting every moment that the escalators might turn on them. After what seemed like an eternity, they stepped off again unscathed and proceeded toward the fountain.

  “Guys, this is a bad idea,” muttered Devis. “And I should know. I’m an expert on bad ideas.”

  “My spirit too was shaken by the escalator ride, small friend,” said Thromdurr. “But we must press onward!”

  “The Cheesecakery is up ahead,” said Vela.

  The fountain was a murky green, and it smelled like a mixture of chlorine and decay. Seven kids stood around it. They laughed and joked and sipped from disposable soda cups, occasionally showing each other something on their phones. Albiorix didn’t recognize any of them as fellow J. A. Dewar students.

  “Hello, children of the Old Mall,” said Vela, approaching them.

  “Hi?” said a boy with spiky blue hair.

  “We are searching for a pendant,” said Vela, “A silvery shark’s tooth. Have any of you seen it?”

  “Not really my style,” said a girl with a ring through her nose. “Maybe try LA Jewelers?”

  “I should be clear: we are looking for a particular pendant,” said Vela, fixing her steely gaze upon them. “A stolen pendant.”

  Six of the kids looked confused. The seventh—a boy in a floppy knit cap—bolted.

  “COME BACK HERE!” bellowed Thromdurr as the party sprinted after him.

  Before they could catch up, the knit-cap kid ducked into a large discount department store called Maximo’s—a cavernous place, selling everything from home appliances to winter coats. By the time the Bríandalörians made it to the entrance, the knit-cap boy had vanished somewhere inside.

  Sorrowshade sniffed the air and pointed in two directions, indicating they should separate and corner the boy. Vela and Thromdurr started to go right, while Albiorix and Sorrowshade started left.

  “Wait,” said Albiorix. “I think we lost Devis.”

  They looked around. Indeed, their fifth companion was nowhere to be seen.

  “Then he will just have to catch up to us,” said Vela. “We cannot allow this locker thief to slip through our fingers!”

  And so the adventurers split up. Vela and Thromdurr snuck off through women’s apparel, while Sorrowshade and Albiorix stalked down the greeting-card aisle. Every so often the gloom elf would pause, cock her head, and listen with her superior hearing. The assassin and the wizard followed a circuitous route through the toy aisle, past the welcome mats, around the electronics section, and back to pillows and bedding, as Sorrowshade read signs that were invisible to mere mortals. At last she stopped at a floor-model bed, apparently worth $499.99 $399.99. She pointed underneath. Slowly, Albiorix crouched to have a look.

  “Aaaaagh!” screamed the knit-cap boy as he leaped out from under the bed and bowled the wizard over.

  “Hey, watch it!” cried Albiroix.

  As the boy ran, Sorrowshade scanned the shelf. She grabbed a circular cushion and hurled it with deadly accuracy. The flying pillow caught the boy in the back of the knees, taking his legs right out from under him. With a yelp, he crashed into a bin of discount DVDs. A second later, he was up again, but a powerful arm caught him by the hood of his sweatshirt and held him tight.

  “Not so fast, little locker thief,” said Thromdurr.

  “Let me go!” yelled the boy as he struggled in vain. “I didn’t steal anything!”

  “Then why did you flee when I asked about the pendant?” said Vela.

  “I don’t know!” said the boy. “You guys seemed super serious, like you do this professionally or something. I panicked, that’s all. I’m a well-known coward. Ask anyone!”

  “I see,” said Sorrowshade. “Well, this is very interesting to find on someone who didn’t steal anything.” She yanked something from the boy’s neck and held it up: a silver shark’s-tooth pendant glinted under the fluorescent lights of Maximo’s.

  “Sure, okay, now that I think about it, that does sound a lot like what you were describing,” said the boy. “But I didn’t know it was stolen when I bought it.”

  “And who exactly did you buy it from?” asked Albiorix.

  “No idea,” said the boy. “I saw an ad online, so I went to his house to pick it up. I never asked his name.”

  “Well, what did he look like?” said Vela.

  “Like . . . like that!” said the boy, and he pointed.

  The adventurers turned.

  “Oh, hi,” said Devis, casually stepping out from behind a lawn-furniture display.

  “Hey! Hey, tell them, guy!” said the knit-cap boy. “Tell them I paid you ten bucks for the necklace!”

  “It’s true,” said Devis, “and as a courtesy, I want to offer you a full refund.” Devis reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick wad of money. He peeled off a ten-dollar bill and handed it to the boy.

  “But promise me next time you’ll be more careful when you buy things from strangers off the internet,” said Devis.

  “Huh? But . . . but you’re the one who—okay, okay, fine,” said the boy.

  Thromdurr released his iron grip, and the boy bolted once more. This time they let him go. All eyes were on Devis now.

  Devis sighed. “Look, I know you’re all probably angry, but I just want you to know I don’t think that kid is the real culprit here.”

  “Gee, really?” said Sorrowshade, crossing her arms. “Who else might possibly have done something wrong?”

  “You probably don’t want to hear it right now, but I feel I owe it to you to be honest,” said Devis. “You all bear some of the blame as well.”

  At this, all the other adventurers groaned and threw their hands up.

  “You strain my patience, thief!” snarled Thromdurr.

  “Exactly! Thief!” said Devis. “Stealing is right there in my job title, friends! If you don’t want me to do it, it’s on you to tell me so!”

  “Oh, please,” said Vela.

  “Sure,” said Devis, crossing his arms, “thieving is all well and good when I’m picking locks to get you guys through dungeo
n doors. Or robbing a bunch of monsters and then splitting the loot five ways.”

  “But these middle schoolers aren’t monsters,” said Albiorix.

  “Evan Cunningham might be,” said Sorrowshade quietly.

  “Can you believe there wasn’t a single trap to disarm on any of those lockers?” said Devis. “Seriously! No poison gas. No exploding runes. Nothing. The only protection was a bunch of cheap combination locks. It’s like everyone wanted me to sneak back into school in the dead of the night and take their valuables. In fact, you almost could say I did the school a service by pointing out how weak their security is—”

  “Enough of this nonsense,” said Vela. “We must return the stolen goods at once to exonerate Albiorix.”

  “Okay, fine,” said Devis, hanging his head. “Except . . .”

  “Here it comes,” said Sorrowshade.

  “Except I can’t actually, technically, do that,” said Devis.

  “And why not?” said Vela.

  “I already sold everything,” said Devis. He held up the wad of cash again. “Anyway, who wants a soft pretzel?”

  FRANKS, Waldo Dean

  OCCUPATION: Owner of Pan-Galactic Comics and Collectibles

  ATTRIBUTES: Cunning: 16, Intelligence: 14, Likability: 3,

  Willpower: 17, Fitness: 6

  SKILLS: Bargaining +8, Computer +9, Cooking –4, Drive –1, Trivia (Comic Books) +10, Trivia (Science Fiction TV) +10, Trivia (Retro Video Games) +10

  BIOGRAPHY: Waldo Franks is the thirty-nine-year-old owner of Hibbettsfield’s only comic book shop. He enjoys maintaining his in-store terrarium, rewatching science fiction TV shows from his youth, fact-checking others on the internet, and very little else.

  —Excerpt from The Hibbettsfield Handbook

  “HELLO?” SAID THE GIRL at 635 Westminster Drive, through her screen door.

  “Lisa Laporte!” said Devis. “Hi! Remember me? From yesterday? You paid me thirty-five dollars for a pair of sneakers and I offered you a cup of my mom’s New England clam chowder and you politely declined?”

  “Yeah, I remember you,” said Lisa. “Why are you at my house?”