The Scroll 9

I know it's only been twelve hours, but I'm posting the next blog anyway! If you haven't read "The Scroll 8" yet, please do so before reading this post.

In this episode of "The Scroll," Leslie's sense of reality is thrown out the window.

* * *

The next morning found Leslie and Gray walking through the hallways of the high school. Gray held his new schedule in his hand. He stared at it blankly. “What does it mean?” he asked.

“You’ll be in all my classes,” said Leslie, “at least for now. Don’t worry. They’re all easy classes. Except science—I’m taking AP Chemistry. Sorry.” Leslie paused, but Gray didn’t say anything. She continued, “The school counselors want you to take some tests, see how smart you are, since they can’t find any records on you. I guess your reading comprehension will be low, since you can’t…read.”

Gray looked at her sharply. “I can read,” he snapped. “Just not this.” He slapped the paper in his hand.

“Sorry,” said Leslie. She threaded her earbud cords through the inside of her jacket and stuck them in her ears, letting her hair conceal them. Her music washed over her, soothing her.

Leslie watched Gray carefully in her English class. He sat up straight, listening attentively to the teacher. Every once in a while, he wrote in his notebook. Curious, Leslie peered over. Whatever he was writing, it wasn’t English. Lines of gibberish filled the page, all symbols no teacher would recognize. Leslie thought Gray was just trying to look busy, but when the teacher called on him he answered correctly.

The same thing happened in World History. Gray wrote furiously in his notebook, filling it with lines of scribbles. When Mr. Olson came over and asked what he was doing, Gray showed it to him.

“And what is this, Gray?” asked Mr. Olson.

“It’s my thoughts on what you’ve been teaching, sir,” he replied.

“And can you read it for us, please?” said Mr. Olson. “Because it doesn’t look like any language I recognize.”

Leslie shrunk lower in her seat. Mr. Olson was a teacher who never let things slide. You were likely to get punished if you were doing so much as doodling in the margins. And here Gray had pages of scribbles and doodles.

Gray sat up straighter. He took his notebook in both hands, cleared his throat, and began. “This is the first time I have learned about Hitler—” giggles and guffaws filled the room. Mr. Olson silenced them with a glare. Gray cleared his throat and continued. “—but I must remember him. It is men like him who would tear the world to shreds. Hitler was a great leader—no one can deny that. He united a war-torn country and brought it out of poverty. But he did so at the cost of human lives.

“How could someone do this—place one group high while demeaning another? How did he convince a blue-eyed blond-haired race that they were pure and everyone else was foul when he himself did not meet the physical criteria? How could he spawn such hatred in their hearts? And why did he?”

Gray hesitantly put down the paper. “That—that’s all I have.”

Mr. Olson gazed at Gray with something akin to admiration. “It says all that?”

Gray nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Why didn’t you just write it in English?”

“It is English, sir,” said Gray, looking at his paper. “At least, the English I’ve been taught.”

Mr. Olson placed an open book on Gray’s desk. “And what is this?”

Gray looked at the book. “Nonsense. I don’t recognize the symbols.”

Mr. Olson had nothing to say to that, so he went back to teaching.

Math looked like it was going to be Gray’s biggest hurtle. He stared, uncomprehending, at the equations the teacher wrote on the board. After the lesson, while everyone was doing homework, the teacher sat next to Gray’s desk. Leslie turned off her iPod and listened in.

“And what’s this?” asked the teacher, writing on a piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” mumbled Gray. “Can you read it to me?”

“Twenty-seven times four.”

“And what does it mean?” asked Gray. Leslie glanced over. Gray’s face was flushed. He gripped the pencil in his hand.

The teacher calmly said, “Twenty-seven groups of four.”

“Oh, so ‘times’ really means ‘times of.’ So this is ‘twenty-seven times of four.’ Do you mean multiplied? Four multiplied twenty-seven times?”

The teacher smiled. “Yes,” she said.

Gray laughed. “That’s easy.” He scribbled some symbols on his paper. “This is four where I’m from, and this is twenty-seven. This is the symbol we use when we multiply them together. And…” Gray tapped his pencil on his paper. “The product is one-hundred eight.”

The math teacher was entranced. “How many digits are in your number system?”

“Ten, including zero. And yours?”

“Ten, including zero.”

Leslie turned her iPod back on and tried to concentrate on her homework. Gray was smart. Even though he couldn’t read, he was smart. Except he could read, and do math, and all the stuff that was hard for Leslie—he just couldn’t do it in English. Or if it was English, it wasn’t with the same alphabet and numerals.

Gray was just as impressive in Leslie’s co-ed P.E. class. They were playing basketball. He’d never played before, but after a little practice he could dribble decently. He couldn’t shoot baskets, but he was quick. He stole the ball from the other team easily, and he passed the ball to his teammates without fail.

“Woah,” said Anne, a girl who sometimes pretended to be Leslie’s friend. “Who’s the new guy you came in with? He’s cute.” Anne popped her bubble gum loudly between her teeth.

Leslie shifted uncomfortably. “He’s Gray. He’s kind of my new foster brother.”

“Brother, huh? Means he’s open for me.” Anne skipped off to stand next to Gray. He smiled politely, but otherwise ignored her.

The last class of the day was AP Chemistry. This was the one class Leslie never hid behind her music for. She loved anything related to science. The teacher, Mr. Jones, was teaching about atomic structure. “Now, when the atom gains energy, the electrons get excited and jump to a higher orbit, further away from the nucleus. When the atom loses energy, the electrons fall, releasing that energy as heat or light. Now, this happens to electrons in the highest energy shell for that atom, not for the ones below it. Does anyone know why?”

Leslie raised her hand. “Because while the electrons are attracted to the nucleus, they are repelled by the other electrons. If an electron in a lower shell tried to jump to a higher energy state, it would come too near another electron. Hey—could the lower electron still jump to a higher state, but force the electron above it to a higher state as well?”

Mr. Jones rubbed his chin. “Hmm…I can’t recall. I don’t believe so, because the lower electron would be more strongly attracted to the proton than the higher shell electron, so it should stay in its energy level. That’s a very good question. Tell you what—I’ll look it up and tell you next time, okay?”

Leslie beamed. She turned to Gray to share her happiness, but he was gazing at the teacher with a look of utter stupefaction. As the teacher continued to talk, his eyes glazed over.

A little disappointed, Leslie started to turn forward. Something sticking out of Gray’s backpack caught her eye. It was the strange cylinder that Gray guarded so carefully. She wasn’t the only one. Idiots come in all shapes, sizes, and I.Q.s, and the AP Chemistry class had one of the most idiotic. Brent, the boy sitting behind Gray, snuck the cylinder out of Gray’s backpack and said loudly, “Hey, I wonder what this is.”

Gray’s eyes flashed open. He leaped to his feet, throwing his desk out of the way. Wordlessly, he lunged for the cylinder. Brent jumped backwards, scrambling over desks and students to get away from Gray. Kids yelled and shrieked. Gray grabbed for the cylinder.

Brent dodged and swung a fist at Gray. Gray caught Brent by the arm and threw him over his shoulder.

Several girls screamed. Brent’s friends jumped up, lunging at Gray. Gray dodged and blocked all their blows easily, landing a few punches in the process. Gray pushed through the crowd of teens and jumped over a desk, landing in front of Brent.

“Give it to me,” growled Gray.

Brent dropped the cylinder and ran out of the room.

Mr. Jones yelled, “Class dismissed. Go to your lockers or anywhere on school grounds until the bell rings.”

Students scrambled for their things, stuffing books and notebooks into their backpacks. Leslie and Gray started to pick up their backpacks. “Gray, Leslie, you stay here,” said Mr. Jones. Wordlessly, Leslie and Gray sunk back into their seats.

Mr. Jones righted one of the toppled chairs and sat in it, facing Gray and Leslie. He laced his fingers together and rested his elbows on Gray’s desk. He sighed. “Gray, I understand you’ve been going through some rough times. With your parents’ deaths and going to a foster home, going to a new school with new kids and strange customs, it’s no wonder you’re frustrated. But did you really have to fight?”

Gray looked at the cylinder in his hands. “He threw the first punch.”

“Yes,” admitted Mr. Jones, “and I’m not saying Brent was in the right. Now, I was told that you come from somewhere that’s a little different than here. I don’t know if this is true there, but here we don’t pick fights in the middle of a classroom. We try not to pick fights at all. We try to take a higher road—one that doesn’t include violence. Do you understand?”

Gray bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Mr. Jones pushed back from the desk and stood up. “Now, I’m going to get the principal, and we’re going to have a chat because there are always consequences for our actions. Wait for me here. Leslie, you make sure he stays here.”

Mr. Jones left the room, leaving silence in his wake. The silence stretched on. Leslie stared at her desk, wondering why she was being involved in this. She could hear the clock ticking the seconds off one by one.

“He told me to protect it with my life,” said Gray.

Leslie glanced over. Gray was staring at the cylinder in his hands. He gripped it so hard the wood creaked. “He told me to protect it and deliver it, and I can’t do either without making a scene.”

“Where do you need to deliver it?” asked Leslie.

Gray shook his head and stood. He walked to the classroom window, gazing outside. “I was given one task. One. Success means life, and fail—”

Suddenly, Gray scrambled away from the window. “Get back,” he yelled to Leslie. She tried to get up, but she was stuck between her chair and the desk.

Something crashed through the window, sending glass flying. It rolled into a crouch. Leslie shook glass from her hair and peered over the rows of desks.

It was a young woman in her early twenties, dressed in a sleeveless tan shirt, tan pants, and tan shoes. Her brown hair was tied in a messy pony tail. She stood. Her lips turned downward in a snarl. “Give me the scroll,” she demanded.

“What do you want with it?” said Gray.

“Give it to me!” the woman yelled. Then she changed.

Her arms lengthened and her legs shortened. Her clothes seemed to melt into her, becoming a part of her, as golden fur rippled over her body. Her body and head smoothed and lengthened, as if made of putty. In a matter of seconds the woman was gone, replaced by a full-grown mountain lion, 5 feet long from head to tail and 110 pounds of pure muscle.

Leslie shrieked. She fell out of her chair and scooted backwards between the rows of desks. The mountain lion’s ears twitched her way, but it remained focused on Gray. It screamed, the sound echoing through the classroom, and lunged towards Gray. Gray picked up a chair and threw it at the mountain lion. It caught the chair in midair, clawing and biting at it. Chair and lion slammed into the floor. The mountain lion scrambled to its feet. It leaped at Gray again. He lifted a chair, hoisting it like a lion tamer.

“Leslie, catch,” yelled Gray. He threw the wooden cylinder at her. She barely caught it, fumbled it for a moment, and brought it to her chest.

The mountain lion whirled around. It screamed. Its ears lay flat against its skull. With wide dilated eyes, the mountain lion leaped over the rows of desks in between it and Leslie, landing in front of her. It hissed, stalking closer. Leslie scooted backwards, kicking desks and chairs into its way.

With a wild yell, Gray threw another chair at the mountain lion. The lion dodged, hissing at Gray. Gray hastily unbuttoned his shirt, tearing off many of the buttons in the process. Underneath, he was wearing the strange brown-green shirt Leslie found him in.

Gray kicked another chair at the mountain lion. “Leslie, run!” he yelled as he kicked off his shoes.

Leslie scrambled to her feet. She turned to run. The mountain lion jumped onto the desks in front of her, cutting her off. Leslie fell back onto the desk behind her. The mountain lion shifted, getting ready to pounce.

Suddenly, a black blur flew through the air, slamming into the mountain lion. Roars and screams tore through the air. Leslie fell into a curled ball and peered out from under her arm. An adolescent black leopard, a little smaller and leaner than the mountain lion, landed in a crouch with its back to Leslie. It snarled, turning as the mountain lion tried to circle behind it. A thin leather band was draped over its neck, and a small carved stone dangled from it.

“Gray?” Leslie said, disbelief catching in her voice.

The panther turned, fixing Leslie in its gaze. Leslie’s world slowed to a standstill as she stared into its yellow eyes. Her heart thudded in her chest. Blood rushed through her ears, and she could feel herself beginning to faint.

The mountain lion leaped at the black panther. Gray dodged, and the lion’s claws tore into his side. The panther roared in pain and swiped at the mountain lion with one large paw. He leaped at the mountain lion, and she dashed away.

The two large cats fought, tearing up the classroom. Desks and chairs went flying as the cats lunged at each other, biting at their throats. Beakers and test tubes shattered as the mountain lion and black panther slammed into the shelving. A bottle of sulfuric acid, left out after a lesson, tottered on its shelf. The panther threw the lion into the wall, and the bottle fell, shattering on the ground. Sulfuric acid splashed across the floor, hissing and foaming. Some landed on the mountain lion’s shoulder. It yowled in pain and dashed for the broken window. It jumped from the window ledge to the tree outside. The black panther followed.

Leslie crawled forward, carefully moving across broken glass and splintered desks. Her hand hit something small and smooth. She looked down. It was Gray’s necklace. The leather band was snapped, though it was still attached to the small black stone. Leslie lifted it to the light. The stone was carved into the shape of a panther. Absentmindedly, Leslie pocketed the necklace. Shakily, Leslie stood.

Footsteps thundered down the hallway. Mr. Jones and the principal burst into the room. “We heard noises—” Mr. Jones began. He stopped cold.

“What happened here?” the principal whispered.

Leslie tightened her grip on the wooden cylinder and stared out the broken window. “Gray went after the mountain lion,” she mumbled.

The Scroll 8

Well, I've procrastinated putting this post on for one simple reason: I wrote it first on paper and then left the paper at my apartment! And I've been at my parents' house all week! So now I've decided to rewrite this segment of the story (because I've written the next part (which I won't post until tomorrow) and I'm so excited for it). It's better and worse than the original. I'm not sure which I like better, but you're stuck with this one, so here goes:

In this episode of "The Scroll," Gray decides to open up to Leslie, and they have a nice little chat. Also, Gray's face is put in the public's view.

* * *

Leslie stood in the laundry room, staring at Gray’s clothes. The night before, she’d hung them up to dry. They didn’t seem like the “dry on low heat” kind of clothes. There had been one or two small holes in the shirt, and one of the legs of the pants was ragged at the ends. Now both the pants and the shirt were in perfect condition.

The clothes were smooth and soft, and they shone nearly as much as silk in the light. Leslie took the material in her hands and ran her fingers over it. The brownish-green fabric was seamless, tightly woven, with no bumps or imperfections. She pinched some of it between her fingers. It stuck slightly when she released the pressure. Leslie had an insane urge to stick her arm up the shirt’s trunk to see if it would latch onto her skin, like Savannah claimed. No, she thought, tossing the shirt on top of the washing machine. I’m not Savannah. I’m not ruled by a fantastical imagination.

Still, the pants and shirt’s perfect condition unnerved Leslie. She paced out of the laundry room and across the kitchen, rubbing her arms. I need to go running, she thought. She stopped.

Gray was standing at the bottom of the stairs in his pajamas. The hair on the right side of his head stood straight up from where he’d slept on it. Leslie fought the urge to laugh and said through tight lips, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” returned Gray. “What are you doing?”

“I was going to go running. Do you want to come?”

Gray’s face went blank. He looked away, frowning, as if he was making a decision about something. His hand tightened into a fist. Sighing, Gray relaxed the fist and turned to Leslie with a smile. “I would love to go running.”

They changed clothes and met in front of the house. After stretching out for a few moments, Leslie and Gray began jogging down the street. “I have a confession to make,” said Leslie.

“Oh?” replied Gray. “And what’s that?”

“I have a goal to run five miles without stopping, but I’ve never been able to do it.”

“Well,” said Gray, “Maybe what you need is a running partner.”

“How’s that supposed to help?” asked Leslie, turning to him. She had to stretch her legs a little longer to stay up with him. She breathed easily as they ran.

“When you can run and talk at the same time, you know you’re going the right speed,” explained Gray. “Plus, it takes your mind off things. We’ve gone nearly a quarter mile already.”

“Really?” Leslie looked around. Sure enough, they’d gone a quarter mile. They exited Leslie’s neighborhood and made their way to the highway.

After a few minute’s silence, Gray spoke. “I have a confession to make, too.”

“What is it?”

Gray glanced over, moving closer to the side of the road as a car passed. “I thought I could keep from caring about your family. I thought I could close myself off from you. But I can’t. My father would have been able to, but I can’t.”

“Why would you need to close yourself off?” asked Leslie.

“I have a mission,” said Gray, looking into Leslie’s hazel eyes with his gold-flecked ones. “And I didn’t think I would be staying here for very long. Now I’m not so sure.”

“What’s your mission?” asked Leslie.

Gray looked forward and stopped talking. Leslie tried asking again, but Gray didn’t respond. Leslie bit her lip. She didn’t know what Gray was up to, but she hoped it wasn’t anything bad. “Okay, I won’t ask you what your mission is, but I will ask one thing: is it illegal?”

Gray looked at her with an expression that clearly said, Are you crazy? “Of course it’s not illegal. I wouldn’t do anything illegal. But it’s very important.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Gray shook his head. He was silent. Then, suddenly he said, “Two miles.”

“Huh?”

“We’ve gone two miles.”

Leslie looked around. They were by the beach. The wildflowers growing on the sand dunes waved gently in the wind. The sound of the ocean waves breaking on the shore roared nearby. “Wow. It’s been so easy.”

“Almost halfway there.”

They were silent for a few more minutes. Then Gray said, “Can I ask you something?”

“What?”

“Why were you and Savannah so distant yesterday?”

Leslie laughed. “Oh, that? We had a little fight—about you, actually.”

Gray looked at her, smiling. “Really? What about?”

Leslie rolled her eyes. “Savannah thinks you’re an alien or a time traveler or something.”

“And what do you think?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think,” mumbled Leslie. “It never matters what I think.”

Gray slowed almost to a walk. “Why do you say that?”

“Because I’m a nobody.” Leslie flung her hands over her head. “I’ve always been a nobody. I’m not good at anything. Nobody cares about me, or what I say, or what I think.”

“I think you’re too hard on yourself,” said Gray.

Leslie snorted. “You sound like my dad.”

“It’s true,” said Gray. “You saved my life. I care about that.”

Leslie looked at him sideways. “Well, you’re the exception.”

Gray tossed his head, motioning for Leslie to follow him. “Come on. One mile left.”

They climbed a hill, making their way back towards Leslie’s house. Gray slowed almost to a stop as he gazed out over the city of Half Moon Bay. “It’s so big. I thought this would be easy, but—” He shook his head. “Come on, half a mile to go.”

Leslie jogged beside him. “You think this is big? You should see San Francisco. Buildings piled side-by-side, people walking everywhere, traffic and noise like you couldn’t believe. But it’s nice—just not to live in, if you ask me.”

Gray didn’t respond. They jogged in silence the rest of the way to Leslie’s house. Gray held the door open for Leslie as she walked inside. “There you go,” he said. “Five miles, nonstop. Now you’ll have to come up with a new goal.” He smiled and walked up the stairs to his room, closing the door behind him.

Savannah was watching the news. Suddenly, a sketched picture of Gray’s face appeared. “Hey, turn that up,” said Leslie.

Savannah obediently punched the volume up button on the remote control. Angela Castillo’s voice said, “If you know this boy, please contact us at the number below. He was found washed up on shore in the Half Moon Bay area, and it is believed that he has some memory loss. Right now he is living with a foster family in Half Moon Bay. Again, he was found wearing what appear to be old-fashioned homemade clothes and a necklace carved in the shape of a cat. We want to do everything we can to help him find his family and get him safely home.”

“Huh,” said Savannah. “I’ve never seen that on the news before. Of course, they’re going about it all wrong. He’s not from anywhere around here. Wonder how school will go tomorrow.”

* * *

Next time on "The Scroll:" Leslie's world is turned upside-down. It's gonna be a good 'un!

The Scroll 7

Yay! I finally wrote some more! I promise that over Christmas Break I will write at least two more times. At least.

In this episode (issue? chapter?) of The Scroll, Gray feels guilt over his deception. Also, Savannah tries to tease the truth from Gray.

* * *

There were clothes everywhere. Gray had never seen so many clothes in one place before. And it wasn’t just clothes. Just a few paces away were aisles stuffed with boxed, bagged, and fresh food. In the other direction were toys, knick-knacks, furniture, all sorts of things. It was like an indoor marketplace, without merchants haggling their wares.

Matheson filled the metal cart with clothes and shoes, all of which he had Gray try on. “Don’t worry about your looks,” joked Matheson. “I’ve had to buy clothes for my daughters for the past two years. I’d like to think I’ve picked up a bit of fashion sense.”

Gray fingered a black button-down shirt that was on the top of the pile. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Matheson was doing all of this for him—and Gray wasn’t planning on staying. “I—I can’t accept this.”

Matheson grabbed the shirt. Gray looked up into his deep brown eyes. “Yes, you can. And you will. I don’t care if you never give me anything in return. I’m giving you this now.”

Gray let go of the shirt, casting down his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

After piling still more clothes into the cart, they got a backpack, a note pad, and different writing utensils. “You’ll want mechanical pencils, I suppose,” said Matheson. “All the kids use them nowadays. Nobody wants to get up in the middle of class to sharpen their pencils.”

As Gray pushed the cart down the store aisle, Matheson said, “I hope you learn to like it here. I don’t know how long you’ll be with us, but I want every minute to be enjoyable. I also want to get to know you. Who are you, Gray?” Matheson placed a hand on Gray’s shoulder.

Gray shrugged it off. “I’m just a boy.”

Matheson raised an eyebrow. “And who is this boy? What does he like to do? What’s his favorite food? Does he have any hobbies? Does he know what he wants to be when he grows up?”

Gray chuckled. Matheson was so persistent. Gray made a small motion with his hand. “Well, I like to hunt. I like a well-cooked roast. None of my hobbies are interesting, and,” he looked Matheson in the eye, “I want to save people.”

Matheson nodded. He clapped Gray on the shoulder. “Very commendable.” He tilted his head towards the front of the store. “What do you say we pick up a couple of pizzas and head for home?”

* * *

At the house, Matheson slid the pizzas into the oven. Gray realized the two sisters, Leslie and Savannah, were acting very distant—almost frigid—towards each other. They walked around each other in a very deliberate dance—not looking at each other, turning their shoulders so their backs faced each other, staring at the walls as they walked past. Matheson noticed as well. He shrugged. Girls, he mouthed.

Gray dropped his bags off in the bedroom assigned to him and took a shower. He felt cold, even after an entire day. He’d taken a shower earlier, comforted by the fact that they had running water here and pleasantly surprised that they had hot running water. Now Gray turned the hot water up so high that it nearly burned his skin. Still, he felt chilled. He doubted if he would ever feel warm again.

Tomorrow I’ll be warm. And tomorrow or the day after I’ll leave—once I know where to go. Matheson had shown him the shampoos. Gray squirted some on his hands and lathered it into his hair. It felt nice to have such luxuries. I wish my instructions were clearer. It seemed so easy—find Professor Brown, give him the scroll, and he’d know what to do.

But everything’s so complicated here. This isn’t the small town I was expecting, and am I supposed to just leave these kind people without a word of explanation?

Father would say yes. But Father’s not here. I am. With those thoughts running through his mind, Gray finished up his shower and dressed in some of his new clothes.

Downstairs, the pizza was just coming out of the oven. A strange tangle of smells reached Gray’s nose, making his mouth water. Leslie cut the pizza into eighths with a round knife that rolled across the pizza like a wheel, while Savannah got out plates made of paper. They piled their plates high with pizza. Gray followed suit, putting two of each type of pizza on his plate.

Matheson entered the kitchen carrying two small, thin boxes. “Okay, the choices are Time Thief or Meet Me at Forever. Which do you want to watch?”

“Meet Me at Forever sounds like a chick flick,” said Savannah.

Matheson looked at one of the boxes in his hands. “According to the description it’s a chick flick with a twist.”

Savannah groaned. “There’s no such thing. Let’s watch the other one.”

“Time Thief it is.” Matheson quickly placed pizza on a final plate and led the way into the other room. Leslie and Savannah followed. Gray, who had just sat down at the table, quickly gathered his things and went after them.

Leslie sat on a couch while Savannah piled pillows and blankets on the floor. She held a stuffed animal shaped like a small green person with large ears in her arms. “Come on Yoda,” she murmured. “Let’s watch a movie.”

Gray sat next to Leslie. Leslie was staring at a large black box that sat opposite them on a wooden table. Matheson fiddled with something for a moment. There was a whirring sound, and suddenly the black box filled with light. Gray jerked upright, nearly spilling his pizza over the floor. Leslie ignored him, but Savannah looked over, glaring at him. Gray tried to relax, staring at the colored box.

It was like a play, with all the actors trapped inside the black box. But as Gray watched—the plot ignored while he tried to guess the box’s secrets—he realized the actors were not aware of their audience. They gleamed with light, as did their little world. “They’re like Shades.”

“What?” asked Leslie and Savannah. Matheson looked over.

“They’re like Shades or ghosts, doomed to act out forever the same scenes with no variations. What do they think? Do they think at all? What do they feel? Are they aware of where they are and what is happening to them? Do they wish they could change their script, even for a tiny moment?”

“They’re just bits of data recorded on a disk,” mumbled Leslie.

Savannah nodded. “Interesting thoughts. I wondered that when I was little.”

“Let’s just watch the movie,” said Leslie.

Gray bit into his pizza. A conglomeration of taste bombarded him—bread and cheese and tomatoes and spices and meat and peppers—it made his mouth water. He quickly chewed and swallowed, swiftly taking another bite. The movie was forgotten as he ate. Gray realized he’d found a new favorite food.

When Gray resurfaced from his feast, the movie was too far into the plot for him to completely grasp what was going on. He watched, finally realizing towards the end that it was about a man who had stolen the secret of time. But in finding that secret, he had changed the course of history. Now he was desperately trying to fix time before all of creation unraveled. It was an interesting plot. Savannah kept glancing at Gray, as though she was trying to gauge his reactions.

After the movie, Gray bid the others good night and went up to his room. He put his clothes away and placed his school supplies—which he doubted he’d ever really use—on a desk. He reached into the paper bag he’d gotten at the hospital, pulling out the cylindrical tube. Inside the tube was the scroll he had to deliver—the scroll that could prove the salvation or destruction of his entire town, perhaps his entire world. He had to leave…but he didn’t know where to go.

Gray placed the scroll on the desk and turned to close the bedroom door. Savannah was leaning against the door jamb.

“I know who you are,” said Savannah, her eyes narrowing.

A thrill went down Gray’s spine, but he responded calmly, “And how do you know when I haven’t said anything?”

“It’s your not saying that says everything.”

“How does my not saying say everything?”

“By not saying what you would say, you say what you wish to remain unsaid.”

“If it is unsaid, then how does my unsaying say what must be unsaid?”

“Your unsaying says you must not say what must be said to say what is said.”

“And what have I said?”

“It’s what you haven’t said that says what you’re trying not to say.”

“And that is?”

“You’re not from here.” Suddenly, Savannah leaped forward, snatching the scroll from off the desk. Gray tried to grab it from her, but she danced out of reach. “And this is important.”

Gray nearly shifted right there. He snarled at Savannah. A deep rumble emanated from his chest.

Savannah laughed, cutting the rumble short. “Are you growling at me? You’re stranger than I thought.” She tossed the scroll back to Gray. He caught it easily.

All mirth left Savannah’s face. She pointed at Gray’s face. “I’m watching you.” With that, Savannah turned and stalked away, her dark curls bouncing on her shoulders.