High, where he was a sophomore, look at the other kids, and think, Do they know the danger we’re all in? Do they have any clue that I’m one of the few people in Halla who is trying to protect them? The answer was, of course, no. To the other kids at school, Mark Dimond was nothing more than a nervous brainiac who ate too many carrots and didn’t wash his unkempt, greasy black hair often enough. Guys like Mark were like wallpaper…always hanging around but totally invisible.
Things weren’t going much better for Courtney. Life had changed drastically for her since entering high school. Courtney had always been the girl who had it all going on. She was pretty, with waist-length brown hair and deep gray eyes. She had lots of friends and, most notably, kicked butt in every sport she played. Courtney was a legend. It didn’t matter what sport either: soccer, volleyball, softball, track…She even wanted to play football, but the rules wouldn’t allow it. But since coming to Davis Gregory High, things had changed. Courtney wasn’t the best anymore. Maybe it was because the other girls caught up. Maybe it was because she never had to try very hard, and it was paying off for those who did. Or maybe it was because she had lost something intangible. The spark. The magic. Whatever. The result was that Courtney looked bad. In soccer she was demoted from varsity to JV and then quit the team. That was big. Courtney never quit anything. Ever. But she quit soccer. She sought refuge in volleyball, her favorite sport. But things weren’t any better. Courtney didn’t even make the team. She got cut. Cut! Courtney had never been cut. It was humiliating. At first the other kids were happy to see the queen dethroned, but after a while they started feeling bad for her. Courtney didn’t want pity. That was the worst.
If there was one word you could use to describe Courtney Chetwynde, it was “confident.” But that confidence was taking a severe beating, and she was starting to question herself. It affected the rest of her life too. Her grades took a nosedive; she stopped hanging with her best friends; and she fought with her parents. She hated their constant, worried looks that silently asked, “What’s wrong with you?” The frustrating truth was, she didn’t know. It was eating her up.
But Courtney wasn’t totally self-absorbed. She knew her troubles were puny compared to the bigger dangers lurking about. Bobby Pendragon, the guy she’d had a crush on since she was four years old, was flying around the universe battling an evil demon who wanted nothing less than the destruction of everything. Courtney realized that on a scale of one to ten where ten was the worst, getting cut from volleyball was around negative forty. Knowing this, Courtney felt guilty when she worried about her own little problems. But she couldn’t help it, which made her feel worse. She couldn’t control events in Halla; she could only deal with her own life…and she wasn’t dealing so well.
Mark and Courtney were an odd couple. Under normal circumstances they would never have been on each others’ radar. Shy nerds didn’t hang with awesome jock girls. It was one of the realities of high school. But these two were joined by their friendship with Bobby. They knew Saint Dane had to be stopped and were prepared to do whatever it took to help their friend. But after months of being acolytes, they hadn’t done a single thing that had anything to do with life outside of boring old Stony Brook, Connecticut.
It was making them absolutely, totally crazy.
The only thing that kept Mark from going off the deep end was the Sci-Clops science club at school. The summer before, Mark had designed and built a battling robot for the state science fair. He won first prize and got an invitation to join the prestigious club. Mark wasn’t used to being rewarded for doing something that was usually considered geek territory, so he welcomed the chance. Mark found that Sci-Clops was full of brilliant students who shared his curiosity about the world around them. A Sci-Clops meeting was a minivacation from the relentless social pressure of high school. It also helped get his mind off the imminent destruction of the universe.
Four months to the day after they saw Bobby and Saint Dane at the flume, Mark anxiously watched the clock tick toward the end of the school day. Mr. Pike, the teacher who led Sci-Clops, promised that a special guest would be speaking that day, and Mark was dying to know who it might be. When the bell rang, he gathered his books and walked quickly toward the science wing. He hurried across the student center, entered the science wing, and was halfway up the back stairwell when his day began to unravel.
Standing on the landing, smoking a cigarette, was Andy Mitchell.
“Hey, Dimond,” Mitchell wheezed. “Smoke?”
“Hate” is a strong word. The word “hate” shouldn’t be used lightly. Mark hated Andy Mitchell. From the time they were little, Mitchell bullied Mark. It was the classic scenario: smart nerd vs. pathetic loser. Mark would stress over taking alternate routes around school to avoid crossing paths with him. Encounters invariably ended up with a punch in the arm, or an Indian burn or, as they got older, the threat of serious violence. Their relationship came to a head when Mitchell stole Bobby’s Traveler journals. Mark and Courtney cleverly got them back and nearly got Mitchell arrested in the process. Having finally beaten Mitchell gave Mark a bit more confidence in dealing with the imbecile, but he still preferred not to.
Mark ignored Mitchell and walked past him up the stairs. He fully expected Mitchell to grab him for some obligatory noogie-type humiliation. Instead Mitchell stubbed out his cigarette and followed. Mark stopped and whipped him a look.
“What do you want?” Mark demanded.
“Nothin’,” Mitchell answered while pushing his greasy blond hair out of his eyes. Mark could smell the cigarettes on his breath. Gross. He turned and started up the stairs again. Mitchell followed. Mark stopped and spun back.
— What?”he demanded.
“What ‘what’?” Mitchell asked innocently. “I ain’t doing nothing!”
“You’re following me. Why? You gonna shove me in a locker or ask for money or…or…”
“I’m going to the Sci-Clops meeting,” Mitchell answered.
On the list of answers Mark expected, this was below last. It was so far from last, it was in another state. Mark stared in shock, waiting for a punch line that didn’t come.
“You’re going to the Sci-Clops meeting?” Mark asked. “Why? We going to experiment on you?”
“That’s real funny,” Mitchell snarled. “Pike asked me to join.”
If Mark didn’t grab on to the railing, he would have fallen down the stairs. Had he heard right? Was the dreaded Andy Mitchell, professional ignoramus, truly asked to join the elite science club? Andy Mitchell was a moron, and that was paying him a compliment. Mr. Pike must have gotten Andy Mitchell mixed up with somebody else. Sci-Clops was made up of science brains who had dreams of attending MIT. Andy Mitchell was a lamebrain who dreamed about being old enough to buy beer and getting a tattoo. Mark concluded that it had to be a mistake.
“Oh, okay,” Mark said, trying not to laugh. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late for your first meeting.”
“They’ll wait,” Andy snapped back snottily.
The two continued up the stairs to the physics floor. Mark couldn’t wait to see Mitchell’s reaction when the mistake was discovered. Wishing total humiliation for someone wasn’t exactly noble, but after the years of havoc Andy Mitchell rained down on the dweebs of Stony Brook, he deserved it. When they entered Mr. Pike’s classroom, most of the Sci-Clops members were already sitting and waiting to begin. They were a precise bunch. Mark took a seat in the back of the room because he was still one of the newer members. Unlike the bus where the cool kids sat in back, in Sci-Clops the senior members sat right up front. It was one of the many things Mark liked about the club. Andy Mitchell, on the other hand, chose a seat in the first row like he owned the place. Mark loved it. He couldn’t wait until Mr. Pike called him out. It was every dweeb’s dream come true. Twenty against one. An excellent nerd vs. terd ratio.
Mr. Pike walked to the front of the class. He was a pleasant-looking guy who Mark figured was in his thirties, with longish hair that was starting to go gray. “Exciting day today, guys,” he began.
Mark hoped he would have opened up by kicking Andy Mitchell’s butt out of the room. But he was willing to wait. He knew it would only be a matter of time.
“We’re going to be talking about the creation of a new polymer material that is unique because of its extreme flexibility and tensile strength.”
Tensile strength? Mark wasn’t exactly sure what that was. The only tensile he knew about was the kind you put on Christmas trees. Whenever Mark wasn’t sure about something at a meeting, he’d nod and pretend to understand. That was okay; he liked learning new things. The trick was not to look like an idiot and try to figure it out as they went along.
“Our guest today has been conducting some groundbreaking experiments in this field, and I, for one, am very excited that he’s here to share his findings. So let’s get right to it. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you…Andy
