The Eyes Of Kid Midas

right, everything's going to get all mixed up, until nothing in the universe works the way it's supposed to.... And then, everything will just . . . stop.'

'The Dream Time,' said Kirkpatrick, raising his eyebrows.

'The what?'

Kirkpatrick took on that knowing look of a shaman—as he had around the campfire two weekends before. 'There are some cultures,' he said, 'that believe there will come a time when dreams cross the barrier into the real world, and the real world is dragged into an endless dream. All the laws of science and logic will break down into the chaos of nightmares. Pretty wild, huh?'

Josh could feel his hands and feet grow numb. Kirkpatrick didn't know it, but he had hit the nail right on the head. This was exactly what Josh had been sensing. Everything was sort of . . . slipping away, and it was all because of Kevin and those awful glasses. Josh wanted to run home and take a shower to wash the feeling away. He wanted to slam his fist against the wall, just so he could feel it and know that it was real and not a dream.

'You think that could happen?' asked Josh. 'The Dream Time?'

Kirkpatrick waved his hand as if he were swatting away a fly. 'Naah. It's an ancient superstition made up by people who needed to explain things. It's the same as believing the world is flat, or that the sun revolves around the earth.'

'But the prophecy,' said Josh, practically climbing out of his chair. 'The legend about the Divine Watch— those people had to know something!'

Kirkpatrick leaned back and laughed again. 'Is that what this is all about, the mountain?'

'The prophecy makes sense!' said Josh.

'Maybe so,' said Kirkpatrick, 'but I made it up.'

Josh backed up until the hard wood of his chair pressed against his shoulder blades. 'You what?'

'I made it all up. It was a good campfire story,' said Kirkpatrick, a bit pleased with himself. 'Too good, I guess.'

Josh couldn't look at him now. 'You don't understand...' he mumbled.

'Sure I do,' said Kirkpatrick kindly.

Josh couldn't let it go. There had to be a way to get through to him. 'Nicole Patterson is six inches tall!' Josh blurted out.

Kirkpatrick thought about that. 'Well . . . I never gave it much thought . . . but now that you mention it, yes, she is about the size of a shoe. So?'

'So, doesn't that seem strange to you?'

'Should it?'

Josh threw his hands up in the air.

Kirkpatrick began to tap his pen against his desk and chew on his upper lip. 'Josh . . . maybe you ought to go down to guidance and have a talk with Dr. Cutler.'

'Why?'

'Well . . . obviously something is troubling you. Maybe she could help.'

'I'm not crazy!'

'No one said you were.'

Josh stood up so fast the chair flew out behind him and fell to the floor. He headed for the door as quickly as he could, but before he left he turned back to Kirkpatrick.

'One more thing ...' Josh kept his hand on the doorknob, as if touching something—anything—solid and real would give him the courage to ask the question he needed to ask and face the answer he knew he would get.

'How much,' asked Josh, 'is two plus two?'

Kirkpatrick looked at him, expecting there to be a punch line. 'What's your point, Josh?'

'Just answer the question,' said Josh.

Kirkpatrick shrugged. 'Three, of course. The answer is three.'

12 DON'T TOUCH THAT DIAL

Rumor was that Hal Hornbeck lost it completely that same day, during fourth period. Not that Hal had ever been wrapped too tightly to begin with, but for some reason, he walked into his Spanish class and went totally loco. Everyone who saw it had their own version of the story, but everyone did agree on this basic sequence of events: Hal had walked into class, looking tired and confused. Then, for no apparent reason, he launched into a screaming fit and had to be dragged out.

Rumor also had it that he refused to say anything that made sense to Dr. Cutler, the guidance counselor. He just kept asking for Bertram, whoever that was, perhaps an imaginary playmate.

Kevin and Josh, who did not have Spanish class with Hal, heard all of this in passing, but didn't think much of it. They had enough concerns of their own.

Kevin and Josh also avoided Nicole Patterson to the best of their ability, which might have been a mistake, because Nicole, who was in Hal's Spanish class, had the most accurate description of what really happened. Nicole claimed that Hal walked into the room, saw her, and began screaming at the top of his lungs. Everyone thought it was pretty funny that a clod like Hal could be frightened by someone as petite as Nicole.

During lunch, there was further talk about how Hal had gotten a zero on his first-period math quiz, but Kevin was too busy looking for his sister to care much about the current status of Hal Hornbeck's math skills. Kevin was hoping Teri had come up with some advice as to what to do about the glasses.

Teri did, indeed, have some advice.

'Take the glasses, and smash them with a sledgehammer,' she said. 'I'll do it for you if you want.' That was easy for her to say—they weren't hers. She wasn't the one who needed them. She wasn't the one who got sick when the glasses weren't around.

'They can't be destroyed,' said Kevin.

'How do you know? Have you tried?'

'What if we try to destroy them and they destroy us instead, in defense?'

'You're talking like the thing is alive—it's just a pair of glasses.'

Kevin didn't answer her, and his silence made Teri shudder. 'Then we'll bury them,' said Teri, 'where no one will ever find them. You, me, and Josh together—okay?'

Kevin squirmed his way out of answering her. If she had made this suggestion the night before, when he was weak and vulnerable, he would have gone out with her in the middle of the night in his pajamas, and buried them halfway to China. But that was then. Now Kevin had a better idea, one that he was certain would work just fine, although he wasn't about to tell anyone. He would keep wearing the glasses, but learn to shut up.

Kevin was reminded of a diabetic kid he knew. The kid went to class, played sports, had fun—was normal in every way. The only thing was, he had to have a shot of insulin every day, for the rest of his life.

That's how it would be with Kevin and the glasses.

What's the big deal? Kevin told himself. He had worn glasses every day for as long as he could remember. So now the rest of him needed glasses as much as his eyes did—what was the difference, really? He could grow used to keeping the glasses on and keeping his mouth shut, the way the diabetic boy got used to his insulin shots.

Kevin was thinking about this when suddenly his crystal-clear world became blurry once more.

Kevin didn't see the face of the kid who stole his glasses—but by the shape lumbering down the hall, he could tell who it had to be.

Hal Hornbeck.

Hal didn't taunt Kevin—he didn't play keep-away, or bullfight, or rodeo. He simply took the glasses and just kept on running until he burst out the side door of Ridgeline Middle School and disappeared.