Earth Geeks Must Go! 2 page

Myrna brushes a hairy bug from the shoulder of

her green T-shirt. She puckers her hps and begins to whistle.

The other kids start to whistle. High, shrill notes. Not musical. I realize they are whistling as loudly as they can.

The bugs up and down my arms tremble and shake. I stare at them helplessly, watching them quiver. I can feel bugs quivering in my hair.

I see a Splatter fall off Arlene's shoulder. Another bug drops from her forehead.

Taking deep breaths, the kids whistle louder, higher.

The sound is so shrill, my ears hurt. My head feels about to explode.

Louder...

The Splatters quiver, then drop to the ground. They make a pattering THUD as they land. It sounds like big raindrops hitting the dirt.

The kids keep whistling till all the bugs have dropped off.

I scratch my head, scratch the back of my neck. The bugs are gone, but my skin still prickles.

"Th-thanks," I stammer.

"Why didn't you whistle?" Myrna asks, eyeing Arlene and me suspiciously. "You know that's the only way to get the Splatters off."

"Everyone knows that," a boy mutters.

"Uh... I guess Jacob and I just panicked," Arlene says.

The boy in the red cap reaches down and picks up one of the hairy, bubble-shaped insects. He slaps it between his hands. It makes a loud POP, like a balloon bursting. And a disgusting yellow liquid sprays out.

The boy laughs and picks up another one.

He pops it and sprays the yellow goo on the boy next to him.

This starts a Splatter war. Laughing and shouting, the kids grab up the bugs and pop them between their hands, splattering thick yellow gunk on each other.

Arlene and I exchange glances. Should we join in?

Kids around here obviously splatter these insects for fun.

But I remember how they feel in my hair, attaching to my skin, chnging to my face. I shudder. I really don't want to touch them again.

After a minute or so, the Splatter war ends. I reahze the kids are all staring at Arlene and me.

They surround us once again. Their expressions turn serious.

"Why are you out here?" Myrna asks. "You know you're not supposed to come out here during the school day."

"We ... just wanted to talk," I tell her, glancing nervously at Arlene.

"But you know how dangerous the woods are," a boy says. "You know the rule."

No, we don't, I think. We don't know anything about this school.

We don't even know anything about OURSELVES.

The kids close in on us, making the circle tighter. A boy steps on a Splatter, and yellow goo oozes around his shoe.

"We heard you shouting, so we came running," the boy in the red cap says.

"But you will get us all in trouble," a girl says softly. "If they see us out here ..." She lowers her eyes. Her voice trails off.

"We have no choice," Myrna says. "Come with us."

Panic grips my throat. "Huh? Where are you taking us?"

"To the principal," Myrna replies. "To Mr. Trager. We have to explain."

"But—"I start.

"You don't want to get us all in trouble on the very first day, do you?" a boy demands.

Arlene and I have no choice. We follow them back to the school building. They lead us to an office near the front entrance.

A man in a gray suit and vest appears. He is about forty, with tanned cheeks, bright blue eyes, and graying hair slicked down and parted in the middle. Mr. Trager.

He leads Arlene and me into the back office and closes the door. We stand awkwardly in front of his long gray desk.

He studies us for a while, narrowing those glowing blue eyes at us. His hair has so much oil in it, it gleams under the fluorescent lights.

He wasn't the principal here last year, I think.

Miss Robison was the principal. She was the principal forever!

But is this the same school?

Why can't I remember?

Mr. Trager rubs his tanned chin and turns to me. "You were found in the woods?"

I nod. "Yes."

My heart is thudding in my chest. My hands are suddenly ice-cold. I shove them into my jeans pockets.

"You both sneaked into the woods?" the principal asks, turning to Arlene.

She hesitates. "Well... yes."

Mr. Trager shakes his head. "You both have committed a fatal crime," he says sternly. "You know the punishment. Do you have any last words?"

I stumble in shock, grabbing a chair to keep from falling.

A short cry escapes Arlene's lips.

Mr. Trager tosses his head back and laughs. I can see a mouthful of gold fillings.

"Don't look so serious," he says. He slaps my shoulder. "You know I'm kidding."

Kidding. I let out a sigh. I start to breathe again. He was only kidding.

Great joke.

He frowns at us. "But you both know you're not allowed in the woods during school. What were you doing out there?"

I have a sudden urge to tell him the truth.

We don't know where we come from, Mr. Trager. And we don't know anyone in this school. And we can't read or write your language.

That would go over big — wouldn't it?

"We thought we saw some kind of animal in the woods," I lie. "So we followed it. We didn't mean to go so far."

Mr. Trager's blue eyes lock on mine. "There are lots of animals in those woods," he says softly. "That's why we have the rule."

"It's the first day of school. We just forgot," Arlene chimes in.

Mr. Trager drops heavily into his desk chair. It makes a loud WHOOSH as he sits down. He taps a pencil on the metal desktop as he gazes up at me.

"Jacob, I also heard you were seen in the lunchroom putting food in your mouth."

I swallow. My throat suddenly feels dry. "Well..."

"Don't be so impolite, Jacob," he scolds. "It's not funny. You know that's a disgusting thing to do while people are eating."

"Sorry," I murmur, looking down at the carpet.

But I don't have a food hole in my armpit, I think.

I think shoving food into your armpit is disgusting.

I suddenly wish I could ask him a milHon questions:

What school is this? What town are we in? What language did Mr Kray write on the board? Why can't Arlene remember her last name? Why can't I remember where I hve?

So many questions ...

Thinking about them makes me start to shake. I reahze for the first time just how frightened I am.

"You'd better get to class now," Mr. Trager says, leading us out of the office. "No more trouble, okay? You are trelth graders now. You have to set a good example."

Trelth?

Arlene and I wander down the hall. Lockers slam. Kids are getting their books and supphes, hurrying to class.

Arlene stops at her locker. She is biting her bottom lip. Her chin quivers. "This is so scary," she whispers.

Then she slaps at her back. "Ow!" She reaches behind her and pulls a hairy Splatter bug from her back. "Ow. Ow. That really hurt. It was burrowing into my skin."

"Give it to me." I take the disgusting bug from her. I place it in my palm and raise my hand to slap it.

Arlene grabs my hand as I bring it down. "Don't," she says.

"What's your problem?" I ask.

"It's a living thing, Jacob. Don't kill it."

"Huh?" I stare at it. The bug grunts. It quivers in my hand, a hair-covered bubble.

"I don't believe in killing living creatures," Arlene says. She shakes her head to straighten her bangs.

Holding the bug in my palm, I turn and walk past the principal's office, down the hall to a side door. I push open the door and carry the bug outside.

I see a low brick wall on the other side of the parking lot. Beyond the wall is the playground.

I carry the bug to the grass and carefully set it down. I am really tempted to stomp on it and make it pop.

But Arlene is watching me from the doorway.

So I turn and start back to the school building.

I take a few steps — and hear a whispered voice. "Hey, kid — over here." From behind the brick wall.

Startled, I turn to see an unpleasant-looking man. A thick stubble of beard on his face. Scraggly black hair falling over his eyes.

"Quick — over here!"

A chill of fear prickles the back of my neck.

Who is he? What does he want?

Why is he hiding back there?

I start to run. I don't feel safe until I'm back in the school and the door is closed behind me.

But am I really safe?

The rest of the day goes very slowly. I try to hide behind the kid in front of me. I don't want to be called on because I don't understand anything Mr. Kray is talking about.

He gives us a geography lesson on the continent of Plosia.

Then he assigns us to read the first three chapters in a novel by Thomas Maroon.

I feel lost, totally lost.

My head swims. I struggle to think clearly. But I'm too afraid.

And too hungry. My stomach growls so loudly, the girl next to me laughs. I didn't get to eat any lunch. I realize if I'm ever going to eat, it will have to be in private.

I stare at the clock, but it seems to be moving backwards. And I can't read the strange numbers on it. And why are there fourteen numbers instead of twelve?

I wonder how Arlene is doing. She isn't in my class. She's in the other sixth-grade class. Or should I say, the other trelth-grade class?

I feel a stab of fear. What if Arlene is tricking me? What if she really isn't different like me? What if she's setting some kind of a trap?

Can I really trust her?

I take a deep breath and hold it. Don't panic, Jacob, I tell myself. Arlene is as frightened as you are. She doesn't have a mouth in her armpit. You can trust her.

You have to trust someone.

I breathe a sigh of relief when the bell finally rings.

Everyone hurries out. They are all laughing and joking and happy.

I feel exhausted. Totally stressed. I know I can't spend one more day in this school strugghng to hide the fact that I'm different, that I don't belong.

But what can I do?

Arlene is waiting for me at my locker. She looks pale, and her expression is troubled. "We have to talk," she whispers.

I toss my books into the locker and pull out my jacket. "I know," I say. "How did it go this afternoon?"

"A disaster," Arlene replies, her voice trembling. "I couldn't understand a thing. Miss Blinn asked me to read a paragraph in a book out loud. Of course I couldn't read the strange letters."

"What did you do?" I ask.

"I pretended to have a coughing fit." She utters a sigh. "But I can't do that every day!"

We walk past the playground and see kids playing some kind of a sport. Two teams are tossing two silvery disks the size of CDs back and forth. The players catch the disks in big, three-fingered gloves.

There's a lot of cheering and shouting with each catch.

"That's a meener!" a boy is yelling. "Double meener!"

"It's out! It's not a meener!" a girl argues.

"Double meener! That's a do-over!"

"But he stepped on the scrog!"

A big argument stops the game. Two kids toss the disks high above their heads, catching them in their own gloves, waiting for the argument to end.

"It isn't a meener if he steps on the scrog."

"But it's your screm!"

"No — the screm changed. It was your screm!"

Arlene and I stop for just a moment to watch. I see the boy in the red cap waving to me. "Hey, Jacob! Jacob, you're on our team! Come on!"

"No —" I protest. "I can't."

Because I have no idea how to play your weird game! I think.

"Your friend can play too," the boy calls. "Come on. We're just starting the first drell!"

"Sorry," I say. "We have to be somewhere."

Arlene and I cross the street and hurry away. I can still hear their arguing voices.

"That's another meener. You scratch!"

"Toss the krill! Come on, toss the krill!"

As we hurry along the sidewalk, I turn to Arlene and see tears in her eyes. "What are we going to do, Jacob?" she whispers. "This is all so ... weird."

We walk a few blocks, past pretty square-shaped houses with neatly trimmed front lawns. A dog barks at us from inside a house.

It makes me happy to hear such a normal sound.

We cross another street and enter a small green park. I point to a bench half-hidden by flowering shrubs, and we sit down.

"What are we going to do?" Arlene repeats. She clasps her hands tensely in her lap and chews her bottom lip.

I lean back against the wooden bench. I gaze up at the leafy trees, wondering if there are Splatter bugs up there waiting to rain down.

"Let's try really hard to remember things," I suggest.

Arlene nods. "Okay."

"Try to remember your last name," I say. "Shut your eyes and think really hard."

She does as I say. She's silent for a long time. When she opens her eyes, they are red-rimmed, troubled.

"No," she says. "I can't remember. I'm Arlene. Arlene blank. Arlene no-name. It — it's so horrible!"

I squeeze her hand. It's ice-cold.

"Let me see what I can remember," I say. I think hard. And a picture slowly comes into focus in my mind. A picture of a small house.

"I think I remember where I live," I say softly. "I think it's somewhere over there." I point.

"Really?" she cries. "That's great! How long have you lived there? Do you remember?"

I shut my eyes and concentrate. My throat tightens. "No," I say. "I... don't remember."

"Have you lived there a long time or a short time, Jacob? Think."

"I really can't remember."

"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

I shake my head. "I can't remember, Arlene." I start to feel sick. The park starts to spin.

I stand up. "Let's get out of here. Let's try to find the house. Maybe my mom and dad are there. Maybe they can explain what is going on."

Arlene doesn't move from the bench. She gazes up at me sadly. "Do you remember your mom and dad?"

I stare back at her. I try to picture my parents. "No. No, I don't."

"We ... we're in trouble, Jacob," Arlene says softly.

She climbs to her feet, and we start to walk in silence. We don't say a word. I guess we're both thinking about our problem, both trying to remember one thing about our lives.

The neighborhood doesn't look at all familiar. We stop in front of a small stone building. A sign above the door has a painting of books, dozens of brightly colored books spilling off a shelf.

"Maybe this is a library," I say.

I want to go home. I want to see what Mom and Dad look like.

I want answers to all my questions.

But Arlene grabs my arm and yanks me up the library steps. "Let's go in. We can learn something in there. I know we can."

The library is brightly lit and smells fresh and clean. Shelves of books on all sides stretch from floor to ceihng. A black cat sleeps curled up on a shelf beside the front desk.

The librarian is a pretty young woman with straight black hair pulled back in a ponytail and a friendly smile. "Can I help you?" she asks. "I'm Miss Nash. I haven't seen you two here before."

"We're new," Arlene says.

"Do you have books about this place?" I ask.

Miss Nash narrows her eyes at me. "You mean local history?"

I nod. "Yes. And geography, I guess. You know. Maps and stuff."

"Go through that door to the main reading room." She points to a narrow door behind her. "The last shelf on the right on the back wall."

We thank her and make our way to the door.

"If you have any questions, please ask," the librarian calls.

I have a MILLION questions, I think.

But maybe—just maybe — I'll find some answers right now.

The main reading room is long and narrow. One endless table runs down the middle of the room. Several people are sitting on both sides of the table, leaning over books and newspapers.

Arlene and I squeeze past them and walk to the back wall. We find the last shelf on the right. We don't stop to read titles. We just begin pulling books out.

We both carry armloads of books to the table. Two seats at the very end are empty. We drop down next to each other.

I smile at Arlene across the table. "Now maybe we'll finally find out where we are and what is happening to us."

She leans over my shoulder as I shde the first heavy book off the stack. I pull open the cover. Start to flip through the pages.

And we both gasp in horror.

"We should have known," Arlene whispers.

We stare down at the strange, unreadable alphabet.

Of course. Of course. The books aren't in English.

They aren't in any alphabet we've ever seen before. Not even the same language we saw in school.

I slam the first book shut and try the next. And the next and the next.

One book is filled with maps. None of the countries looks familiar. And we can't read their names because the words are just squiggles.

"It's useless." Arlene sighs.

I run my hand over the page. It's bumpy. The letters stick up from the page like braille.

I turn and gaze down the long table.

People lean over their books. Their eyes are shut. Their heads move from side to side as they run their tongues over the pages.

They're reading the bumpy language with their tongues!

"Arlene — you're right. This is useless," I whisper. "Let's get out of here."

I close the book and start to back away from the table.

But something catches my eye behind a tall bookshelf across from us.

Someone behind the shelf. A man.

He ducks his head when he realizes I've spotted him.

But I recognize him. I recognize the stubbly beard, the hair falling over his eyes.

The scary guy who called to me from behind the playground wall.

Is he following me?

I grab Arlene's arm and tug her to the door. "Hurry. Run."

She hesitates for a moment, and then we both take off.

"Hey —" Miss Nash calls out in surprise as we tear past her.

Out the door. Back onto the street.

I turn back, my heart pounding in my chest.

Is the creepy guy behind us?

Yes.

"Come on!" I cry.

I pull Arlene by the arm. We dart across the street. I hear the sharp blare of a car horn. Hear the squeal of brakes.

But we don't stop to see what nearly hit us.

We run into the little park. I drag Arlene behind the tall, flowering bushes.

"Who — who was that?" she stammers breathlessly.

I'm panting too hard to answer. "I don't know," I finally choke out. "He — he's following me. He tried to get me — at school this morning."

I peek around the side of the bush. I see the man run into the park. He's wearing a stained raincoat. He has a wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his hair.

Shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sunlight with one hand, he turns one way, then the other, searching for us. He makes a complete circle.

Please, I pray silently, don't come this way.

Please don't come past these bushes.

The man freezes. And stares straight ahead.

I pull my head back behind the shrub.

"Can you see him? Do you recognize him? Is he coming this way?" Arlene whispers in my ear.

I don't answer. I peek back out.

The man has vanished.

"A close one," I whisper. We wait a few more minutes to make sure he's gone. I realize I'm shaking all over.

"Now what?" Arlene asks.

"Let's go to my house," I say.

Arlene glances nervously around the park. "Will we be safe there?" she asks.

"I don't know," I reply.

The house is long and low. The front is gray shingles with dark green shutters on the window.

We stop at the bottom of the driveway. "How do you know this is your house?" Arlene asks.

I stare at the dark windows, struggling to remember. "I don't know. I just have a feeling."

I make my way up the driveway and peer into the garage through the window on the door. Empty. No car inside.

I lead the way onto the front stoop. The front door is painted green to match the shutters. The door isn't locked. I push it open and we go inside.

"Anybody home?" I call in a timid voice.

Silence. The only sound is the ticking of the tall wooden clock on the mantelpiece.

"Are your mom and dad home this early?" Arlene asks, looking around the living room tensely. "Does this room look familiar? Do you remember it?"

I shake my head. "Not really. I have a feeling I've been here before. But that's all."

I search the tables for framed photographs. None. No clues. Not one.

I go through the living room, pulling out drawers from tables. No photos. No information.

Arlene stands in the doorway with her arms crossed over her chest. "Are any memories coming back?"

"No," I reply sadly.

I see a small den at the back of the living room. I motion for Arlene to follow me there.

The room has a brown leather chair and couch, a dark wood desk ... No photos. No books or magazines.

Arlene lingers behind me, arais still crossed as if shielding herself. "Jacob, this room..." Her voice trails off.

I turn to her. "What about it?"

"It... looks famihar to me," she says hesitantly. Her eyes move around the room, study the dark wallpaper, then move to the desk. "I think I remember being here before."

"Weird," I say. "Can you remember anything else?"

She frowns, then shakes her head. "Do you think we're crazy, Jacob? Or..." I can see her thinking hard. "Do you think this is some kind of a test?"

I stare hard at her. "Test?"

"Yes. I read a book once about these kids who wake up and find themselves in a strange, frightening world. They don't know where they are or what they're supposed to do. They just know they have to try and survive."

She swallows. "It turns out the kids were in some kind of science lab the whole time. It was all just a test cooked up by these scientists to see what the kids would do to stay alive."

"Weird book," I reply. "And you think —"

"Maybe that's what is happening to us," she says. "Maybe we're in a science lab, and scientists are watching us, watching our every move."

The idea gives me a chill. "Maybe," I say. "So what should we do? Just sit down and wait for them to end the experiment?"

We both know we can't do that.

What if Arlene is wrong and there are no scientists studying us?

"Hey — let's turn on the TV," Arlene cries, pointing to the small TV on a wall shelf behind me. "Hurry. Turn it on. Maybe we'll learn something about this place."

Arlene and I drop down side by side on the edge of the leather couch to watch.

It's a cartoon show. Two mice are chasing a dog. I was really into cartoons when I was a kid. But I've never seen this one before.

"Change the channel," Arlene says impatiently.

I grab the remote on the table beside the couch and click the channel button.

Now we're watching a game show. The contestant, a young blond-haired man, has his shirt off. I can see a large blue-and-red tattoo on his chest. He has his arm raised. A long glass tube has been inserted in the food hole in his armpit.

"What flavor is this?" the game show host asks.

Liquid flows through the tube into the man's armpit.

"Is it cherry?" he asks.

A loud buzzer rasps.

"Oh, so sorry!" the host exclaims, shaking his head. "Raspberry. Sorry, our challenge round is over. Better luck next time on Guess the Flavor"

"I don't believe this!" I exclaim.

I click from channel to chamiel. We see one weird show after another. Not one show we recognize.

On a fishing show, two men in a motorboat are pulling strange, two-headed fish from the water. On another game show, contestants are receiving jolts of electricity. The electric shocks make them jump and dance, and the audience howls with laughter.

I click the remote again, and we see a news program. A young man with a pile of sleek, wavy brown hair, wearing a dark blazer with some kind of number on the lapel, stares into the camera solemnly.

"The government has issued an alarming warning," he announces in a deep, mellow voice.

Arlene and I lean closer, listening carefully.

"Earth Geeks have landed," the news reporter continues. "Everyone should be on the lookout. Mayor-Governor Dermar has announced a state of emergency."

Arlene and I stare at each other.

Earth Geeks?

Emergency?

A grim-faced man in a black suit appears on the screen. I guess that this is Mayor-Governor Dermar.

"The Earth Geeks will not survive for long if we all are alert and do our civic duty," he booms. "Earth Geeks must go! Earth Geeks must go!"

His words send a chill down my back.

And I can't force a frightening thought from my mind.

Is this really my house?

I'm not sure anymore.

Maybe I don't live here. Maybe I don't live anywhere.

I turn to Arlene. I can see by her face that she has the same thought.

"Maybe we're the Earth Geeks!" we both say in unison.

Maybe we're the Earth Geeks — and they want to kill us!

I click off the TV. I can't bear to hear another word.

A million questions fly into my head.

If we are the Earth Geeks, does that mean we are no longer on Earth? Are Arlene and I on another planet? How did we get here?

Are we the only Earth Geeks? Are the two of us all alone?

How can we hide from them if we don't know who we are or what we're doing here?

Why do they want to kill us?

I turn to Arlene. "We've got to find some clues, or we're doomed. Do you know where you live? Do you have a house here?"

She shuts her eyes, concentrating, thinking hard. "I... don't know. I don't remember, Jacob."

I jump to my feet. "We've got to find out some answers," I say. "If we want to survive, we've got to know what's going on."

Arlene gazes up at me from the couch. "Where should we start?"

"Right here," I tell her. "We have to search this house from top to bottom. There's got to be something here. A photo, a map, a book of some kind. Letters..."

"My parents must be really worried about me," Arlene says. And then she adds softly, "Wherever they are."

"Come on." I pull her to her feet, and we start searching the house.

We already checked out the living room, but we do it again.

We don't find anything.

I check out the dining room, pulling out drawers, examining shelves, even looking under the big oak table.

Nothing.

Arlene returns from the kitchen, looking very unhappy. "Some eggs in the refrigerator and a carton of milk," she reports. "Not very helpful."

"Let's check upstairs," I say.

The first room seems to be a guest room. A bed and an empty dresser. We look everywhere, even under the bed.

We search the linen closet. The upstairs bathroom.

"Is this your room?" Arlene asks as we step into the room at the end of the hall.

I gaze around at the bright blue wallpaper, the desk with a laptop computer resting on it, the bed with its pale blue bedspread.

"It... doesn't look famihar," I tell her. "I still think this is my house, but..." My voice trails off.

I see a stack of magazines on a low wooden shelf. "Maybe there's a clue in those," I say.

Date: 2015-04-20; view: 736