Artifacts (6 page)

I couldn’t hear what they were saying at first, but leaning closer to the crack in the door made it a lot easier. That’s when I heard the statement I thought would make my head explode.

“Would you and your parents be interested in entertaining the idea of extra credit?” Bartholomew offered.

“He’d love to do extra credit,” Mr. Braverman said. “He’d love to do anything that allows him not to have to go to summer school because we have a
big
summer planned.”

“Extra credit would be great,” Marcus muttered.

Bartholomew thought for a moment. “I’ve never done this before, but Marcus, if you come back to my classroom after school, we should be able to forge an agreement which allows you to make up the credit and avoid summer school. Will that work?

Marcus nodded like a bobblehead doll.

Never done it before?
I stepped back from the doorway.

Hearing the desks slide around, I knew the Bravermans were coming out.

I slipped and slid down the hallway, taking a quick turn into one of the open classrooms. Then I peeked back around the corner.

The Bravermans were walking toward me as one big happy family. I could almost see the smoke coming out of Marcus’s ears, the wheels turning as he tried to figure out exactly what he’d have to do to get his extra credit … and how long it would take.

The hallways started filling up with kids as the bus doors popped open and unloaded. I knew Korie, Crunch, and the Wahoos would see my bike in our spot and try to catch up with me.

Korie was the first one through the doors. Her head snapped one way and then the other and the moment she saw me, her face lit up.

She used her all-state hurdler form, jumping over backpacks, short middle schoolers, and
ginormous
musical instrument cases to run the forty yards between us in a sub five-second time.

Hitting the brakes as she approached me, she went into this great, looooong slide. I grabbed her at the very last moment to slow her down and swing her around to safety. “They could use that speed on the football team.”

She laughed.

She has a great laugh.

“I could have slid
a lot
farther if I had just my socks on. Why are you in school so early?”

“I wanted to thank Bartholomew for helping out Crunch,” I said.

“Crunch is helping him more than he’s helping Crunch,” Korie said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “And there’re a lot more kids helping Bartholomew. I just heard him make the exact same deal with Marcus Braverman.”

“What?” Korie asked.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “he’s meeting with Marcus and some of his friends after school to ‘discuss the terms of his extra credit.’”

“Wahoo
!”
Two strong voices poured out from the other end of the hall. As Mouth and Tank marched toward us, kids dove this way and that, some even sending themselves crashing into the lockers.

There was a line waiting for high-fives running the length of the hall that Korie just ran.

As the Wahoos were about to start through the fans, Crunch broke into the line and started high-fiving everybody before they could pull their hands away.

“Awesome!” Crunch said, bounding over to us. He raised his hands up. “
Wahoo!
”

Tank and Mouth stood back along the lockers and then started clapping their hands.

For that moment, at least, everybody loved Crunch.

“Hey, guys, that was great!” Crunch yelled. “Thanks.”

“Yeah, great.” Mouth laughed.

“Don’t ever do it again!” Tank snarled.

Crunch put his hands up and took a step back. “I won’t. I’m good for a while.”

“What’s going on?” Mouth asked. “I almost didn’t get breakfast at your house today.”

I cracked up. “Almost? They told you I left for school and you still stayed for breakfast?”

“I wasn’t going to,” Mouth said, “but your mom made me. I really had to
eat and run
with your dad sitting right there staring at me, waiting for me to finish.”

“What the heck are you doing at school so early?” Crunch asked.

“I slept here last night,” I told Crunch. “I read on the Internet that if you’re younger than fifteen, you grow an inch for every night you spend sleeping in your school.”

“Really?” Crunch whispered, unbelievably excited that he had been told such a secret. “Oh, my gosh. If I live here for a month, I’ll be like seven feet tall! If I live here for a year, I’ll be over thirty-four feet tall!”

“You should do it,” Mouth said. “Imagine being able to look down on all these knuckleheads who’ve been smashing you for all these years. Tank’s a perfect example.”

Crunch nodded so fast I thought his head was going to fall off.

“What are you talking about?” Tank yelled at Mouth.

Mouth cracked up.

The bell rang before Tank smashed anybody, even though I knew he wanted to.

“Hey, we need to meet in the cafeteria later,” I yelled.

Standing by our lockers was always like a launch pad. No matter what time of day it was, it didn’t take long before the crowds built to such a level that you could just jump out in the middle of them and be swept in various directions.

The bell for first period rang and I was already late for gym class.

Mr. Butkus, the gym teacher, didn’t like me. Running across
his
basketball court after class had started was going to make him like me even less
…
as if
that
were even possible.

Cutting through the locker room, I looked out onto the court and saw the class running laps. Waiting until the first half of the pack passed me, I made a mad dash and slipped into the middle of them.

The moment the door bumped closed, Butkus’s ears perked up. His head turned around slowly as if he was on a hunt.

He sniffed the air.

“Jackson Murphy is in the house!” Butkus bellowed, the sound bouncing off nearly every surface in the gym.

“In the house!” Mr. Durkin, the assistant gym teacher, yelled moments later.

Mr. Butkus was one of those freakishly monstrous, born-to-be-a-gym-teacher type of guys with his Popeye arms and peanut head. Durkin was his yappy little Chihuahua of an assistant, repeating
everything
he said seconds after he said it. Short, round, black hair, dark eyes, he always wore a red button-up shirt and black sweatpants. The kids all called him
Jerkin
… mostly behind his back.

Except for Tank. Tank
always
called him Jerkin to his face.

Butkus was the
other
teacher I didn’t care for at the school. Butkus and Bartholomew. And from what I can remember, they both started at the school around the same time.

“Sorry, Mr. Butkus,” I apologized, with as little feeling as possible.

I just kept running with the others, hoping it would blow over.

But it didn’t.

By that time,
everybody
had stopped running laps. They were milling around and staring at us, waiting for Butkus’s explosion.

“Sorry doesn’t help,” Butkus bellowed.

“Doesn’t help.” Durkin repeated, waving his hand and snapping his fingers.

“Sorry doesn’t get your arms the size of my arms.”

“The size of his arms.” Durkin said.

“Or the head the size of a peanut,” I muttered.

“Or the head the size of a pea— ” Durkin started, then realized what he was saying. “The size of his arms”

Butkus stared at Durkin, who shrugged and took a few steps back.

“Anyway,” Butkus said. “Be in my office after school and we will continue this discussion.”

“But I have to be in Bartholomew’s classroom right after school,” I blurted out.

He stopped and thought for a minute. At least I think he was thinking.

“I’ve been thinking,” Butkus said

“That’s very dangerous,” Mr. Durkin said quickly.

Butkus stared Durkin into silence. “Be in my office before the start of last period, Mr. Murphy. Then you can still meet Mr. Bartholomew after school as you had originally planned.”

“Originally planned” Durkin piped up from the back of the gym.

I thought that was really fair. “That sounds—”

“Keep running!” Butkus shouted.

The class began to run in whichever way they were facing as they were listening to Butkus yell at me. “In a line! Together!”

Finally, we all moved as one and circled the gym with Butkus standing in the middle of the court, one foot propped up on a wrestling mat like it was some kind of trophy animal he had just shot.

The faster I ran, the more I realized there was something weird about Butkus, Bartholomew, and this entire day.

And it was getting weirder.

As the second to last bell rang, I ran back to the gym to find out my punishment for being late. I knew he was going to make an example of me; I was just hoping it wouldn’t be something too terrible or even worse, too embarrassing.

The only advantage I had was that Butt-Kiss was a meathead and easily confused.
I need a distraction
, I thought.
If I could get him focused away from me and onto something that made him even angrier, then I might be able to get out of there without any problems.

Bursting through the doors and into the gym, I saw Butt-Kiss in the weight room working out. Jerkin was standing right by his side, counting reps, and praying he didn’t make a mistake.

“I’m here, Mr. Butkus,” I called, stepping into the room and waiting for him to finish.

“It’s a good thing you’re here on time,” Butt-Kiss said.

“A good thing,” Jerkin repeated.

“I ran all the way here,” I said.

“You should have done some of that running earlier this morning,” Butt-Kiss said. “By the time we’re done, you’re going to say
I wish I wasn’t here
.”

“I wish I wasn’t here,” Jerkin agreed.

This was it,
I thought.
My distraction.

“Why not?” I said.

“Why … not … what?” Jerkin asked.

“You just said, ‘I wish I wasn’t here’ and I was just wondering why you’d say that?”

“I did not …” Jerkin protested.

“Don’t you like Mr. Butkus?” I asked. “Didn’t he get you your job?”

“He … he did … and I’m grateful,” Jerkin stuttered.

“You don’t like me?” Butt-Kiss questioned him.

“Of course, I do,” Jerkin said. “I didn’t say …”

“You did,” Butt-Kiss said, turning his attention to Jerkin. “I heard you.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jerkin apologized. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Do you always say things you don’t mean?” I asked.

“I never say things I don’t mean,” Jerkin said.

“Then you did mean that you wish you weren’t here,” Butt-Kiss barked.

“Wait.” Jerkin grabbed his head like he was having a massive headache. “What?”

Butt-Kiss was furious … and I was on the right track.

“Why do you have to be at Mr. Bartholomew’s classroom after school?” Butt-Kiss asked.

“For extra credit,” I said. “There are a few reading assignments …”

“It’s not right for kids to read.” Butt-Kiss twisted his face like he’d bitten into something terrible. “Soon they start getting
ideas
and even
thinking
.”

“Thinking.” Jerkin sneered. “Who needs kids thinking?”

“I only have a few minutes before my next class,” I said. “What’s my punishment?”

Butt-Kiss paced up and down the court. His chest puffed out, and his chin raised like his entire body was filled with hot air.

“Your punishment will be simple.” Butt-Kiss said.

“Simple,” Jerkin snarled.

“It’s more a request, really,” Butt-Kiss said.

“A request …”

“I think I would prefer …” Butt-Kiss said.

“He would prefer,” Jerkin confirmed.

Butt-Kiss glared at Jerkin. “That you no longer say ‘Mr. Butkus is a stupid gym teacher.’”

“Mr. Butkus is a stupid gym teacher,” Jerkin repeated as usual.

“Mr. Durkin,” I reprimanded him. “Why would you say that out loud? Mr. Butkus is standing right here.”

Jerkin was confused. “Wait! What?”

“Durkin, did you just call me a stupid gym teacher?” Butt-Kiss asked.

“Butkus, I would never!” Jerkin shouted.

As the two of them circled each other, I took a few steps back toward the door. The moment I slipped back out into the hallway, I heard Jerkin scream … and his voice faded as the door closed tightly behind me.

“Whew!” I said, leaning back against the door.

I looked up at the clock. There were three minutes to make it into my next class, and forty-three minutes before I could creep outside of Bartholomew’s classroom, finding out what extra credit he had planned for Braverman.

As the final bell of the day rang, I was out of my seat, through the door, and into the middle of hundreds of kids racing for the exits.

Skidding, skating, and skirting around a few hundred kids pouring out into the hallway, I made my way toward Bartholomew’s classroom. At the very last moment, I evaded, avoided, and finally dodged another hundred coming from the other direction.

Racing down the last hallway, I picked up speed just in time to see several carts filled with folding chairs being shoved out in front of me. With my eyes closed, I dove over one of the shorter carts and landed on the hard tile floor, sliding the remaining ten feet to the edge of Bartholomew’s doorway.

Lying flat on my stomach, I raised my head up to see if anyone else had seen my crash. With the coast clear, I checked to make sure nothing was broken before crawling toward Bartholomew’s door.

Hearing Bartholomew’s voice coming from the hallway behind me, I army-crawled into the open classroom door and waited.

As he stormed past me, I jumped to my feet and stepped to the edge of the doorway.

“Good afternoon,” Bartholomew said, sweeping into the classroom and taking his seat behind his desk. “As you can see, there are a number of magically amazing, awe-inspiring stories around you that have captured the hearts of children around the world …”

How many teams does he have out there looking for these things?

“I have agreed to create a display at a local library,” Bartholomew continued. “I’ve planned on filling it with ‘faux,’ fun, imagination-soaring artifacts matching many of the individual fairy tale characters you see before you. I am looking for ideas that will allow us to take the various treasures you find and relate them directly to the stories. If you fill those display cases for me, Marcus will pass English and be able to run … amuck … with you this summer.”