Artifacts (7 page)

***

I waited until Braverman and the others left the classroom. As they marched past me, I could see, once again, his head smoking, trying to figure out where to get seventeen artifacts to fill Bartholomew’s displays. I could also see that same stupid list we were given, flapping in his hand.

Once it was quiet, I walked into the classroom and closed the door.

“Seriously!” I said to Bartholomew.

“Well, Jackson, you have made yourself much more
conspicuous
as of late.” Bartholomew sneered.

“Conspicuous?” I asked.

“It seemed much kinder than
annoying,
even though that word may have been far more accurate,” Bartholomew chuckled, amusing himself greatly. “You were present early this morning to hear my little conversation with the Bravermans. Did you and your fellow hooligan camp-goers commandeer a passing school bus this morning to drive you to the front doors?”

“How many teams of middle schoolers do you have looking for the artifacts?” I asked him. “Are they really for a display?”

“Teams?” Bartholomew sniffed. “Don’t be absurd. Middle schoolers don’t work in teams. They are self-absorbed, miniature … people, with not much else on their minds besides video games, Legos, and cell phones. They walk sleepily through this world seeing how far they can get by doing as little as they can.”

I was frustrated. I didn’t like talking to Bartholomew and I especially didn’t like talking to him when he was only going to abuse me without offering any answers.

Shaking my head, I tried to figure out what to say when I noticed this perfect, shiny, bright red apple sitting at the very edge of his desk.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Lunch,” he said, not even looking my way.

“Where did you get ‘lunch’ from?” I asked.

He turned to me and smiled with a broken little grin. I sensed he had a story to tell.

“Oh,” he said nonchalantly, “one of my students was kind enough to drop it off, anonymously, of course, so it would be here to greet me when I arrived this morning.”

I got a really bad feeling about that apple.

“As fascinated as you are with fairy tales,” I said, taking a few steps toward it, “are you really going to eat some mysterious, red, shiny apple?”

Bartholomew picked it up and rolled it around in his hands as he stared right at me. “Why, yes. I am. Every … last … bite!”

He opened wide and
crunched
into the apple, taking a huge piece out of it, chewing it slowly, with the biggest grin.

It wasn’t there for long.

Bartholomew’s eyes bugged out. He wrapped his hands around his neck and as his mouth opened, tiny bits of apple and spittle came sputtering out.

Then he dropped off the chair and onto the floor.

“Oh, gosh,” I cried.

I ran toward Bartholomew, sliding on my knees, to see if he was okay.

“Bartholomew!” I yelled over and over, louder and louder.

Finally, his eyes opened with the tiniest slits.

“Jackson, what happened?” Bartholomew whispered.

“You took a bite of that stupid apple to prove an even stupider point,” I said.

“I proved that I’m not quite as smart as I had hoped.” Bartholomew smiled.

“How many teams of middle schoolers do you have out there looking for your artifacts?”

Bartholomew’s eyes rolled back, but he regained consciousness for a moment.

“Ten.” He chuckled. “Monsters much like yourself who are not sure what they’re looking for … or why.”

“What are they looking for?” I asked.

“Artifacts for a fairy tale display.” Bartholomew coughed. “Don’t you listen, Jackson?”

He’s the same old Bartholomew, even as he’s taking his last breath.

“Why are we looking for these artifacts?” I asked, hoping he’d finally tell me the truth.

“Because the artifacts are not
all
faux.” He sneered. “There is one that is a key.”

“A key to what?”

“Treasure, Jackson.” Bartholomew laughed, his eyes rolling back once more as he fought to stay awake. “Treasure beyond your wildest dreams.”

“Treasure?” I asked. “You’re telling me you’re having all of us hunt for fairy tale treasure?” I didn’t get an answer. “Bartholomew, who left the apple?”

He gasped with a start. Almost as if he had drowned and finally caught his breath again. “Be careful of the boys, Jackson.”

“Which boys?” I asked. “There are fifty of them that you have running around town.”

Bartholomew shook his head. “The Lost Boys, Jackson …
The
Lost Boys.”

“
The
Lost Boys?” I repeated. “How is that even possible?”

He was gone. Resting, hopefully … not dead.

I was frantic. “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

Oh, how stupid,
I thought.
Of course, he’s going to stay here!

Running out of the classroom, I looked for someone … anyone … who could help. I didn’t think Bartholomew was dead, but I couldn’t be sure. What I was sure of, though, was that he should have
never
bitten into that stupid apple.

Racing down one hallway and then another, I was shocked. Most of the time, you couldn’t take one step in the hallways without running into someone. Now, it was a ghost town. For the first time in the history of the school, there was nobody, anywhere.

I have to dial 911,
I thought.

Digging around for my phone, I found my pocket empty. It must have popped out when I slid across the floor to help Bartholomew.

Now I was going to have to go back to his classroom to call 911. That’s probably what I should have done in the first place.

Racing back, I made a couple of very sharp, hairpin turns, barely staying on my feet as I cut the corners a little too close. I slammed into some open locker doors, slid under others, and then made a last ditch, run-as-fast-as-I-could race to the classroom door.

When I turned the final corner, I saw one of the skateboard kids from the cafeteria dragging Bartholomew out of the classroom.

“Hey!” I yelled, loud enough for him to hear me and mean enough to make him stop.

Startled, he dropped Bartholomew in a heap.

Bartholomew moaned when he hit the floor, so I knew he was still alive.

“What are you doing?” I yelled, running straight for him.

“Touch!” the boy yelled without taking his eyes off me.

The sound of his polyurethane skateboard wheels popping over the grout lines echoed through the hallway, coming closer and closer as I raced to get to Bartholomew before the kid got to me.

As I reached for Bartholomew, Touch grabbed my arm and stared into my eyes.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t look away.

“Where are you going?” he asked, softly. “On your way to the gym?”

“Yeah, on my way to the gym.” I nodded, squinting my eyes, concentrating hard and trying to remember.

Standing up, I watched as they dragged Bartholomew off.

Once they were around the corner and out of sight, I headed toward the gym. I knew I had to do something that was really important … but I couldn’t remember.

Looking down the end of the hallway, Korie turned the corner.

“Jax!” she yelled out, racing down the hallway.

As she slid the last ten feet, I grabbed her at the last moment to slow her down.

She laughed.

She has a great laugh.

“Didn’t we just do this like an hour ago?” I asked.

“Like seven hours ago,” Korie corrected me. “Are you all right? Where have you been? Everybody’s out looking for you.”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “I met with Butt-Kiss right before my last period.”

“How did that go?” Korie asked.

“Good, I think.” I smiled. “I used Jerkin’s urge to kiss butt to my advantage.”

Korie laughed. “That must have been hysterical.”

“It was,” I said. “Butt-Kiss was mad, Jerkin was confused, and I snuck out before they knew what happened.”

“How did things go with Bartholomew?” Korie asked.

“Bartholomew?” I asked.

Korie looked at me really strangely. “You were supposed to go to his classroom after school to see what kind of extra credit he was giving Marcus Braverman?”

I shrugged. “I was supposed to go to the gym. Not to Bartholomew’s.”

“Wait! What?” Korie started when Mouth walked up.

“Where’ve you been?” Mouth asked. “You had me … er, Korie, worried to death.”

“I was in the gym with Butt-Kiss and Jerkin,” I said.

“Dude, that was over two hours ago,” Mouth said.

“He was supposed to go to—”

“Bartholomew’s,” Mouth interrupted Korie again. “I know. When did the plan change?”

Crunch came up behind us.

“He must have run into Touch,” Crunch said nonchalantly.

“Who’s Touch?” Mouth asked, getting frustrated.

“One of the new kids I met today?” Crunch said. “Remember, he
touched
my arm …”

“Oh, that’s right.” Mouth laughed. “And now you’re dating.”

“Nerts!” Crunch said. “No, he touched my arm and I spilled my guts about …”

Tank walked up and shoved Mouth into a locker. “You spill your guts to everybody about
everything
,” he said. “What are we talking about now?”

“Jax was supposed to go to Bartholomew’s class to find out what extra credit he was giving to Marcus Braverman,” Korie said, “and now he can’t remember.”

“Bartholomew’s missing,” Tank said. “He was supposed to have meetings with a ton of parents this afternoon and he never showed up.”

“He’s missing?” Mouth gasped and turned to me. “What did you do?”

I laughed. “That was pretty funny.”

“Thank you.” Mouth smiled. “So here are the facts. Jax really wants to go to camp with all his friends. Bartholomew won’t let Crunch go. Jax goes to see Bartholomew after school.” He paused for a moment building the suspense. “And now, he’s gone.”

“Cut it out.” I pushed him into Tank, who once again slammed him into a locker.

“I don’t think Jax is telling us the whole story,” Mouth said.

“I’m not telling you
any
story.”

“There has to be something we can do to jog his memory,” Crunch said.

“Maybe we need to scare him into remembering,” Mouth said. “Go ahead, Tank.”

Tank stepped toward me and slammed me against the locker just like he did to Mouth.

“Owwww,” I said, grabbing the back of my head. “Well, that didn’t work.” I cracked up through the pain.

“That really wasn’t a scare,” Korie said. “A scare would have been making him think you were going to do it and then
not
doing it.”

“Try it again, Tank,” Mouth said. “It’s got to be scarier the second time.”

“No, wait!” I shouted, taking a few steps back. “I remember, I remember.”

“You remember going to Bartholomew’s classroom?” Korie asked.

I laughed. “No. But I’ll say I remember anything as long as Tank doesn’t slam me into the lockers again.”

I stopped.

“What?” Korie asked.

“Drag me off,” I repeated, starting to remember. “I did go to Bartholomew’s classroom and confronted him about his plans for the middle schoolers and his stupid ‘faux’ artifacts.”

“Wait,” Crunch said, finally catching on. “I bet there’s not even a library.”

“Ugggghh!” Mouth said, trying to ignore Crunch and get on with the story. “What did he say?”

“There are fifty kids out there, thinking they’re
the only ones
who have that extra credit.”

“Why does he want so many phony artifacts?” Mouth asked.

“One of them is real,” I said.

“Which one?” Crunch asked.

I shot him a look and cracked up. “If I knew that, we’d already be on our way to get it.”

“What does it do?” Korie asked.

“Bartholomew said it was a key.”

“A key to what?” Korie asked.

“Treasure,” Crunch said.

“Treasure,” I repeated. “How did you know what I was going to say?”

“My answer to any question is always treasure.” Crunch laughed. “I had no idea I’d be right this time.”

“What else did he say?” Tank asked.

“Not much after that,” I said. “He took a bite out of an apple …”

Mouth groaned. “Here we go with the fairy tales again.”

“No, wait,” I said. “There really was an apple. He wanted to show me he wasn’t afraid of it and took a monster bite.”

“And?” Crunch asked, like he was on the edge of his seat.

“He passed out,” I whispered, thinking about what happened next. “I went for help and when I came back one of the skateboard kids was dragging him away.”

“Really?” Korie asked.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “That’s when everything went blank.”

“Did Bartholomew say anything before he passed out?” Crunch asked.

“Yeah,” I said, remembering his exact words. “Be careful of the boys, Jackson … the Lost Boys.”

“Oh, come on,” Mouth said, punching Crunch in the arm.

“Hey!” Crunch shouted. “What did you do that for?”

Mouth shrugged. “You didn’t expect me to hit Jax, did you?”

“It would’ve been nice.” Crunch rubbed his arm.

“The Lost Boys?” Korie asked. “Like Peter Pan … and the Lost Boys?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “That’s what he said. But knowing Bartholomew, he’d say something stupid like that when he was dying, just to drive us crazy.”

Tank cracked up. “Crazy’s not a drive for you, you could walk.”

“Those new kids sitting at the table during lunch today sure looked like the Lost Boys to me,” Crunch said. “Even their names were Lost Boy-like if you think about it.”

Mouth laughed. “Hey, Crunch, I think you’re just lost, boy.”

Tank slammed him into the locker again.

“I love when people put Mouth in his place,” I said.

“I love when people slam Mouth into a locker,” Crunch added.

“Crunch loves Tank,” Mouth said. Then he slapped his hands over his mouth, realizing what he had said … and that he had said it out loud.

“How does Bartholomew fit into all this?” Korie asked.

“There’s only one way to find out,” I said, staring at Crunch.