Locker 13 (11 page)

No problem, I told myself. I have plenty of shoelaces at home. I started walking, turned onto the sidewalk, crossed the street. Behind me I could hear shouts and cheers coming from the gym. I guessed that the game had started up again.

“Go, Stretch!” I murmured.

As I made my way down the next block it began to rain. Softly at first. But the wind picked up, and then the rain started coming down in sheets.

I zipped my jacket and leaned into the wind. But the rain drove me back, wave after wave of freezing water.

I heard a crackling sound nearby—and saw jagged, white lightning streak across the front yard across the street. A deafening boom of thunder shook the ground.

I pressed forward. Trees creaked and nearly bent sideways in the torrents of wind and rain. I couldn't move. I ducked under a broad-trunked tree for safety.

But a loud
crack
of lightning sent a tree branch crashing to my feet.

“Ohh!” I cried out. A close call!

I jumped over the fallen branch. Sharp pieces of the limb scratched my arm as I struggled to race away. Another jagged bolt of lightning crackled a few feet in front of me, sizzling over the wet grass.

Squinting through the downpour, I saw smoke snake over the lawn. The grass was burned black where the lightning had spread.

The wind shoved me backward. Sheet after sheet of rain washed over me. I choked. Struggled to breathe.

And then … just beyond the rain … just beyond the heavy waves of dark water … I saw two glowing lights … two red eyes … like dark headlights … Two evil eyes, moving with me, watching me.

The Fate Master.

It wasn't a dream. I suddenly knew that my flat tires—the storm—the lightning, the pounding rain—it was all a show. A show of strength.

I staggered up my driveway. Slipped on the wet gravel. Sprawled facedown on the soaked stones.

“Nooooo …”

I struggled to my feet. Stumbled onto the front stoop.

A deafening, shattering crash made me spin around. I saw one of the oak trees in front of the house split in half. It appeared to move in slow motion. One half shivered but stayed upright. The other half of the broad, old tree came crashing onto the roof of the house.

Windows shattered. Roof tiles came sliding down.

I covered my head with one hand. And pushed the doorbell. Frantically pushed the bell. “Let me in! Mom! Dad!” I pounded on the front door with both fists.

Where were they?

The lights were all on. Why didn't they open the door?

A crash of thunder made me jump and cry out. Above the front stoop rainwater poured like a waterfall over the sides of the gutters. Waves of rain rattled the living room window and battered the bricks of the front wall.

“Let me in!” I screamed over another roar of thunder. I pounded the front door until my fist ached.

Then I heard a window slide open. I turned to our neighbor's house. Through the curtains of rain, I saw Mrs. Gillis poke her head out the bedroom window. She shouted something. But I couldn't hear her over the roar of rain.

“They're not home!” I finally heard her shout. “They had to go to the hospital, Luke.”

“What? What did you say?” My heart jumped. Had I heard correctly?

“It's your dad. He fell down the stairs. He's okay. But they took him to the emergency room.”

“No!” I cried. I beat my fists against the door. “No! No! No!”

The Fate Master was putting on a show for me. He was showing me who was boss. Giving me a little taste of what the rest of my life could be like.

“Okay!” I shouted, cupping my hands around my mouth. Water pounded me, washed over me, battered me against the house. “Okay—you win!” I screamed. “I'll do it! I'll do whatever you say!”

And I did.

The next morning I gave the skull to Stretch.

 

I found Stretch at his locker before school started. Giving him the yellow skull was the easiest thing in the world.

Stretch was leaning into his locker, searching the shelf for something. His backpack stood open on the floor. I pulled the skull from my jeans pocket—and dropped it into his backpack.

He didn't see anything. He didn't even know he had it.

“Hey, Stretch—how's it going?” I asked, trying to sound calm, natural. As if I hadn't just done something terrible to him. Something that would ruin his life forever.

“Yo—hey, Champ!” He slapped me a hard high five, so hard my hand stung. “How's your head, man? It looks as ugly as ever!” He laughed.

I stared at him. “My head?”

“That was a nasty collision,” he said. “Your head must be hard as a rock. You feeling okay?”

“Yeah. Not bad,” I replied.

Stretch snickered. “Well, thanks for letting me get some playing time.” He started to close up his backpack.

I stared at the backpack, picturing the skull inside it. The skull I had passed on to Stretch. The tiny, red eyes were probably glowing again. Stretch was going to have a lot of good luck for a while. But then …

“Maybe you and I can practice together later,” Stretch said, slamming his locker shut. “I can give you some more pointers. Make you look like you know what you're doing!”

“Yeah. Maybe,” I said.

Stretch's expression turned serious. “Actually, you're not bad, man,” he said. “I mean it. You are so improved. I mean, you're almost pretty good! Really.”

I don't believe this! I thought. Stretch is actually paying me a compliment.

I shrugged. “It was just luck,” I muttered.

Just luck
. Ha ha.

“No way!” Stretch insisted. “Luck had nothing to do with it, man. It was hard work and skill. No kidding. It isn't luck. You're good!”

I swallowed hard. I suddenly felt like a total creep.

Stretch was being so nice to me. And what had I done to him? I just gave him a life of bad luck, a life of slavery to the Fate Master.

“Whoa. Forgot my science notebook,” Stretch groaned. He dropped his backpack to the floor and turned to unlock his locker.

I stared down at the backpack, feeling dizzy, feeling sick.

What am I going to do? I asked myself. What am I going to do?

My bad luck continued all day.

I answered the wrong questions on my algebra test and got an F. Miss Wakely warned me that I'd have to do extra work if I didn't want to fail the course.

At lunch the milk in my milk carton was lumpy and sour. I didn't notice until I had gulped down a big mouthful. Then I nearly puked my guts up in front of everyone.

After lunch I started to comb my hair in the boys' room—and a huge clump came out on the comb. I gasped in horror and tugged out another clump of hair.

I'm going to lose all my hair! I realized.

As I hurried out of the bathroom, I caught my shirt on a nail and ripped one sleeve off. I was so upset, I bumped into Miss Wakely from behind. Her coffee cup flew out of her hand, and scalding hot coffee splashed all over her.

I found Hannah after school. She came rolling slowly down the hall in her wheelchair. Her foot was still bandaged. Her face was still covered in red blotches. And I saw that one of her eyes was swollen shut.

“Hannah—I've got to talk to you!” I cried.

“Did you pass it on?” she asked in a loud whisper.

“Huh?”

“I've lost my voice,” she whispered. “Did you pass the skull on to Stretch? We've got to change our luck. I can barely see. My skin itches like crazy. I can barely talk. I—I can't go on like this, Luke.”

“I've got to find the Fate Master,” I said.

Hannah grabbed my torn shirtsleeve. “You've got to do what he said. You've got to obey him. It's our only chance.”

“How do I find him?” I asked.

“He will find you,” Hannah whispered. “He appears in places of bad luck. You know—broken mirrors, wherever the number thirteen is written.”

“Come with me,” I said. I led the way to my locker. I waved to some guys heading to the pool for swim team practice. I wanted to be with them. But this was more important.

“We've got to talk to the Fate Master,” I told Hannah. “Maybe he'll come through my locker again.”

Hannah groaned in pain as she wheeled herself behind me. “My foot hurts so much!” she whispered.

“He promised to end the bad luck,” I said.

I turned the combination lock, then pulled open my locker door. A burst of sour air choked the hall. I gagged, then held my breath.

“Look—” Hannah choked out. She pointed to the floor of the locker.

It was littered with dead birds. A pile of brown-and-gray sparrows, all dead and decaying.

“He left us a present,” I murmured. “Where is he? Is he going to appear?”

We didn't have to wait long.

A few moments later I saw the glow of the red eyes at the back of the locker. And then the dark figure stepped over the pile of dead birds and floated out, hunched beneath the black hood.

“Have you done what I asked?”
he rasped, the fiery eyes burning into mine.
“Have you given me a new slave?”

“Yes,” I replied, avoiding his stare. “That was our deal, right? And now will you stop torturing us? Will you end our bad luck as you promised?”

The hood bobbed up and down.
“No,”
he said softly.

Hannah and I both uttered cries of protest.

“Did you really think you could make a deal with the Fate Master?”
he boomed. The open coat floated up like bat wings.
“I don't make bargains with anyone! I don't make promises! You will take whatever Fate dishes out!”

“You promised—!” Hannah shrieked.

The evil figure snickered.
“First you enjoy good luck. Then you must pay for it. You cannot break the pattern. You should know that. You should know that you cannot bargain with Fate! You will pay for your good luck for the rest of your life!”

“No! Wait—! Wait!” Hannah pleaded, reaching up from the wheelchair, grasping at the black cloak, grasping frantically with both hands.

But the Fate Master spun around, swirling the foul air. He stomped heavily on the dead birds as he strode back into locker 13.

In a second he had vanished.

Dead birds littered the floor of the hall, the floor of my locker.

I turned to Hannah. Her shoulders heaved up and down. Loud sobs escaped her throat. “He promised….”

“It's okay,” I said softly. “I didn't keep my promise, either.”

I pulled the yellow skull from my jeans pocket.

Hannah gasped. “You didn't give it to Stretch?”

I squeezed the skull in my fist. “Yes, I gave it to him. But I took it back before Stretch even saw it. I couldn't do it. Stretch was too nice to me. I—I couldn't. I couldn't ruin someone's life.”

Hannah shook her head. Tears spilled from her swollen eyes. “Now what are we going to do, Luke? We're doomed. Now we don't stand a chance.”

 

I bounced the basketball hard against the driveway. Drove toward the backboard and sent up a hook shot. It bounced off the rim, back into my hands. I spun hard and sent up a two-handed shot that dropped through the net.

Overhead, clouds covered the moon. The garage lights sent white cones of light over the driveway. Behind me, the house was dark except for a square of orange light from my bedroom window upstairs.

I glanced at the roof. Men had worked all day to repair the broken and missing shingles. The fallen tree had been hauled away. One window—broken in the storm—was still covered with cardboard.

All my fault, I realized. All the damage to the house was my fault.

My dad was walking with a cane. He had a badly sprained knee from his fall down the stairs. But he was okay … for now.

That was all my fault too, I knew.

All my bad luck.

I heaved the ball angrily at the backboard. It thudded high, bounced back to the driveway. I picked it up and shot it through the hoop.