Locker 13 (13 page)

“Oh, no,” I muttered. My fault. It was all my fault.

But I didn't really have time to talk to them. I had to get to my computer. I wanted to check out the animation one more time before I made a copy for Mr. Handleman. Then I had to rush back to school.

“But why are you sitting in the dark?” I asked. “Why don't you turn on some lights?”

“We can't,” Mom said, shaking her head. “There's some kind of trouble with the power lines to our block. The electricity is off. We have no power. No power at all.”

 

I let out a horrified scream. “Nooooo! My computer!”

“You'll have to wait till the power comes back on,” Dad said.

“But—but—” I sputtered.

“We're having so much bad luck all of a sudden,” Dad murmured.

“We may have to leave the house tonight,” Mom said, sighing unhappily. “Without electricity we have no heat. We may have to check into a hotel or something.”

“Oh, no.” I tugged at my hair. A big clump of it came out in my hand.

I was losing my hair. Losing my teeth. How could I fight back? How?

“He can't do this to me!” I screamed. “He can't! He can't!” I turned and grabbed the banister and pulled myself up the stairs.

“Luke? What are you saying?”

“Where are you going?”

I didn't answer. I dived into my room and slammed the door shut behind me.

Breathing hard, I stared at my computer. Stared at the dark monitor screen.

Useless. Totally useless.

Frustrated, I kicked the side of my desk. “Owww!” I didn't mean to kick it that hard. Sharp pain throbbed up my leg, up my side.

“Oh, wait.” I suddenly remembered. I already made a copy!

Yes! I made a backup copy of my project. On my Zip drive. Yes!

I fumbled frantically through the pile of disks on my desk. And grabbed the Zip disk.

I still have a chance, I told myself. The Fate Master thought he shut me down. But I still have a chance.

I stuffed the disk into my jacket pocket. I hurled myself down the stairs two at a time. “Bye! I have to go back to school!” I shouted to my parents.

“Why?”

“What's going on, Luke? We need you here.”

“Hey—come back and explain!”

I heard their cries, but I burst out the front door and kept running.

“I'll stop the bad luck,” I said out loud. “I'll stop it. I'll stop the Fate Master—now!”

I found Mr. Handleman in the computer lab, leaning over a keyboard, typing an e-mail message. He spun around when I shouted hi to him.

I held up the disk. “Here it is! Please! You've got to check it out!”

He motioned for me to sit down next to him. “I spoke to the producer of the computer show,” he said. “He called me this afternoon. He said that if I liked your animation, I should send it over to him right away.”

“Excellent!” I cried. “That's great news!”

“Aren't you going to take your coat off?”

“No,” I answered breathlessly. I shoved the disk into the Zip drive. “No time. You have to see this. Right away.”

He laughed. “Slow down. Take a deep breath.”

“I'll breathe
after
you see it!” I said.

He leaned back in his chair and used his hands as a headrest. “You've been working on this for two years?”

I nodded.

I found the file in the disk directory and double-clicked it. “Here goes,” I said. I was so nervous, the mouse trembled in my hand. My chest was so tight, it felt about to burst.

Is it possible to
explode
from excitement? I leaned forward to watch.

The screen was solid black. “It's starting now,” I whispered.

I stared at the black screen, waiting for the bright burst of color at the beginning.

Waiting …

Finally a dim glow spread over the screen.

Two circles of light. Two red circles glowed in the center of the darkness.

Two red, glowing eyes.

The eyes stared out, unblinking, unmoving. Blank, round circles of shimmering red.

Mr. Handleman cleared his throat. His eyes remained locked on the monitor screen. “Are those eyes?” he asked. “Do they move or anything?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but no sound came out.

I stared frozen in horror at the glowing eyes. The evil eyes.

And knew I had been defeated again.

Mr. Handelman's cheeks were bright red now. “Is this all there is?” he asked.

“Yes,” I whispered. “That's all.”

My project was gone. My two years of work were lost.

The fiery eyes stared out at me in triumph.

I climbed to my feet and slumped out of the room.

I trudged down the empty hall, head down, hands shoved deep in my pockets. I've lost, I realized. I'm a loser forever now. Hannah and me both. Bad luck for the rest of our lives.

I turned a corner—and almost bumped into Coach Swanson. “Hey, Luke—how's it going?” he asked.

I muttered a reply under my breath.

“I was going to call you tonight,” he said. “Andy Mason is sick. You have to swim in his place tomorrow.”

I raised my head. “Huh? Swim?” I had nearly forgotten that I was on the swim team.

“See you after school at the pool,” the coach said. “Good luck.”

I'll need it, I thought glumly.

But then I realized I was being given one more chance.

One more chance to win
without
luck. One more chance to defeat Fate.

One
last
chance …

The next morning I wore a baseball cap to school so no one could see the bald patches on my head. When I brushed my teeth that morning, another tooth came sliding out between my lips.

My tongue was covered with hard, white bumps. My arms and legs itched. I was starting to get the same red blotches on my skin as Hannah.

Somehow I made it through the school day. All I could think about was the swim team race. Was there any way that I might win? That I might break the pattern and win the race and defeat the Fate Master?

I didn't have much hope. But I knew I had to try. I knew I had to give it everything I had left.

A few seconds after I lowered myself into the pool to warm up, Coach Swanson's whistle rang out, echoing off the tile walls. “Practice laps, everyone!” the coach shouted. “Do them half-speed. Let's see some warm-up laps.”

At the other end of the pool I saw Stretch kick off and begin swimming with steady, strong strokes. I did a surface dive and started to follow him. The warm water felt good on my itchy skin.

I kicked hard. Picked up speed.

As I raised my head to suck in a deep breath, the water suddenly churned hard.

I swallowed a big mouthful. Started to choke.

I sputtered, struggling to clear my throat, struggling to breathe.

And then, to my horror, my stomach heaved hard. “Guuurrrrrrp.” My lunch came hurling up.

I couldn't hold it back. I vomited a thick, dark puddle into the clear water.

“Ooh, gross!”

“Sick!”

“Yuck! Oh, wow—he's puking his guts up!”

A sick, sour smell rose up from the water. I heard kids shouting and groaning in disgust.

And then I heard Coach Swanson's whistle. And the coach shouting at me: “You're outta there, Luke! Get out. You're sick. You're not going to swim today!”

 

No, I thought. This can't happen again. This is my last chance.

“Coach, I'm okay!” I shouted. “I just … swallowed some water. I can swim—really!”

Coach Swanson glanced around the pool. Andy Mason was in street clothes. Joe Bork, the other alternate, didn't show up.

“You've got to let me swim!” I pleaded.

The coach shrugged his shoulders. “There's no one else. I guess I've got no choice.”

I'm going to do this, I thought. I'm going to win today. I'm going to do whatever it takes to win.

The race got off to a good start. I did a speed dive at the whistle and found myself gliding, stroking easily, in the lead.

Swimming steadily, keeping up a smooth rhythm, I stayed in the lead until the waves began.

Waves? They tossed up in front of me, rolled rapidly toward me, splashed over me. Wave after wave. Pushing me back. Slowing my pace.

Stroking harder to keep my rhythm, I turned to the side and glanced at the other swimmers. The pool was smooth, the water flat for them.

The waves were just for me! A strong current pushed at me, slowing me, shoving me back.

I ducked under the waves. Let them splash and roll over me. And swam harder.

Harder.

“Oh!” Something brushed my leg.

I felt something curl around an ankle. Something bumped my waist. I felt something slide around my knee.

With another gasp I turned—and saw the gray-green creatures. Eels? Were they
eels
?

Wrapping around my legs. Twining over my waist.

Long, fat eels. The water churned with them!

I cried out.

I saw the other swimmers, gliding swiftly through clear water. They didn't even notice my dark, churning water. They didn't even see the gleaming, wet creatures slithering between my legs. Tightening around my ankles, my legs.

Slapping me … slapping me hard … slapping me back.

“No!” I burst free. I kept swimming.

Into thick pink clusters of jellyfish. The jellyfish ballooned around me. Stung my arms. Stung my legs. Prickled the skin of my back.

I cried out in pain. The sticky creatures swarmed over me, stinging, stinging me again and again.

I could see the other swimmers moving smoothly, ahead of me now. Gliding in smooth, clear waters as I felt jolt after jolt of pain from the billowing jellyfish that clustered over me.

I slapped the water. Slapped and kicked.

And let out another cry of pain as the water sizzled and boiled. Scalding hot now. It steamed and bubbled. And my skin burned. My skin is going to burn right off me, I thought, struggling to breathe. Struggling to keep my arms moving through the scalding steam. Kicking … kicking hard …

The other swimmers ahead of me now. Moving so speedily, so steadily …

I shut my eyes and swam. You're not going to beat me! I thought. I'm going to win … going to win.

And the thought gave me a final surge of energy.

I shot forward to the wall. Plunged like a speeding torpedo to the finish.

My hand hit the wall. I slapped the wall.

Gasping … gasping … my chest heaving in agony … and knew that I had lost.

Too slow. Too slow.

I knew that I had lost again.

 

Water poured down my face. I shut my eyes and struggled to catch my breath.

I heard a loud whistle. Then I felt a hand on my shoulder. A slap. “Way to go, Luke!”

I opened my eyes to see the coach. He grabbed my hand and pumped it hard. Then he slapped me a high five. “You won! You came from behind! What a race, Luke! Check out the time! You set a school record!”

“Huh? I did? I won?”