table.
“Sorry, guys,” I finally say. “I’m getting out of here.”
Tom grins like he understands. So I flee down the hall, my running shoes squeaking on the polished floor.
“Chris!” I crash into Mrs. Dubin. With terrible timing, she has just stepped out of the library. She wags a knobby finger in my face. “No running in the halls.” Then her face softens. “Got some new books in on leprosy. For that school report. Hope you have a strong stomach. Shows people with claws for hands and horrible face sores.”
“Uh, thanks, Mrs. Dubin. Later,” I say.
I dodge past her and duck into the science room. No one’s in here. I slump into a desk. The students mocking me are jerks. All I did was wade into the water. How dare Caitlin say anything when she was just as spooked!
“Hey there, Chris.” A pair of polished brown shoes and the hem of a white lab coat move into view.
I sit up straight. “Um, hi, Mr. Roth.”
“Stopped in to work on your science-fair project during lunch hour? It’s coming along nicely.”
“Yeah.” I move hurriedly to my two-foot-wide suspension-bridge model. It sits on a counter between other kids’ less ambitious projects.
“You’re a natural-born engineer, Chris. I’m impressed.”
I flush but lift my face and smile. “That’s what I want to be.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
He taps the suspender cables on my bridge model. “Perfect stiffness and aerodynamic profiling. This will last under high winds.”
“Thanks. I got the stainless-steel wire in the hardware store.”
“You achieved the balance between dead load, live load and dynamic load right.” This is a big compliment. It means I managed to counterbalance the bridge weight, traffic weight and the bridge’s ability to cope with wind and earthquakes.
“The engineer for our bungee jump just got here,” I say.
“Excellent. You’ll learn a lot from him if he lets you hang around while he’s working.”
I nod. It’s what I’m hoping.
“Did I tell you I studied to be a structural engineer before I decided to be a teacher instead?”
“Yup.”
“I could be building bridges now instead of correcting papers,” he muses.
“Thanks for helping me with my bridge.”
He pats it. “The whole town’s waiting for your bungee jump to open. It’ll be the best entertainment in town.”
“Got that right,” I agree. I get saved from further conversation and zombie encounters by the bell.
“Traitor,” I say accusingly to Caitlin after the day’s final bell. She has just caught up to me on my way out of school.
“I only told one person,” she insists.
“Bella, I bet. She has a big mouth.” I pick up my pace, so Caitlin has to jog to keep up.
“I’m sorry—” she starts.
“Ahoyyyy there! You two!”
The bellowing voice comes from Misty Passage. We’ve just turned onto the path along it.
“It’s that crazy fisherman,” Caitlin whispers.
“He’s not crazy. Just not friendly. Ignore him,” I advise her.
“Ahoyyyy there! You two!”
I look at the tall barrel-chested man in the wooden rowboat. He’s standing up, oars trailing as he shakes his fists at us.
“Stop! I wanna talk to you!” he shouts.
“What do you want?” I ask. Caitlin slams into me as I stop on the path.
“You get that man off the island!” he commands, eyes narrowed.
“What man?” I play along.
“The one with the trailer! You get him off!”
“Or what? It’s our island!” I toss back.
The fisherman looks so startled that his body tilts toward shore. He is on the brink of tumbling in. Caitlin grabs my arm like she wants us to run.
“It’s not yours. It’s theirs !” he thunders. “Better watch out if they wake up!” The fists are punching the air again.
I’m tempted to laugh, but he seems mad enough as it is. I calculate how fast he could row to shore and sprint after us before I wave and turn away. I head for home at an unhurried pace. Caitlin is on my heels.
I have a bad feeling as we walk
“Sorry, guys,” I finally say. “I’m getting out of here.”
Tom grins like he understands. So I flee down the hall, my running shoes squeaking on the polished floor.
“Chris!” I crash into Mrs. Dubin. With terrible timing, she has just stepped out of the library. She wags a knobby finger in my face. “No running in the halls.” Then her face softens. “Got some new books in on leprosy. For that school report. Hope you have a strong stomach. Shows people with claws for hands and horrible face sores.”
“Uh, thanks, Mrs. Dubin. Later,” I say.
I dodge past her and duck into the science room. No one’s in here. I slump into a desk. The students mocking me are jerks. All I did was wade into the water. How dare Caitlin say anything when she was just as spooked!
“Hey there, Chris.” A pair of polished brown shoes and the hem of a white lab coat move into view.
I sit up straight. “Um, hi, Mr. Roth.”
“Stopped in to work on your science-fair project during lunch hour? It’s coming along nicely.”
“Yeah.” I move hurriedly to my two-foot-wide suspension-bridge model. It sits on a counter between other kids’ less ambitious projects.
“You’re a natural-born engineer, Chris. I’m impressed.”
I flush but lift my face and smile. “That’s what I want to be.”
“I’ve no doubt.”
He taps the suspender cables on my bridge model. “Perfect stiffness and aerodynamic profiling. This will last under high winds.”
“Thanks. I got the stainless-steel wire in the hardware store.”
“You achieved the balance between dead load, live load and dynamic load right.” This is a big compliment. It means I managed to counterbalance the bridge weight, traffic weight and the bridge’s ability to cope with wind and earthquakes.
“The engineer for our bungee jump just got here,” I say.
“Excellent. You’ll learn a lot from him if he lets you hang around while he’s working.”
I nod. It’s what I’m hoping.
“Did I tell you I studied to be a structural engineer before I decided to be a teacher instead?”
“Yup.”
“I could be building bridges now instead of correcting papers,” he muses.
“Thanks for helping me with my bridge.”
He pats it. “The whole town’s waiting for your bungee jump to open. It’ll be the best entertainment in town.”
“Got that right,” I agree. I get saved from further conversation and zombie encounters by the bell.
“Traitor,” I say accusingly to Caitlin after the day’s final bell. She has just caught up to me on my way out of school.
“I only told one person,” she insists.
“Bella, I bet. She has a big mouth.” I pick up my pace, so Caitlin has to jog to keep up.
“I’m sorry—” she starts.
“Ahoyyyy there! You two!”
The bellowing voice comes from Misty Passage. We’ve just turned onto the path along it.
“It’s that crazy fisherman,” Caitlin whispers.
“He’s not crazy. Just not friendly. Ignore him,” I advise her.
“Ahoyyyy there! You two!”
I look at the tall barrel-chested man in the wooden rowboat. He’s standing up, oars trailing as he shakes his fists at us.
“Stop! I wanna talk to you!” he shouts.
“What do you want?” I ask. Caitlin slams into me as I stop on the path.
“You get that man off the island!” he commands, eyes narrowed.
“What man?” I play along.
“The one with the trailer! You get him off!”
“Or what? It’s our island!” I toss back.
The fisherman looks so startled that his body tilts toward shore. He is on the brink of tumbling in. Caitlin grabs my arm like she wants us to run.
“It’s not yours. It’s theirs !” he thunders. “Better watch out if they wake up!” The fists are punching the air again.
I’m tempted to laugh, but he seems mad enough as it is. I calculate how fast he could row to shore and sprint after us before I wave and turn away. I head for home at an unhurried pace. Caitlin is on my heels.
I have a bad feeling as we walk
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