Locker 13 by R.L. Stine

bench.
    I’d lost today. Score one round for the Fate Master.
    No way I could break the pattern today. I was a loser today.
    But I wasn’t finished. I could still win.
    If I had time …

 

    â€œGive the skull to Stretch,” Hannah pleaded. “Maybe the Fate Master will go easy on us.”
    It was the next day. We were huddled at the back of the lunchroom. I could see Stretch laughing and kidding around with his friends at a table near the front. The Squires had won the game by two points, and Stretch had been a hero.
    â€œI can’t do it,” I said, shaking my head. “Besides, you heard what the Fate Master said. He doesn’t make deals. It won’t help to pass it to Stretch.”
    Hannah let out a sigh. She had her head buried in her hands. “Then what are we going to do?”
    â€œI’ll find a way to defeat him,” I said. I bit into my ham sandwich. “Hey—!” I felt something hard.
    â€œOh no,” I moaned. I spit out a tooth.
    In a panic I moved my tongue around the inside of my mouth. “My teeth,” I groaned. “They’re all loose. I’m going to lose all my teeth.”
    Hannah didn’t lift her head. She whispered something, too low for me to hear.
    â€œI’ve got to go,” I said, jumping up. “I have some ideas, Hannah. Don’t give up hope. I have some ideas.”
    I ran past Stretch’s table, where the guys were laughing and blowing straw wrappers at each other. Stretch called out to me, but I didn’t stop.
    I made my way to the computer lab. The door was closed. I pulled it open and burst breathlessly into the brightly lit room.
    â€œMrs. Coffey? Mrs. Coffey? It’s me—Luke!”
    I felt another tooth swing loose in my mouth. I gritted my teeth, trying to press it down into place.
    A chubby young man I’d never seen before came out of the supply room. He had short black hair on top of a round, pudgy face, and bright red cheeks. He looked like an apple with eyes! He wore a red plaid shirt over black denims.
    â€œIs Mrs. Coffey here?” I demanded. “I need to talk to her.”
    He set down the disk drive he was carrying. “She’s gone,” he said.
    â€œYou mean she went to lunch?” I asked.
    He shook his round head. “No. She left school. She got another job.”
    â€œI—I know,” I stammered. “But I thought—”
    â€œI’m Ron Handleman,” he said. “I’m taking over the computer lab. Do you have a class with me?”
    â€œUh … no,” I said. “But I have a project I was supposed to show Mrs. Coffey. She was going to send it to someone who might put it in a show. It’s computer animation, you see. I’ve been working on it for two years and … and …” In my panic the words poured out of me. I had to stop to take a breath.
    â€œSlow down,” Mr. Handleman said. “She probably left me a note about it. She left me a stack of notes.” He glanced around the cluttered worktable. “I put them somewhere.”
    How could Mrs. Coffey leave without seeing my project? I asked myself. How could she do that to me?
    Didn’t she realize how important it was? This could be my big triumph. If my computer animation is accepted for a show—because of my hard work, only because of my skill and hard work—it would break the pattern. It might defeat the Fate Master.
    Didn’t she r ealize ?
    â€œUh … can you look at my computer animation?” I asked.
    Mr. Handleman’s cheeks grew redder. “When?”
    â€œTonight?” I asked, my heart pounding.
    â€œWell … I don’t think so,” he replied. “Not tonight. I mean, this is my first day. I have so much to do here. Maybe next week … ”
    â€œNo!” I screamed. “You have to look at it! Please! It’s very important!”
    â€œI’d love to see it,” he