diabetic boy got used to his insulin shots.
Kevin was thinking about this when suddenly his crystal-clear world became blurry once more.
Kevin didn't see the face of the kid who stole his glasses—but by the shape lumbering down the hall, he could tell who it had to be.
Hal Hornbeck.
Hal didn't taunt Kevin—he didn't play keep- away, or bullfight, or rodeo. He simply took the glasses and just kept on running until he burst out the side door of Ridgeline Middle School and disappeared.
Kevin scarfed down a slice of pizza, practically inhaling it.
"I'm so dumb!" said Kevin. There was no argument from Josh and Teri, who were sitting across from him at the pizza parlor. "I should have known," said Kevin. The fact was, Josh should have known, too. There were, after all, four of them there when Kevin found the glasses, and now that Bertram was out of the picture, it left three— three boys on the outside, looking in on a world going crazy. No wonder Hal had screamed when he saw Nicole. They should have known!
It may have taken Hal most of the day to figure out what was going on, but when he did, he didn't waste any time. Kevin, Josh, and Teri had immediately taken to the streets to find Hal, but he was in none of the usual places. He had simply vanished.
"More pizza!" said Kevin.
"You've already eaten an entire pie," complained Teri. "If you don't stop, you're going to hurl."
"More pizza!" demanded Kevin. He was hungry, and the more he ate, the hungrier he got. Even though his stomach was stuffed and he felt like barfing, he was still hungry.
"Maybe it's better this way," offered Josh.
"Are you kidding me?" said Teri. "Do you really want Hal Hornbeck using those glasses? If you thought Kevin was a screwup, can you imagine what things would be like with that pus-head running the show?"
Josh sank in his seat and gnawed on a crust.
Kevin inhaled the last slice on the table, then looked up at Teri and Josh with tired, sunken eyes. "I think I'm going to be sick," said Kevin.
"I'm not surprised," said Josh.
"No," said Kevin, "that's not what I mean. . . ."
Both Teri and Josh were looking at him now, and they were beginning to understand what he meant. The glasses had been gone for just a couple of hours, and already Kevin was looking bad. His eyes were dark, and his skin was pale and pasty. Soon he would start shivering. What came after the shivering? He didn't know, because Kevin had never let it get beyond that—he had always put the glasses back on. But now he couldn't. How bad would the sickness get? How bad could it get before . . .
Kevin put down his crust. "Pizza's not going to help, is it?"
They all knew what had to be done.
"Where would you go," asked Teri, "if you were Hal Hornbeck and had a pair of magic glasses?"
When the question was asked in that way, the answer came quickly and clearly, bringing on a powerful dose of hope.
Hal had done what most kids in town would do under the circumstances. He had gone to the dentist.
Public-access cable took in the video dregs of the universe. Would-be talk-show hosts and local crackpot prophets teetering on the edge of lunacy found a happy home on Channel 92. There were long hours of town council meetings, high school sports recorded on home camcorders, and really bad dance recitals. Basically anyone who could afford ten dollars a minute could have his or her own local television show.
Only one local show was watched week after week. "Frankie Philpot's World of Phreakie Phenomena."
The story, as everyone knew, went like this. Frankie, a mild-mannered dentist, had discovered some years ago a set of gold-filled molars that not only picked up a local radio station, but also (when the patient's arms were held up in just the right position) could tune in voices from the great beyond.
From that moment on, Frankie had dedicated all of his nondental time to exploring the supernatural, and he produced his findings at six o'clock every Thursday night.
His dental
Kevin was thinking about this when suddenly his crystal-clear world became blurry once more.
Kevin didn't see the face of the kid who stole his glasses—but by the shape lumbering down the hall, he could tell who it had to be.
Hal Hornbeck.
Hal didn't taunt Kevin—he didn't play keep- away, or bullfight, or rodeo. He simply took the glasses and just kept on running until he burst out the side door of Ridgeline Middle School and disappeared.
Kevin scarfed down a slice of pizza, practically inhaling it.
"I'm so dumb!" said Kevin. There was no argument from Josh and Teri, who were sitting across from him at the pizza parlor. "I should have known," said Kevin. The fact was, Josh should have known, too. There were, after all, four of them there when Kevin found the glasses, and now that Bertram was out of the picture, it left three— three boys on the outside, looking in on a world going crazy. No wonder Hal had screamed when he saw Nicole. They should have known!
It may have taken Hal most of the day to figure out what was going on, but when he did, he didn't waste any time. Kevin, Josh, and Teri had immediately taken to the streets to find Hal, but he was in none of the usual places. He had simply vanished.
"More pizza!" said Kevin.
"You've already eaten an entire pie," complained Teri. "If you don't stop, you're going to hurl."
"More pizza!" demanded Kevin. He was hungry, and the more he ate, the hungrier he got. Even though his stomach was stuffed and he felt like barfing, he was still hungry.
"Maybe it's better this way," offered Josh.
"Are you kidding me?" said Teri. "Do you really want Hal Hornbeck using those glasses? If you thought Kevin was a screwup, can you imagine what things would be like with that pus-head running the show?"
Josh sank in his seat and gnawed on a crust.
Kevin inhaled the last slice on the table, then looked up at Teri and Josh with tired, sunken eyes. "I think I'm going to be sick," said Kevin.
"I'm not surprised," said Josh.
"No," said Kevin, "that's not what I mean. . . ."
Both Teri and Josh were looking at him now, and they were beginning to understand what he meant. The glasses had been gone for just a couple of hours, and already Kevin was looking bad. His eyes were dark, and his skin was pale and pasty. Soon he would start shivering. What came after the shivering? He didn't know, because Kevin had never let it get beyond that—he had always put the glasses back on. But now he couldn't. How bad would the sickness get? How bad could it get before . . .
Kevin put down his crust. "Pizza's not going to help, is it?"
They all knew what had to be done.
"Where would you go," asked Teri, "if you were Hal Hornbeck and had a pair of magic glasses?"
When the question was asked in that way, the answer came quickly and clearly, bringing on a powerful dose of hope.
Hal had done what most kids in town would do under the circumstances. He had gone to the dentist.
Public-access cable took in the video dregs of the universe. Would-be talk-show hosts and local crackpot prophets teetering on the edge of lunacy found a happy home on Channel 92. There were long hours of town council meetings, high school sports recorded on home camcorders, and really bad dance recitals. Basically anyone who could afford ten dollars a minute could have his or her own local television show.
Only one local show was watched week after week. "Frankie Philpot's World of Phreakie Phenomena."
The story, as everyone knew, went like this. Frankie, a mild-mannered dentist, had discovered some years ago a set of gold-filled molars that not only picked up a local radio station, but also (when the patient's arms were held up in just the right position) could tune in voices from the great beyond.
From that moment on, Frankie had dedicated all of his nondental time to exploring the supernatural, and he produced his findings at six o'clock every Thursday night.
His dental
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