“As you can see,” Master George said, “we have a lot of problems on our hands. We have sent in as our only hope a boy who has a power that could destroy everything around him if he loses control. We have a plague of insanity sweeping through the Realities. And it all could come to a head tomorrow.”
“So what do we need to do?” Sofia said, not so much a question as a statement.
“Yeah,” Paul said to show his support.
Rutger answered. “Tonight, we get some sleep—everyone needs rest. Plus, we’re still waiting for some of the others to arrive.”
“The others?” Paul asked.
Master George stepped forward and took a look through the peephole at Sato. After a long moment, he turned and faced the group, his face solemn.
“Tomorrow, we send an army of Realitants to the Fourth Reality.”
Tick lay in the small bed, the covers pulled up to his chin, staring at the ceiling he couldn’t see because of the darkness. Full of delicious food, freshly showered, dressed in a nice set of flannel pajamas, he kept his eyes open, staring at the blackness hanging above him like the void of deep space.
Tears trickled down his temples, into his hair and ears. Never, not once in his entire life, had he felt so utterly alone. He finally squeezed his eyes shut, sending another surge of wetness across his skin. He concentrated, picturing each member of his family one by one. His dad, hooting and running in place as his guy scored a touchdown in Football 3000. His mom, baking cookies, tasting dough on her finger. Lisa, talking on the phone, sticking her tongue out. Kayla, her eyes glued to a Winnie the Pooh cartoon on TV.
Then he thought of Sofia. And Paul. Sato. Mothball and Rutger. Master George and Sally.
And then the image of Mr. Chu popped in his head. Not the evil one, not the one who looked at him like he was nothing but trash. The Mr. Chu in his mind was the good and kind one, the one who loved science like a kid loves candy. The man who’d devoted his life to helping students gain an understanding of the world and how it works, to help prepare them for life. To plant a seed in future doctors, engineers, chemists, biologists.
What happened to you? Tick thought. What did . . . he do to you?
Despite everything, Tick felt a little better. No matter what happened tomorrow, he would always have his friends and family in his heart and mind. And then a thought hit him: he should quit feeling sorry for himself—those people he’d just been thinking of needed him. Though he had no idea what to expect when morning came, he had to face it and do whatever it took to win. Everything depended on Tick.
Finally, the events of the day caught up to him. To think he’d awakened that morning in a place called Circle City, hoping to figure out a clue that seemed so silly now. Could this really have been only one day? It had to be the longest day of his life. And he felt it.
As exhaustion pulled him into sleep, he had one last coherent thought.
Tomorrow, I’m going to win.
Chapter
39
Weaponry
For some odd reason, Paul was dreaming he’d just been sworn in as President of the United States, but everyone in the huge crowd booed and threw rotten tomatoes at him. One hit him square in the face, wet and gooey.
He woke up to see yellow eyes and the flicker of a tongue. Muffintops had been sent to get him out of bed.
“Get off me, you furry rat,” he said, pushing the cat aside. He groaned as he pulled himself to a sitting position—his casted arm almost felt stronger than the other one—and swung his legs to the floor. Muffintops glared at him, her yellow eyes regarding him with distaste.
“Sorry, dude,” Paul said, reaching down to pet her. “I’m grumpy when I wake up.” He looked at his watch: 5:00 am. “Ah, man, what’s up with that? Muffins, go tell the old man I’m not ready to get up.”
The cat hissed and clawed at Paul’s foot.
“Holy lumps of stew,” Paul whispered. “You are one smart kitty. Fine, I’ll get up. Go scratch Sofia’s face for awhile.”
They’d slept in a room similar to the one in the Bermuda Triangle complex—plain cots and blankets, no decorations. Mothball, Rutger, and Sally had slept there as well, but they were already out of bed and gone. While eating a scrumptious meal of pork chops and mashed potatoes the night before, Master George had told them he couldn’t wait to move the main operations back to the ocean, but they still needed more time to make repairs and rebuild after Mistress Jane’s attack back in May.
Paul stretched and yawned, then laughed when he heard Sofia yelling at the cat. He quickly ran to get in the shower before Sofia claimed it.
After breakfast, Master George summoned everyone to the meeting hall, where Paul was shocked to see dozens of people he’d never met before. He and Sofia took a seat while scanning the room, gaping at the strange visitors.
Tall people and short people, skinny people and muscled people. The clothing varied—everything from a large dude with a fancy robe containing every color possible to a slender woman with pale skin and red hair dressed head to toe in black. There was a guy with a turban, a woman with a baseball cap, another woman with a hat the size of a sombrero but decorated with tiny stuffed animals. Quite a few of the strangers wore what Paul considered normal clothes—jeans, flannel shirts, golf shirts, casual blouses, T-shirts—but the ones who didn’t stood out like huge chunks of coal in a bowl of vanilla ice cream.
A tall man with night-dark skin had eyes so blue they seemed to pulse and glow. He wore a one-piece suit with shreds of cloth hanging off like mummy wrappings. A woman sat three chairs down from him with bleached-blonde hair, her face painted in the fanciest makeup job Paul had ever seen—bright red lips, purple eye shadow, lines of blue streaking across her temple like colored wrinkles. She’d drawn a star on one cheek and a crescent moon on the other. Next to her was a man almost as short as Rutger but not nearly so fat, wearing a white shirt, white pants, and white socks and shoes.
“Who are these people?” Sofia whispered to Paul.
“Other Realitants, I guess,” he replied.
Sofia tapped the cast that covered his forearm from just below his elbow to his wrist. “How’s that broken bone of yours?”
“Feels great, actually.” He held up his arm and punched the air a couple of times. “Especially compared to how I felt yesterday. Can’t wait to whack Chu upside the head with this puppy.”