WHEELS Read online

“Don’t say it!” McKenzie gripped her rims. Her heart was beating so loud, she was sure Hayes could hear it.

  “Mac, what’s wrong? You look…well, you don’t look normal.”

  I am so way past normal! McKenzie sighed. It was bad enough she had to keep her mind from dwelling on any subject too long for fear of turning someone into a frog or, worse, another mouthless monster like Penny Nickels. Even her dreams were dangerous. Last night she’d dreamt about the accident—the one that had killed her mom and left her paralyzed. An accident she'd had no memory of—until now.

  McKenzie took a deep breath. Hayes was wearing cologne. Nice cologne. She looked up. Dark chocolate eyes stared back at her brimming with questions and something else—ah yes, impatience.

  “I can’t race,” she said, hoping her voice sounded stronger than she felt.

  “Chicken?” Hayes took a step back.

  “Yeah right!” She had to get out of here. “Move it, Hayes, or I’ll move it for you!”

  “Soooo, if you’re not chicken…” Hayes smiled, “then you must be in a hurry to get somewhere. Class?” He leaned closer. “Or is it a boy?”

  McKenzie knew she was blushing. Breathe. Just breathe. I cannot afford to get into trouble. “I have the game this Saturday.”

  “Right.” Hayes smiled and stepped aside. “The Game. Calm down, Red, I was just teasing.”

  Before either she or Hayes could change her mind McKenzie said, “Gotta go,” and took off down the hallway, forcing herself not to look back. She was about to round the corner when she heard, “You’d lose anyway.”

  Lose? McKenzie spun her chair around. LOSE!

  Hayes was laughing at her.

  The hallway was filled with students hurrying on their way to first period class. McKenzie’s mind was fried from thinking and then trying not to think. Maybe a race was just what she needed. After all, she had an entire day to get through without turning someone into a frog.

  “Watch out!” Hayes jumped out of McKenzie’s way. “Those are my toes you know.”

  “Right here, right now.” McKenzie punched a button to change the camber of her wheels. “Down the hallway and around the corner, Miss Rosenthorp’s room. I wouldn’t want you to be late.”

  Hayes slipped the backpack off his shoulders and tossed it over the back of her wheelchair.

  McKenzie grabbed her rims and leaned forward. “Forget your backpack on my chair again,” she said, “and I put it up for auction on eBay. Three, two—” She blasted her horn and they were off.

  Students moved to the sides of the hallway cheering and whistling and, true to his dream, Rudy Hayes took the lead.

  McKenzie rounded the corner a second behind him. Hayes didn’t see Principal Provost roll into the middle of the hallway. He was too busy looking back to check on his lead. McKenzie tried to warn him. She stopped. She gestured wildly. Hayes laughed; then turned and—smack—ran right into Principal Provost’s wheelchair.

  The hallway echoed with a collective intake of breath and then there was silence.

  Hayes lay sprawled across the Principal’s lap, forehead against one wheel, feet dangling across the other.

  Principal Provost helped him stand up. “Your head has had a run-in with my chair, and I believe you lost.”

  Hayes’ hand floated to his forehead. He winced as fingers met bloodied flesh. His face went a shade paler, and just as he began to sway Principal Provost grabbed him. “Walk your sorry self down to Nurse Prickel’s office. After she’s finished with you, go directly to my office and wait. Understood?”

  Hayes swayed the other way.

  “Concentric, help me!” said Principal Provost using one of the many odd expressions he was famous for. “You.” he said, pointing to a short, decidedly timid-looking, red-haired boy. “Accompany Mr. Hayes to the nurse’s office.”

  The boy eyed Hayes suspiciously and carefully led him away.

  McKenzie began to back up.

  “Miss Wu, where do you think you’re going?”

  First period warning bell rang and the students began shuffling towards their classrooms.

  McKenzie stared at the floor. She took a deep breath and another… I wish, I wish—I wish I could disappear. A hole would be nice. A small hole and I’d be gone.

  A bead of sweat slipped over McKenzie’s nose, dropped to her chin and began the long, slow descent down her neck. Particle by tiny almost invisible particle, the burgundy and gray, granite floor tiles in front of her began to shift. Not dissolving, but rather, rearranging themselves.

  “Ahemmmm!”

  McKenzie blinked and looked up. Principal Provost was staring at her, mouth open, eyes questioning. What have I done? “The ba, ba, ba—bathroom,” she stammered, for lack of a better distraction. “I have to go—RIGHT NOW!”

  Down the hallway, someone giggled.

  She’d expected to see Principal Provost looking angry, even surprised. What she hadn’t expected was to see him staring at the floor, his face pale as if he’d seen a ghost.

  “Miss Wu?”

  McKenzie looked down. The floor had returned to normal. “Yes!”

  “What?”

  “I mean, yes Sir.”

  “Remove that horn from your chair.” Principal Provost was still staring at her strangely. “Give it to Miss Chantos. This is a hallway, not a highway. ‘Excuse me, please’ will serve you just fine.”

  McKenzie grabbed her rims. Principal Provost hadn’t seen anything. Of course, he hadn’t.

  “Go directly to my office and wait.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “And fix the camber on your wheels. Three degrees max when in school, unless you’d like to be confined to a chair like mine for the next few weeks.”

  McKenzie eyed with horror Principal Provost’s heavy, clunky, old fashioned wheelchair. “No, Sir.”

  “And given that you’re so worried about being late for class…”

  McKenzie nodded, allowing the sound of Principal Provost’s voice to slip into the background. Down the hallway, Joanne Chang and Penny Nickels were whispering.

  “Therefore,” continued Principal Provost, “compose a 1,000-word essay on the dangers of racing down a crowded hallway. You will have plenty of time to…”

  Penny’s face looked perfectly normal, thank goodness. Joanne smiled and before she could stop herself, McKenzie smiled back. She couldn’t help it. You smile. I smile. We’re equals.

  Only they weren’t.

  Joanne Chang had perfectly straight hair falling in perfectly straight lines along her perfectly smooth, perfectly thin face. Worse—she was Hayes’ girlfriend.

  McKenzie sighed. Her favorite blue shirt, which had seemed so comfortable this morning, suddenly felt dingy and faded. She pushed a stray curl behind her ear and tried to remember if she’d brushed her hair. If only she had inherited her dad’s glossy black hair instead of her mom’s ridiculous red curls.

  Joanne held up her hand as if to wave and McKenzie raised hers—then caught herself. Even if she’d wanted to be friends, she couldn’t. Not now. Not when one stray wish could twist particles of Joanne Chang into a toad.

  Gotta stop thinking like that.

  Joanne’s hand, still in midair, formed the shape of an L. Still looking at McKenzie, still smiling, she mouthed, “LO-SER.”

  “Miss Wu?”

  McKenzie blinked. Principal Provost’s pale-blue eyes stared at her quizzically.

  “Going,” she mumbled, taking off down the hallway, dizzy, sick and not at all sure she wasn’t going to throw up. Her life, like the particles, was shifting, rearranging, changing into something completely unrecognizable.

  ********

  Principal Provost sat outside room twenty-three pondering the events of the last few minutes. The molecules of the floor had begun the weaving process—but it was not his doing.

  Absently, he began tugging one of the long, scraggly hairs of his right eyebrow, struggling to recall everything he knew about the girl who had recently mo
ved to Avondale. McKenzie Wu on the basketball court; a tough, skilled player, bashing wheelchair against wheelchair, stealing balls and shouting orders to other players. McKenzie alone, waiting outside the school or sitting at lunch. McKenzie doing something stupid but harmless with that boy, Rudy Hayes.

  Must take this slowly, he thought. Humans could not particle-weave—and yet, it appeared McKenzie Wu could. After all this time, had his instincts finally paid off?

  “Thank goodness I found you!”

  Principal Provost almost jumped out of his chair. A tall, thin man with a wide, flat and, at the moment, unattractively moist forehead was standing in front of him.

  “I’m so glad I—hiccup—found you. There’s been a—hiccup, hiccup—been a—hiccup—oh bother!” The man hiccupped two more times, backed up a few steps and tripped.

  Principal Provost groaned. “Where did you come from?”

  “Greencastle, Indiana.”

  “What?”

  “Ohhhh—hiccup—oops! You mean as in—hiccup—I’m the new band director. Remember?”

  Principal Provost squinted, trying to recall what a band director was and resisting the urge to tug at his eyebrow again. “Ahhh. Yes. I remember. Of course, I remember. Hired you, didn’t I? Tip-top. How can I help?”

  “Well uh…we have a small problem. Ha, ha. About a tuba. Hee, hee.” Now the man was laughing; punctuating his sentences with high-pitched, self-conscious tweets. “On the other hand—ha, ha—maybe it’s not small, maybe it’s more like medium. I guess it depends on how you look at it.”

  “Time,” murmured Principal Provost. “No need to waste precious time. Come along,” he said, taking off down the hallway. “You may explain the details on our way to the band room.”

  Chapter 3

  FBI TRANSCRIPT 21209 - 10

  Agent Wink Krumm, Joanne Chang and Penny Nickels

  Tuesday, April 7th

  KRUMM: How well would you say you know McKenzie Wu?

  CHANG: Did she steal something? Because like, well, if she did, I would have to tell Penny’s dad, Coach Nickels, wouldn’t I?

  KRUMM: Think of this as a survey.

  NICKELS: OMG! Are we on TV?

  CHANG: Penny, shut up!

  KRUMM: Let’s try this again. Have you ever noticed anything…different about McKenzie?

  NICKELS: Ohhhh, now I get it. Yeah, lots of things. Her eyes!

  CHANG: Yeah! Her eyes are like emeralds—

  NICKELS: Freaking green! But she’s Chinese, like Joanne.

  CHANG: Right. Chinese. And get this—she’s got massively curly red hair.

  NICKELS: Weird!

  KRUMM: Fifty years ago, yes. Today people can have whatever color hair, skin, or eyes they—or rather, their parents please. You’re right…it is weird.

  CHANG: Totally! My Plus, she always wears it back in a rubber band.

  NICKELS: I mean, like, why would she do that? It’s so beautiful. That’s not natural.

  KRUMM: Anything different about her behavior? Anything…odd?

  NICKELS: Absolutely. She doesn’t like Joanne.

  CHANG: And she hates Penny!

  NICKELS and CHANG: And we’re like the most popular girls in school!

  CHANG: OH. And she acts like a boy.

  NICKELS: Joanne’s right. McKenzie likes boy things. Science, math, basketball.

  CHANG: Hey! I like basketball. Oh, my gosh—does McKenzie take steroids? Steroids are illegal. McKenzie would be kicked off the team!

  NICKELS: Agent Krumm, are you all right? Like, are you gonna puke? Cause if you feel like you gotta puke—

  KRUMM: Thank you, girls. Thank you. That’s all for today.

  ***

  HURRICANES & DAYDREAMS

  Monday, March 16th

  McKenzie waited inside Principal Provost’s office. When the door didn’t open, Miss Chantos didn’t stick her head in—when she could no longer stand it, McKenzie raised the eReader in front of her face. “I can do this. I can make this stupid old tablet disappear,” she whispered, squinting, as if to see right through it.

  Seconds passed. A minute. The eReader—still present, still solid—dropped to her lap. McKenzie shoved it into her backpack, “Nuts,” and turned away from the door. “I’m crazy and nuts.” She laughed. “I’m double nuts!”

  While the rest of the school smelled of dirty gym socks, baloney sandwiches and the overlying smell of too much antiseptic spray, Principal Provost’s office had its own distinct scent…musty paper and wood. His huge wooden desk faced the door in front of which McKenzie was now sitting. Beside it was a large set of windows covered in blinds overlooking the school entrance. Along the other two walls and surrounding the door, cherrywood bookshelves stood like sentinels, stuffed to overflowing with antique newspapers and books, binders and a variety of framed documents and photos—everything above the fourth shelf too high for McKenzie to reach.

  How does he manage?

  Principal Provost’s wheelchair was big, bulky and old-fashioned. By comparison, McKenzie’s was light-years ahead. Though not one of the newer chairs made by her dad’s employer, Sphaera Technologies, its lightweight, scandium construction gave it a sleek, high-tech appearance. It not only looked faster than most chairs, with her help, it was.

  McKenzie closed her eyes allowing the scent of wood to merge with memories of sweat, burning rubber and the echo of basketballs smacking against the gym floor. She loved the feel of the rims against the palms of her hands, the rush of metal crashing against metal and balls cracking against the backboard. The way her heart pumped and the crowd yelled—

  Snaps!

  Two more victories and the Warriors would win the championship. McKenzie took a deep breath and held it. But not without me. She continued to hold her breath, afraid releasing it might make this thought come true. She’d already missed one game because of detention. Because of Hayes. Why do I let him talk me into these things?

  Sunlight trickled in through the slanted blinds and spilled over her. McKenzie allowed a long, slow sigh to escape her lips. Principal Provost loved wheelchair basketball. He attended all their games. He wouldn’t dare keep her out of such an important one. She frowned, twisting a strand of curly red hair around her finger. Or would he?

  McKenzie turned and rolled over to a bookcase filled with several impressively thick books. Curious and slightly bored, she began reading the titles: Strategies in Effective Discipline; Progressive School Discipline; Nano-Molecular Dynamics in Physics;Grey Matter, Dark Energy, and Black Holes;Space Travel and Multidimensional Theories of—

  Something odd. Something out of place caught her eye. A cabinet, hardly more than a box with a glass door, wedged between two of the bookcases. Pale-blue and weathered, it didn’t blend with the rest of the old-fashioned, library-like décor. Though smaller, it reminded her of Grandma Mir’s curio cabinet. McKenzie couldn’t see what was in the little blue box, but she could recall almost every item in Grandma Mir’s cabinet: glass orbs, all colorful, fragile and tantalizingly off-limits. McKenzie’s great-great grandfather, an inventor and rumored to be a bit eccentric, had started the family’s spherical fascination beginning with the oldest orb, made for his wife, Julianne. At first glance, it appeared to be an ordinary replica of Earth; but, on closer inspection, the landmasses were all wrong. Something about it had always bothered McKenzie. So too, something about this box bothered her, more than the size, more than the color. It wasn’t where it was hidden, but how. McKenzie could see—she could actually see—the particles surrounding the box were thicker. As if they were hiding the box…only not from her.

  A lone gray cloud floated in front of the sun, throwing a blanket of chill over the dimly lit room. McKenzie shivered, thinking she should be writing her paper even as she rolled closer to the box.

  That’s when she noticed it, a glint out of the corner of her eye—perhaps only a trick of the light. The particles composing the top of the cabinet had moved. Without her wishing it—they’d shifted.
r />   A vein in McKenzie’s neck began to throb. Willpower lost to curiosity, she rolled closer and carefully, cautiously, reached out.

  Nothing.

  Against her better judgment, she placed her hand solidly on top of the box. McKenzie’s eyes closed, her breathing slowed and suddenly her fingers began to sink, pushing aside molecules, rearranging atoms—a quark here, a lepton there. The fabric of the cabinet, the very time it existed in, transformed like soft clay at the tips of her fingers. Tiny particles of McKenzie’s mind and body began to slip away, tugging and tumbling towards the odd, pale-blue box. The room shifted and blurred, melting and merging like a stream of confetti, taking McKenzie with it, drowning her in its depths.

  Stop!

  Her mind reached out—What am I doing here?—and grabbed on to the closest thought she could find:

  “Be careful what you wish for.”

  Her mother’s words!

  McKenzie’s hand jerked back as if someone had slapped it. Her mother had often warned her about wishing. It was one of the few clear memories McKenzie had of her.

  Why? She’d never wondered about it until now.

  As if the question had unlocked something deeper, memories came flooding through. The gentle, loving touch of her mother’s hand as she tucked a curl behind McKenzie’s ear. The feeling of comfort and safety as she lay beside her mother listening to her favorite book, The Lorax. The smell of sugar cookies. Soft, sweet, warm sugar cookies. The backseat of her mother’s car. The headrest with her mother’s hair, red curls like her own, sticking through. The air, suffocating.