STARSCAPE BOOKS(20)

“No kidding?” The two guys exchanged glances. “That’s our major.”

“Cool.” Martin settled into the seat. Riding definitely beat walking. He couldn’t wait to get his license.

“You know what?” the other guy said. “We were going to head down 476, but if we take the back way, we can get you a lot closer to where you’re going.”

The driver nodded. “That’s the least we can do for a future engineer.”

“Thanks.” Martin glanced out the rear window as the car pulled away from the curb. An hour ago, he’d had no idea what would happen to him. Now, he was headed where he wanted. Maybe running away from home wouldn’t be all that hard.





Torchie learns that wishes do come true


“THANKS FOR THE ride, Mr. Wickman,” Torchie said as he got out of the pickup truck. He sure had the nicest neighbors in the world. They all loved his music. He grabbed his accordion from the back. He’d tried to bring it in front so he could play as they rode, but Mr. Wickman told him there was a state law against playing live music in moving vehicles.

“Did you have a good day?” his mom asked when he walked in the house.

“It was great. I figured out a new song.” He started to play “Roll Out the Barrel.”

“That reminds me,” his mom said, “I signed you up for accordion camp.”

“Really? I thought it was too expensive.”

“Money isn’t important when you have so much love for music,” his mom said. “You need to make use of your gift.”

“It’s two whole weeks,” Torchie said. “Won’t you miss me?”

“Of course I will,” his mom said. “But it’s too good an opportunity to pass up.”

“This is great. Are you sure we can afford it?”

“I’m positive. We had help. The neighbors are all so proud of you, they chipped in money to help send you away. They said no amount was too much to pay to get you there.”

“Can I go there right away?” Torchie asked.

“They already started this session. You’ll have to wait for the next one. It’s only two weeks.”

“Ask them if I can start tomorrow, okay? I don’t mind if I missed the first couple days.”

“If that’s what you want,” his mom said. “I guess I can check with them.”

“That’s what I want,” Torchie said. He couldn’t wait to get to Philadelphia.





lucky dwells on the past


THE MEMORIES WEREN’T bad when they were wrapped in the haze. Lucky drifted and looked back. School had been okay. His talent was always there—he heard lost objects crying out—but it was under control most of the time. There wasn’t all that much lost stuff around him. Just pens, coins, junk like that.

Martin had taught him to search for new ways to solve problems. Lucky’s problem was simple. If he didn’t pick up on the lost objects, their cries grew louder and louder, until they drowned everything else out. Once he took them, he had to keep them or give them away. It seemed like they needed to be owned. He wasn’t even sure whether the voice was from the object itself, or some sort of imprint left by the owner. In his darkest moments, he wondered whether his only talent was to sense the objects. Maybe it was his own mind that spoke for them. The source didn’t matter. What mattered was silencing the voices.

After two months in high school, and after filling three large cardboard boxes with the things he’d found, Lucky sorted the contents and gave them all away. He took pens, pencils, erasers, and markers to a local day-care center. He took the rest of the stuff to the Goodwill store. The people were happy to get the items. The voices remained silent. And Lucky enjoyed giving things away.

The two times he found a wallet, he took them to the lost-and-found departments of local stores. He knew better than to turn in anything valuable at school. That’s what had gotten him into trouble in the past. You can only hand over so many wallets before people start to think you’re a crook.

But there were plenty of stores and other places with lost-and-found departments, so that wouldn’t be a problem. He was nervous the whole time he had each wallet with him—especially the one that had been cleaned out of cash—but he’d managed to take care of them without getting in trouble. It looked like his days of being called a thief were over.

Then, last February, because of overcrowding at his high school, the ninth graders had been moved to the new middle school. The instant Lucky walked in, he heard faint whispers. They seemed far off. But there were dozens of voices. Maybe even hundreds.