Chapter 39

“I got a strike once.”

The dust swirled around them, and a group of One-Plys instantly formed. Spencer was so taken by surprise that he found himself flat on his back before he could draw a weapon.

Marv leapt away from the bowling lane, swinging his eighteen-pounder like a club. It knocked off the head of the nearest TP and ripped through the chest of the next, dissolving them both.

One of the mummies cast its toilet-paper streamers to entangle the big janitor, but Daisy’s dustpan shield knocked the attack off course. Dez slammed into the back of a One-Ply, talon fingers tearing the figure apart.

Spencer saw Marv lumber back to the lane, arm cocked and ready to bowl. The heavy ball had barely left his fingers when a One-Ply pounced on him. Marv tumbled aside, and Spencer watched with anxiety as the ball cruised down the smooth lane.

A TP moved in on Spencer, blocking his view. He found the handle of his plunger and yanked it from the U-clip on his belt. The distinct sound of clattering pins reverberated through the Dustbin, and Spencer hoped that Marv’s bowl had knocked them all down.

The One-Ply came at Spencer, but the boy’s plunger knocked it to dust. In the haze, Spencer saw that Marv had indeed managed to bowl a second strike.

One more to go.

TPs were appearing by the dozen. Spencer could sense their excitement at finding people outside the fortress, and they were being created at an alarming rate.

Dez was in the air, avoiding dangerous strands of toilet paper. Spencer and Daisy came back-to-back beside the bowling lane. Both held defensive dustpan shields as they slashed at the TPs with plunger and razorblade.

Marv grappled with a Two-Ply, rolling in the soft dust as each tried to gain the upper hand. The janitor had quickly created a wave of folded paper airplanes, but their effect against the mummies seemed less than what it had been previously. The mummies were adapting to the attack, just as Marv had warned.

“Bowl!” Marv shouted at Spencer and Daisy. The Two-Ply had his arms tied back, but the man was still putting up a fight. “One of you has to bowl a strike and open the door!”

Spencer and Daisy looked at each other, wordlessly debating who should take the responsibility.

“You any good at bowling?” Spencer finally asked.

“Only with the bumpers,” said Daisy. “You?”

“I got a strike once,” Spencer said. “At my ninth birthday party.”

Marv finally ripped free of the Two-Ply. His arms were bleeding where the TP had bound him. He summoned a few more folded planes and moved out to intercept a pair of One-Plys.

“We can’t do it, Marv,” Spencer shouted. “It has to be you!”

“Can’t!” answered the janitor. “Takes too much concentration just to keep these paper planes flying. Get up there and bowl a strike, kid!”

Daisy guarded him as Spencer stepped up to the lane. He had a feeling that this wasn’t going to end well. He didn’t even have a bowling ball!

Spencer suddenly thought of Olin’s note. He’d read it so many times, he had no problem remembering what it said.

Inside the Dustbin, you can imagine and create familiar objects from ordinary dust.

Spencer took a deep breath. He guessed it was time to try out his imagination. Spencer didn’t know how he was going to create a bowling ball from nothing but dust. Olin’s note said it would be easier the longer he stayed in the Dustbin. But Spencer had only been here for thirty minutes, tops. He just wanted Marv to do it. Months in the Dustbin had given him plenty of practice and success.

Daisy cut back a TP hand as Spencer closed his eyes and tried to imagine a bowling ball. Round, smooth, heavy. The one in his imagination was solid blue, the three finger holes placed ideally for his grasp.

“You’re doing it!” Daisy shouted, causing Spencer to open his eyes. The dust at his feet was swirling together, but his shattered concentration caused it to blast apart into useless particles once more.

Spencer slammed his eyes shut again. Round, smooth, heavy. He thought of the last time he’d been bowling, trying to draw details from his actual experiences.

“You did it!” Daisy interrupted him again. But this time it was all right. Lying in the dust at his feet was a blue, ten-pound bowling ball. He couldn’t help but smile at his success. It was his. He had imagined it in perfect detail, and he knew he could unimagine it to dust in the blink of an eye.

Spencer lowered his hand to pick up the bowling ball. Just before his fingers entered the holes, he froze.

“Spencer!” Daisy shouted. “What are you waiting for?”

He said nothing, unwilling to admit it. Spencer had imagined the ball too perfectly, and now he remembered why he hadn’t been bowling in over three years.

The finger holes. They were full of germs. Who knew how many kids had stuck their fingers into those same holes before him? Armpit-scratching kids, nose-picking kids . . . and how often did the bowling balls get cleaned out? Probably never.

“We’re not going to last much longer out here!” Marv yelled, his deep voice rumbling Spencer back to reality. “Pick up the ball, kid!”

If Spencer had imagined the bowling ball, then the germs weren’t real. Right?

Spencer took a deep breath and plunged his fingers into the holes. He lifted the ball, noticing the round depression left behind in the soft dust. Daisy was still working hard in his defense, so Spencer acted quickly now. He stepped up to the end of the lane and lifted the ball to eye level, just as he’d seen Marv do.

Staring down the long lane at the ten pins made Spencer doubt. In his entire life, he had only ever bowled one strike. And that had been pure luck. He’d thrown the ball between his legs!

Spencer exhaled slowly, trying to steady his nerves. He was actually feeling confident that he just might succeed when Dez suddenly bumped into him, wrenching the ball from his grasp.

“No, Dez!” Spencer shouted, but it was too late. Dez had thrown the bowling ball.

“You were taking too long,” Dez said.

Spencer could have unimagined the ball in the blink of an eye, but it actually looked like it was on course for a strike. It slammed into the foremost pin and sent it clattering into the ones behind.

“I told you,” Dez said, “strikes are easy.” He turned his back on the lane as the final pin wobbled. But instead of falling, as Dez was so sure it would, the last bowling pin steadied out and remained standing at the end of the lane.

Marv’s fortress vanished in a puff of colorless dust. Months of mental construction were shattered in a single moment as walls, floor, and ceiling disintegrated without a sound.