Eighteen

"I'M GOING, WITH OR without you," I told Relly.

"It's breaking and entering," he said. "It's against the law, you know. If you get caught—"

"I'm getting into school tonight and I'm getting my notebook back. Are you in or out?"

He didn't hesitate. "I'm in. But we got to make it perfect. We can't screw up, all right?"

All through practice that night, I kept looking at Jerod and wondering what it meant that he was the god of air. Yeah, he was the singer. Only, there had to be more to it. For all his big talk and stuck-up ways, he really was a lightweight, wispy as the wind. Way more than the rest of us, Jerod acted most like a god should. Full of himself, proud and self-assured. And he looked like one too. But when it came down to it, he was just too into himself for this kind of thing. Making the band a success—definitely. Helping Zee out—forget it.

So I didn't want him along when we broke into school.

And I watched Butt too, while we ran through our set list.

When he was bored, Butt would squeeze his hand under his armpit to make blapping noises or try to crush a Jolt can against his forehead. He was like a big toddler kid. Six feet tall and still he acted like a two year old sometimes. I think he went right from his baby rattle to a drum set. He wasn't stupid. That's not what I mean. He was simple. Which is different than being a feeb. He liked a couple of things and that was all he needed.

Big-metal noise. Butt jokes. Working on his van. Pizza and wings. Girls, but only to look at, not to talk to. He wasn't quite ready for that.

I liked Butt, and I trusted him. When we needed muscles, raw pigheaded power, he was the one.

Tonight, however, I figured we needed stealth and cool wits. So it was just me and Relly who went off after practice to reclaim my notebook.

I'd already taken care of getting past the alarm system. I managed to get some detention in English, and I knew I could unlatch one of the windows when Mrs. Pelkey wasn't looking. So unless the janitor checked every sensor in the building, we had an easy entry.

So far so good. We put some cement blocks by the window, climbed up, and were through. No sirens, no flashing lights.

It was very weird to be there so late. Everything was familiar and foreign at the same time. Yeah, those were desks, only they looked like the shadowy wreckage of a lost jungle city. Over there was the blackboard, still with names and dates in Mrs. Pelkey's scrawl. Now, however, the writing was pure gibberish, forgotten tomb paintings.

We tiptoed through the classroom and into the hallway. Way at the end, a red exit light was throbbing. The rows of steel lockers and the shiny, bare floor made it seem like we'd broken into an ancient underground chamber. OK, I told myself, you're a god and maybe this is your temple.

"Which way?" Relly whispered.

I pointed and we went toward Frankengoon's office.

The darkness was strange, but much stranger was the silence there. I say "silence," because I don't have any other word for it. It seemed to breathe, to pulse slowly in and out as though the whole building was alive.

We got to the main office and found that the door was locked.

"OK, now what?" Relly asked. I was in charge. Success or failure, it was all up to me.

"Here goes nothing." I took a set of keys out of my pocket. I'd paid fifty dollars for them, to a kid named Marky Blood. For a price, he could provide just about anything. Mostly that meant pot and vodka and Trojans. But he dealt in other things too.

"Well, let's see if Marky's made a fool of me," I said.

The key slid in smoothly, like a hot knife into butter. It turned just as smoothly and the door came open without a sound.

"All right," I said. "We're in."

We went straight through the main office and into Frankengoon's inner chamber. I'd seen him take my notebook from his desk. However, searching every drawer, I came up with nothing. Something like panic, but softer, more blurred and oozy, was pouring into my body. "He was standing right here with it."

"We can't search the whole school," Relly said.

I gave a quick scan to the bookshelves and the cabinet full of old football trophies. "I can't believe it. We came all this way—"

And then we heard the footsteps.

I just about threw up right there, the fear was so strong. And seeing the look on Relly's face didn't help. The sound was slow and shuffling, like an old man. "Maybe it's a night watchman," I whispered. "We can hide here and wait till he's gone."

Then I saw my notebook. Frankengoon had wrapped it in a half dozen plastic bags, like it was infected with the most deadly virus in the world. There the notebook was, square on top of his desk. In the weird light, all bound up in plastic, it looked like a slab of rock flaked off a meteor.

I grabbed it, clutched it to my chest. Relly took me by the arm and hissed, "Let's go."

We made it to the corridor. But then we saw him: Smoking Man come to life.

He had his cowboy hat on, and three cigarettes hung from his mouth, burning. He had one in each hand too. And as he shuffled toward us the smoke curled and churned around him.

I just about lost it. I mean, the surge of panic came up strong and just about washed away every thought in my head. I clung to my notebook and stared.

He was a dummy, just plastic. And yet he was alive. The little pump that made his fake lungs work was wheezing in and out. His feet didn't leave the floor, but dragged along the shiny tiles. He looked at us, and beneath the brim of his cowboy hat two red coals burned where his eyes should have been.

With one great rattling intake, he sucked smoke into himself. And with one hollow groan he jetted the filthy cloud at me.

"Give," he said, reaching for the notebook.

I shook my head, as if arguing with a zombie cowboy made any sense.

"Give," he repeated. It was Scratch's voice, low and gritty.

Holding the notebook hard against my chest was exactly the right thing to do. It kept me from losing my supper. It seemed to hold me up straight. And the words, the inscriptions from the graveyard, somehow passed through the plastic and into my body.

A law eternal does decree
that all things born should mortal be.

Smoking Man had us trapped. We had to get past him to escape. And his stinking cloud made a kind of barrier too.

I was pretty useless now. I mean, I wasn't screaming in hysterics. But I was paralyzed, staring at Smoking Man's plastic corpse face.

It was Relly who got us out of there.

He was fire. And he was strong when it counted. Relly came across as kind of flimsy and frail. But when he had to, onstage in front of a thousand kids or now up against Smoking Man, he didn't back down.

He was a god of fire, and figured that was exactly what it would take to defeat Smoking Man. So he lunged at him, threw himself at the shuffling cowboy. And his hands caught fire, I'm sure of it, as soon as he grappled with Smoking Man. They kind of wrestled there in slow motion, bitter billows swirling around them. Relly cursed as he fought with burning hands. Smoking Man groaned. I clutched my notebook and thought of rain.

This might seem strange. But that's what filled my head as I watched Smoking Man pushing Relly to the floor. My friend, my only real friend, was being strangled by a filthy plastic dummy and I thought of rain.

Relly's fires were snuffed out. His voice, too. Smoking Man had him by the neck, squeezing.

And then the sprinkler right over them burst and poured down a steady stream.

I watched the water fall, a silvery jet from above. I focused everything on that wet, saving blast. The fire sprinklers are supposed to come on in zones. A whole wing or hallway is supposed to get drenched if any of them come on. That night it was just one, right above Relly and our enemy.

In a minute it was over. Smoking Man lay broken and lifeless, black mud running out of his mouth. Relly pulled out from under him and grabbed my hand. "Let's go, let's go!" he hissed.

And we went, out the open window and across the wet grass of the soccer field.