Nemesis_Knight Read online

  The vision abruptly faded, and Rich gasped, clutching his heart. Mr. Bickmann looked at him severely. “Mr. Witz, what seems to be the problem?”

  “I—I don’t feel well.”

  Mr. Bickmann turned deep red, looking as if someone had told him they had run out of French fries at the drive-through window. “Haul yourself off to the nurse’s office. Maybe then we’ll get through the rest of the presentations uninterrupted.”

  Rich left his seat and stumbled through the door. His head swam and buzzed like a bug flying too close to his ear. Aaron followed him out the door and placed an arm around his shoulders. “What is it, Rich? Are you okay?”

  Rich shook his head. “I’m not sure. Maybe I just need to lie down.”

  They reached the nurse’s office, where she performed all the usual tests and pronounced him fit and well. He apologized for wasting her time, and they returned to class. The buzzing sensation in Rich’s head had subsided, and he wondered if he had made the whole incident up.

  They arrived back in class just in time to hear the homework assignment and pack up. When math class passed without problems, he really thought he might be going crazy. He tried to chime in as much as possible, hoping that one of his answers might be considered enlightening enough to pass for an act of great wisdom. Unfortunately, there was only so much he could say about derivatives and imaginary numbers.

  Next was an assembly about the dangers of drugs and alcohol, presumably because of the incident with Spike earlier that week. Rich sat through it in a daze, much more preoccupied with the dangers of trying to find his father in an enormous labyrinth.

  Because of the assembly, they switched the lunch schedule, so he had to go to fourth hour before lunch instead of afterwards. Rich rolled his eyes and clutched his side. Gym class was hard enough on a full stomach.

  Freezing rain kept them inside for gym, and the teacher brought out a familiar red ball. Usually, the sight of a dodgeball was enough to make his insides squirm, but today, he felt confident again.

  They divided into teams, and Rich took his place on the front lines for the first time. The coach tossed the ball in bounds, and soon, a red blur flew back and forth from one side of the gym to the other.

  Like he usually did in gym class, Joe didn’t waste time aiming for Rich. He wound up and threw the ball with enough force to shatter bone. Rich stood there, apparently defenseless until the last second, when he flicked his hand slightly. A light flashed in front of his face, and the ball abruptly changed course and shot past him.

  Joe let out a yelp and caught the ball on the rebound. In frustration, he wound up again and hurtled the ball directly at Rich’s face. Again, the ball sailed past him.

  The rest of the opposing team took up the first boy’s cause. They completely ignored Rich’s teammates and concentrated every blow at Rich. Try as they might, not a single throw hit him. Rich’s teammates gasped and cheered as the other team shrank back, and Rich’s team returned the ball with much better accuracy.

  Rich grinned like a jack-o’-lantern, drinking in the attention. It was like the attention he received when he usually played, but in reverse, the insults swapped for praise.

  “Hey, Richie!” Suddenly, a single voice cut through the chorus of others, and Rich whirled around to find the source.

  “Mallory?” Rich said in astonishment. He didn’t think she was in this gym class. He turned around again and barely had time to yelp as a barrage of red missiles flew at him from every direction.

  The entire team of his humiliated opponents had raided the closet and armed themselves with balls. While most were of the red rubber variety, there were a few basketballs and volleyballs thrown in for good measure. Taken completely by surprise, Rich didn’t have time to defend himself.

  Joe stood over Rich, a sneer plastered on his face. “Hey, man, get off the court. You’re out.”

  Rich tried to get up, but he felt so weak, he couldn’t stand. His vision darkened, as though the gym had filled with fog. In the mist, images of the maze came back. This time, the doors were smaller, in all different colors and shapes. His father appeared again, wearing a glove with a single key fastened to the end of each finger. He walked up to a towering door made of dark wood and tried the key on his thumb with no success. He then tried his pointer finger and then tried the rest of the fingers. In frustration, he gave the door a swift kick before proceeding on to the next.

  The mists swirled in thick around Rich and then cleared with a loud whoosh. He found himself lying at the floor at his father’s feet. His father turned to him and looked down, his eyes brimming with sadness. “Your mother always complained that I couldn’t find my way out of a cardboard box. I’m afraid she might have been right.”

  Rich tried to speak, tried to stand, but found himself as dumb and lame as a statue. His father sighed, sounding like Rich, and turned to attempt the next door. Rich’s vision blurred, and he found himself once again staring up at florescent gym lights from his position on the floor.

  A hand shot down, and he took it gratefully. His head swam and tingled even more than before. He blinked his eyes to clear his vision and saw Aaron’s concerned face.

  “That was very foolish,” Aaron whispered. “Hopefully, that hailstorm will teach you what happens when you use your powers to show off.” He guided Rich to a bench, and they sat down together.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t forget that one soon.” Rich rubbed his head, wondering how many new bruises he was going to have tomorrow. He could already imagine the cruel nicknames people would invent for him.

  Aaron had to help Rich to the lunchroom. Rich sat down hard at the table and groaned as he remembered that he’d donated his lunch money to the “Send the Band to D.C.” fund. He was surprised a moment later when Aaron dug into his pockets and pulled out a handful of quarters.

  “Aaron, where on earth did you get those?”

  Aaron gave the stack to Rich and grinned, as if about to score a winning touchdown. “Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t get back to sleep. I walked for a while and came to a park and a magnificent fountain.

  “I went over to dip my hands in the cool water when I noticed that the entire fountain was full of coins! I waded in and saw that there were many different colors and sizes, and these seemed to be the most valuable, and so I retrieved them all.”

  Rich glanced down at the money and wondered if Aaron was serious. One look at Aaron’s pleased expression told him that he was.

  “Wow,” Rich said. “No wonder I couldn’t get you up this morning.”

  “This is a strange place,” Aaron said. “I never know what to expect.”

  Rich arose and made his way through the lunch line, feeling slightly guilty about spending the fountain money, as if he were purchasing mere food with people’s wishes.

  He returned to his seat and opened a carton of chocolate milk. Aaron eyed it cautiously. “What is this beverage you are drinking? It has a strange container.”

  Rich moved the carton under Aaron’s nose. “Chocolate milk. You know, like from cows?”

  Aaron’s eyelids shot up. “From cows? What manner of cows produce milk like this? It has a foul color.”

  Rich chuckled despite his rotten mood. “It’s white when they get it out of the cow. They add chocolate later. It tastes great.”

  Rich’s reassuring smile promised that the chocolate milk was just as delicious as promised. Aaron clenched his eyes shut and poured the drink down his throat. His eyes shot open again. He tipped the carton back as far as it would go and drained the entire carton in a few seconds. He snapped his head back into position and grinned like a kindergartner after his first taste of cotton candy.

 
“Is it possible to get some more of this?”

  Rich shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Later. We’ve got to go.”

  They stood up and disposed of their garbage. Aaron’s eyes barely left Rich. “So, are you ready for this, uh, bee thing?”

  “I think so. As long as they don’t play any tricks, like throwing in French words with five silent letters on the end, I should be okay.”

  Aaron took a moment to drain the very last dregs of his chocolate milk carton and made a face like a rejected puppy when he couldn’t seem to squeeze out anything else.

  He then turned his attention back to Rich. “You need to be careful, Rich. I am afraid you’re confusing knowledge with wisdom. Remember what I said about showing off.”

  “What’s the worst that could happen?” Rich asked. “My nemesis shows up and spells ‘coalesce’ better than I can?”

  Aaron eyed the carton a final time before giving it up to the garbage can. “If you feel it is right, then proceed. But I hope by now that you have learned not to take my warnings lightly.”

  “Like I said, no worries. I’ll take them, uh, heavily.”

  They jostled their way out of the lunchroom, and Rich led Aaron to the auditorium. A long line of contestants had already gathered there, and Rich could see a member of the English faculty standing at a podium as if readying to pounce.

  The teacher cleared his throat loudly and raised his arms for silence. “We will begin with a round that will quickly root out the men …” He paused as he saw how many girls were in the line. “And women who can spell from the ones who rely on their computer’s spellchecker too much.”

  A gasp of mock outrage rippled through the crowd. “Each of the participants will be handed a whiteboard on which they will spell the words as I announce them. You will have fifteen seconds for each word.”

  The whiteboards made their way down the line. The teacher lifted a note card and read it slowly, like an adult explaining something to a toddler. “The first word is …cummerbund.”

  Rich scribbled quickly, remembering that this deceptive, perhaps French-influenced word ended with a silent D. The teacher clicked his stopwatch. “Done. Contestants, hold up your boards for the judges!”

  The correct spelling was displayed on a projector, and many of the contestants groaned as the judges expelled them from the line. The moderator geared up for another one. “The next word is … foreign!”

  Rich paused before they realized that this was the actual word and not a category. The line slimmed down even more, leaving only about twenty contestants. A rapid-fire series of “precipice,” “amateur,” “conscientious,” “liaison,” and finally “questionnaire” left only five contestants. Rich found himself still standing, though he could barely keep his foot from tapping nervously.

  The initial round complete, the moderator set down his cards and smiled at the remaining contestants. “Well done, my budding Noah Websters. We will now continue with a round in the traditional style, in which each contestant must spell a word individually. Single elimination. Good luck.”

  Rich’s stomach knotted as the person before him correctly spelled “rendezvous.” It appeared that French was indeed taking over the spelling bee, and he didn’t know if he could handle that.

  Everyone’s attention turned to him. The teacher cleared his throat and announced, “Ameliorate. Ameliorate.”

  Rich drew in a quick breath, let it out, and spelled the word flawlessly to a smattering of applause. The contest continued down the row, narrowing the competition to four when a seventh grader lost his head on the word “guillotine.”

  Rich kept his eyes forward on the crowd. His concentration faltered, however, as a familiar face jumped out at him. Mallory. Their eyes locked, and she gave him a brilliant grin and mouthed the words, “Good luck.”

  His shaky composure crumbled into a heap at his feet. It was nerve-racking enough to compete in front of so many people, but to do it right in front of her? He wondered again if she had been in gym class to see his humiliating defeat.

  His head snapped up as he realized his name was being called. “Mr. Witz, do you care to give it a try, or do you forfeit?”

  He shook his head and stared wide-eyed at the moderator. “Uh, could you repeat the word?”

  The moderator did not look pleased. “Very well. Endeavour.”

  Rich clamped his eyes shut and tried to block Mallory’s image from his mind. He opened his mouth, and the letters spilled out—thankfully, in the right order.

  The contest continued, and to his horror and delight, it was reduced to him and one other contestant. His opponent had been at the end of the line, and for the first time, he looked over and saw who it was.

  “Nadia?” he whispered.

  “Surprised to see me?” she whispered back. “I’m more than just a good shot with a balloon, you know.”

  “Of course,” he choked out. “It’s just—”

  The moderator cut him off. “Mr. Witz, I’m only going to say this once. Exacerbate.”

  He spelled it correctly.

  “Want some more time to think about how you’re going to finish that sentence? It’s just what?” Nadia whispered as the audience applauded.

  “Uh, no. I just didn’t know you could spell.”

  She rolled her eyes, correctly spelled, “bourgeois,” and continued, “It isn’t exactly something you advertise. I could have said the same about you.”

  “I-n-n-u-n-d-a-t-e,” Rich spelled. “Then what is it you think I do?”

  “I don’t know,” Nadia replied. “A-b-d-i-c-a-t-e. I mean, play Magic or Dungeons and Dragons or something.”

  He didn’t do either, though he admitted he saw why people might think that. “I build models. D-i-v-u-l-g-e. Make them from scratch and paint them and display them. And that’s just one thing.”

  “C-a-n-t-a-n-k-e-r-o-u-s!” Nadia spelled in a whirl of syllables. “And do you have any idea what I like to do? Probably not!”

  Rich tried considering both the spelling of the next word and the answer to the question at the same time, and almost failed at doing either. “I don’t know…e-x-a-s-p-e-r-a-t-e…Let me guess. Ballet?”

  “A-n-t-a-g-o-n-i-z-e! You have got to be kidding! I’m a gourmand!”

  “What? B-e-w-i-l-d-e-r-m-e-n-t. Is that some sort of secret society?”

  She rolled her eyes and spelled her next word through clenched teeth. “S-u-m-p-t-u-o-u-s. It means I love good food. I cook and swap recipes and critique restaurants and stuff. It’s a lot of fun.”

  “Very impressive, you two,” called the moderator. “Our time is growing short, so I’m going to pick up the pace. You now will have only ten seconds to answer.” He picked up his next card and flashed a game-show-host smile. “Mr. Witz, labyrinth.”

  Labyrinth. The word stirred in him like a pot beginning to boil. His father’s image appeared before him again, and the spelling bee melted away. This time, however, his father was not frantically trying keys in a host of doors, but was sitting down at a long table with a large group of people of various ages.

  He sat at the head of the table, and next to him stood a beautiful woman with long golden curls, a slender frame, and dazzling dark eyes. Along the table sat a number of children, many resembling their mother. Bowls and platters of steaming food filled the table.

  His father held up a hand, and the table fell silent. “First, children, I think you should thank your mother for preparing this incredible feast.”

  A jumbled chorus of thanks rose up from around the table. “Hey, I helped too!” protested a dark-haired girl who looked like a copy of her mother.

  “That you d
id, Arisha. We should all thank you as well.”

  The thanks continued until his father held up a hand again, “Let us say grace, and then, we eat.”

  The family bowed their heads, and he spoke a short prayer. No sooner had the “amen” left his father’s lips than all the children pounced on the food. They took no prisoners, gobbling it up like it was the last thing they would ever eat.

  Rich’s father turned to the woman and placed a hand on hers. “They’re definitely your children,” she said with a wry smile.

  “Our children,” his father corrected. “I’m just glad they’re half you. The world might not be able to handle eight clones of me.”

  The two shared a brief kiss, and then dug in to the rest of the food. Rich tried to come closer to the table, but he felt like he was swimming through a wall of gelatin. He tried to cry out, but no sound could escape. The tingling in his head returned and intensified until he could take no more. He could feel himself falling, spiraling out of control down a dark, dark tunnel.

  “Mr. Witz! Are you all right?”

  He heard the moderator’s words as he stared up from the floor at the crowd assembled around him. Another familiar voice carried over the rest. “Heinrich had trouble in my class today. I sent him to the nurse.”

  Mr. Bickmann. What is he doing here?

  “Should we call an ambulance?” asked another.

  “Yes, I’ve got my phone.”

  The room spun, grew, and shrank randomly, and Rich felt his stomach ready to burst. He didn’t feel the comforting glow of the amulet, and he knew at that moment that he didn’t have a shred of wisdom in him.

  Several people reached down for him, and he reached out and took one of the offered hands.

  “Thanks,” he muttered. “What happened?” Though he really wanted to know, even more than that, what was going on. Had his father forgotten about Rich and his family?