The Mystery of the Amethyst Shard

By Seth Szilagyi

Jim Allen appears to be a normal, everyday twelve-year-old. He's nervous about making the jump into junior high school and hoping he can make the basketball team to impress his overworked and stern father.
But on his first day of school, Jim and his best friend Max already manage to run into problems. Max informs him that his favorite science teacher will be in Russia, instead of the classroom this year. Then on their way to school, the bus blows a tire and Jim must help the old curmudgeon of a bus driver change a tire. The hard labor proves to be a turning point for the young man. Jim has a tough time getting the bolts off the tire, he gets frustrated and that's when it happens. He’s able to move them just by thinking it.
The discovery of his new-found powers leads Jim on a strange adventure that includes finding a mysterious shard of amethyst, a surreal encounter with a wild lion and the harsh realities of trying to survive seventh grade.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Seth Szilagyi
• Release date: Aug 31, 2012
• ISBN: 9780615693774

Book preview

THE MYSTERY OF THE AMETHYST SHARD

By: Seth Szilagyi

Copyright © 2012 Seth Szilagyi

All rights reserved.

Chapter 1: A Secret

Jim Allen was a normal twelve-year-old boy, much like any other. Summer was coming to an end and he was preparing to make the big jump from middle school to attend classes at Buckman Junior-Senior School in the town of Charlton, Massachusetts. Jim was not particularly tall, but not particularly short either. Somewhere right in the middle. His build was just average enough to allow him to be capable at most sports, although he was certainly not a standout at any of them. Many kids at school actually considered Jim to be a little on the nerdy side, but Jim did not care. He felt good about himself; even though deep down Jim wondered what it would be like to be a little cooler in the eyes of the other kids.

Jim had a rather middle-class home life. His mother was a kind and caring woman who rarely thought of herself before the well-being of her family and others. He had a five-year-old sister who was prone to tattling, but fun to have around nonetheless. She was most certainly the favorite of Jim’s father. Mr. Allen was a stern man who made sure Jim did all his chores and was often hard on Jim for not being more like him. In his hey-day, Mr. Allen was the star of the Buckman Broncos basketball team, class president, best-looking, most-popular and the list could go on. It was clear to Jim and probably anyone else who paid attention to their relationship that his son just did not live up to Mr. Allen’s expectations. Their relationship did not fall into the completely dysfunctional category, but as Jim grew older it grew more strained. Aside from a few parental woes, everything was pretty mundane in Jim’s family. The real problem...well wait...not a problem, more of a difference, was an odd secret Jim had, one that he did not even realize yet. But one he would soon discover.

Chapter 2: Max’s News

Jim! Mrs. Allen called. James Allen, get your behind out of bed!

Early mornings were not among Jim's favorite things. He liked peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chewy-sour candies and basketball, but early mornings he could have done without.

James John Allen really, I won't tell you again, his mother squealed up the stairs as she wiped her hands with a dish towel.

Oh, boy, thought Jim. She used my full name. I'd better get going.

It was six a-m on a Monday morning; the first day of school for the New Year. It had been a warm summer, but on this early September morning the weather had dipped below fifty degrees. Jim regretfully got out of bed, knowing his next sweet slumber in the confines of his marvelously comfortable flannel sheets would not be for many hours.

His toes touched the chilly wood floor of his bedroom and he stumbled out to his door. Jim took a right out of his door, knowing only by repetition this was the way. His eyes were so blurry with sleep he could barely see. He flipped the light switch just below the mirror on the wall and light streamed into his squinted pupils. He reached high on the bathtub and pulled back the large blue shower curtain. He threw off his pajamas and got in. He fumbled hopelessly with the knobs and proceeded to let out a yelp when he finally got them going.

AAAhhh, cold!

H is for hot, C is for cold, honey, his mother yelled up the stairs sarcastically, while she continued to prepare breakfast for the family.

Not really in the mood for his mother's humor, he grimaced as he eventually turned the proper knobs and the water turned a nice warm temperature. He quickly washed and hopped out onto the blue bathroom mat which matched the blue toilet mat and the blue shutters on the window and grabbed a blue towel from the rack, wrapping it around himself. Mrs. Allen simply loved blue.

Just like your eyes, Jimmy, she often said.

Jim sauntered back to his room and found his favorite pair of jeans in his closet next to the door. When Jim had bought them, they were a nice dark blue. However, after a year of outdoor activities and numerous cycles through the washing machine the jeans had lost some sparkle and had a small hole in the right knee. Any self-respecting adult would have tossed them long ago, but for a 12-year-old boy they were perfect. His favorite t-shirt was dangling from one of the last rungs, begging to be to be worn. It bore the logo Drums and Dirt with a picture of the band The Custards on the back. Jim was just starting to get into music and his first love was this group of multi-colored quaffed crooners. His father was not in love with his choice of rockers, but his mother figured it was nothing to worry about. Besides the Custards rocked, who was he to say they didn't? Jim threw on some socks and his rather beat-up white sneakers and headed back to the bathroom. Many people would have gotten more dressed up for the first day of school, but not Jim. He hated wearing anything dressy. It always felt like he was going to a wedding for some long-lost relative when he got dressed up.

Jim looked in the mirror and tried desperately to comb his dirty-blond hair. It was nearly platinum when he was younger, but had recently gone a little darker. He put a little gel from one of his numerous bottles marked Peanut Butter Gellin' Time and started to apply. Realizing the colic on the crown of his head would never quite stay down, he trotted down the steps; his dingy-white sneakers clomping all the way.

Jim rounded the corner to the kitchen decorated with fine light oak cabinets with dark brown handles. There was an off-white tiled backsplash under the cabinets with new gray marble countertops. The Allens had just redone the kitchen over the summer and Mrs. Allen was in it more than she was out of it. Aside from her two children, it was definitely her pride and joy at the moment. Jim sat at the table staring down at large yellow letters spelling out Jimmy in front of him. Everyone in the Allen household had their own signature placemats. Mrs. Allen had Mom, Mr. Allen had Dad, his little sister had Lil' Lily and even the dog had one under her dish Zinger. The dog's name was not Zinger it was actually Ginger, however ever since she could speak Lily had called her Zinger and insisted it be put on the placemat. If anything were a given in the household, it was that Mr. Allen would give Lily whatever her little heart desired; where as Jim was not always given such luxuries. He was more apt to ask for a new baseball bat and get a list full of chores instead.

Ready for some French toast, honey? Mrs. Allen inquired.

Now that Jim was a little more awake his mood had made a drastic turn.

Yes, French toast would simply be divine, Jim replied in his best mock old lady voice.

Mrs. Allen tried to choke back a chuckle. She would never admit it to him, fearing his turn to practical joker instead of student, but she rather liked his humor. Much like her own she thought.

Jim nibbled on his French toast, his sticky lips smacking together with syrup. He took a quick swig of milk and looked toward the dining room table in the next room through large bay doors. All of Jim's new school supplies were laid out on the dark-trimmed oak table. Good supplies were of course, essential on the first day back. He stared at the five perfectly sharpened pencils lined up next to two spring-activated fountain pens. Just next to those were five neatly stacked one subject notebooks all a different color. And just beyond the notebooks lay Jim's newest priced possession, his trapper-keeper. It had three pouches varying-in-size on the outside along with a black zipper to close it properly. On the inside, seven clips for his five perfectly sharpened pencils and two spring-activated fountain pens. The binders were standard and would soon hold his five differently-colored one subject notebooks. But that was not even the best part. On the inside cover was a mini-dry erase board, complete with eraser and erasable marker. It was part of a limited edition promo that Jim had sent away for over the summer. He had already begun bragging about it whenever he met up with anyone from school during the break. Mrs. Allen had noticed Jim eyeing the new supplies with a proud expression on his face.

So, have you told your friends about the limited edition trapper-keeper, she questioned.

Jim fell out of his mesmerized state and smiled up at his mother. Oh, yeah. They're already a little jealous, but once they see it they are gonna be blown away.

You'd think they'd be a little more blown away if you spent the summer practicing your basketball skills, instead of pining over a trapper-keeper, Jim's father said as he waltzed into the room.

Jim immediately went scarlet red; half in anger, half in total embarrassment.

Now, Jimmy saved up and bought forty extra notebooks, he's not even going to use this year to get that thing. I think we should be a little more supportive honey, Mrs. Allen scolded her husband.

Mr. Allen turned and gave his wife a roll of his eyes. I'm just saying he needs to be a little more focused on sports. He'll wish he was once he reaches high school.

Not everyone can be perfect like you dad! Jim blurted out, instantly regretting it.

Mr. Allen rounded on Jim in a blink of an eye, nearly spilling his coffee. Listen little man, you better watch it. You have been slacking on your chores lately and I haven't said a word. Now you talk back! I'm just trying to help you out. Toughen you up a little bit.

Jim did not respond. He felt angry and hurt, but did not want to give his father the satisfaction of knowing, so he tried to hide it the best he could. Jim respected and loved his father very much. But there were times he did not like him very much. He was just never going to be like him; why couldn't he see that?

Jim sadly got to his feet, his head looking as if it weighed two hundred pounds as it sagged toward his chest. He walked into the dining room, packed up his supplies and headed toward the door just into the next room in the foyer. Jim looked back at his father in disgust, but his head was already covered by the morning's newspaper. Jim open the door, thought about going back and asking his father why he picked on his son so much, but continued out the door. He hoped the rest of the day would go better than it started.

As soon as Jim was out the door Mrs. Allen clanged the dishes that she had just washed into place in her new cupboards. Rattled by all the noise, Mr. Allen looked up in surprise and received a disgusted look from Mrs. Allen for his troubles.

Why do you do that to him? He's your son, she said looking about as upset as she could get.

I know that, Anne. I'm just trying to help the boy, his father responded.

Jim's mother did not look convinced and proceeded to shove the silverware in the drawer next to the sink in annoyance. Well, then why don't you treat him like you love him once in awhile?

I'm sorry, honey. I was half-kidding, Mr. Allen said. As he got up, Mr. Allen put his arms around his wife’s waist. I think it’s good he saves up for school supplies, but that's just not how I was. It's hard to get used to the fact that he's kind of a nerd.

Mrs. Allen immediately moved her body away from Mr. Allen, stormed through the hallway and up the stairs. When she reached the top she yelled infuriated.

Well if he's a nerd, then I guess you're married to one too!

She then slammed the door, putting punctuation on the argument.

Lily, Jim’s five-year-old sister had just gotten out of bed from all the commotion and stood at the top of the steps in her onesie with the feet attached. Daddy! the little girl whaled. I haf to go bafroom.

Mr. Allen put down the paper, sighed and headed for the stairs.

Outside, Jim was still sulking on the curb on his street. He glanced up at the sign that read William Street. The street was actually Williams Street, but for as long as Jim had lived there the 's' on the sign had been scratched out. Local neighborhood legend had it, a boy named William scratched out the 's' so the street was named after him. Jim figured if it was true, William probably was not all that smart. He didn't understand why the boy did not just paint in an apostrophe after the 'm' to make it possessive. But that is the way Jim was. He never saw things the way other children did.

Hey, Jimboree! a voice shouted.

Jim's best friend Max was running down the street, fumbling about five things in his arms as he ran. Max was older than Jim, already thirteen, but a little shorter, just under five feet. His brown hair was always messed up; probably due to the fact he only washed it once a week. One of his white tube socks was up high on his leg and the other hung loosely at his ankle, the elastic long since broken. He, like Jim wore a t-shirt, but instead of pants, Max had bright blue jean shorts with one of those braided brown belts. His shirt was loosely tucked into the shorts, but mostly sticking out.

Did you hear, Jimboree? Max yelled again only ten feet away now.

As Max approached, his new Ancient Civilizations History book flew out from under his arm. The book landed on the ground and Max's foot caught on the cover. The spastic young man was launched into the air, landing soundly on the pavement.

Are you o.k.? Jim asked afraid his clumsy friend had hurt himself even before the school year began.

See, Max, not surprisingly, had a history of hurting himself every year. In second grade, he broke his arm falling off the jungle gym. In third, he closed his wrist in his desk. Fourth it was his big toe. Fifth, two fingers on his right hand. Jim hated that injury. He had to type Max's papers for him, which usually ran about ten pages too long. Last year, Max had almost gone through the year unscathed, until the last day of school. As the bell rang for homeroom, Max turned his head quickly and ran right into the door; a broken nose.

Yeah, I'm good, Max retorted. Look, I landed on page 115, Ancient Egypt. Must be good luck.

Max loved Egypt. Why? Jim wasn't so sure. But he never shut up about it.

Jim breathed a sigh of relief.

So, Jim did you hear? Max said again moving his hands up and down his jean shorts trying to get the dirt off.

Aren’t you cold? Jim questioned. It’s barely fifty degrees.

Max looked down at his shorts like it was a stupid question he did not have time for, I’m fine. The temperature dipped overnight, but it’s supposed to skyrocket back to eighty by midday today. Didn’t you watch this morning’s weather report?

Looking at his jeans and winter coat, Jim now felt a bit goofy, I guess I missed it.

So anyway, did you hear the news? Max asked again dismissing the topic of weather.

Well, I missed the weather report, so I doubt I caught anything else, Jim retorted sarcastically.

We have a new Science teacher. Mr. Crawford isn’t going to move up to the high school this year after all. Apparently, he left to go to Russia for the whole year.

Russia? What's he doing there?

I really don't know, Max replied. Perhaps he's working to discover a new element. Crawtonium!

Perhaps, Jim said with a smile. He always appreciated Max's sense of humor, so much like his own. But this also concerned Jim as well. Mr. Crawford was his favorite teacher. Mainly because he hated science and Mr. Crawford actually made it fun. He had been so excited at the end of last year, when Mr. Crawford told everyone he was getting promoted to the high school. This wasn't a good sign for the start of the year.

A horrible rumbling sound quickly pushed the thought from Jim's head; rusty wheels squeaked and grinded against metal, while a muffler huffed and puffed like an overweight man running a mile. This could mean only one thing. Bus number twenty-three had arrived.

Chapter 3: Bus Driver McGill

Bus number twenty-three was similar to other school buses. It was yellow on the outside with giant-black wheels on the side and ugly green vinyl seats. But unlike the others, Bus number twenty-three had something they did not have, Bus Driver McGill.

He wore an ugly green winter hat (similar to the color of the seats on his vehicle in fact) atop what many believed was his balding head. No one really knew if he was follicly challenged or not, because he was never seen without his puke-green babushka. It could be one-hundred degrees out, the hat stayed on. It was almost as if McGill and the hat had become one. The