Botheration: Part One: The Missing Link

By Vito DiBarone

After he witnesses a fiery car crash kill both his parents, Matthew “Matty” Weber is sent to live with his Grandma Debbie. Four years later, now sixteen, Matty swears to stop hiding behind his introverted behavior and forces himself to become socially and emotionally normal. He has a rough start when he mistakenly sits down at the lunch table of the high school’s elite.

That day, he meets Samantha, the girl of his dreams, but also Mark, captain of the football team and general jerk. Even though Matty miraculously avoids getting beat up, his next hurdle is to ace the State Standardized School Tests. A worldwide cyber-attack quickly ends the examination.

With academics on hold, Matty decides to approach Samantha but finds her an emotional mess. She seems scared and asks for his help and trust. Shockingly,
Mark confronts him and asks for the same. Now, two socially backward high school students, Matty and his best friend Gabriel, set out to find a solution to the unusual requests from the popular crowd. They must fight against cyber terrorism, but can a worldwide event really be stopped by two teens?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Mar 10, 2022
• ISBN: 9781665719490

Vito DiBarone

Vito DiBarone grew up in the metropolitan New York City area. Studying physics, he attended college and earned his degree. He traveled the United States and around the world as an engineer while tinkering, learning languages, and meeting new people. Currently, he calls both Las Vegas parts of California home, where he works on cutting-edge technology for airplanes, land and water vehicles, and missiles.

Book preview

Copyright © 2022 Vito DiBarone.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-1948-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-1950-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-1949-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022903401

Archway Publishing rev. date: 03/09/2022

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

CHAPTER 1

MATTY (POV)

I should have died when I was twelve years old. Instead, I was learning how to live again.

My father and mother had just loaded the car. It was one in the afternoon. We were getting ready for a trip to Washington, DC, for a symposium where I was presenting a paper on dating fossils.

As my father was about to start the car, I asked him for a soda. He looked at my mother in that familiar If your mother approves way before nodding. Dad had just put on his iPad, and we heard Eric Clapton singing Tears in Heaven. I looked in the portable cooler but couldn’t find a soda. I looked at him, and he said, Hurry—go into the house, and get a six-pack of Coca-Cola.

After getting a bag filled with Coke cans, I exited the house. Pocketing the keys, I felt a chill run down my back as I retraced my steps to the street. The sky had darkened. There was black smoke coming from above the hedges.

I sprinted now. As I rounded the hedges, the scene became a nightmare. I dropped the bag and rushed to the car. As I neared it, I felt for my cell phone and hurriedly dialed 911. Our car was in flames; I could feel my clothes getting hot. I wanted to move closer.

I heard screams coming from within. I could see my parents’ faces in a frightfully burned state as they tried to free themselves. I lost touch with time. The smell of the rubber and fabric mixed with flesh must have pushed me into an altered state.

A well-dressed man now stood next to me. He tilted his head and smiled at me. I saw his mouth move, and eventually, I heard words come from his mouth. His words soothed me into a more relaxed state.

He said, It’s okay, Methuselah. It is okay. It is okay.

I believed him. I began to relax. He told me his name and who he was. It was an unusual name, and I forgot it almost immediately. Then he smiled at me before giving me a funny-looking wooden box.

I looked at it. Characters were etched into the top of the box.

While I was looking at the box, he walked away.

Why did this happen to my parents? How did this happen? If I hadn’t asked for a soda, if I hadn’t left the car door open, if I hadn’t taken so much time, if only, I kept telling myself, maybe they would still be alive. Or we all would be dead.

Before I knew it, an emergency vehicle arrived. Two men and two women in white outfits exited. The women asked me questions while the men put out the fire in our car. I ignored the questions and just looked at my parents’ carcasses. The paramedics took me to the hospital for observation and treatment. They gave me pills to forget and pills to not feel pain.

One month later, I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

The doctors put me in the guardianship of my grandma Debbie, my mother’s mother. She lived in Scotsbourgh, California, just outside San Diego. The doctors said it would be good for me to be away from home.

Southern California was different from dreary Virginia. The sun shone all the time, the ocean was blue, and the grass was brown. People smiled. They seemed happy. Grandma told me to be happy. They wore colorful shirts and shorts. The boys were tall, tan, and muscular. The girls were all pretty, tan, and blonde. They surfed on the ocean and played outdoor activities. I still dressed in black slacks and gray shirts. I wore horn-rimmed glasses and was short and sallow from being deprived the rays of the sun. With no parents to guide me, I had to rely on myself and my grandmother.

My grandmother lived near the Pacific Ocean. It was blue and calm. Grandma was calm as well. She was a nice woman with a college education. She had my parents’ remains moved to the Scotsbourgh cemetery. For four years, she tried to nurture and educate me. For four years, I resisted. I felt uncomfortable in this strange place. For four years, she wanted to get me to the cemetery to visit my parents’ grave. I resisted. I couldn’t get close to that place. Images of burning bodies would appear, and I would have headaches. Afterward, I would have nightmares.

After four years, I finally went to the cemetery. I stood there in front of their gravestone. It was etched with my parents’ names along with their birth and death dates. A recent message was written in charcoal below their names. My grandma dismissed it as graffiti. It was a series of letters in five-letter groupings. The letters appeared newer than the other words on the gravestone. I memorized them. It was a simple code. Later, in my room, I decoded the message. It read, Matthew, now is your time. Time to begin your journey.

Sometimes, when all is not right, you want the world to change. However, if you want something good to happen, you must do it yourself.

Now that I was sixteen, I made a vow on my mother’s and father’s graves—this year, I would try harder to live again.

CHAPTER 2

MATTY (POV)

The sweet scent of orange blossoms filled my nostrils as she sat down. My eyes popped open, and then I quickly looked away.

I froze in my seat. Crap!

Chloe Phillips had just sat down across from me. She was still in her skimpy cheerleading outfit.

I had arrived at precisely 1:45 Pacific daylight time on May 1 at the converted cafeteria and study hall to take the California State standardized tests. I purposely had sat in an empty seat facing the wall, at a vacant table in the corner of the room, away from everyone else. Who knew she would sit next to me?

Chloe was possibly the most annoying girl in school. Why had she picked my table? Like an owl, she pivoted her head on her shoulders and searched out someone with her piercing green eyes. I fantasized that she would go under the table and come up with a mouse in her mouth. Yes, she was a cheerleader and probably a good one, and she was pretty in her way, but she wasn’t a friendly person.

In fact, any minute now, I expected to hear an insult from her lips directed toward me, like Methuselah, what is your butt doin’ at the popular table?

It looked like she was forming those words just as Mark Paige sat down next to her. He was the captain of the basketball team and an eighteen-year-old senior. He picked up a leftover french fry from a chair, and in a ridiculous French accent, he said, Ah, mademoiselle, would you like some French food?

She sneered. No, thanks.

Chloe leaned closer to him and whispered into his ear. The muscles around her jaw moved so fast that she looked as if she were eating worms from his ear.

She induced a quick reaction from him by her words. I watched his toothy grin fade to a tight-lipped grimace and a sagging jaw. His eyes were wide, and his face looked green. Chloe ignored his reaction and continued feeding on his ear. I would have loved to hear what she was saying.

At that moment, as if Chloe realized she had taken it too far, she put a note in his hand.

He didn’t look at it. Chloe’s mouth was frozen in his ear.

I didn’t know what was happening; there was no facial motion from Chloe. Maybe she was sucking blood from his ear.

A drop of liquid fell onto the table. Another followed the first. A stream followed. I looked up from my pencils. Mark’s pits were soaked, and his sweat leaked profusely down his arms.

It was like watching the diva arm-wrestling championships. It was as if Chloe and Mark were in the Strongest Man contest, and Chloe was winning. I pressed my thumb against a pencil point to keep myself from laughing.

Images of dirty socks and jockstraps filled my mind as Mark’s odor overwhelmed me. My hand moved quickly toward my nose and mouth. I began to feel nauseated.

Mark’s eyes continued to burn.

Chloe laughed.

I turned toward Chloe to avoid Mark’s gaze. Chloe, do you realize that you have something green in between your teeth?

She focused her attention on me and stared at me with mouth agape. She was about to say something to me but must have thought twice and quickly closed her mouth before rushing off.

Twisting his head first to the right and then to the left with eyes glaring, Mark stood up. Thanks, kid. You didn’t see nothin’.

Nothing happened, I said.

His expression returned to his normal toothy grin. His eyes were only slits, and his cocky confidence scared me.

He strutted toward the door. I watched as tables of kids’ heads turned toward his exit. It was now quiet at my table—no Mark and, best of all, no Chloe.

I sat there for a long moment, savoring a brief feeling of bliss. I closed my eyes and sighed.

Passing Mark on her way in yet not saying a word, Samantha Carter entered the room. She was a cheerleader of another flavor—vanilla, I thought. She was wholesome, gorgeous, and friendly. While Chloe was abrasive and crass, Samantha never said an unkind word to anyone. She was my idea of what an angel would have been like in the flesh.

How many times I had watched her beautiful, sparkling white teeth framed by full lips and perfect hair sail past me in the school hallway. Of course, she was not a girl I could ever talk to. But here she was now, sitting down at my table. Why was she sitting here? It was then I realized this particular table had been empty for a reason. This was the popular table! It was close to the side wall, and it was the place to be seen. How could I have missed the obvious?

She just sat there and smoothed down her shoulder-length chestnut-brown hair before her long, slender hand moved to twirl a gold bracelet. My breathing shallowed as her sparkling almond-shaped eyes danced around the table over my lowered gaze as if looking for someone, and then she turned toward the returning tornado, Chloe. The smell of orange blossoms and Mark’s sweat still emanated from her.

I buried my thumbs into the points of my pencils to keep myself from reacting to the developing situation.

Hi, Chloe. Was that Mark sitting next to you?

Yeah, Sam, I finally had my little talk with him. She smiled.

Chloe, please call me Samantha. Was it about you-know-what?

Oh, word on the street is that your mother really chewed you out for the you-know-what! Chloe hissed.

Samantha moved closer to Chloe before whispering, My mother took my cell phone away from me for a whole week.

Chloe’s pupils enlarged, and her smirk got even more prominent. She now looked like a snake ready to strike. Did she start with that, or did she end with that? How much crying did you have to do to reduce it to one week?

I watched as the peaches-and-cream girl of my dreams turned five shades of red. I had never seen her look so fragile. To distract Chloe’s attention from Samantha, I purposely messed up my hair. I must have looked like a young Einstein. Chloe looked momentarily at me.

It worked, at least enough for Samantha to recover her composure. But then Chloe continued with Samantha.

And check out my new scent. It’s called Loving You, Chloe. Don’t you love it when they think so highly of me? And by the way, do you smell who is on the other side of the table, Sammy? Chloe whispered.

Before turning toward me, both girls made loud snorting sounds. Chloe continued. It’s that Matty Weber nerd. Look at him; he dresses like a thrift-shop dummy. He wore a crumpled long-sleeved striped red shirt, dark green corduroy pants, and a yellow belt in this heat. All coordinated around his messy brown hair and pimples. All five feet nothing of him. Yek!

I reached down to tie my shoe.

Neither girl completely turned toward me. Samantha and Chloe lowered their voices, and I had to concentrate to hear their words.

Sammy, even though he, Chloe said, pointing with her nose, is weird and definitely not our type, let me tell you this: if you stay for the test, he can help you pass. He has brains upon brains. As a freshman in high school, he won the National Science Award for his project on dating fossils—whatever that is.

Dating fossils? Is that some new way of picking up older girls? Samantha said.

No, it has to do with geology. And you, Sam, are supposed to be smarter than me!

Samantha! I keep telling you that my name is Samantha. Hmm, a brain. I just thought he was quiet. Then Samantha whispered back and grabbed Chloe’s sleeve, Computers?

Yeah, I heard his father invented them, Chloe said as she turned away from Samantha’s ear.

I could feel her eyes on me. Drops of moisture were forming in my pits.

Okay, let me go. I’m ditchin’ this stupid test before it starts. I’ll text you before practice. Okay? Chloe paused. Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you can’t use your cell phone! She left Samantha alone with me.

Alone with my dream girl, I could feel one of my headaches coming on. I closed my eyes. When I opened them, I could see her smiling at me. I did likewise. I moved to her side of the table, and she hugged me. I kissed her. As she slipped away from me, I could still smell her vanilla scent on me.

The sound of a door closing caused me to open my eyes. I was still on my side of the table. As I looked around, I realized I hadn’t moved from my position. I looked across the table.

While Samantha’s pretty blue eyes followed the departing Chloe, I fanned some refreshing air onto my forehead. It helped dry my sweat. I accidentally hit my ear and disguised my action as a mock salute to someone in the distance.

I coughed to get her attention.

She didn’t seem to notice me but laughed at something she saw to her left.

I looked at my hands to gain more courage. I coughed again, this time because my throat bothered me. She looked my way for a second. I used that one precious moment to open my mouth to speak, but instead, I heard someone else’s voice.

The test proctor was telling us that we had five minutes before we started the test. Samantha’s attention was distracted by whatever she was thinking, and her big eyes now were unfocused.

Big test today, huh? I said.

No reaction.

Did I smile at her, or was I just staring? Either my forehead was leaking, or I was still sweating. Hello. I coughed.

She focused on me like a bee settling down on a flower.

My heart was beating furiously in my chest.

Can we talk later? she said.

I nodded, trying to appear calm.

The test proctor said to me, Sh. We are about to start the test.

Then I listened to the proctor monotonously say to the entire group, This will be a three-hour set of state standardized tests for all our students. It is meant to determine whether the school has achieved its goals. It is not necessarily a test of the students’ retention or abilities.

Blah, blah, blah. Same old spiel. I turned toward Samantha.

Her eyes had fogged up after that last statement.

Okay, Matthew, concentrate. Time to get down to business. This is why I’m here. I didn’t plan to sit so close to Samantha, as sweet as she is. I need an 800 and nothing less on this test. I want to go to Stanford, as my mom and dad did. Afterward, I want to get out quickly before I have to talk to anyone.

I mopped my brow and exhaled.

At precisely 2:00 p.m., we were instructed to open the first booklet.

I looked at problem one and smiled. Good start! It was a simple math problem.

1. What are the angles of a right isosceles triangle?

a. Cannot be determined

b. Angle A + angle B + angle C = 270 degrees

c. 90, 45, and 45 degrees

d. 120, 30, and 30 degrees

I quickly answered c, and before I proceeded with problem two, I wrote a note in the booklet pointing out that answer was only for Euclidian geometry.

I proceeded to work on problems two through five.

I glanced up at Samantha across the table and noticed she was staring at the ceiling.

At 2:10 p.m., the test proctor said, Please put your pencils down, and close your books. Please pass all your booklets to the end of the table. The other proctors will collect them. After you have completed that, please give me your undivided attention.

Now what? I came here to take this test. How am I going to ace this test now? Why were they collecting our test books?

As the proctors collected the booklets, a big, happy smile broke out on Samantha’s face.

I was getting lost in it and had to pinch myself. I opted for a friendly reaction: I smiled in her direction.

No reaction. She was watching the test proctor.

The test proctor directed everyone’s attention to the TV screens positioned around the room. I have been instructed by the principal to discontinue this test because of a critical breaking-news item.

Critical? What could be more critical than this test? I said to myself, speaking a little too loudly.

Samantha moved to my side of the table to view the TV. As she sat down, she turned toward me.

I became a puddle on the chair. Then she shifted in her seat away from me to watch the TV.

On the bottom of the screen, a message flashed: Breaking News in New York City.

What could possibly have been happening in New York that we had to watch TV at school? Watching TV at home was bad enough! I looked around the room to see the kids’ heads all lined up like bowling pins as they faced the TV.

My thoughts were interrupted by the man on the TV.

Earlier today, at three thirty in the afternoon eastern daylight time, a strange thing happened in Times Square in New York City. All the traffic lights simultaneously froze on red. Then all the LED displays on the buildings showed this message: ‘Take out all your money, and throw it up into the air! You don’t need it anymore.’

I then heard an otherworldly, mechanical voice from the TV: All our wars are over. We are now living under a one-world government!

The voice sounded like it was from a science-fiction movie my friend Gabriel and I had watched last year. I started smiling. All the adults looked like animated puppets with no emotion. It appeared almost as if they had been trained for this event.

I sneaked a look at Samantha. Her smile was gone, and her brow was furrowed. She was biting her lip. She must have been doing it for a while, because her lip was beginning to turn purple. I was afraid blood would flow. I cleared my throat to distract her. She looked at me. I made a face and stuck a finger in my mouth. She relaxed and curled her lips. I looked at the kids at the next table. They were wiggling in their seats in unison.

Again, the man on the TV interrupted me, and my attention went back to the TV set.

Those building displays strobed on and off for five minutes. The people on the street stood transfixed, staring at the shows as if hypnotized. Children laughed and threw coins into the air. Then the adults threw paper money into the air like confetti. Doesn’t it look like a New Year’s Eve gathering? The TV reporter interrupted his own report with a laugh. Ha, sorry!

Then I heard a shout from the far side of the auditorium: Happy New Year!

Others in the room repeated those words.

An alert teacher raised his hands, followed by the proctors. As if on cue, the celebrations quieted.

This is getting serious! What was happening on TV seemingly was spilling over into our auditorium. My head felt light. I was starting to hyperventilate.

Samantha looked at me. She pointed to the TV. When I looked at it, my vision was filled with images of stopped subway cars and angry people. My ears next heard these words: Local subway trains Eighth Avenue Local, Flushing Local, and B Central Park West Local were all stalled in the area of Forty-Second Street and Times Square in Manhattan, New York. Power in that part of New York was mysteriously shut off.

I then heard disharmonious sounds all around me. The kids around me, including Samantha, were all moving their heads back and forth.

My ears popped. The good thing was that it cleared my hearing. Now I was able to focus on the sounds around me; I again heard the TV announcer.

"Then everything ended. Those same displays now showed regular advertisements. The crazed, hypnotized crowds returned to their behavior of ignoring each other. They stopped throwing money into the air. Even the laughing and cheering kids forgot what was so interesting. They also returned to their typical behaviors. Currently, all trains are now up and running.

This same type of event also happened in other cities in the world almost at the same time.

I watched as the TV screen filled with quad images of the chaos in London, Paris, Moscow, and Tokyo.

As I continued watching the TV broadcast, the screen filled with random images and echoed loud static. The static then changed to a high-pitched hum. My head began to ache in a familiar way. I reached into my pocket, took out one of my medications, and swallowed it.

Five boys at an adjacent table stood up and then sat down. Boys at the next table followed their actions. A group at a third table continued the motion. Hmm, simple sinusoidal-motion reactions to the sounds. Yes, that’s it. They were doing the wave. Others in the room followed suit.

The noise wasn’t random; it was a planned operation by someone or some group.

Four big male proctors walked over and stood next to a table of standing boys. One proctor put a hand on a boy’s shoulder and eased him back into his seat. The other students seemed to relax and sit down. The boys at the other tables sat as well.

The static from the TV waned—or maybe my meds kicked in. I started laughing.

No one noticed.

The sound of the man’s voice from the TV then squelched my hysteria: The president of the United States will talk momentarily.

On the TV screen, President Victor Wilson appeared.

Look a funny puppet on the TV! a voice cried out from somewhere in the auditorium.

My fellow Americans, by now, I believe all of you have heard or seen the news reports of the events in New York City’s Times Square. This geographic area is symbolic of our way of life. Someone or some group is sending us a message.

Blab, blah, blah was all I heard as I watched the students smirk and giggle hysterically as they watched the president. His lack of knowledge and intelligence was legendary among even the elementary school children in the country.

He ended his talk with a new low by grinning and saying, Th-th-th-that’s all, folks! the way Porky Pig used to when he ended his cartoons.

It seemingly was too much for even the proctors and the teachers. The TV sets were all turned off.

I turned toward Samantha, who was rapidly twirling the hair around her pretty little right ear. Somehow, I found the courage to smile at her. She briefly smiled back before again staring at the blank TV set.

I opened my mouth to speak to her but was again interrupted, this time by the school principal’s voice. Was it fate that I was not meant to have a conversation with Samantha?

However, I listened. I wanted to pay particular attention to what the principal had to say. She, above other teachers, represented a sane adult.

"This is Principal Pamela Pampador. I hope you paid attention to what was reported on the TV news broadcast. This is important to your way of life. That was an act of cyberterrorism! I want every one of you to take this personally. Today I am talking to you not as an adult or even as your school principal but as just another person affected by what just happened. I’m profoundly concerned about how our economy and lifestyle have shifted away from the concrete world of books and paper of my childhood to today’s world of the ethereal, intangible internet cloud.

"In this cloud, all our data is stored. This data is more than ones and zeros. It is personal! The cloud data accounts for all our financial transactions, our communications, our documents, our books, and even our photos and emails to loved ones. This is where we will be held hostage by these cowards!

"What I’ve just said may give you the impression that I am scared. Yes, I am. However, I am not afraid enough to sit idly by. I will do everything I can do, and I want us to do everything possible. I am referring not just to the teachers and myself but to all of you as well. I want you to become involved.

"I have instructed our science and math instructor, Dr. Russell Riddlen, to spearhead this effort. His actions will be autonomous, and he will report results to me. His first responsibility is to develop a plan and share it with you when he is ready.

Ladies and gentlemen, in the end, it still falls to you. It will be up to you to help stop cybercrime in our school and our town. I hope you all take my message to heart.

When she finished, there was no applause, only dead silence. I looked around the room at the tranquilized faces. No one moved.

Let me list what just happened: (1) the California standardized test was stopped, (2) the TV was turned on to allow a breaking-news broadcast of New York City building displays and speakers being hijacked with weird messages, (3) the power was switched off on subway cars, (4) people threw money into the air, and (5) kids in my auditorium did something similar to the wave.

Even for me, there were too many variables to process now. I would have to talk to Gabriel about it.

Samantha, who had been listening attentively, looked up and, surprisingly, said, Can you please walk me to my locker?

I was still reeling from the aborted test, the TV broadcast, and the principal’s message, so it took me a moment to register Samantha’s request. My usual reaction would have been to shy away and not reply. However, I stood up and heard myself say, Okay.

My body mechanically walked with Samantha Carter as she headed out of the cafeteria. The scent of vanilla helped steer my course. Kids gawked at us.

Where was I? Hmm. (6) Everything returned to normal, (7) the president talked on TV about someone attacking our way of life, (8) the principal interpreted it as a major cyber event, and (9) Samantha is now talking and walking with me. Anything else?

I felt my head begin to ache again. However, it brought me back to the present. I squeezed my fists together to relieve the pain. I pushed myself to concentrate on the president’s and the principal’s speeches, although I found that everything from the last hour was fading from my memory with each step toward the door.

After we climbed the stairway and arrived at her locker, she said, Matty, can you help me?

Matty? She never talked to me, and now she was calling me Matty. I felt moisture in my armpits again. My head ached more. My eyes closed. I felt dizzy. She grabbed my arm. I opened my eyes, and then I opened my mouth to speak.

Before I could answer her question, she stared at something or someone behind me.

I hated that. People always did that when they wanted to blow me off. But then her face went pale. I didn’t turn around. I knew something bad was about to happen.

She put a folded-up paper in my hand. On it was a phone number.

Her number—wow! Samantha gave me her phone number!

She then disappeared into the girls’ restroom.

The next thing I heard was Weber, what did I tell you?

I turned around and saw Mark’s humongous features looming above me.

+     +     +

Meanwhile, in Las Vegas, Nevada, five high-end slot machines started paying off huge amounts of money to the seated patrons at the Bellagio casino. The patrons quickly printed their winnings, cashed out, and quietly departed. Oddly, the Bellagio’s central computer never recorded any of the winnings or the owners’ information for the tickets. After the day’s winnings, the Bellagio was out more than $20 million.

+     +     +

I stood still for what felt like an eternity, more in a trance than waiting for Mark to pulverize me. However, I didn’t have to wait long before his pumpkin-sized head filled my vision.

I wanted to laugh out loud and eventually gave in to the urge. What was the worst he would do?

Ha ha! I burst out as his fist suddenly became part of me.

I felt my body fly backward. My eyes quickly shut and then immediately opened. I watched as the blue-green color of the students’ lockers blended into the wall’s deep green. Those colors morphed quickly into the beige of the ceiling, dotted by the hanging light fixtures. Something caused me to turn my head, and when I did, the ground flew up and impacted me. I closed my eyes, but I didn’t black out.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw the back of his giant body walking away. I noticed the middle finger of his left hand raised as he walked away. I felt my head for the right number of openings and then checked for any extraneous leaking liquid. None. Good. I slowly moved my legs. Good. No damage there.

Matty, are you well? a familiar male voice asked.

I’m alive, I think. I looked up to see my friend Gabriel Mason. Can you give me a hand in standing up?

I’d first met Gabriel Mason on my walk to school two years ago. He didn’t have a car either. We’d clicked right away. His interest in math and science mirrored my own. Gabriel was not aggressive or assertive. His father was