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“Son, are you lost?” a voice called to him from the other end of the hallway. Jackson turned and spotted the school’s new janitor approaching. Jackson couldn’t remember his name, but his appearance was unforgettable. He looked like a male model with broad shoulders and rugged blue eyes. He had a pronounced limp in his right leg, and he used his mop and bucket to help him get along. Still, he seemed dignified and intelligent. Jackson had heard some of the female teachers mooning over him and commenting on what an improvement he was over the old janitor, Mr. Pecko, who was short, had a lazy eye, and suffered from persistent mouth funk.
“No, sir. I just—” Jackson stammered.
The janitor was about to say something, but he was interrupted by a bellowing voice.
“Mr. Jackson Jones, aren’t you supposed to be in class?” Charging toward Jackson and the janitor was Principal Dehaven, a little man with a curly perm and a moustache. He had stubby arms and legs, and a chest like a pickle barrel.
“I, um …,” Jackson said, realizing that telling the truth about spying on a bunch of nerds would make him sound like he’d been standing too close to the dry-erase markers.
“’Um,’ is not an answer, young man,” Dehaven growled. “The answer is ‘Class, sir!’ I’m not sure if you are aware of this, young man, but you are in a school. Perhaps you’ve heard that word before? ‘School’?”
“Actually, sir,” the janitor interjected, “Jackson was just asking me about a career as a janitorial engineer. I asked permission from his teacher to show him the ropes—you know, mopping, sweeping, scraping gum off the bottom of desks. He’s showing a lot of promise, if you ask me, and I thought I’d give him a leg up on the competition.”
“Is this true?” Dehaven eyeballed Jackson like he could see through him. “You want to be a janitor?”
Jackson looked to the janitor, then nodded. “It’s my dream.”
The principal nodded. “Well, I suppose that’s all right. Though I must say, I think you’re setting your sights a little high, Mr. Jones. Very well, then. Get on with it, Mr…. What is it, again?”
“Brand,” the janitor said. “And I fully intend to, sir.”
Dehaven turned and charged back down the hall leaving Jackson and Mr. Brand alone.
“Perhaps you should get back to class, Jackson,” Mr. Brand said.
Jackson nodded and headed back down the hall.
“And Mr. Jones?” Brand called out just before Jackson turned the corner. “Don’t forget what killed the cat.”
That night, Jackson couldn’t help but replay the scene in his head. He was sure the herd had gone down that hallway. How had Ruby, Heathcliff, Duncan, Matilda, and Flinch disappeared? A fu
He tossed and turned, feeling that odd tingling in the back of his head. Jackson was swimming through a secret and soon he would be able to see through it all the way to the bottom.
Jackson didn’t have to wait long. The very next day, during Pfeiffer’s lecture on his favorite television sitcoms, the nerds’ noses went off again. Up from their seats they jumped and were out the door in a flash. Ignoring Dehaven’s threats and the odd janitor’s warning, Jackson raced right behind them. This time, however, he was careful not to be seen or heard. His stealth paid off. It was just as he had suspected! The nerds each climbed inside an unused locker and closed the doors behind them.
What a bunch of weirdos! Jackson thought. He opened the locker he had seen Duncan enter, his mind brimming with questions, but to his utter amazement, the locker was empty. He rushed over to the locker he had seen Ruby enter, but found only a couple of school books and a half-eaten orange. He rushed to Heathcliff’s locker—empty. Then Matilda’s— empty. Flinch’s—empty, empty, empty! Where had they gone?
He was sure he was losing his mind. All that metal in his mouth must have seeped into his brain. He turned to head straight to the school nurse when he heard someone approaching from down the hallway. The rapid steps and heavy breathing told Jackson that Principal Dehaven was on his way. If the principal found him in the hallway again without a pass, he’d spend the rest of his natural life in detention. In desperation, he did the only thing he could think of to save himself. He climbed into a locker and closed the door.
Oh, the irony. How many nerds had he shoved into lockers? He wasn’t even sure numbers went up that high! And now, here he was, crammed into one himself.
“Where is that janitor?” he heard Dehaven grumble to himself as he stopped just outside Jackson’s locker. “He’s never around when I need him.”
Jackson watched through the vents in the locker door. Dehaven was tapping his foot impatiently. Then he peered around, making sure he was alone, and did something terrible. He picked his nose.
“Gross,” Jackson said.
Mr. Dehaven spun toward the locker. He stepped up close and peered into the vent, then tried the handle. Jackson gripped the edge of the metal door, preventing it from opening. After several moments, Dehaven gave up and stomped back the way he came.
Jackson realized he needed to get back to class before the principal returned, but when he tried to open the door, he found it was jammed. Jackson was trapped. He wanted to call out for help, but Dehaven would hear him. He worried that he might be stuck in the locker all day before someone discovered him. Heck, he might be in there for years! Explorers might open the locker eons in the future and discover him there, like some nerdy mummy in his gym-shoe-smelling sarcophagus.
“If you get me out of this, I swear I will always be good,” he promised the heavens.
And then suddenly, a red light flashed above his head and the floor beneath him slid away. He couldn’t see, and all he heard was his own screaming as he shot down a metal tube. Then there was an enormous roar, like someone had flipped on the world’s largest ceiling fan, and a powerful wind came up from below. When Jackson looked down, he saw a huge wind turbine, blasting air at him and slowing his fall. Soon, he was hovering, like a loose feather, directly over the turbine’s grate. A steel panel slid over the fan, and Jackson landed squarely on his feet. He hardly had time to thank his lucky stars before the floor tilted upward, revealing another hole. Jackson tumbled into it and rocketed along a twisty-turny slide. He went through a loop-de-loop, and just when he was sure he would barf, another hatch opened and he fell through it.
Much to his surprise he landed in an overstuffed chair. An oddly proper voice said, “Welcome to the Playground.”
He was in a large square room as big as a baseball field. The floor was decorated in multicolored ceramic tiles, and the ceiling was held aloft by dozens of marble columns. Each wall was decorated with an elaborate mural dedicated to a different branch of science—biology, physics, geology, and chemistry. Scattered about the room were workstations. Some held computers, others elaborate experiments—vials of chemicals, half-built machines, water tanks. Mounted above all this were the largest television monitors Jackson had ever seen. They were broadcasting scenes from around the world: a man taking money from an ATM with the Eiffel Tower in the background, two men playing dominoes in Red Square, a woman and her son sightseeing at the Great Wall of China. Jackson realized these weren’t television shows, but actual events caught by surveillance cameras around the globe. On several monitors, Jackson could see students from his school walking to class, sleeping at their desks, struggling to climb the rope in the gymnasium. It seemed every inch of Nathan Hale Elementary was under surveillance.