Victory Dance!

Yahoo! And I'm even done early so that I can run away for Thanksgiving and not be counting words or fretting about any of my characters getting left behind!

Here's a little snippet from chapter two...a fun launching pad for a rather exciting series of adventures!

It was the day after their trip to Spain and the students were debriefing with Mr. Wiseman during their Gifted and Talented class. They had been anxious to finally reach the last period of the day so they could finally break the silence and talk about their mission. The class waited patiently as Mr. Wiseman read back through the report, watching him as he periodically popped a lemon drop in his mouth from his stash on his desk.

Espi sat in her usual seat in the front row, chewing on her thumbnail and swinging one foot nervously from side to side. X sat just behind her, staring at his empty desktop with his hands tucked in his lap. Every few seconds, he glanced up at his teacher, blinking rapidly, before he returned his gaze to his desk. Peter’s long legs stuck out into the aisle as he sat with his elbows propped up on the desk positioned immediately behind X. He chewed on his lower lip and counted the ceiling tiles again. The twins sat a few rows over and whispered in their secret language. Charlie sat with his left foot resting on the seat of the desk in front of him, an ice pack covering his bandaged ankle.

Mr. Wiseman cleared his throat and all the students sat up at attention, eyes focused on the top of their teacher’s head. A few moments of expectation passed, but Mr. Wiseman continued reading, making a few notes with his red pencil. “A false alarm,” Peter said in a quiet voice resulting in a few chuckles from his fellow students. The laughter finally broke the silence that filled the room, the spell that seemed to hang over everyone. Leaning forward in his seat, Peter tapped X on the shoulder. When his friend turned around, he whispered, “Maybe it’s my terrible writing that has him so enthralled. He doesn’t usually take this long to review our reports.”

“That’s what I was thinking. I hope there’s wrothing nong. Uh, nothing wrong,” X stuttered. “I’ve been nervous all day. Ever since we got back yesterday and Charlie was injured, I’ve had this terrible feeling that we just had our trast lip. Last trip.”

Peter nodded and patted X on the shoulder before responding. “Mr. Wiseman would never just pull the plug on our missions. He would be sure that we all had a chance to talk it through. This is the first trouble we’ve had since the trip to the circus, and I’m sure he’ll take that into consideration.”

“I hope so. I’ve been chewing my nails all day long. Mira...look at my hands,” Espi thrust her hands onto X’s desk. “Mi mamá took me to get a manicure this past weekend and now look. They are a mess. My mom is going to explode. Ugh.” She shook her head sadly and went back to chewing on her pinkie nail.

Peter leaned back in his chair and turned to face Charlie. “How’s the ankle? Is it still swollen?”

With a wince, Charlie leaned forward and shifted the ice pack. “Yeah, it’s pretty puffy.”

“The doctor wants the swelling to go down...” Charlotte added.

“...so they can do the x-ray.”

“Then they’ll know whether he needs...”

“...a cast or a splint.” Charlie finished with a frown.

“Sorry, man,” Peter said. “Let me know if you need help carrying your backpack or anything.”

“Thanks. So far, Charlotte has been...”

“...your pack mule,” she said with a smile, “Hee-haw!”

At the sound of Charlotte’s donkey sound-effects, Mr. Wiseman looked up from the report and smiled. “Thanks for being patient, team. I know you are anxious to talk through yesterday’s mission, but I needed to get my thoughts in order. You can imagine my surprise upon your arrival yesterday afternoon, so it’s been very helpful for me to have Peter’s report to grasp a better idea of what transpired while you were gone. Peter, great job with the write up, by the way. You managed to paint a very complete picture for me of what happened on that street and I believe that it will be helpful as we make decisions related to future missions.”

“What do you mean ‘decisions’? Espi blurted. “We were as careful as we could be. Please let us go back. Por favor, Señor Wiseman.” Her fellow students nodded, leaning forward in their seats in support.

Mr. Wiseman lifted a hand in the air. “Calm down, calm down. I have no intention of terminating our Time Bender missions.” A collective sigh filled the room. “What I mean is that we need to learn from this experience before moving on. By making appropriate changes, you will be a better team and better able to face any new challenges you might face. Do you understand?” The students nodded silently.

“Okay. Good. Now, I did have an opportunity to talk with Charlie and Charlotte’s mom and dad yesterday. I called them just before the bell rang, after you five reappeared in a pile on the floor in front of my desk.” This memory garnered a laugh from everyone.

Peter chuckled, “The look on your face, Mr. Wiseman, was priceless.”

“Yeah, your eyes were bugged out of your head,” giggled Espi.

“Well now, put yourself in my place. You had only been gone a moment and then suddenly there you are: Espi gripping Charlotte’s pigtail, Charlotte clutching the cuff of X’s pants, X clinging to Peter’s belt loop and Peter grasping Charlie’s hand who is sprawled on the floor grabbing his ankle. What a mess!”

Lost and Found

Case No. 241

Date: 11/17/12

Location: Pamplona, Spain

Time: August, 1974

GT Team: Peter, X, Espi, Charlotte & Charlie

The first thing we heard upon landing on the cobblestoned street was, “¡Cuidado! ¡Los torros vienen!” Turning to Espi, we listened, terrified, as she translated for us.  

“Run! Bulls are coming!”  

Scrambling to our feet, we ran for a nearby fence and clambered over the top into a sea of spectators. As we huddled safely on the other side of the wooden barrier, I (Peter) slipped the Time Bender into my sweatshirt pocket and zipped it shut. From a previous experience, we had learned the importance of making certain that our ticket home was secure, and while I don’t particularly like to have this responsibility, somebody has to keep the Time Bender safe.

Once we had caught our breath, we paused a moment to take in our surroundings.

Charlotte climbed onto Charlie’s shoulders to get a better look over the crowd. “What can you see?” stuttered, X, still recovering from our sudden arrival. “Where are we?” Before Charlotte could answer, Espi piped up.

“It’s the running of the bulls! Mama mía, we must be in España and if what my Tío Alfredo says is true, we’re in for some excitement.” Charlotte jumped down her twin brother’s shoulders and we squeezed into a circle around Espi to hear what she had to say.  She had to shout to be heard over the boisterous crowd that pressed against us on every side. “Back in the 1970’s, uh, 1974, I think, my uncle took a trip to Pamplona, España to run with the bulls. He was sweet on my Tía Noemi and he thought that by doing something so macho, he would win her heart. I guess it worked, because they got married the next year. My tío loves to tell the story over and over about how he ran down the street in front of the stampede of torros shouting, ‘¡Noemi! ¡Noemi! ¡Noemi!’ It makes my tía blush every time he says it. In fact, one time...”

“Uh, Espi,” X interrupted. “As much as I love to hear your stories about your family,” he shrugged and indicated the crowd, “we kind of need to figure out why we’re here.”

Espi looked at each of us and laughed, “Lo siento. Sorry, guys, you know me, always yakking! Okay, according to Tío Alfredo the bulls are released on one side of town at eight o’clock in the morning.  This is signaled with a rocket being fired.  Then the runners, wearing red scarves and white shirts,” indicating a few men waiting on the cobblestoned street, “race in front of the bulls all the way to the bullring.  They will fire more rockets once all the bulls have been corralled, right through there.”  Looking to our left, we could see the bull’s destination:  the bullring.

“How many of these lunatics will be running in front of the bulls?” I asked.

“I think hundreds, but you would know better, Number Boy,” she teased.

“Right.”  I scanned the crowd, allowing my ticker tape brain to count what I saw.

3,631 spectators.

412 children sitting on shoulders and peering over the wall.

1 boy and 1 girl sitting on the wall.

Just then, the crowd broke out in song. We turned to Espi, waiting for an explanation. She grinned, “Before the beginning of the encierro, the bull run, they sing a benediction.  A prayer to St. Fermín for safety.”

“If they wanted to be safe...” Charlotte mumbled.

“...they’d stay on this side of the fence,”  Charlie finished.

“What about you, Peter?  Do you see anything interesting,” X asked me.

“Not really. Just lots of people waving flags and scarves. Do you remember reading anything about this?  Maybe in a newspaper or magazine?”

X closed his eyes and I knew that he was scanning anything he’d ever read in search of an article or story about Pamplona and the running of the bulls.  We waited, watching X’s eyes twitch, his eye balls moving behind his eyelids as if reading.  If he had ever read something, he would find it somewhere in his photographic brain.

The singing around us rose to a deafening crescendo and then we all jumped as the air was filled with crash of the first rocket.  At the same moment, X’s eyes popped open.  “I got it!”

“Bien, because here come the bulls!” Espi exclaimed. “Quick! What happened?”

“There was an accident years ago when a young child ran out into the corridor, just as the bulls crashed past.” 

“Was it a boy or a girl?” I asked.

X closed his eyes again and then shouted, “A boy! Octavio Gorriz. He was six years old.”

I looked back toward the young boy sitting on the wall. He waved a red scarf and cheered along with the crowd. He was about the same size as my cousin, Nick and Nick had just turned seven.  I made an executive decision, “Come on. I think I see our target.” Unfortunately, we were crushed together and it was almost impossible to move through the throng.

As we shuffled along, stepping on toes and trying to squeeze through the spectators, I turned to Espi. “How long is the run? How much time do we have, do you think?”

“Tío Alfredo said it was fast. Four minutes maybe? The run is only about 900 yards long.”

The numbers clicked and flashed in my mind:  900 yards in 4 minutes...that’s about 15 miles per hour.  The average bull weighed 2,403 pounds, versus the average man weighing in at 185 pounds...that means the beast is almost 13 times heavier.  The odds of little Octavio surviving a collision with a bull...a million to one.

We were still several yards away and I wasn’t sure we would make it. We could already feel the rumble of the hooves of the bulls as they approached. If we were going to reach the boy in time, we would have to get creative.  Turning to the twins, I gave them a nod and they smiled before springing into action; Charlie tossed Charlotte up into the air.  She landed lightly on the shoulders of a burly man standing nearby, but before he could protest, she had bounced back into the air, springing from spectator to spectator.  While his sister traveled over the mass of people, Charlie wriggled, rolled and spun between the men and women in the crowd.  Within moments, they had arrived at the wall, just inches from the boy.

But they were too late.

As the runners came within view, yelling and waving newspapers to attract the six bulls who thundered behind them, Espi, X and I watched in horror as the young Octavio waved and yelled, “¡Papi!” before jumping off the wall.  From where we pushed against the crowd, we could hear his mother screaming, but we were still to far away to do anything.

Suddenly there was a flash of green as Charlotte launched herself off the fence, did a backflip and landed on the cobblestones below, her hands stretched out to the boy. Charlie was right behind her.  They each seized one of Octavio’s arms and swung him up in the air, back to the safety of his mother.  Then Charlie, with no time to lose, grabbed Charlotte and tossed her up and over the fence.  As Charlie stepped toward the barrier, he slipped on the wet cobblestone and twisted his ankle, causing him to fall to one knee. As he tried to stand up, it was obvious that he couldn’t put any weight on his injured leg, which made running impossible.  He began limping toward safety, dragging his bad foot behind him and I could hear Charlotte yelling for him to hurry.  The thundering throng was just a few feet away when I finally reached the barrier.  I threw myself over the wood, reaching out to Charlie while X grabbed my leg.  Charlie managed grab my hand just as the Time Bender began to vibrate and I could only hope that Espi and Charlotte where hanging onto X.  As the runners and bulls rumble past, the street began to spin, and we were headed back to school.  The last thing we heard over the roar of the crowd was a man yelling, “¡Noemi! ¡Noemi! ¡Noemi!”

Recorded by Peter.

Mr Wiseman looked up from the report and shook his head.  Looking around at the five students sitting in Room A-1, he sighed before saying, “I think I speak for us all when I say that was cutting it a little close.”

___________________________

So, I succumbed.  

While I spent most of the week trying to talk myself out of participating in NaNoWriMo this year, my story continued to thunder around in my head like a herd of bulls.  I guess I'm in for another month of living vicariously through my students from Great Heights Middle School.

Ta-Dah!

This morning I submitted my book for "word count validation" and now I have this super cool button:

Yeah, me! :)  

Now I will go back and begin the editing, revising, rewriting and much-needed tweaking to what would appear to be book one of a set.  Eek.

Here's a little excerpt from Gifted and Talented:

The next morning, Mrs. Counterman pulled up to the curb in the school loading zone.  Peter sat in the passenger seat with his back pack between his feet.  As he reached for the door handle, his mother put her hand on his shoulder.  “Remember what we talked about last night.  Don’t be ashamed of your gift, Buddy.  Maybe this is the year you find out why God made you to see the world through numbers.”

“I know.  I’ll see you this afternoon,” Peter nodded, still feeling a little groggy from the early morning start.

“I’ll be praying for you today.  That you will have an excellent ‘Special Assignment’!”  She let go of grip on Peter’s shoulder and patted him twice.  “And don’t forget, you’re riding the bus home this afternoon.”

“Bye, Mom,” Peter unfolded his long legs out of the blue sedan, slung his back pack over his left shoulder, swinging the door closed behind him.  It was a chilly fall morning, but as it would warm up mid-day, Peter had decided against grabbing a sweatshirt.  He tugged on the long sleeves of his blue and green striped shirt, slipping his hands up inside each sleeve, and made his way to the front entrance.  He turned and waved once over his shoulder as his mom made her way through the congested school parking lot.

Once inside, Peter walked toward the school office.  There was another long line of students waiting to talk to the secretary and Ms. Inkstein already looked frazzled.  Peter took his place in line and looked around, fresh numbers flitted across his vision.

2 drinking fountains.

32 trophies in the display case.

1 framed photograph of the school staff.

27 smiling staff members.

4 pencils in Ms. Inkstein’s bun.

“Good morning, Ms. Inkstein.  Here is the form for the G & T class.  Is there anything else I need to do?”  Peter asked as he stepped up to the counter.

“Good morning, Peter.”  Mrs. Inkstein, dressed all in black again, had chosen a cranberry-colored lipstick for today.  The red seeped into the creases around her pursed lips.  She reached up for one of the pencils from her head, made a few notes on Peter’s form and then stamped it with a date stamp.  “You’re all set.  Have a good day.  Next!”

Peter ducked out of line and headed to his locker.  The hallways were already bustling with students and Peter checked the clock above the cafeteria door to see how long before the bell rang.  Three minutes.  As he spun the combination dial on his locker, he looked around for X.  He was anxious to see him, to have a friend to start his day with.  There was an eruption of laughter from the direction of the gymnasium and Peter craned his neck to see over the crowd.  Sure enough, he spotted X standing face to face with Flitch, who held X’s back pack over his head, out of reach.  Peter sighed, slammed his locker shut and made his way through the crowd.

“What you got in here, Xavier?” Flitch stretched out X’s name, taunting him.  “Let’s see, shall we?  What sorts of weird stuff does a weird kid carry around?”  Flitch unzipped the main compartment on the back pack and moved to dump it on the floor, but before he could, Peter came up behind him, standing a head taller and put one hand on his shoulder and one hand on the bag.

“Give that back, please,” he said quietly, but firmly.

“Hey.  Get your hands off me,” Flitch snarled, “Mind your own business, Skyscraper-Boy.”  A trickle of laughter ran through the circle of students.

“Sorry.  This is my business.  Please give the bag back.”  Peter looked down at Flitch and offered a small smile.  “Just let this one go, okay?”  At that moment, the first bell rang causing the surrounding audience to collectively groan in disappointment and head off to their lockers.  Soon only X, Flitch and Peter remained.  Without the support of his gang, Flitch scowled.

“Fine.  Here, Xavier,” he threw the back pack at X’s feet, sending several pencils flying out the zippered opening.  “Next time you won’t have your babysitter around, so watch out.”  And then jabbing a finger in Peter’s chest, he snarled, “And you ... I’ve got some friends in your gym class.  We could make your day pretty miserable.  And we will.”  He grinned maliciously, spun on his heel and walked off.

Peter exhaled, relief flooding his tall frame.  He had no desire to pick a fight, but he couldn’t stand by and watch anyone be bullied.  Turning to X, he stooped down and helped scoop up several pencils.  “You know, we don’t have to start everyday like this,” he joked.  “I’d be fine with just a simple, ‘Good morning.  How are you?’”

X looked up with his lopsided grin, “Good morning.  How are you?”

Laughing, Peter clamped one hand on his friend’s shoulder, “I’m great.  But we better hurry.  I don’t think we want to be on Mr. Hink’s bad side, too.”  With a quick stop off at their lockers, they half-ran, half-walked to class, slipping through the door just as the final bell rang.

Time Bender Trip

The book is still coming along well.  I'm on-target to finish on time and the story seems to be taking me along for the ride!  Very fun to see it come together.

I have enjoyed some spirited conversations with Aaron about what should happen yet.  And I have decided that Aaron needs to write his own book!  He has a lot of ideas, convoluted plot lines and intricate character interactions.  It was hard to keep up with all the twists and turns of the the tale as we walked through the grocery store yesterday.

Here is an excerpt from one of the Time Bender trips ... enjoy!

Case No. 216

Date:  9/22/12

Location:  London, England

Time:  July 11, 1859

G & T Team:  Charlotte, Charlie, Espi, X

We were deposited by the TB in the early morning hours in an unknown alley in central London.  We deduced our location by investigating our surroundings.  The cobblestone streets, the lamplighters working their way down the street to extinguish the street lights, the English accent of those walking by.

Our first course of action was to attempt to disguise ourselves adequately so as to not draw unwanted attention.  In the alley, Charlotte was able to crawl through a small hole in the wall of one of the buildings.  In spite of the hole being 10 feet off the ground, the twins were able to work together acrobatically to get Charlotte safely inside.  After squeezing through the hole, she discovered that it was a grocer.  As the store was still not open for business, Charlotte was able to smuggle out a bolt of dark fabric that we used to make capes to cover our clothing.  She also found two bonnets and two bowler hats for us to wear to cover our heads.

Now that we could chance being out among the Londoners, we braved the opportunity to leave the alley and get our bearings.  Once we were out among the public, we noticed that there was steady stream of people walking toward our right.  We joined the crowd, but we linked arms so as to not get separated.  We each were listening intently to the conversations around us in an attempt to discern what was happening with the hopes that we could pinpoint our location and time period.

The destination of the crowd, as it turned out, was Parliament Square, which was already quite full when we arrived.  We worked our way to the front of the crowd and that was when Espi deduced our whereabouts.  The crowd was gathered to hear the Great Bell’s strike for the first time on the Elizabeth Tower, better known to us as Big Ben.  Espi informed us that this historic even took place on July 11, 1859.

The excitement in the Square was palatable.  There was a steady hum of cockney accents on every side of us.  We only had to wait approximately fifteen minutes before the Great Bell began to chime.  In contrast to the previous noise, the bells signaled several moments of complete silence in the Square.  At the sixth and final bell, the crowd erupted in applause and shouts of, “Long live the Queen!”  Espi was quick to remind us that Queen Victoria was reigning during this time period.

The crowd began to dissipate, Londoners disappearing into the streets and alleyways surrounding the Parliament Square in within a few minutes, we were left almost entirely alone.  We took this time to conference, trusting that we would not be overheard.  Now that we were secure in our surroundings, it was decided that we would travel back down Queen Street toward the alley from which we emerged, seeing as in previous assignments, most missions are completed near the original drop spot.

As a group, we headed back they way we had come.  But before we had gotten far, Charlie became aware of a woman, some 50 feet behind us, who was crying.  We slowed our walk and allowed her to catch up with us.  We stood off to one side, while Charlotte cautiously approached the woman under the guise of asking for directions.

Within a few moments, Charlotte had managed (as she always does!) to befriend the woman and fish out her story.  She was Miss Rachel Ermin and she was the ward to a Lady Mockton, her own parents dying many years earlier in a plague epidemic.  She was only a young child at the time and was taken in by Lady Mockton as a distant relative.  Her twenty years spent in the care of Lady Mockton had been favorable.  She had joined Lady Mockton’s own small children in their lessons and their play and had grown up among society, at least as an observer.  Lady Mockton’s daughter, Harriet, and Miss Ermin were very close and spent most of their growing up years together.  That is until Harriet married earlier that spring.  Now Miss Ermin spent most of her days alone and lonely.

This new isolation had driven Miss Ermin to the library of the Mockton Victorian house.  During one afternoon the previous week, Miss Ermin had come across a small leather ledger.  Upon opening it, she soon discovered that at the death of her parents she had been gifted a large sum of money, enough for her to live on quite comfortably the rest of her life.  It was then that she realized that her parents had not left her penniless as she had been brought up to believe, but that in fact she was quite well off.

Being a spirited girl, she had pocketed the ledger and immediately requested an audience with Lady Mockton.  That very afternoon, she confronted her guardian.  Lady Mockton was surprised at the discovery of the ledger, but made a quick recovery and created a concrete case against Miss Ermin and the possibilities of her being independent, one that she claimed would hold up in court.  Miss Ermin had no defense and fled the room.  She had spent the remainder of the week, back in the library, searching among the books of law for some way to seize her financial independence and escape Lady Mockton’s grasp.  

On the morning of our encounter with Miss Ermin, she had given up all hope, hence her tearful walk.  With a promise to help, Miss Ermin invited us to the house with the hopes of us scouring the library and discovering some means of Lady Mockton releasing her inheritance to her.  The Mockton House was just a few blocks from the alley where we were deposited earlier.  She informed us that Lady Mockton was out of the house for the day, the society ladies having seized the first chimes of the Elizabeth Tower clock as an opportunity to have a luncheon.  Miss Ermin managed to sneak us into the house using the servants entrance.  She snuck us down the hall to the library and secured the door.  

Time Bender

I have been plugging away at my book for the past 12 days and it's been astonishing to me to see how the story is unfolding.  I am currently just a bit over 26,000 words and I have just arrived at my, "uh-oh ... that's going to be a problem" moment, so I think that I'm on the right track.

I had an interesting situation crop up with a recent chapter in my book.  I was wanting to describe a scene involving a run-away train.  But, it stressed me out.  I had absolutely no clue as to how I would actually tell that story - especially with my limited train knowledge.  I let the idea sit for the better part of a day, mulling it over and coming up empty.  Then I had a spark ... maybe the train problem was out of my league.  I am better suited to write about a people problem, and so I did.  And I liked it.  And I worked in a problem with the train's brakes that didn't freak me out, but did raise a little panic with my characters.  Just enough.

It was a good lesson in writing about what comes naturally and not trying to write about something foreign.  Unless, of course, I have extra time to research, which right now I don't.

So ... another lesson learned.  And another snippet to share.  Enjoy!

Room A-1 looked the same as before, but there was an excitement in the air that Peter hadn’t noticed yesterday.  Silently Charlotte and Charlie sat side by side, their eyes turned to where Mr. Wiseman sat behind his desk, flipping through a stack of papers.  Espi sat on the edge of her seat, chewing on her thumb nail.  Her feet, both dressed in neon orange knee-high socks twitched under her desk.  Her wild and curly hair looked wilder and curlier today, perhaps because of her wide-open eyes that refused to blink.  She didn’t even acknowledge Peter and X as they entered the room.

Silently, X signaled for Peter to take the seat in the front row and he slid into the desk just behind him.  He lifted his index finger to his lips, as if Peter needed to be informed of the need to be quiet.  Peter looked to Mr. Wiseman who continued to study the file in front of him.  Every few moments, he blindly reached toward a brown paper sack on this desk and pulled out a lemon drop and popped it in his mouth, never moving his eyes from the page he was reading.

Peter couldn’t decided if the hum of energy in the room was as a result of nerves or anticipation and likewise he couldn’t imagine what could possibly transform these four students into twitching, wide-eyed, speechless individuals.

Finally, Mr. Wiseman looked up from his paper and smiled.  A collective sigh erupted from the twins and X and Espi, but they still said nothing.  Mr. Wiseman nodded a few times, still smiling, and then beckoned the students toward his desk.  Peter stood back, surprised, as the four students ran to the front of the room and surrounded Mr. Wiseman’s desk.  Peter walked cautiously to a space to the left of X and studied the faces around him, still unsure as to what was happening.

“Well, class.  I am very pleased with your report from last week.  I feel that you followed all the proper protocol and took great care to conduct yourselves appropriately and covertly.  I feel confident that you are aware of the awesome responsibility that this opportunity carries and that you are each using your individual gifts to the best of your abilities.  And so it is for those reasons that I have made the executive decision to send you on another, ‘Special Assignment’.”  Here Mr. Wiseman smiled warmly at each student, pausing for a moment to consider Peter’s puzzled expression.  “Peter, I can only imagine how confused you must feel right now, but I truly believe that you will have a clear understanding of what we do here, very soon.  Please be patient with me as I get the other students working and then I am at your disposal.  Agreed?”  Peter nodded, brow wrinkled and a frown forming on his face.  “Now, if you four are ready, please extend your right hand.”

Mr. Wiseman leaned back in his chair and pulled open the desk drawer to his left.  Reaching inside, he pulled out a long rectangular black box.  It was old and the leather along one corner was cracked.  Two rows of gold tacks ran along the middle of the box, indicating the top and bottom of the container.  Gingerly, Mr. Wiseman lifted the lid from the box revealing a bronze cylinder lying in a bed of scarlet satin.  The curious artifact was about eighteen inches long and had two bronze dials on either end.  The dials were marked with mysterious symbols Peter had never seen before.  Mr. Wiseman lifted the cylinder carefully and held it out toward the students.  X, Espi, Charlotte and Charlie each grasped the cylinder with their right hand and immediately a strange low humming sound filled the room.  The sound grew not in volume, but in intensity causing Peter to feel as though his entire body was vibrating.  Mr. Wiseman let go and moved his hand to the top of the cylinder, twisting one of the dials until there was an audible click.  Suddenly there was a wooshing noise, a momentary flash and then silence.  

Peter realized he had closed his eyes and when he opened them, he discovered that he was standing alone at the desk staring at Mr. Wiseman.  His teacher smiled at him, and held up the small paper sack.  “Would you care for a lemon drop?”

Introducing Peter Counterman

Peter stepped out of the main office and into the hall of his new school.  Waves of noise and busyness washed over him - lockers clanged, students shouted, laughter erupted to his left.  He scanned the hallway taking in the hustle and bustle of Great Heights Middle School.

341 lockers.

5,492 tiles.

51 fluorescent bulbs.

297 middle school students.

Peter closed his eyes for a moment, trying to silence the overwhelming evidence that he was the new kid.  Again.  He slung his navy blue backpack over his shoulder, summoned his courage and stood up straight.  Then he thought better of it and slouched, hoping to better blend his lanky 5 foot 10 inch frame in among his fellow students.  In spite of his efforts, he still stood a head taller than his classmates.  

Peter caught his reflection in the glass of the trophy case and rolled his eyes.  He attempted to tame the shock of black hair that stood up from the back of his head.  He had that popular look of having just gotten out of bed, albeit unintentionally.  Giving up on his unruly hair, he tugged the front of his shirt straight and pulled on his sleeves, making them even.  He might not be able to make his hair behave, but he could still control his clothes and that was one of the reasons he preferred to wear stripes.  Stripes, like math, were predictable, orderly and organized.

Peter took in his unfamiliar surroundings while his mind counted what he saw.  The ticker tape of numbers flickering before his eyes was the only part of this morning that wasn’t foreign.

“Come on.  The bell's gonna ring.”  He felt a tug from the older student standing at his elbow.  “You don’t want to be late to Mr. Hink’s class.  Trust me.”

_________________________________

Linking up with The Red Dress Club.  This week's prompt:  300 words about something new.  These are the opening lines to my NANOWRIMO project.  Peter is shaping up to be a pretty cool kid, a little odd perhaps, but odd in a good way.

Gifted & Talented - a little snippet

I am currently six days into this NANOWRIMO adventure and I'm thrilled to report that I'm currently on target.  That's truly saying something as I spent the weekend gallivanting about the Eastern Slope.  (I did sneak in a little long-hand writing one evening ... and I'm still suffering from that cramp!)

It has been a bit exhilarating ...

finally pouring this story out onto paper and emptying my head of details,

discovering my characters' quirks and strengths,

watching my plot develop and thicken, and

being surprised at where my story is headed!

I have already changed my main character's name (Marcus and Marcus's has too many s's) and I've rethought my villain, but for the most part, I'm sticking with my current plan.  At least, for today.

Here is a little snippet from one of the first chapters.  I think it gives you a good idea of the kids I've been hanging out with for the past six days.  They are a curious bunch!
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The next several hours passed quickly and soon Peter found himself standing outside the cafeteria, clutching his brown bag lunch.  His last class of the morning had been a long and lonely hour spent in the computer lab.  The teacher assigned the front computer to Peter and then proceeded to forget that he was there.  

Peter spent most of the class time trying to log into his computer using the login name and password that the teacher had scribbled on an index card.  Unfortunately his handwriting was so poor that the information was a mystery.  Each time Peter tried to get the instructor’s attention, all he got was a scowl and a request to “wait a minute”.  Sixty minutes later, Peter had managed to open the desktop, but he had missed out completely on the assignment.

“Maybe tomorrow will be better,” the teacher said, walking the students out to the hall.  Peter wasn’t optimistic.  Now waiting in line for the cafeteria, Peter tucked the index card, with his re-written information, in his back pocket and tried to shake off the frustrations of the last hour.

Stepping into the lunchroom, he scanned the room.

29 tables.

7 windows.

4 teachers patrolling the room.

2 tables filled with Flitch and his goons.

1 seat next to X.

Peter waved and walked toward the empty seat, skirting around the full tables.  X was busy pulling his meal out of his lunch bag and reached out a protective hand toward the seat as Peter pulled it out from the table.  “This sair is chaved," he stuttered.  He looked up with relief.  “Oh.  It’s you.  Good.  I hoped you would sit with me.”

Peter laughed, scanning the room, “Who else would I sit with?”

X shrugged and smiled weakly.  Peter slid into his seat and pulled out his sandwich.  They ate in silence, Peter trying to think of something to break the ice.  Lucky for them, Espi appeared.  She flounced into her seat across from X, setting her cafeteria tray down dramatically.  “Ay, ay, ay.  Would you look at this lunch?  You call this enchiladas?  Mi abuela would be mortified to know I was eating this.”  She poked her lunch with her fork, lips pursed, inspecting the layers of cheese and tortillas.  Espi dove into the salad instead and sipped her chocolate milk.  “So?  How was the rest of your morning?”

X shrugged again and made a move to say so-so with his hand.  He chewed his sandwich thoughtfully, swallowed and said, “I had algebra with Mr. Daniels.  Since I’ve already finished the homework for this quarter, he let me work on my biography of Isaac Newton.”

Peter was impressed.  “So you just bring in your research and work in the back?”

X was chewing again, he held up his hand, telling Peter to wait.  “Um, sorta.”  He pointed to his head, “It’s all up here.”  The confused look on Peter’s face brought out a  boisterous laugh from Espi.

“Our amigo, X here, has what you might call a photographic memory.  If he’s read it or seen it, that information is stored in his head, waiting to be used.  Comes in handy when I have a report to write, too.”  She smiled, teasing X good-naturedly.  The color flooding X’s face made her laugh even harder.  “Are you going to eat that?”  She asked indicating X’s apple.  As X shook his head, she scooped it up, polished it on her sequined top and took a noisy bite.

“Good job asking, Espi,” X said, swallowing his mouthful of milk.  “Any trouble today?”

Espi’s smile slipped, wavered, and she looked at her tray.  “Uhm ... just one itsy bitsy problema ... I gave them back, of course.”  She looked up at Peter and rejuvenated her smile, “It’s not like Mr. Hink needs 14 pencils on his desk.  But I put them back before I left the room, so it’s not like I actually took them.  It’s more like I borrowed them.  Right?  Anyway ... I have to run.  I’m off to the office to help with some copies for Mr. Wiseman.  I’ll see you both later.  Adiós!”  She blew them both a noisy kiss, grabbed her tray and headed for the door.

X shook his head and watched her go.  “What was that all about?”  Peter questioned.

X sat silently for a few moments before answering.  “Espi is great, but she’s a bit of a kleptomaniac.  She’s one of my best friends, and she’s the first to jump in and help anyone in trouble.  Just keep an eye on your stuff around her.”

Peter nodded.  So far his new friends were full of surprises.  And that made him very happy.  Maybe he’d fit in after all.

“Hey.  Where’s my candy bar?”

X raised his eyebrows and looked toward the door, gesturing toward Espi with his chin.  As she left the cafeteria, Peter watched as she licked the chocolate off her slender fingers.

NANOWRIMO ... huh?

Before Gretel tossed her hummingbird into the flames and scampered down the trail to be reunited with her family, a new story was brewing.  My brain barely had time to rest before another tale began to take shape in my mind's eye.

Fresh characters grew flesh, developed personalities and hefted their backpacks over their shoulders.

A bell at an unknown middle school rang and a new school year started, halls loud and boisterous.

Troubles with bullies, problems to solve and friendships to build ... scenes all impatiently waiting to be spelled out.

A mysterious relic, five eclectic students, a quirky Gifted & Talented teacher and a world that needs saving ... one adventure at a time!

And another challenge to jump into as a writer.  A crazy, impossible, mind-reeling, caffeine-worthy, finger-trembling challenge.  This month I will follow Marcus out of the principal's office and into the main hall of Great Heights Middle School.  Here I will join him on a wild adventure filled with friendship, fraught with danger and sprinkled with silliness.

And in the midst of these 30 days with Marcus and his friends, my goal is to tuck away 50,000 words (gulp!) and end up with a book.  At least, that's the plan.

Of course, I already sat down with our family calendar and attempted to map out the month.  I'll do the math for you ... 1,667 words a day.  And then double that every now and then to make up for days away from the computer for Thanksgiving and gymnastic meets (oh, my head) ... but before I could talk myself out of it, I officially signed up with NANOWRIMO:

National Novel Writing Month

You can follow along with my progress with a peek at the little blue window to the left.  And you can cheer me on as I face this daunting (albeit, thrilling) task.  And maybe you could even send chocolate.

I am anticipating that I will be a tad bit sporadic here, but I intend to share snippets of the novel.  Maybe  I'll even surprise you every now and then with a snapshot or two.