Jimmy Veagin was a golden-skinned boy with kinky brown hair the color of cinnamon. His light brown eyes were almost the color of his hair. As he and his friends hung out in the hallway outside of the cafeteria, they leaned against the wall. His light brown eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a cute girl worthy of commentary with one of his friends.

Lana Brandon was rarely seen without her friends, but on this day, she shooed them away and motioned Jimmy Veagin over to her table. He slipped away from his group of buddies and approached her. When he pulled the chair away from the table, it made an obnoxious noise as it scraped across the floor. He seated himself. “What’s up?” he said. When Lana didn’t answer, he followed her gaze. They both watched Cherrelle a short distance away as she ate lunch with Rosaline and Khara.

“Look at them,” Lana began. “They don’t even look like they belong here. A bunch of rejects: Weird Rosaline, Psychotic Cherrelle, and that fat chick, Khara, who’s always walking around studying some Bird Bee Journal. She thinks she’s the Virgin Mary or something. Look at the way they dress. Their parents must be poor.”

“I don’t think Cherrelle’s parents are poor,” Jimmy said. “Have you noticed those jogging suits she wears? And she’s got a pair of Jordans that my parents wouldn’t even think about getting me. And Cherrelle is kind of fine.”

Lana glared at Jimmy. “No she’s not!”

He sat back in his chair. “Okay, calm down.”

“Cherrelle’s ugly and I can’t stand her!”

He raised his palms in the air. “Okay, okay. . . . whew!”

Lana leaned towards him and rested her elbows on the table. “I want you to do something foul to her.”

Jimmy raised his eyebrows. “To Cherrelle?”

“Yes!”

“Something foul?”

“Speak English much? Yes! FOUL! I’ll pay you.”

Jimmy rubbed his chin and scrutinized the three girls from a distance.

“I heard that her and the fat chick go to the Dismal Swamp Trail after school,” Lana said. “On Fridays, there’s hardly anyone out there.”

“Why do you keep calling Khara fat?”

“She’s a cow!”

“She’s got a slammin’ body. Everything is in the right places and all covered in chocolate. And those nice eyes. Man, I could get lost in them. I could just see my reflection in them while I’m . . .” His voice trailed off as he stared at Khara.

Lana slammed her hand on the table. “Stop looking at her like that! Those girls are hideous!” She glared at them, but then her features softened as she thought for a moment. “You won’t get much of a fight out of Khara anyway. Maybe you could throw a horse blanket over her head or something to confuse her.”

“I don’t know.” He rubbed his chin some more, then frowned at Lana. “Why do you hate them so much and why’re you asking me to do this? Do I look like a criminal to you?”

“I heard what you did to Rayna Brady.”

“It was consensual. You need to stop listening to gossip.”

“I’ll give you two hundred and fifty dollars,” Lana said.

“How’s a tenth-grader going to get her hands on two hundred and fifty dollars?” Jimmy chuckled.

“Don’t you worry about that. If I give you one twenty-five up front, will you do it?”

“You’ve got that much on you right now?”

Lana nodded.

“‘Hell yeah!” he said.

  ***

The July heat was intense, and the Dismal Swamp Trail seemed abandoned that day. Only two people were stretching near the entrance and getting ready for their run, and one was Cherrelle. She enjoyed running in the heat. She wore her lime green spandex shorts and matching sports bra. She glared at her watch. Where was Khara? She was twenty minutes late. Cherrelle’s adrenaline was already pumping. She would give her ten more minutes…

Ten minutes later, Cherrelle’s Nikes were pounding the smooth pavement of The Trail. On both sides of her was the forest, and just behind the trees on her right flowed the canal. She was tempted to run the whole eight-mile stretch just to see what was at the end.

Hot, rhythmic air pulsated around her. Nothing was in her way. Blue sky was her only limit. The air whooshed under her feet. A sheen of sweat dampened her body as she ran smoothly to the electric beat of her own self-discipline.

As Cherrelle ran, she thought of all the mean things she planned to say to Khara: First of all, you’re a coward who’s afraid of your own shadow. Secondly, you let the stupidest person we know make you feel bad about yourself. And thirdly, when you decide to do something about it, you won’t even stick to it because you’re scared of everything. I bet you’re scared of gnats too, aren’t you? And another thing, why do you even care what Lana thinks about your body? We should be running for our health, not because of what some scrawny person thinks about how we look. “Yep, that’s what I’ll say to her,” Cherrelle told herself.

As she slowed her pace, she heard a cracking noise behind her—almost like the sound of a tree branch breaking. Cherrelle stopped and turned. A man wearing a mask emerged from the trees. Fear leaked into her veins. He stood there for a moment; brown eyes watching her. He rushed towards her. Cherrelle gasped and quickly backed away. She turned and broke into a sprint, dodging off the paved road and into the trees. She stopped. No. Reaching tree branches might claw at her and pull her back. She shot a terrified look over her shoulder.

The distance between Cherrelle and the masked man was shrinking. She pushed herself forward. The parking lot was only a hundred yards away. She heard him exclaim in pain, then turned to see him on the ground holding his ankle. She kept running. And running.

And running, and finally, she reached the parking lot. She got closer and closer to the car. With shaking hands, she reached for the door. She dropped the keys. She swiped the keys from the ground but dropped them again. She glanced behind her, grabbed the keys again, shaking and looking behind her again and again and again. She slipped the key into the lock. The door opened. She looked behind her once more, then scrambled inside. She locked the doors.

The back windows were slightly open, so she crawled into the back and rolled them up. She jostled herself back into the front seat again.

Panicked thoughts raced through her mind: Where is he? Is he really hurt? Is it a trick? Is he waiting for me to do something stupid, like get back out of the car? Maybe I’ll run him over! She reached for the car keys in the passenger seat, but they weren’t there. She checked the floors and the glove compartment. She checked her sports bra. She ran her fingers along the waistline of her spandex shorts. Nothing. She ran her hands along the floor under the passenger and driver’s seat. She scrambled into the back seat again. Nothing.

And that’s when she saw them: hanging from the lock of the driver’s door were the car keys.

The temperature in the car had risen. Sweat dripped into her eyes. She needed oxygen. She inched the window down; breathable air came in. She watched the entrance of the Dismal Swamp Trail, as if expecting to see the man come bursting out.

Seconds dragged by. Oh, boy it was hot. Sweat drenched her. Her back was wet. She kept wiping the perspiration from her forehead. She rolled down the window just a little bit more…just a little more...just a little more air.

The bear sculpture stood tall and silent. She squinted at it and leaned forward. Did its lips just move? Was the bear trying to warn her that the man was approaching? Cherrelle’s eyes widened when the man emerged from behind it. Her eyes darted everywhere, praying to herself that maybe a jogger or a biker would appear and scare him away. Somehow, she felt the protection of the car was not enough. What if he used a rock or some other heavy object to break the window? What would she do then? She placed a trembling hand over her mouth and watched him. He stood there, hands at his sides, motionless, watching her. From the back seat, she leaned forward and glanced at the keys hanging from the lock. She knew that if she stayed inside the car, he’d simply turn the key in the lock. She needed to get out and grab those keys. With sweaty hands, she rolled the window all the way down, her hands trembling, her breathing ragged, fingers stretched, reaching for the keys...the keys.

Rosaline and Edmund were in the shed again one day. Rosaline hugged herself. “I’m so tired of being cold. If only we lived in the Bahamas, then life would be perfect. We wouldn’t even have to worry about Jimmy Veagin anymore. Maybe we can hire someone to beat the crap out of him.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Edmund said.

“Speaking of the Bahamas, we can live anywhere in the world. Edmund, we invented something we can make millions and billions from, yet you don’t want anyone to know about it.”

“That’s true, but we have to be careful. Imagine something like this getting into the wrong hands,” he said. “Criminals could use this to get from the police. People could make other people disappear. To be honest,” he chuckled, “I could use this on people I don’t like, but where would they reappear? In someone else’s house? In the middle of the interstate where they would cause a twenty-car pileup?” He faced the transporter and rubbed his chin. “See, that’s what I need to work on . . . ”

Rosaline’s eyes held an anxious glitter as Edmund tinkered with the machine. She couldn’t let something like this remain only a history project. She decided that after they got their project graded, she was going to make a few phone calls. First the television stations, then the newspapers, then someone would offer them big money and she could see her family living in a grand house like Ed’s, or maybe even bigger.

“Okay, that should do it,” Edmund said. He turned to her and sat down. “Now let’s do some more storytelling.”

“I don’t know, Edmund. You got kind of banged up when I made up the whole river hero story. You fell over that rock and lost your glasses. Then you got into that fight with Jimmy and guess what?”

“That was just a coincidence,” Edmund said. “If your story is what caused me to get hurt in real life, why do my knuckles hurt now? I didn’t bang up my knuckles in the story.”

“Maybe because real life isn’t an exact mirror image of my stories.”

“How about the big things that happen in your story? If I was a hero in the story, don’t you think I would have saved someone from drowning in real life too?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe you will. Maybe it’ll still happen—like tomorrow, or next week, maybe even next year. Next summer, you might become a life guard at the YMCA and save somebody. Or like I was saying, maybe every single thing that happens in the story doesn’t merge into real life. That’s what makes things in my stories so unpredictable. That’s what makes it so scary. This is all pretty new to me, Edmund.”

“If stuff really merges from your stories to real life, which I’ll never believe, then practice makes perfect. If you tell your stories enough times, you can control how it affects real life.”

“From what I’ve seen so far, mostly the bad stuff merges into real life, so practicing is going to hurt even more people.”

“Roz, you’re being paranoid.”

“Maybe after I explain something to you, you’ll believe me.”

“Nope.” He stood up. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. You’re being negative, and you suck. I’m taking my transporter back.”

“Hold on, Edmund! Let’s not get drastic. Okay! I’ll tell you a little more.” She sighed. “I can say I was messing around in the time machine one day when you weren’t here. Like I did the other day when you had to pull me out.” She looked down at her hands.

“Okay,” he said. “Go on . . . ”

She chewed the side of her bottom lip and looked up at him again. “But what if you didn’t show up to pull me out in time and . . . ”

Bang! The deafening sound invaded my senses. My eyes flew open to see clear blue sky stretched above me. I sat up with shaky arms and looked around me. I was surrounded by a meadow. Two evergreen trees stood tall beside me. When I looked down, I saw light speed propellers at my feet.

  I ventured past the two trees and made my way into the surrounding woods where I saw an animal tied to a tree. Was it a bear? A big dog? I ventured closer and when it stood up, it was no taller than me. It looked like a baby dragon. Yet instead of leathery or scaly skin, it was covered with short, black fur. Its ears were floppy, similar to a dog’s. We peered at each other for a moment, then I began to hear people’s voices. I started walking again until I saw huts and cottages stretched as far as my eyes could see. As I wandered down a dusty street, people gazed at me with open curiosity.

Their clothing was different than mine. The men wore burlap tunics with ropes tied around their waists. The women wore full-length dresses that gathered under their breasts, similar to those worn in the Middle Ages. Further away, majestically rising above the town, stood a castle on a hill. It seemed like I had landed in a fairytale.

Further down the street, I passed a butcher shop. The sound of horses’ hooves reached my ears and when I looked down the street, I saw that men atop black horses had galloped into town. The villagers, mostly men, gathered in front of them, blocking their access further into the village. One of the riders prodded his horse to step forward. “I am Tilgar,” he announced, “commander of the Valcan Treasure Hunters. We have come to seize the beast!”

“Over our dead bodies, sir!” one of the villagers responded.

Tilgar drew his sword.

I took off running until I reached the forest. I jumped over fallen logs. I dodged between trees. I stumbled over rocks; then one gave way under my foot. A short scream escaped me when I tumbled to the ground. I got up and carefully tested my ankle, then began limping. I made it to a clearing, then stopped and rested my hand against a tree to catch my breath. When I looked up again, I recognized the two evergreen trees in the middle of the meadow. I had to push myself to keep going . . . 

As I neared the evergreen trees, I began to hear rumbling again. When I turned to look back, people were spilling out of the woods. Behind them, metallic men atop horses exploded from the forest. A woman raced towards me. “The Valcans have spilled much blood over our town. We must flee!” I watched in horror when one of the Valcans neared us. He swung his bloody sword at the woman and sliced the side of her neck. She tumbled to the ground. When she rolled over, she clutched the side of her neck. Blood shot from between her fingers in angry spurts. I dropped to my knees and tried to help her, placing my hand over hers to help stop the bleeding. Horses’ hooves barely missed us as the men riding their beasts rumbled past us. “G-go,” she said in a weak voice. “Save thyself . . . ”  She looked to the sky and the life faded from her eyes.

I struggled to my feet again, ducking swords, horses, and people racing by me. My eyes focused on the evergreens, which were only a few feet away now. One of hunters sped towards me, reached down from his horse, and swept me up onto his moving stallion. “Nooooo!” I screamed.

It was Tilgar: the leader of the murder-driven savages. “Cease thy struggling,” he ordered, “or I shall see fit to drive this sword through thy back!” The reins slipped out of his hands. He cursed and we both tumbled off the horse, grunting on impact as we crashed to the ground. I lay beside him, stunned. We both seemed to be struggling with sucking back the wind that was knocked out of us. I got up slowly and looked in the direction where the woman lay. She was still.

Tilgar grasped my ankle. I stumbled back to the ground on my hands and knees. I turned my head, meeting a set of furious light brown eyes. “Damn thee, wench,” he muttered between clenched teeth. He rested on his elbows, then got up and towered over me. Brown hair hung in dreadlocks to his shoulders, tangled with bits of grass and dirt from the fall. He grabbed my arm and yanked me to my feet, then pulled me alongside him. We made it back to his horse, where he grabbed a rope that was secured to the horse’s saddle. He tied one end around my neck, then mounted his horse. As we headed back towards the forest, I kept looking behind me at the fading evergreen trees.

  Edmund stared at Rosaline in amazement. He nudged his new glasses farther up on his nose. “So the machine sucked you back in time? Is that what happened before I pulled you out of it?”

  “No way,” Rosaline said. “I wasn’t in there long enough for all that to happen.”

  He frowned. “Oh, okay.” 

  There was a knock at the shed door. Rosaline’s mom poked her head into the garage. “It’s getting late. Wrap it up guys.” Her eyes scanned the garage, then rested on Rosaline. “Have you seen those photos you took of me and your dad last month when we had that snowball fight in the front yard? Your dad comes out here a lot, and I think he left them in here because I don’t see them in the house.”

  “No,” Rosaline said. “I haven’t seen them. But good luck finding them in here.”

  “I have a deal for you,” her mom said. “If you and Edmund can find those pictures, then you two can hang out here for a little while longer.”

  Edmund’s eyes brightened. “Okay!”

  Her mom left, so Edmund and Rosaline began rummaging through boxes.

  Edmund paused. “If the snow storm was just last month, would they really be tucked away in some crusty old boxes?” He looked around him. “Maybe your dad left them on a shelf somewhere.” He pointed to a glossy envelope on a shelf beside Rosaline. “Is that it?”

  She swiped up the envelope and opened it. “This is it!”

  “We don’t have time to look at them now,” he said. “I want to hear more of the story. Can you bring them to school tomorrow?” She shrugged her shoulders and they sat back down. Then Edmund asked, “So what’s the deal with the furry dragon? Is he supposed to be scary?” 

“Of course!” Rosaline said. “Furry dragons can be scary. Remember, he’s a dragon.”

“I pictured a grizzly bear with wings,” he said. “That sounds more goofy than scary. I bet you he bumps into trees when he’s flying.”

Rosaline looked around for anything within arm’s reach that she could throw at him. An old dusty sandal rested by the pillow on which she sat. She grabbed it and flung it at him. 

He ducked and the sandal rattled an old lamp before it fell to the floor. “That’s nasty,” he exclaimed. “You almost got toe dust on me.”

“Toe dust.” She shook her head and giggled. “Now do you want to hear some more of the story or not?”

“Okay,” Edmund said. “I’ll get serious.” He made himself comfortable and Rosaline continued to speak the words:

During the journey back into town, I struggled with the knot that chafed my neck. Bodies littered the streets. As I struggled to keep up with the horse in front of me, I shuddered at the sight of the destruction around me.

When we finally reached the castle, its gates were splintered and hanging open. Tilgar dismounted and secured his horse to a pole. Still holding my rope, he led me past the gates. Outside the castle entrance, some of the townspeople were tied with ropes to stakes in the ground. Inside, a colossal hall stretched before me. A long table occupied the hall where the rest of the invaders sat drinking ale and eating. A pile of treasures lay in a heap on the floor as the Valcan Treasure Hunters hovered and argued over an eye-catching piece.

Some women served the hunters with their feet in shackles. Others were running errands, quickly obeying the men who would strike them just for pleasure. Everyone lapsed into silence when they saw me. Some of the hunters gathered around Tilgar and me. Tilgar pulled at my rope, forcing me closer to his side. Suddenly, the hunters who were eating at the table scrambled to their feet. Bewildered eyes were focused on the castle entrance. I turned to see a man with shoulder-length raven curls standing in the doorway. As his metallic eyes flashed with fury, he yelled, “Why do mutilated bodies litter the street? I have no use for dead men! ‘Twas a captured dragon I expected, not dead Waldens!”

“K-Kerwick,” Tilgar said, “When the river carried you away, we thought you were gone.”

“Well, Tilgar, you seemed anxious to replace me. And during the short time you were in command, you and these low lives who left me for dead have caused much destruction!” Kerwick marched towards Tilgar and grabbed him. He dragged him towards the door, ordering him and the other Valcan Hunters to bury the dead. Then he turned and faced me with metallic eyes that were so brilliant they almost weakened my knees. When he ordered me to bring him food and drink, I frowned at him. Who did he think I was? His slave? I wondered what he would do if I refused.

I looked around me at some of the women. The ones who had bruises on their faces gazed at me in fear. Although we outnumbered him, I doubted they would help me if he decided to get violent with me. I withered under his silver glare, then turned and went into the kitchen to get his food.

  ***

 It was late evening. I stood at the castle entrance, watching the men still at their dismal task of burying the dead. I looked behind me. Kerwick had fallen asleep at the dining hall table. His cape lay on the back of his chair. I looked past him, at the kitchen. Some of the women were still cooking. Others were cleaning. My eyes settled on the back door of the castle. I approached Kerwick. Slowly, I pulled his cape away from the chair. He stirred. I froze. With my eyes still on him, I slowly inched away. I hurried through the kitchen and out the back door.

To my disappointment, Tilgar was kneeling just outside, washing his hands in a wooden bucket. He looked up in surprise and asked if I was trying to run away. I backed away from him. Then I heard Kerwick’s voice from inside the castle. “Where is the wench?” he yelled. “The one with the many braids in her hair?”

Tilgar stood up and grabbed my arm, insisting that I come with him. “You shall fair better with me,” he said, “for that savage will skewer you once he gets you alone. Come!” 

One of the women in the kitchen pointed in my direction. My eyes darted from Tilgar to Kerwick. When Kerwick approached us, Tilgar announced that I was trying to escape and that he would chain me with the dogs for the night. Kerwick told him he wanted the prisoners to be freed, but Tilgar argued that they may retaliate and kill them in their sleep. “Until we move on,” he said, “we must ensure our safety.”

Kerwick frowned, as if the thought had not occurred to him. He watched as, despite my protests, Tilgar pulled me away and back through the castle toward the entrance. Outside the massive front doors, he pushed me down where the other prisoners were tied. He roughly tied a rope around my neck and left me. I spent half the night kicking at scraggly animals who ventured near to sniff at me in curiosity. It was hours before I could fall asleep.

Edmund shook his head from side to side. “Wow, Roz. You’ve got yourself mixed up with some treasure slash dragon hunters. I thought you were supposed to be She Warrior, Protector of the Universe!”

Rosaline grinned. “This story is not turning out how I planned it.”

Edmund stood up and stretched. “And you let this Kerwick dude boss you around, when muscular dudes are supposed to be feeding you grapes and fanning you instead! What are you doing sleeping with the dogs? Have they had their shots?”

They both laughed. Rosaline stood up and headed towards the entrance of the shed with Edmund.

“So when do I get to hear more?” he asked.

Rosaline shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know if I’ll finish it. I was just fooling around, pretending that the transporter was a time machine.”

“But it sounds interesting. I think you should finish it. See you in school tomorrow?”

“Sure,” Rosaline said.