Four ordinary boys.

One not-so-ordinary laptop.

One extraordinary adventure.

The Amazing Laptop #1

Reality Shift

by

Christopher P. N. Maselli

For my dad, who gave me my first computer,

and for my mom, who gave me my first laptop.

Reality Shift (The Amazing Laptop #1)

Copyright: Christopher P. N. Maselli

Physical version published 2002

Electronic version published 2012 by Writing Momentum, WritingMomentum.com

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.

All Scripture quotations are from THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

1 - The Secret Weapon

Sometimes destiny is accidental. A man sets down his briefcase only to pick up another a moment later, thinking it is his own. When destiny surprises you like that, there’s nothing you can do but go with the flow. But when this man lost his briefcase, he lost everything. He lost his influence. He lost his riches. He lost his power. God, he thought, was playing a game. But was he?

—     —     —

Matt Calahan’s adrenaline was pumping. The sun shone hot on the football field, making him sweat. The field smelled of freshly cut grass and stale mud. The fans—well, the parents in the crowd—cheered for him and his team. They were only six points away from a sure victory. One more touchdown and they would have it. This was junior high football. Mean and green, the Culprits were a finely oiled machine.

But that’s not why Matt Calahan’s adrenaline was pumping. The truth is, Matt couldn’t have cared less about the game. He’d signed up because his best friend, Lamar, had begged him to join the team. Well, that, and his dad thought it was about time Matt started playing a sport. He was playing today, for the first time in four months, because Tony Nedbit hadn’t done his homework and someone had to take his place. So here was Matt, making his dad and his friend proud.

Matt glanced over at the stands where his dad sat by his mother, talking on his cell phone. No matter how busy either of them were, they always made his games…even if he never played. As usual, through most of the game his dad would be on the phone. The guy just needed to learn to relax.

“Go Culprits!” Matt’s mother screamed.

Whoosh! The football whizzed by Matt’s head. Matt whirled around. A burly guy twice Matt’s width caught the ball and charged forward. He headed straight for Matt, who quickly jumped out of the way.

“Get him!” one of Matt’s teammates cried. “Get him!”

“Hulk” Hooligan took up the call and pushed Matt out of the way. He sacked Burly Guy.

“Oh, come on!” someone else shouted. “He gained twenty yards! C’mon!”

“Oh!” Matt said, as if getting sandwiched between Hulk and Burly Guy was an option.

Lamar jogged by and slapped Matt on the shoulder. “Don’t pay any attention to them,” he said.

That was Lamar. Always the encourager.

Hulk did a little dance and punched one of his teammates in the arm. The teammate recoiled. As he passed Matt, Hulk slurred, “Tanks. I guess we’ve found our weakness, Calhan.”

“Cal-a-han,” Matt huffed.

The teams moved forward to the line of scrimmage.

“Go Culprits!” Matt’s mother screamed again.

Matt looked toward the stands again just as his other best friend, Gill, entered the bleachers with his mom. His real name was Conrad, but everyone called him Gill because his last name was Gillespie. It was easier. He helped his pregnant mother sit down. His parents had attended Enisburg Junior High when they were young, and so they rarely missed a game now, even though Gill didn’t play.

Gill gave Matt a cheesy thumbs-up and shouted, “You da man, Cal-a-han!”

Matt’s dad was still talking on the phone.

The football was snapped, thrown, and stopped in a moment. Second and ten.

Matt didn’t pay much attention, because chances were small that the ball would come his way. Oh, sure, it could. But odds were, it wouldn’t. The good players usually got the ball thrown to them first.

Matt felt a bit cynical but not at all sad. His mind was set on getting home. Opening his present. He’d seen it that morning: a big, rectangular box wrapped in green-and-blue birthday paper, speckled with balloons. Matt could only dream about what was inside. His parents had said they wanted to have a small party—just the three of them. They had never said that before, so Matt was sure this present was extra special…maybe even expensive. Hey, you have a thirteenth birthday only once.

A few months ago, Lamar had received a complete art kit on his thirteenth birthday—one like the professionals use. Now he was drawing comics in style. For Gill’s upcoming thirteenth birthday, he was anticipating getting an earring. Okay, Matt could pass on that, but Gill thought it was pretty hip. Whatever the present was, Matt knew he’d like it. And as soon as the game was over, he was going home to open it!

Hike! Pass! Whoops! On the ground again. Third and ten.

“Go Culprits!” Matt’s mother shouted.

“Go Culprits!” Gill echoed.

Hike! Pause…pause…pass! No good. Fourth and ten.

Soon, thank God, it would all be over.

The Townsend Knights kicked the ball high in the air, and it thumped up and down on the other side of the field. Both teams followed it down there and changed positions. Matt looked at the clock—less than a minute left in the game.

Matt’s coach blew his whistle. The Culprits took a time-out.

Matt reeled in with his team. They gathered in a circle, and Lamar smiled as he knuckle-punched Matt’s knuckle.

Matt looked up to see Gill taking his place in the huddle—except he wasn’t supposed to be in the huddle because he wasn’t playing. He was such a comedian. If he had a day job, he was one of the few who really could quit. He was funny!

“OK,” Coach Plymouth said. “This is it, guys. Make this play, and you can win this game for the Culprits.”

“Yes!” Gill shouted.

“You know what that means, don’t you?” the coach asked.

“Yes!” Gill shouted. “It means we’re one step closer to the playoffs!”

The coach winked at Gill. “That’s right.” Then he suddenly squeezed his eyes tight and shook his head. “Gill, what are you doing here? You’re not on the team.”

“I’m on the team in spirit, Coach.”

Coach Plymouth rolled his eyes, then nodded at the quarterback, Phillip Grove. He always let the quarterbacks choose the plays. Phillip licked his lips and looked around the circle.

“Lamar,” he said decisively. “I’m going to throw the ball to you.”

“Cool,” Lamar said.

“And then,” Phillip continued, “I want you to pitch it to Matt.”

“Pitch it to Matt?” Gill and Lamar said, shocked.

“Pitch it to Matt?” Hulk echoed.

“Pitch it to Matt?” Matt said, equally shocked.

The players glanced around the circle at one another.

“Pitch it to Matt,” Phillip confirmed.

Matt’s stomach turned over. “I’m not so sure…”

Phillip reached across and put his hand on Matt’s shoulder. “You’re our secret weapon.”

“Secret weapon?”

“Secret weapon. No one on the Knights team would expect us to lateral to you. You’ll be wide open. Just catch the ball and run as fast as you can to the end zone. You can make it. And we’ll win the game.”

“Yes!” Gill Gillespie shouted. “Secret weapon!”

The coach narrowed his eyes at Gill. “Gill, get off the field, will ya, before we get a penalty?”

Gill laughed and walked away, bobbing his head like a chicken. Gill was a little off his rocker, but you had to love him. Everyone laughed.

“Wait a second!” Matt shouted, his voice cracking. “What about Burly Guy—number 68? He’s right in my path!”

“Hulk, you and I will take out 68 after Lamar pitches it to Matt,” Phillip ordered.

Hulk nodded and muttered something under his breath.

The referee blew his whistle as Phillip said, “On three, guys.”

The Culprits put their hands in the center of the circle, stacked one atop another, and dropped them all at once as they shouted, “Go-o-o-o Culprits!” They broke apart and took their places on the field.

Matt felt lightheaded. For a second he closed his eyes. God, please help me. I promise I’ll go on a missions trip to Africa if you help me.

“Hut one! Hut two!”

Matt opened his eyes.

“Hut-hut!”

Phillip threw the ball to Lamar. As the football shot past the stands, Matt could see his dad was finally off the phone. Lamar caught the ball. The Knights followed the ball, heading away from Matt.

Lamar hesitated.

Matt threw his arms in the air.

Lamar pitched the football straight to him. Matt saw it coming like a bullet. The Knights seemed noticeably surprised.

Thump! The football slapped Matt in the chest. He closed his arms around it—and he caught it! He actually caught it!

Matt quickly surveyed the field. Pow! Slam! Womp! The Culprits blocked the Knights.

“Go!” someone shouted.

Matt was about to run when suddenly Burly Guy was charging straight toward him.

Where were Hulk and Philip? Weren’t they going to “take out 68 after Lamar pitches it to Matt”?

“Yaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!” From the center of the field, Phillip the quarterback came running like a wild turkey. He leaped in the air and landed on Burly Guy’s back, screaming. But Burly Guy kept coming. Matt’s heart was racing. He just knew he was going down. Then: Hulk. The huge Culprit came bounding in from center field, a goofy-looking grin on his face. He crashed into Burly Guy at full speed, throwing him backward and pinning Phillip underneath him.

“Agh!” Phillip shouted in pain. “Matt…run…!”

Matt looked. With Burly Guy out of the way, the field was clear! He twisted around and ran! Fast! Faster! Faster! Suddenly before him, the Knights who had been heading his direction gave up hope! Matt was a rocket! The field opened before him! He ran! Ran! Ran!

The end zone was getting closer…closer…closer…

Like a marathon winner, Matt crossed the line with both arms in the air. He threw the football, spiking it on the ground.

Touchdown!

He made a touchdown!

Matt danced like a chicken.

He spun like a monkey.

He was a secret weapon!

So why were his teammates standing there, glaring at him, instead of raising him up on their shoulders?

Then Matt noticed something a bit odd. He seemed to be on the wrong side of the field. His mouth dropped.

He had made a touchdown all right…for the other team.

Well, at least he didn’t have to go to Africa.

—     —     —

“It’s all right, Matt.” Mr. Calahan patted Matt’s knee and sat back on the couch. “You put your whole self into the game.”

Matt shrugged. The game was over—gladly over—and Matt had decided to put it out of his mind. He had managed to avoid his teammates (especially Phillip Grove, the quarterback, who limped off the field after tackling Burly Guy in vain), to come home with his mom and dad and to take a quick shower. He was now in the living room wearing cut-off sweatpants and a DCTalk T-shirt. He ran his hand through his wet, black hair.

It was dark outside now, and the house was quiet. Matt’s mom finally entered the room with a small cupcake. A single candle sat atop, burning hot. She shielded it with her hand. “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you…”

Matt smiled.

Mrs. Calahan was a sweet woman with soft facial features surrounded by short and straight black hair. She wore a denim shirt and blue jeans. She shot Matt’s dad a quick glance, and he joined in. “Happy birthday, dear Matthew! Happy birthday to you!”

Mrs. Calahan carefully handed the cupcake to Matt. “Make a wish!”

Matt felt a little silly but closed his eyes anyway.

I hope I get a good present, he wished. He opened his eyes and blew out the candle.

A moment later, it flared up again.

Matt blinked. He blew it out again.

It flared up again.

Matt looked at his mom.

She giggled. “Trick candle.”

Matt’s dad laughed.

Mrs. Calahan licked her fingertips and snuffed the flame out for the last time.

“Do I still get my wish?” Matt asked.

“Of course,” Matt’s mom said, not losing a beat. “You get it three times over.”

Mr. Calahan reached down, picked up the present, and handed it to Matt. It was somewhat heavy. Matt smiled and didn’t waste any time. Soon the balloon-speckled paper was in shreds at his feet. It had been masterfully taped around a midsized, plain, white box that looked like it had been recycled from Christmas.

“Even I don’t know what it is,” Matt’s mom chimed in. “Your dad just said he knew you’d like it.”

Matt looked at his dad. His square-jawed father wore his signature plaid shirt and jeans, and he chewed his gum like he was trying to squeeze out the last ounce of flavor. They didn’t spend a lot of time together, so Matt wondered how his dad knew what he liked. Would he have to feign surprise and excitement, pretending he liked it, when he hated it? He remembered that time two years ago when his Aunt Ethel gave him a hundred dollars in government bonds…or last year, when everyone got him shirts. Who needs eight shirts and money you can’t spend?

“Here you go,” Mr. Calahan said, handing him an open pocketknife.

Matt’s mother winked and giggled. She was a total mom.

Matt took the pocketknife and sliced the top of the white box down the middle, tearing through the packing tape. He handed the knife back, slipped his fingers in the open crack and pulled, tearing the remaining tape at the sides. The box opened with a pop, and a few Styrofoam squiggles shot out, peppering the floor.

The snowfall continued as Matt dug into the box like a dog digging for a bone. Then he hit it. He pressed his fingertips around the edges and lifted it up. His father looked at him with a goofy grin. His mother’s lips tightened.

Matt put the box on the floor and pulled the birthday gift the rest of the way out. All at once, it was free. Matt felt his mouth drop. He set the present down on his lap and ran his hand through his hair.

He could barely believe it.

“It’s a laptop!” his dad announced.

Matt’s wish had come true. Three times over. He had often dreamed of having his own laptop but never really thought he’d get one. Not anytime soon, anyway. They were so…expensive.

“Oh, my, Stan…how…how did you afford that?” his mother asked in a hush. “We can’t afford that…”

“Business has been good, Penny,” Matt’s father responded, “and I have friends who have friends.”

Before they could exchange another word, his dad’s cellular phone rang, leaving Matt’s mother to draw her own conclusions. Matt’s dad pulled the phone off his leather belt and looked at the display.

“Gotta get this,” he said, standing up and flipping the phone open. It was probably one of the guys at one of his construction sites. They were always calling with questions. And his dad was always answering them.

Matt couldn’t take his eyes off the laptop. His gaze was drawn to the small, gold lettering embossed in the bottom, right corner: WORDTRONIX.

Matt pulled his right forefinger along the right-hand side and felt the slick, black plastic. His finger came to a switch, and when he located another one on the opposite side, he carefully pulled both switches forward. The lid locks released, and Matt lifted the top. It opened like a big, flat clam.

The screen was a good-sized 12.1 inches. The keyboard was compact but full. Below it was a touchpad like Matt had seen on the laptops at the store—the kind you pull your finger across to move the cursor around the screen. Above the keyboard was a small LCD strip. Beside it, the power button.

“Turn it on,” his dad encouraged, holding his hand over the cell phone’s mouthpiece.

Matt’s fingers tingled as he pushed the small, round button. A beep sounded, and the laptop came to life. The LCD strip flashed with several symbols. Matt easily figured them out. A lightning bolt signaled that the power was on. A picture of a battery showed the battery was full. And a disk blinked whenever the hard drive clicked.

For the next thirty seconds, the Wordtronix logo swirled around on the screen as the operating system loaded. Below it was a series of numbers: 31047777570167456916. Matt realized they matched the numbers etched in the plastic beside the LCD strip.

The Wordtronix logo disappeared, and the screen lit up with a standard set of full-color computer icons.

Matt’s dad hung up from his call. He walked over, sat beside Matt, and pointed to each icon. “It’s got a word processor, a database, a spreadsheet, access to the Internet, and I dunno what else.”

Matt stared in wide-eyed wonder. “This is incredible, Dad.” He quickly forgot all about having to pretend he was excited. No pretending here.

His dad nodded. “I knew you’d like it. You’re always on your mom’s computer messing around with your friends, but now you have one of your own.”

“Wow. You mean my computer will actually be free?” his mom teased.

Matt’s dad moved over to the hall closet and pulled out a sack. From it, he removed a thin, black, hard-plastic case. “It came with this case, too. There’s some other cables and stuff in here.” He set it down beside Matt. “Since you like to write so much, now you can do your writing in style, eh?”

Matt did love to write. Stories about knights and battles, robots coming to life, aliens invading earth—whatever came to mind. For years he had written on sheets of paper at school or in a spiral notepad at home…but now he had a writer’s dream: a laptop. He could take it with him any time, anywhere. Whenever he felt inspired, he could write. Yes!

The tall, oak grandfather clock in the living room bonged seven times, like a sentry alerting his kingdom that all was well.

His father’s cellular phone rang again.

“Why don’t you turn that thing off?” his mom offered.

“I can’t,” his dad simply stated. He leaned over and put his arm around Matt, giving him a sideways hug.

Matt hugged back. “Thank you. Thank you both.”

“Nothing’s too good for my boy,” his dad mumbled as he turned away and flipped open his cell phone. Then he stopped and turned back to Matt. “You enjoy writing, Ace,” he said with a wink. “Who knows? Maybe one day something you write will change someone’s life.”

—     —     —

Evening was Matt’s favorite time to write. Sure, he loved to write just about any time—before school, after school, whenever he finished an assignment early—but his favorite time was when the crickets were chirping. Matt’s pinewood desk sat directly in front of his second-story window, where he could look out at the world and dream.

In Southern California, even autumn evenings were warm, so Matt pushed up his window and let the breeze blow in. Once situated, he shoved his pen and notebook aside and thumped his laptop onto his desk. He popped open the top and waited while the Wordtronix logo whirled on the screen and the machine came to life.

The icons appeared, and Matt moved the on-screen arrow over to an analog clock face on a piece of paper. He tapped the touchpad once, and the icon burst into a full-screen word processor. Matt’s eyebrows leapt up. He studied the screen.

The word processor looked pretty much like others he had used: drop-down menu items for manipulating his document and a whole slew of clickable buttons for changing the size of letters, the layout, and more. It appeared simple enough.

Matt leaned back, smiled, and cracked his knuckles. He wiggled his fingers in the air and then set them on the keyboard. He had learned to type in school—and he was good at it.

Matt looked out the window as his mind began to think…to wonder…to create.

One of Matt’s favorite writing exercises was to imagine “what if…” He found this mind worker, more than any other, got his brain to churn up a good story.

What if a world-famous rock star bought Antarctica and then sold it to aliens?

What if cockroaches grew every time it rained, and it rained nonstop for a month?

What if a tall cactus came alive and decided to clean up the streets by shooting its needles at thieves, robbers, crooks, and politicians?

Matt looked across the street at the old, empty, three-story house. It was more like a mansion with its recessed placement and creaky front gate. As long as Matt had lived on Oleander Street, it had been gray and abandoned. Ivy snaked up the brick walls like wrinkles. Most of the lower windows were boarded. It was a constant eyesore to the neighborhood. One day they’ll tear down that creaky old place, Matt thought.

Matt smirked as he watched a flimsy outdoor shutter wave in the breeze. It was like something out of a cheesy scary movie…still, he knew it must have a great story to tell.

What if someone decided to move into that old place only to find out it had once been a haven for gangsters…with hidden passageways, long-lost secrets, and gold buried in the basement? Matt placed his fingers on the home row of his keyboard and began to type.

The old mansion on Oleander Street was once a hideout for gangsters.

Not a bad start. It was short and sweet, and it grabbed the reader’s attention. Matt rubbed his chin, as he imagined a seasoned, bearded writer would. He thought about the setting. The story needed to start in the daytime so things couldn’t go anywhere but downhill.

The old mansion on Oleander Street was once a hideout for gangsters. However, on the warm, sunny, autumn afternoon in California, that was the last thing the new homeowners expected.

Matt noticed an odd key on his keyboard, located just above the enter key. It was similar to the other keys, but instead of a letter, it had a clear clock face on it…just like the one on the word processor icon. Matt pushed it. On screen, his cursor changed from an arrow to a clock face. It flashed from white to gold and back as its hands swept forward lightning fast. Then it disappeared, and the arrow returned. Matt shrugged. Cool. Must be spell-check or something.

Isabel’s father led her up the rickety, old, front steps. Isabel’s long, straight, midnight black hair tumbled down her back like a waterfall. Her innocent, twelve-year-old, deep brown eyes took in her new home.

There had to be a girl in the gangster story because girls scream better than guys do. And she had to be pretty, because that would make the reader sympathetic to her when she was tied to a chair with a pack of dynamite at her feet. But that would come later. Now for a little foreshadowing…

“This place looks scary, Daddy,” Isabel said sweetly, her words dripping like newly spun honey.

“Nonsense,” her father replied. “It’s our new home. I saw it last night when driving by and called on it first thing this morning. Since I was transferred here on such short notice, I didn’t think we’d be able to find a big, beautiful fixer-upper in our price range…but here we are!”

Little did Isabel or her father know what awful surprises were in store for them. Welcome home, innocent victims. Welcome home!

Matt punched the little clock key again, just for effect. The hands in the golden clock icon spun around on the screen. That clock was just for him. It, too, was spinning forward, just as he was in life. He was writing his story in style. No more paper. No more ink-splattering pens. Matt folded his arms across his chest. This laptop was the best gift he had ever received.

—     —     —

In the street below, a car slowly rolled by.

2 - Alien Attack!

“Hey, whatcha doin’, buuu-ddy?”

Matt reached forward and slammed his laptop shut. Redheaded Gill Gillespie—next-door neighbor and football-huddle party crasher—leaned over his shoulder. Matt smiled wide and greeted him as Lamar Whitmore also entered the room, close on Gill’s heels. Lamar flopped down on Matt’s bed.

“What’s up?” Lamar asked.

Lamar was the first kid in Enisburg Matt had met after his family had moved there seven years ago. Since Lamar was just a few doors down and liked books, the two boys soon became good friends. Then, a few months later, Gill had moved in next door when his parents returned to Enisburg, and the three of them had become inseparable. They were both the best friends Matt could ask for. Nonetheless Matt wasn’t too keen on them reading his rough material.

“Lemme see!” Gill kidded, reaching forward. His hand stopped in midair when he spotted Matt’s new birthday present. His ears wiggled. “Is that a laptop?”

“Yeah, it’s my new laptop,” Matt said.

“You got a new laptop?” Lamar sat straight up. “You go! Turning thirteen isn’t so bad, eh?”

Matt nodded. “I’m just glad I caught up with you.”

Gill reached forward to touch the computer.

Matt kept his hand on the lid.

Gill hesitated, then stood up straight again. “You know you’re being a little possessive.” He rolled his eyes. “Well, I guess this makes our present all the more applicable.”

Lamar pulled a small Looney Tunes envelope out of his back pocket and tossed it to Matt.

“Cool.” Matt used his thumb to tear through the seal. Inside was a thin piece of folded, yellow paper. He pulled it out and opened it up. It looked like a photocopy of a photocopy of a photocopy. “Thanks…um…what is it?” he finally asked.

“Our website,” Lamar said.

“Huh?”

Gill grabbed a couple of blue, plastic milk crates and slid them over beside Matt, then sat on them. “The world will finally see your writing, Lamar’s drawings, and my handsome face,” he said.

Lamar groaned. “Lord, save us all.”

“We bought you web space on the Internet—a full year’s worth. Just like we’ve been talking about. As soon as you register a domain name, anyone can visit www.gill-gillespie-is-a-really-cool-guy.com!”

“Wow. This is great. This is going to be fun. So we have to come up with a web address?”

“You don’t like mine?” Gill asked.

“I can draw us a logo when we agree on a name,” Lamar said. “How about threecoolguys.com?”

Matt twisted his lip. “Probably already taken. Needs to be something more different, anyway.”

“www.GillMattLamar.com,” Gill suggested.

Matt grinned. “Why not MattLamarGill.com?”

“You guys are missing the obvious,” Lamar pointed out. “LamarGillMatt.com.”

Matt tucked the receipt into the pencil jar on his desk. “I can see this is something we’ll have to think about.”

Lamar lay back down. “Wow, a laptop. I wish I got stuff like laptops for my birthday.”

“Trust me, this is a first. Last year I got clothes.” Then, “You wanna see it?”

“Sure,” Lamar said as Gill nodded.

Matt popped the locks and reopened the laptop. The screen was just as he had left it. With a swift slide of his finger on the touchpad, Matt saved his story as GANGSTER and brought up a new document.

“Hey, what were you writing?” Gill asked.

Matt shook his head. “Just fiction stuff,” he said flatly, dismissing his story. He minimized the word processor and pointed to the on-screen icons. “I haven’t tried all these,” he admitted, “but—see—it has a word processor, a spreadsheet, a database, e-mail, and Internet access.” He turned the computer slightly. “It has several places for hookups. Here’s the battery.”

“What’s Wordtronix?” Gill pointed to the Wordtronix logo.

Matt shrugged. “My dad said he had connections.”

Gill nodded. “He must to afford this. This is something.”

“So,” Lamar asked, “wanna go outside and do something?”

“Outside? No—I want to mess around with my laptop.”

“You sure you don’t want to play a little football? You can score me a couple goals.”

Matt shook his head. “Don’t even start.”

“Just kidding ya, bro. Hey, not to make things worse, but you know Phillip Grove hurt his knee when he attacked number 68 this afternoon?”

Matt winced. “You mean when he got crushed under number 68? Man, I feel awful.”

“The whole team feels awful,” Lamar said. “He was our best player, and we’re hoping for the playoffs. I don’t think any of us can fill his shoes yet.”

Gill’s red eyebrows jumped. “Matt’s a good runner. You just have to point him in the right direction.”

Matt frowned. “At least I play.”

Gill threw up his hands. “Don’t get all sensitive. I’m just joking.”

“Yo, Matt,” Lamar said. “Tomorrow night after dinner, let’s get together. I can show you some stuff.”

“Whoop!” Gill interrupted. “Tomorrow night’s Wednesday. We have youth group.”

Matt dropped his head. “Oh, man! I don’t wanna go.”

“It’ll be fun,” Lamar promised. “We have to go. Pastor Ruhlen says it’s a ‘rite of passage.’”

“Actually he says, ‘Dude! It’s a rite of passage essential for leading your whole man into its destiny. Dude!’”

Gill chuckled at Matt’s imitation of Pastor Ruhlen. “That’s pretty good.”

“No one will notice if we don’t go,” Matt said hopefully.

Gill scratched his head. “Actually they will. Pastor Ruhlen came by my house today to invite me. I promised him all three of us would be there.”

“You what? Well…he didn’t come by my house.”

“Actually he did. You and Lamar were already at the game.”

“I can’t believe we’re still talking about the game.”

“Who’s talking about the game?”

Matt looked straight at Gill. Gill looked at Lamar and smiled a toothy smile.

Matt shook his head. “Not my best moment.”

“You’ll redeem yourself,” Lamar assured him.

Matt rolled his finger over the touchpad, forcing the on-screen arrow to slide around in circles. “Well, anyway, I’m gonna mess around with my laptop. I just got it, and then I had to wait ’til after dinner to use it. I’ve only been playing with it for about half an hour.”

“OK,” Gill agreed. “Write a story—make an adventure.”

Matt scrunched up his face. “Now?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know…”

“C’mon,” Lamar encouraged, “you know your writing rocks. Let’s see if you can be as creative on this machine as you are on paper.”

Matt chuckled and returned his attention to the laptop. He maximized the word processor.

Crouched down, Mr. Gillespie peeked over aisle 4. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon the Baker Brothers would be behind bars.

“This is a story about my dad?” Gill questioned.

Matt shushed him. “You want me to write you a story or not?”

Gill’s eyebrows furled. “Okay, but his name’s Jason.”

Matt moved the cursor back to the beginning of the sentence and retyped.

Crouched down, Jason Gillespie peeked over aisle 4. It wouldn’t be long now. Soon the Baker Brothers would be behind bars.

“Are you sure you want him sneaking around?” Gill asked. “Policemen don’t usually sneak around.”

Matt glared at him. “He’s hiding strategically. We have to create a feeling of expectation for the reader,” he stated matter-of-factly. “This does just that. Even you’re curious to know why he’s sneaking around. See?”

Gill twisted his lip. Matt continued.

He had been waiting for this break for half his life. His only son, Gill, had been adopted years ago—and now he was looking forward to getting that big raise so he could provide his son with money for college because one thing was for sure: Gill wasn’t going there on a football scholarship like he had.

“I wouldn’t be talking,” Gill noted wryly. “You’re laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?”

“Did you want to write this?” Matt asked, turning the computer toward him.

Gill looked at Lamar. “Writers,” he muttered.

Matt smiled and pulled the computer back toward himself.

But Jason wasn’t ready for what came next. He was closing in…sneaking around the corner of the aisle, crouched down with his gun drawn. He peeked around a candy bar display. There they were—at the Happy Gas counter, just like in the movies. One of them held a big burlap bag, and he was waving to the pimply-faced kid.

“Put the money in the bag!” he demanded.

The other one watched the door to make sure nobody came in unexpected. Suddenly Jason leapt out of the aisle.

“FREEZE!” he shouted, because all police officers do. “You are under arrest!”

The Baker Brothers turned toward him in colossal surprise.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with!” they warned.

“They don’t know who they’re messing with,” Gill said.

The closest Baker Brother pulled the mask off his face (he was wearing the classic robber ski mask, size L) and…

“UGH!” Jason screamed. “It’s an alien!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Cool,” Gill said, on the edge of his seat.

Matt smiled.

Lamar laughed.

The alien did a little jig as he moved in on Jason. The policeman couldn’t believe it. It was a Snoddinoazian from the planet Snoddinoaz! The aliens had come to rob Earth’s Happy Gas stations and then burn all the stolen cash in Las Vegas! Jason couldn’t let it happen! The town was counting on him!

The alien’s pointy, wax-filled ears wiggled as he lifted his weapon. Shots rang out, and Jason dodged to the side. Zap! Zap! Zap! Zap! Zap! Zap!

Jason smirked. He knew the alien’s laser weapon was only a six-zapper. This gave him a split-second advantage while they reloaded.

“Um…laser guns don’t use bullets,” Lamar pointed out.

Matt obligingly changed the word reloaded to “recharged.” Lamar was content. Matt looked at Gill. He looked dubious, but he was hooked.

“It’s time to do some good,” Jason said.

Like a steamroller, Jason ran toward the counter and charged at the aliens when suddenly—PAZOW!

“What?” Gill cried. “Pazow?”

For a moment, everything went black—then the aliens were gone. They vanished. Like they were transported. Of course, that’s because they were. Jason had failed! He dropped to his knees and cried like a baby.

Gill rolled his eyes. “Oh, please! Talk about fiction! My dad wouldn’t cry like a baby!”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” Matt offered. “Real men cry.”

“Thanks for the cliché. So what happens next? The aliens come back and he gets ’em? It has to have a happy ending, right?”

“It’s people like you who keep us writers from exploring our full potential as writers of all dimensions of literature—including the tragedy.”

Lamar chuckled. “You guys are too much. Gill, I think your dad’s sunk.”

By an amazing coincidence, the police chief just happened to be stopping in to buy some donuts. The maple kind with little orange sprinkles on top.

Hearing the commotion, he ran inside and saw Jason down on his knees. He was dumbfounded, not able to believe that Jason would let the aliens get away so easily.

“Jason Gillespie!” the hot-tempered chief shouted. “Hand over your badge! You’re fired!”

“But my son needs an education!”

“Looks like he’ll have to find a job as a comedian,” the chief said. (Which is totally another story.) And that was that.

“You were force-fed green beans as a baby, weren’t you?” Gill asked pointedly.

Matt smirked as his friend hopped up off the crates. “It’s been real, it’s been fun, but…I have to go home and practice my Snoddinoazian. Or my jokes. My whole family’s in trouble if I don’t become the next Jim Carrey. See ya at school.” Gill punched Lamar on the foot and headed for the door.

Lamar hopped off the bed and waved at Matt. “I gotta go, too. Hey, we’ll practice that football sometime before the next game. You might be pulled in as MVP.”

“Yeah, right.”

“See ya online,” he said as he followed Gill out of the room.

From the hallway Gill shouted, “And don’t forget to register www.gill-is-my-hero.com!”

Matt shook his head and laughed. Then he let out a long breath and looked at his story. Silly, but, hey, his creative juices were flowing. It’s not as if he’d want all that to happen. In reality, Gill’s dad was someone Matt respected. He wasn’t a Christian, but he was a good man, and he had a good job and a good marriage. At least he wasn’t on the phone twenty-four hours a day.

Matt placed his elbow on his desk and leaned his forehead into his palm. It was getting late. He looked at his watch. If he brushed his teeth now, he’d still have half an hour to unwind with a little Nick at Nite. Besides, he’d had enough excitement for one day.

“I sure don’t feel any older,” he whispered, remembering the trick candle on his chocolate cupcake. Thirteen. He had finally made it to the age when everything in life was supposed to change. For a split second, Matt’s stomach felt uneasy. He lifted his head and let his hand drop to the key with the clock face on it. On screen, the cursor changed to a golden clock, flashing forward like lightning. Matt let out a long sigh. Yep, things were certain to change…whether he wanted them to or not.

3 - The Amazing Laptop

Matt raced home. After an uneventful day at school, all he could think about was that moment when he could let his fingers dance across the keyboard of his new laptop. He had considered bringing it to school but decided against it.

When he arrived at his front door that afternoon, he spied a perfectly handwritten post-it from his mother. It said she’d be home at 5:30, after she finished showing a home on the other side of town. With his mom in real estate, Matt was used to these kinds of notes. He sighed and crumpled the paper, then walked over to the drainpipe at the corner of the house and stuck his fingers in the opening. He felt around for the little, magnetic black box and pulled it out. Inside was the key to the front door. He opened the door and returned to the drainpipe to replace the key.

The Calahan house was nothing special—two stories, painted a musty white with black trim. Sometimes at night when the sky was black and the grass appeared gray, Matt imagined his home as a place on some old, black-and-white, fifties show: “Starring Matt Calahan as The Beaver.” Well, he wouldn’t go that far.

On the same note, across the street, the old brick mansion looked like something out of The Addams Family.

Matt’s thoughts froze as he stood for a moment and looked at the old house. Something about it seemed different. Then he saw it: the FOR SALE sign was gone. And the boards on the lower windows had been removed.

Someone’s finally going to tear that old place down, he thought. More power to them.

Matt entered his house and closed the front door. At once, someone pounded viciously on the other side. Matt jumped back, his heart thumping. He didn’t mind being home alone; he had become used to it. But he still didn’t like it when he heard creaking or settling…or, in this case, banging. Thank God, it was a sunny 4:00 in the afternoon or he’d be under his bed right now. Matt stood on his toes to peek out the peephole.

WHAM!

“Umph!” Matt was slammed back as the thick, front door barreled into him. He dropped his backpack and the crumpled post-it as both hands went to his face.

“Oh! Sorry!” Gill cried as he entered. “I didn’t know you were there!” He tried to see Matt’s face, but Matt kept backing away in self-defense. “Lemme help!” Gill ordered, but that just made Matt retreat further.

“I’m all right,” Matt said, sounding like he had a cold. Gill ran to the kitchen and returned seconds later with a small brown square, shining with ice granules.

“Put this on your face,” he instructed.

“What is that?” Matt asked, grimacing from the pain.

“Salisbury steak. Put it where it hurts. It’ll help.”

“How’s that going to help?”

“I don’t know. But whenever someone gets hurt on TV, they put a frozen steak on their face. Try it.”

Matt squinted and received the aid. He placed it on his cheekbone. The cool, iced steak stung.

“My mom’s gonna hate it that you opened a TV dinner.”

“Man, I’m really sorry, Matt. I think your cheek’s gonna bruise.”

“Don’t worry,” Matt said. “I won’t tell anyone at school you did it. But I don’t want them thinking I ran into a wall.”

“You didn’t. You ran into a door.”

“Thanks for clarifying that.”

“Um…you want me to pray for it?”

Matt winced again.

Gill reached forward and put his hand on Matt’s shoulder. “God, please heal Matt’s eye. And…um…well, we thank you for this food set before us.”

“Amen,” Matt said. “Thanks…I think. So what’s so urgent? Youth group’s not for a few hours.” He made his way to the living room, where he’d left his laptop earlier that morning. He had left it as close to the door as possible, so when he came home he could begin writing ASAP.

Gill grabbed his arm. “Matt! You’ve got to change it!”

Matt pulled his arm away and kept walking. “What are you talking about?” he asked as he sat down on the couch and popped open his laptop. He left it sitting on the coffee table as it booted up.

“The story!” Gill shouted. “You have to change the story you wrote about my dad!”

Gill didn’t sit down but stayed standing, shaking his hands in front of him. He looked spooked.

“Gill, what’s bothering you?” Matt asked again.

“The story! You have to change it!”

“Gill, relax. It’s just a story.”

“It’s not just a story! It’s about my dad!”

“What’s the big deal? It’s not like it’s true or—”

Gill sat down on the couch beside Matt. “Matt, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. It is true.”

“You’re telling me your dad stopped some aliens from robbing Happy Gas?”

“No! The aliens got away! Remember?”

“What?”

Gill scratched his head nervously and then pulled his hand down his face. He let out a long breath. “OK, so I come home from school. Everything’s fine. I’m in the living room watching a Bill Nye rerun and eating Fruit Loops—the new ones with the swirls on ’em—when my dad comes home early. He never comes home early. He’s just looking at the floor, like he’s in complete shock. He sits down at the kitchen table and stares. Just stares at the floor. My mom asks him what’s wrong. Wonders if maybe he didn’t get the promotion he’d been waiting for.”

“So is that what it was?” Matt stretched his mouth, feeling his cheek ache.

“Don’t you remember what you wrote?”

“Gill, I’m sorry your dad didn’t get the promotion, but that’s just a coincidence.” Matt put Gill’s meat therapy kit on a coffee table coaster. “I just worked that element into the story so the reader would have sympathy and the surprise alien climax would be more jolting. But it’s nothing unusual. That stuff happens all the time.”

Gill shifted sideways and stared at Matt. “Nothing unusual, huh?”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me a Snoddinoaz alien was robbing Happy Gas.”

Gill dipped his head, glaring at Matt like his teacher did whenever she caught someone whispering in class.

Matt glared back, mimicking Gill.

“So, my dad says, ‘There was a robbery at Happy Gas today.’”

“You’re making this up.”

“I wish I was. Then he says,”—Gill lowered his voice—“‘Turns out it was some new guys in town. We’re calling them the Baker Brothers.’”

“He said that? No, he didn’t.”

“You weren’t there!” Gill snapped.

Matt looked down at the laptop. The screen saver flashed on—a swirling Wordtronix logo with two clock hands sweeping around inside each O.

Gill continued. “So then he says, ‘They call ’em that because one’s short and one’s tall like the guys on that bakery commercial.’”

“Baker Brothers…”

“Yeah, Matt. So then he explains how he sneaks up on them—around the end of an aisle—and says, ‘Freeze!’ Then one of them completely flips out and starts yelling with a thick accent and stuff and pulls his mask off his face. And my dad said he looked like a ‘snotty-nosed alien.’”

“‘Snotty-nosed?’ That’s not quite…he said ‘alien’?”

Gill nodded. “Yeah, like illegal alien, I think, but that’s what he said.”

“What a…coincidence.”

“Yeah, right! So then the guy pulls out a gun and goes ballistic shooting the ceiling. Bam! Bam! Bam!”

Matt jumped.

“Well, he stops after six shots—just like you wrote. He had to reload. So then my dad gets all bold and rushes him. Charges straight forward.”

“And…”

“And what do you think happened?”

“You’re going to tell me the guys just disappeared.”

Gill nodded. “He blacked out for a few seconds, and then they were gone.”

“And your dad fell to his knees and cried.”

“And to make a long story short, he gets fired. Turns out Mr. McGaffigan, the police chief, was coming in to get a donut, and he happened to witness the falling on the ground, crying like a baby part.”

“There’s nothing wrong with crying,” Matt offered. “Real men cry.”

“That’s not the point! The point is, you have to fix the story or I have to become an incredibly successful comedian—and fast!”

“Let’s not push it,” Matt said, feeling a bit stunned.

“Matt,” Gill pleaded, “I’ve never seen my mom or dad that upset. I never have—and we caused it. You have to change the story.” Gill’s eyes looked glassy.

“Gill, this doesn’t make sense. It has to be a coincidence. There’s no logical explanation. Have you told Lamar about this?”

“This is no coincidence, Matt. Almost everything you wrote happened exactly as you wrote it.”

“Gill, I’ve written tons of stories before…and none of them have come true.”

Gill looked down at the swirling screen saver on the laptop. “But it’s the first story you’ve written on that laptop. What if it…did something?”

Matt shook his head. “That’s ridiculous. It’s just a laptop. It’s nothing special.”

The Wordtronix logo continued to swirl.

—     —     —

Matt refused to believe his fiction writing and Mr. Gillespie’s unemployment status were anything short of coincidence. There could be no other explanation. Still, it bothered him how quickly life could take a turn on someone like that. But it had happened. It had happened to Lamar’s parents. Just before Lamar was born, his father died. Lamar never had the chance to know his father. It was so tragic, so unexpected, so sudden. Matt wondered if something like that could suddenly happen to his family, too.

Gill had gone home, still distressed, and Matt felt sorry that he could offer little comfort. Earlier he had promised to catch up with Gill and Lamar at youth group, but now Gill didn’t seem that thrilled about going. Matt didn’t know what to say to him. If there were anything he could do, he would. Just to make Gill feel better, Matt did delete the alien story he wrote. Still, he sadly warned his friend he couldn’t make what happened to his dad resolve itself as easily.

Matt’s mother brought Arby’s roast beef sandwiches and curly fries home for dinner—the first good thing that had happened all day. He was always in the mood for fast food.

Matt’s mom first saw his bruise when they sat down for dinner—and she made quite a fuss over it.

“No, Mom, no one beat me up,” he said. “Gill just opened the door when I was looking through the peephole…Mom…why are you laughing?”

She put a hand over her mouth and asked, “So why did Gill come over? Just to play?”

“Mom, we don’t ‘play’ anymore. I’m thirteen. We hang out.”

“Oh, right…right. So did Gill come over just to hang out?”

Matt stuffed three ketchup-covered fries in his mouth at once. After Gill’s wallop, it stung to open his mouth so wide.

“No,” Matt responded, trying to keep his voice light. “He came over to tell me his dad just lost his job.”

Matt’s mother stopped chewing. “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s…that’s awful.”

Matt shook his head. “Gill said he’d never seen his parents that upset.”

“Wow. What happened?” She sounded concerned.

Matt shrugged. “Gill said his dad was at Happy Gas when it was robbed by alie…by…well, I’m not exactly sure.”

“I think I heard something about that on the radio,” his mom said. “Oh, it makes me so nervous that stuff like that happens in our little town.”

Matt thought about staying quiet but went against his better judgment. “You and Dad…nothing bad’s going to happen to you guys, is it?”

Matt’s mom put her Beef-N-Cheddar down and slowly wiped her hands on a paper napkin. “Sweetheart…no…we…”

“I’m thirteen now. I can handle it.”

His mother bit her bottom lip and pulled the sides of her mouth down with her fingers. “Matt, we’re not talking about jobs anymore here, are we? Look, your dad and I are very busy right now, but we love each other very much. God will show us how to handle anything that comes our way. We’re a family, and we’re sticking together.”

Suddenly Matt heard the garage door go up.

With a quick, almost unnoticeable wipe of her eyes, Matt’s mom jumped up and met his dad at the door. She gave him a long hug and asked him about his day. He smiled awkwardly. Then he looked at Matt and said with a laugh, “What happened? You didn’t run into a door, did you?”

—     —     —

Enisburg Community Church was a three-hundred-member congregation exactly five miles from Matt’s house. Lamar’s mom had invited them to a service when Matt and his parents had moved to the area seven years ago, and they’d been going there ever since. Gill had shown up about a year after that. His parents stopped in on Easter and Christmas but otherwise never seemed too interested. However, they thought it was important for Gill to go to church. Matt figured it was because they’d rather have him hanging out with church kids than with druggies.

Tonight Matt, Lamar, and Gill walked into the youth group for the first time as members and not just wanna-bes. The group had started only a few months prior, and the three boys hadn’t attended, because they thought it was for the “older kids.” That illusion had been shattered when Pastor Ruhlen cornered them a few Sundays ago in church and asked them why they hadn’t been attending. Or, in his words, “Dudes! You’re missin’ out on the collossalist happenin’ in town! You have ta’ come! I know your entry into upper grades has just begun, but youth group is a rite of passage essential for leading your whole man into its destiny.”

Matt still had no idea what that meant. Nevertheless they agreed to come soon, and together they’d decided this would be the week. Lamar’s mom drove the three boys to church, but Gill hadn’t said one word the entire way over, which was quite unusual. He was obviously preoccupied.

A lot of kids bustled around the room jabbering about this or that. Many of them looked a lot older; one even had a mustache. Pop music blared out of the speakers at the front of the room. Matt didn’t recognize the artist. A few of the guys were teasing the girls—on purpose—like this was a fun thing to do, making them giggle. This was a new world, where the kids acted like they did on that teen show, David’s River. The girls were always talking about the latest episode at school. Matt watched it once and thought he could write better plot lines in his sleep.

Matt found a seat in the third row—not too close but not too far—and Gill sat down beside him, followed by Lamar. They made up the entire row, since no one sat down beside them.

Matt looked at his watch. It was seven minutes until 6:30. He squirmed in his chair.

“Lot of kids here I don’t recognize,” Matt offered.

“Lots of kids here don’t recognize us,” Lamar countered.

A bright, buzzing, red-and-yellow neon sign hung above the stage. It read, “LK 252.” Matt pointed to the sign. “What’s that? The maximum number of seats allowed in the room?” He looked around. “Must be about that many in here. No way we’ll fill all of them.” Then he added, “Do you think it’s weird that we’re sitting together? You know, three guys all alone in the third row? We don’t want ’em to think we’re part of a gang or something.”

Gill turned to Matt. “What?”

“Finally you speak. I was actually kidding.”

“I can move if you want me to.”

“Bit touchy tonight, aren’t you?”

Gill took a deep breath. “I’m just waiting.”

Matt sat quietly. Gill didn’t elaborate.

Finally Lamar said, “Waiting for what?”

“I’m waiting for the laptop to kick in and get my dad his job back so everything will get back to normal.”

Lamar leaned forward. “Man, I thought you were kidding. You’re serious about this?”

“Gill, it was just a story.”

“I just don’t like us ruining my dad’s life. So tell me what you wrote.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean? What did you write about my dad getting his job back?”

Matt looked at Gill blank-faced. Lamar looked at Matt blank-faced. Suddenly Matt’s attention was diverted as a large guy came through the door. Matt ducked his head.

“Great! Look who just walked in the door!”

Lamar and Gill turned and looked. The 6-foot, 200-pound kid with bleached blond hair was unmistakable.

“Hulk Hooligan!” Lamar exclaimed. “Wow…never expected to see him here.”

“I knew his mom made him come to church with her on Sundays, but I didn’t know she made him come to the youth group, too,” said Matt.

“Maybe he wants to come.”

Matt tilted his head at Lamar. He shrugged.

“Oh!” Matt ducked again when Hulk saw him. But it was too late.

“Check out the pencil neck in the third row!” Hulk shouted, pointing at Matt. “Made a killer touchdown yesterday—for the other team!” He laughed and laughed.

Some of the other guys chuckled. Matt couldn’t believe it. What could be more embarrassing?

“Hey, is that a black eye? How’d you get it? Run into a door?” Hulk asked.

At once, Matt knew what could be more embarrassing. He didn’t say a word.

“Don’t pay any attention to him.” Lamar turned his back to Hulk.

The hulk lost interest then and went to pick on someone else.

“Okay, okay, I got it,” Gill said.

“You got what? Common sense?” Lamar asked.

“Why don’t they play board games in the jungle?”

Lamar looked at Matt, who just raised his eyebrows.

“I don’t know,” Lamar said slowly. “Why don’t they play board games in the jungle?”

“Because there are too many cheetahs! Get it? That’s funny, right?”

“Man, we are taking your temperature when we get back.”

“I have to practice my jokes, Lamar. My family’s well-being relies on it.”

Matt put his head in his hands.

A couple minutes later, Pastor Ruhlen took the stage, saving the day. He was a lanky man with tanned skin, a high-pitched voice, and the funkiest haircut Matt had ever seen. It looked kind of like a Chia pet. He made a few announcements; then he welcomed Matt, Lamar, and Gill into the youth group along with a few other kids.

“This is LK 252—the radical youth group of Enisburg! Welcome, dudes! You might not know it, but youth group is a rite of passage essential for leading your whole man into its destiny!”

Matt looked sideways at Lamar and Gill. They both smiled.

“We call it LK 252 because Luke 2:52 says that when Jesus was your age, he ‘grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and men.’ And that’s what our mission is all about, dudes. To make ourselves deep, wise, mighty and engaging—just like Jesus did. His life grew spiritually, mentally, physically, and socially.”

Deep, wise, mighty and engaging. Matt wished he was all of those. Matt looked at his friends. Lamar sure had the deep part down—and Gill was doing just fine with being engaging. Matt smirked. People were always saying how smart he was…so together with his friends, they made quite a team. How about www.deep-wise-engaging.com? Maybe.

“All right!” Pastor Ruhlen shouted. “Let’s do it!” He pulled out his guitar then and led everyone in a few praise and worship songs. Matt knew one of them, but the other two were new to him.

More announcements and a short prayer time followed, and then Pastor Ruhlen started teaching. He asked everyone to open their Bibles to Exodus 20. Matt, Lamar, and Gill all looked at each other. They hadn’t brought their Bibles. Oops.

“Dude,” Pastor Ruhlen said, dipping his body as if he was surfing on a wave. “These are God’s Ten Commandments. Now some people think God just wants to be a cosmic killjoy and give us a bunch of rules to follow. But that’s not the case-er-ino. Oh, no. Here’s the lowdown: The Bible says in Galatians 3:24 that God gave us the commandments to show us we can’t follow all the rules and make it to heaven on our own. The only way is through faith in Jesus.”

The pastor continued his sermon. A few minutes later, Gill tapped Matt on the leg. Matt leaned in. Gill whispered, “So what did you write about my dad?”

“You know what I wrote about your dad,” he whispered back.

“No! I mean what did you write about him getting his job back?”

“Shhh!” Lamar shushed.

Pastor Ruhlen had them turn to another Scripture.

“Now here’s where it gets interesting,” Pastor Ruhlen was saying. “Jesus said all we have to do is follow two truths: To love God with everything within us, and to love our neighbors as ourselves.”

Matt glanced back at Hulk. Easier said than done.

“Well?” Gill prodded Matt.

“I haven’t written anything,” Matt admitted. “I just deleted the story.”

“What!” Gill said in a harsh whisper.

“Shhh!” Lamar shushed again.

Pastor Ruhlen stopped speaking. “Now are we gonna have to separate the three of you?”

Matt looked down. What a day this was turning out to be.

“So anyway, God isn’t trying to make life hard for us,” said the pastor. “He’s giving us an honor code to live by. He wants us to live holy, like he is holy. Because then others will see we are the salt of the earth. And you know what happens when you put salt on something, don’t you? Yeah, it tastes yummy.”

—     —     —

At 8:37 that evening, Matt was tired. He had survived his first youth group, finished his homework, and taken care of a couple chores his mom had suddenly sprung on him.

Matt set his laptop on the pinewood desk in his bedroom and looked out the open window as it powered up. That old house across the street looked as ominous as always, but strangely, a light shone out from inside one of the lower-story windows facing his house. How could that be? Surely the power to that place wasn’t hooked up. Matt didn’t care much what the reason was. But it did give him a great idea for continuing his story. He opened up GANGSTER and began to write.

Isabel’s favorite place to play was the den on the lower floor…and that wasn’t good. Because just off the den was a small door that led to the basement. The eerie basement. The spooky basement. The eerie, spooky basement. It was the place where Ned had once lived. Nervous Ned, as he was called, had nerves of Jell-o—and he’d used the basement for years to hide gangster secrets. He dug tunnels and created traps. Treacherous traps. He hid traps throughout the basement tunnels, so if the Feds came close to discovering his gangster secrets, they’d get treacherously trapped in the tunnels!

Matt rolled his tongue inside his bottom lip as he thought. He decided not to give any more away about Ned. Just saying he was a man who worked with treacherous traps created a picture in the reader’s mind…and it showed that he himself was dangerous. Matt smiled.

Unfortunately for Isabel, she knew nothing of Nervous Ned or his traps. She knew only that she was tickled pink to be in her new house. She had never been in her own house before this. Her family could never afford it. But they could now. Now she finally had a place to call home. Everything was perfect.

Making the reader sympathetic to the main character was important. And, Matt thought, now the reader wants her to be able to stay in the house. In the reader’s mind, Ned has just become the enemy…an enemy whose treacherous traps must be exposed!

Isabel sat in the den, watching TV and relaxing with her family. This was her dream come true. In delight, she brushed a lock of her long, straight, midnight black hair out of her deep brown eyes. Her dad gave her a big hug.

Matt smiled. So far so good. He hit the little clock key just to make it an official keeper. The cursor turned to a golden, ticking clock and back. Now it was time for Isabel and her family to stumble upon one of Eddie’s old traps…a little surprise!

Suddenly it happened! From behind the basement door came a snapping sound, like a twig breaking. Bursting with curiosity, Isabel stood up and approached the basement door. She grabbed the handle and twisted it. Supr

Suddenly Matt’s dad’s car pulled into the driveway. Matt watched him get out of the car and retrieve the mail. He turned to walk up to the house when he must have spied the light on in the abandoned house across the street. He hesitated but then walked across the dark street and knocked on the door.

Matt looked at his laptop. He looked back at his dad.

A moment later, the porch light came on and a middle-aged Hispanic man opened the door. The two men shook hands and talked. Matt couldn’t make out what they were saying. Maybe this was the man who was going to tear the house down…

The man shouted something that sounded like Spanish. A moment later, a shorter figure—a sporty-looking boy about Matt’s age—appeared in the doorway. He shook hands with Matt’s dad.

Then it happened.

Like an angel, she joined them in the porch light. Matt shrieked and dropped to the floor, knocking his chair back. He peeked over his desk and out his window. As his heart pounded, he blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. It was her. Across the street. On the porch. It was Isabel.

Like a vision, she stood there—just as he had written. Matt speedily reread his words. Her hair was every bit as long, straight, beautiful, and midnight black as he had typed. She was prettier than he had imagined, however. Matt swallowed hard as he stared at her. She had a soft-featured, oval face and a sweet smile. She looked exactly as he had written. But how could it be true? It had to be coincidence! There was no logical explanation! Surely Gill wasn’t right… Surely the laptop couldn’t…

Matt reached up and hit the BACKSPACE button. He held it down until the cursor erased the last few lines. But she didn’t go away. She couldn’t. She was real.

Matt thought for a long, hard moment, and then typed:

But Ned didn’t really exist, and neither did his traps.

Better to be safe than sorry. Matt rose again as Isabel and the boy went back into the house. His dad pointed to their house, said something, then shook hands again and said good-bye. The man shut the door.

Matt watched his dad cross the street. For a long moment, he stared at the concrete outside, trying to think of something, anything, that would explain all this. He looked back at his laptop and gulped. He decided to try a little experiment—to separate fact from fiction.

Suddenly the porch light on the old house blew out, like a firecracker on New Year’s Eve.

Matt peered over his keyboard and waited. The porch light on the un-abandoned house shined.

And he waited.

And waited.

And he waited.

And he began to feel a bit foolish.

What was he thinking? That he really had the power to control things beyond his control? That what he make-believed could come true? That the laptop could somehow do the impossible? Really.

Pop!

Matt jumped as his bedroom door opened. His father stood there, leaning onto the doorknob. He did a double take when he saw Matt, an imaginary question mark on his face.

“You all right, Matt?”

Matt glanced over at the old house across the street. He let out a long breath when he saw the porch light was still illuminating its portion of the warm night.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said, picking up his chair and taking a seat again. “Just writing a story about the old house across the street.”

Matt’s father nodded as he took hold of Matt’s chin. He inspected the black-and-blue mark on his face. “Mmm-hmm. Nice family that moved in over there.” He stepped back. Apparently Matt passed investigation. “Met the man who bought it. Said the place was a real mess, but they’re going to fix it up. Just moved here from Mexico City, I think. His English is rusty, and my Spanish is worse. But he asked me to come over and give him some estimates. Should be interesting. Lot of history with that old place. Say, he’s got some sharp-looking kids, a son and a daughter about your age. I told them to come over and say hi. You might need to go see them first though. You know, being in a new neighborhood is awkward.”

Matt gulped.

“Well, anyway. Don’t stay up too late,” his dad ordered. “The laptop will be there when you wake up.”

A grin crept onto Matt’s face. His dad ruffled Matt’s hair and left the room. Matt looked across the street one more time. The porch light still shined, little insect specks dancing around it. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face.

This was too strange. Had to be just a coincidence. What was he thinking?

Thoughtlessly he hit the clock key for effect as he made a thunder sound with his mouth. Talk about a bomb of an evening.

Matt closed down the computer and shut the case. Yep, he needed sleep. Lots of it. Days of it. He turned around and headed to his bathroom.

When he reached his doorway, he heard it.

The sound of a lone, faint firecracker.

But it reverberated like a snare drum in his ears.

He closed his eyes. He didn’t have to turn around to know what it was.

It was the porch light.

It had blown out.

4 - Discoveries and Warnings

For two hours, Matt tossed and turned in bed, pulling up his covers and then pushing them off. He rolled onto his side, lay on his back, rolled over on his stomach. He counted sheep, tried to think of nothing, and even turned on the light and read every definition of every word under X in the dictionary. By the time he hit Xylophone, he knew he was up for a long night.

All Matt could think about was that porch light blowing out…and beautiful Isabel whom he’d made move in across the street…and Explosive Eddie, hoping to God that he didn’t really exist. Then he thought of Gill. Oh, brother—he was right and Matt was wrong. Big time right and big time wrong.

Matt got up and stood in front of the laptop for a long moment. Then he attached a phone cord to the modem, popped open the lid, and pushed the power button. After the computer booted up, he typed in the number of his Internet Service Provider. On screen, he hit a button marked DIAL.

Matt sat down and listened to the dial tone, followed by sounds of touch-tone dialing, followed by ringing, followed by electronic buzzes and whistles as the laptop and Matt’s ISP “shook hands.”

Matt double-clicked the Internet browser, and it flashed open and waited for input. He had never used an Internet browser exactly like the one on his Wordtronix laptop, but he had used similar ones. Wasn’t a browser a browser? He entered an address, downloaded the Instant Chat program he was familiar with, and reregistered it on his new computer. A few minutes later, he saw his friends’ names. Gill was online; Lamar was off.

Matt typed.

MattC:            Hey Gill, u there?

A moment later…

GillDaMan:    yupp

MattC:            What r u still doing up??

GillDaMan:    ME?! my parents r going thru the rockyest road of their lives thanx to ur laptop and u think im going to get a good nites sleep?

MattC:            I guess not.

GillDaMan:    i guess NOT

Matt let out a long breath.

MattC:            I can’t sleep.

GillDaMan:    y not?

Bing! Lamar was online.

Lamar:           hey guys whatchu doing up?

MattC:            Hey Lamar.

GillDaMan:    u know y im up. matts about to tell us y hes up

Lamar:           That right? Why?

This wasn’t going to be easy to admit.

GillDaMan:    hello? matt?

MattC:            Gill was right.

GillDaMan:    it took you til midnite to figure that out?

MattC:            I guess it did.

Matt sat back in his chair and stared at the simple, black-cased laptop glowing back at him. It seemed so harmless—so much like just any old laptop.

Lamar:           What do u mean? U don’t mean what I think u mean do u?

MattC:            I wrote that a girl moved in across the street and that her porch light blew out. Both happened.

GillDaMan:    SEE!!! and u said the laptop wasnt special

MattC:            Well it doesn’t look special.

Lamar:           Truly special things never do.

Another long pause and then Gill finally wrote,

GillDaMan:    dont move ill b right over

Lamar:           word up

—     —     —

It took Lamar and Gill way too long to arrive, but they finally tapped on the window by Matt’s bed. He walked over and slid the window up. Gill hopped off the tree limb and slid into Matt’s bedroom. He muttered something about how he nearly fell out of the tree. Lamar followed. Ever since they were old enough to climb trees, Matt, Lamar, and Gill had secretly met in Matt’s room since it was the only house they could get into any time—through the upper-story window.

Gill grabbed the milk crates and set them down beside Matt, and Lamar hopped on the bed.

Then Gill spoke up, “Hey—how do you know if an elephant’s under your bed?”

Matt shrugged.

“Your nose is touching the ceiling! Get it?”

Matt just stared at Gill. Slowly he turned the laptop toward his friends. “I wrote this right after we talked.”

The boys read the words on screen.

Lamar and Gill came over slightly after midnight. Lamar wore his gray sweats and his Culprits T-shirt. Gill wore jean shorts and a red T-shirt. When Gill entered, he told a stupid joke.

Lamar looked down at his clothes—the exact ones Matt had described in his writing.

Gill gulped and shook his head. “Well, it’s all true except the part about the joke being stupid.”

“Trust me,” Matt said. “It’s all true.”

“That’s…amazing,” Lamar whispered.

“It’s spine-chilling. Don’t be using that thing on me,” Gill said as more of a warning than a command.

Matt nodded.

The three friends peered into the laptop. The only light in the room was from the luminous screen and a small, lime, banker’s desk lamp Matt’s mom had bought at Wal-Mart for $12.99. The glow of the lights reflected off their faces, like the ominous glow from a campfire.

“OK,” Lamar finally said, “let’s figure this thing out. Tell us exactly what you did to get us to wear this stuff.”

Matt placed his fingers over the keyboard but didn’t touch it.

“I just typed it in there,” he said.

“Let’s try something else.”

Matt looked around his room. He thought about making his Oakland Raiders poster drop but then decided against it. His dad had bought it for him at his first football game. The rest of his room suddenly seemed just as sacred. Then he had an idea.

The large dog two doors down barked three times.

“I figure the more specific, the better,” Matt stated. “Otherwise it could be misinterpreted.”

Gill nodded. “Like a space alien being misinterpreted as an illegal human alien.”

Matt nodded. He pushed the enter key.

They waited.

And waited.

And waited.

But this time Matt didn’t feel foolish.

“You do anything else?” Lamar wondered.

Matt shook his head. “I don’t think s—” Suddenly Matt spotted the key with the clock face on it. He slapped himself in the head. “Duh!” Matt punched the clock key. The cursor turned into a golden clock, its hands sweeping forward.

The large dog two doors down barked twice…then once more.

Matt felt his stomach flip. Lamar visibly shivered as though a chill had run down his spine.

“Okay,” Lamar said quietly. “Be specific. Push the clock key. What if you misspell a word?”

“That’s all right,” Matt answered. “It has spell-check.”

Gill said, “Matt, this is…huge. Imagine what you can do.”

“And it’s dangerous,” Lamar added. “You have to be careful, Matt.”

Matt nodded. “I know. We can’t tell anyone. None of us can. It’s too powerful.”

Lamar placed his hand in the air, palm down. Gill put his hand on top. Matt put his hand on the stack. All three whispered, “Team.” And the secret was sealed.

After a long moment, Matt promised Gill, “As soon as we find out more about this, we’re going to fix things.”

“I sure hope so,” Gill said. “’Cuz I’m running out of jokes.”

—     —     —

The next day, when Matt called his dad at 4:00 and asked if they could go to McDonald’s for dinner—just the two of them—at first Dad declined. But then he called back ten minutes later and agreed to pick Matt up around 5:30. At 6:00, Matt’s dad pulled into the driveway in his red Ford F-150 and honked.

The McDonald’s they stopped at wasn’t exactly the cleanest, but it was acceptable. Matt appreciated the fifties decor: Elvis records pinned to the walls, pictures of Marilyn Monroe, and a photo of the Happy Days gang autographed by the guy who played Al.

Three bites into his double cheeseburger, Matt finally mustered the courage to ask the question he’d wanted to ask ever since his dad first picked him up.

“Hey, Dad? Where’d you get that laptop?”

His dad stopped chewing his french fries. “What? Did it stop working? Don’t tell me it stopped working.”

“No, huh-uh,” Matt assured him. “It works…almost too well.”

His dad smiled. “Oh. Good. I’m glad it’s working well for you. Are you writing any creative stories on it?” He took another bite of fries.

Matt didn’t answer. Instead he asked, “Do you know if there’s any kind of owner’s manual?”

His dad shook his head. “I can ask, but I doubt it. I picked it up at a place on Fourteenth and Lewis. They just deal in the electronics—none of that fruffy stuff.”

“Dad, a manual’s not fruffy stuff.”

“What you need a manual for? Is there something you can’t figure out?”

Matt twisted his lip. “Well, it’s not that. It’s got…did you know it has special features?”

“It ought to,” he said with a mouthful of Big Mac. “At the price those things cost, it ought to make your stories come true.” He paused when Matt about choked. Then he said, “But you know, being your thirteenth birthday and all, I figured, hey, why not?”

Matt crinkled his forehead, regaining his breath. “Fourteenth and Lewis…isn’t that kind of a rough section of town?”

“It is at night,” his dad admitted. “But a lot of the guys who work for me are from around there. Carl, my plumber, introduced me to a guy named Big Bo who owns the place I bought your laptop at, and it’s decent enough.”

“‘Big Bo?’ Dad…did you get my laptop at some sort of pawn shop?”

His dad shrugged. “Well, yeah…but that doesn’t mean it’s not a brand-new machine. It looked brand new to me—not a scratch on it. Big Bo says it looked to him like it was a special import. He’s never seen anything like it.”

“So does he know where it came from?”

“Well, I’m sure it’s not stolen. Is that what you’re wondering? Because Big Bo promised it was legit. You know, these things come from a friend of a friend of a friend of a friend. So it’s as good as anonymous.”

Matt looked at his dad in disbelief.

“You want to take it back?”

“No!” Realizing he’d shouted, Matt lowered his voice. “I mean, no, Dad. I was just curious.”

“Good, then,” his dad said with a smile. “Hey, if you want a manual, just check out the Internet. I hear you can find anything on the Net.”

—     —     —

“So your laptop is hot?” Lamar asked, lying sideways on Matt’s bed, sketching in a notebook.

Gill was on the milk crates, beside Matt, who sat at his pinewood desk again. The Wordtronix laptop was perched in its now-usual spot. It was dialing Matt’s Internet Service Provider.

“It’s not hot according to Big Bo,” Matt said under his breath.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lamar asserted, making scratching sounds with his pencil.

“How can you say it doesn’t matter?”

“Matt, it’s obviously destiny for you to get this. Something like this doesn’t just fall into a guy’s hands. It’s a gift.”

“From who?”

“How about God?”

“So God’s looking down one day and says, ‘Hey, Matt Calahan’s life is pretty boring. Let’s give him something so he can really mess things up.’”

Lamar turned his head toward Matt. “Is that what you think?” His brown eyes held steady, looking at Matt. Matt shrugged. Lamar asked, “Do you want to know what I think?”

“I bet you’re going to tell him,” Gill offered.

“I think God looked down and said, ‘Hey, Matt Calahan. Now there’s a trustworthy guy. A good guy. Let’s give him something so he can share some of that goodness with others.’”

Matt looked at Gill. “Well, I sure shared some goodness with Gill’s dad.”

“Seriously,” Gill echoed.

“You’re learning. And you’re going to fix that, aren’t you?”

Matt took a deep breath. A flash on the screen caused Matt’s thoughts to change gears. “We’re in,” Matt announced.

He launched the Internet browser and clicked on the SEARCH button. An input box popped up.

“Here goes nothing,” Matt said. Into the box he typed WORDTRONIX and then hit ENTER. As they waited, he added, “I bet it’s not even going to come up.”

A short beep was followed by the message:

2 matches found.

http://www.wordtronix.com — Welcome to Wordtronix regist…

100% Match 1 of 1

http://www.civd.org/wordtronix — If you’ve come here, then I…

100% Match 1 of 1

End of matches.

Matt glanced at Gill. Gill glanced at Lamar. Lamar glanced back at Matt. Matt clicked on the first match. The screen changed to a colorful display with the Wordtronix logo dead center.

Welcome to

Wordtronix

Registration

Congratulations on your purchase of a quality Wordtronix laptop! We want you to be able to enjoy all of your computer’s fantastic features. Register now and receive—free of charge—a “quick reference chart” of how to use your laptop. Registration is free, and rest assured that your information will be kept completely confidential.

“Excellent,” Matt said. “We can get a chart and figure out exactly how everything works.” Lamar and Gill stayed silent. Matt clicked his cursor into the “Name” field and typed, MATT C. Then he stopped.

“What?” Gill questioned.

“Well, I was just thinking. This is too easy. Two pages came up. Maybe we should check the other one out before giving away personal information.”

Gill shrugged. “K.”

Matt hit the back-brower button with an arrow pointing back, and the page with the two matches came up again. Matt clicked on the second one. After a brief pause, the page changed. The background was a simple white with black type. It said:

If you’ve come here, then I must be dead and you must have the Wordtronix. I hope to God they don’t find you. I’ve evaded them for several years now, but I know each day their search intensifies. They want their laptop back, whatever the cost. Don’t be fooled. Their promises mean nothing.

Trust me, I know. You have power in your hands.

Wield it well…as long as you can.

Matt’s stomach flipped like an acrobat on steroids. His mouth instantly went dry, and his hands, one on the touchpad, the other on the keyboard, shook.

“Matt,” Lamar whispered, staring at the laptop. “What is this?”

5 - The Plotting Thickens

Whoooo-fump!

Standing in his front yard, Matt threw his football straight up and caught it as it came back down. He tried to make it spiral, but he couldn’t get it to spin very well. Lamar and Gill had gone home for dinner, and Matt was waiting for them to return. Lamar had promised to help him with his, well, his everything. Gill just wanted to talk about getting his father’s job back.

Matt had been outside for only fifteen minutes, and he’d already seen three trucks come and go from the old house across the street. The owner was obviously serious about fixing it up. Matt didn’t see any improvements yet, but if the inside looked as bad as the outside, it would take a while.

Matt sat down on the football and tightened his shoelaces. So far, he thought, age thirteen wasn’t so great. Because of him, the Culprits had lost their star quarterback, so the team probably wouldn’t finish the season very notably. After the help he gave the other team, he figured he wouldn’t be on the field again anytime soon. The best thing that had happened was that he got his laptop…but then again, he put Gill’s dad out of a job and moved some innocent neighbors into a house that probably should have been condemned.

Matt squinted and watched the sun sneak behind a band of gray clouds. He imagined the clouds coming down and surrounding him, so he could hide for a while.

Suddenly a kid came out of the old mansion across the street. It was the same boy he’d seen the other night. He held a bulging, black garbage bag, the yellow tie wrapped around his hand. He stopped in his tracks when he spotted Matt. Then he resumed his walk and dropped the sack at the curb.

Matt stood. “Hey,” he said.

The boy appeared close to Matt’s age with light brown skin and dark hair, cut short. He sported a striped rugby shirt and worn, black shorts, but his tennis shoes looked new. He smiled and nodded.

“Uh, wanna toss around a football?”

The boy looked around.

Matt squinted. “Football,” he said again. He picked up the pigskin at his feet. “Don’t worry. I’m not that good.”

The boy turned around and ran into his house.

Matt blinked. “Uh, yeah,” he said to no one in particular. “Nice to meet you, too.” He shrugged and tossed his football into the air again. He could make it spin if he twisted his hands when he threw it, but he didn’t think that’s what he was supposed to do.

He closed his left eye and aimed at his mailbox. Whoosh! The ball left his hand…and missed the mailbox by three feet. He ran over and retrieved it. When he turned around, he yelped. The boy across the street stood there, right behind him.

“Oh, man,” Matt gasped. “You spooked me. Hey, I’m Matt.”

The boy opened his mouth. “Eh…”

Matt spotted a soccer ball in the boy’s hands. “Oh!” he said, “You want to play soccer?”

The boy held up his soccer ball. “Fútbol,” he said.

“You want to play football? So why’d you bring a soccer ball?”

“No, fútbol.” And he held the soccer ball up.

Matt nodded. “Oh, right—soccer in Mexico is called ‘football.’”

“Fútbol.”

“Right. I don’t think I can say it as good as you. No, I’m trying to play American football. What’s your name?”

“Eh…”

“Oh, I get it!” Matt interrupted him. “You don’t speak English, do you? Hey, no problem. Football is a universal language.”

Matt ran back a few feet. “Okay. Stand there. Now watch. You grip an American football like this. Then you pull back. Then…speedy delivery!” The football shot forward, missing the dark-haired boy by at least a foot. “Yeah…except it was actually supposed to come to you. I’m not that good.”

The boy chuckled, walked over, and picked up the ball. He rolled it around in his hands.

“C’mon, speedy delivery!” Matt called, and the boy threw the football back at him. It hit him square in the chest. Matt’s mouth dropped. “Hey, you’re good.”

Immediately Pastor Ruhlen’s words, “deep, wise, mighty and enganging,” flashed through Matt’s mind. “Okay, so you win the ‘mighty’ title.”

Matt threw him the ball again, underhanded this time. He motioned. “Go back. Back further.”

The boy turned around and ran to the far end of the yard. He turned and fixed his eyes on Matt.

Matt shouted, “Now speedy delivery!”

The boy whipped the football at Matt. It hit him square in the chest again, knocking the breath out of him. Stunned, Matt stood there for a moment.

“Hey, have you thought about trying out for the Culprits?”

The boy chuckled.

“That’s our school team. You’ll be going to our school, I bet. We could use someone like you. I mean, you probably couldn’t start until next year, but…”

Matt passed the ball to the boy. He ran and caught it. “Speedy delivery!” Matt cried, and it shot back like a bullet. Again Matt felt like someone had just socked him in the chest.

“You learned this in Mexico?”

“México,” the boy repeated.

“You have no idea what I’m saying, do you? Hey—I’m sorry about you moving in and all. It’s kind of my fault. I hope the house is nice.” Matt knew the boy couldn’t understand, but it helped getting it out in the open. “I saw your dad and you and your sister the other night. Your sister looks pretty. Nice! Pretty nice.”

“Hey, Matt!”

Matt turned to see Lamar and Gill. “Hey, guys, this is…well, I don’t know his name.” He lowered his voice. “He doesn’t speak a lick of English.”

The boy ran over and shook hands with Lamar and Gill. Gill tried his best to speak Spanish with an “Hola! Tacos es bueno! Mi casa su casa!”

The boy’s right eyebrow arched up.

Lamar put his hand on Gill’s shoulder. “I don’t think you’re helping.”

“You ought to see this guy toss a football,” Matt said.

Lamar’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Really.” Matt turned to the boy. “Hey, you ought to come to our football game this Saturday. I bet you’d like it.”

The boy smiled.

“That reminds me,” Gill said. “I have an idea for getting my dad his job back.”

“What’s that?”

“Well, we can do it at the game. Tons of people will be there, right? So we use the laptop to get my dad to foil the bad guys in front of everyone. Instant hero! What do you think?”

“In front of everyone? I think it sounds risky.”

“You sure your dad’s going to the game?” Lamar asked.

“Well, that’s not a problem,” Matt interjected.

“Right!” Gill exclaimed. “We can make him go just by typing it in the laptop. I mean, whatever Matt writes happens, so he’ll just write that my dad shows up.”

Matt and Lamar looked at the Hispanic boy. He just stood there, content.

“It’s all right,” Matt said. “But, Gill, we don’t talk about this stuff around anyone else.”

“Well, what do you think of my idea?”

Matt took the football out of the boy’s hands and motioned for him to step back. He ran across the yard again. Matt pitched him the ball, and he caught it in a dive.

“I told you, I think it sounds risky.”

“Hey, the best things in life are risky,” Gill pushed. “C’mon, we have to do something.”

“What do you think?” Matt asked Lamar.

“Um, speedy delivery!” the boy shouted and threw the ball at Matt.

Matt didn’t have to move much to catch the ball. It was a solid throw. Matt tossed it to Lamar, who passed it back to the boy.

“I don’t know. I don’t like the idea of using it until we know more about it.”

Matt paused. “Just hours ago, you said I should use it to ‘share goodness with others.’”

“I’m just saying, have a plan about how to use it before jumping into things,” Lamar said flatly. “Speedy delivery!” he shouted, and the boy threw him the football.

“You know, I wonder if I could change our score with it,” Matt said thoughtfully.

Gill laughed. “Yeah, you could give the Culprits six points for every touchdown you make for the other team.”

“Ha-ha.”

Lamar shot Matt a disapproving glance. “Man, that’s what I’m saying. If you’re not careful, you could mess more stuff up.”

Lamar tossed the football to the boy, who ran and caught it again. “Speedy delivery!” he called and threw it back, at Gill this time, who effectively dodged it.

“Look,” Lamar said. “I just think you need to set yourself some tight guidelines.”

“Some what?”

“Guidelines—about this laptop. This could be dangerous, Matt.”

“I’ve got it under control.”

“You’ve got it under control?”

“I’ve got it under control. There’s only one guideline: No one uses the laptop but me.”

Lamar put up his hands. “My point is, maybe we could come up with some kind of code, to be sure we do things right.”

“You don’t think I do things right?”

“Well, I don’t think I do things right 100 percent of the time. It would be good for all of us.”

Gill tossed the football back at the boy. It rolled through the air and missed him by a mile. He ran to get it.

Lamar continued. “Remember how Pastor Ruhlen said God gave us the Ten Commandments to use as guidelines for living? Well, I think we need some guidelines like that for our lives…to use with this laptop.”

“So…what? Like what?”

“I don’t know. You’re the writer. I just think we need to keep ourselves in check.”

“Hey,” Gill offered, “do you think that laptop can help us win the lottery?”

Lamar pointed his thumb at Gill. “My point exactly.”

Their discussion was interrupted when a female voice shouted, “¡Alfonzo! ¿Donde esta?”

Matt turned and saw her, standing on the porch of the old house. It was the girl he had written about. The girl with the long, straight, midnight black hair that tumbled down her back like a waterfall. As she headed their direction, Matt felt his knees getting weak and his head swimming. He—

“Speedy delivery!”

Whump! Out of nowhere, the football smacked Matt in the face, on the opposite side from where the door had hit him. Matt recoiled and crumbled to the ground. He fluttered his eyes and shook his head. When his eyes came back into focus, he saw her there, standing over him.

“You all right?” she asked.

Matt wasn’t sure if it was reality or his ears playing tricks on him, but her words really did drip like newly spun honey. He had never heard an accent quite like hers.

Holding his face, trying to open his left eye, Matt opened his mouth to speak. “Thhhh…” His mouth felt like it was full of cotton.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she apologized.

Matt shook his head. Lamar looked at Matt. Gill looked at Matt. The girl turned to the boy and shouted something in Spanish. He shrugged and walked over, picking up his soccer ball on the way.

“I’m really sorry,” she said again. “I see you’ve met my clumsy brother, Alfonzo.”

“Cool!” Gill exclaimed, giving Alfonzo a thumbs up. “We can call you ‘The Fonz.’”

Lamar shot Gill a look. “Let’s not call him that.”

Gill laughed. “Heyyyyyyyyy.”

“Well, we have to go,” the girl announced. “Papa has a lot of work for us.”

“Hey,” Lamar said, “we invited Alfonzo to a football game this Saturday night. He’s pretty good. It’s at 7:00.”

The girl spoke to Alfonzo in Spanish. He spoke back.

“That sounds like fun,” she said.

Matt yanked Lamar’s pant leg

“You can come, too,” Lamar said quickly.

Matt nodded vigorously, trying to keep from wincing.

“We’ll see,” she replied, giggling. “Sorry about the eye,” she said with a little wave as she followed her brother across the street.

Lamar locked arms with Matt and helped him up. “Bro, we need to talk.”

Gill helped, grabbing Matt’s elbow, then shouted to the girl, “Hey, what’s your name?”

As the girl and her brother entered their house, she yelled back, “Isabel!”

And Matt fell down again.

—     —     —

Matt’s mom and dad sat one on each side of his bed. Matt sat Indian-style at the head of the bed, holding a sirloin steak to each side of his face.

“I’m sorry,” Matt apologized.

“There’s nothing to be sorry about,” his mom affirmed. “I’m just glad these Hungry Man dinners were on sale last week.”

“Yeah, you’ll probably be the envy of your classmates,” his dad added. “Chicks dig scars.”

“Oh, please, Stan.” His mom pulled one of the steaks away and inspected Matt’s cheek. “I don’t think our Matt is interested in what his classmates think—especially girls.”

“Well, he’ll care soon enough. He’s thirteen now, you know.”

Here his parents went again—talking about him as if he wasn’t even in the room. His dad’s cell phone rang. In one swift move, he pulled it off his belt and checked the display. “Gotta get it,” he announced. As he stood up, the bed bounced. “Hey, Harry,” he said as he walked out of the room.

“So…are you interested in girls?” Matt’s mom asked.

Matt face scrunched up, which kind of hurt. “How would I know?”

“Well, when you are, you’ll know. Your knees will get weak, your palms will sweat, your mouth will go dry…”

“Great.”

“It sounds like being sick, but it’s not—it’s a good thing. But nothing to rush.”

Matt let out a long breath.

Matt’s dad entered the room again and reclaimed his seat on Matt’s bed. Matt and his mom bounced when his dad sat down. “That was Harry again.”

“Again?” Matt’s mom asked.

“Yeah. I don’t know what to do.”

“You going to have to let him go?”

Matt’s dad rubbed his temples. “I don’t know. That’s the last thing I want to do, but he’s pushing me.”

“I’ll get you some aspirin. You need any aspirin, Matt?”

Matt shook his head. His mom hopped up, and the bed bounced again.

“Can I ask you a question, Dad?” Matt inquired when his mom was gone.

“Shoot.”

“Well, do you ever feel bad changing someone’s life, like if you have to fire them?”

Matt’s dad looked at him for a moment and then looked at the floor. “It’s the hardest thing I do, Matt,” he said somberly. “I hate doing it, but sometimes I have to.”

“Well…after you fire them, if you had the opportunity to help them out and make things better, would you?”

His dad scratched his nose. “Sure, sure I would. But usually at that point, they don’t want my help. Still, I always pray that they keep their hope and find a job they really love.” He paused and then added, “Besides, I try to remember that because of what I do, I’ve been able to make a lot of people happy. And that’s very rewarding.”

“So if you could change things, you would. Even if it was risky?”

“If I could, I would. Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering.”

“Hmm.”

When his dad left the room a few moments later, Matt got up and closed the door behind him. He knelt down at the side of his bed, placed his face in his icy, meat-filled hands, and prayed. “God, thank you so much for everything you’ve been doing in my life. You’ve given me great friends, great parents, and a great laptop. I guess I understand why you gave me my parents and my friends, but I don’t understand why you gave me this laptop. Lamar says it’s because you wanted my life to be more interesting—well, it is. It definitely is. But, God, I don’t want to misuse this thing. I pray you will show me what I should do here. I’ve really messed up Mr. Gillespie’s life. God, help me to right that wrong. I know the Bible says you give wisdom to whoever asks, and I’m asking. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.”

For a long while, Matt knelt quietly with his head in his cold hands and listened for God to speak to his spirit. Sometimes when Matt prayed, he heard God right away. Other times, God wouldn’t say anything right away…instead, he would wait and say it when Matt was ready to hear it. But the longer Matt knelt there, the more convinced he was that he was supposed to use the laptop for good. God wanted him to use his words to make a difference.

Twenty minutes later, when Matt’s face was chilled numb, he stood up and logged onto the Internet. Since neither Lamar nor Gill was online, he created a simple message and emailed it to them. It said:

From:             Matt Calahan

To:                  Lamar Whitmore; Conrad Gillespie

Subject:          Saturday’s Game

We’re on for Saturday, guys. Get ready. I’ll come up with a plan. We’re going to get Mr. Gillespie’s job back.

6 - A Writer’s Prerogative

“My parents usually sit in section C,” Gill said, his ears wiggling. “Where are they?”

“Calm down.” Matt set down his hot dog, then pushed it back at Gill. “Ugh, I don’t want this. It’s making me sick.”

“It’s because you’re nervous, too!”

“I’m not nervous. I’m just not into hot dogs. You know what’s in these things?”

“Anyone who eats hot dogs knows better than to ask that question. Hey—that reminds me. How do you make a hot dog stand?”

“Take away its chair.”

Gill deflated. “You’ve heard that one.”

“Unfortunately. Look, you can stop with the jokes. We’re gonna get your dad his job back, and you won’t have to be a comedian.”

“So where’s the laptop?”

Matt looked behind him, where the bleachers were filling up. He turned back to Gill, who was standing in the Snack Shack, a little vending building sponsored by Enisburg Junior High. It specialized in selling chewy hot dogs, lukewarm nachos, melted candy bars, and Pepsi. Tonight Gill was filling in for Kirby Goodman, the usual junk-food vendor, just so they could have the use of the booth for their plan. Matt thought Gill looked ridiculous in his red-and-white striped apron and white paper cap that looked like a sailboat braving the sea of his red hair.

Matt slid his blue backpack off his shoulder and pulled out the hard plastic case holding the laptop. He placed it in Gill’s hands…but didn’t let go.

“I have your word that you won’t type anything in this?”

“Trust me. The last thing I want to do is mess with this thing.”

“I have your word?”

“Yes. Unless I win the lottery. Then you’ll know I lied.”

Gill slid the laptop behind the counter and popped the latches. He opened it up, pushed the power button and watched it boot, then stepped back.

“It’s not going to bite you,” Matt assured his friend.

Gill shrugged. “Never know.”

Suddenly a deep voice boomed, “Hey! What are you two boys doing?”

Matt and Gill nearly jumped out of their shoes. Lamar, standing right behind Matt, laughed. “Gotcha.”

“Not funny,” Matt chided.

“Awesome,” Gill cheered.

“C’mon, Matt, we gotta get ready,” Lamar said.

“I’ll be back when I can,” Matt told Gill. “Just pretend the laptop’s not here—but guard it with your life.”

“I’m not sure which is worse,” Gill said, “guarding the computer or feeding this food to the public.”

“Trust me, the food is worse,” Lamar answered. “Nice hat. Lemme know when you set sail.”

“Funny.”

—     —     —

Hulk Hooligan shoved Matt in the back, nearly knocking him off the bench. “Hey, I hear if we’re way ahead, Coach may put ya in to give the Roosters a fightin’ chance! Whatcha think about that, Calhan?”

“Cal-a-han,” Matt whispered, trying his best to ignore his thickheaded nemesis.

“Don’t pay any attention to him,” Lamar said.

“It’s kind of nice knowing I could give him a fat lip by just typing a word or two.”

Lamar looked at Matt, his head dropping.

“What?”

“Tell me you’re kidding.”

“What? It’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”

“You know you can never use that laptop for revenge,” Lamar whispered.

“I know, I know.”

Lamar shook his head.

“What?”

“Man, I’m just concerned you may be getting in over your head.”

“I’m doing fine. It’s just…everything has changed so fast.”

Lamar lowered his voice. “Dude! You’re just going through a rite of passage, leading your whole man into its destiny! Dude!”

Matt smiled.

“Hey,” Lamar added, “I’m just saying keep a cool head about all this and everything will work out tonight. You have everything in order?”

“Yeah, I wrote earlier that Gill’s dad would show up tonight.”

“Then what?”

“Then I improvise.”

Lamar’s forehead wrinkled. “You improvise?”

“Yeah. I’ll manage things as they happen. That way if someone reacts different than I expect, I can change it on the fly.”

“So by improvise, you mean you’ll make it up as you go along.”

“Every good writer improvises. It’s a writer’s prerogative.”

“A writer’s prerogative?”

“Yeah, you know,” Matt explained. “I’ve got an outline, but I don’t have the details worked out. The details will work themselves out as I write. Any good writer will tell you that the characters take on a life of their own. When I see what they do and hear what they say, I’ll form the story around that. That’s just the way it works.”

“Yeah, but this story’s real. A writer’s prerogative. I’m glad Gill isn’t here to hear this.”

“Yeah, he probably wouldn’t understand.”

“Imagine that. So how are you going to write the story as it happens if your laptop is in the Snack Shack?”

“Well, it’s not like I’ll be out on the field,” Matt replied. “I’ve got two black eyes, and last time I played I scored for the other team. As long as I’m on the bench, I can run over there whenever I want. Coach knows everyone goes over there for water. I’m covered. Believe me, it’s no big deal.”

“Well, here’s to all going well,” Lamar said, holding a fist in the air.

Matt knocked his fist in agreement and let out a long breath.

—     —     —

Evening games always seemed entirely different from daytime games. The players, for whatever reason, were especially pumped, probably because the stands were full and the air was buzzing with electricity. Even though the sun was still alight in the sky, the huge field lights were blazing, making it feel like a real football game—like a Super Bowl with 100,000 screaming fans. This was about as close as junior high football got.

Coach Plymouth was in rare form, angrier than usual on a game night. Matt knew it probably didn’t help that his star player was out with a knee injury.

Matt didn’t pay much attention, figuring whatever orders the coach was shouting had nothing to do with him. He peered back over his shoulder at his parents sitting together in their usual spot—where they could see him whether he played or not. He didn’t see Lamar’s mother in the stands, but she rarely made nighttime games. Lamar said she had to work and he understood.

Coach Plymouth barked a few more orders and announced the starting line-up. Matt wasn’t in it. He tried to feign surprise, then glanced back at the stands again. Where was Mr. Gillespie? It would be a wasted night if he didn’t show up.

Lamar was out on the field with the first play and seemed to be enjoying every minute of it. Coach told Lamar he’d play off and on, offense and defense, since he needed the players. Hulk was still sitting on the bench, because he always played defense. He wasn’t very fast, but he was the best blocker the Culprits had. In practice, Matt had been plowed down enough to know it was better to stay out of Hulk’s way.

As the Reynolds Roosters and the Enisburg Culprits beat up each other on the grassy turf, Matt kept peering over his shoulder. He scanned the crowd left, then right, then left again, hoping to catch Gill’s dad sitting somewhere or standing at the fence. But the longer he waited, the more nervous he became. Before long, he was tapping his leg anxiously. He even bit off one of his nails.

What if Gill’s dad didn’t show up? Matt hadn’t considered a plan B. What if the laptop didn’t work this time? What if Matt was all wrong about everything? He dismissed the thought. He was playing the “what if” game again—but Lamar was right: this time the characters were real. This time the possibilities affected people’s lives.

Matt stood up and paced. He looked at his parents. His mom, wearing an easy-to-spot yellow blouse, waved and yelled something. His father answered his phone.

Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed. The Culprits had played offense, defense, offense, defense. Lamar asked Matt if Gill’s parents had arrived yet. Matt sounded like a warped CD, saying no time and again. He wrung his hands, bit off more nails, and massaged the bruises on his face. By the end of the first half of the game, the Culprits were down 14-0, and Matt was oblivious to it. When the team broke for half time, Matt ran over to the Snack Shack.

Gill was handing out a platter of soupy nachos to someone’s grandfather when Matt arrived. The man stuffed his hand in his pants pocket, fumbled for change, then slapped exactly $2.45 on the counter and walked away. Gill added it to the shack’s stash.

“I need a hot dog,” Matt said, leaning on the greasy counter.

“I thought they made you sick,” Gill reminded him. “Don’t you know what’s in these things?”

“Hot dog?” Matt said again, not wanting to debate.

Gill snatched one off a rolling, steel rack and stuck it in a petrified bun. “You owe me a dollar,” he stated, handing it over.

“Where’s your dad?” Matt asked his friend.

“I thought you were supposed to bring him here. You have the laptop.”

“I typed for him to come here. Hit the clock key and everything. Where is he?”

“I don’t know. He said he’d come.”

“All right. Well, something isn’t working. I’m going to shut the laptop down.”

“Why?”

“Because we don’t need it until he shows up and I don’t want to waste the battery. It’s at half, and it’s my only one.”

Another customer arrived, this time a young man in his twenties. Colorful tattoos ran from his shoulders to his palms. Matt stepped aside and entered the Snack Shack from the back as Gill helped the man with his order. Matt could barely fit inside the small building with his friend. As he knelt to shut down the laptop, Gill squeezed around him to retrieve a large Pepsi and a Snickers for the customer.

“He gypped me a quarter!” Gill whined a moment later, thumbing through the change in his hand.

Matt looked up. “What?”

“That guy gypped me twenty-five cents!” Gill repeated. “Man, that’s gonna come out of my pay. Thief.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean to,” Matt said as he moved the cursor over to the “Shut Down” menu.

“How may I help you?” Gill asked.

Matt said, “You can’t. I’m get—” then realized Gill was talking to a customer.

“Oh, hey, I didn’t recognize you,” Gill said. “What was your name again?”

“Isabel,” replied a voice that sounded like newly spun honey.

Matt froze. He could see his heart pounding though his shirt.

Isabel? Isabel with the long, straight, midnight black hair that tumbled down her back like a waterfall?

“Alfonzo’s here, too,” she said. “See up there?”

Gill leaned forward. Matt stayed frozen under the counter. Gill waved.

“What’ll ya have?” Gill asked her. “Nachos? Hot dog? Pepsi? Matt?”

“Huh?”

Matt slugged his fist into Gill’s calf.

“Ow!” he cried.

“What?” Isabel asked.

“The game—I was just saying Matt’s playing. Lamar, too.”

“Oh. Um, I’ll have a hot dog and a Pepsi.”

“Coming right up.” Gill reached down, pulled the hot dog out of Matt’s hand, and set it on the counter.

“So are Matt and Lamar any good?” Isabel asked.

“Lamar’s really good,” Gill said, filling up a large cup with Pepsi.

“How about Matt?”

Gill set the Pepsi on the counter.

“Well, it depends on which team you’re on. Two dollars.”

Matt slugged him in the other calf.

“Ow!”

“Well, I look forward to seeing them play. See you later!”

Gill waved his fingers. A moment later, he looked down. “What are you hitting me for?”

Matt angled his head. “You are so going to pay for that.”

“What?”

“‘What’ll ya have? Nachos? Hot dog? Pepsi? Matt?’ What was that?”

“Customer service.”

“Ugh!”

A couple of players arrived, and Gill served them water. Matt shook his head. He could hear Coach Plymouth screaming again. He moved to shut the computer down.

Then he hesitated.

Then he heard the coach.

Then he peeked up over the counter. His fellow players jumped back. Matt smiled. He could see Isabel walking to her seat. He saw her brother in the stands. He saw his mother, looking for him. He saw his father talking on the phone. He zipped back under the counter.

He hesitated.

He placed his hands on the keyboard.

He hesitated.

Then he typed,

Coach Plymouth called Matt into the game. The crowd looked on in sheer anticipation. The second half began. Hike! The Roosters’ quarterback snapped a pass. Matt intercepted it! The crowd cheered! Matt ran down the field, the enemy lying waste in his path! Thirty! Twenty! Ten! Touchdown!

“What are you doing?” Gill asked.

Matt hit the key with the clock face. The golden clock flashed forward on screen. “A writer’s prerogative,” Matt answered. “I’m changing the story according to what the characters want.” Then he closed the laptop’s lid and bolted out the door.

7 - Catastrophe

“Matthew Calahan! Where is that boy?” Coach Plymouth yelled. “Calahan!”

Matt ran to the sideline, leaping over the bench on the way.

“You called, Coach?” Matt asked, half-wondering what he’d gotten himself into.

“Yeah, where you been? I’m gonna put you in the game.”

“Coach, the other team doesn’t need any more points,” Hulk pointed out. “We’re behind by two touchdowns.”

The coach stood there chewing his cheek for a moment, then, “Look, I’m the coach! We’re already losing the biggest game of the year. Let’s go for broke.”

Several Culprits mumbled to each other.

“Coach has lost it,” one sang under his breath.

“What?” Coach Plymouth challenged.

No one said a word.

Coach Plymouth motioned for them to huddle, and one by one, the Culprits thrust their hands to the center. Once they were stacked high, they all dropped their hands at once and shouted, “Go-o-o-o Culprits!” The team ran out to the field. Hulk shook his head and rolled his eyes as he passed Matt.

Lamar ran up and caught Matt’s arm. “You’ll do great, Matt,” he said. “Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” Matt replied.

Lamar held onto Matt’s arm. Matt tried to avoid making eye contact with his friend, but it was inevitable. Finally, as the team positioned themselves, Lamar whispered, “You always worry, Matt. You sure you’re…”

“What? Is it so unusual that Coach would ask me to play?” Matt said louder than he intended.

Four teammates standing nearby replied, “Yes.”

Matt ignored them. They would see. He could do it. He hoped. He tore loose from Lamar and quickly ran to his position on the field.

His mom cheered from the stands. His dad was still on the phone, but his attention was on the players. Alfonzo was stuffing Matt’s hot dog into his mouth. Isabel was clapping. Matt’s stomach tightened. He clenched his fists. He could do this. He could do it.

“Hut!” The Roosters’ quarterback received the football, and the play broke wide open. The Roosters were fast, the lights were bright, and Matt could barely tell who was running where. He ran across the field, hoping he didn’t look like a complete idiot.

“Umph!” shouted one of Matt’s teammates as Matt nearly knocked him down. “What’re you doing?”

Matt’s attention shifted from one player to another. He was in over his head. The quarterback snapped the ball dead center down the field. Matt ran in that general direction, hoping that at any moment now, the laptop would take over. There was no tingling sensation in his fingers or anything. He immediately had the sinking feeling he was out on the field alone.

Thump! A Culprit jumped up and knocked the football off its course. Matt caught someone’s foot and tumbled forward, completely off balance. The ball tipped off one hand, then another. A Rooster almost had it, but it popped into the air once more. Matt nearly wiped out but caught himself and pushed off the slick grass with his hand. He was straight again, catching his ground.

Fump! Whump! Matt looked to the left just in time to see the cascading football bouncing off one more hand as it came straight at him. He nearly ducked out of the way of the bullet but instead threw his hands up. The football came in lower than expected and hit Matt right in the forehead. He reeled back, his arms flailing forward. Suddenly, as if in slow motion, he felt the football rolling over his fingertips. He gripped his hands around it. The football rolled into his chest. Stepping forward slowly, Matt realized he had caught the ball.

He had caught the ball!

“I caught it! I caught it!” Matt cried.

The crowd erupted in cheers.

But all at once, Matt realized the Roosters were coming toward him. All of them were coming toward him. Matt screamed.

Boom! Boom! Boom! The ground shook. The Roosters stopped in their tracks as Hulk, the Jurassic boy wonder, took his place in front of Matt.

“I got ’em!” Hulk shouted. “Run!”

Matt ran.

“The other way!” Hulk shouted.

Matt turned around and ran the other way.

The field was open before him. A line of Culprits cheered him on, running with him toward the end zone. Matt looked at the stands. His mother was standing and cheering. His father was standing and cheering. Alonzo and Isabel were standing and cheering. Everyone was standing and cheering!

Thirty…twenty…ten…end zone! Matt spiked the ball. He did the chicken dance. He did the monkey spin. His teammates were all smiles as they ruffed up his hair and pushed him around. He had done it! Matt had made his first touchdown! Well, his first touchdown for his team anyway.

Coach Plymouth called the team to the sidelines and barked orders left and right. “Way to go, Calahan!” he congratulated. “Everybody take a lesson! Boy, what did you eat tonight?”

Smiling from ear to ear, Matt shrugged. “Well, I had a bite of a hot dog from the Snack Shack.”

“Well, go get another one!” Coach Plymouth ordered. “You’re going out there again!”

Matt knew the coach was probably joking about the hot dog, but he took the opportunity. He leaped over the bench and headed to the shack. He opened the door and slid inside.

“What’s going on out there?” Gill scratched his red head, then put his paper cap back on as Matt knelt down, popped open the laptop, and turned it back on.

“I made a touchdown,” Matt said, simply.

“For which team?”

“Very funny. I need another hot dog.”

“Okay. Hey, why is your face all red?”

“I caught the ball with it,” Matt said, looking at the laptop screen.

“Again?”

Gill scooted around Matt and plopped a hot dog in a bun.

“I’m glad you came back,” he said. “My parents just got here. They’re in section C. So what are you gonna write for my dad?”

“Huh?”

“My dad. He’s here.”

Matt stared at Gill for a second. “Oh. Right. Um. Okay, give me a sec.”

Matt stared at the computer screen. Then he wrote,

Mr. Gillespie surveyed the rowdy crowd. All he could think about was sending those Snoddinoaz aliens back to their home planet. They stole from the Happy Gas and cost him his job. He was finished playing games. It was time for those aliens to discover you don’t mess with Jason Gillespie: Law Enforcer.

Matt stopped and rubbed his temples. He could hear Coach Plymouth calling the team together.

It was about to happen. Gillespie was at the game, the police chief was at the game…and the Baker Boys were at the game. It was about to go down. Big time.

“What are you writing?”

“Don’t worry. This’ll be good.”

Out on the field, the coach was sounding gruff.

Meanwhile, Matt was a machine. For the remainder of the third quarter, the football went back and forth. Matt broke up a few pass attempts, playing an irreplaceable cornerback. Just as the crowd thought things were beginning to wear down at the end of the quarter, Matt intercepted the football and lateraled it back to Lamar, who brought it home. Touchdown! And the teams went into the fourth quarter tied. Suddenly it looked like it could be anyone’s game.

Matt hit the clock key, shut the laptop, and ran out of the shack.

“Where you going?” Gill yelled after him. “Did you fix everything?”

“Almost,” Matt said, running backward. “I’ll be back to finish it.”

“Do you have enough battery?”

“I told you, it’s at half!”

Thump! Matt hit the bench and flew over it backward. “Umph!”

“You get your hot dog?” Coach Plymouth asked, standing over Matt. He nodded. “Then what are you waiting for? Get out there, Calahan!”

Matt pushed himself up and entered the field. He lined up with his team, and the play started. Back and forth, the football changed hands, offense and defense switching out as needed. Occasionally Matt surveyed the stands to see his mom and dad totally into the game. It was the first time he saw his dad not talking on the phone for any period of time. And it was a special bonus to have the attention of Alfonzo and Isabel. Matt loved the cheers that rose both times he blocked the football.

At the end of the quarter, Lamar asked, “What’s going on?”

“Well, after this play I have to go finish the stuff with Gill’s dad.”

“I mean, what’s going on out here? I’ve never seen you play this good.”

“Oh…um…hot dogs?”

“You’re using the laptop, aren’t you?”

The second-string quarterback came rushing by, clapping his hands. “Heads up! Let’s go!”

Lamar and Matt took their positions.

“Hut-hut-hut!”

Matt’s adrenaline was pumping. This was it. This was the play. He was going to intercept the ball and pitch it to Lamar for a touchdown.

The quarterback dropped back, football in hand. He looked for his receiver while Matt lurked in the wings, reading the quarterback’s eyes.

Suddenly it was headed straight for him. Matt ran backward and then launched into the air. His hands caught the ball strong and secure. With the crowd cheering, Matt turned around and started running. Two Roosters were rushing him head on, but Matt wasn’t concerned. He’d written this play. He jumped and pitched the ball at the same time. It left his hands with a grace he’d never seen before and arced through the air, straight to Lamar. His best friend caught the football while running—a perfect lateral—and entered the end zone just as the referees blew their whistles, signaling quarter’s end. The score was 14-14. It felt good to play well. The teams ran to the sidelines.

“Good play!” Lamar said to Matt as they met up together. Matt smiled. Then Lamar stopped and said, “Wait—that was our play, right? Not the laptop’s?”

“What’s the difference?”

“What’s the difference?” Lamar echoed. “Well…I think using the laptop might be cheating.”

“We’ll talk about it later.”

Hulk threw his meaty arm around Matt’s shoulder. “Way to rock, Calahan,” he said, giving him a noogie. Then he left to give someone else a noogie.

Matt combed his hair back down with his hand and turned to Lamar. “He called me ‘Calahan.’”

Lamar nodded but looked concerned.

Coach congratulated Matt and asked him what was in those hot dogs. “I’ll go check!” Matt insisted and headed back to the Snack Shack before his coach could reply.

Gill was inside, looking nervous.

“Where have you been?” he cried. “You’ll never believe who else is here!”

“The police chief?”

“The—yeah! How’d you know?”

“I typed in for him to come earlier today. It’s part of the setup. He has to see your dad foil a crime so he’ll give him his job back.”

“This is all very confusing.”

“Don’t worry, Gill. It’s under control.”

Matt ducked under the counter again, opened the laptop, and continued his story.

Ex-policeman Jason Gillespie was enjoying the stellar performance of Matt Calahan at the game when something caught his keen eyes. There! At the Snack Shack! In the shadows! No, it wasn’t the awkward-looking character in the sailor cap. It was Police Chief McGaffigan! Someone was talking to him, looking rather suspicious. Most suspicious was the fact that the police chief had both his hands in the air while the other guy was thumbing through his wallet.

Seeing something amiss, Jason zipped over with pantherlike reflexes and put his index finger in the small of the bad guy’s back. “Stick ’em up,” he said, putting the baddie under citizen’s arrest.

“Citizen’s arrest?” Gill interrupted.

Matt turned the keyboard a bit to the side so it was harder for Gill to see the screen. “Writer’s prerogative,” was all he said.

When Mr. Gillespie realized the bad guy was a Baker Brother, he quickly tied his hands up using his belt.

Matt hit the clock key. “There,” he said. He needed to get back out on the field.

“But he hasn’t got his job back—and what about the other Baker Brother?”

Matt quickly typed,

The police chief was astounded at Jason Gillespie’s swift thinking. He offered him his badge back at once. Jason was about to take him up on the offer when Baker Brother #2 showed up to rob Gill. But Mr. Gillespie caught him in the act and pulled the same finger-in-the-back trick on the scoundrel. He gave up and Gill offered his shoelaces to tie him up. THE END and AMEN.

Matt hit the clock key again. “Okay, I’ve got to go.” Matt shut the laptop and shot out the door.

Coach Plymouth pinned him with a sideways glance and asked what was going on.

“Um…nothing…I just…love hot dogs!”

The coach stared at Matt for a long moment and then sent him out with the rest of the defensive team. Lamar asked Matt what was going on, and Matt told him Gill’s dad was about to get his job back. Lamar seemed pleased that the mess was about over.

The second half started, and the ball went back and forth between the teams. Whenever Matt was on the field, he noticed his mother, father, and new friends were watching. When he was on the sidelines, he tried to see what was happening at the Snack Shack, but nothing ever was.

Lamar didn’t say a word to Matt, but the look he gave him said exactly what his own conscience was saying: Man, you’d better be thinking twice about this jazz.

But what harm was being done? He was now the star of the game, best buds with the biggest guy on the team, and the one to help his friend’s dad get his job back. Back on the bench, Matt squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried to block out all the noise. When did life become so complicated? Then he remembered: Oh, yeah. It was when I turned thirteen.

Coach Plymouth called a time-out before the final two minutes of the game, and all the Culprits huddled together.

“All right, boys,” he stated plainly. “We’re still tied 14-14. We need this victory if we want to continue playing this year. So I need my best players playing their best. I want Hooligan in there. I want Whitmore in there.” The coach listed several more players; then he ended with, “And I want Calahan in there.”

Matt swallowed hard, shifting from one foot to another. He looked back at the Snack Shack.

“Um, Coach, I don’t know if, um…”

“You’ve had enough hot dogs, Calahan—get out there.”

“But I…I…” Matt shifted his feet again. Then he started dancing from one foot to another. He bit his bottom lip.

Coach Plymouth winced. “What now?”

“I’ve really gotta go to the bathroom! Really bad! Really bad!” Matt couldn’t believe he was lying. He’d never lied to Coach Plymouth before.

The coach spit and then said, “Go! But get back here fast!”

Matt avoided Lamar’s look, zipped over toward the bathroom, and then redirected to the Snack Shack, puzzled by the “Closed” sign hanging in the window. When he swung open the back door, he stopped in his tracks. There—stuck in the little room—were Gill, his dad, and Chief McGaffigan. All sitting on the floor with their hands and feet tied together with a belt and Gill’s shoelaces. Matt’s jaw hit the floor.

“What happened?” Matt’s eyes immediately went to the shelf. He sighed with relief when he saw the laptop was still there. He started untying Gill’s dad first.

“Pretty much what we thought would happen,” Gill responded flatly. Once Mr. Gillespie was free, he untied the police chief while Matt untied Gill.

“So what went wrong?” Matt asked.

“I’ll tell you what went wrong!” Chief McGaffigan shouted. “This inept ex-officer didn’t follow standard police procedure! He tried to apprehend two of the most dangerous men in town on his own and didn’t realize there was a third!”

“A third?” Matt cried.

The chief stormed out of the room, muttering. Gill’s dad ran after him.

“Pazow,” Gill said.

“Pazow?” Matt repeated.

“Remember the pazow in your story? You wrote something like, ‘Pazow, and they were transported out of the Happy Gas.’ Well, the pazow was delivered by the driver,” Gill explained. “The driver came in and hit my dad on the head. He did it at the Happy Gas and again tonight. We forgot about the driver.”

Matt’s head sunk. “Man, Gill, I’m sorry.”

“Me too. My dad will never get his job back now.”

“Calahan!” the coach yelled from the field.

Matt scratched the back of his head, knelt down, opened the laptop, and typed,

The Culprits won the game by three points when Matt intercepted the football and they kicked a field goal.

Matt hit the clock key and left the shack in a daze. He hadn’t considered everything that could go wrong. He had never imagined that he might not have complete control of his own story. A writer’s prerogative. How could he be so self-assured and let his friend down like that? He blew the one chance they had. Matt walked to the field and took his place in the game. The play began, and the crowd was cheering, on the edge of their seats. They had no idea that a crime had just been committed in the Snack Shack, fifty feet away.

Matt felt totally defeated. And stayed that way. Then, in the last thirty seconds, Lamar encouraged him to put his whole self into the game, just like Matt’s dad always said. And, for thirty seconds, Matt did. He caused an interception by blocking a pass with the back of his head. His teammate caught the deflected ball, and the Culprits kicked a field goal, winning the game by three.

The crowd was ecstatic. Matt’s dad was proud. His mother was emotional. Alfonzo was envious. Isabel had a twinkle in her eye. But Matt hardly noticed. His mind was elsewhere. He wasn’t sure if the Baker Brothers or he had committed the greater crime.

8 - Destiny Calls

After the 10:00 Sunday church service, Matt and Lamar sat in the back of the Enisburg Community Church auditorium, waiting for their parents to stop talking to everyone in the room. Gill didn’t come to church with them, which Matt thought was fine, because he might have just added salt to the wound. Lamar was bad enough. Right in the middle of the service, he’d shoved his Bible in Matt’s face time and again, pointing out Scriptures like Proverbs 11:2:

2When pride comes, then comes disgrace, but with humility comes wisdom.

“Thanks,” Matt whispered back sarcastically, more than once. “You don’t know how much this helps.”

Matt had to admit, he didn’t know what he was thinking the night before. He kept closing his eyes and opening them again, hoping it was all a dream.

Lamar nudged Matt in the ribs. “Oh, look! Verse six is right up your alley, too!” Matt reluctantly looked at the verse.

6The righteousness of the upright delivers them, but the unfaithful are trapped by evil desires.

“I think I’m done reading now.”

Lamar winked at him. “Lemme know when you’re ready for more. I’m really getting into Proverbs this morning.”

Matt slouched in his chair. Well, the good news was, things couldn’t get much worse.

“Hey-hey, guys!”

Matt looked up and saw his tan-skinned, Chia-haired youth pastor standing at the end of the row. His hair was oddly blue, and Matt was sure his pants were vinyl.

“Dudes, I’m so glad I caught you!” the pastor cheered, sliding and slipping into the row in front of them. He sat down sideways and nodded toward them.

“Hey,” Lamar said.

“Hey,” Matt said.

“Yo—I’m taking a poll: You dudes know any good locales for a youth group retreat? I kinda want us all to get away. Discover God and each other anew. Right? I’m thinking”—he stretched out his hands in front of him—“Father/Son Retreat.”

Matt and Lamar looked at each other blankly. Pastor Ruhlen grinned. In a fake English accent he asked, “So what’s goin’ on in yer lives, gents?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Lamar leaned forward.

Matt turned toward his friend. “Lamar…” he muttered.

Lamar continued. “Well, we’ve been thinking a lot about what you talked about last week in youth group.”

“Radical.”

“Yeah… So you were talking about the Ten Commandments and living holy, and I got to thinking that maybe we should make an honor code to live by, you know, so we have something to guide us”—Lamar looked at Matt—“in making important decisions. So we just wanted to see if you had any ideas of where we should start and what you thought about it.”

“Dudes!”

Matt and Lamar jerked back in surprise.

“So it’s a good idea?” Matt wondered.

“Good i—dudes, you’re following right in the Big Guy’s footsteps!”

“How’s that?”

“Well, God gave us the commandments to serve as our honor code. He wrote ’em down. Used his finger to burn ’em into stone. Pzzzap! Then, when Jesus came—he wrote ’em in our hearts.”

“So us wanting to write an honor code is doing just like he did.”

“Bing! And to do it right, you just gotta base it on his uncompromised Word—because it reigns supreme.”

Matt and Lamar nodded, not sure they were getting the whole picture.

“Words are powerful, man!” Pastor Ruhlen said. “Check it out.” The pastor pulled a Bible from out of nowhere and flipped to the beginning. He scrolled down the text with his finger and found the verse he was looking for. He flipped the Bible around so the boys could see. They leaned in to take a closer look.

“Check out how everything began.” He read from Genesis 1:3, “And God said, ‘Let there be light, and there was light.’”

Then he pointed to Genesis 1:6. “And God said.” Then 1:9. “And God said.” Then 1:11. “Then God said.” Then 1:14. “And God said.” Then 1:20. “And God said.” Then 1:24. “And God said.” Then 1:26. “Then God said.”

“That’s a lot of talking,” Matt pointed out.

“Right! God spoke all of creation into existence. His words are way powerful. Isaiah says his Word always does exactly what it says it’ll do. The book of John says Jesus is the Word. Then check this out.” He flipped through the pages to Hebrews 4:12. He pointed to the verse and handed the book to Matt.

Matt read aloud, “For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.” He paused and then read the verse again, this time to himself.

For the word of God is living and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart.

Matt felt a sudden inspiration inside, almost like he felt when he had opened his birthday present from his parents…or when he saw his dad watching him play football.

“This is it,” Matt whispered.

“This is what?” Lamar wondered.

“This is the key we’ve been missing. God’s Word is the measuring stick for whatever we do.”

“Right-e-o!” Pastor Ruhlen shouted, slapping the Bible shut. “We must judge our words, our actions, whatever we do, by what the Bible says—not by what’s worked for you in the past or what someone else has said—but by what the Bible says. It’s the only real Truth. It’s supreme Truth. Colossal Truth. Undisputable Truth. Uncompromised Truth. Infallible—”

“Truth,” Matt completed.

—     —     —

The next day after school, Matt, Lamar, Gill, and Alfonzo lounged in Matt’s bedroom. Matt sat in his writing chair, at his pinewood desk, staring at his closed laptop. Lamar lay on his stomach atop Matt’s bed, sketching on a pad. Gill was wearing a trench in the carpet as he paced. Alfonzo sat on the floor, rolling Matt’s football around in his hands.

“So you come up with a website name yet?” Lamar finally asked Matt, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, in my spare time,” he joked. “Well, actually, I keep thinking about the Luke 2:52 stuff. You know, how Jesus grew deep, wise, mighty and engaging. Well, we’re all growing like that, I guess, but each of us kind of leans toward one of those areas.”

“What do you mean?” Lamar asked.

“Well, you’re kinda deep, we’re always saying how everyone thinks Gill is so cool, Alfonzo is obviously strong—”

“And you’re wise?” Gill shouted, his face as red as a tomato.

“Well, we’re all all of those things, but, yeah, I’m—”

“My dad’s worse off now than ever before thanks to you!”

“We’re gonna fix that, Gill. I’ve just been learning.”

“Learn on your own time!” Gill stormed out of the room.

Matt, Lamar, and Alfonzo looked at each other.

Lamar let out a long breath. “He’ll come around.”

“You think?”

“He always comes around.”

Alfonzo shrugged and started flipping the football again.

“So what are we going to do?” Matt asked.

“I’ll leave that to you, the self-proclaimed smart one.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just mean we all have certain strengths…and weaknesses. I mean, I should have been deeper when it came to the laptop. I should have judged my actions by God’s truth.”

“Well, now you know,” Lamar said. “Now you can be smarter when you mess with destiny.”

“Destiny. You really think it’s my destiny to have this laptop?”

Lamar sat still for a moment, then said, “Well, Matt, what do you think? What do you really think?”

Matt let his breath slowly escape. He traced the outside of the laptop with his finger. He looked at Alfonzo, then back to Lamar.

“All I know is that things used to make sense. Ever since I got this laptop, everything feels out of sync. I’m thirteen and supposed to love being a teenager, but the rules have all changed—like I’m living in some kind of shift from reality. I just wonder if I’m supposed to have this laptop.”

Alfonzo sat on the floor, spinning the football, indifferent.

“Well,” Lamar said, “I still think it is your destiny to have the laptop. You just gotta keep the words you type in line. You gotta judge them with the truth of God’s Word.”

“Which takes us back to our honor code. Okay, I give in. We need one. So where do we start?”

“I think code number one should be that we pray and read the Bible every day.”

“Good one. Write it down, please.”

Lamar scribbled the code down on his scratch pad. “What else?”

“How about never cheat, steal, lie, cuss, or do stupid stuff?”

Lamar chuckled. “Sounds like the voice of experience talking.”

“Followed by making sure all of our words—written or spoken—are always well thought out.”

“And we need to do our best to follow the destiny God has for us.”

Matt nodded. “That’s a good one.”

Gill returned and crashed on the milk crate. His face wasn’t red anymore. “I’m sorry for yelling,” he apologized. “It’s just that I’m all out of jokes.”

“Thank God,” Lamar whispered under his breath.

“My dad just left,” Gill continued. “Mom says he hasn’t been able to find work all day, and he’s going to the bank to withdraw his savings. He’s really down. I just wish we could do something.”

“We’re going to do something,” Matt stated.

“We are?”

“Yes, we are.” Matt looked at Lamar. “So you really think I have this laptop so we can make the impossible possible?”

“Absolutely.”

Matt checked his watch. “Then let’s get down to the bank. It’s about time we turned things around.”

“Yes!” Gill said, excited. “See! You are the smart one!” Then, “Hey, this won’t be risky again, will it?”

As Matt grabbed the laptop, Lamar jumped up and put his arm around Gill’s neck. “Risky? The best things in life are always risky.”

9 - The Great Bank Robbery

A mile and a half away from Oleander Street was Security Bank—a trusted Enisburg institution, with friendly tellers, and ATMs peppered around town. This bank branch had five drive-through windows and a big lobby inside, where people sat on plush, burgundy sofas, waiting for approvals on their loans. Three tellers stood behind a counter helping customers with deposits and withdrawals and the occasional money order. Soft, soothing saxophone music hovered in the air, reassuring the customers that their money was safe with Security.

Matt, Lamar, Gill, and Alfonzo screeched their bicycle tires on the pavement as they swung into the bank parking lot. Moments before, the four boys had darted out of Matt’s house, grabbed their bikes, and high-tailed it to Security Bank, hoping to get there before Mr. Gillespie had left—and before anything critical happened. Just before leaving his bedroom, Matt started a new story:

Security Bank was usually a nice, quiet bank. But today it was about to go down in history. Today, it was the site where Jason Gillespie had a chance to become a hero. Today, the Snoddinoaz aliens were getting ready for another robbery…this time in a place more grandiose than Happy Gas. After all, you can only steal so much money from a place that sells nut rolls and M&Ms.

As they entered the parking lot, gasping for air, they saw Gill’s dad just entering the bank, a double cheeseburger in hand.

As the boys caught their breath, Gill asked, “Hey, what do you get when you cross a hamburger with an Apple computer?”

Matt winced. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“A Big Mac!” Gill said with a laugh.

Lamar put his hand on Matt’s arm. “Please tell me you’re going to fix all this so we don’t have to hear any more jokes.”

“You have my word.” Matt slid his backpack off his back as the boys locked their bikes up on the steel bike rack. Alfonzo locked up Matt’s bike for him as Matt booted up his laptop again. He could tell his new neighbor was enjoying being part of the group, even if he had no idea what was going on. Matt got his attention.

“We need you to stay here,” Matt said, emphasizing every word. “Stay here. Try to keep people from coming in. We need a point man. You understand? Stay here?”

Alfonzo stared blankly at Matt.

Matt pointed to the ground. “Stay here.”

Alfonzo pointed to the ground. “Aquí,” he said.

Matt turned to his friends. “Someone have the key to his lock?”

Gill laughed. “Good one!”

“What?”

“‘Aquí’ is the Spanish word for ‘here,’” Lamar interpreted. “Not a key—aqui.”

“Oh…good. Right. Aquí. And if you see aliens coming, knock on the glass, OK?”

Alfonzo twisted his lip. He pulled his football out from under his arm and tossed it in the air.

“Right. Aquí.” Matt saw that Mr. Gillespie was in line inside, chewing. He rolled his cheeseburger wrapper into a ball and tossed it into a nearby receptacle.

“Let’s go.”

Matt, Lamar, and Gill entered the bank quietly. Matt spotted two sofas across the room, back to back. One was facing away from the counter. He headed in that direction, and his friends followed.

“Wait!” Gill whispered, stopping them.

“What?”

“Well, maybe we should split up.”

“Why?”

“Because they always do on TV.”

Matt thought for a second. “Yeah, you’re right, we probably should. Okay, Lamar, you go over to the check counter. And start praying! Stay there in case we need you on the other side of the room.”

“You’re the boss.” Lamar moved to the center of the room, taking his place at the check counter.

“Gill, you and I will sit over here on these sofas. I want you on the one facing away. We don’t want your dad to see you and get flustered. I’ll sit on the other side, facing your dad, so I can see the action and change it as needed.”

“Okay. Hey, Matt, this is going to work…isn’t it?”

Matt started to shrug, then stopped. Instead he looked confidently into Gill’s blue eyes. “I believe it will,” he said.

Gill smiled.

—     —     —

The next couple of minutes seemed to last an eternity. Matt sat with his computer on his lap, staring at the document he had titled THE GREAT BANK ROBBERY. His heartbeat increased as he watched Mr. Gillespie move forward in line, closer and closer to withdrawing his savings. Lamar nodded encouragement from the middle of the room. Alfonzo stood quietly outside, tossing his football in the air, patroling the grounds. Gill kept asking what was going to happen.

Matt placed his cursor at the end of the last word he had typed so far and began to add to his story.

Jason Gillespie stood in line, ready to withdraw all his savings from the bank, when it happened.

“What?” Gill asked. “What happened?”

“Shhh!” Matt shushed. “I’m having to make this up as I go. I haven’t had time to prepare.”

“Oh, right, a writer’s prerogative.”

“That’s right.”

The Baker Brothers came into the building with their six-zappers.

“Everyone on the floor!” they shouted louder than if they were on a roller coaster. At once, they sauntered up to the pressed wood counter and demanded that the friendly teller put the bank’s crisp money into a burlap bag.

“You are so descriptive.”

“Thank you,” Matt said, hitting the clock key.

That’s when it happened. That’s when

“Wait!”

“Wait?” Matt asked Gill.

“This is making me nervous. I don’t want to know what’s going to happen.”

“Well…Gill…I have to type it to make it happen…” Matt said slowly.

“I’m going over there.”

“Wait! Gill!”

Gill jumped up and zipped across to the other side of the lobby, opposite Matt, leaving Lamar between them. With his bright red hair, Matt thought Gill looked like a running match.

Lamar held his arms up as if to ask, “What’s going on?”

Matt shook his head as if to say never mind.

Lamar laughed.

Mr. Gillespie was next in line. Matt looked at his laptop screen. He had already pushed the clock key. The Baker Brothers could burst into the bank at any moment.

A minute ticked away.

Mr. Gillespie was at the counter, talking to the teller. Matt watched the door.

Another minute passed.

Mr. Gillespie thanked the teller and turned around, counting his money. He shoved it in his pocket as he headed toward the exit. Gill spun around and dove into the bathroom for cover.

They couldn’t let him walk out of the building. Matt looked at Lamar.

Lamar looked at Matt.

Matt looked at his laptop.

“Mr. Gillespie!” Lamar shouted, jumping out in front of Gill’s dad. “Fancy meeting you here!”

“Lamar?” Mr. Gillespie said, stopping. “What…what are you doing at the bank?”

“Um…that’s a very good question.”

Matt leaned forward to hear better.

“I thought you and Conrad were at Matt’s,” Mr. Gillespie said.

“Well, we were.”

“Hmm.” Gill’s dad was obviously down in the dumps. “Well, see ya.” He started walking again.

Lamar looked over at Matt. Matt lifted his hands, not sure what to do. Lamar ran in front of Gill’s dad again.

“You’re looking very nice today.”

“Thank…you…” Mr. Gillespie said, halting again. “Say, are you feeling all right, Lamar?”

“Well, yeah, I—”

Bang! The bathroom door crashed open. Matt’s hands instinctively went to the keyboard as Gill tumbled out, stumbling over his feet. Right behind him were two men with stockings over their heads. Matt about choked. This was the first time he had seen the Baker Brothers, well, in person, and they seemed just as hardened and threatening as he had imagined. Still, they looked as though they had dropped in out of an old Western: one tall and lanky, the other short and squatty.

“Everyone! Down! On de floor!” Lanky shouted.

Squatty held Gill by the arm in a grip that had to be cutting off his circulation, Matt thought.

Five people waiting in line hit the ground. “Gill!” Mr. Gillespie shouted as Lamar pulled him down. Lamar and Mr. Gillespie ran around the check counter and knelt down. Matt dove to the floor, placing his laptop around the corner of the sofa. Gill mouthed the word help to Matt.

Lanky pressed up to the counter and threw a burlap bag at the teller. “Fill it up,” he demanded.

“I hit the silent alarm,” the teller said defiantly.

The robber laughed. “In dis town, it’ll take ’em five minutes to get here. We’ll be long gone by den. Fill it up! NOW!”

The teller obeyed, quickly stuffing fives, tens, twenties, and more into the bag.

Matt quietly scooted up to his laptop keyboard.

That’s when it happened. That’s when Mr. Gillespie found his courage. He got on his feet and faced the enemy head-on.

A warning message flashed across the laptop screen:

BATTERY LOW – RECHARGE IMMEDIATELY

Matt gasped. He remembered that at football game the previous night the laptop battery was low. And he hadn’t plugged it in overnight. Great!

Matt watched Mr. Gillespie. He waited. Nothing happened. Matt looked back at the laptop. He could have slapped himself. He’d forgotten to press the clock key. He hit it, and the cursor flashed gold and white.

C’mon…go to work, Matt thought.

Matt saw Mr. Gillespie look up at the cowards robbing the bank. His lips tightened, his face turned as red as the hair he had left, and his knuckles turned white. Squatty still held onto Gill, who was taking the situation like a sport.

Lanky finally snatched the burlap bag off the counter and nodded to Squatty. They started to head out when suddenly Lanky’s eyes grew wide. Even behind the mask, Matt could see the greed fill his eyes like a dog licking its chops. There was a huge, steel door to the left: the Security Bank safe.

“I want in dere,” he instructed the teller.

“Only the m-manager has the com-b-bination,” the teller stammered.

Lanky, clearly the brains of the operation, leaned in to the teller, pointing his gun at him. “Den get me de manager.”

“I’m the manager.” Nearby, a short, balding man wearing a three-piece suit slowly and bravely stood up.

“I want in dat safe,” Lanky said.

“Just promise me you won’t hurt anyone.”

Lanky grabbed Gill from Squatty. Gill yelped. “I won’t hurt anyone if you let me in de safe!”

Matt’s heart raced. Lamar looked at him for an answer.

God, show us what to do, Matt prayed. He knew he had to get rid of the guns—and fast.

A whisper seemed to cry out from inside him, and he heard the words, Judge your actions by the truth.

Matt closed his eyes. And there was the verse he had read only a couple days ago…a verse Lamar had shoved in his face after church: Proverbs 11:6. He struggled now to remember what it said…something about the unfaithful and evil desires. He opened his eyes and looked at Lanky. Yes! That was it…the unfaithful are trapped by evil desires…

The tall Baker Brother, consumed with greed, tossed his gun to the short and ugly one. Then he entered the safe to fill his arms with all the gold and silver he could embrace.

Another warning:

BATTERY LOW – RECHARGE IMMEDIATELY

“C’mon,” Matt whispered, “last as long as I need you.”

As the bank manager unlocked the safe door, Lanky approached. His eyes grew even wider as he spotted sacks of money, ready to be picked up by an armored truck. He turned to Squatty.

“Here,” he said, tossing his cohort his weapon. “I’m gonna need both hands.”

Squatty caught the gun and shoved it in his pocket. He grabbed Gill again, pushing him to the ground.

I don’t know what to do, God! Matt cried inside.

The verse came to his mind again, this time the whole thing, as clear as a bell: The righteousness of the upright delivers them, but the unfaithful are trapped by evil desires. Matt smirked, looked at the vault, and typed:

Mr. Gillespie, a man of honor and integrity, suddenly realized how to outwit the crooks. All he needed to do was trap them.

BATTERY LOW – RECHARGE IMMEDIATELY

“Get away,” Mr. Gillespie whispered to his son.

“Huh?” Gill whispered back.

“Get away,” Mr. Gillespie repeated.

Matt watched. Mr. Gillespie was mad now, Matt could tell. Good—he wasn’t going to take this much longer. Gill slowly scooted across the floor toward Matt.

Lanky entered the vault just as Squatty spotted Gill moving. Squatty turned and pointed both guns at Gill. “Stop movin’!” he shouted.

“Leave him alone,” whispered Jason Gillespie.

The bank robber moved toward Gill’s dad, stepping between his feet. His face scrunched up behind his stocking mask. “What did you say, old man?”

“I said, leave my son alone!”

Crack! Mr. Gillespie threw his feet sideways, sliding them right under Squatty’s legs. Squatty came tumbling down, dropping his gun. He hit the ground, rear end first, but then Jason Gillespie threw his weight against the crook, knocking him back. Before the crook knew what hit him, his head hit the floor with a smack, and he was knocked unconscious.

Whoosh! Lanky whirled around in surprise, obviously shocked that his partner was taken down. He started to charge forward just as Mr. Gillespie locked eyes with the bank manager. “CLOSE THE VAULT!” he shouted. Not wasting a split second, the manager pushed on the door and—SLAM—the vault was closed, the thief trapped inside.

Mr. Gillespie ordered Lamar to throw him the pens on the check counter—the ones attached by metal cords. Lamar ripped the cords off the counter and tossed them to Gill’s dad, who proceeded to tie up the prisoner. At once, it was over.

“You did it, Dad!” Gill cried, jumping up and giving his dad a hug.

His dad hugged him back, telling him he was so glad he was safe. Then Gill and Lamar charged over to Matt as everyone else started to stand.

Mr. Gillespie picked up Squatty’s gun and asked, “So I wonder where the third one is?”

Gill looked at Lamar. Lamar looked at Matt. Matt looked outside. Alfonzo was waving furiously. Someone was entering the building. He wore a short, black jacket, and a stocking covered his face, distorting it grotesquely. He was bigger than the other two Baker Brothers, and he was obviously part of the plan. And he had his handgun drawn, pointed right at the group of law enforcers. Matt gulped. Pazow.

10 - To Serve and Protect

“Everybody down!” the third robber cried, angrily.

Everybody hit the ground again.

“Throw yer gun down!” he shouted to Mr. Gillespie.

Gill’s dad carefully tossed the gun aside.

Matt typed:

Suddenly the robb

And the screen went black. Matt stopped typing. His mouth went dry. He pressed the power button twice. Nothing.

“What happened?” Gill whispered.

Matt slapped the laptop. Still nothing.

“It’s the battery!” Matt cried in a hush. “It’s dead!”

“Didn’t you pack an extra one?”

“I don’t have an extra one!”

“And you didn’t recharge the one you had?”

Matt bit his lip. “Oops.”

“Oops? Do something, Matt!”

“What can I do? He’s got a gun!”

Robber #3 turned to Matt. “Shuddup, kid!” he shouted.

Matt quickly obeyed. Then the robber ordered Mr. Gillespie to untie his partner. Gill’s dad hesitated, but when the criminal raised his gun, he followed his order. Squatty was groggy but coming to.

“Where’s Randel?” asked the robber. No one in the room said a word. He kicked Squatty and repeated the question. Squatty rubbed his head and then pointed to the safe.

“Open it!” the robber shouted. “Open it now!”

Matt looked around the room for anything to give them the advantage. Once the safe was opened, it was all over. Three bad guys with guns would be too much for them to handle. But there was nothing inside the bank to help. Nothing inside…

Matt’s eye caught Alfonzo standing outside, watching what was happening, looking worried. And suddenly he had an idea. He made a hand motion of throwing a football. Alfonzo’s face scrunched up. He didn’t understand.

“Pass!” Matt whispered.

Alfonzo blinked.

Then Matt shouted, “Speedy delivery!” causing the big bank robber to turn. Instantly a wide smile covered Alfonzo’s face.

At once Alfonzo swung open the glass door. The thief pulled his gun off Mr. Gillespie and turned it on the boys. He had barely caught his bearings when he saw the football flying through the air straight at him. Instinctively he ducked and dodged Alfonzo’s excellent throw.

Gill’s dad, though, got into college on a football scholarship, and he caught it straight on.

In an instant, Mr. Gillespie flipped it around and whipped it forward, directly at the big bank robber’s hand, catching him off guard. With a crack the thief fumbled the gun, and it tumbled onto the floor. Jason Gillespie jumped up and dove for the gun. He grabbed it and spun around, pointing it directly at the robber.

“Freeze!” Gillespie shouted, because even former-police officers do. He held the robber in his sight.

Suddenly the bank was quiet.

And then a handclap.

And then another.

And another joined them.

Soon the whole bank was clapping in relief at the heroics of Jason Gillespie and the boys.

Sirens blared outside, and two officers ran into the bank. They didn’t waste any time handcuffing Robber #3 and Squatty. Then they opened the vault and arrested Lanky, the brains of the operation. He yelled and screamed more than the other two, probably, Matt thought, because he was embarrassed at getting locked up during a robbery.

Matt closed his laptop and sat on the sofa, letting his heart calm down. Gill ran over and hugged his dad.

“Wow! That was great!” Lamar exclaimed. “I loved it how you made Gill’s dad catch that football and throw it at the thief’s gun! Very cool! You know more about football plays than I thought!”

“Um…actually,” Matt admitted, “he did pretty much everything on his own. All I had to do was give him a little courage.”

Alfonzo joined his friends and gave Lamar a high five.

“Way to pass,” Lamar said. “You have a real natural ability. We have to get you into the Culprits.”

“Hey, I’m ready,” he responded.

Matt blinked.

Lamar blinked.

Matt’s jaw dropped.

Lamar’s jaw dropped.

“You did not just speak English,” Lamar said.

“I don’t believe it,” Matt added, pushing his mouth back up.

“I know a little English,” Alfonzo stated with a smile.

“You’ve been able to speak English this entire time?” Matt asked.

Alfonzo nodded.

“This whole time?” Lamar confirmed.

Alfonzo nodded again. Then he leaned in and whispered, “Don’t worry. I can keep a secret.”

Matt and Lamar shook their heads and laughed.

“Welcome to the club,” Lamar said.

The three boys walked over and joined Gill and his dad.

The bank manager rushed over and grabbed Mr. Gillespie’s hand. “I don’t know how to thank you enough,” he said, shaking Gill’s dad’s hand vigorously.

“Not necessary,” Gill’s dad said. “Unless, of course, you have a job opening.”

The manager fumbled for words. “Are you serious? You need a job? We’ve been looking for a security guard. Do you have any training?”

“Are you serious?”

“Well, every day isn’t as exciting as today, but we offer great benefits—good pay and weekends off.”

Mr. Gillespie looked at Gill and squeezed his son’s shoulder. Then he turned back to the bank manager. “Sir, you’ve got yourself a deal!” The men shook hands again.

Matt watched as the most rewarding smile filled Jason Gillespie’s face. Matt’s heart soared.

“You did it, Matt!” Gill whispered. “You did it!”

Matt felt a lump in his throat. “Really, I don’t think I did that much. He just needed a little help…I—”

“You made the impossible possible!”

Matt couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This was more than just making the impossible possible. This was amazing. This was unbelievable. This was incredible. This was…

“It’s a dream come true,” Gill’s dad said.

—     —     —

“Hut one! Hut two! Hut-hut!”

That Saturday, the last game before the playoffs began, it was the Enisburg Culprits vs. the West Lake Rockets. When the players had showed up for pregame practice, everyone except Matt seemed a bit surprised when Coach Plymouth pointed to a mountain of Snack Shack hot dogs stacked on a cardboard table. He made everyone eat at least two before he threw the players out on the field.

Matt’s parents were in the stands, and Lamar’s mom made it, too. Gill’s parents came late but were cheering as well. Matt and Lamar sat on the bench as the offense played. They scooted over when Alfonzo came and sat down beside them.

“Hola,” he said. Then, looking around, he asked, “Hey—where is your laptop, Matt?”

“It’s at home,” Matt answered.

Lamar’s eyebrows shot up. “You sure that was a good idea? Soon Coach is going to put you in the game, and someone might throw the ball to you. Man, without the laptop…”

“It’s all right,” Matt said. “Today I thought I’d try playing on my own.”

Lamar nodded. “All right.”

The game went back and forth into the last two minutes of the final quarter with the score tied 7-7, and Matt hadn’t played half-bad. During a time-out, with the offensive team brought together in a huddle, Coach told the quarterback to drill it to Lamar. “Then,” Coach said, “Lamar, I want you to lateral to Matt. Just like before.”

Lamar looked at Matt.

“I’ll do my best,” Matt said.

“I know you will,” Coach Plymouth said, shoving a hot dog in Matt’s face. “You’re our secret weapon.”

“Greaaaaat…” Matt responded.

The players stacked their hands, shouted “Team!” and ran onto the field, taking their positions. Lamar played split end, flanked by Matt.

Matt looked at the stands, where his mom and his dad were giving him their wholehearted attention. Lamar’s mom and Gill’s parents were watching intently, too. And so was Isabel. Matt felt his hands begin to sweat as part of him wished he had the laptop to back him up. He mustered all of his courage and waited.

“Hut one! Hut two! Hut-hut!” The quarterback took the snap. Lamar looked left, reading the defense, and then rolled right. He found the route he wanted and took the hole at full speed. He caught the pass from the quarterback and started running. The heat was on, and the Rockets were coming at full force. When Matt saw the opportunity, he threw up his hands.

“Lamar!” he shouted. “Now! Lamar!”

Lamar spotted him, and the opportunity was right. He pitched the ball, and it sailed through the air.

While running perfectly in stride…Matt caught it!

He caught it!

With his face!

“UPH!” Matt shouted as he stumbled backward, hitting the ground. He was stunned and groggy for a moment. He managed to sit up on his elbows long enough to see the football, which had bounced off his face, intercepted by a nearby Rocket…who managed to run it down the length of the field for a touchdown. The crowd cheered for the Rockets. They had done it. They had won the game and would go on to the championships.

“Nice catch, Calhan!” Hulk Hooligan walked by, shaking his head.

“Cal-a-han,” Lamar corrected Hulk, helping Matt stand up. “You all right?”

“Yeah, I tink so,” Matt replied, his nose burning.

“Let’s get you off the field,” Lamar said, helping his friend to the bench.

Coach Plymouth threw the remaining hot dogs in the trash.

Matt sat down beside Alfonzo for the last minute of the game. A moment later, Matt felt a soft hand on his shoulder.

“Gill said you’d want these,” Isabel stated simply as she smiled at him and handed him two frozen hot dogs.

“Thhh…” was all that came out as he took them from her.

She smiled sweetly and walked away. Matt turned and waved to Gill and his parents, who all waved back.

As Matt watched the Culprits and Rockets play the remainder of the game, he smiled as best as he could with frozen hot dogs pressed against each side of his nose. He had lost…lost for his whole team. But it didn’t bother him as much as it had before. Because at least he could say he had played honorably.

He looked back at the stands once more. His mom winced, and his dad gave him a thumbs-up. Lamar’s mom blew him a kiss. Mr. Gillespie had his arm around his wife, and he and Gill laughed and waved.

Suddenly, without warning, it happened.

It hit him.

That feeling.

That feeling that everything was just as it should be.

It was back.

Matt put the hot dogs down, closed his eyes, and put his hands out in front of him. He typed in the air, just like he typed on his laptop. Yes, it was back.

Everything was just as it should be, even though everything had changed. Suddenly, with the help of an amazing, happenstance gift, life was beginning to make sense again. And turning thirteen didn’t seem all that bad.

Epilogue

After the game, Matt Calahan sat at his pinewood desk in his room and opened the window. He popped open his laptop and booted it up. A warm breeze blew in as Matt’s fingers started typing. He wasn’t writing a story this time—that would come later. He looked at Lamar’s scribbling on the few scraps of paper that lay beside his laptop—the honor code. He typed:

- Pray and read the Bible every day.

To which he added:

(Duh!)

Then:

- Do my best to follow the destiny God has for me.

- Make sure my words—spoken AND written—are always well thought out.

Matt let out a long breath. Boy, he needed that one. Then:

- Never cheat, lie, steal, cuss, or do stupid stuff.

- Always put my whole self into the game.

- Use my talents and abilities for helping others.

- Be a good friend and hang out with good people.

- Defend the underdog.

Matt sat and looked at the words on the screen for a long time. Each line of the code seemed very personal to him because each held a truth he had discovered within the last week. He and his friends would live by this honor code. They would judge their actions by these biblical truths.

Matt saved the document as HONOR CODE and then connected to the Internet to see if his friends were online. Lamar was online but not Gill.

MattC:            Hey whazzup?

Lamar:           whazzup?

MattC:            I got the honor code done. I’m ready to post it to r website.

Lamar:           cool. U come up with a name for r site?

MattC:            I think I did.

Lamar:           what’s that?

MattC:            How about “QoolQuad.com”?

There was a long pause and then:

Lamar:           hey…i really like that! go matt!

MattC:            [Elvis] Thank you. Thank you very much.

Bing!

* GillDaMan is online. *

GillDaMan:    hi im on and so now everything is cooool

Lamar:           matt came up with a website name

GillDaMan:    whats that?

MattC:            It’s a name for our website.

GillDaMan:    very funny ha ha what is it

MattC:            QoolQuad.com

GillDaMan:    AWESOME! WHOO-HOOO! I LIKE IT!!!! DUZ ALfonzO LIke it

MattC:            Still have to ask. I’m registering, then putting our honor code up first thing.

GillDaMan:    o wait i have 1 more code 2 add 2 it

MattC:            What’s that?

GillDaMan:    always pack an xtra battery

MattC:            LOL

Lamar:           HA-HA!

GillDaMan:    hey did u guys c coach aftr the game he was UPSET

MattC:            ’Cuz we lost?

GillDaMan:    no somthing is wrong some1 said the principle was gonna fire him becuz he was changing test scores

Lamar:           changing scores? Coach?

GillDaMan:    yeh 2 keep certain people on the team but we cant lose coach i think he was FRAMED!!!

MattC:            Framed? By who?

GillDaMan:    ill tell you tomorrow we have to fix it with ur laptop

Matt nodded. Now that could be interesting. Let the adventures begin…

A few minutes later, he signed off. But before shutting down, since he was still on the Internet, he decided to check again to see if he could find out anything more about his Wordtronix laptop. He typed WORDTRONIX into the search engine once more and came up with the same two results.

2 matches found.

http://www.wordtronix.com — Welcome to Wordtronix regist…

100% Match 1 of 1

http://www.civd.org/wordtronix — If you’ve come here, then I…

100% Match 1 of 1

End of matches.

Matt read the eerie warning letter again and shook his head. The words echoed in his mind: “If you’ve come here…I must be dead…I hope to God they don’t find you…They want their laptop back, whatever the cost…Don’t be fooled…You have power in your hands.” It didn’t make sense. It had to be a mistake. Matt hit the back button and clicked on the link to the Wordtronix registration site. It brought up the familiar Wordtronix logo and welcome line, but the registration form was gone. Matt swallowed hard.

The page had been updated. It said:

Welcome to

Wordtronix

Registration

Hello, Matt C. We see you started to enter your Wordtronix registration. Please feel free to continue. The benefits are unequaled. You will discover the kind of power your new laptop is truly capable of…we guarantee it.

Matt felt his stomach twist at the words. Why had he typed in his first name? Why were they so eager to seek him out? Matt scrolled down, and another line popped up.

And remember—if you choose not to complete your registration, we will go to great lengths to find you. We want what is best for our customers. You can trust us.

The words made Matt shiver. He had had enough. He closed down his browser. All they had was “Matt C.” How much harm could that be? Surely that would lead them nowhere…right?

Matt cooled down and let out a long, deep breath. He opened his word processor and put his fingers on the keyboard. For the first time in days, he was ready to write a story. Not a story to make something happen. Not a story to analyze the many thoughts running through his mind. Just a fun story that would never come true. For now, saving the world could wait.

Matt sat back in his chair and began to run though some “what if…?” scenarios.

What if a carousel horse came to life and took its rider to France?

What if a fly never learned to fly and had to live its life on the ground?

What if…

There was one “what if…?” Matt finally knew the answer to: “What if you could make dreams come true?” He would never have to wonder that again.

The QoolQuad Honor Code

by Matt Calahan, Esq.

We, the QoolQuad, will aim to become deep, wise, mighty and engaging just like Jesus did (Luke 2:52). We will each hold ourselves to this code:

- Pray and read the Bible every day. (Duh!)

- Do my best to follow the destiny God has for me.

- Make sure my words—spoken AND written—are always well thought out.

- Never cheat, lie, steal, cuss, or do stupid stuff.

- Always put my whole self into the game.

- Use my talents and abilities for helping others.

- Be a good friend and hang out with good people.

- Defend the underdog.

- Always pack an extra battery.

About the Author

For two decades, Christopher P. N. Maselli has been sharing God’s Word with kids through stories. He has authored more than 50 books, including the Amazing Laptop series, the Commander Kellie and the Superkids Adventures and more.

With a Masters of Fine Arts from Vermont College, Chris lives in Fort Worth, Texas, with his wife, Gena, and their three children. His hobbies include running, playing hide-and-seek with his kids, collecting It’s a Wonderful Life movie memorabilia, and “way too much” computing.

Visit his website at ChristopherPNMaselli.com.

Other books by Christopher P. N. Maselli

The Amazing Laptop series:

1 – Reality Shift

2 – Double Take

3 – Explosive Secrets

4 – Power Play

5 – Dangerous Encounters

6 – Hot Pursuit

7 – Choke Hold

8 – Shut Down

The Commander Kellie and the Superkids adventures:

1 – The Mysterious Presence

2 – Quest for the Second Half

3 – Escape From Jungle Island

4 – In Pursuit of the Enemy

5 – Caged Rivalry

6 – Mystery of the Missing Junk

7 – Out of Breath

8 – The Year Mashela Stole Christmas

9 – False Identity

10 – The Runaway Mission

11 – The Knight-Time Rescue of Commander Kellie

Want to write a children’s book?

Chris teaches writers regularly through an interactive system on the Writing Momentum website, as well as at writer’s conferences nationwide. Visit WritingMomentum.com for details!

Table of Contents

1 - The Secret Weapon

2 - Alien Attack!

3 - The Amazing Laptop

4 - Discoveries and Warnings

5 - The Plotting Thickens

6 - A Writer’s Prerogative

7 - Catastrophe

8 - Destiny Calls

9 - The Great Bank Robbery

10 - To Serve and Protect

Epilogue

The QoolQuad Honor Code

About the Author

Other books by Christopher P. N. Maselli

Want to write a children’s book?

Table of Contents

1 - The Secret Weapon

2 - Alien Attack!

3 - The Amazing Laptop

4 - Discoveries and Warnings

5 - The Plotting Thickens

6 - A Writer’s Prerogative

7 - Catastrophe

8 - Destiny Calls

9 - The Great Bank Robbery

10 - To Serve and Protect

Epilogue

The QoolQuad Honor Code

About the Author

Other books by Christopher P. N. Maselli

Want to write a children’s book?