The Boy in my Locker
SERIAL STORY CHAPTER 7: ENERGY
Truent opened the locker, peering over notebooks and my school bag. He stepped onto the raised ledge and poked his head inside, carefully studying the screws and hinges.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m not sure.”
I straightened my mirror and tapped it a couple times. “Are you looking for this?” Truent stepped back and rubbed his chin again. “Fascinating.”
“So? How are we going to save your friends?” I asked.
“I need to harness more energy to go back. At this point, it’s too risky. The DM is imbalanced. It could rupture the cosmic force connecting our worlds. The transversal thread is too weak to hold everyone’s mass.”
I threw my hands up. “I have no idea what you just said.”
“We need more energy to get back to Othello-3, Ms. Aubrey.”
“And do you have a plan to get past those ‘Darth Vader Sneakers?” I asked.
“DM. Dark Matter.”
“Right, Dark Matter Sneakers.”
“Seekers,” replied, Truent. “Dark Matter Seekers.”
I soaked in a big breath and looked to the boy.
Truent.
Was he an alien? What if we can’t save his friends? What if they get eaten? What if Truent is stuck here? Where’s he going to live?
“You talk funny,” I said, finally.
“So do you,” he replied. He pulled open one of the classroom doors and peered in. “What are these rooms used for?”
“Learning.”
He rubbed the frame and then sniffed his finger again. “Fascinating.
And those metal pipes up there. What are those?”
“Air ducts,” I replied.
He stood underneath one of the vents and paused, holding his hands up over his head. “Fascinating. Filtered air. Clean, filtered air. How are you able to produce air? How do you keep it so clean?”
I pointed to the window at the end of the hall. “We don’t have to. It comes from outside.”
He scratched his head, forcing a cloud of dust to escape from his hair and fall to the floor. “You mean you can breathe the air outside?”
“Yes.”
“Fascinating.”
Footsteps echoed out around the corner. “Quick, hide, someone is coming.” I pulled Truent into the teacher’s photocopy room and ducked down under one of the tables. Suddenly, we found ourselves in reverse roles. Suddenly, we found ourselves hiding on my planet.
“Do you have DM Seekers too?” Truent whispered to me.
I put my finger to my mouth and shook my head. “No.”
***
We sat in silence for several minutes as more students wandered past us in the hall. I checked the clock on the wall.
2:45 PM.
What? Where did the last five hours go?
“I like your uniform,” Truent whispered.
“My uniform?” I looked down at my faded pink shirt and shook my head. “Thanks.” I didn’t feel like explaining that it was simply a used t-shirt that my mom picked up because she couldn’t afford to go to real stores.
Another minute passed.
“I hear something, Ms. Aubrey,” Truent touched the wall. “I feel it too.”
I closed my eyes and listened.
The floor vibrated.
“It’s that sound,” Truent said. “It’s that beautiful sound I hear each day.”
“It’s music,” I replied. “It’s coming from Mr. Meebly’s music room.”
Truent’s shoulders lowered. He closed his eyes and lifted his head.
“Music.”
“Yes,” I replied. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“It is, Ms. Aubrey. I especially love that one sound.” Truent held his hand up and listened again. “There. That sound.”
A rich, vibrant tone filtered into the room. It gave me goosebumps when I heard it—along with envy and frustration.
“That’s Charlie, no doubt. He plays the trumpet. I do too, but he’s better. Way better.” Truent turned to me. “What do you mean?”
“I play the trumpet as well. But I’m terrible. I ruined the Spring Concert. I embarrassed myself, and the entire band. The only way I can overcome this is if I redeem myself at the end-of-the-year concert. I just hope Mr. Meebly will let me do another trumpet solo.”
“Trum...pet?”
“Yes, trumpet. That’s the sound you’re hearing.”
“Is it loud?” Truent asked.
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Really loud?”
“Yes.”
“Fascinating.” Truent pointed at me. “Sound energy. You can blast your musical instrument into the locked compartment.”
“My locker?”
“Yes. There should be enough energy produced to open the window and enough to get us back.”
“My trumpet?”
Truent jumped up, whapping his head on the edge of the table. “Yes, your crumpet.”
“Trumpet,” I corrected.
“Right. Trumpet. We’d need to repress enough for the trumpet to withstand the crossover, but it’s possible. There aren’t any electrics to get damaged.”
I shrugged. “Again, I have no clue what you’re saying.”
Truent pulled me up and shook my arms. “With enough sound pressure, density of air, and the projection pattern of the instrument we should be able to produce at least a hundred and thirty decibels. That’s all we’d need, Ms. Aubrey. A hundred and thirty. No more, no less.”
“English, please,” I said, feeling my chest tighten.
“Your trumpet is loud, yes?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Sound is energy, yes?”
“Yes,” I replied again.
“I need lots of energy to pull me back to my planet. Yes?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“Your trumpet might save my tribe.”
To be continued May 1.
I hear something, Ms. Aubrey...