Kilenya Series Books One, Two, and Three (47 page)

“Kevin—hay bale,” was all Jacob needed to say.

Matt scrambled to his feet, the book falling. “Let’s go.”

They ran downstairs and out the back door, grabbing dark hoodies from the mud room on the way. This wasn’t the first time Kevin had played a prank with a hay bale, but unlike last time, the Clark brothers had a plan.

Jacob sneaked around the house and ran along the fence to where it met the road, while Matt ran to the storage shed to start connecting hoses. Peering over the top of the fence, Jacob saw Kevin and his friends—dressed in black—unloading the hay bale only four hundred feet down the road from Jacob’s house.

This would be easy.

Jacob returned to the back of the house and dashed into the shed to help Matt.

“They’re not smart—only four hundred feet or so away,” Jacob said.

Matt laughed. “Idiots.”

They connected the last hose, making one long, five-hundred-foot hose. They’d stocked up on one-hundred-foot-long hoses for this very reason. Jacob grabbed the fire hose nozzle and attached it to the end.

They ran around to the irrigation pump, connected the hose, then turned it on full blast. Matt kinked the hose to build water pressure and the brothers jumped the fence, entering an orchard on the other side. Using the trees for cover, they ran at a low crouch, careful not to be too noisy.

When they got to the edge, they were only fifteen or so feet away from Kevin and his friends, who were just starting to light the hay bale.

Jacob held the hose to help support it, and together, the brothers jumped out of the orchard. Flame was just bursting from the bale, shooting skyward. Matt let loose a war cry, released the kink, and aimed at the fire first, then directed the enormous stream of water at Kevin and his friends. They jumped back in shock.

Kevin yelled and ran straight at Matt, holding his hands over his face. The stream of water was too strong, though, and he backed up behind the hay bale. Some of the other guys tried to get near Matt, but he kept the water trained on them until they gave up.

Finally realizing they wouldn’t be able to attack Jacob and Matt, Kevin and his friends jumped back in the truck and sped away. The brothers high-fived each other, then quickly put the hose away and called the cops.

Kevin would be receiving a visit that night.

The next two weeks passed in a whirl as Jacob waited to hear back from Teegan. After the hay bale experience, he was even more eager to best Kevin. He attended his classes, turned in homework assignments, learned fighting techniques from Sweet Pea, and helped pull people from the scented air. He got home every night so exhausted, he could barely keep his eyes open while checking on Hazel. They rarely talked—she was even less of a “people Minya” than Early and September. Jacob gave her honey and she was content to stay in her box.

Nightmares about Aloren wouldn’t leave him alone, so he didn’t sleep well most of the time. And every time he saw the journal, guilt surged over him. He still hadn’t been able to read it since the last time in Mr. Coolidge’s class. He tried not to let it bother him, but prepared himself with a good argument in case the Makalos ever asked him about it. They didn’t.

They still hadn’t found anyone who’d come from Maivoryl. The people they’d pulled out so far were staying in the Makalos’ farm area, in small bungalows hastily created. Most were to the conversing point, but didn’t know anything about Maivoryl City.

The worst day for Jacob was when he got in trouble in Mr. Coolidge’s class again. He hadn’t had much sleep the night before, he was sore from the fighting techniques he and Sweet Pea were now practicing, and he’d absentmindedly started curling the edges of his desk.

“Mr. Clark!” Coolidge yelled. “Your desk! What . . . what have you done?”

Jacob jerked his hand away from the wood, unable to believe he hadn’t been more discreet. Or that he’d done it at all. “Sorry, sir . . . I—”

Coolidge slammed the eraser against the blackboard, erasing vigorously. “See me after class.”

The next forty-five minutes crept by so slowly, Jacob was sure time had stopped. He tried to fix his desk, but he’d strengthened it while molding it, so was only able to repair it a little. The bell finally rang and everyone left the room. He looked at the clock longingly, realizing he’d be late for his next class.

The algebra teacher seemed to know what Jacob was thinking. “I’ll give you a note to take to your teacher.” He sat on the edge of his desk. “Jacob, you have potential. If you weren’t so busy destroying school property—in . . . in weird ways—you’d be a much better student.”

For a moment, an expression of curiosity crossed Mr. Coolidge’s face, and Jacob cringed, waiting for the inevitable questions about his ability, but the teacher quickly hid it. “I’m not going to allow you to slack off in my class. From now on, I want you here, in this room, forty-five minutes early. You’ll meet with me to do extra work.”

“What?” Jacob stood. That was cutting into his sleep! There was no way he’d ever learn hand-to-hand combat if he wasn’t letting his body recuperate. And pulling people out of the scented air was difficult! “You can’t—I don’t have—Matt doesn’t come—”

“I’m sure you’ll find another way to school.”

“I swear I’ll focus better in class. I . . . I’ll do anything. Please, Mr. Coolidge, I really need my sleep!”

“Yes, I’m sure you do. Those video games are so important.”

“That’s not fair—I haven’t played a game, besides basketball, since school started!”

Mr. Coolidge studied Jacob from over his glasses. “Then this isn’t so much of a sacrifice, is it?”

“But—”

“You may go now.” He sat at his desk, pulling a book toward him. “If you hurry, you’ll still be on time for your next class—take this just in case.” Mr. Coolidge held out a piece of paper.

Jacob took the paper, shoved it in his back pocket, picked up his bag, and stormed from the class. What else was he supposed to do? He couldn’t continue to argue—he wouldn’t win against a teacher.

He growled to himself. This was completely unfair.

Chapter 8. Silver Trees

The next day, Jacob wandered into class forty-five minutes early, still trying to keep his eyes open. Matt had decided to continue driving Jacob to school, wanting to be around in case something happened with the Makalos.

Mr. Coolidge was sitting at the edge of a desk, shuffling through papers. He looked up. “Ah, Mr. Clark. Here—you may start with this.”

Jacob took the piece of paper and looked at it incredulously. “A test? You want me to take a test?”

“Why, yes, I do. We need to find out why you’re always so bored in my class.”

Jacob rolled his eyes and sat at his desk, pulling a mechanical pencil from his bag. “Scatter Plots” was the title of the test. Fifteen minutes later, he handed it back to Mr. Coolidge, who graded it on the spot.

“One hundred percent.” He handed Jacob another test. “You’re not behind, at least.”

Jacob looked down. Permutations. He finished it two minutes before the bell rang, folded it into a paper airplane, and threw it at Mr. Coolidge’s desk.

Coolidge graded it right away, then glanced at Jacob, one eyebrow raised, ignoring the students who filed into the classroom.

“I might’ve hated Mrs. Peterson’s class, but I didn’t fail it.”

Mr. Coolidge set the paper aside and started class. When the bell rang, signaling the end of the period, he informed Jacob they’d be trying more difficult material the next morning.

Jacob and his group had been eating lunch in the cafeteria to avoid Kevin. Today, Teegan sneaked into the high school and joined them.

“Got ahold of Smith—he says he’s seen you play before. His nephew’s team got creamed by you guys last year. Anyway, he wants you to come to practice after school today.”

“Really? Yes! I can’t believe you pulled this off!”

Teegan laughed. “It was a cinch. Though, it’s just for one practice. He doesn’t want to take time away from his guys.”

When Jacob got home, he sent a message to the Makalos through Hazel—who was just as excited as the other Minyas to deliver messages—arranging to take a night off. Surprisingly, they were okay with it.

Coach Smith smiled when Jacob and Teegan entered the gym.

“Good to meet you, Jacob.” He shook Jacob’s hand. “I’m not sure if Teegan mentioned it or not, but practice today isn’t specifically varsity, but involves sophomore and JV too.” He handed Jacob a basketball. “Warm up.”

Jacob jogged to one of the unoccupied hoops in the room and did his best to loosen and relax. He couldn’t concentrate fully on his regular moves, though, and instead spent a lot of time trying to blend in while watching the other players. He was as tall as most everyone else here, but definitely the youngest.

His muscles were still jerky and uncoordinated when Coach Smith called everyone over and introduced them to Jacob. “He’ll be here just for today. Wants a taste of how a real basketball team works.” He winked at Jacob.

Half the players laughed, the others looked at Jacob skeptically, some even sneering, and Jacob almost wished he hadn’t come. If he wanted to be patronized, he would’ve gone to Coach Birmingham again.

Coach Smith divided the players up and assigned Jacob to play point guard, but made him sit on the bench first. After fifteen minutes, he was called up. The other side’s guard looked like he was twenty-five years old, and at least 6’5”. Point guards weren’t usually that tall. Staring up at him, Jacob felt the first sensation of panic in his chest. What was he thinking, playing with a bunch of juniors and seniors?

Coach blew his whistle, and the practice started up again. Jacob did his best to let the team know where to go and what to do, but he wasn’t used to a game this fast. High school teams played much faster than junior high.

Coach Smith stopped smiling after Jacob missed four shots in a row. What was wrong? Why was he shooting so poorly today of all days? Then Jacob told the other players to do something which made them lose the ball and foul the other team trying to get it back. Coach stopped them, gave specific instructions to several of the players, then took Jacob aside.

“Son, you’re playing real well. How about we give you a couple more minutes, then call it quits? I’d like to concentrate on more advanced things. You’re a good player, but maybe you’re not ready for this.”

Jacob nodded. He hated to admit it, but the coach might be right. He took a deep breath and ran back out on court with the rest of the players.

Waiting for Coach to finish extra instructions and blow his whistle, Jacob closed his eyes, concentrating on the logistics of the game. This was something he was used to—this pressure. He put himself back at home, playing ball in the church gym with his friends where he was most comfortable, or on the court of his junior high.

He opened his eyes when the whistle blew, and the game started up again. Coach Smith’s semi-threat at the back of his mind spurred him forward. His body was still sluggish, but after only a couple of seconds, it started to obey him the way it usually did. His feet went where it was most natural to take him, his hands knew what to do without being told, and he was able to sense where to throw the ball, relying fully on his instincts.

He raced down the court with the ball, shot it from the three-point line, and pumped the air with excitement when it swished through the net. Before he knew it, the other team had flown to their side of the court—Jacob still had to get used to the speed of this game—but, trusting his judgment, he dashed down the court, leaped forward, and stole the ball from a surprised forward, then ran back to his side, making another three-point shot.

Sensing a challenge, the other team played rougher, and Jacob’s team stepped up to match the increased energy. The game got so intense, the players didn’t hear Coach Smith’s whistle when he blew it.

Coach Smith called the boys over. “Well done, well done! Excellent playing!” He reassigned positions, but didn’t bring up his earlier comment to Jacob, letting him play the rest of practice.

Finally time ran out, and Jacob ran to the bleachers where Teegan waited. Teegan clapped him on the back, congratulating him on his near 180-degree turnaround in playing. “You had me nervous there for a minute!”