Chad woke with a start. He stared around, blinking the sleep away and trying to sort his thoughts in his tired brain. He tried to recall the events of the previous evening, but he couldn't remember anything from the moment he began walking home from school the previous day: not dinner with his parents, not putting on his pajamas or going to bed—so how did all those things happen? He glanced at his nightstand, where a small marble of grey, discolored clay sat upon the wood surface. Everything from the previous week came rushing back, and Chad jumped out of bed. Throwing on his robe and slippers, he raced down the hall and up the attic stairs.
"Zandor!" he called. "Voxx!"
The echo of his voice died in the musty, dusty stillness of the attic. Nothing moved within; were they hiding?
"It's okay, guys!" he moved further into the middle of the room. "It's just me! You can come out—" He stopped.
Six figurines lay scattered in the middle of the floor: six inches high, and made of lifeless clay. There was also a smashed lump of all of the colors of clay mixed together. Chad knelt and placed his fingers on the clay. It was stiff and cold, as if it had not been touched for a week.
He heard a floorboard creak behind him, and turned to see his mother watching him from the doorway. Her expression was lined with pity, and only then did Chad realize there were tears running down his face.
She came and stood next to him, surveying the simple figurines in the light of the morning sun streaming through the skylight.
"Are these the things you made that you wanted to surprise me with?" she asked, picking up Marquiam and Chariostes.
Chad nodded. All of the adventures he'd gone through tumbled through his mind—but if the figurines had never been alive, had he dreamt it all? What if there had been no Ferristral, no Zandor—no big showdown at the parking garage? What would he do then?
His mom gave him a few more moments to wait in silence, and then said softly, "Chad, it's time to get ready for school, buddy." She rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. "We can talk about it afterwards, okay?"
Chad took a deep breath to regain his composure. "Okay," he mumbled, heading back down the stairs to his room.
His mom drove him to the schoolyard. As she pulled up and glanced at the school entrance, he heard her gasp, "Oh!"
"What?" He asked—but then he saw that she had pulled up right in front of the marquee, which plainly proclaimed "TALENT SHOW TONIGHT! GOOD LUCK STUDENTS OF PATRICK ELEMENTARY!"
His mom was grinning at him. "Chad," she chided playfully, "You didn't tell me your school was putting on a talent show! Are you in it?"
Chad hung his head. No, he thought, even as he told his mom, "Kind of."
"Well, then your dad and I will definitely be coming!" She reached across him and opened the car door. "Have a good day, Chad!"
Chad sighed and hefted his body out of the car.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
The rest of the day was lost in a blur—much like the blur the last few days had become. During the morning class periods, Chad became acquainted with the kid sitting next to him—a boy with dark hair and glasses named Ian. As it turned out, Ian loved drawing pictures to make up stories, so the two of them got along famously all the way through lunchtime. Chad was so busy chatting with Ian and his friends that he didn't even realize until the recess bell rang that he never even glanced at Justice or any of the other bullies. As a matter of fact, he did see Justice out on the playground at recess—but the beefy fifth-grader didn't seem to notice Chad anymore. He was picking on another kid.
YOU ARE READING
Clay Heroes
ActionChad Stevenson is very good at being invisible. Not literally, but in a class full of rowdy, mischievous third-graders, it's easy for him to keep his head down and blend in. Adding to that the fact that his parents are busy with another sibling on t...
