The Imaginary

Chapter 6: Mr. Travis can be Nasty Part 1

THE IMAGINARY

CHAPTER SIX: MR. TRAVIS CAN BE NASTY

PART 1

The late encounters with the lunatics had been disturbing, so to say, for every Moonsbane kid--who had been, I believe, spreading nasty rumors to their friends not present that night. Our local newscaster here, Tom’s version went like this: Mr. Travis was a devil, off to hunt for the chosen one--who was him, he so claimed. The adults, however, became more cautious of their children’s safety, and even requested for Mr. Littlepot to hire patrol guards all over town. Our mayor agreed, for the sake of his reputation.

But enough about the mystery men. I was more concerned of the magic maker. Sarah had been uneasy since the night, partly my fault. She’d often go all quiet, like a blinking owl, and act surprised when you talk to her. My first self thought the cause was the breaking of the black crystal ball. My other self, the more optimistic one, thought it was because she had finally realized her love for me.

Today, we were at the sports sector, heading to the Stringball stadium. My first impression of the place was that it was a straight, winding road surrounded by the beauty of nature, a really good spot in the countryside. But the trip was crazy. At times, we’d zoom so fast, fly a short jump, and then land in crashes.

"Charles, easy," said Sis. The car took a sudden stop before the intersection. "We have kids with us."

This show-off, Charles Goblinspell, was the one responsible for this. Never really did like him. Never. Not once. I hated him. This person was a golden-haired guy, who drove cars like he was drunk. He was obnoxious, a bit tan, had sea green eyes and spiky hair, pretended to be an athlete. And obnoxious. Oh, did I repeat that? Anyway, he had this nasty prince charming aura that the common girl loved. Sis’s type--well, he was her boyfriend.

"Chill, Alice. The king’s on duty, dashing with his orange, streaming horse. He’s an expert on this, that handsome devil." I forgot to mention, he was a pro racer. Hard to believe.

"Oh, please. This is different. We’re in civilian area, not some race course. We’re in traffic, Charles."

But the show-off didn’t listen to her. Instead, he had formed this little rivalry with that bald guy by the opposite lane.

"What do you mean, traffic? The king of the road is the traffic."

"Hold on tight," Sis told us. She was very apologetic. But it took only a few seconds for that look to change to worry. "Sarah, you all right?"

"Yes, I’ll be fine," said Sarah. She looked reddish sick, almost like a tomato. Maybe she had fever. "I’m just a little tired."

"Right, if you say so. Just tell me if you’re not feeling well, okay?" Sarah nodded.

Well, my manly antics from the other day had to have a follow-through, right? And opportune moments like this just hardly come by. So, here’s what I did: I put a hand by her neck, so as to measure her temperature. Yes, just that. That simple. As expected, of course, she flinched in the contact, but remained still.

"You’re burni--" but she shushed me, before I could even finish. "Don’t force yourself. You can just watch."

"I can’t. I want to cheer. I’d also like to see you play, and I’m gonna watch close. So you better perform well." Mere words couldn’t describe what I was feeling right now. To think Sarah was this supportive. "Don’t worry. When you trip, I’ll still clap for you, and cheer you on."

"Okay, so what you want is to see me flop." Folks, my mind-reader, there went my fantasy. Youth was so heartbreaking.

"Not exactly."

After that, the mood had run dry, no words uttered. Though, I did attempt to initiate a conversation between us, countless times, but all were failures. I couldn’t think of something interesting to discuss. But when I’d finally thought of one, the ruby sphere in the traffic light was hit dead by the green one.

"Say, Sarah--"

And the show-off took the stage. The car growled in obvious hunger. Here we go.

"Now, let’s go overdrive."

"Wait, no. That’s crazy. Charles, you can’t be--"

Maybe he was a real whack, or an outlaw who couldn’t follow traffic laws. The car’s speed passed the hundredth mark, probably even more; and here was Charles, laughing like a madman, while my sister held on to her heart as if she were in a rollercoaster ride.

"This is the king of the road in action. What do you say, my queen?"

"You idiot! We’re gonna die!"

Or he was, simply put, a rude guy. Remember, Sarah wasn’t feeling well. As we dashed, spun and flew, and dashed again, I could see that her state was getting worse. She looked paler, breathing hard.

But everything turned positive when the violent rotation caused Sarah to bump to me--which then evolved to an awkward hugging position. For when the freezing started, our eyes met. And for when time stood still, we spoke in telepathy. I should thank the Charles guy.

Soon, the sirens of the police cars rang. Charles wasn’t troubled. He was particularly excited, unlike Sis.

"We’ve got company, Charles! Stop!"

"Now, Alice, you’re the one who should take it easy. I got this."

After a few more abrupt turns to alleyways, we zoomed to a straight road, preparing for the descent. The jump on the road hill felt like being taken to Oblivion. I imagined metal bars, to support our fall, but the figures fragmented. We crashed with a screech, safe, on the parking lot. I think we were lucky. The show-off lost the enforcers.

Click. This one was angry. Another click. This one, slightly nervous. Outside, Sis was lecturing Charles in quite a nagging voice. It was one of her habits.

"Sarah, we’re here," I said. "Get up. Does your head hurt?"

"That was fun." She chuckled. "Let’s try it again." And she realized, and so did I, that our hands had enjoined in the outcome. She detached hers from mine, and did that eyeglasses-fixing excuse. "I’m sorry, Jake. I di-didn’t mean to. I’m sorry, if that was troublesome. Lately, it’s been weird."

No, it wasn’t. Uh, it wasn’t, really. It wasn’t troublesome at all. In fact, it was perfectly fine. There was no weirdness in that. If only I could say this to her, I’d be a happy bunny.

"Sarah, what happened?" said Laura. She opened the door. I told you, this girl was always the villain. "That was wild. You guys were flying with the blimps. Mr. Littlepot got angry, said his inflamed mug should have been the spotlight."

"Really was. My world’s still spinning. Let’s go." They exited the car.

Their voices faded with Stringball discussions. I remained in the car, until the mystery sense got to me. Across was the mad old man. In my exit, Tom and Lucas crept sideways. They also were in their striped jerseys.

"Man, you ready for the game?" said Tom. "The schedule’s already posted on the board."

"We’re in the first match," said Lucas. "Against Alex Redsand’s class. This should be interesting."

"Yeah! Billy’s in our class, after all. He’s a better player than Alex. That jarwick plays rough and breaks rules. Even in sports, he bullies innocent kids."

"Let’s go," I said. That was my dull reply. See, my head was still hurting. I wasn’t in the mood for some talking, so I ignored them.

"Hey, man, we’re talking here!" Tom thought that was too obnoxious of me. "You could at least listen. Hey, hey. You know, that’s bad. That’s being a jarwick."

Lucas stopped the motor mouth, with a gesture. After, both sighing, they followed, and the group gathered near the entrance. Sis and Charles came last.