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 ou—“ 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 face 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.
[…]
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 saw 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.
Smoothly, Chad sidled up to the teacher supervising the ball
games.
“How’s it going, Chad?” she asked, grinning at him.
Chad nearly froze. He had never done this sort of thing
before—but whatever weird dream had brought him out of the quiet, mousy stupor
he had been in till now had also made him more aware of right and wrong things
happening.
He looked right up at the teacher and informed her, “There’s
bullying going on.” He pointed to where Justice had the kid on the ground and
was pushing on him.
The teacher nodded very seriously to Chad. “All right, I’ll
watch him; thank you for reporting this.”
Chad didn’t hesitate to veer off in the opposite direction.
When he was safely concealed in a crowd of other third-graders, he heard the
teacher blow her whistle and gesture to Justice. A distinct lightness washed
over Chad.
[…]
That evening, Chad walked back to the school and entered the
big auditorium, where the fifth graders and staff members bustled about,
setting up chairs and banners for the talent show.
Ms. Desser met him in front of the stage and showed him
where the extra programs were and how to stand. It seemed only a few minutes
before the parents began to arrive.
Chad’s heart flip-flopped when he saw his mom and dad walk
through the doors of the auditorium, but he remembered what he had learned
about believing in himself. Passing out programs, he reminded himself, was
every bit as important as performing onstage. He stood straight, and looked his
parents in the eye as they stopped to accept a program.
“Chad?” His mom cried, “What are you doing out here? I
thought you were in the talent show.”
Chad shrugged, “Well, I kind of am,” he said shyly. He
finally confessed, “Actually, when they were having the kids sign up, I didn’t
really think I had any talent, so I asked to be an usher instead.”
“Oh, Chad!” His mom sighed and shook her head with a smile.
“Chad? Chad!” Ms. Desser swept toward him on her high-heeled
boots. “Oh, thank goodness I found you!” She stopped and laid a hand on his
shoulder. “I’ve just been informed that one of tonight’s performers just came
down with a bad fever and won’t be able to come. We have an open spot, and I
know you’re just the person to fill it; do you want to?”
Chad glanced back toward his parents, who watched him with
excited faces.
“I don’t have anything to perform—“ he said in a small voice.
His dad stepped forward, “I think I can help with that.” He
held up his hands, and hanging from one wrist was the old red backpack. Chad
grabbed it and peeked inside. The heroes were all there!
“I brought these because I thought you’d want to show your
teacher what you’ve made, but you could also tell a story with these
figurines,” his dad suggested.
“Oh, that would be fantastic!” Ms. Desser gushed. “I know
you’re really good at stories. It won’t be till the second half, so you’ll have
time to come up with something.”
Chad gripped the straps of the backpack and smiled. “I know
just the story I want to tell,” he said.
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