Chapter Five
The Museum
Nate sat at the family computer playing a video game called Grim Reign, waiting to be told to go to bed. In the game, he was a paladin exploring a desecrated temple full of fearsome creatures. Currently he was locked in combat with a pair of mummies. It was a role-playing game, so the fighting was handled automatically—he simply selected from a menu of spells and attack options.
He kept an eye on the time in the corner of the screen. By 11:15, he began to wonder what had happened to everyone. His mom never allowed him to play on the computer for this long, plus it was more than an hour past his Friday bedtime.
Pausing the game, Nate roamed the house. The lights in the other rooms were off. Cracking his parents’ door, he saw the lumps of their covered bodies in bed. His sister was in her bedroom as well, door locked, no light showing underneath.
Since when did his parents go to sleep without checking on him? For that matter, since when did they go to sleep before him at all? Friday was their date night—on the rare occasions when they stayed home, they were usually up late watching a rented movie. Tonight they had retired early without a word.
Nate returned to the computer, finished off the mummies, and found some treasure behind a sarcophagus. Feeling tired, he retreated to the nearest chamber where he could save the game, defeating a giant spider en route, and shut down the computer. After visiting the kitchen for a glass of ice water, he switched off the remaining lights and went to his room.
At his bookshelf, Nate selected a comic he had not read in a while and plopped onto his bed. As his eyes moved from panel to panel, taking in the narration and the dialogue, he began to find it difficult to focus. Having read the comic several times, he found everything too familiar. He skimmed instead of read, and could not retain the meaning of the words. He experimented with laying his head down on the bedspread for just a moment . . .
. . . and awoke with something tapping at his window. He looked around the room, disoriented, eyes settling on his clock radio. It was 12:54 a.m. He was way late.
Nate rolled off his bed and crossed to the window, where he found Trevor crouching on the roof, wearing a dark blue hooded sweatshirt. Nate unlocked the window and pushed it up. “Sorry, I dozed off,” he whispered through the screen.
“No big deal,” Trevor said. “So did Pigeon. I was already on his roof. Does this screen come off?”
“I’ll just meet you downstairs,” Nate said.
Trevor nodded. He jumped gently, gliding beyond the roof and dropping slowly out of sight. Nate quickly pulled on a black sweatshirt. Deciding that the jeans he was wearing were dark enough, he hustled down the stairs and out the front door, leaving it unlocked.
Summer and Pigeon waited on the driveway. Trevor stood in the street. Summer wore a dark jacket and black pants, and carried a backpack. Pigeon wore his studded leather jacket. Nate had not seen him in the jacket since the first day of school.
“Should I spit out this Moon Rock?” Trevor asked. “I don’t want to float around while we’re walking to the museum, but I have a decent amount left, and I’d rather not waste it.”
“Don’t spit it out,” Nate said. He tapped Summer on the arm with the back of his hand. “Bring the backpack.” She followed Nate across his lawn to where a whitish rock shaped roughly like a football sat between two low bushes. Grunting, Nate picked up the rock. Summer unzipped the backpack, removed the plastic surgeon doll, and held the backpack open on the grass. Waddling over, Nate dumped the rock into it.
Trevor soared over from the street, landing near them. “Is it going to be too heavy?” he asked.
“It’s not that bad,” Nate said. “Mainly awkward to hold. It should be fine in the backpack.”
Trevor scrunched his eyebrows. “But I’m so much lighter, what if I’m not strong enough?”
“Just because gravity is pulling on you less doesn’t make you weaker,” Pigeon noted. “If you were weaker, you wouldn’t be able to jump so high. I think Nate is right—the rock won’t be too heavy to carry, but should keep you weighed down.”
Nate picked up the backpack and helped Trevor slip his arms through the straps. “You’re right,” Trevor said. “This isn’t too bad.” He jumped, and although he didn’t go very high, the weight of the rock twisted him around in midair and whipped him roughly to the ground. He ended up flat on his back. “On second thought, maybe I’ll just lose the candy,” Trevor said, spitting out the remains of the Moon Rock.
“I didn’t think about how top-heavy it would make you,” Nate apologized.
“Neither did I,” Trevor said.
They dumped the rock back between the bushes and set off down Monroe Circle toward the creek. When they reached the jogging path that paralleled the creek, they halted. “Do we eat the Melting Pot Mixers now?” Trevor asked, fishing the chocolate balls out of his pocket.
“Okay,” Summer said.
“Mrs. White said they last only about an hour, so we need to be quick,” Pigeon reminded them.
Trevor handed each of them a little ball of chocolate. They peeled off the wrappers. Nate sniffed his. It smelled like regular chocolate with a trace of mint. “All together?” Summer asked.
The four kids popped the chocolate into their mouths in unison. “Pretty good,” Pigeon said. They stared at each other, waiting, the expectant moment stretching longer than they had anticipated.
“Here it comes,” Trevor finally said.
Tingles raced through Nate’s cheeks and sparked through his hands. His muscles began to twitch involuntarily, gently at first, then with greater intensity, until the tissue between his skin and his bones seemed to liquefy and start boiling. Despite the bizarre sensation, Nate managed to stay on his feet. Of the four, only Pigeon collapsed to the jogging path.
As the sensation subsided, Nate marveled at the new appearance of his friends. Their heights and builds remained the same, but their new features made them almost unrecognizable. Summer was now Asian, with sliver eyes and black hair. Trevor had fiery red hair, pale skin, and a swarm of freckles. Pigeon, getting to his feet, was now black. Looking at his own hands, Nate saw that he was a dark brown. “Am I Mexican?” he asked.
“You look like you’re from India,” Trevor said. Pulling back his sleeve, he held up a pallid arm. “I’m all freckly.”
“You’re a redhead,” Summer said, feeling her features. “Am I Chinese?”