Carnival Quest, page 3
“Depends on the account you’re watching,” Zac said. “And on my mood. Video games contain some of the best narratives of my generation. My fans like to live our stories more than read them.”
Mr. Zimmerman nodded. “Everything each society produces helps reveal who they are,” he said. “YouTube is one of the journals of our era. Makes me wonder what the ancient Greeks would have recorded with that technology.”
“They would have documented their toga parties,” Nate said, earning a laugh.
Mr. Zimmerman nodded. “Possibly, though toga parties were popularized by modern frat houses more than by ancient cultures. The Greeks might have captured events from the ancient Olympics. Or publicized philosophical debates.” He bobbed his eyebrows. “Methinks I spy a potential project.”
Many in the class groaned.
“It’s bad karma to talk homework in the first five minutes of class,” Zac said.
“And it’s bad form to talk out of turn,” Mr. Zimmerman said. “Let’s raise hands to make comments.”
Zac raised his hand.
“Mr. Foster,” Mr. Zimmerman said.
“Can I record in class?”
“Absolutely not,” Mr. Zimmerman said. “It’s against school policy. Too many liability issues.”
Zac shrugged. “I was hoping we could make some history while we learn about it.”
Mr. Zimmerman straightened his tie. “Let’s make it through introductions first. This will be your homeroom. That means it is like every other class except we get an extra five minutes for announcements. They usually hit the loudspeaker a few minutes in.”
“Doesn’t sound like a homeroom to me,” Zac said. “In a home, I would know I’m loved.”
“Foster Child,” a boy toward the front of the room said behind his hand.
“‘Nobody loves me,’” a girl added, parroting a catchphrase Zac sometimes used on his channel. The whole class was giggling.
The overhead speaker crackled to life. “Good morning, Diablo View students. Welcome to your first day at this brand-new school. I’m your principal, Mrs. Jackson . . .”
Zac turned around and grinned at Nate. “Toga party wasn’t bad,” he said, raising a hand for a high five.
Nate slapped his palm gently. “You have to let a few jokes fly on day one. Set the precedent.”
“I like how you think,” Zac said, turning to face forward.
*****
By lunchtime, Nate was hungry. After being on a summertime schedule, he wasn’t used to eating breakfast so early and having such a large gap before lunch. There were two lunch periods at his school, and he was in the second. Nate hurried to the cafeteria, an echoey room with tile floors and rows of long tables, and got in the food line.
“Nate!” Trevor called, catching up to him.
“Sorry, no cuts,” Nate said, pulling his friend behind him.
“Whatever,” Trevor said. “Have you seen the tacos? They actually look decent.”
Nate looked at the kids leaving the front of the line with tacos on their trays and heading to a station with lettuce, cheese, tomatoes, and other extras. “I’ll believe it when I taste it,” Nate said. “They probably recycled old corn dog meat.”
Craning his neck, Trevor went onto his tiptoes, making him even taller than usual. “Is that John Dart?”
“Where?” Nate asked.
“Working the lunch line,” Trevor said. “Is this happening?”
Nate couldn’t find a good angle that allowed him to see. “He must be undercover. Rocco mentioned that somebody visited Mr. Stott last night. Might have been John.”
As the line inched forward, John Dart came into view, an apron tied around his powerful torso, a black skullcap hugging the contours of his cranium. He spooned taco meat into a pair of shells, then handed the plate across the counter.
“Keep it moving,” John said, raising his voice enough for the line to hear. “Not much to think about. If you don’t want delicious tacos, there are some nasty chicken nuggets in animal shapes down at the end. Or, if you’re truly desperate, salad.”
The line advanced noticeably faster after his remarks.
As Nate and Trevor approached the front, John glanced their way.
“Here are a couple of familiar faces,” he said warmly, looking down the line at them.
“Aren’t you the guy who wrestles enemies into submission?” Trevor asked. “And now . . . tacos? Really?”
“You became a lunch lady?” Nate asked.
Several kids in line snickered.
“Watch your mouth,” John said. “Respect the name tag.”
Nate squinted, barely discerning the letters at his current distance. “Lunch Lord,” he read.
“That’s right,” John said. He gestured to his co-workers. “I run the kitchen with the help of my able staff.”
“Since when are you in the food business?” Trevor asked.
“Off and on for years,” John said, continuing to add meat to taco shells. “As a youngster, my school lunches were usually garbage. I wanted to do a solid for the kids in this area. When this school opened up, I put in the lowest bid and guaranteed the highest-quality food.”
“Is that good for profits?” Nate asked.
John shook his head. “I’ll lose a little money, but not enough to matter. I have plenty socked away.” Nate and Trevor came even with John. “You’re having the tacos, I hope?”
“Sounds like we better,” Trevor said.
“I sourced excellent meat,” John said, filling two pairs of shells. “The primary offering will always be good. Occasionally outstanding. The secondary options will taste exactly how you would expect a chicken nugget shaped like a lion to taste.”
“Like neither a chicken nor a lion,” Trevor said.
“Keep the line moving,” John said, pointing ahead with his big spoon. “We have lots of fresh toppings you can add.”
“Any news?” Nate asked quietly.
“Only this,” John said, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “Nobody is touching the pickled jalapeños. They are missing out.”
Nate took the hint and kept going. He wondered what John might have added if there were no eavesdroppers.
“Whoa,” Trevor said. “They have guac. And it looks real.” He scooped two spoonfuls onto his shells.
Nate added grated cheese, lettuce, tomato, and sour cream to his taco. He considered the pickled jalapeños but couldn’t bring himself to do it.
“Have you seen Summer and Pidge?” Nate asked, scanning the room.
“They should be around,” Trevor said. “I heard all the sixth graders have the second lunch period, along with half of seventh grade.”
They browsed the tables, looking for their friends. Nate heard Zac’s voice rising from a cluster of people at the end of one table.
“Ladies, please, hands off. I’m not a children’s museum.”
A couple of girls huffed away while some other kids laughed. As the cluster dispersed, Nate saw Summer and Pigeon sitting at the table near Zac.
Summer waved. “Nate, we saved you seats.”
Zac pointed at Nate. “I know that guy. He likes toga parties.”
“And you’re making history,” Nate said.
Zac put a hand over his chest. “Finally, somebody understands me.”
Nate wedged himself onto the bench beside Summer, while Trevor settled in beside Pigeon.
“Are my taste buds broken?” Zac asked. “Or are these tacos actually good?”
“They’re delicious,” said a baby-faced blond boy sitting across from Zac.
“I have hope for the food this year,” Nate said. “Now that we have a lunch lord.”
“I saw that guy,” Zac said. “He looks like a bouncer.”
Nate and Summer shared a look.
“I know him a little,” Nate said. “He’s even tougher than he looks.”
“This is Nate and Trevor,” Summer introduced. “And this is Zac and Benji.”
“Just Z-A-C,” Zac said. “The K was deadweight.”
“When did you guys meet?” Nate asked Summer.
“Math class,” she said.
“Math is a great time to make new friends,” Zac said.
“I thought Miss Monroe was going to throw you out,” Summer said.
“She will before the end of the week,” Zac said. “I’ll push until she does. It helps me figure out her boundaries.”
“Is school a social experiment to you?” Pigeon asked.
“Every interaction is a social experiment, no matter what,” Zac said. “I just try to keep things interesting.”
“He has major ADD,” Benji said.
“Undiagnosed,” Zac said, raising a finger. “I don’t want meds. Whatever my chemistry is works for my videos.”
“How many followers do you have?” Trevor asked.
“Depends on the platform,” Zac said. “YouTube? Around 1.3 million—give or take. Some of the view counts blow my mind.”
“You’re quite a sensation,” Pigeon said.
“That makes me feel like a new soda,” Zac said. “I’m glad you guys are sitting with me. The Internet thing is weird. Lots of kids want to meet me, but then they don’t know what to say. At Montrose, it was often just me and Benji.”
“He pays me to laugh at his jokes,” Benji said.
“How much?” Trevor asked. “I like to laugh.”
“Mostly Doritos,” Benji said.
Trevor nodded. “I could live with that.”
“Is it stressful to know millions of people watch your clips?” Pigeon asked.
Zac shrugged. “I just act like myself. My dad is the marketing guru. He did the Foster Child stuff as a side project, and it blew up.”
“Do any actual foster children get offended by the name?” Nate asked.
“Maybe some do,” Zac said. “Most actual foster kids know everything I say is ridiculous. You’ll catch on. My big goal now is to die at the right time. Think about it—James Dean, Marilyn Monroe, Tupac. They all died when they were still popular, so they never faded away. I don’t want to be a footnote in my own story.”
“What about George Washington?” Pigeon asked. “He died at sixty-seven. We remember him just fine.”
Zac nodded. “Washington obeyed a different principle. Affiliation. He affiliated himself with the right group. He was the first president of the United States, and since the United States is still a thing, so is he. Thomas Edison gets credit for inventing the light bulb. As long as light bulbs matter to us, so does he.”
“Who do you affiliate with?” Nate asked.
“You guys,” Zac said. “Online? Whoever wants to sponsor me and isn’t a jerk. My dad handles most of that.”
“Do you make a lot of money?” Trevor asked.
“Enough to buy Doritos for Benji,” Zac said.
“He makes more than our teachers,” Benji said. “His dad saves most of the earnings for him.”
“Invests,” Zac corrected. “If you want to make money, go after brainspace. That’s the actual real estate. Claim your share of brainspace, and the rest comes easy. Ask Facebook or Disney. Ask Nintendo.”
“Brainspace?” Nate asked.
“It’s a term I use with my dad,” Zac said. “If people are thinking about you, the money follows.”
“What do you put in the brainspace?” Nate asked.
“Jokes,” Zac said. “Little slices of life. I make fun of video games while I play them, or shows while I watch them. I tease my mom. I mess around with my dog. And while I have people’s attention, I share information about my sponsors. This week, it’s the new carnival.”
“The one here in town?” Pigeon asked. “Aren’t your clips watched all over the world?”
“Sure, but my biggest following is in the Bay Area,” Zac said. “The carnival people worked out an arrangement with my dad. I can get us a bunch of free tickets if you guys want to go. I’m scheduled to make at least three videos inside the carnival.”
“Free is the best price,” Trevor said.
“They’re doing a parade Saturday morning,” Zac said. “It ends at the fairgrounds and then the carnival opens.”
“Are you in the parade?” Summer asked.
“It’s part of the deal,” Zac said with a shrug. “Have you guys ever been in a parade before? The only thing worse than watching one is being in one. If you’ve seen one cheering bystander, you’ve seen them all.”
“I like when the people on the floats throw candy,” Trevor said.
“Note to self—fill pockets with candy,” Zac said. “If you want to meet me after the parade, we can check out opening day.”
“That would be so fun,” Summer said.
“Perfect,” Zac said. “I’ll finally get to feel like somebody loves me.”
Chapter Three
Candy Shop
When Nate came through the door, Mom called to him from the kitchen. “Welcome home! How was your first day?”
“I didn’t get any wedgies,” Nate replied.
“Did you walk home with Cheryl?” Mom asked.
“I didn’t see her,” Nate said, tromping into the kitchen and setting his backpack by the counter. “She probably had detention.”
“Yeah, right,” Mom said. “I bet she was catching up with friends.”
“I did that while we walked home,” Nate said. “Some of us are planning to meet over at the candy shop. Is that okay?”
“How is your homework situation?”
“I don’t think I’ll have homework this year,” Nate said. “It’s a new school. They need good reviews.”
“And the real answer?”
“Only a little,” Nate said. “It was mostly introductions today. I have a few papers you’re supposed to sign.”
“All right,” Mom said. “Say hi to Mr. Stott. Don’t bother him if he’s got customers.”
“I’ll buy a mint or something,” Nate said. “Then I’ll be a customer.”
Nate hopped on his bike and rode to the jogging path at the bottom of his circle. He followed the asphalt trail to where it ended near the Sweet Tooth Ice Cream and Candy Shoppe, then parked his bike in the rack out front. Summer’s pink bike was already there.
A bell jangled as Nate passed into the air-conditioned store. The black-and-white-checkered floor was polished to a semi-reflective sheen. Nearly all of the chrome-legged tables were full of kids and teens, and even a few adults. Most were eating ice cream, but others had candy. Mr. Stott had devoted more of the long, L-shaped counter to ice cream and added sweets to the bright library of candy along the walls.
Summer sat at a table with Lindy, the girl who had once owned the candy shop. Watching Lindy’s animated expressions as she talked, it was hard to believe she used to be the magician Belinda White. Back when Mrs. White was trying to take over the town, Nate had slipped her a drink that made her young and erased her memories. Mr. Stott promptly adopted Lindy and became her legal guardian.
Nate crossed to their table. Lindy smiled up at him. “How was your first day?”
“Could have been worse,” Nate said. “How was yours?”
She shrugged. “Dad is a good teacher. But I would rather go to public school with you guys.”
Nate shared a glance with Summer. Mr. Stott had insisted Lindy be homeschooled until he felt sure she wouldn’t turn into a weapon of mass destruction.
“I’ve always dreamed about being homeschooled,” Nate said. “Of course, in those dreams, I outfox my parents and play video games all day.”
“There is no avoiding the work with Dad,” Lindy said.
“Where is your dad?” Nate asked.
“In the back,” she said. “Donny has been manning the counter all day.”
Mr. Stott had hired Donny toward the end of the summer. He was twenty, with shaggy hair and a relaxed personality. Donny worked thirty to forty hours a week at the candy shop but had not yet seemed to notice or wonder about any of the supernatural aspects of Mr. Stott’s other confections. Nate and his friends typically waited until they were outside the shop before eating candy and jumping over houses.
Usually, Mr. Stott worked out front with Donny, but when there was a large order of candy to fulfill, he stayed in the back.
Nate lowered his voice. “Has John Dart been by?”
Lindy nodded. “Dad wants to talk to you about that.”
As a mother and young son left the candy shop, Trevor came through the door. He strode straight to Nate.
“Pigeon is down in the creek again,” Trevor said.
“More rocks?” Nate asked. Pigeon had been on a geology kick over the last few weeks of summer.
“You guessed it,” Trevor said. “I told him to hurry.”
“Sure, after he finds his weight in quartz,” Nate said.
“Have you gone rockhounding with him?” Summer asked. “It’s pretty fun.”
“I’ve tried,” Nate said. “All rocks look the same to me when they’re jumbled on the ground.”
Pigeon came through the door. “Sorry I was slow,” he said as he approached. “I thought I saw some lizardite, but I think it was schist.”
“Let me get this straight,” Nate said. “You were walking along, minding your own business, and from a distance, you noticed lizardite down in the creek?”
“I may have strayed from the path to do a quick inspection of the creek bed,” Pigeon amended. “Then I saw the mottled stone.”
“Bigger question,” Trevor said. “Is lizardite made of lizards?”
“I think the name implies it looks like lizard scales,” Pigeon replied.
“You can’t stop looking for rocks,” Nate said. “You’re addicted. Do we need to stage an intervention?”
