The World's Greatest Adventure Machine - Hardcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

FRANK L. COLE lives with his wife and three children out west. When not writing books, Frank enjoys going to the movies and traveling. The World’s Greatest Adventure Machine is Frank’s ninth published book and his second with Delacorte Press. His first was The Afterlife Academy. You can learn more about his writing at frankcolwrites.com or find @franklcole on Twitter.

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Chapter 1

Trevor Isaacs sat in the passenger seat of the faded red Buick, his face pressed against the window. Out on the front lawn of the middle school, Principal Sullinger was bringing Trevor’s mom up to speed on Trevor’s latest stunt. Ms. Sullinger’s expression was grim, and her hands were gesturing wildly.

Trevor’s mom alternated between nodding and smiling at Ms. Sullinger, and shooting laser-like glares at Trevor. She was going to kill him. And bury him in the backyard next to Kittles the guinea pig.

After ten grueling minutes, the conversation finally ended, and Trevor’s mom walked briskly toward the parking lot. She slid into her seat, slammed the car door shut, and gripped the steering wheel with both hands.

“Why, Trevor, why?” she asked, keeping her voice under control. “I had to leave work again. I can’t keep doing that.” Trevor’s mom was still wearing her scrubs and her name badge. Her hair looked like it had fought valiantly against an electric eggbeater and lost. “We’re barely making it as it is. If I lose my job, we’ll lose the house.”

Trevor stared at the floor of the car and kicked the backpack resting at his feet. “I’m sorry, Mom. I wasn’t thinking.”

“You’ve managed to ruin yet another field trip. And now you’re banned from the East Chester Museum! Who gets banned from a museum?” She yanked the car into reverse and backed out of the parking lot. “We’re just lucky your principal didn’t make me pay for the emergency bus transportation. I had to practically beg her for mercy. And I can’t believe you’ve been suspended.”

“It’s not like they’ll hold me back or anything,” Trevor said, digging at the dirt under his thumbnail. “It’s the last week of school, and I’m done with all my testing.”

“It’s still a suspension.” She squeezed the steering wheel, and Trevor could hear the vinyl cover squeaking in protest. “You’ve gotten into trouble before, but never like this. Your teachers have always understood and have graciously overlooked our situation, but that’s not going to happen anymore.”

As they approached a stoplight just outside the school grounds, Trevor noticed a couple of his classmates walking along the sidewalk, lugging their backpacks. They turned to see what car was approaching, and a big smile stretched across Hoyt Franklin’s face.

“You’re crazy!” Hoyt shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Is your mom taking you to jail?”

“Who are those boys?” Trevor’s mom asked. “Friends of yours?”

“That’s Hoyt Franklin and Eric Palmer.” The two boys had stopped walking and now stood on the curb pointing at Trevor and laughing. “They’re not really my friends.”

“You could’ve been seriously injured, or worse. And you put your whole school through that,” she said. “Did you know Ms. Dobson fainted? Don’t you roll your eyes at me!”

“Mom, she always faints. A few weeks ago, a kid got a deep paper cut and Ms. Dobson passed out in her chair. They had to use some awful-smelling powder to wake her up. Besides, no one was even on the lower level where it happened, and it was just a model.” He rolled down his window. It was almost summer, and the car’s air conditioner had never properly functioned.

Trevor’s mom glanced sideways at him. “You’re missing the point. Real airplane or not, you crashed it! You almost destroyed an entire World War II display.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you accidentally climbed down from the balcony onto the plane?”

“I dropped my phone,” Trevor said. “Someone bumped my arm when we were heading to the next exhibit. What was I supposed to do? Just leave it?”

“You don’t think about consequences. I’ll be getting a bill for this for sure, and it won’t be cheap.” She took a deep breath, held it, and then forced the air out through her nostrils. “What’s going to happen now? Hmm? What do you think, Trevor?”

He raised his eyebrows and sighed. “I’m going to be grounded.”

“You betcha,” she said.

“No electronics, no movies, no outside, no nothing.” He counted off the list of punishments on his fingers.

Her eyes softened a bit. “You can still play with your friends.”

“What friends?” Trevor asked. “I don’t have any friends.”

“Don’t give me that. What about that Jordan Stinks boy? He seems fun.”

“It’s Stiggs, Mom. Jordan Stiggs,” Trevor said. “And his parents grounded him from me for the summer.” If Stiggs’s parents didn’t want him near Jordan, no parent would let their kids hang out with him, especially once word got out about the incident at the museum, and word traveled fast in Decatur, Illinois.

“Maybe that’s because you keep putting yourself in extreme danger. And I know you can’t help it sometimes--”

“I can help it,” Trevor interrupted her. “I’m not stupid.”

“I’ve never said you were stupid. No one thinks that. It’s just your condition. It’s not your fault you have a misfiring amygdala. But it is your responsibility to think things through. Just because you can’t feel fear doesn’t mean you can’t think about consequences.”

“Mom, I know. But I wasn’t going to get hurt. I landed that plane just fine.” No one ever understood. Maybe Trevor saw things differently from other kids, but he hated it whenever his mom talked about his condition.

“Great. Now who’s that?”

Trevor looked up to see a sleek black car with tinted windows parked in front of their house. A man with wavy blond hair and dark sunglasses stood at the front door. He was casually dressed, in blue jeans and a bright yellow T-shirt. As the Isaacses pulled into the driveway, the man waved, but Trevor’s mom did not return the gesture. She parked, checked her makeup in the rearview mirror, and climbed out of the car.

“Hello there. Are you Ms. Isaacs?” The man stepped down from the porch, holding a black briefcase in one hand.

“You must be from the museum? Please, call me Patricia.”

“The museum?” The man crinkled his forehead. “No, most definitely not.”

“Then where are you from? The school? Is this about Trevor?” She clenched her jaw, awaiting the verdict on Trevor.

The man smiled. “I had one heck of a time trying to find this place. Took the wrong exit. Couldn’t seem to reach you on the phone either. I like to call first.” He had a sort of laid-back voice that reminded Trevor of a surfer’s, only not as thick. Maybe a retired surfer. There was something familiar about it as well, although Trevor couldn’t quite put his finger on it....