Surrender the Key (The Library Book 1) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

D. J. MACHALE is the author of the bestselling book series Pendragon, Morpheus Road, and the SYLO Chronicles, as well as Voyagers: Project Alpha and Black Moon Rising (The Library, Book 2). He has written, directed, and produced numerous award-winning television series and movies for young people, including Are You Afraid of the Dark?, Flight 29 Down, and Tower of Terror. He lives with his family in Southern California. Visit him at djmachalebooks.com.

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Chapter 1

“Use your brains, people, for a change,” Mr. Winser commanded impatiently as he prowled the aisles of third-period social studies class, hunting for his next victim.

Winser had been teaching seventh-grade social studies since before I was born. Maybe before my parents were born. He was a fossil who wore wide ties that were so ugly, I couldn’t tell if the hideous patterns were intentional or just a bunch of stains from spilled food.

“Can someone please offer me an intelligent response?” he asked with disdain. “What were some of the negative impacts of evolution between the Homo erectus period and the Homo sapiens period?”

Winser spun and pointed his finger at an unsuspecting girl.

“Miss Oliver!” he declared.

Gwen Oliver sat bolt upright, as if lightning had flown from Winser’s fingertip. Gwen wasn’t a social studies scholar. Or a math scholar. Or any kind of scholar, for that matter. She was the kind of girl who did her best to get through the day without having to think too much. Or at all.

“Umm . . . ,” she said, stalling, hoping Winser would move on.

“Unacceptable!” he shouted. He said that a lot. “Stand up. Get the blood flowing to that underused brain of yours.”

Gwen gave him an uncertain look and didn’t budge.

“I said stand!” Winser barked.

She stood slowly, with her shoulders slumped, while tugging at her long auburn hair nervously. All eyes were fixed on her. If it wasn’t her worst nightmare, it sure came close.

“Now, fill the room with your knowledge. Enlighten us all with your insightful thoughts on evolution.”

He might as well have asked her to explain cold fusion.

“I . . . I don’t know,” she said in a voice so small that only highly trained rescue dogs could have heard it.

“Unacceptable,” he barked. “Have you read the material?”

Gwen nodded and shrugged.

“What does that mean?” he said, making an exaggerated shrug, imitating her.

Gwen shrugged again. She looked ready to cry.

“I’ll answer for you,” he said. “You read it, but you didn’t understand it. Would that be accurate?”

Gwen gave him a sad smile and a weak nod.

“Pathetic. Sit!” Winser commanded, as if talking to a dog. “These are not difficult concepts, except to you, maybe.”

Gwen sat down, both relieved and humiliated. She may not have understood the chapter on evolution, but she sure didn’t deserve to be treated like that.

Winser spun and pointed right at me.

“Marcus O’Mara.”

I didn’t flinch. I was hoping he’d nail me.

“I’m giving you a gift, Mr. O’Mara!” Winser exclaimed. “The underwhelming Miss Oliver is an easy act to follow.” He chuckled at what he thought was a clever remark.

Nobody else did.

I stared straight at the guy and didn’t answer.

“Well?” Winser said impatiently.

I looked him square in the eye and didn’t say a word.

“Did you hear me, Mr. O’Mara? Or are your ears as disengaged as your brain?”

I did my best impersonation of a statue.

“Should I interpret your silence as proof that you don’t understand the material either?”

I gave him nothing. Not a twitch. Not a blink.

Winser fidgeted nervously. He wasn’t used to having kids do anything but tremble in fear when he got in their faces.

“I’m waiting for a response, Mr. O’Mara,” Winser said, with a touch of uncertainty.

I stood up, slowly, and walked deliberately to the front of the class. I don’t think anybody was breathing, because the only sounds I heard were those of my own footsteps. I walked to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and in bold blue letters wrote:

YOU’RE A TEACHER. TRY TEACHING.

When I hit the period for emphasis, the class erupted in cheers.

Winser’s face went red with rage. He raised his hands, and the class quieted down, waiting for the next move.

“That buys you two days’ detention,” he said through clenched teeth.

I turned back to the board and wrote:

AND YOU’LL STILL BE A LOUSY TEACHER.

The class broke out in wild applause and whistles.

I held the marker out toward Winser, stared him down, and dropped it to the floor.

Boom!

The kids all jumped to their feet and cheered. Even Gwen Oliver joined in, smiling broadly.

That afternoon, after school, I found myself in an empty classroom, spending the first of five days in detention. I didn’t care. We’re always getting lectures about the evils of bullying. In my opinion, those rules apply to teachers too.

To be honest, I didn’t hate being in detention. It gave me a chance to do homework. Okay, it forced me to do homework. At least I’d be done and could watch some TV at home. Gotta look on the bright side.

“Seriously?” came a voice from outside. “You dropped the marker and did a walk-off?”

“You’re out of your mind,” came another voice.

Standing outside the open window were my two friends, Annabella Lu and Theo McLean.

Lu was hard to miss. She was Chinese American, with straight jet-black hair that was blunt-cut to just below her jaw, and bangs that barely cleared her eyes. While most girls wore subtle lip gloss, Lu’s lips were always a shocking red. Her pale skin made them stand out even more, like a talking stoplight. She wore a red plaid shirt over a black T-shirt and cutoff jeans. None of the other girls looked anything like Lu, which was exactly what Lu was going for.

I called her Lu because Annabella had way too many syllables.

“The guy is a tool,” I said with a shrug.

“And now you’re a legend,” Lu said.

“I don’t want to be a legend.”

“Then be careful. People might start liking you.”

“You’ve set a bad precedent,” Theo said. “Now Winser will be gunning for you all year.”

Theo always talked like a professor giving a lecture. He was a black guy who dressed as though he’d just come from brunch at some country club. His shirts and khakis were always ironed as smooth as paper. He wore ties too. Bow ties. Basically, he looked like the kind of guy who would get beaten up every day. The only reason he didn’t was because he had an insurance policy.

Me.

Nobody messed with me.

“It’s only October,” Theo said. “There’s a whole lot of seventh grade left.”

“Yeah, for Winser too,” I said. “If he...