The Doomsday Vault (Everwhen School of Time Travel (and Other Odd Sciences)) - Hardcover

Wheeler, Thomas

 
9781534488458: The Doomsday Vault (Everwhen School of Time Travel (and Other Odd Sciences))
Hardcover
ISBN 10: 1534488456 ISBN 13: 9781534488458
Verlag: Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

From the screenwriter of Academy Award­–nominated Puss in Boots and Puss in Boots: The Last Wish comes a “briskly paced romp” (Booklist) about tweens enrolled in an interdimensional school for time travelers perfect for fans of the Spy School and Mr. Lemoncello’s Library series.

When Bertie Wells accidentally creates a black hole in his bedroom in the year 1878, the last thing he expects is for a grown-up to step out. Darla Marconi comes with an offer: Bertie is invited to attend the EverWhen School of Time Travel and Other Odd Sciences.

Not exactly thrilled at the idea, but not exactly having anything better to do, Bertie agrees. And that was only the first weird thing to happen to him that day. Thankfully, he’s not alone—144 years in the future, math whiz Zoe Fuentes just accepted the same invitation, and 550 years in the past, Amelia da Vinci (yes, that da Vinci) has also decided to attend.

Transported to 2024 for their first semester of school, these three must team up and work together in order to survive the year, including weathering a time paradox, solving the case of a disappearing dean, and uncovering the truth behind a shady intergalactic secret society.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Thomas Wheeler is a showrunner, screenwriter, producer, and the New York Times bestselling author of Cursed, with illustrations by Frank Miller. He has created TV series for Netflix, ABC, and NBC, as well as written numerous feature films, including Puss in Boots and Puss in Boots: The Last Wish, both of which received Academy Award nominations. He lives in Los Angeles.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One: The Problem CHAPTER ONE: THE PROBLEM
Herbert George “Bertie” Wells was twelve years old and had a problem: there was a black hole in his bedroom. Granted, it was a small black hole, about the size of a penny, and it looked innocent enough just hovering in midair above his experiments table. Yet it had already devoured eighteen pistachios, a hard-boiled egg, and a dog-eared copy of St. Nicholas magazine.

Now, Bertie wasn’t aware that he was looking at a proper black hole because, being the year 1878, black holes were barely a theory in the minds of a few clever physicists, much less a detected reality in far-off galaxies. Alas, Bertie had no idea of the black hole’s vast destructive power to eat planets if left unchecked, but he was getting a queasy feeling.

Hopeful to solve the mystery, Bertie studied his bedroom, a true disaster by any parental standards. His walls were festooned with fantastical drawings of dragons, martians, and knights of derring-do, showing more artistic energy than talent. Horseshoe magnets, part of an effort to design gravitydefying pajamas, lay strewn on the floor. A maze of salvaged steel plumbing pipes reached to the ceiling and crisscrossed the room, part of Bertie’s attempt to urbanize his gerbils. Due to his recent obsession with prisms, Bertie had collected all manner of mirrors, and his explorations of the Kent Quarry had yielded him notable hauls of flint, calcite, and other light-refracting crystals. He noted that he’d arranged these mirrors and crystals at several different points across the room to catch and refract the sunlight streaming through his windows. Curious.

Bertie sat on his bed and stared off into space for a few minutes, allowing his imagination to go to work. This was a normal look for Bertie, eyes glazed, mouth open, the occasional drool string forming on his bottom lip as he dreamed away. It could be disconcerting for those around him, who might think something had sprung loose in his brain and he needed medical attention. But anyway, no one was watching (or so he thought), so Bertie was free to look as silly as necessary. He pictured the sunbeams entering the pipes as glowing space rockets zooming through racing tunnels, sped up to incredible speeds by magnets pulling on their steel shells. He imagined the rockets zipping around so fast and colliding with such force that it literally popped a hole in the fabric of the universe.

Not a bad day’s work! Bertie thought, marveling at its possible applications: no more rubbish, or cockroaches, or tax collectors! You could just throw them into the black hole!

Bertie was accepting his imaginary gold chalice from the British Royal Astronomical Society when the cat dish exploded, milk and dish conforming into a noodle shape and vanishing into the black hole like spaghetti through a baby’s lips. The hole sparked and grew another few centimeters in circumference, followed by an angry pounding on the door.

“Bertie? What’s all that racket?” said a loud voice in the hallway.

“No-nothing, Dad!” Bertie shouted as his geometry notebook flew off his desk, ripped into a noodle shape, and was slurped down the black hole’s gullet.

The door flew open and Joseph Wells, Bertie’s father, entered the room. He set his hands on his stout hips and looked around with a sour expression, mustache twitching. Joseph Wells had three sour expressions—annoyance, confusion, and disgust—but they all fell under the heading of “sour,” and it was the only look Bertie ever saw.

“What on earth is going on in here?” Joseph Wells asked.

Bertie stepped in front of the black hole, which proceeded to suck at the seat of his trousers, causing Bertie to turn his knees inward and clasp his buttons, a peculiar posture noted by his father.

“Is there a problem?” Bertie played innocent.

“Is that your mother’s waffle iron?” Joseph Wells asked, yanking the heavy iron appliance from a long-forgotten-space-suit experiment.

Bertie sidestepped to keep the black hole concealed. “Yes, I was trying to—”

“And the toaster?” Joseph Wells reclaimed the toaster and now had an armful of kitchen goods.

“—yes, you see, I thought ‘what if’ I could make a suit that could—”

“—that could what? Burn down the bloody house? ‘What if this?’ And ‘what if that?’?” Joseph Wells said in a mocking voice. “?‘What’ and ‘if’ are dangerous words and a lot of hot air if you ask me. The world’s not interested in your ideas, son. Dreamers are a dime a dozen. It takes a lot of cheek to think that of all the big brains in the world, you—Herbert Wells of 162 Bromley Court—are going to change the world with one of your contraptions. You’re average, Bertie. There’s no shame in it.”

“Well, I—”

“I don’t tell you this to be mean but out of love, boy: get those feet on the ground. Forget ‘what if’ and focus on ‘what is.’ Your studies. Finding a decent trade with good benefits. Because that’s your future, if you’re lucky.”

“Yes, but—”

“No ‘buts.’ We’re not special. That’s the truth of it.”

The black hole gave another good tug at Bertie’s trousers, forcing Bertie to clench even tighter to hold them onto his body. The moment was awkward.

“Erm, yes, well, I want all this mess cleaned up before dinner,” Joseph Wells said, averting his eyes from Bertie’s peculiar distress.

“Yes, Dad.” Bertie assured him.

As Joseph Wells left and the door slammed, Bertie’s trousers were torn off his body and spaghettified into the black hole.

“Oh, come on!” Bertie hissed.

At that very same moment, only one hundred and forty-seven years in the future, in the year 2025, twelve-year-old Zoe Fuentes, a seventh grader at Louis Armstrong Middle School in Queens, New York, was taking her slime game to the next level. And her slime game was already strong: glittery, fluffy, grainy, thermochromic, and edible-blood slime; magnetic, glow-in-the-dark, and soap slime; booger-feel, spiderweb, and sand slime—Zoe made it all. She made slime instead of doing her homework, instead of engaging with the world, instead of making friends—and this day her extraordinary talents for chemistry took her past the usual ingredients of white glue and borax to deeper waters: glycine, formamide, UV light, electricity. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Zoe knew there was something potentially combustible in this mixture but—as was usually the case with her experiments—Zoe’s curiosity careened past any mental red flags and zoomed toward discovery. And her focus was total. She could shut everything out, even the two girls who were spying on her from the hallway outside the door to Mr. Alwine’s chemistry lab. They were giggling and whispering, calling her “slime girl.” She heard one of them say, “Look at her pants.” but Zoe didn’t really care. She dressed how she wanted: leg warmers, pink tights, overalls with suspenders, bright green sneakers, pigtails, and purple horn-rimmed glasses. Trying to fit in with the kids in her class didn’t make them any nicer, so why not wear what she wanted?
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Verlag
Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Erscheinungsdatum
2025
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1534488456
ISBN 13 
9781534488458
Einband
Gebundene Ausgabe
Anzahl der Seiten
304
Kontakt zum Hersteller
webstar
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Via Mondadori 1,
Segrate Milano
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Italien

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