The Unexplainable Disappearance of Mars Patel Read online

  Caddie shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “OK. I’ll go find Jonas,” he said, and he was halfway down the hall. “See you later, Cads.”

  “In detention, right?” she called out to him.

  Something BIG is happening soon. That’s what Oliver Pruitt had said. Mars thought about that again as he walked down the hall to the boys’ bathroom. Last week Oliver had predicted a hailstorm in Port Elizabeth, and the next day there were marble-size hailstones hitting Mars’s apartment window. Oliver had said the San Bernardo Bridge would collapse, and it had, though luckily in the early morning, and no one got hurt. He had predicted weather patterns, traffic jams, stock market rallies, baseball wins, and government elections. It seemed like there was nothing that Oliver didn’t know. And even though he was world-famous, his school, Pruitt Prep, was just a ferry ride away from Port Elizabeth, on Gale Island. That was what Mars marveled over the most. The nearness.

  Of course, there was no chance of ever meeting Oliver Pruitt in real life. He also happened to be rich and famous, a billionaire inventor with his own line of electric cars, high-speed planes, and even space vehicles. In everything Mars had read about him or seen on YouTube, people said the same thing — how great Oliver was, like no one else in the world. He seemed both young and old, with a shock of dark hair, neatly shaved, impeccably dressed, with laugh lines around his gray eyes, and a faint, impatient smile that spoke of something humorous and disdainful at the same time. To the stars. That was his motto. Sometimes Mars found himself whispering those words under his breath. He whispered it to himself now: To the stars. What was the big thing that was going to happen? Because so far, Oliver had never been wrong.

  By now Mars had reached the bathroom. “Jonas, you can come out. Code Red’s done,” he called, rapping on the door. There was no answer. Mars went inside. All the stalls were empty, the doors hanging wide open. “Jonas?”

  Ma

  Mars! I get email from Principal Fagan. Code Red? Are you ok??

  Mars

  I’m fine but Aurora and Jonas r missing!!!

  Ma

  What does the school say?

  Mars

  I tried to tell them but no one cares

  Ma

  Mars, stick to your own business. Don’t get more detention

  Mars

  What about Aurora and Jonas? Someone has to look for them

  Ma

  That shouldn’t be you. Promise me Mars

  Mars

  Nothing happened to me

  Ma

  Promise me you come straight home after detention

  You have the GIFT test to study for

  Ma

  Mars?

  Mars

  Now ur both missing?? Write back guys

  Mars

  Aurora? Jonas? Anyone?

  Toothpick was usually the first one to get to detention because he had his backpack all ready to go in sixth period. While everyone else was still packing up at their lockers, he made his way down the sixth-grade hall, past the mural of rocket ships, which was cool even though everyone knows the fins on the rockets are supposed to point down, not out. When Toothpick had tried to tell Principal Fagan, she’d made that pressed line with her lips as if she were going to vomit.

  A lot of teachers got that look when Toothpick tried to explain something they were doing wrong. He never understood why people who were supposedly interested in teaching didn’t want to get it right themselves. Toothpick’s mom explained that some people were sensitive to suggestions. “Better to keep quiet, Randall” is what she said.

  He tried, but it was hard.

  He continued through the seventh-grade hall that had the mural with the aliens (who oddly resembled the lunch staff), and then it was down the metal staircase to detention, where Mr. Q had already arrived. Toothpick always sat in the same desk near the front, closest to the door. This way he could see who was coming. Mostly it was his friends, but occasionally there would be other people like Clyde Boofsky and his pals, in which case it made sense to sit as far from the back as possible to avoid getting paper objects (dry or wet) thrown at his head.

  Toothpick was arranging his homework assignments on his desk when he saw Mars.

  “Why am I always here?” Mars said, his headphones still hanging around his neck. “Like, I don’t even remember when I didn’t have detention.”

  “Me too,” Toothpick said agreeably. “But at least I get to finish my homework.”

  Caddie came in next and sat down behind Mars. Her backpack landed on the ground with a thud. “Hey Mars, did you find Jonas? You both weren’t at lunch.”

  Mars shook his head. “I had to take a math test.” He held up a baseball cap. “But look what I found.”

  “That’s Jonas’s!” Caddie exclaimed.

  Toothpick pushed his glasses up. “Jonas without his baseball cap? Highly atypical.”

  Toothpick knew because he’d been with Jonas when he bought it at a Mariners game. Jonas had had it on when he’d caught a foul ball, and he’d worn his cap every day from then on.

  “Because he was wearing it when he caught that fly ball,” Mars said.

  “Foul ball,” Toothpick corrected.

  “Geez, Pick,” Mars said good-naturedly. “Same difference.”

  “Jonas wears his Mariners cap,” Toothpick said, “because he thinks it will bring him good luck when taking tests and talking to girls.”

  “Wait, what?” Caddie asked, smiling.

  “That’s why Jonas wouldn’t just leave it in the boys’ bathroom,” Mars said. “So where is he? I’ve texted him — no answer. I called his home phone — the number is no longer in service. It’s just like Aurora!”

  “You’re right,” Toothpick said. “That’s two unexplainable disappearances.”

  It wasn’t the first time Aurora had been absent, so Toothpick hadn’t thought much of it. In fact, he never talked to her except in detention. She was the only other person he knew who watched his favorite show, Ancient Aliens. She had her own theories about alien life. Aliens didn’t just build the pyramids, Pick, she said to him. They’re the ones inside it. Why else are the mummies wrapped up? Toothpick didn’t have a good answer. Most of the time though, Aurora was on her phone, texting Mars.

  Aurora being gone — not strange. But Jonas?

  “Do you think Jonas moved away?” Caddie asked.

  “In the middle of the school day?” Mars asked.

  “Folks, let’s get this show on the road,” said Mr. Q, who had whipped out his neon-green clipboard. He was very particular about attendance. Other than that, though, he wasn’t too bad. Sometimes he brought treats to detention, but they were usually the healthy kind with flaxseed and raisins. Mostly he read the newspaper, and kids could do whatever they wanted as long as they were quiet and didn’t use their phones.

  “I’d hardly call this a show,” Mars said glumly.

  “Life is a show,” Mr. Q said, taking out his pen. “Don’t you kids know that? We’re all being watched. We’re all stars in the making.”

  Mars looked up suddenly. “What did you say?”

  “I said,” Mr. Q said, enunciating each word carefully, “life is a show, Mars. Ah, Epica, can I help you?”

  Epica Hernandez had sailed into the room with a sheet of paper in her hand. She was wearing a dark gray turtleneck, pleated miniskirt, and laced up combat boots. Her fingernails were painted red today. “There were a few updates to the attendance,” she announced breezily, handing the sheet to Mr. Q. “Like, more hours added for some people.” When she said that, she stared straight at Mars.

  “Way to be obvious,” Mars said. “Or maybe you’re talking about all your hours.”

  Epica tossed her hair back. “I’ve never been in detention. Not unless you count the extra credit I get for helping out in the main office after school. But that’s a job reserved for honors students. You’re probably not familiar with that.”

  “Yeah, well, you keep reminding us,
” Mars said.

  “That will be all, Epica,” Mr. Q said. “Thank you for the updated sheet.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. On her way out, she looked at Toothpick. “Hi, Randall.”

  For some reason, Epica always made a point of saying hi to Toothpick. And there was something Toothpick hadn’t told anyone — he kind of liked it.

  “Uh, hi,” he said back. “You can call me Toothpick if you want.”

  She smiled. “I like Randall better.”

  Toothpick’s neck turned red. “Um, yeah,” he mumbled, and quickly looked at his homework.

  After Epica left, Mr. Q attached the new attendance sheet to his clipboard. “Caddie Patchett?” he called out.

  “Here,” she said. “But, uh, you can see that.”

  Mr. Q said, “We’re making this official. Caddie Patchett, check. Here for unruly behavior.”

  “It was an accident. The books fell out of the cart,” Caddie said.

  “Yeah, I was her reading partner yesterday, and I knocked them out,” Mars said.

  “JP McGowan?” Mr. Q called out. “Is she here?”

  “Are they here, you mean,” Toothpick said. “That’s the pronoun JP uses.”

  Mr. Q said, “Sorry. You’re right. Are they here? Looks like no. Randall Lee?”

  “Here,” Toothpick said. “But as I keep saying, no one calls me that. Unless you’re my mom.”

  “Or Epica,” Mars said, grinning, which made Toothpick’s neck turn red again.

  “Check,” Mr. Q said. “Here for correcting the math teacher too many times and causing a disruption.”

  “The teacher was solving for x when he should have been solving for y,” Toothpick explained. “I was pointing it out.”

  “Yeesh,” Mars said. “This school has the dumbest reasons for detention.”

  “Mars Patel, check,” Mr. Q went on. “Here for insubordination, answering back to authority, and being a general pain in the —”

  Mr. Q was interrupted by a figure squeezing past him and sliding into a chair.

  “Hi, y’all. What did I miss?” JP asked breathlessly. “Sorry I’m late.”

  “JP McGowan, at last,” Mr. Q said, eyeing them. “Here for destruction of school property.”

  “That’s a new one,” Toothpick said. “Well, not really.”

  “I closed the window in Spanish and the glass broke,” JP said proudly. “Seriously, y’all, I don’t know my own strength.”

  Mr. Q was reading through the list. “Aurora Gershowitz? Still not here. And what about Jonas Hopkins?”

  “They’re both missing,” Mars said despondently.

  “Wait, Jonas, too? I thought it was just Aurora,” JP said.

  “Jonas disappeared during the Code Red,” Caddie explained.

  “OK, detention has officially started. No talking and no cell phones. Please take out your homework and save your discussion for later,” Mr. Q told everyone.

  Mars tapped his fingers impatiently against the desk. Usually he didn’t do any of his homework in detention. Usually he was devising the next plan for disrupting life at H. G. Wells. Two weeks ago during recess, he and Aurora had switched all the lights in their English teacher’s room with bulbs they could control remotely with their phones. All during class, Mars would turn the lights on and off, even changing the colors to neon yellow and green, until Ms. DeTemple was ready to have a nervous breakdown. Then last week, they got ahold of Clyde Boofsky’s phone and replaced the ringtone with a giant farting sound. They kept calling him so he sounded like he was ripping big ones in front of everyone in science. The Boof yelled at everyone to stop laughing, then he was sent to the nurse’s office for “excessive flatulence.”

  But today? Zilch. No ideas. With Aurora and Jonas gone, what was the point? Shouldn’t he be thinking about how to get them back?

  Behind Mars, JP was sketching out a game plan for the upcoming soccer match. Today their team was leaving the school at four thirty for an away game. “Hey Mr. Q, OK if I leave a few minutes early?” JP called out. “My bus leaves for Bremerton in thirty minutes.”

  Mr. Q glanced over his newspaper. “We’ve gone over this before. I have a note from your coach. They’ll wait if you leave here immediately after detention. That gives you three minutes to get to the bus out front.”

  “Only if I run,” JP muttered. JP could do most things if they required being strong or fast. It was waiting that sucked.

  “What happened to Jonas?” JP whispered to Mars.

  “I don’t know,” he whispered back. “I think it has something to do with Aurora.”

  “There is a high probability,” Toothpick agreed, looking up from his science homework, which he’d already finished so he was making up a few extra problems for his teacher to solve. “Of course, there’s a low probability, too. Depends on the variables.”

  “Like what?” Caddie whispered.

  Toothpick listed them. “Time of day, clues found, motivations, hostile presences, weather patterns.”

  “That’s everything, Pick,” JP scoffed.

  “Ow,” Caddie suddenly said, pressing her head.

  Toothpick jerked a thumb in her direction. “Oh, yeah, and Caddie’s head.”

  The newspaper rustled violently. “I can hear everything,” Mr. Q called out. “You really don’t know what quiet means, do you?”

  Mars cleared his throat. “Maybe we’re not who you want us to be.”

  Mr. Q put down his paper, which was open to an article titled “No Time for Plan B — Climate Change Is Happening Now.” “What does that mean, Mars?” he asked.

  JP let out a big sigh. “Look, everybody in this school hates us because of who we are.”

  “Who are we?” Caddie asked, surprised.

  “Freaks,” JP answered. “Outcasts, misfits.”

  “Losers,” Toothpick added.

  “Hey,” Caddie said indignantly.

  “I know what you’re saying, JP,” Mr. Q said. “You’re right that the school doesn’t view your gang favorably. In fact, the principal has some choice words for all of you. You wouldn’t be able to get into Pruitt Prep with her recommendation.”

  “Great,” Mars muttered. “So we’re delinquents.”

  Mr. Q’s face softened. “Look, you’re not here because you’re bad kids. You’re here because you’re smart kids but you haven’t figured out how to stay out of trouble.”

  “Really?” JP asked. “You think we’re smart?”

  Mr. Q smiled. “I’m not the only one who thinks so. But it’s like that time you reprogrammed the sprinkler system to go off during track practice? That was awful. Brilliant, but awful.”

  Mars grinned. That was a sick prank. And now Mr. Q calling it brilliant? Hearing that got the juices in Mars’s brain flowing again.

  “Plus, I see how you treat each other,” Mr. Q said, “and the things you wonder about, and I think you kids are all right.”

  “Thanks, Mr. Q,” JP said. “You’re all right, too.”

  Mr. Q picked up the newspaper again. “But just because I think that doesn’t mean you get to talk in detention. Rules are rules. Remember, they have cameras in every room. Somebody’s watching you right now.”

  This made everyone automatically look up at the two tiny lenses in the far corners of the ceiling. Mr. Q was talking about the new security system that had been installed over the summer.

  Meanwhile, Mars had sat back in his chair. “All right, Mr. Q, we’ll be quiet,” he said casually.

  Toothpick, Caddie, and JP immediately looked at him. Something was up. They could hear the change in Mars’s voice.

  He leaned over to them. “I have a plan to find Jonas,” he whispered. “Who’s free after nine tonight?”

  “Ooooh, count me in!” JP whispered right away.

  “Affirmative,” Toothpick whispered.

  “Nine o’clock?” Caddie repeated. “That’s, like, after dark. My parents will be home.”

  “What’s it going to be,
Cads?” Mars said. “To the stars!”

  Caddie swallowed. “I guess I could climb out my window.” She glanced at Mr. Q, whose eyes were glued to his newspaper. “But Mars, what on earth are you getting us into?”

  The first time Aurora had talked to Mars was on the first day of sixth grade, when she’d told him he was sitting in her seat.

  “Move,” she said. “That’s my chair. I saw the seating chart.”

  Mars looked at her, slightly terrified. Were they supposed to have assigned seats already in English? It didn’t matter. Mars got up readily and moved his things off the desk because Aurora Gershowitz was scary. Not scary like Clyde Boofsky or Scott Bane, who were big and tough but total dumb-heads. Aurora was scary because she was pretty. She’d been in his fourth- and fifth-grade classes, and everything she did seemed to be an act of defiance, from her purple-tipped hair to her spiky wristbands to her bright red lipstick when no other girls were wearing makeup. She was also really smart, which meant she would finish her work way before everyone else did and wander off into the hall until someone brought her back and said they’d found her opening a locked door, gluing shut an open one, turning lights on and off, and generally being a nuisance.

  As Mars stood there with his notebook and pencil, Aurora seemed to reconsider.

  “Actually, your chair is in front of me,” she said. “So you better sit there.”

  Sit in front of Aurora Gershowitz? Wasn’t that more terrifying? Mars sat down anyway, conscious of all the awful things Aurora could do to him with his back turned: make faces, shoot rubber bands, laugh at him. But then something unexpected happened. A piece of folder paper landed in his lap. It was a note from Aurora. For the next few incredible minutes, the piece of paper went back and forth between them as Ms. DeTemple was busy loading a program on the SMART Board.

  And then:

  When Ms. DeTemple announced she was getting something from the office and would be back shortly, Mars turned around and saw Aurora grinning at him. It was a smile Mars would come to recognize again and again, whenever Aurora was up to no good.