Foxworth Academy (6 page)

Mr. Martin laughed and said, “Of course it is, you just did it!”

“No, no, no,” Ally said, moving about the room as if she were in a daze of some sort.  “It’s not possible.  My dad watches that movie, what is it called...any time it’s on.  Back in Time, or Back...”

“
Back to the Future
,” Mr. Martin answered for her.

“Yeah,
Back to the Future
.  My dad said it’s impossible to time travel.”

“And your dad based this on what?  Is he a scientist? A physicist?”

“Ah, no.”

“Well, then, Ms. Davidson,” he chuckled, “then I don’t see how your father could have said that time travel is not possible since you just witnessed it first-hand.  Unfortunately, by signing that little document on day one, your father cannot know that you just traveled through time.  Remember?”

“But, but...” Ally muttered.

“No buts about it,” Mr. Martin said in a rather ominous tone.

“I won’t say anything,” Ally pleaded, “I just don’t understand.  How?”

“We’ll get to all that.  Now please change back into your clothes and leave these clothes in the closet for tomorrow.”

Brett and Ally looked at each other and Brett said, “We’re doing this again tomorrow?”

B
rett and Ally were greeted with cheers and applause as they made their way back up the steps, through the closet and into the classroom.  They looked around the room, slightly embarrassed at all the attention they were getting as they made their way to their seats.  The kids nearest them were shouting questions amid the applause; “What was it like?  Do you feel any pain?  Did Mr. Martin tell you where you were?  Do we all get to go?”

“No, Mr. Thomas,” the teacher said loudly, quickly quieting the hooting and hollering, “you all do not get to go.  Well, at least not this semester.  Brett and Ally were chosen at random and they are the ones who get the experience.  You all will be watching from the comforts of this classroom.  You’ll be taking notes, asking questions,
answering
questions and eventually taking quizzes and tests.”

“But, where were they and what were they doing there?” a young man asked.

Mr. Martin smiled and said, “That’s for Bret and Ally to figure out.  But if you want a little extra credit, you figure it out first.”

“Well, we already know the date, April 10, 1912,” he replied, challenging the professor.

“Yes, William, you do.  And if you were paying attention, then you also know they were in a town called Southampton.”

“Well, let’s just Google it,” the kid said, patting his pockets for his cell phone.  Then he remembered that all cell phones had to be left in your locker until the end of the day.

“No phone, William?  Here use my iPad,” Mr. Martin said, reaching out to his desk and handing it over to the kid.

William grabbed the iPad from his teacher, powered it on, and pressed the Safari icon.  The homepage came up as Google and William typed in the date and town just like he said he would. 

ACCESS DENIED

He tried again.

ACCESS DENIED

He changed to Yahoo and tried the same date and town name.

ACCESS DENIED

He tried a simple search and typed in “Syracuse,” his favorite college basketball team.  The results came back showing 79,700,000 results.

“What’s going on?” William asked Mr. Martin.

“Google, Yahoo, MSN, AskJeeves, I always liked that one, will not be accessible this semester for anything related to this class.  You kids have it too easy.  In my day, we actually had to go to the library to research papers, study for tests, do book reports.  You kids have the answers with a push of a button.  Sorry, you are all blocked.  Home computers, libraries, cell phones, all of them are blocked from accessing any type of information about this semester’s subject.”

“How in the world did you do that?” said a rather skinny freckled girl sitting in the back. 

Mr. Martin let out a hearty chuckle.  “That was easy.  Remember?  I did build a time machine.”

A boy near the front started to say something and Mr. Martin interjected.  “No, I’m not going to tell you how I did that, either.  Let’s just say it took many years and no one knows about it, except this school, of course.  And let’s keep it that way.  So,” he looked over at Ally and Brett, “let’s talk about your little trip, shall we?”

They both stared in silence not sure of what to say.

“Class?  Questions?”

About ten hands shot straight into the air and Mr. Martin called on a pretty girl with blonde hair in the back.  “Ms. Stephenson?”

“What did it feel like?  I mean like, did it hurt?”

Ally chuckled and replied, “No, it didn’t hurt at all.  It was weird.  It all happened so fast.  It was like waking up after a nap in the middle of the day.  You don’t know what time it is or where you are.”

Brett smiled and simply said, “Yeah, it was pretty cool.”

“Mr. Jackson?”

“How about the end when you came back.  It looked like you were dizzy or in shock or something.”

This time Brett replied, “Yeah, I was watching Ally, and all of the sudden her face was like, changing.  I started seeing stars and then it all went black.  You know that feeling you get when you stand up too quick?  You almost have to steady yourself from falling over?  It was like that.  Didn’t hurt or anything though.”

“Ms. Cartwright?”

“What’s with the clothes you were wearing?” she laughed and the class joined her.

“Hey,” Ally said defensively, “they weren’t our choice.  Mr. Martin made us dress like that.”

The professor came to their rescue.  “Yes, class, it was my decision, and a good one at that.  They cannot travel back in time and wear the clothes from today’s period.  They have to fit the part.  The hats were my addition, though,” he snickered.  “Plus, it’s the best way to place the hidden cameras.”

The bell rang and the students started to murmur and gather their belongings.  Mr. Martin clapped his hands twice and the class hushed in silence.  “Don’t forget class...don’t bother researching on your phone, your laptop, your iPad, the library, whatever; it’s all blocked.  And also,” he paused for dramatic effect, “don’t forget that little piece of paper you signed a few short weeks ago.” 

He smiled, allowing these words to sink in.  “Now enjoy the rest of your day.”  He turned towards Brett and Ally and asked them to stay a minute.  “Follow me,” he said to them.  They followed the teacher out of the classroom, down the hallway and out the front door.  “Excuse me Mr. Martin, but we’re not supposed to leave the school,” Ally said.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Davidson, I’ve cleared it with the principal.”  Mr. Martin continued along the stone walkway that surrounded the school grounds.  In the distance, students were playing on the soccer field for gym class.  After about a hundred yards, they came to an iron gate that separated the school grounds from someone’s backyard.  Mr. Martin, unlatched the gate and proceeded into the yard, Brett and Ally reluctantly following.  They followed him up the stairs of a wooden deck and he opened the back door of a house with a key. 

“Welcome to my home,” he said, raising his arm and allowing them in.  “Greta, meet Ally and Brett.”

Brett looked at Ally and wondered who Greta was until a yellow Labrador retriever came bounding around the corner, nuzzling them with her nose.  Both Brett and Ally reached down and petted the dog. 

“Good girl,” Ally said.

They looked around the spacious kitchen and extravagant home of their teacher.  Marble countertops adorned every nook and cranny of the kitchen with stainless steel appliances perched on their smooth surfaces.  The problem however, was that these appliances were different from what Ally and Brett were used to and the teacher noticed their confusion. 

“What, you’ve never seen a salt-infused pretzel maker?” Mr. Martin said, walking over to a small steel contraption resembling a sandwich maker, that was plugged into an outlet.  “Ever grab a pretzel with no salt on it?  Kind of flavor-less if you ask me.  All the salt falls to the bottom of the bag.  Well this little guy,” he patted the top of the appliance, “Ensures that the salt never falls off the pretzel.”

“How?” Brett asked.

Mr. Martin ignored him and walked over to another machine, this one stretching at least two feet tall.  “This one here is my orange juicer.”

“Oh, we have one of those,” Ally said.

“One that grows its own oranges?” Mr. Martin replied.

Ally and Brett stared motionless.

Mr. Martin walked around the countertop island and over to the sink.  “Mind washing your hands, Brett?”

Brett walked over to the sink, pulled the lever up to turn the water on and stopped.  “There’s no soap,” he said.

As soon as he said the word soap, the running water turned into a slow foamy discharge of what could only be described as, soap.

“Cool,” was all Brett could manage.

They spent the next few minutes walking around the house with Mr. Martin showing off his latest gadgets and inventions.

“The reason I brought you both here is to show you what I’m capable of.  This is no joke.  You are time-traveling.”

Brett and Ally listened as the teacher told them how serious their mission was and that it was not to be taken lightly.  “What you are experiencing is very real.”

“It just doesn’t seem...,” Ally said, pausing to search for the right word.

“Possible!” Brett said loudly, filling in the blanks.

“Brett, if you don’t believe it’s possible, it never will be.  You can’t expect your whole life to be simple and by the book.  Both of you challenge your minds.  Challenge your hearts.”  Mr. Martin chuckled and said, “Trust me, it feels good.”

They left soon thereafter, both wondering what they had gotten themselves into this semester. 

CHAPTER NINE

F
or the rest of the day, Brett felt like he was in a daze.  He went to lunch knowing he couldn’t say anything to his friends.  A part of him even felt guilty because Frankie was staring at him the whole time with jealous, envious eyes—like he was enraged.  But what could he do?  He didn’t choose to be in that situation; it wasn’t his fault that he got to go back in time and Frankie didn’t.  Brett received his fare share of envious glares from Lance, too.  He didn’t care so much about that.  He was very happy and proud that he was going on this journey with the prettiest girl in the class.

“How was school, Brett?” The daily question arrived at exactly 2:45 pm in the afternoon as his dad stepped on the gas and drove toward home.

Well, today I traveled back in time, Dad.  What’s for dinner?
  “It was good,” he said instead.

His dad turned to him with a wide-eyed expression.  “Good, he says...wow!  What a big step up from ‘okay.’  What happened today that was different than every other day?”

Brett just shrugged and said, “I don’t know, it was just good.  What’s for dinner?”

His dad wanted to press the “good” issue but the master chef inside him couldn’t wait to describe tonight’s meal.  “Looks like rain so no grilling tonight.  But a nice baked pecan encrusted tilapia filet sounds good, eh?”  Nick knew his son loved seafood.  “I’ve got a nice tomato and black bean salsa going too, with fresh cilantro.”

“Cool,” was all Brett said.

“Need your help in the garden for a bit when we get home.”

Brett sighed and leaned his head against the window.

“Come on, it will take ten minutes.  I need at least a hundred hot peppers to make more hot sauce this year.  I’ll even take a bite out of a habanero if you help.”

Brett turned, smiled and said, “Deal.”  Brett’s dad loved hot peppers, loved growing them, eating them, making hot sauce, drying them and making crushed peppers.  Best of all, Brett loved when his dad would take a nice big bite out of a fresh pepper.  He loved the look on his face as the painful explosion slowly came about in his mouth.

Nick parked the SUV in the driveway and Brett bounded up the steps like he did everyday.  He tossed his backpack on the nearest chair and tore open the pantry.  Today he grabbed some pretzel rods and opted for ice water as his beverage choice.

“Do you even eat lunch?” his dad asked dropping his keys in the kitchen drawer.

Crumbs and salt drifted out of his mouth as Brett replied, “Yep.”

Nick reached under the kitchen island, opened the cabinet door and grabbed two clear Rubbermaid bowls and handed one to Brett.  “Let’s go,” he said.

Brett stuffed one last pretzel rod into his mouth, half of it sticking out of his mouth like a cigar.  They walked through the sliding glass doors, down the steps of the patio and over to the garden.  There was a thin green mesh fence about two feet high that Nick had installed to keep the multitude of rabbits from eating his garden.  They stepped over the fence and into a ten foot by ten foot garden.  The corn bordering the left side had been picked clean and now turned the color of hay.  The tomatoes were on their last legs as were the zucchini, cucumbers, and squash, but the twelve hot pepper plants were thriving.

They were clustered in four rows of three.  The first row was labeled Red Thai Chile Peppers based on the white plastic ID tag in the ground.  The second row was a mix of Inferno, Tabasco and Bell peppers.  The third row was actually all sweet peppers, orange, red, and green.  But the fourth row was the best.  The fourth row had three Habanero peppers, chocolate, original and peach.  Outside of the ghost pepper, which was difficult to grow, the habanero was one of the hottest peppers in the United States.

“Which one?” Nick asked his son.

Brett smiled and looked at his father.  He had always taken an interest in gardening and enjoyed planting, seeding, watering, fertilizing, and reaping the fruits of his labor with his father.  In the spring they planted the seeds inside and nurtured them until they could be transplanted outside.  Brett helped water and fertilize them until they were blooming plants with abundant fruit.

“Chocolate Hab,” Brett replied, smiling.

His father cringed and gave him a look that said,
Nooooooo
!

Brett went over to the dark green plant and picked a pepper that was at his knees.  It was dark brown, like chocolate, and smooth to the touch.  “Here,” he said.