Zacktastic by Courtney Sheinmel

Author:Courtney Sheinmel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sleeping Bear Press

11

GOING TO THE CHAPEL

I push open the bathroom door extra slowly and peek out into the hall to make sure it’s empty. Then I motion for Quinn to follow. “Where are we going?” she asks.

“We have to retrace my steps back to the chapel,” I tell her. “That’s where Trey’s cell phone is.”

“His cell phone is in a chapel?”

“It fell out of his backpack, and it’s lying on the floor.” I silently scold myself for not grabbing it up when I had the chance.

“Why didn’t he pick it up?”

“It’s a long story,” I say. “Come on.”

I tiptoe down the hall. Quinn is following me, but apparently she didn’t get the memo that we’re supposed to be acting stealthy. Nope, she’s walking down the middle of the hall like she thinks she owns it, and she’s jabbering away: “I must be dreaming. That’s the only logical explanation. Madeline went home, and I had dinner and went to bed. I don’t remember those things, but they must’ve happened, and now I’m fast asleep.” She lifts her left arm and pinches the skin with her right fingers. “Okay, I felt that. But maybe that’s just a rumor, that you can’t feel anything in your dreams. It’s not like we can really prove it.”

“Can’t you be quiet for once?” I hiss.

“It doesn’t matter if anyone hears me if I’m dreaming,” Quinn says, even louder.

“You’re not dreaming,” I say. My voice is barely a whisper. “You’re just in the denial stage.”

Uncle Max said there was a denial stage for finding out you’re a genie. Apparently there’s also one for finding out about your genie brother.

At the end of the hall I glance around the corner to make sure no one is there. When I’m sure the coast is clear, I make a mad dash for the lobby.

But Quinn is just standing there taking it all in—the checkerboard floor and chandeliers, the maroon walls and the oil paintings in gilded frames. “Whoa.”

“Come on,” I tell her. “Come on.”

I’ve already crossed the room and pushed open the front door. Quinn comes over and steps outside. Her eyes skim the expanse of lawn in front of us, perfectly groomed, the palm trees lining the borders, and the huge redbrick buildings. Above us the clouds are light gray, but they look heavier in the distance. Quinn, of course, isn’t worried about them.

“California, did you say?” she asks, and I nod. “It’s always been my dream to go to California. But in real life I would pick someone else to travel with.”

“Yeah, well, me too,” I tell her. “Anyway, that way is the under-construction athletic center.” I point as I remember. “And to get back to the chapel we have to . . .” It’s hard to retrace your steps when you made a stop in between them, but I don’t want to go all the way back to the Dumpster first, because that would mean having to spend even more time outside. “I think we go that way.” I turn around in a circle, trying to figure it out.

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