The Extraordinary eTab of Julian Newcomber by Michael Seese

Author:Michael Seese
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Common Deer Press
Published: 2019-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

The next morning, after breakfast and before his walk to school, Young Julian felt he had to go over things with Grown-up Julian.

“What are you going to do today? While I’m at school.”

“Maybe I’ll go over to the library, and—It’s still there, right?”

“It is.”

“Of course it is. You were just there, experimenting,” Grown-up Julian said, tapping his temple to emphasize that he still remembered a few details from his youth. “I loved that place. So I’ll go use one of their computers to surf the web. See if I can find something, anything from today that might relate to Cucumium. I think I still remember how to use a keyboard,” Grown-up Julian

“There are no keyboards? At all?”

“Nope, we use—”

“Don’t tell me!”

“Ooh! But there is something I do need to tell you.”

“What?”

“Remember this. It’s important. At least it will be, in the future. You need to—”

“Forget it.” Young Julian grabbed his pillow and wrapped it around his head, muffling Grown-up Julian saying, “Don’t bother asking Darla Bratt to the senior prom. She’ll just spend the night hanging all over Brian Borden. Instead, you should ask Linda Burg. Her dad is going to invent inflatable yogurt, and they’ll be gazillionaires.”

When Grown-up Julian’s lips had stopped moving, Young Julian tossed the pillow back on the bed.

“Are you done?”

“You really need to start listening to me.”

“Not a chance. Oh, and don’t forget. Dad works in the backyard.”

“Oh, right. I suppose I’d better not go for a walk around the yard then. Hmmm. The kitchen might be dangerous as well. After all, he does snack. Do you think maybe, just maybe, before you leave you could...” he said, looking sad—what the smart folks call “pathetic”—and rubbing his stomach.

“I’m late for school.”

“But I’ll be hungry!”

“Better get your replicator to make your lunch. See ya.”

Young Julian walked the half-mile down Washington, then just past Philomethian Street (a name chosen, no doubt, to make spelling tests seem easier in comparison), and turned right on the sandstone sidewalk leading up to the three-story brick school. As he passed some kids on the playground, he remembered his mother’s advice, though based on her tone of voice, Julian took it to be his mandate: “Try to make some friends.”

He would, he promised himself. Soon. Just not today.

Julian joined the crowd—what the smart folks call “the throng”—milling around the front door. He moved strategically, maneuvering to the base of the stone steps. When the “bussers” arrived and began streaming across the playground, the front doors swung open, and the mass moved inside. Experience had taught Julian that he needed to be near some other sixth graders when the inward surge started. Otherwise, he might find himself swept up to the third floor with the fourth graders, unable to swim free of the tide of preteen humanity.

Julian just managed to catch the railing at Floor Two and pull himself from the upward flow. He deposited the textbooks for his afternoon classes in his locker and took his seat in homeroom. Looking around, he watched his classmates and felt a slight sense of jealousy.

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