We find our intrepid hero lost in the bowels of the dark halls of upper K-building, having used a special program on his magic Chromebook to get to the hellish place. In addition to his Chromebook, his only assets are a flashlight, graphing calculator, a dozen Clif bars, and his wits. The corpses of the many freshmen who search for upper K-building with the kind of fanatic shame-fueled passion that being late to class brings to some people litter the floor. It’s not a very nice place, no siree it’s not.
But the newest freshman to become trapped in upper K-building is still alive! Though very weak with thirst, hunger, and toxic metal ions in her blood, Cassandra reveals the dark secret of the place: one of IHS’s old principals—called crazy lead guy—uses an abandoned chemistry classroom to poison IHS’s students with lead, having become mean in his old age. Will our hero and Cassandra be able to stop his nefarious plans? Or will they join the corpses scattered on the floor?
I heard a voice from the doorway. “You’re new.” It was ominous and sharp; hostile.
I turned around, feeling very afraid. Then I puffed out my chest and asked if he was crazy lead guy.
“Fool! Do you think I am crazy! I’ll get you!” He wore a suit under a large greatcoat. A battered fedora sat askew on his head.
He charged towards me, right hand pulled back for a punch. I dropped the backpack in which I had all my supplies and whirled my right foot into his diaphragm, taking the force of his charge but not the punch. He doubled over and I was thrown backwards. I aimed another kick at his head, but I missed, knocking the fedora across the classroom. I was off-guard and he tackled me against a desk.
As any AP Psychology student knows, the back of a human’s head contains the occipital lobes of the brain, responsible for vision. My head hit the desk hard. I think it bounced off and on the desk several times. In any case, my vision went fuzzy and beautiful stars danced across my vision. He hit me several more times, which didn’t hurt, because I couldn’t have been more than two percent conscious.
“First watch as your computer dies!” Indeed, it had partially slipped from my backpack before our fight. “These newfangled machines are the death of society!” He picked it up. I lay there unable to do anything as he reduced my beautiful Chromebook to rubbish with a chair.
“You …” I searched for a word that was appropriate to describe the deep disgust, hatred, and loathing I felt. It was as though someone had splashed cold water on my face; adrenaline surged through my legs. But before I knew it we were on the floor and I was rolling over him, trying to grab his hand. I found it, and locked the guy’s arm between my legs. I took his pinky and bent it back until it gave, the sharp crack followed by a cry of pain. We rolled away from each other, he holding his damaged hand and I trying to get up in my still barely conscious state.
I found the words I wanted. “You incontinent cactus! You insufferable toad! You philistine with no appreciation of good and beautiful and happy technology… GOOGLE HATER!” He got up, but only for a second, because somehow Cassandra had found the strength to heave a desk at him. It bounced off his mildly wrinkled forehead with a satisfying, almost bell-like ring, before clattering to the floor. He turned to look at her, almost quizzically, and then fell over.
But then got up again and his hand seemed to have healed. And I couldn’t. How strong is this guy? I wondered. Crazy lead guy opened his mouth to say something, but before any sound could come out, a strong voice cut him off.
“Aha! I have found you, child-poisoner!” boomed ICSD’s over-competent principal, Mr. Jason Trumble. “Now you die!”
He charged forwards, bellowing like an enraged rhinoceros. He chased crazy lead guy out of the room, and off into the darkness down the hallway. We could still hear his threats for a good time after.
All the fighting had made me hungry, so I started eating five Clif bars, the wrappers as loud as a jet engine as they crinkled. I gave the remaining seven bars to Cassandra, who had more need of them. Then the fighting duo started to come closer as Mr. Trumble’s voice became louder.
“How could you! Do you know the negative press IHS gets from all the lead poisoning?” Gaaaahhh!”
But then there was a whump, screams, and yells, and more whumps. “I won’t have no one interfering with my plans!” It sounded like Mr. Trumble was getting the worst of it.
Cassandra and I hid; I endeavored to open another Clif bar quietly, but without much success. It wouldn’t have mattered, because the ferocious ball of flailing limbs, punches, kicks, elbow strikes, headbuts, and lethal aggression that was Mr. Trumble and crazy lead guy rolled into the room like a mad elephant. Both of them saw us, but continued their epic battle.
Stunning crazy lead guy and actually eating a significant number of calories had given Cassandra a twinkle in her eyes. “We need something stronger than martial arts to take out this guy… we need science!”
There was a telepathic connection between us, and we set off to find the chemistry classroom. Although crazy lead guy had Mr. Trumble in a chokehold, Mr. Trumble seemed close to gouging out crazy lead guy’s eye, so I decided it was a draw for the moment.
We found the classroom Cassandra after a few minutes of my following her through the dark. Beakers labeled with varying high molarities of lead were scattered across the table tops.
Luckily, there were other chemicals. We taped several yardsticks together to form a long pole and taped a large stick of sodium metal we found to the end of that. Then we filled a large bucket with water. If only we could get it so that crazy lead guy was near the impending explosion. Mr. Trumble and crazy lead guy were continuing their fight, and based on the increasing volume of the principal’s grunts and the screams of crazy lead guy, we could tell they were getting closer. The time to use our bomb was coming, but horribly slowly, almost as slow, in fact, as the line students wait in to enter the library during a busy lunch period.
After a long wait, they appeared. It was clear that their battle was nearly over; both of their eyes were black, and blood ran from the swollen lips. Crazy lead guy’s cheeks were red and bruised, but due to their natural coloration, a more detailed look at Mr. Trumble’s would have been necessary to tell if his were the same (see “Trumble Rouge”). But it was also clear that Mr. Trumble was the loser. Crazy lead guy held Mr. Trumble by the shirt collar in one hand, the other reared back for a punch. I started forward; both of them weren’t close enough to the bomb.
Then something hit crazy lead guy’s head. Hard; so fast it was difficult to see what it was. I looked closer. The true power in the district had arrived! It was Superintendent Dr. Luvelle Brown, wielding a giant six-foot plank with the words “Board of Education” scratched on it like an enormous battleaxe.
“I don’t even need this!” shouted the superintendent, tossing the Board of Education aside. He demolished what was left of crazy lead guy with a couple of blows. Dr. Brown’s experience from funding ICSD two years ago with cage matches made his punches devastatingly fast and powerful.
Our bomb unneeded, Cassandra and I felt useless. But Dr. Brown knew just what to ask. “Every year we lose a bunch of kids up here. Who knows what the total cost on IHS’s student body has been since upper K was created? Do you two know how to destroy this place?”
Cassandra saw a large cannister of ammonium nitrate sitting on a shelf.
“Yes.” Her thin lips curled into a smile. “I just don’t know how big the blast will be.”
“I think I can use my graphing calculator to get us out of here,” I volunteered. Cassandra, Dr. Brown, and Mr. Trumble exchanged a “this person is crazy but we have to trust him” look and nodded. I tapped away at the calculator’s keyboard as tears ran down my cheeks. I thought of my destroyed Chromebook. Cassandra made the bomb, placing a beaker of water inside the ammonium nitrate cannister. Putting sodium in that water would initiate the whole explosion. Dr. Brown started showing off his biceps while posing with the Board of Education, taking selfies.
“We can delay the blast by wrapping the sodium in paper that the water has to seep through before the initial reaction can begin,” said Cassandra. I tripled-checked the code I had written on my graphing calculator.
“Ready.” Cassandra dumped the paper-wrapped mass of sodium into the water bucket. I ran the program on the calculator—and nothing happened. Everyone frowned at me, their eyes shooting the message ‘you are going to get us killed’ into mine. Smoke rose from the bucket of sodium and the water began to boil. Bubbles rose to the surface faster and faster. Then a blinding flash of light accompanied a loud bang, ringing in my ears.
The four of us were sprawled in the middle of K hallway. Lower K—light was streaming in a few far off windows. Slowly, I picked myself up. My graphing calculator’s screen was rapidly changing from off to on to static. Greenish blue steam rose from the keyboard. A minute passed, and soon the steam was gone. The calculator seemed normal, and indeed, it functioned all right. Smoke oozed from the ceiling.
To any future freshman told to find a class in upper K: It doesn’t exist. Really. We mean it this time.