“Why?” I cried in a total panic. “Why can’t you help me?”
Her eyes locked on mine. “Because I’m imaginary,” she said. “I’m your imaginary sister. So how can I help you?”
Everything started to spin. As if I was on some kind of crazed, out-of-control carousel.
I shut my eyes but it didn’t stop my dizziness.
Kayla is imaginary?
Why did she say that? It can’t be true — can it?
Am I totally crazy?
I opened my eyes. “Kayla, I don’t understand. I —”
She was gone. Vanished.
I staggered forward and nearly tripped over Elliot.
My friend was a robot and my sister was imaginary. This was too much to deal with. My head felt about to explode.
I knew I should run. But I couldn’t force my legs to move.
I stood frozen there, my head spinning, as the gnomes swarmed around me. They grumbled and groaned in low voices and shoved me into the center of their circle.
Caught in the middle of the crowd, I was pushed one way, then the other.
“Malfunction,” a gnome said in a harsh whisper. “Malfunction. Malfunction.”
And they all picked up the chant.
I let out a cry and covered my ears. I tried to shout over their tinny, hoarse voices so I wouldn’t have to hear that word anymore.
And without thinking about it another second, I lowered my shoulder like a football running back. And I jammed it into the gnome closest to me.
He uttered a yip and toppled to one side. As he stumbled, he knocked over the gnome next to him, who fell and sent another gnome sprawling to the grass.
A whole bunch of gnomes went down like bowling pins. And I took off, running with my shoulder down.
I butted another gnome hard. He let out a startled groan as he flew off his feet and sailed into two or three other lawn gnomes.
Yessss!
Gnomes grabbed at me. Flew at me. Tried to tackle me.
I dodged and ducked and slid from their grasp. My sneakers slapped the grass hard as I ran … away from the shouting gnomes … away from the disgusting quagmire.
A gnome dove to tackle me. I swerved away from him, and he sailed onto the ground on his belly.
Two more lawn gnomes came at me. I reached out and swiped their long red hats. I tossed the hats on the grass and kept running. They forgot about me and dove to retrieve their hats.
I was panting hard now, but I didn’t slow down. I ran through the darkness, tall black trees all around. No one in sight. No one.
Up ahead, I could see a block of small houses. My heart pounding, I glanced back. No gnomes. No gnomes behind me.
I had outrun them. I had won.
I wanted to jump for joy. I wanted to scream and shout out my victory.
But I kept running. And listening for their raspy voices, their tapping footsteps.
I recognized the houses on the block. I knew I was three or four blocks from home.
Keep going, Jay. Don’t slow down.
I turned the corner. My breath came out in rapid wheezes. I recognized Elliot’s house as I ran past it. I wondered if his parents were worried about him.
But that only brought questions to my mind: If Elliot was a robot, did he have parents? Why did he pretend to be human? Was he only pretending to be my friend?
I couldn’t stop to think about it. I had to keep running.
I was only a block from my house now. One block from safety.
I slid on some leaves. Caught my balance. And stopped with a gasp as I saw more lawn gnomes. Dozens of them. Moving toward me, swarming from all directions.
I lowered my shoulder to bump them out of my way. Maybe I could run right through them. Escape as I had before.
But no. I didn’t have the strength. I’d used up all my energy. I had nothing left. Nothing.
I stood there panting, my whole body aching. I couldn’t put up a fight.
Buzzing like excited bees, the lawn gnomes circled me. The circle tightened. Once again, I was raised off the ground. Lifted high by several gnomes.
I lay captured, helpless, staring up at the sliver of moon. It looked like a grin. It looked like the moon was laughing at me as this new bunch of gnomes gleefully carried me down the street.
Back to the quagmire.
They held me tightly above their heads and carried me back to the disgusting quicksand pit. And as I frantically tried to gather my strength, I saw that there were hundreds of them now. Hundreds of gnomes, cheering and shouting and buzzing and pumping their little fists in the air.
“No! Please. Please!” I begged as they hoisted me toward the deadly lake.
But no one could hear my cries over the joyful shouts of the gnomes.
It was like a celebration. Why were they so happy to dump me in the quicksand? Just because I stepped outdoors at night?
“Please! Please!”
I twisted and squirmed. But their little hands dug into my skin and held me in place.
They carried me to the edge of the quagmire. They lifted me higher.
I heard gnomes cheering. And laughing.
And then they heaved me hard. I felt myself fly from their hands. I sailed headfirst through the air. Screaming, I landed with a splaaat.
I choked as the cold, lumpy glop poured into my open mouth.
I struggled to swim. I slapped my arms on the surface of the wet gunk. But I couldn’t keep myself up.
Choking, I sank fast … down … down into the cold, wet darkness.
Darkness all around. A deep black I’d never seen before.
I couldn’t breathe. The thick sand clogged my throat.
I felt myself sinking. Rapidly sinking deeper into the quagmire.
This isn’t fair, I told myself. I didn’t know the rule. I didn’t know the penalty for being out after dark.
How can this be happening to me?
I tried to thrash my arms. Tried frantically to pull myself to the surface of the cold quicksand.
But I didn’t have the strength. I gave up. I let my arms float at my sides as I sank deeper … deeper.
Suddenly, I saw a flash of light. The darkness gave way to a blinding white light.
My brain is exploding.
I felt something grab me from underneath. Something wrapped around my stomach, my chest, my legs.
It gripped me tightly. And held on.
The biting fish! The fish with legs.
I remembered how they chomped at my legs, bit big holes in my jeans. How they leaped from the sand, snapping their pointed teeth.
Was I going to end up as fish food?
No. Gripped in horror, I realized I was rising through the muck. The thing that wrapped around me — was it some kind of net? It pulled me higher.
The wet sand washed over me as I rose. It seemed to take forever. But soon I popped above the surface.
I felt the cool, fresh air on my face. I coughed, and sucked in a deep breath. And then another.
My eyes were still closed. They were covered in gunk. I raised my hands and wiped frantically at my face.
Finally, I opened my eyes. I saw the pack of lawn gnomes at the edge of the quagmire. They worked a long pole that stretched toward me. The pole held the net that was wrapped around me.
They swung it hard, and I went sailing over the quicksand. I landed on my back on the grass.
First the gnomes tossed me into the quagmire. Then they used the big net to rescue me.
Why?
Still gasping for breath, I pulled myself to my feet. I stumbled and fell back to my knees. I was completely tangled in the net.
Two gnomes came forward and started to pull the net off me. My clothes felt sticky and damp. Wet sand clung to my skin.
Finally, the net fell away. The two gnomes stepped back.
The lawn gnomes stood silently in a group. They stared at me. They had weird expressions on their bearded faces, as if they expected me to speak.
 
; But I didn’t know what they wanted me to say. I think I was still in shock. Still shaken by sinking so deep in the quicksand. Thinking that I was going to die down there.
As I stared back at the group of gnomes, I heard footsteps. The gnomes stepped aside.
And I saw Mom and Dad making their way through the crowd.
My mouth dropped open. I cried out, my voice hoarse from the sand I’d swallowed:
“Mom? Dad? What are you doing here?”
And then I saw Elliot and McClatchy walking behind them.
Their faces were all grim. They didn’t speak.
I uttered a startled cry. “What is happening?”
Mom and Dad and McClatchy stopped in front of the gnomes. Elliot walked closer, to the edge of the quagmire.
“Huh? Are … are you okay?” I stammered.
He nodded. A grin spread over his face.
“But your arm —” I cried.
He held out his arm. He swung it up and down. He squeezed the fingers into a fist. “No problem,” he said. “I’m all fixed. Everything works fine.”
Mom and Dad stepped up beside him. Their faces were tight with worry.
“Are you okay?” Mom asked, her eyes studying me.
“We’ve been very worried about you,” Dad said.
I blinked. I still had grains of sand in my eyelashes. “Worried about me?” I said. “Why?”
“We couldn’t get your programming to work,” Dad answered.
I gasped. “My what?”
“Your programming,” Dad repeated. “You were off track. We all tried to reset you. But you were completely malfunctioning.”
Malfunctioning?
“But — but — but —” I couldn’t speak. I just sputtered.
“The gnomes had the idea to scare you,” Dad said.
“That’s right,” Mom added. “Sometimes a good scare will shake you back online.”
The gnomes all began to mutter and nod their heads.
“But that’s crazy!” I cried. “I —”
“We had to do something,” Mom insisted. “We were desperate. We didn’t want to lose you.”
I stared at McClatchy standing behind my parents with his hands in his pockets. Why was he here? Was he part of this whole plan to scare me?
“I don’t get it,” I told them. “I didn’t need a scare. I’m perfectly okay.”
The gnomes began to mutter again.
“I hope you’re right,” Mom said, clasping her hands in front of her. “I really do.”
Dad walked up and put his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s give you a simple test,” he said.
I gazed up at him. “A test?”
He nodded. “Answer this question: What is your name?”
I laughed. “Huh? My name? You’re joking, right? Why are you asking such a totally easy question?”
Dad squeezed my shoulder. “Go ahead. Just answer it. What is your name?”
I made a face at him. “My name is Pul-Mar, of course.”
Mom and Dad both let out loud sighs. Elliot clapped his hands. McClatchy cheered and pumped a fist in the air.
“Oh, thank goodness!” Mom cried. “We don’t have to call you Jay anymore. Pul-Mar. That’s your name. And where do we live?”
“Another easy one,” I muttered. “We live on Polovia. Planet of the Lawn Gnomes.”
Everyone cheered again. The lawn gnomes jumped up and down and tossed their red caps in the air. McClatchy pumped his fist.
Mom and Dad rushed forward and hugged me tight. Mom had tears in her eyes. “We were so worried about you, Pul-Mar,” she said in a trembling voice.
Dad agreed. “All of a sudden, you started telling people your name was Jay. And you said you came from some strange planet we never heard of. It was called Earth.”
I laughed. “Jay? What a stupid name!”
“And where did you come up with that weird planet?” McClatchy asked.
“Earth?” I thought hard. “I think I read about a planet called Earth in a sci-fi story. It doesn’t really exist.”
“Of course it doesn’t,” Dad said. “But you told everyone you lived there.”
“Weird,” I murmured. “Totally weird.”
“You started acting very strange,” Mom said. “You began playing jokes on people and pulling dumb pranks.”
“That definitely isn’t in your programming,” Dad said.
“And you made up an imaginary sister for yourself,” Mom added. “You called her Kayla.”
I blinked. “Really? I did? That’s crazy. I never had a sister-noid.”
Elliot stepped forward. “You told me you were new here,” he said. “But that’s not true. You’ve lived in this neighborhood your whole life.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“And you said you burned your house down,” Elliot continued. “But I knew that couldn’t be true. I knew you loved mixing chemicals. And I knew you made light-sticks. But the houses on Polovia are all built of stumis. And stumis can’t burn.”
“Of course stumis can’t burn,” I said.
And suddenly, it all came back to me. The truth about life on Polovia and who I was. Everything. It just flashed back into my mind.
Me, my parents, Elliot, McClatchy — we’re all mecha-noids. We were built by the lawn gnomes to work for them during the day, before they come to life every night.
“I get it,” I said. “I remember everything now.”
The gnomes cheered again and tossed their caps. I guess they were happy their scare cure worked.
I waved to them and shouted thanks. Then I followed my parents home.
My gears creaked and my circuits groaned. I was exhausted. What a long night!
I said good night to my parents and hurried upstairs to my room. I clicked on the light. To my surprise, someone was waiting for me there.
“Mr. Phineas!” I cried.
I started across the room to him. But I stopped short when he began to speak.
“We have to get out of here, Jay,” the dog rasped in a throaty, deep voice. “We have to find a way back to Earth.”
I gasped. “Huh? Earth?” I squinted at the dog. “You — you speak?”
Mr. Phineas nodded. “No time to explain. We have to get moving. We have to go back home.”
“To Earth?” I cried. “That’s an imaginary planet. I can’t do that! That’s totally crazy.”
The dog tilted his head and stared at me. “Come on, Jay — who are you going to believe? Them? Or your dog?”
The list continues with book #2
SON OF SLAPPY
Here’s a sneak peek!
My name is Jackson Stander. I’m twelve, and I know a secret.
You don’t have to ask. I’m going to share my secret with you. When I tell you what it is, you might laugh at me.
My sister Rachel laughs at me. She rolls her eyes and groans and calls me a goodie-goodie.
But I don’t care. Rachel is in trouble all the time, and I’m not. And that’s because of my secret, which I’m going to share with you now:
It’s a lot easier to be good than to be bad.
That’s the whole thing. You’re probably shaking your head and saying, “What’s the big deal? What kind of crazy secret is that?”
It’s simple. Let me explain. I try hard to do the right thing all the time. I try to be nice to everyone, and work hard in school, and be cheerful and kind, and help people when I can, and just be a good dude.
This makes Rachel sick. She’s always poking her finger down her throat and making gagging sounds whenever I say or do something nice.
Rachel is a real sarcastic kid and a troublemaker. She likes to argue with her teacher, and she gets into fights with kids in her class. She hates it when the teachers say, “Why can’t you be more like your brother, Jackson?”
What does she call me? She calls me Robot. She says I’m some kind of goodie-goodie machine.
You’ve probably guessed that Rachel and I don’t get along tha
t well, even though she’s just a year younger than me.
We both look a lot alike, too. We’re kind of average height. We have straight brown hair and brown eyes, and we both have freckles on our noses and dimples when we smile.
Rachel hates her dimples and her freckles. She says she hates it that she looks more like Dad than like Mom. Of course, that doesn’t make Dad very happy. He calls Rachel Problem Child. Mom scolds him every time he says it.
But she is a problem child. Mainly, she’s my problem because she’s always in my face. And she’s always testing me, teasing me. Trying to make me lose it, blow up, get steamed, start to shout or fight.
Rachel’s mission in life is to get me in trouble with Mom and Dad. She’s always trying to make me look bad. But she’s so lame. There’s no way she can win.
A few weeks ago, she was doing an art project in her room and spilled red paint on her floor. She went running to Mom and said, “Jackson was messing around with my paint, and look what he did.”
Of course, Mom didn’t believe her for a second. Why would I be messing around with her paint?
Last night before dinner, Rachel was helping Mom carry the food to the table. She tripped over Sparky, our cat, dropped a platter of chicken — and it went flying all over the floor.
“Jackson tripped me!” Rachel told Mom.
I was standing all the way across the room. How lame was that?
But Rachel keeps trying.
Now, please don’t get me wrong. I’m not perfect. If I told you I’m perfect, that would be obnoxious. Besides, no one is perfect.
I just try to do my best. I really do believe it’s easier to be good than bad.
It’s something I knew from the time I was a tiny kid.
And then something happened.
Something happened, and I turned bad. I turned very bad. No. Let’s tell the truth. I, Jackson Stander, became evil.
And that’s what this story is all about.
We have two canaries at the YC. I gave them their names — Pete and Repete. I can’t really tell which one is which, but I pretend.
After school on Wednesday, I was showing a bunch of kids how to pick the canaries up in your hand when you want to clean their cage.