Chapter 2

  The remainder of the bumpy ride to school was spent in silence – or at least as silent as a bus full of kids can get. It wasn’t long before Spritewood High came into view. The school was a hulking monolith built from grey stone. It bore carvings from a bygone era, and it had seen generations of students pass through its doors. The stone building had been around almost since Spritewood was founded a hundred and fifty years ago, and its age was showing.

  Even though Spritewood High was technically a high school, it hosted students from seventh to twelfth grade, while first through sixth graders attended Spritewood Elementary. Spritewood was a relatively small town, and a high percentage of school-age kids were homeschooled or went to a private school, hence the seventh and eighth graders attending high school. There simply wasn’t quite enough kids to justify building a junior high school.

  The yellow bus slid to a stop just in front of the main doors, and its passengers filed out. Solomon stepped onto the curb and rolled his sore shoulders, ready for another day of seventh grade. His Quasi Quartet was a comforting weight on his back.

  A black limo pulled up just behind the school but, and the driver stepped out of the vehicle and opened one of the back doors. A pair of expensive dress shoes touched down on the curb, and then Warren Scott, the universally disliked rich kid, rose to his feet. Everything about his outfit screamed, “I’m rich!”, from his crisply ironed suit to his gold-plated watch, to his pitch-black sunglasses. Even the way his black hair was arrogantly slicked back spoke volumes about him.

  “Out of my way, Peterson,” Warren snapped. “Just because you’re a benchwarmer doesn’t mean you have to warm the sidewalk too.”

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  Solomon stepped aside, but gave Warren a glare as the twelve-year-old businessman strode into Spritewood High like he owned the place. Seething inside, Solomon proceeded to enter the building himself. The cheerful attitudes of the students within lifted his spirits and brought his mind to lighter things. As he walked toward his locker, his numerous friends called out greetings and congratulated him on Saturday’s big game. Solomon couldn’t help remembering his duties as benchwarmer, but he forced himself to smile and accept the compliment.

  Countless purple lockers lined the halls, but by now, Solomon had memorized the location of Locker 665, which was his personal storage compartment. Dark purple and pale yellow assaulted his vision as he waded through the crowds, due to the color scheme selected for the school. The colors were intimidating on Spritewood High’s flag – in a good way – but inside the building, they made Solomon feel as if he was walking through an alien world.

  Locker 665 looked like any other – until you opened the door and saw the dozens of Quasi Quartet posters that Solomon had plastered on the inside of the door. He quickly grabbed the books he needed, then slammed the locker door shut, causing a loud clang to reverberate through the hall and mingle with the sound of the students’ shouts and hollers.

  “Do you really have to slam it every time?” Luna asked quietly. She was retrieving her stuff from the next-door locker, Locker 666.

  “Sorry!” Solomon gave her an apologetic grin, and she smiled back. The school bell trilled shrilly, and Solomon hefted his much-heavier backpack over one shoulder. “That’s our cue!” The Peterson twins ran to their first class and just managed to slide into their seats on time. Their math teacher finished writing an equation on the chalkboard and turned to face her students. “Mr. and Ms. Peterson, glad you were able to join us today.” Snickers echoed through the room, but the teacher silenced them with a look. “Now, class, let’s start with this equation here…”