The North Pole Challenge (Flea's Five Christmases, #1) (2 page)

             
“I don’t know what to tell you, sir,” Mr. Strick said. “I suppose I just have more…advanced students. Flea here is one of the finest –”

             
“I don’t care if you’re building
Noah’s Ark
in there. If you even want to
think
about coming back to teach a second year here, then you need to clean up your budget,” Principal Crawley yelled, his face so bright that it looked like his head was on the verge of popping. “And while you’re at it, clean up your classroom, too. I went in there earlier and it was a mess. Sawdust covered everything.”

             
Mr. Crawley stormed off down the hallway, undoubtedly to find his next victim.

             
“That guy sure isn’t very nice, he never has been,” Mr. Strick said as he and Flea headed back to the gym.

             
“You better be careful around him, I don’t want you to get fired.”

             
Mr. Strick shrugged his shoulders. “I wouldn’t worry if I was you,
I’m
certainly not concerned about Mr.
Baldy
.” Flea laughed again, though he still didn’t find the joke funny. “Besides, my future is growing brighter by the minute. I doubt I’ll be at this school much longer anyway.”

             
“I know what you mean,” Flea said. He tried to sound agreeable but hated the thought of being at this school without Mr. Strick’s shop class. “I never seem to stay at a school for more than a year or two.”

             
“Do you like moving around so much?” Mr. Strick asked.

             
Flea rarely spoke about himself or his personal life and immediately regretted bringing it up.

             
“It’s okay, I guess. At least I’ve gotten to see a bunch of different parts of the country, mostly north of here,” Flea said.

             
“So this crazy weather must not be as strange to you as it is to the rest of us in North Carolina,” the teacher said.

             
“No, not really,” Flea said. Mr. Strick did not push him for any further details but for some reason, Flea had the urge to share one final thought. “I will say, though, that I wish I had a place to think of as home.”

             
Flea blushed from revealing so much, especially to someone who was practically a stranger. But Mr. Strick merely nodded in understanding. Still, Flea was relieved when they’d reached the gym doors – and even
more
relieved to hear the gym teacher blow the whistle to end the day’s dodgeball massacre.

             
“Are you going to need help with any more projects today?” Flea asked hopefully.

             
“I’m not sure, I’ll have to check on that later,” Strick said, though he never mentioned
where
exactly his projects came from. “But if I do, I’ll be sure to find you.”

             
The shop teacher turned away as Flea entered the gym. He joined the rest of the boys heading into the locker room and hoped to blend in. But big, burly Rob purposely bumped into Flea and the other bullies gathered around to make a promise.

             
“You might have escaped from us today, but you won’t always be so lucky,” Rob said. The others nodded in agreement.

             
Flea figured that the next game of dodgeball would be particularly brutal now that he had a bullseye on his back. He could only hope that Mr. Strick would have more work for him tomorrow, though Flea knew he couldn’t dodge gym class forever.

Little did Flea know that the bullies weren’t planning to wait until the next day before attacking.

Once the bell rang to end the day, hundreds of kids poured out of school and into a world of whiteness. It was snowing yet again and Flea could plainly see that his fellow classmates despised the cold weather. Many were bundled up in snow boots, gloves, mittens, wool hats, scarves and any other article of clothing made to protect from the winter weather. Flea had heard that this weather was quite rare for North Carolina. According to his teachers, this area usually received a mere inch or two of snow all winter. But that amount of snow had covered the ground during this school day alone. The snow had started falling ever since the end of September and had gotten worse over the last few months.

             
Flea looked around and noticed steam coming out of everyone’s mouth but he wasn’t nearly as bothered by the cold air. He wore only a winter coat as protection against the weather, although he didn’t feel like he needed it. Maybe it was because he lived farther north his whole life – where this weather was normal for the middle of December – that he was numb to the cold. In fact, Flea couldn’t
ever
remember feeling cold the way others did. He watched his classmates rush into school busses parked just outside. Because Flea’s apartment complex was only a few blocks away, no bus transportation was available to him.

             
I guess it’s a good thing this weather doesn’t bother me,
he thought. The other students that lived in his apartment complex ran all the way home to avoid the harsh weather but Flea took his time walking. He enjoyed being outside and wished he could be out more often. As he crossed the faculty parking lot, he suddenly heard a loud
honking
and saw a brand-new pickup truck approaching. The driver waved and it took Flea a moment to recognize the familiar red hard-hat worn by Mr. Strick. His teacher used to drive a smaller truck that was much older and dilapidated. Flea waved back just as a gust of wind blew off the tarp that had been covering the back of the truck. Flea could now see the truck’s contents as it drove away: birdhouses, dozens of them. Farthest back were the three he had just built today and Flea was certain that the rest were all of his past ‘projects.’ It suddenly dawned on him what Mr. Strick was doing with all of the birdhouses he’d built over the last few months. The brand-new truck was evidence of Strick’s recent salary increase.

             
Flea angrily picked up a snowball, ready to hurl it at his teacher’s truck, but Mr. Strick already disappeared around the corner.

No wonder the shop budget has gotten so high this year.

              Flea had little time to stew about that, though. He turned down the next street and immediately noticed two freshly built snow forts, one on each side of the road. Beyond the forts was a snowman and as Flea got closer, he could have sworn the snowman’s green eyes followed his every movement. He didn’t know what was weirder: that the snowman had green eyes or that those eyes could move. Before he could figure it out, another sudden movement caught his attention.

             
“I told you that you wouldn’t be lucky the next time we saw you.”

             
Big, burly Rob stood up from behind one of the forts while Cory stepped around the other. Joining them was both dodgeball captains as well as several other boys from gym class, nearly a dozen in all. They lined the street, blocking Flea’s path, each holding snowballs.

             
“Now!” Rob yelled as every boy prepared to throw.

             
Flea had to put up with a lot of grief over the years but he tried to stay as good-natured as possible. But being ambushed by so many bullies made him angrier than ever before. He put his hands up and his head down and braced for the impact of a dozen snowballs
whizzing
toward him.

             
Not a single snowball hit him.

At first, Flea wondered if the bullies simply had bad aim or didn’t know how to roll a proper snowball. But two sounds made him realize that there was something more than poor accuracy. First was the
splash
of falling water, which now pooled around his feet. The second was a surprised – and simultaneous – intake of breath from every boy standing in front of him. Flea wasn’t sure what had happened but he recognized the look of fear on the faces of several boys.

Still, not
all
of them were frightened.

             
“You won’t get lucky
three
times in one day,” Rob called out. He and Cory each grabbed another handful of snow.

             
When they threw the snowballs this time, Flea’s curiosity outweighed his fear. He kept his hands raised but did not look away, even as the snow zoomed directly toward his face. Just inches before hitting him, both snowballs turned to water and splashed harmlessly on the ground. Most of the kids turned and ran away, but Rob and Cory began to slowly approach Flea. Cory yelled that Flea was a ‘freak’ while Rob appeared ready to pummel him with fists since snowballs hadn’t gotten the job done.

Flea was just as surprised as the others and considered turning to run away. But he knew the bullies would easily catch him. He did the only other thing that he could think. He bent over and picked up his own handful of snow, which instantly formed a perfectly round shape in his hand.

              Rob and Cory nearly doubled over in amusement.

             
“Is that
actually
supposed to
scare us?” Rob asked between fits of laughter. “We’ve seen you play dodgeball, you throw like a girl.”

             
“No, he doesn’t,” Cory added. “He throws
worse
than a girl.”

             
Flea knew that their insults weren’t far from the truth but he refused to give in without fighting. He took aim at Rob’s big laughing face and hurled the snowball with as much power as his tiny body could muster. The fact that the snowball hit Rob directly in the chest would have been amazing enough, but the bully was thrown ten feet backward. Rob grunted loudly just as he crashed through the first of the two forts. Everyone – including Flea – stared in shock, but Cory quickly recovered and charged at Flea. Without thinking, Flea scooped another handful of snow and launched this one at the other bully. Cory was also struck in the chest and soared backward into the other snow fort. Neither bully could do anything but lay on the ground and squirm while the rest of their so-called ‘friends’ turned and ran away.

Flea stood there and stared in shock at what he’d done. But now that he had the group of bullies on the defensive for once, he could not just let the rest of them escape totally unpunished. He quickly grabbed another snowball and launched it halfway down the street. It struck the nearest fleeing bully directly on the rear-end and sent him headfirst into a nearby pile of snow. Flea grabbed even more snow and began his chase, launching the snowy projectiles at the meanest kids while letting a few of the more innocent ones go unscathed. For once Flea actually had fun playing with other kids – despite the fact that they seemed fearful for their lives.

              By the time he reached his apartment complex, Flea had a smile from ear to ear. There was little doubt that the bullies would regroup and come after him one day –
probably tomorrow,
Flea thought – but he was going to enjoy his victory today. Unfortunately, Flea’s feeling of happiness was quickly replaced with increasing weakness as he approached his apartment. His feet began to feel like they were encased in cement and the light feeling of giddiness he’d just had turned into light-headedness. Flea didn’t know what was wrong with him nor did he have much time to figure it out before collapsing to the snowy ground mere feet from his front door…

When Flea finally woke up, the first thing he saw through squinted eyes was a large, round black woman standing over his bed. His vision was still slightly impaired and for a moment, he thought he saw sparkly flashes raining down on him.

             
I must’ve hit my head if I’m still seeing stars,
Flea thought.

             
The woman appeared very concerned until she noticed that Flea’s eyes had opened. Any worry she might have had instantly transformed into anger, the usual expression she wore.

             
“It’s a good thing I came outside when I heard all that ruckus. You almost gave me a heart attack when I saw you lying on the ground. Just what the heck were you doing out there?” she demanded.

             
Flea sat up in bed a bit too quickly and had to take a moment to catch his breath before answering.

             
“I’m sorry, Miss Mabel, I got in a snowball fight with some of the other kids from school,” Flea explained. “I must have gotten light-headed and passed out.”

             
Miss Mabel still looked mad regardless of the explanation, but that was nothing new. Miss Mabel
always
seemed mad at Flea. She was Flea’s foster mother and the closest thing to a family he ever had. She’d raised him as long as Flea could remember and did a pretty good job considering the unpredictable circumstances of their life together. But there were a few odd things about her that Flea started noticing more and more as he got older. Miss Mabel rarely went out in public with Flea and always warned him to behave and stay out of trouble, to keep his head down and try not to draw any unnecessary attention to himself – and to her.

             
She took this opportunity to reinforce those warnings yet again.

             
“What did I tell you about playing in the snow? You’re a sickly boy, you shouldn’t be playing in this freezing weather. Do you realize what could have happened if you passed out in front of someone else’s door? That could’ve led to a lot of questions that we don’t need,” Miss Mabel yelled. Flea’s foster mother was on a roll and Flea learned long ago that he should
never
interrupt her. “And what if you caught pneumonia? Do you
know
how serious that could’ve been?”

             
Flea could not remember being sick a single day in his life nor did the cold weather faze him in the least. But rather than reason with Miss Mabel, he decided to prove that he was fine by jumping out of bed. He felt dizzy for a moment but quickly regained his balance.

             
“Miss Mabel, you should have seen what happened out there!” Flea said excitedly. He proceeded to explain the day’s events, from his narrow escape in gym class to the snowball ambush to his amazing abilities to stop the snowballs and throw them back with such force. Miss Mabel watched him with concern and did not look nearly as impressed as Flea had hoped. “It was incredible, Miss Mabel, a dozen bullies all running away from
me
. Can you believe that?”

             
“No, I
can’t
believe it, I’m sure you are over-exaggerating how
awesome
you were. Next time, you should be smarter and just run away. Or you can let them hit you so they’ll leave you alone after that,” Miss Mabel said.

             
Flea couldn’t hide his disappointment with Miss Mabel’s attitude, especially since he’d overcome the odds in such a dramatic – and unexpected – manner.

             
“But I’m tired of being picked on all the time, no matter where I go. Why wouldn’t you want me to stand up for myself?”

             
“Because what happens if you hurt one of those boys? What happens if you had hit them in the face with a snowball?” Miss Mabel asked.

             
“It was only snow, I’m sure they would’ve been fine,” Flea said quietly, not so convinced by his own words. He pictured Rob and Cory flying backwards, crashing into the snow forts after being hit in their chests. Had Flea’s snowballs struck them in the face, he wasn’t so sure they would have been fine.

             
“Imagine if the parents of those boys came around here asking questions,” Miss Mabel said with serious concern. “You
know
that’s exactly the kind of attention we need to avoid. You never know who could be out there watching, looking for us.”

             
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Flea said simply so Miss Mabel wouldn’t become angrier. “Next time, I’ll just take my punishment without fighting back…or maybe I’ll even take the longer route home.”

             
Miss Mabel walked to Flea’s bedroom window and pushed aside the heavy curtains enough to glance outside. The snow fell heavier than before.

             
“Don’t worry about those bullies, you won’t have to deal with them much longer,” she said. Miss Mabel carefully closed the curtains so nobody could see inside. Paranoia of being watched was yet another of Miss Mabel’s quirky traits that made Flea’s life difficult. She started to walk out of Flea’s room but decided to drop a bombshell on him. “I think it’s time to consider moving again.”

             
“What? Why?” Flea asked as he immediately thought about leaving Mr. Strick and woodshop class. “We’ve only been here four months, the school year isn’t even half over.”

             
Flea shouldn’t have been surprised by this news. If there was one thing Miss Mabel liked more than lecturing him it was moving, which she chose to do as casually as deciding what to eat for dinner. The two had moved on a yearly basis – sometimes more than once a year – for as long as Flea could remember. There had been a few schools Flea liked over the years but this was by far the most heartbreaking ‘moving’ announcement yet.

             
“Look at this weather, it’s snowing as hard here as did in Maryland and New Jersey and Ohio before that. I moved us to North Carolina because I thought we’d be
escaping
this, not moving directly in the middle of constant snowstorms again,” she said. “It’s like we’re cursed, like the snow is following us wherever we go.”

             
Miss Mabel made no secret of her hatred of snow. She often spoke of the winter weather as if it was her mortal enemy, as if the snow fell for the specific purpose of spiting her. She headed out of Flea’s room so he quickly followed her.

             
“When exactly do you plan on leaving?” Flea asked, hoping that she was bluffing as a way to punish him for the snowball fight.

             
“I don’t know for sure, I just decided that it was time to leave,” Miss Mabel said. “I’ll have to give it some more thought tomorrow since I have work tonight. I hope you haven’t forgotten.”

             
Miss Mabel peeked out of the living room window as the sun finally set. The snow still fell but there was a break in the clouds allowing Flea to spot the large moon. With all of today’s excitement, Flea
had
in fact forgotten that tonight was Miss Mabel’s one monthly work night. Had he realized there was a full moon tonight, he surely would have remembered.

             
“Doing some more
cleaning
tonight?” Flea asked. “You better hope that you’ll be able to find another job as a cleaning woman when we move again, especially one with such good hours.”

             
“Don’t you worry about my job, boy,” Miss Mabel said. “I’m sure I’ll be able to find work wherever we go. And don’t you get all sassy on me now.”

             
Flea was becoming too smart to keep being fooled about her job, though he still knew better than to ask too many questions. Still, it was too coincidental that she found the same job with the same schedule no matter where they ended up. Flea didn’t exactly have an over-active imagination when it came to a lot of things, but the fact that she left during the full moon every month sometimes made him suspect Miss Mabel was a werewolf. Flea was too old to believe in such fairy tales but there was no other possible explanation. Miss Mabel always looked different the day after she worked, too. There was always a youthful glow to her that Flea couldn’t understand.

             
Before Miss Mabel reached the front door, Flea sneezed and saw several small speckles flutter past his face. His dandruff problem was growing out of control and even Miss Mabel noticed. She marched over to Flea and brushed her hand across his shoulder.

             
“I told you I need that specialty shampoo to help control my…problem,” Flea said, his face turning crimson.

             
“There’s a shampoo to get rid of
sawdust
?” Miss Mabel asked. “Care to explain how
that
got in your hair?”

             
After arriving at this school months earlier, Miss Mabel had been so angry about Flea being put in shop class that she called the school and demanded he attend another class that wasn’t so ‘dangerous.’ The fact that she broke her rule of silence and called the school – the first time she’d contacted
any
of Flea’s schools – proved just how serious she’d been. So after only a few days, Flea was transferred to cooking class. Luckily, Mr. Strick had already seen Flea’s talents and was impressed enough to take him out of other classes on a daily basis, a secret that Flea kept from his foster mother.

             
Until now.

             
“Mr. Strick – the shop teacher – needed my help to finish a special project,” Flea said. “Don’t worry, I was very careful. I didn’t use any of the dangerous tools.”

             
“Mr. Strick, huh?” Miss Mabel asked angrily. “Now I know who to complain about when I call the school tomorrow.”

             
“No, please, it wasn’t his fault,” Flea said. “There’s no need to get him in trouble if we’re just going to leave anyway.”

             
“We’ll discuss this later, I don’t want to be late,” Miss Mabel said, opening the door as the cold wind blew into their small apartment. Nearby, Flea heard a
banging
sound as the wind caused something to fall to their living room floor. “Make sure you stay inside, don’t open the door for any reason.”

             
Miss Mabel slammed the door behind her and Flea opened the curtains to see her trudge off through the deep snow. He ran his hand through his hair and saw the rest of the dust flutter to the floor. Once Miss Mabel was safely gone, Flea participated in his own monthly ritual: he headed straight for the cookie jar and poured himself a tall glass of milk. He brought his food back to the living room where he opened the curtains and stared out at the beautiful snowy world. With Christmas about a week away, he saw plenty of houses along his street that were heavily decorated. Multi-colored lights and white lights, large lawn ornaments of Santa Claus and his reindeer, huge decorated Christmas trees shining brightly through living room windows, all the things that Flea loved about the holiday time but never experienced himself. Miss Mabel allowed nothing but a tiny plastic tree on their coffee table, though it constantly tipped over. He picked it up off the floor and straightened a few of the bent branches. He thought he noticed a red light blinking in one of the branches but it stopped when he looked closer. Flea quickly turned back to the chocolate-chip cookies and outside Christmas displays.

             
Once his stomach was loaded with milk and cookies and the lights no longer held his attention, Flea grew bored. He had a long night ahead of him and with nothing else to pass the time he decided to start on his homework. However, he couldn’t find his backpack in his room or anywhere else in the small apartment. Flea headed to the window again and tried to see the section of walkway where he’d passed out earlier. The only thing he could think was that the bag had fallen off his shoulders when he fell to the ground and Miss Mabel missed it when she came outside to pick him up. Unfortunately, the lighting wasn’t so good now and there was no telling how much more snow had accumulated on the ground. Flea couldn’t see anything but white snow and knew that he would have to go out there if he hoped to find his backpack.

             
“I have to go outside, it’s for school,” Flea said aloud, as if Miss Mabel was still here. “I can’t tell my teachers that I didn’t do my work because I got into a snowball fight and left my books outside.”

             
Flea knew that Miss Mabel’s paranoia was just part of her craziness but when he opened the door, he still hesitated to walk out. The outside world was dark and cold, the wind
whined
eerily. In the back of his mind, Miss Mabel’s warning replayed over and over. But Flea refused to be frightened of the world like his foster mother was. He finally stepped out and walked along the icy walkway, which had been partially cleared of snow but not of the slick iciness. As Flea suspected, he found his backpack covered in snow and ice. He began to dig it out, but barely scooped a few handfuls of snow when chills ran up and down his spine.