The Magic Factory

But finally the fuzzy shape started to sharpen in his mind. The dot became a stark black shape against the contrasting white background. Then it began to change color, from black to red then to blue. The flashing colors made Oliver feel suddenly very sick.

“What’s happening?” Oliver asked, feeling a little panicked.

“Your mind is attempting to look through the dimensional layer,” Doctor Ziblatt explained. “It is a very unusual experience, especially the first time. Human brains aren’t exactly designed for this kind of work.”

Oliver’s heart started beating very fast. His palms started sweating. He reached up and tugged at the collar of his shirt. He could feel perspiration running down his neck.

Suddenly, he could take it no longer. He dropped the card on the table and tore off the goggles. He grabbed the table to steady himself, fighting back the urge to dry heave.

“Haha!” he heard Edmund’s sneering voice. “Oliver can’t even do it with the goggles!”

“Mr. Branner,” Doctor Ziblatt snapped.

As Oliver gasped for breath, he felt Doctor Ziblatt rest a gentle hand on his back. “Perhaps you ought to see the nurse?”

“No, no nurse,” Oliver stammered. He was embarrassed enough as it was. He’d never live down having to go to the medical room on his first attempt to access his powers. “I’m fine.”

He stood, his head swimming, his stomach swirling. He felt his legs weaken beneath him. Doctor Ziblatt gripped him by his elbow.

“Mr. Black,” she said over his head. “Can you help Mr. Blue back to his seat?”

As Oliver’s vision started to come back to him, he saw Ralph hurrying toward him. But Oliver’s gaze went past Ralph to Esther; his attention seemed drawn to her. She was looking down, averting her gaze. She must be deeply embarrassed on his behalf by his failure. It only made Oliver feel worse.

Ralph reached him then, scooping an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ollie. Everyone struggles to begin with.”

Oliver tried to take comfort in his words. But the background noises of Edmund and his friends giggling seemed to drown them out.

“Mr. Black is right,” Doctor Ziblatt added. “Everyone struggles.” Then, as she turned away, she muttered in a voice she must have assumed was too quiet for Oliver to hear, “I guess he’s not the special one we’ve all been waiting for after all.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Doctor Ziblatt’s words played on Oliver’s mind for the rest of the class. He felt like such a disappointment.

He was so consumed with his embarrassment that he hardly took in anything she said, and he didn’t dare look to his left at Esther. The image of her crimson cheeks seemed seared into his mind.

When the lesson was over, Oliver couldn’t get out soon enough. He hurried for the exit, trying to position himself in the middle of his group of friends. But in his haste to maneuver himself within them, Oliver bumped his shoulder against someone.

“Sorry!” he said, turning to see whom he’d collided with.

He saw shiny black hair. Emerald green eyes. It was Esther.

“Don’t worry,” she said quickly, immediately tipping her eyes down to her feet. Then she hurried away.

Oliver couldn’t help but think she was trying to get away from him as quickly as she could. He felt crushed.

As the students made their way out of the lecture theater, Oliver felt a slap on his back. He turned to see Hazel smiling kindly.

“Don’t look so sad,” she told him, encouragingly. “You didn’t do that bad!”

“I made a fool of myself,” Oliver said glumly.

Walter grinned widely. “At least you didn’t barf,” he quipped.

Oliver just grimaced.

Ralph looked down at Oliver with an empathetic expression. “Just put it all behind you,” he said. “There’s always the next class.”

“Another chance to fail, you mean?” Oliver said glumly. “Great.”

Simon patted his back. “Cheer up, mate. It’ll be fine.”

Walter added, “And it can’t get any worse than it did back in Doctor Ziblatt’s class, right?”

Hazel punched him in the arm.

“Ow,” Walter moaned, rubbing the spot where she’d hit him.

Just then, Oliver felt a vibration in his overalls. He pulled out his plastic timetable. The coordinates had changed, indicating that he was required on the fourteenth floor. There wasn’t any time to rest at all. No time to absorb anything he’d just learned. Everything at the School for Seers was go, go, go!

“We’d better hurry,” Ralph said, placing his own vibrating timetable back into his pocket.

Oliver felt a sense of dread as he followed them across the rapidly moving walkway. He felt like he’d bitten off far more than he could chew. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be here at all. Maybe he didn’t belong.

Everyone piled into the elevator, riding it up to the fourteenth floor. Then they headed to another classroom. On the door, the word Transformation flashed in soft white letters. Oliver gulped.

They went inside and Oliver saw that it was decked out just like a science laboratory, but not like the type at school with wooden benches and a handful of Bunsen burners. It looked more like the high-tech laboratories of a medical or chemical company. The place was gleaming white.

“Students, take your seats,” the teacher said. He was a young man with a moustache.

“That’s Mr. Lazzarato,” Ralph said, leaning in to Oliver.

Oliver nodded, trying his best to absorb yet more information into his very saturated mind.

Mr. Lazzarato began to speak. “Last week, our top student was Miss Kerr. She was the only student who managed to successfully rearrange the chemical matter she was given to create a small fire. So let’s all give a hand to Hazel.”

Everyone clapped, and Oliver looked over to see Hazel beaming.

Mr. Lazzarato continued. “Today I’m hoping for some good things from Mr. Black. With a biological specialism, this task should be easiest for you.”

Oliver saw Ralph blush deeply. From what he’d told Oliver, he struggled with his powers. Not much came easily to Ralph.

Walter huffed then. “I swear, having a magnetic specialism is the worst,” he grumbled. “We’ve never done a single task where I’ve had the chance to excel.”

Mr. Lazzarato continued. “Mr. Cavendish,” he said, looking at Simon. “Can you hand out the worksheets? And Mr. Branner, please hand out the boxes.”

Simon went up to the front of the class and collected the stack of papers. At the same time, Edmund headed toward a cart that had several small thermoplastic boxes on it.

“What are those?” Hazel mused aloud, squinting to try and see into the boxes.

Oliver craned his neck. In each box there appeared to be a small, white mouse.

“Mice!” he told her. “We’re not going to dissect them, are we?”

Simon appeared then with their worksheets. Oliver quickly read the title and saw that far from dissecting mice, their task was to rearrange their anatomical components.

“I’ll never be able to do this,” he stammered.

“Don’t worry, neither will I!” Ralph said jovially. “I mean, you saw me with the leaf. I’m useless.”

“At least you can do that,” Oliver replied. “I can’t do anything!”

His failure in Doctor Ziblatt’s class was still consuming his thoughts.

Just then, Edmund reached their bench. He was pushing the cart with the boxes on it, each with a white mouse inside. Edmund dumped a box in front of Ralph, then one in front of Hazel. When he got to Oliver he held up a box different from the others. It was covered in wires and had a computer attached to one side.

“More training wheels for Oliver,” he sneered, dumping the box down. “Most of us can do transformation without tools. But you’ll have to rely on some help just like those goggles in the last class.” He paused and grinned devilishly. “Speaking of which, it was so embarrassing for you. Everyone saw you staring at Esther in the holograph! And then your little panic attack! Haha, it was hilarious.”

Oliver felt his cheeks growing hotter and hotter as Edmund spoke. Not just from embarrassment but from rage. He thought he’d finally escaped the bullies in his life but clearly he had not. Even here, at this wonderful, magical place, he was being picked on. He tugged at the neckline of his overalls.

Beside him, Hazel spoke under her breath. “Just ignore him, Oliver.”

But Edmund wasn’t done. He could tell he’d gotten under Oliver’s skin with his comments. He laughed nastily. “You should know you don’t stand a chance with Esther Valentini, by the way. She’ll only ever date the best switchit player in the school. And that is me.”

A sudden lump formed painfully in Oliver’s throat at the thought of Edmund and Esther together.

Walter leaned over suddenly. “Edmund, we all know I’m the best switchit player. If Esther cared about switchit, she’d be dating me!”

Edmund snapped his mouth shut and glared at Walter. “You wish,” he spat, before storming off.

Oliver deflated. He looked over at his friends. “Thanks,” he muttered.

He turned his attention to the task at hand, and looked down at the box. It was covered in buttons, screens, and other electronic components. Inside, a small white mouse scurried around.

“Am I going to hurt it?” Oliver asked with concern. “Rearranging its atoms sounds painful.”

“It won’t feel a thing,” Hazel told him. “The first thing to do is suspend it in time.”

“Of course…” Oliver murmured.

Mr. Lazzarato began reminding the class on the first steps to freezing their mouse in time. Oliver, however, just had to press a button. It felt like cheating to skip out that first step, but his powers weren’t strong enough for him to attempt such complex things without his “training wheels.”

Oliver pressed the button and instantly the mouse became completely frozen, its little nose pointing upward mid-sniff. It was a peculiar sight. Oliver struggled to get his head around the fact the mouse was stuck in time, like his brain couldn’t fully accept it. A bit like with the invisibility patch. He was starting to understand why a human brain could explode if exposed to too much Seer-related information too quickly!

“Got it!” Hazel suddenly exclaimed.

Oliver looked over, stunned by what he saw. In Hazel’s box, the little white mouse had changed. It looked like an adorable cartoon character, with big eyes and eyelashes. It was even standing on its hind legs.

“Amazing!” Oliver stammered.

“Gosh, Hazel,” Simon added. “That was jolly fast work.”

Walter clapped Hazel’s success, clearly thrilled for her. But Ralph had still not achieved anything.

“I thought this was supposed to be easy for me,” he said.

As Hazel went to show Mr. Lazzarato her mouse, the rest of the gang bowed their heads over their worksheets. Oliver tried to absorb all the information but never before had he felt so challenged. School had always been easy for him. Finally, he was somewhere he would be pushed to grow and hopefully, one day, excel. But that seemed very far away from his reach right now.

Oliver attached the electrodes on the box to his temples. He felt a strange pulsing sensation which seemed to make his mind become foggy. Then he closed his eyes and visualized what he wanted to achieve; a muscular mouse like some kind of wrestler.

The sheet had said it would take thirty seconds to take effect, and so Oliver waited, counting through the numbers in his head. It was remarkably difficult. The pulses coming from the electrode made it feel as if his thoughts were swimming in soup.

Finally, he made it to thirty and opened his eyes. The mouse was exactly the same. Disappointment bit at him.

“I can’t do it,” he said, sadly.

“Don’t worry,” Walter said. “It’s hard.”

But in Walter’s own box, his mouse had changed. Not a lot, but he’d definitely made its head bigger and its tail longer. Despite Walter’s claims that magnetism was a bad specialism to have, he’d still had more success than Oliver.

“What’s the worst specialism for a Seer?” Oliver asked.

Walter pondered for a moment. “Sonar, probably. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m sure my test will show me that I’ve got it,” Oliver replied. “Either that or it will show me I’m not a Seer at all!”

Walter shook his head kindly. “You failed at your first attempt, that’s all. It’s not the end of the world.”

“Don’t get disheartened,” Simon added. “Try and try again.”

“Easy for you to say,” Ralph huffed, clearly growing frustrated with his own failure. “Your specialism is molecular. It’s a close second place after atomic if you ask me.”

They returned to their work. Despite his best efforts, Oliver had no success. He started to feel like the electrodes were hampering him. He understood that they were meant to teach him how to get his mind into the correct state, but he found the pulsing irritating.

He decided to attempt it without the electrodes. Switching his mind into the correct mindset wasn’t easy but Oliver did manage to emulate the same soupy, leaden feeling the pulse had given him. Only this time, his mind was clearer. Counting wasn’t such a struggle. He felt more in control, and the image in his mind of his muscled mouse was easier to hold on to.

Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty…

Oliver opened his eyes. He squinted at the mouse, then tipped his head to the side, searching for any sign of transformation.

“It looks a bit bigger,” Walter said.

“No it doesn’t,” Oliver replied. He knew Walter was just trying to cheer him up.

Giving up, Oliver pressed the button that would unfreeze the mouse. He watched it come back to life, scurrying around the box and sniffing. Then suddenly it rose up onto its back legs so that it was standing tall, and flexed its arm muscles.

Oliver gasped. The mouse returned to scurrying around the box. Had he just been seeing things, or had he actually managed to change the atoms inside the mouse? Only a little, and nowhere near the wrestler mouse he’d been attempting, but it was still something! Maybe he wasn’t completely useless after all.

Oliver felt buoyed by his first tiny success. But he knew the test was still to come.

Mr. Lazzarato called an end to the class. Everyone packed up their things and started to leave.

Just then, a fist slammed down on the table in front of Oliver. He startled and looked up. He found himself staring into Edmund’s mean, black eyes.

“Next class we’re playing switchit,” he said, menacingly, “and I’m going to kick your butt.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Oliver followed his friends into the atrium for switchit practice. The room was just as enormous as the food hall and library. It looked in every way like an oversized basketball court except for the fact there were about a thousand different baskets at varying heights. It was enough to give Oliver a headache looking at them all.

But more than the size of the court, Oliver was most overwhelmed by the caged bars at one end of the room, behind which, lurking in the shadows, were the ostreagles. They looked just as mean as normal eagles, only they were ten times the size. The thought of riding one was very intimidating for Oliver.

He turned to his friends.

“How do you even play this game?” he asked. “There are so many hoops. Are there lots of balls as well?”

Walter, who’d made it clear that he thought of himself as some kind of switchit expert, began to explain the rules. “You use your powers to hide the ball or distort it in some way so that the others don’t know who’s got it and what hoop you’re throwing it into.”

Ralph added, “Of course, the best players use their powers to multiply the ball and score in several hoops at once.”

Oliver’s eyebrows rose. “You mean we don’t play in teams? It’s pretty much you versus everyone else?”

“Of course it’s not in teams,” Walter said as though it were obvious. “You get one point for blocking someone else’s attempt to score a bucket, and three points for scoring your own. The person with the most points after sixty minutes wins. So it’s a game of power, strength, and endurance.”

“And aggression,” Ralph interrupted. “I mean, it’s not like there are many Seers who make a career out of defending.”

Hazel nodded her agreement. “That’s true. The winner is usually the person who’s confident and aggressive enough to go for the shots.”

“I told you it was vulgar,” Simon added.

Oliver felt apprehensive. The rules of switchit made the sport sound a little ruthless, not to mention tiring.

“And this all happens on the back of one of those?” he asked, incredulously, pointing to the caged ostreagles. He didn’t like the thought of having a dozen of them chasing after him in one go.

“Yup,” Walter said, grinning. He slapped him on the back. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

Simon added, “And if you don’t enjoy it, then you’ll be in good company. I thoroughly dislike this game.”

Oliver followed his friends over to where the coach was leading the students, one at a time, into the caged room. Oliver joined the back of the queue, feeling his nerves intensify. From the front, Edmund and Vinnie were whispering and pointing at him. Edmund shook his fist and Oliver gulped.

As each of his friends disappeared into the dark room, his apprehension grew. Then it was his turn.

Coach Finkle was a tall, skinny man with curly ginger hair. He peered down at Oliver curiously as they walked in through the caged gates.

“You’re new,” he stated.

Oliver nodded. “And scared. I’ve never ridden an ostreagle.”

As he said it, one of the huge creatures loomed into view. He balked at the size of it.

“Well, there’s only one way to learn,” Coach Finkle said. He patted the ostreagle’s flank and it let out a chirruping kind of noise. “And that’s to just go for it. Mabel here is very gentle. She’s good with a beginner.”

Oliver trembled as he approached the formidable-looking Mabel. Her eyes were yellow and piercing. He touched her feathered side gently. She let out another chirrup.

Coach Finkle spoke again. “You’ll need this.”

He placed a helmet on Oliver’s head. Right away, Oliver felt a strange pulsing sensation between his ears.

“Not more training aids,” he groaned. “I’m the only one who has to use them! Everyone will laugh at me!”

“They all had to use them once too,” Coach Finkle told him flatly.

But Oliver knew that didn’t matter one bit. Whether the other students had needed aids or not was beside the point. He was the only one using them today. It made him different.

“Come on,” Coach Finkle said impatiently.

Resigning himself to wearing the helmet, Oliver climbed onto the back of the animal. It was surprisingly comfortable. Mabel’s feathers felt soft as he took hold of them in his fists, just by the base of her neck.

With everyone mounted, Coach Finkle went over to the gate and put his hand on a lever. “Ready, set, go!” He pulled the lever and the gate flew upward. The ostreagles shot forward.

Oliver held on tight, the wind whipping in his face from the speed. Then suddenly he was out of the shadows and onto the huge court, flying upward through the air. Above him he could see Hazel. To his side was Ralph. But his mind felt slow. The pulsing from the helmet made him feel sleepy and disoriented.

Suddenly, someone whizzed past him.

“Nice hat, dummy!” came Edmund’s voice.

Oliver glanced all about him, but Edmund had already gone. Then a voice called from above.

“It’s safest at the top!”

It was Simon’s unmistakable British accent. But all Oliver could make out was his pale blond hair.

He felt flustered. The helmet was practically blinding him. If Edmund really wanted to kick his butt, then his near-blindness would certainly give him the advantage!

Far below, Oliver could just make out Coach Finkle holding a basketball. The coach threw it directly up into the air. The game was on.

The ostreagles reacted immediately. It was if the ball contained some kind of homing beacon. Everyone swooped for it. Oliver’s stomach flipped as Mabel soared through the air in pursuit.

“No, stop!” he yelled at her. All he could see were blurs. It made his stomach swill.

Suddenly, Mabel halted. She let out a snort that sounded very much like annoyance.

“I’m sorry,” Oliver told her, breathing slowly to calm his racing heartbeat. “I can hardly see a thing. If I go down there, I’ll get pounded!”

Mabel flew in slow circles. Oliver had no idea if she could understand what he’d told her but she was heeding his instructions nonetheless, letting out disgruntled snorts every now and again.

From his position high above, Oliver watched the frightening sight of the ostreagles as they all homed in on one person. He realized it was Walter they were pursuing. It was like watching vultures circling their prey.

I’m going to be terrible at this game, Oliver thought. Not only was his mind feeling far too slow to keep up, he didn’t want to even touch the ball if it meant all those birds bearing down on him!

He squinted, trying to see what was happening. Walter was moving through the atrium so fast Oliver’s slurred mind could hardly make out what was happening.

Walter’s specialism for magnetism clearly lent itself well to switchit. He used his power to imbue the ball with a strong magnet. It was attracted to one of the hoops and whizzed across the atrium so fast it was barely perceptible. Then it went straight through the hoop.

A claxon sounded. Walter punched the air with triumph.

“Three points, Walter Stroud,” Coach Finkle shouted.

But there was no respite, Oliver realized, because Coach Finkle already had a new ball in his hands. He threw it up and the game began again.

Beneath him, Oliver could feel Mabel growing more frustrated. She desperately wanted to join in the fun. But Oliver’s head spun. He couldn’t stay focused on anything around him. He could hardly tell who was whom, let alone whereabouts of the small ball in the enormous atrium. It was frustrating. There was no way he’d score any buckets like this.

“Come on, Oliver,” he heard Hazel call out. “Join in!”

He glanced over to see a blurred shape whoosh past him. The only thing that made it unmistakably Hazel was the color of butterscotch. His desire to join in grew even more. He didn’t want to be like Simon and miss out on all the fun.

Then suddenly someone was racing right toward him. Oliver felt a sudden electric shock zap through him. Mabel shuddered in pain and Oliver lost his grip on her feathers. There was a collective gasp as Oliver slid off her side.

Panicking, he grasped forward and gripped her talons by his fingertips. He was now dangling hundreds of feet in the air, barely clinging on. With all his strength, Oliver heaved himself back onto Mabel’s back.

As his adrenaline subsided, Oliver noticed another ostreagle hovering beside them. On its back, he could just make out Edmund.

“Told you I’d kick your butt,” he scoffed.

Oliver felt incensed. Edmund had used his powers to zap Oliver and his ostreagle. It was a dirty trick. He already had the upper hand without the helmet, which made it an even cheaper shot. Oliver wasn’t going to stand for it.

Oliver reached up and detached the helmet. Right away, the horrible pulsing feeling disappeared. His vision refocused. He locked eyes with Edmund then dropped the helmet to the ground.

“Think you can do this without your powers?” Edmund said with a smirk. “Good luck!”

“Powers or not, at least it will be a fair fight,” Oliver shot back.

Edmund glared at him coldly. Then he kicked his ostreagle’s flank and the creature darted away.

Within seconds, Edmund had the ball. He whizzed upward in a zigzagging motion. Little bolts of electricity trailed behind him, keeping the pursuing ostreagles off him. Then Edmund threw the ball toward a hoop. But instead of the ball going into the hoop, it completely vanished.

All the ostreagles stopped mid-flight, casting their hawkish gazes around the court, waiting for the ball to reappear somewhere else.

It did, right beside Hazel. She’d used her power to make the ball jump from one location to another. The claxon sounded out for Hazel’s block point and below Coach Finkle announced, “One point, Hazel Kerr.” Oliver was thoroughly impressed, not to mention glad that Edmund hadn’t scored.

Hazel went to grab the ball. But a sudden pulse went through the atrium, like the rippling of a pebble on water. It pushed the ball away from Hazel’s fingers and floated it right into Esther’s hands. Her ostreagle raced to the closest hoop. Esther dunked the ball for a bucket. The claxon sounded.