Chapter 1

Griffin

Eyes heavy, head bowed from the weight of my backpack, I trudged wearily down the hall of Henry James Junior High School. My Walkman was blaring, but I wasn't really listening to it. I was just too tired to focus on more than one thing. My current task was getting down the hallway. In the early hours of the morning, I could only do so much.

"Hi!" said a voice by my left ear. I stopped walking-ending one task-and turned my head-taking up my concentration. My friend Sam stood there, smiling cheerfully. Sam is a never-say-die, morning person. He lives for the mornings, when we walk through the school doors and have free time to roam the halls.

I grunted in what I hoped sounded like a friendly tone and began walking again.

"Did you hear?" Sam said conversationally. "New kid in your homeroom by the name of Will Blakeney."

"Mm," I managed. "Cool."

He raised an eyebrow. "What, no leap of joy? No beaming smile? No confetti, no blaring trumpets, no horde of people screaming their happiness?"

"Not this morning," I moaned. "I feel like I've been hit by a train."

"Don't we all," mumbled a kid beside me: Dan. He squeezed out of the river of people carrying us slowly through the halls and began opening his locker, but was soon lost from sight.

Sam shrugged. "Go splash water on your face in the bathroom. Why are you so tired?"

I gave him a pitying look. "Hmm, let's think. Still dark out, freezing cold outside, raining, everyone looks like it's the end of the world, general feeling of depression-I know, it must be a Monday!"

Sam gave a sigh of exasperation. "Yeah yeah, whatever. Hurry up, will you? We have stuff to do."

I realized that we had arrived at my locker and hit the off button on my Walkman. The music stopped, and I discovered that I didn't even remember what the group had been. Shrugging to myself, I unzipped my backpack and stuffed it inside the locker, taking my heavy binder out with a grunt of effort. I slouched into my homeroom, eyed my teacher (also a morning person) with apprehension, and slid my binder onto the desk. No sign of the new kid.

I joined Sam in the hall. He was looking annoyed that I was taking so long, but said nothing. We both headed towards the stairs to eighth-grade territory where, as my friend Alex joked, things were always bigger.

It was true. Most of the kids had already completed their growth spurts and were huge by average standards, despite the fact that they were only a year older than us. However, I was tall for my age, so I could have passed for an eighth grader in an emergency. Sam, however, is short.

Being short in an eighth grade hallway is not a good feeling. Nobody bothers to even look at you, so you don't need to worry about getting hurt (which is not a big problem at our school, luckily) but you feel so out of place that it makes you feel self-conscious. I stuck close to Sam for moral support.

"Hey! Griffin! Wait!"

I turned around at the sound of my name. I'm probably the only Griffin in the school, so it's no use pretending I don't know I'm being called. Sam, on the other hand, is a common name, so he doesn't have to worry about it. I guess that makes us even.

It was Mr. Banks, the Blue Team leader. We have four different teams in seventh grade-Yellow, Blue, Red, and White. Eighth grade has Aqua, Green, Orange, and Purple. I'm on the Blue team, as is Sam.

"Hi," I offered as he approached. "Were you calling me?" I though, No duh he was, I thought, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

"Yes, I was," he said, beaming at me as if I had just won a gold medal in the Olympics. (Uh-oh, another morning person) Something was up. "We have a new student on the Blue Team. Isn't that exciting?"

"Uh, sure," I said cautiously. I was clueless as to why he was telling me this.

"Well, I have decided to have him follow your schedule!" Mr. Banks exclaimed excitedly. He was acting like I should be screaming "Hallelujah!" and falling down on my knees thanking him. Puh-lease.

"Um, thanks, Mr. Banks," I said, wincing at the involuntary rhyme. Though I won't confess it if a herd of wild horses was trampling me, I like poetry, but some teachers think that rhyming is mocking.

Apparently, Mr. Banks did not. "You're welcome!" he said happily. "I just want to take you down to the guidance office and have you two introduced. Follow me, please."

My faint "I was going to talk with some friends" trailed away, and I followed Mr. Banks unhappily, casting a resigned look back at Sam. He wiped away a fake tear and waved dramatically. I hid a smile and turned a corner after the teacher.

We stopped in front of the office. "Well, I have to run," Mr. Banks told me, like it was a huge disappointment. "Be nice to him, please! Good-bye!"

"Good riddance," I muttered when he was out of earshot. I turned the knob on the office door and eased myself in.

The guidance office is not a place most people want to be. If you pay a visit to your guidance counselor, people bombard you with questions and sympathy all day, and it's generally very embarrassing. Still, I tried to look nonchalant as I leaned on the counter. The secretary looked up.

"Can I help you?" she asked. I don't know her by name, only by sight.

I fidgeted. "Er, yeah, Mr. Banks sent me down to get the new student, um…." I suddenly realized that I had forgotten the kid's name. "Will…Blaney?"

The secretary gave me a bland smile. "Oh, of course! William Blakeney, dear. Mr. Daskin!" she called, raising her voice. "William's guide is here!"

Mr. Daskin, my guidance counselor, opened the door to his office and stepped out. He gave me one of those "counselor smiles," which are full of understanding and sympathy, even when he was trying to express another emotion in his smile. I wondered for a fleeting second if they teach smiling special at guidance counselor school before the new student stepped out.

He was tall and wiry, with tousled blond hair and blue eyes. He was dressed in very baggy jeans (even for my school's standards) and, in contrast, a neat, tucked-in, collared white shirt. He had flat-soled skateboard shoes that looked two sizes too big, but he had tied these neatly as well. The way he carried himself was the oddest thing about him, though. He stood up as tall as he could, keeping his back very straight, which made me think one of his parents was in the military, and his steps were even and purposeful. When he stopped, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, as if he expected to be knocked over at any second and had to be braced.

"Hi," I said warmly. My heart kind of went out to the guy. I mean, with a few emergency changes, he could be looking pretty cool. (Let's just leave it at that about his fashion sense) But he had a very strange look about him. He seemed really confused and…I don't know, kind of lost. I'm not trying to be dramatic-that's what he looked like. Maybe it was because he was new.

"Hello," he replied in a strong voice. Definitely not shy, was this guy. He sounded like a drill sergeant, making me think again about the probability of his parents being in the military. He extended a hand. "I'm William Blakeney."

I stared at the hand. Weird. A kid who shakes hands? I mean, a normal greeting after being introduced is a nod and maybe a smile.

"Griffin Wilkes," I replied weakly, and shook his hand. Man, did he have a grip! I tried not to wince, and returned the pressure as best I could. But he didn't seem like he was trying to be cool by crushing my hand. Maybe he didn't know his own strength.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said courteously. I noticed that he had a strong English accent. Ah. I guess that explained the manners.

"Likewise," I grunted, and looked at Mr. Daskin.

Mr. Daskin looked at us both and flashed us another guidance counselor smile. "Well, I suppose you two should get back to homeroom. Griffin, you know what to do?"

I shrugged. "Yeah, I guess. Is he going to stay on my schedule for the rest of the year?"

Mr. Daskin nodded. "If you get along. Hurry up now, the first bell is about to ring, I think."

"C'mon," I muttered to William. He followed me out the door.

"So, where is the classroom?" he asked.

"Down the northern hall. We take a left here," I said, and turned.

"Fascinating!" he said, at the sight of the entrance hall. "I've never seen so much glass in one spot before."

I stared at him, mouth slightly open. "Uh…where did you say you were from?"

He hesitated. "Well, I was adopted by a couple from Florida when I was three. I was an orphan in England. Actually…I was in an accident, right before we moved here, and I got a concussion. I don't remember my life in Florida, or England, for that matter, at all. In fact, it seems like I was just born a month ago, when we moved. I only have a month-long memory, really, though when I came out of my coma I could speak and read and write. But I couldn't remember anything."

I was shocked. "Nothing? You don't remember anything else?"

William let out a long breath and dragged me to the deserted area under the stairs. The sounds of the hallway faded out, and all I could hear was William's voice.

"There is one thing that I remember from my life before. I haven't talked to my foster parents about it, even, because it's so strange. But I need to tell someone this, and I think I can trust you, Griffin. Can I?"

"Yes, you can trust me," I said firmly. "I don't lie. Ever."

He smiled. "Good. All right, I have one memory that I really like. That I wish I might discover what it means." He looked around, then continued. "I remember wood beneath my feet, and a sense of…I don't know, like…" He laughed. "Like I'm in charge of something, but I'm still beneath someone else. But I like where I am in my position, if you can understand that. I'm-I'm giving orders, in this memory, and it's windy and raining. The floor is heaving beneath me, but I'm used to that. And then...I remember something-like a long, thick piece of wood-falling towards me."

I stared at him, not in disbelief, but in thought. "It sounds like you were in an earthquake," I said. "It makes sense, with the floor moving beneath you, and something falling."

William frowned. "I don't think so. I remember that I was really used to the floor moving. I think I may have been in a storm, with all the rain and wind."

Suddenly, the first bell rang, signaling students to get back to their homerooms. William jumped and looked around.

"It's okay," I assured him. "It's just the bell. It rings when classes are over, or when it's time for school to start. We better get back to class."

As we exited the stairwell, I added, "I won't tell anyone about what you told me, okay? But thank you for telling me."

He nodded, and we started towards homeroom.