The Arthur Paladin Chronicles

Chapter One: Slinging Pre-Algebra Books

Arthur Paladin was about to be flung across the universe, but as far as he could see, his life was going nowhere. And it was going to keep going nowhere until he died at a dreary old age — bored out of his skull — never having left this bleak, backwater town.

Arthur was a lanky seventh grader with bronze, almost Native American skin, perpetually mussed-up, shock-white hair, and sullen, gold eyes. It was a strange set of features he had inherited from his father — features that had filled his childhood with teasing and exclusion. He stood right in the middle of the open main doors of Rockville Middle School and stared miserably down the dingy, crowded hallway.

The first bell rang, triggering a mad rush into the building. Annoyed students bumped and shoved past him on their way to lockers and homeroom classes.

He didn't care that he was in the way.

He just couldn't make himself go in and face another day of it.

I don't belong here.

A girl brushed by and stopped in front of him. She flicked her bleached hair back and said, "Can't you ever do anything right?"

Arthur shrugged.

She looked him up and down. "Dirty jeans and that same old grey hoodie ... you're never gonna change, are you?"

"Don't guess so."

"You're such a troll."

Nose held aloft, she huffed away. Arthur frowned as he tried ... and then failed ... to remember her name. He vaguely remembered seeing her in class, but not recently, not in this year's — oh! She was in the grade above him — the grade he used to be in, before he was held back a year. Arthur sighed. He knew why she couldn't stand him: it was because he had a way with people ... a bad way.

A boy elbowed him hard, knocking him down to his knees.

"You're in the way, doofus."

Arthur stood and rounded on the boy: McKinley, a stumpy, neckless lump of meanness that somehow had enough intelligence to attend school. McKinley had a special hatred for Arthur, but Arthur had forgotten why a long time ago. Arthur ducked as McKinley swung a meaty fist at his face. He grabbed McKinley's jersey and was about to throw a punch of his own — but Coach Lewis stepped out of one of the classrooms and spotted them.

Arthur and McKinley broke apart.

"Paladin!" Coach Lewis shouted, jowls quivering. "You're not fighting again, are you, boy?"

"No, sir."

"Then get to your classrooms —" he glared at the other students "— all of you!"

With a mournful sigh, Arthur shuffled inside.

*****

Arthur fell into a prehistoric, pockmarked, wooden desk and pulled out his tattered Pre-Algebra book, a spiral notebook with most of the wire torn loose, and two worn-down pencils. He began to doodle on a blank page — drawing imaginary alien creatures with tentacles and eyestalks and batwings, while Ms. Hue droned on about equations and fractions.

He didn't pay her any attention. He didn't need to know anything more than basic math, and if he was wrong about that ... well, he was sure he could easily learn the rest whenever he wanted. School was wasting his time. He was supposed to be learning ... something else ... something far more important than anything in his textbooks.

Every night, Arthur dreamed his dad — a man he could scarcely remember — was trying to teach him amazing things, the sort of exciting things you'd need to know to save the world: martial arts, sword-fighting, marksmanship, surviving in the wilderness (really strange places at that), and riding ... horses and giant wolves and giant cats and flying beasts. But once awake, Arthur could never remember the specifics, only the sense of companionship and purpose and the thrill of adventure. All day during school he was haunted by the dreams. It was extra frustrating to face day after long, boring day of being alone and out of place, when he knew there was somewhere out there that he not only belonged but was desperately needed. This feeling bothered him the most when he was doing equations or diagramming sentences or translating Spanish — tedious things he didn't need to know. It made him irritable ... angry ... rebellious. Once, he made the mistake of telling a teacher about the dreams. That led to two weeks of intensive counseling, on top of the regular weekly sessions the school already made him attend, with his Grandma Nelson's approval.