CHAPTER ONE

The Falling Star

George Brown was sitting on the bottom step of the back porch watching the stars while rubbing DoorJam (his sister’s cat) behind the ears. It was a warm, clear summer night, and the stars looked like shiny pebbles that someone had scattered across a dark blue carpet. The world was at peace and so were Doorjam and George, who both gazed sleepily up at the night sky, basking in all of its silent glory.

And then it happened.

A brilliant star appeared, gliding slowly across the night sky. Stretched out behind it as it came was an amazing, impossible stream of purple polka dots, etched brightly against the sky.

George rubbed his eyes. He thought he must be seeing things. After all, falling stars might trail a great many things in their wake, but he had never seen one leaving a trail of purple polka dots.

But they were still there, trailing out behind the glowing star like tire tracks in the snow. The polka dots seemed to ripple as if they were in a stream of moving water, fading gradually the farther they were from the star until they eventually wavered out of sight.

The star was coming closer and getting brighter, causing Doorjam to hiss and dart under the porch. George sat transfixed, staring. The star was not moving fast like most shooting stars, but seemed to be crawling along. The purple polka dots stretched out behind it seemed to be getting brighter.

And then suddenly the star dropped straight down like a bolt of lightning. It looked almost as if it were going to hit George’s house, but instead disappeared behind a hill on the outskirts of town and was gone. There was no noise at all when it contacted earth. The purple polka dots all vanished, and the night was again peaceful and still as if nothing had happened.

At this point most 12-year-old boys would probably jump up and run into the house to tell everyone what they had just seen. However, George did not move. He sat perfectly still, continuing to stare at the black sky. Strangely, he wasn’t frightened or overly excited at the star or the purple polka dots. He was used to things like this happening.

Like the time when a little yellow bird had suddenly started following him around everywhere he went—even the bathroom. What was even more bizarre was that it was walking, not flying. It even came into his classroom at school and sat on the corner of his desk, staring at George until his teacher shooed it out the window. The bird kept this up for 2 weeks before it suddenly disappeared.

And last spring, during his science project about rock crystals his fingernails had suddenly broken out in green spots. The spots had lasted almost a week, changing slowly from emerald green to orange before fading out altogether. (His teacher had gotten very excited and happy, thinking that George had contracted some deadly disease, and was disappointed that George wouldn’t turn himself in for extensive examination and testing).

Odd things like this had happened to George ever since that dreaded night, one year ago, that his world had changed—the night his father disappeared.

Somehow George knew that no one else had seen the falling star with its trailing stream of purple polka dots. There would be no bold headline in tomorrow’s paper about it. Somehow, this was something just for him.

Finally, after a long time of staring at where the star had been, George slowly stood up to go into the house. He would tell his mother about the star and the polka dots, even though he knew what her reaction would be. Like all the other strange things that happened to him, she would just tell him he must have been mistaken and then say that she had to peel some potatoes for a casserole (even though they had just had dinner). Then she would stand at the kitchen sink staring out the window while whittling away at several unlucky potatoes until they were the size of toothpicks. Deep down she knew that he was telling the truth, even though she denied it each time. George’s father used to have strange things happen to him too, which he would tell her about. Before he disappeared.

DoorJam came out from under the porch and followed George into the house. He was a smart enough cat to know that after the potatoes were peeled to nothing, George’s mother would sit in the chair by the fireplace and pet him for hours. George sighed. It was times like these that he found himself wishing he were a cat.

CHAPTER TWO

What George Found

The next morning after breakfast George got out his school backpack and filled it with snacks and a canteen of water. His mother watched for a moment, then said quietly, “Where are you going?”

“Oh, I just thought I’d ride my bike over to McGee’s orchard and look around. Nothing much else to do.”

“This wouldn’t have anything to do with that star you think you saw last night would it?” George noticed her hand move involuntarily towards the potato peeler on the counter.

George knew from past experience there was no fooling his mother. “Well,” he said casually, “it did kind of look like it went down over that way. But I also thought I’d climb a few apple trees and steal a little fruit and get sick because they’re green. You know, the normal stuff a boy is supposed to do in the summer.”

“George,” said his mother, worry clearly in her voice, “why don’t you go over to Jason’s house and play instead. Or go see Alex and Michael. I’ll bet they’re dying to see you.”

“Jason’s on vacation the next two weeks,” said George simply. “And Alex and Michael just got a new mini motorcycle.”

George saw his mother cringe. He knew she hated motorcycles as much as all the strange things that kept happening to him.

“Well then, maybe Janet can go with you,” she said. There was an immediate, forceful “I WILL NOT!” from the next room. Then Janet, George’s 16-year-old sister appeared in the doorway. “I planned to go swimming today with Sarah and Jillian. There’s no way I’m going to spend the day in some orchard with the little weirdo!” She shot George a malevolent look.

George’s mother sighed. She knew when she was beaten. “Well, at least take your cell phone with you,” she said as Janet left the room. Then she added firmly, “and make sure you stay in range so you can use it!”

Ever since George’s father had disappeared the year before, his mother had insisted that he and Janet pack a cell phone with them everywhere they went. She would call them almost every hour—even if they were in school. It used to annoy George’s math teacher to no end, especially since his cell phone range to the tune of ‘You Ain’t Nothin’ But a Hound Dog.’

“Sure mom,” said George, picking up his backpack. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. It’s summer. What could go wrong?”

Instead of answering, his mother clutched the potato peeler in a death grip. Seeing his chance for another rubdown, DoorJam jumped onto the counter and tried to paw the peeler out of her hand.

“Bye mom,” called George as he hurriedly went out the door. “Be back this afternoon.” Flipping his backpack on his shoulder, he scooped up his bike from the front lawn and took off, not daring to look back.

McGee’s orchard was on the outskirts of the town of Bartletville, California, where George lived. It only took him 10 minutes to get there, since Bartletville was not a very big place. The trees in the orchard were full of little green apples just as George had told his mother, but of course George didn’t eat them. Instead, he circled the orchard, searching for any sign of a fallen star.

He knew this was crazy. That star, or whatever it was, probably fell hundreds or even thousands of miles away, even though it had looked close last night. It was almost guaranteed that he wouldn’t find it. Still, something inside told George that he needed to look, and if he did, he just might find something.

George’s mother called on the cell phone when he had only been gone for half an hour. Fortunately, he was still in range even though the connection was a bit fuzzy. “George, are you all right?” he heard his mother say in a static-ey voice.

“Sure, mom,” replied George. “I’m just riding around the orchard. There’s no one around.”

“Well, stay off the state road,” said George’s mother. “You know how fast people drive along there. And don’t go traipsing off into the woods. I’m thinking now you should’ve taken DoorJam with you.”

George cringed. He still had scars from the last time he had taken DoorJam on his bike. “I’ll be o.k. mom,” he said cheerfully. “Don’t worry. I’ll be home soon.”

George kept pedaling up and down the country roads near the orchard, between groves of trees and fields of alfalfa and potatoes, looking for any sign of the fallen star. The sun was warm on his back, and the taste of the fresh, country air made him feel good inside. Being out this way reminded him of the time he and his dad had come out here to look for crystallized rocks for his science project. They hadn’t found any, but they had laughed and talked and shared a peanut butter and tomato sandwich (his dad’s favorite) before coming home empty handed.

Thinking about his dad made George suddenly feel very alone. Maybe he should go home.

He was pedaling back toward town when suddenly he stopped. He couldn’t have told anyone why. He just knew he had to. He got off his bike and started walking across an empty field. About halfway across, he stopped again.

Nothing moved. He couldn’t see anything. He shook his head as if to clear away a fog. “This is silly,” he said out loud. “I think I’ll go home.”

His legs paid no attention to what his mouth was saying. Instead of turning and taking him back to his bike, they carried him farther into the field. Suddenly he came upon a shallow dip in the meadow that was not visible until you were up close.

And that is where he found what he was looking for.

Buried halfway in the dirt was a large, ugly, greyish ball of rock, about three feet in diameter. It was pock-marked and bumpy, as if it had been battered and slammed about by a giant who was playing ping pong. On one side, a strange, hook-like extension stuck out, about two feet long, pointed curiously toward the north. Steam was rising from the dirt where the ball had hit and skidded across the ground. The ball didn’t look bright or impressive now, and there were no purple polka dots in sight.

As George stared at the ball, he shivered even though it was a hot day. He couldn’t say why, but there was something strange about the fallen star that made him feel uneasy. He had thought he would be elated to find it, but now he wished he hadn’t come at all.

He was turning to go when suddenly he noticed a glimmer in the grass at his feet. Kneeling down he saw a roundish, clear rock that sparkled in the sunlight. Fascinated, George saw that he could see right through the rock as if it were clear glass. The rock was about an inch thick.

He reached out and touched it. Instantly, he felt an electric shock run through him from head to toe. He pulled back in alarm. The rock lay in the soil, sparkling and winking up at him. Then he quickly reached down and picked it up. It caused a strange, tingly feeling in his hand and fingers. In spite of the warm day, the rock was perfectly cold, like an ice cube. After staring at it for a moment, George put the rock in his pocket. It was time to go home.

While riding his bike home, George could feel the rock pressing coldly against his leg. He had to reach into his pocket every once in a while and move it from spot to spot to keep his leg from freezing.

When George got home his mother was overjoyed to see him, but not as pleased when he described the gray ball he had seen half buried in the field. “Promise me you’ll never go back there alone,” she said firmly.

“Aw, mom,” said George. “It’s just a big, ugly ball in the ground. It can’t hurt me.”

“Promise me!” she said firmly, through pursed lips. Ever since his father disappeared, she had distrusted anything strange or unusual that George came across, and made him promise to stay away from it if possible. He knew there was no way of getting around it. “Oh, all right,” said George with a sigh.

In a strange way however, he was secretly glad that she had made him promise to stay away from it. While a strange fascination about the ball seemed to draw him to it, he had to admit that he wasn’t sure he wanted to go back there because of the eerie, cold feeling that seemed to cling to it.

As George went to his room he took the little, clear rock he had found out of his pocket and stared at it once more. It was still cold as ice, and made his fingers tingle. At times it almost seemed to glow.

He was glad he hadn’t told his mom anything about it. She would probably have insisted that he get rid of it, just like she had forbidden him to go back to the fallen star. But there was something strange and intriguing about the rock that made George feel like he had to keep it. He looked carefully at it for a minute. Even though it was clear as glass, he noticed that shadows seemed to flicker across it at times. Finally, he put it back into his pocket.

Anyway, he told himself, it was just a rock. There was nothing too unusual about a boy finding a rock and bringing it home.

Little did he know how wrong he was.