Trex - Hardcover

Morrell, Christyne

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0593433246 ISBN 13: 9780593433249

Verlag: Delacorte Press, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

This middle grade mystery follows the adventures of a boy with an experimental brain implant, and a reclusive girl training to be a spy, as they're pitted against school bullies, their own parents, and an evil, brain-hacking corporation. Perfect for fans of Stranger Things.

Trex’s experimental brain implant saved his life—but it also made his life a lot harder. Now he shocks everything he touches. When his overprotective mother finally agrees to send him to a real school for sixth grade, Trex is determined to fit in.

He wasn’t counting on Mellie the Mouse. She lives in the creepiest house in Hopewell Hill, where she spends her time scowling, lurking, ignoring bullies, and training to be a spy. Mellie is convinced she saw lightning shoot from Trex’s fingertips, and she is Very Suspicious.

And she should be . . . but not of Trex. Someone mysterious is lurking in the shadows . . . someone who knows a dangerous secret.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Christyne Morrell is the author of Kingdom of Secrets. When she's not writing for kids, she's busy raising one. She is a corporate attorney, and in her spare time enjoys reading, baking, and watching House Hunters marathons. She lives with her family in Decatur, Georgia.

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Chapter 1

Trex

I don’t expect the fireworks, but I have to admit, they’re pretty cool. All bright blue and crackly. Under different circumstances, I’d be impressed with myself for having made them. But under these circumstances--the ones I’ve been stuck with for as long as I can remember--it’s anything but impressive. It’s downright dumb. If Mom were here, she’d yank me out of this garden in a flash for making such a spectacle of myself. In fact, she’d probably yank me out of this town altogether and squish my dream of ever being a normal kid. Normal kids don’t shoot fireworks out of their fingertips.

But I’ve never been very good at “normal.”

Lucky for me, Mom’s not here. Nobody is. I whip my head around to make sure the coast is clear, then sigh in relief. Only Barnaby saw what just happened, and he’s not telling because . . . well, he’s a dog. He stares at me with his head cocked in confusion. He wasn’t expecting fireworks, either.

“Don’t give me that look,” I tell him. “That was your fault.”

Barnaby had lunged at something--a squirrel probably--and since I’m on the other end of his leash, he pulled me right along with him. I had no choice but to reach out for balance, and the only thing nearby was a statue--a bronze figure of a girl standing guard in the middle of the garden with one arm raised to the sky. I braced myself for the sting that happens every time I touch metal, like the snap of a rubber band against my skin. It’s annoying, but I’m used to it by now. It happens twenty times a day. But I’m definitely not used to fireworks.

“That was . . . weird,” I mutter, checking for burns and flexing my fingers. They look the same as always--slightly red and calloused. You’d never know they just produced lightning. Or whatever that was.

If dogs can roll their eyes, that’s what Barnaby does next. Maybe he’s trying to remind me it was my idea to wander into that garden in the first place. It was my idea to put myself within zapping distance of all that metal just for a better view of Hopewell. Even the statue itself--looking down at me with a stern expression on her face--seems to think it was a bad move. Maybe she’s right.

But how could I resist? From that garden on the hill, the town of Hopewell is spread out below me like a picnic blanket. Like the opening credits of a TV show: houses lined up in neat rows, a leafy-green park, a cobblestoned town square. It’s perfect. I scan the landscape for a specific building--one that’s brick and boxy and not quite as beautiful as all that other stuff. Except to me. Because that boring brick box is Hopewell Middle School, and starting tomorrow, it will be my school. I roll the words around in my mouth like a Jolly Rancher. “My school.”

On TV, kids are always trying to avoid the place, but as far as I’m concerned, school is like Disney World and the go-kart track and the ice cream shop all rolled into one. It’s a land of brightly painted lockers, where I’ll roam the halls with my new friends, getting into mischief (the harmless kind, of course) while teachers wag their fingers at us. I’ll form lifelong friendships and learn important lessons and have “the best years of my life.” At least that’s how it is on my shows.

But most of all, I’ll be ordinary there. Not the homeschooled kid who spends all day with his mother. Or the kid who nearly died when he was little. Or the kid who technically did die, if only for a few seconds. Or--worst of all--the kid who does that weird thing with his hands. I’ll just be Trex. Plain and ordinary. It’s going to be awesome.

If I can pull it off.

If I can make it a whole day without causing a light show.

Which is why those fireworks are anything but cool. And if Mom finds out . . .

Barnaby nudges my leg. He’s right--it’s getting late. Mom will start to worry, and nothing is more hazardous to my normal life than a worried Mom. I guide Barnaby out of the garden with a nod to the statue. The metal shimmers in the setting sun like warm, gooey honey.

When I get home, Mom is sitting at our foldout kitchen table, surrounded by towers of unpacked boxes. She’s eating leftovers from the Plate of the Union Café, where she just finished a shift. She’s still wearing her ridiculous uniform--a crisp white shirt, blue suspenders, and a sparkly red bow tie. In every new town--and there have been lots of new towns--Mom finds work at the local diner. The quality of the food varies, but the outfits are always cringe-worthy and the puns are even worse: New Fork City. Mad Platter Café. Chew Chew Train. You get the idea.

“You’re back,” she says, like she’s surprised. Like she hasn’t been tapping her fingernails and waiting for the creak of the front door. “How was the walk?”

“Good,” I say. My voice sounds squeaky and unnatural. I wonder if Mom notices.

“Is everything all right, Trex?”

Yep, she notices. If I give her even the tiniest hint that I’m worried about starting school tomorrow, she’ll gladly call the whole thing off. And if I mention that I just created lightning out of thin air? Well, I might as well start packing right now. Static electric shocks are one thing. Fizzy blue fireworks are another. Pull it together, I tell myself. It was a fluke. She won’t find out. Everything is fine.

“Everything is fine,” I say. I pull on a pair of highlighter-yellow rubber gloves. We have them stashed all over the house, so I don’t accidentally shock Mom or Barnaby.

“Are you excited about tomorrow?” she asks. “Nervous?”

“No!” I blurt out. “I mean yes! I mean . . . no and yes.” I take a deep breath and start over. So much for playing it cool. “Nervous: no. Excited: yes.”

“Uhhh, okay.” She narrows her eyes. She’s on to me. “Everyone gets nervous on the first day of school, Trex. It’s perfectly normal.”

There’s that word again: “normal.” What normal kid has to worry about setting fire to his math homework? And don’t even get me started on chemistry lab.

Mom smiles, but this time, I’m on to her. She’s waiting for me to crack. Like a criminal on a cop show, sweating under the hot lights in a police interrogation room. “How about a round of Alphabetter?” she asks.

Alphabetter is a game we invented years ago, to cheer each other up. And to calm each other down. The first time we played, we were in a cheap hotel in Albuquerque with a broken TV and no internet. Or was it Phoenix? Either way, it was someplace hot. To make ourselves feel better, we took turns naming our favorite things in alphabetical order. It’s hard to be upset when you’re making a list of things you love. But if I agree to play now, she’ll know I need it. She’ll know something’s wrong.

“No thanks,” I say. “I’m good.”

Instead, the three of us curl up on the couch and watch TV in silence. Well, not exactly silence. I’m wrapped in a rubber blanket, and it makes an annoying squelchy sound every time I move. I’m also resting my head where I can hear both of their heartbeats. Mom’s is slow and steady like a rocking chair. Barnaby’s thumps around like a tennis ball loose in a closet. Both are comforting in their own way.

One of my favorite shows is on--a hidden camera show where kids play pranks on unsuspecting grown-ups--but I’m too distracted...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Delacorte Press
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2022
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0593433246
• ISBN 13: 9780593433249
• Einband: Gebundene Ausgabe
• Anzahl der Seiten: 304
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: preigu; mail@preigu.de; ; Lengericher Landstr. 19; Osnabrück; 49078; Deutschland