Eighth-grader Orithian "Rith" Haley discovers another world via the staircase in his house and begins to explore questions about God and about the father he never knew.
the truth circle
By PAT SCHMATZCAROLRHODA BOOKS, INC.
Copyright © 2007 Pat Schmatz
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-0-8225-7268-8Chapter One
The feeling reached into Rith's dreamless sleep, where he was slouching around in the never-changing mud of boredom and hopelessness. It yanked him into the gray-dark bedroom and left him lying jittery awake, shifting his wide-open eyes without moving his head. It paced around the edge of his bed, invisible but tangible. It slithered under the sheets and Rith's skin broke out in goose bumps.
He panicked and flipped to his side, groping for the light. His hand hit a glass of water that sloshed and clattered on the nightstand, then thumped on the carpet. He found the lamp and grabbed the stem with one hand, hitting the switch with the other. With a click and a flash, light entered the room and the feeling left.
Nothing and nobody, just his stupid imagination.
Rith got up and searched the room, mocking himself the whole time. What do you think, there's a monster in the closet? Maybe a wizard on a broomstick outside the window? A python under your bed? He picked up the water glass and used yesterday's sock to wipe water off the nightstand. Most of it was already soaking into the thick blue carpet. He pressed his ear against the closed bedroom door, listening for sounds in the hall that he knew wouldn't be there.
He got back in bed and turned off the light, lying in the darkness. The streetlight wavered through the plaid curtains and glanced off the blank computer screen on his desk. The TV on top of the dresser hulked in the deepest shadows of the corner.
Rith kicked the covers away. His stepfather, Walt, kept the house way too hot.
"Babies in the house," he'd say. "Gotta keep things cozy."
He and Mom and the babies were a long way away, down on the first floor. The nursery where Ben and Emma slept was next to the huge master bedroom. That bedroom, with its attached bathroom and walk-in closet, was bigger than the whole house where Rith had lived with his mom B.W. Before Walt.
If something really did sneak into Rith's window in the night and attack him, no one would know. They wouldn't hear a thing. Mom would come looking for him when he didn't show up at breakfast and find him spattered all over the room, maggots crawling around in whatever was left of him. Or maybe he'd disappear without a trace. They'd come in and find his window left open, cold air rushing in. Walt would be outraged that something had dared break into his castle and touch one of his subjects without permission. Mom might be sad for a week or two, but then she'd say, "Can't we forget about the past and focus on the good things we have now?" And then she'd live happily ever after.
The next morning, Rith lifted his heavy eyelids to watch the sky lighten. First everything was gray, and then a lighter gray, then the sun began to shine its feeble rays across the winter sky. The branches on the trees were long naked tentacles, reaching up in search of warmth.
The posters on the walls slowly came clear-Harry Potter, Eragon, and Redwall. Fantasy stuff, dragons and broomsticks and mouse warriors. Water ran somewhere in the house but no other sounds reached Rith. On nonschool days, he put off an appearance on the ground floor as long as possible.
"Rit!" Emma's voice floated up from the living room below.
She sang his name, making a rhythm of it as she crawled up the stairs. Rith put on a pair of sweats and a tee shirt and opened the door. Emma's voice paused on the landing, then continued. Her curly head poked around the corner.
Her eyes widened when she saw him and she laughed out loud. She ran over and threw her sturdy little blonde self at his legs, making him put his hand against the wall to keep from falling over.
"Hi, Emma," he said.
She squealed and let loose with an unintelligible stream of sounds. Emma bubbled noise every minute she was awake. She didn't care if Rith glared at her, closed doors on her, or pretended she didn't exist. He got almost as much air time as "Daddy Daddy Daddy."
The only way to get rid of her was to go downstairs with her.
"Come on," he said. "Let's go find some food."
She clutched a handful of loose material behind Rith's left knee and followed him down the hall. When Rith reached the top of the stairs, they stretched out before him, wide and covered with thick, soft no-color carpeting.
Rith picked Emma up and put her under his arm like a football. He carried her down the stairs, her head bobbing and her feet flopping behind. At the bottom he set her down and followed the slap of her bare feet across the big, square ceramic tiles into the sunny kitchen.
"Rit," she announced to her parents, beaming as if she had discovered gold on the second floor.
"Good morning, hon," said Rith's mother. She sat at the table with Baby Ben, who lounged in her lap like a fat little prince, sucking away on his bottle.
"How'd you sleep?" she asked.
"Fine," said Rith, rummaging through the cupboard for the Frosted Flakes.
"Hey Sugar," boomed Walt, taking Emma up on his lap. "How's your big brother this morning?"
Rith poured the Frosted Flakes into a bowl, pulled the milk out of the refrigerator and splashed it on, and started to head upstairs.
"Rith," said Walt. "Did you forget something?"
He stopped and rolled his eyes at the wall in front of him. He sighed, backtracked, rolled up the lining of the cereal box and returned it to the cupboard, and put the milk back in the refrigerator. Then, without looking at anyone, he picked up his bowl and headed back to his room.
Upstairs, Rith sat at his desk and ate his cereal, looking out the window. Not much to see on an icy gray morning. Big houses like their house, sitting around the circular end of the street. All the driveways neatly snow-blown, all the SUVs shut up in their garages. He looked down at the snow just outside the window, pressing his face against the cold glass. To his left, the back yard stretched out into an open field between their house and the next identical cul-de-sac. He searched for footprints or paw prints or maybe a secret symbol drawn in the snow. Some sign that the feeling he'd had in the night was more than a wild wishful hope for a break from reality.
There was nothing. Nothing and nobody. Just another stupid Sunday morning.
Chapter Two
Two hours later, Rith waited by the coat rack because that was better than standing in the church doorway with Walt and Mom and the babies, shaking the hands of everyone as they walked in. Helping ladies off with their coats was painful but not unbearable.
"Hey." Someone tapped Rith on the shoulder.
He turned to face a pudgy kid a little taller than him with red hair and lots of freckles.
"I'm Toby."
"Hi. I'm Rith."
"What?" asked Toby, like everyone did.
"Rith. Short for Orithian."
"Rrrrrrrrith," Toby growled. "Cool name. Not like Toby. Toby sounds like an overweight beagle. Why couldn't they have named me Brutus or Spike, like a pit or a rott?"
"Hi Rith," called Mrs. Hughes, shrugging out of her long wool coat. "So nice to see you, and how's that darling little sister of yours?"
"She's fine," said Rith, although all Mrs. Hughes had to do was turn around and see for herself. He took her coat and put it on a hanger.
"So you're the coat man here?" asked Toby as Mrs. Hughes walked away. "How'd you get that job?"
"Greeter family," said Rith, pointing toward the entrance with...
