Free Artifacts by Pete Catalano Page A

across the shiny wooden floors.
    “That can’t be good,” Mouth said. “Tank, go find out what that is.”
    Tank slipped down through the opening in between the aluminum planks of the bleachers and dropped out of sight to the gym floor.
    The squeaks moved toward us, slow and consistent, as whoever it was made their way toward our side of the gym and the lower level of the bleachers.
    “Who do you think it is?” Korie asked, sliding closer to me.
    “It doesn’t matter who it is,” Mouth said. “Tank’ll take care of it.”
    “I think I’ll shut the computer down and put it back into my bag,” Crunch said. “This way when I have to run, it doesn’t matter how much I flail.”
    “Yeah,” I agreed. “You’re like a Muppet when you run.”
    “Crunch is like a Muppet when he runs, and eats, and breathes.” Mouth laughed.
    The curtains near the base of the bleachers moved. I was hoping it was Tank.
    The lights snapped off in the gym.
    The small lights in each of the bleacher steps cast an eerie glow before us.
    Across the gym, another door slammed. The noise was followed by the sound of thunder as the polyurethane wheels of several skateboards glided across the hardwood floors.
    “S-s-s-stay away from me!” a voice high-pitched whined in the dark. “You remember what happened to you at Skull Rock.”
    “That’s Smee,” Korie whispered, “I’d know that pitiful squeak anywhere.”
    “What’s Skull Rock?” Mouth said.
    “Neverland, nerd,” Crunch said. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”
    “Captain’s not here this time, Smee,” a voice answered him.
    “Don’t need the captain,” Smee chattered. His voice was low and he sounded nervous.
    We heard Smee yell again.
    “What’s happening now?” Mouth asked.
    “The way he’s yelling, it might be the Grumpkins,” Crunch said matter-of-factly.
    “They would totally attack Smee,” Korie said. “But they don’t glide. They lumber …”
    “They stampede,” Mouth added. “They could do some damage if they weren’t happy.”
    Crunch agreed. “And Smee’s pretty terrible at making kids happy.”
    A few moments later, the lights popped back on. Tank was standing in the middle of the court, alone, with no one around him. Smee was gone and so were the kids and the skateboards.
    “You okay?” I yelled down to Tank.
    “Yeah,” he said. “But I’m not really sure what just happened.”
    We thundered down the steps of the bleachers, pounding the aluminum plank steps hard.
    “Where’d they go?” Korie asked.
    Tank shrugged. “I don’t know. One minute I was standing in the middle of a ton of people, the next minute the lights came on … and I was alone.”
    “See, Tank, I give you one job to do,” Mouth said.
    “Maybe we should get back out to our bikes to make sure that nobody decided to take them or break them,” Korie said.
    My head snapped up.
    Halfway through the run, we let Crunch pass us so we could watch him Muppet-flail his way down the hall and out the doors. When you’re in sixth grade, even under the most dangerous circumstances, you can always take time for a good laugh at someone else’s expense.
    Crashing through the steel doors at the end of the hallway, we ran over to our bikes and found them in the same condition we had left them in. Now we had to get a plan.
    “Any ideas on where we go from here?” I asked.
    “All the good places have probably been tried by now,” Korie said.
    “So we have to try all the not so good places first,” Tank said. “The places that are so gross that nobody would ever want to step foot into them.”
    “Yeah.” Mouth laughed, “like Crunch’s room.”
    Everybody laughed and I think it was something we all needed.
    “How about out by the Six Mile Creek Greenway,” Crunch said, and then covered his head, waiting to get pounded.
    “That’s not such a terrible idea,” I said. “I’ve found great stuff out there before.”
    “Yeah, people have been using the