It was Bradley Costello’s voice, faint and scared. I struggled to open my eyelids. They were heavier than planet Earth. Just trying to open them sent pain shooting through my head. I was slumped beside the locker. How did I get here? Trying to remember hurt. Oh, yeah. Someone had slammed me. I forced myself up. An object clanged from my hand to the ground. I squinted at it. A wrench. It multiplied into a dozen wrenches, doing a ring-around-the-rosy. I heard footsteps, frantic, pounding. To the right of the tube, racing down the Boa stairs, was Judd. It was Judd who’d bashed me on the head. “Clay!” Panting, Brad scrambled up through the trees. He tried to hoist himself onto the platform, then fell back. I didn’t care about Brad’s dorkiness—I’d never been so glad to see anyone. The second time, he managed it. He glanced around, glasses slipping off his nose. Then, spotting me, he ran over to help me up. “Say something, Clay.” Through leaden lips, I muttered, “Something, Clay.”
