Top
Free Shipping On Orders Over $35!
Get Rewarded for Ordering Your Textbooks! Enroll Now
Customer Reviews Read Reviews
Write a Review
|
5 | (19) | |||
|
24 | (11) | |||
|
35 | (23) | |||
|
58 | (12) | |||
|
70 | (12) | |||
|
82 | (11) | |||
|
93 | (14) | |||
|
107 | (8) | |||
|
115 | (12) | |||
|
127 | (9) | |||
| Epilogue | 136 | (4) | |||
| The QoolQuad Honor Code | 140 |
The New copy of this book will include any supplemental materials advertised. Please check the title of the book to determine if it should include any access cards, study guides, lab manuals, CDs, etc.
The Used, Rental and eBook copies of this book are not guaranteed to include any supplemental materials. Typically, only the book itself is included. This is true even if the title states it includes any access cards, study guides, lab manuals, CDs, etc.
The Secret Weapon
Sometimes destiny is accidental. A man sets down his briefcase only to pick up another a moment later, thinking it is his own. When destiny surprises you like that, there's nothing you can do but go with the flow. But when this man lost his briefcase, he lost everything. He lost his influence. He lost his riches. He lost his power. God, he thought, was playing a game. But was he?
* * *
Matt Calahan's adrenaline was pumping. The sun shone hot on the football field, making him sweat. The field smelled of freshly cut grass and stale mud. The fans-well, the parents in the crowd-cheered for him and his team. They were only six points away from a sure victory. One more touchdown and they would have it. This was junior high football. Mean and green, the Culprits were an oiled machine.
But that's not why Matt Calahan's adrenaline was pumping. The truth is, Matt couldn't have cared less about the game. He'd signed up because his best friend, Lamar, had begged him to join the team. Well, that, and his dad thought it was about time Matt started playing a sport. He was playing today, for the first time in four months, because Tony Nedbit hadn't done his homework and someone had to take his place. So here was Matt, making his dad and his friend proud.
Matt glanced over at the stands where his dad sat by his mother, talking on his cell phone. No matter how busy either of them were, they always made his games ... even if he never played. As usual, through most of the game his dad would be on the phone. The guy just needed to learn to relax.
Whoosh! The football whizzed by Matt's head. Matt whirled around. A burly guy twice Matt's width caught the ball and charged forward. He headed straight for Matt, who jumped out of the way.
"Get him!" one of Matt's teammates cried.
"Hulk" Hooligan took up the call and pushed Matt out of the way. He sacked Burly Guy.
"Oh, come on!" someone else shouted. "He gained twenty yards! C'mon!"
"Oh!" Matt said, as if getting sandwiched between Hulk and Burly Guy was an option.
Lamar jogged by and slapped Matt on the shoulder. "Don't pay any attention to them," he said.
That was Lamar. Always the encourager.
Hulk did a little dance and punched one of his teammates in the arm. The teammate recoiled. As he passed Matt, Hulk slurred, "Tanks. I guess we've found our weakness, Calhan."
"Cal- a -han," Matt huffed.
The teams moved to the line of scrimmage.
"Go Culprits!" Matt's mother screamed.
Matt looked toward the stands again just as his other best friend, Gill, entered with his mom. His real name was Conrad, but everyone called him Gill because his last name was Gillespie. He helped his pregnant mother sit down. His parents had attended Enisburg Junior High when they were young, and so they rarely missed a game, even though Gill didn't play.
Gill gave Matt a cheesy thumbs-up and shouted, "You da man, Cal-a-han!"
Matt's dad was still talking on the phone.
The football was snapped, thrown, and stopped in a moment. Second and ten.
Matt didn't pay much attention, because chances were small that the ball would come his way. Oh, sure, it could. But odds were, it wouldn't. The good players usually got the ball thrown to them first.
Matt felt a bit cynical but not at all sad. His mind was set on getting home. Opening his present. He'd seen it that morning: a big, rectangular box wrapped in green-and-blue birthday paper, speckled with balloons. Matt could only dream about what was inside. His parents had said they wanted to have a small party-just the three of them. They had never said that before, so Matt was sure this present was extra special ... maybe even expensive. Hey, you have a thirteenth birthday only once.
A few months ago, Lamar had received a complete art kit on his thirteenth birthday-one like the professionals use. Now he was drawing comics in style. For Gill's upcoming thirteenth birthday, he was anticipating getting an earring. Okay, Matt could pass on that, but Gill thought it was pretty hip. Whatever the present was, Matt knew he'd like it. And as soon as the game was over, he was going home to open it!
Hike! Pass! Whoops! On the ground again. Third and ten.
"Go Culprits!" Matt's mother shouted.
"Go Culprits!" Gill echoed.
Hike! Pause ... pass! No good. Fourth and ten.
Soon, thank God, it would all be over.
The Townsend Knights kicked the ball high in the air, and it thumped up and down on the other side of the field. Both teams followed it down there and changed positions. Matt looked at the clock-less than a minute left in the game.
Matt's coach blew his whistle. The Culprits took a time-out.
Matt reeled in with his team. They gathered in a circle, and Lamar smiled as he knuckle-punched Matt's knuckle.
Matt looked up to see Gill taking his place in the huddle-except he wasn't supposed to be in the huddle because he wasn't playing. He was such a comedian. If he had a day job, he was one of the few who really could quit. He was funny!
"OK," Coach Plymouth said. "This is it, guys. Make this play, and you can win for the Culprits."
"Yes!" Gill shouted.
"You know what that means, don't you?" the coach asked.
"Yes!" Gill shouted. "It means we're one step closer to the playoffs!"
The coach winked at Gill. "That's right." Then he suddenly squeezed his eyes tight, "Gill, what are you doing here? You're not on the team."
"I'm on the team in spirit, Coach."
Coach Plymouth rolled his eyes, then nodded at the quarterback, Phillip Grove. He always let the quarterbacks choose the plays. Phillip licked his lips and looked around the circle.
"Lamar," he said decisively. "I'm going to throw the ball to you."
"Cool," Lamar said.
"And then," Phillip continued, "I want you to pitch it to Matt."
"Pitch it to Matt ?" Gill and Lamar said, shocked.
"Pitch it to Matt ?" Hulk echoed.
"Pitch it to Matt ?" Matt said, equally shocked.
The players glanced at one another.
"Pitch it to Matt," Phillip confirmed.
Matt's stomach turned over. "I'm not so sure ..."
Phillip reached across and put his hand on Matt's shoulder. "You're our secret weapon."
"Secret weapon?"
"Secret weapon. No one on the Knights team would expect us to lateral to you. You'll be wide open. Just catch the ball and run as fast as you can to the end zone. You can make it. And we'll win."
"Yes!" Gill Gillespie shouted. "Secret weapon!"
The coach narrowed his eyes at Gill. "Gill, get off the field, will ya, before we get a penalty?"
Gill laughed and walked away, bobbing his head like a chicken. Gill was a little off his rocker, but you had to love him. Everyone laughed.
"Wait a second!" Matt shouted, his voice cracking. "What about Burly Guy-number 68? He's right in my path!"
"Hulk, you and I will take out 68 after Lamar pitches it to Matt," Phillip ordered.
Hulk nodded and muttered under his breath.
The referee blew his whistle as Phillip said, "On three, guys."
The Culprits put their hands in the center of the circle, stacked one atop another, and dropped them all at once as they shouted, "Go-o-o-o Culprits!" They broke apart and took their places on the field.
Matt felt lightheaded. For a second he closed his eyes. God, please help me. I promise I'll go on a missions trip to Africa if you help me.
"Hut one! Hut two!"
Matt opened his eyes.
"Hut-hut!"
Phillip threw the ball to Lamar. As the football shot past the stands, Matt could see his dad was finally off the phone. Lamar caught the ball. The Knights followed the ball, heading away from Matt.
Lamar hesitated.
Matt threw his arms in the air.
Lamar pitched the football straight to him. Matt saw it coming like a bullet. The Knights seemed noticeably surprised.
Thump! The football slapped Matt in the chest. He closed his arms around it-and he caught it! He actually caught it!
Matt quickly surveyed the field. Pow! Slam! Womp! The Culprits blocked the Knights.
"Go!" someone shouted.
Matt was about to run when suddenly Burly Guy was charging straight toward him.
Where were Hulk and Phillip? Weren't they going to "take out 68 after Lamar pitches it to Matt"?
"Yaaaaaaaaaaa!!!!" From the center of the field, Phillip the quarterback came running like a wild turkey. He leaped in the air and landed on Burly Guy's back, screaming. But Burly Guy kept coming. Matt's heart was racing. He just knew he was going down. Then: Hulk. The huge Culprit came bounding in from center field, a goofy-looking grin on his face. He crashed into Burly Guy at full speed, throwing him backward and pinning Phillip underneath him.
"Agh!" Phillip shouted in pain. "Matt ... run!"
Matt looked. With Burly Guy out of the way, the field was clear! He twisted around and ran! Fast! Faster! Faster! Suddenly before him, the Knights who had been heading his direction gave up hope! Matt was a rocket! The field opened before him! He ran! Ran! Ran!
The end zone was getting closer ... closer.
Like a marathon winner, Matt crossed the line with both arms in the air. He threw the football, spiking it on the ground.
Touchdown!
He made a touchdown! Matt danced like a chicken. He spun like a monkey. He was a secret weapon!
So why were his teammates, glaring at him, instead of raising him on their shoulders?
Then Matt noticed something a bit odd. His mouth dropped. He was on the wrong side of the field.
He had made a touchdown all right ... for the other team.
Well, at least he didn't have to go to Africa.
* * *
"It's all right, Matt." Mr. Calahan patted Matt's knee and sat back on the couch. "You put your whole self into the game."
Matt shrugged. The game was over-thankfully over-and Matt had decided to put it out of his mind. He had managed to avoid his teammates {especially Phillip Grove, the quarterback, who limped off the field after tackling Burly Guy in vain), to come home with his mom and dad and to take a quick shower. He was now in the living room wearing cut-off sweatpants and a DCTalk T-shirt. He ran his hand through his wet, black hair.
It was dark outside now, and the house was quiet. Matt's mom finally entered the room with a small cupcake. A single candle sat atop, burning hot. She shielded it with her hand. "Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you ..."
Mrs. Calahan was a sweet woman with soft facial features surrounded by short and straight black hair. She wore a denim shirt and blue jeans. She shot Matt's dad a quick glance, and he joined in. "Happy birthday, dear Matthew! Happy birthday to you!"
Mrs. Calahan carefully handed the cupcake to Matt. "Make a wish!"
Matt felt a little silly but closed his eyes anyway.
I hope I get a good present , he wished. He opened his eyes and blew out the candle.
A moment later, it flared up again.
Matt blinked. He blew it out again.
It flared up again, Matt looked at his mom.
She giggled. "Trick candle."
Matt's dad laughed.
Mrs. Calahan licked her fingertips and snuffed the flame out for the last time.
"Do I still get my wish?" Matt asked.
"Of course," Matt's mom said, not losing a beat. "You get it three times over."
Mr. Calahan reached down, picked up the present, and handed it to Matt. It was somewhat heavy. Matt smiled and didn't waste any time. Soon the balloon-speckled paper was in shreds at his feet. It had been masterfully taped around a plain, white box that looked like it had been recycled from Christmas.
"Even I don't know what it is," Matt's mom said, "Your dad just said he knew you'd like it."
Matt looked at his dad. His square-jawed father wore his signature plaid shirt and jeans, and he chewed his gum like he was trying to squeeze out the last ounce of flavor. They didn't spend a lot of time together, so Matt wondered how his dad knew what he liked. Would he have to feign surprise and excitement, pretending he liked it, when he hated it?
"Here you go," Mr. Calahan said, handing him an open pocketknife.
Matt's mother winked and giggled.
Matt took the pocketknife and sliced the top of the white box down the middle, tearing through the packing tape. He handed the knife back, slipped his fingers in the open crack and pulled, tearing the remaining tape at the sides. The box opened with a pop , and a few Styrofoam squiggles shot out, peppering the floor.
The snowfall continued as Matt dug into the box like a dog digging for a bone. Then he hit it. He pressed his fingertips around the edges and lifted it up. His father looked at him with a goofy grin. His mother's lips tightened.
Matt put the box on the floor and pulled the birthday gift the rest of the way out. All at once, it was free. Matt felt his mouth drop. He set the present down on his lap. He could barely believe it.
"It's a laptop!" his dad announced.
Matt's wish had come true. Three times over. He had often dreamed of having his own laptop but never really thought he'd get one. Not anytime soon, anyway. They were so ... expensive.
"Oh, my, Stan ... how did you afford that?" his mother asked in a hush. "We can't afford that ... "
"Business has been good, Penny," Matt's father responded, "and I have friends who have friends."
Before they could exchange another word, his dad's cellular phone rang, leaving Matt's mother to draw her own conclusions. Matt's dad pulled the phone off his leather belt and looked at the display.
"Gotta get this," he said, standing up and flipping the phone open. It was probably one of the guys at one of his construction sites. They were always calling with questions. And his dad was always answering them.
Matt couldn't take his eyes off the laptop. His gaze was drawn to the small, gold lettering embossed in the bottom, right corner: WORDTRONIX.
Matt pulled his right forefinger along the right-hand side and felt the slick, black plastic. His finger came to a switch, and when he located another one on the opposite side, he carefully pulled both switches forward. The lid locks released, and Matt lifted the top. It opened like a big, flat clam.
The screen was a good-sized 12.1 inches. The keyboard was compact but full. Below it was a touchpad like Matt had seen on the laptops at the store-the kind you pull your finger across to move the cursor around the screen. Above the keyboard was a small LCD strip. Beside it, the power button.
"Turn it on," his dad encouraged, holding his hand over the cell phone's mouthpiece.
Continues...
Excerpted from laptop #1 reality shift by Christopher P.N. Moselli Copyright © 2002 by Christopher P. N. Maselli
Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Need Help? Copyright © 1999-2024