long as he didn’t look back to see if she was really following him.”
“Let me guess,” Jon said. “He looked.”
Sydney nodded. “ Whoosh! Orpheus lost her forever —”
“Yeah, well, we’re not losing Dana,” I said loudly. “Not like that. And anyway, we don’t know where she is. But she can’t be in some creepy Underworld. Especially not one under our school.”
The kids on the bus quieted and turned to us.
“Ha-ha!” said Sydney. “Nothing to see here!” She ducked her head down and flipped to a pink sticky note in the section about Norse myths. “Lots of monsters here, too. The Midgard Serpent. A scary half-blue lady. And … uh-oh.”
“What?” I said.
Syd went paler than usual. “Fenrir.”
“Somebody you know?” asked Jon.
“Somebody we all know,” she said, turning to me. “A big red wolf. Really big. With fur sticking out like wire.”
I tried to stay calm. “Does Fenrir breathe fire?”
Sydney scanned the page and nodded slowly. “It’s kind of his trademark.”
Jon’s face drained of color until it matched hers. “So, we’re living in a weird fat book?”
My heart was doing a drum solo. A hundred eyes? A red wolf? A trip to the Underworld? Was something mythological happening with Dana? No. It was too unbelievable.
We read as much as we could, digging further into the Norse myths, before the bus got back to school. We climbed off just as the bell rang.
“Third period,” said Jon. “Time for lunch. I can’t think on an empty stomach. Besides, macaroni special today.”
“My brain is macaroni!” I said. “But yeah. Come on.”
We entered the halls, following the last of the lunch crowd.
“Mythology or not, book or not,” said Sydney, leaning close, “we can’t keep this a secret anymore. We have to tell someone about Dana. I should call the police or something —”
“She told Owen not to tell,” Jon pointed out.
“Even if we went to the police, what would they say?” I asked. “Someone vanishing? Red wolves breathing fire? Lots of creepy eyes? Old books? No one is going to believe a single word.”
By the time we got to the cafeteria, the tables were crammed, and the room was roaring with conversation. The lunch line was empty, so Jon quickly slid three trays onto the counter and pushed them ahead of us. The lunch ladies were standing behind the counter.
“Macaroni special, please,” Jon said. “Times three!”
Miss Hilda, the roundest lady, gave us a big smile. “Special, special, and special,” she said, pointing to each of us.
But before ladling out any food, one of the others — Miss Lillian — stepped out from behind the counter and closed the lunch line door behind Sydney.
The third lady, Miss Marge, a tiny woman with a snowdrift of white hair tucked under her hairnet, closed the accordion gate between the loud cafeteria and the quiet kitchen.
“Uh …” Sydney started, “… what’s going on?”
The kitchen lights flickered overhead, then went out. Torches magically appeared on the walls, sputtering with blue flames. We stepped back in shock as Hilda, Lillian, and Marge lined up together in front of us. One held a giant spatula, another a long soup ladle, and the third a great big pair of kitchen tongs.
“What exactly is happening?” Jon whispered shakily.
The lunch ladies took one step toward us, stared deep into our eyes, and cried out a single word.
“Ho yo -to ho !”
Then they began to morph.
F IRST THE LUNCH LADIES GREW SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT feet tall, their heads nearly touching the ceiling tiles. Then their white aprons dissolved into steel gray armor, and their kitchen tools twisted themselves into gleaming spears — with curved blades on each and fur banners hanging from them. Helmets, big and gray and dented from battle, with razor-sharp wings as large as eagle’s wings, closed around their faces.
The three of us just watched, dumbstruck.
In seconds, Miss Hilda, Miss Lillian, and Miss Marge had become
“Let me guess,” Jon said. “He looked.”
Sydney nodded. “ Whoosh! Orpheus lost her forever —”
“Yeah, well, we’re not losing Dana,” I said loudly. “Not like that. And anyway, we don’t know where she is. But she can’t be in some creepy Underworld. Especially not one under our school.”
The kids on the bus quieted and turned to us.
“Ha-ha!” said Sydney. “Nothing to see here!” She ducked her head down and flipped to a pink sticky note in the section about Norse myths. “Lots of monsters here, too. The Midgard Serpent. A scary half-blue lady. And … uh-oh.”
“What?” I said.
Syd went paler than usual. “Fenrir.”
“Somebody you know?” asked Jon.
“Somebody we all know,” she said, turning to me. “A big red wolf. Really big. With fur sticking out like wire.”
I tried to stay calm. “Does Fenrir breathe fire?”
Sydney scanned the page and nodded slowly. “It’s kind of his trademark.”
Jon’s face drained of color until it matched hers. “So, we’re living in a weird fat book?”
My heart was doing a drum solo. A hundred eyes? A red wolf? A trip to the Underworld? Was something mythological happening with Dana? No. It was too unbelievable.
We read as much as we could, digging further into the Norse myths, before the bus got back to school. We climbed off just as the bell rang.
“Third period,” said Jon. “Time for lunch. I can’t think on an empty stomach. Besides, macaroni special today.”
“My brain is macaroni!” I said. “But yeah. Come on.”
We entered the halls, following the last of the lunch crowd.
“Mythology or not, book or not,” said Sydney, leaning close, “we can’t keep this a secret anymore. We have to tell someone about Dana. I should call the police or something —”
“She told Owen not to tell,” Jon pointed out.
“Even if we went to the police, what would they say?” I asked. “Someone vanishing? Red wolves breathing fire? Lots of creepy eyes? Old books? No one is going to believe a single word.”
By the time we got to the cafeteria, the tables were crammed, and the room was roaring with conversation. The lunch line was empty, so Jon quickly slid three trays onto the counter and pushed them ahead of us. The lunch ladies were standing behind the counter.
“Macaroni special, please,” Jon said. “Times three!”
Miss Hilda, the roundest lady, gave us a big smile. “Special, special, and special,” she said, pointing to each of us.
But before ladling out any food, one of the others — Miss Lillian — stepped out from behind the counter and closed the lunch line door behind Sydney.
The third lady, Miss Marge, a tiny woman with a snowdrift of white hair tucked under her hairnet, closed the accordion gate between the loud cafeteria and the quiet kitchen.
“Uh …” Sydney started, “… what’s going on?”
The kitchen lights flickered overhead, then went out. Torches magically appeared on the walls, sputtering with blue flames. We stepped back in shock as Hilda, Lillian, and Marge lined up together in front of us. One held a giant spatula, another a long soup ladle, and the third a great big pair of kitchen tongs.
“What exactly is happening?” Jon whispered shakily.
The lunch ladies took one step toward us, stared deep into our eyes, and cried out a single word.
“Ho yo -to ho !”
Then they began to morph.
F IRST THE LUNCH LADIES GREW SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT feet tall, their heads nearly touching the ceiling tiles. Then their white aprons dissolved into steel gray armor, and their kitchen tools twisted themselves into gleaming spears — with curved blades on each and fur banners hanging from them. Helmets, big and gray and dented from battle, with razor-sharp wings as large as eagle’s wings, closed around their faces.
The three of us just watched, dumbstruck.
In seconds, Miss Hilda, Miss Lillian, and Miss Marge had become
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