Xander and the Lost Island of Monsters Read Free Page A

rain forest, or enormous tuna jumping out of hot ocean water, or people in Florida having to buy ski jackets for a sudden blizzard.
    Climate change. I guess maybe it is a problem. But it’s all happening far away. Too far away for me to worry about.
    On my left, Clarissa taps my arm. She grins, showing two rows of braces with hot pink rubber bands. She points to my notebook. “You should put that into the game,” she whispers.
    I shrug quick, feeling my face go all hot. My hands start sweating. She tucks her long, curly black hair behind her ear and wiggles her eyebrows at me. I’ve known Clarissa since kindergarten. We’ve watched each other pick our noses. I don’t know why I’m so nervous around her now. Once, I called her a hobbit—I meant it as a compliment, because hobbits are the coolest creatures ever and she’s the only girl still shorter than I am—but she socked my arm so hard it left a purple bruise for two whole weeks.
    The game she’s talking about is what we’re working on in computer class. We play this game called
CraftWorlds
, where you can build your own, well, worlds. Anything you can make with pixels. Since you actually have to know some coding to change the game, the teacher’s letting us use it in class.
    Not to brag, but I’m the king of the computer class. It’s the one place where I pretty much rule over all the other kids. The characters I program look better, jump higher, and can do more than anyone else’s. I’m famous for it around here.
    Clarissa smiles at me again and I smile back, and Mr. Stedman shoots a glare at me. What, it’s illegal to smile now?
Mind police
. Mr. Stedman sticks a pencil behind his ear, near the ring of hair around his bald spot. “Find two articles about global warming and summarize them.” He writes the assignment on the whiteboard like we’re morons. Summarizing is the most boringest thing in the free world. Why do I have to tell you exactly what I read?
I
know what I read;
you
know what I read. I want to tell you what I
think
about it.
    I look down at my notebook.
    I blink.
    My sharks aren’t there anymore. In their place there’s a drawing of an ape and a human mixed together, except it has a long lizard tail studded with spikes, like a dinosaur’s, waving in a muscular curve. His skin is hairy but wet-looking, in shades of red and purple and iridescent green.
    I suck in a quick breath and look at my black-ink pen, then back down at the colorful drawing. What the heck?
    I put my fingertips on the drawing. I could be wrong, but it kind of feels like the ink is rising up from the paper….
    I yank back my hand and shake my head to clear it.
    The creature’s eyes stare back at mine. They’re like a shark’s—no white, no iris, just all black pupil.
    I have the urge to set the notebook on fire. Or bury it someplace. I’m frozen. I can’t take my eyes off it.
    The creature’s smiling at me with serrated yellow teeth, and I know there’s all kinds of gross bacteria on them, like a Komodo dragon who poisons his prey. A pink-red tongue forks into three snakes at the tip. The tiny snakes hiss their displeasure.
SSSsssssss
.
    Hissing?
    It’s a drawing. It can’t make noise.
    But I
hear
it, the same way I can hear Mom calling, “Xander,” sometimes as I’m waking from a deep sleep.
    The hair on my neck stands straight up, and my stomach drops like I’m falling into a pitch-black and cold endless pit. Then my stomach feels like I’ve been hit by a really hard ball. I gasp, trying to get air into my lungs.
    â€œAre you okay?” Clarissa whispers.
    I nod once and shut my notebook fast.
    Suddenly Mr. Stedman’s forearms, covered in wiry black hair, appear by my face.
SMACK!
He hits the desk with his metal ruler so hard the fillings in my teeth rattle. “Xander! This is not art class.”
    I shrug, trying to hide