Foxworth Academy (8 page)

“Smooth,” Ally joked when the woman was out of earshot. 

“Have you ever seen pence before?” he replied.

“Nope.  This hat is so itchy,” she said, reaching under and lightly scratching her forehead.

He laughed.  “Looks great though.”

She cocked her head and gave him a disapproving look.  “Well, I guess we should get down to the harbor, wherever that is.”

“We could ask,” he said, taking one last sip of his lukewarm tea.

“She already thinks we’re going there, we can’t ask.”

“What about that bum over there by the bar?  He seemed to have a liking for you.”

“Funny.  Let’s just walk.  It’s probably where we saw all the boats.”

They got up from their chairs and Brett stopped and said softly, “What do I tip?”

She shrugged and replied, “I don’t think they tip over here.”

He dropped a couple of coins on the table and said, “Better safe than sorry.”  They pushed the chairs in and made their way to the exit.  The street was getting busier and many people were walking in the same direction in groups.

“You know what?’ Ally asked.  “There are no cars here.”

“Good point.  Guess in 1912 they hadn’t been invented yet.”

Brett and Ally followed the streams of people, hoping it would lead them to the harbor.  They turned the corner, quickly noticing the residential area had turned into a manufacturing area.  Workers were hustling into fenced-off properties and were ushered into small doors on the sides of brick buildings.  As they continued, more people walked in their direction.  They arrived at a dead end, turned left, and could smell the ocean.  Seagulls squawked overhead, and a horn blew in the distance.

“Must be close to the harbor,” Ally said.  “I love the smell of the ocean.”

“Yeah, but then what?”

Ally shrugged.  “Beats me.”

They made one more turn and the harbor came into view.  Small boats were rowing and motoring out into the channel and larger vessels could be seen in the distance, their smoke plumes drifting aimlessly into the sky.  They followed the crowd along the water.  In the distance, music was playing.  The breeze coming off the water was cool, prompting Ally to wrap herself in her own arms.  They made one last turn around a bend of trees and stopped dead in their tracks.

“Wow!” Brett said.

“What’s going on?” Ally replied.

There were hundreds, if not thousands, of people standing near the dock.  Policemen on horseback sauntered along, controlling the large crowd.  Some people danced to the sound of a band, a brass ensemble, playing an upbeat tune neither Brett nor Ally recognized.  Children bounced balls to each other, while dogs were running rampant, without leashes or collars.  The scene was festive and alive until Brett was caught by surprise when he noticed something sitting in the harbor beyond the mass of people.

Brett grabbed Ally’s hand and started walking toward the crowd.

“This is it,” he said.

“What?” she said.  He could barely be heard above all the noise.

“This is it! This is our mission.”

“What is?”

He didn’t reply, instead walking ahead.  A sign read: White Star Line.  To the left, a hoard of people milled about, and to the right, was one of the biggest ships he had ever seen.  It reminded him of a ten-story building back home in Wilmington.  He picked up his pace, jogging the length of the ship.  As he neared the bow on the port side, he stopped and stared.

“Slow down,” Ally said, catching up to him.  “What?  What is our mission?”

Neatly painted on the side of the ship were the seven letters that would make or break their first semester of high school.

Brett pointed and said, “We’re here to save the Titanic.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

T
he class hooted and hollered as they saw Brett and Ally standing in front of the great monstrosity, revealing the ship’s name: R.S.S. Titanic.  The class was in awe, many students staring at the ship’s four gigantic smokestacks towering into the air.  People were already on board, standing on the decks, waving to their loved ones below.  A steady stream of people made their way on board, handing their tickets to an agent from the White Star Line, the ship’s operator.

“Okay, they have discovered their mission,” Mr. Martin said.  Let’s bring them back and discuss it, shall we?” 

It was more of a statement, rather than a question.  Mr. Martin went into the utility closet and closed the door.  The students watched as Brett and Ally moved slowly along the harbor dock, admiring the ship’s bulk.  Women cried as their husbands climbed aboard, while children tried to sneak onto the ship, all to no avail. 

Brett and Ally heard three short sharp blasts of the ship’s whistle.

Brett turned to Ally.  “What now?  How do we get on board?”

Seconds later they disappeared from 1912 and emerged soon after from the closet, fully dressed in their own clothes.  Once again the class applauded.

“Okay, okay,” Mr. Martin said, pushing his hands down as if to quiet to the class.  “We have some time left to discuss.  Good going, the both of you.  You put two and two together and found your mission.  This was the creation of whom?”  He gestured to the class.  “Who wrote down Titanic on their little piece of paper?”

All of the students’ heads turned and glanced around the classroom until a short, pimply-faced boy raised his hand.

“Oliver, well done,” Mr. Martin said.  “You’re the one whose paper was pulled and was lit on fire the other day. Yes,” he nodded to Brett and Ally, “you need to save the Titanic.”

“How?” Ally said.

Mr. Martin laughed.  “If I told you that, what would be the point of sending you back?  Now, can anyone tell me anything about the Titanic?  And I expect more than what you got out of the movie.”

“It hit an iceberg,” Brett replied, not waiting to be called on.

“Genius!” Mr. Martin exclaimed.  “Yes Brett, it did.  It hit an iceberg in the middle of the night; at eleven-forty to be more precise on April 14
^th
, 1912.  She sank roughly two and a half hours later at 2:20 am.  What else?”

A few hands rose.  “Yes, Brian.”

“They didn’t have enough lifeboats.”

“Correct again.  Due to maritime safety regulations at the time, she did not have to carry enough lifeboats for the passengers and crew.  There were only enough for about twelve hundred passengers.  Unfortunately, she carried over twenty-two hundred souls onboard that fateful night.  Gimme more, something that wasn’t from that darn movie.  Not that it wasn’t a good movie, but I want something you may have learned on your own.”

The room went still.  All the hands that were up were now down.  Mr. Martin waited patiently until a rather heavy-set girl in the front raised her hand.

“Yes, Kelly, what have you got?”

“It was built in Ireland?” she asked, rather than told the professor.

“Ahh, good Kelly, it was built in Belfast, the capital of Northern Ireland.  Northern Ireland,” he repeated, shaking his head.  “Now that’s an entirely new topic.  Maybe we’ll cover that someday.  Anyone else?”

Again the class was silent a few moments before they were interrupted by the sound of the bell.  The students gathered their belongings. 

“Okay class, until tomorrow,” Mr. Martin called out as they left the classroom.

Brett bumped into Frankie in the hallway, neither of them speaking as they made their way to the lunchroom.

“How was history class, boys?” Krista asked as they took their seats.

“Kinda boring,” Frankie said.

Brett looked over at Frankie in amazement. 
Boring?
he thought.  Even if he hadn’t stood in Brett’s shoes, the class was far from boring.  They were traveling back in time!  They were witnessing history first hand.  One of the greatest disasters of the twentieth century was happening right in front of them.  And it was up to Brett to stop it.

“Boring?  Really?” Krista asked.

“Maybe for some people,” Brett replied defensively.  He met eyes with Frankie who said nothing.

“Well, please fill us in.  If you can,” Krista said.

Brett just smiled at her and Krista returned the smile. 

“Brett, are you coming to the movies with us or going on your baseball trip?” Liam asked.

“Dude, you asked me that this morning.  I’ll talk to my dad about it when I get home.”

When it was Brett’s turn to go up to the lunch line, he stood behind Krista, grabbing a tray from the stack nearby. 

“Hey, Brett,” a voice behind him called.  It was Ally.  Both Brett and Krista turned.

“Hey,” he replied.  He could feel Krista’s gaze on the back of his head.

“Umm,” Ally noticed Krista looking at them and tried to be as discreet as possible.  “I think we should, you know, talk about the history project a little.  Can I call you after school?”

“Ahh, yeah,” Brett replied.  “I’ll give you my number.”

“Okay.”

When Brett turned back around, he noticed Krista still was looking at him, the gap between her and the next person in line increasing.  She turned away and moved forward in the line.

“History project, eh?” she inquired.

“Yeah, it’s nothing really.”

“Sounds like something.”

He moved forward and placed chicken tenders and French fries on his plate, grabbed a blue Gatorade, paid with his meal card and went back to the lunch table.  They ate their lunch without much conversation.  Brett wrote his name and phone number on a piece of paper, aware Krista was looking over his shoulder while he did it.  After lunch was over, he went over to Ally’s table.  “Here’s my number.  I have baseball practice at six but should be home by eight or eight-thirty.”

“Okay, cool,” Ally replied.  They both smiled.  “Talk to you then.”

Brett walked back over to his table as the bell rang, and without saying goodbye to anyone, he grabbed his things and made his way out of the cafeteria.  In the background, a jealous and envious Krista sat alone, sulking over this interaction between Brett and Ally.

B
aseball practice was uneventful that evening.  Brett’s mind was clouded with thoughts about the Titanic and what the following day might bring.  He fielded routine ground balls while playing second base and shortstop.  He took batting practice without any sort of enthusiasm.  His coach noticed this, stopping him after swinging and missing and asking him what was on his mind.  Brett shrugged and just said he was preoccupied with school, to which the coach stressed the importance of the tournament over the weekend.  Brett focused in, launching two straight balls over the left fielders head.

After practice was over, Brett caught a ride home from one of the other kids, showered, and went to his room.  He stared at his phone, waiting for it to ring.  He couldn’t wait to talk to Ally, but his eagerness was curbed by his apprehension.  He had no idea what to say to such an extremely good looking girl. 

Brett’s phone rang.  He stood up and walked to the window.  “Hello?”

“Brett?  Hey, it’s Ally,” came the soft voice on the other end.

“Hey, how’s it goin’?”

“Okay.  Is this still a good time for a quick chat?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied.

“Cool.  So how awesome is this class?”

“Pretty sweet so far.”

“I know.  Have you told anyone about it?”

“No way.  You?”

“No,” Ally replied.  “I want to though.”

“Me, too.”

“So,” she lowered her voice.  “How in the world are we going to stop the Titanic from sinking?”

“Beats me.  I mean, we can just tell someone to change course, can’t we?”

“No.  Remember that warning?  We can’t tell anyone who we are or where we came from.”

“Right, but we could still tell someone something.”

“Brett, they’re not going to believe two kids who just walk up to them and say, ‘Hey, I think you should change course because there might be an iceberg out there.’”

He lay down on his bed and sighed.

“Sorry,” she said.

“No, no, you’re right.  If we can’t tell anyone, we gotta figure out another way.”  An awkward silence followed.  “Well, we have some time.  I mean, today when we were there, it was April 10
^th
.  Mr. Martin said that the ship hit the iceberg on April 14
^th
.  That gives us four days before it sinks and it might take weeks before we get that far..”

“Brett,” his bedroom door swung open.  “Do you want any ice-cream?”

Brett put the phone to his chest and in a hushed voice said, “Reilly, I’m on the phone!”

“Oh, sorry,” his sister laughed.  She closed the door.

How embarrassing.  He brought the phone back to his ear and said, “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No problem,” she said.  “So, in four days the Titanic sinks.”

“That’s about it,” he said.

“Well, let’s think on this.  I don’t wanna just go roaming around the ship when class starts tomorrow.  That’s assuming we get on.  Hmm, didn’t think about that.  What if we have to stop the ship from even leaving?”

“There’s no way that will happen.  Mr. Martin will put us on that ship.”

“You’re probably right.  Well, you have my number now if you think of anything.  I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Umm, okay.  See ya, Ally.”

“Bye Brett.”

He hung up the phone, wishing the conversation had lasted longer.  Then he remembered the rude interruption by his sister.  “Reilly!” he screamed, getting up from his bed and heading for the door.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“
L
et’s continue talking a little before we send you back in, Brett and Ally.  Anyone have questions, thoughts, any tidbits of information they’d like to share?”  Mr. Martin was wearing a white golf shirt with black pants and sat in his desk chair.  He leaned back, placing his hands behind his head as he waited for a response from the class.

One hand immediately shot up from the back of the class.

“Yes, Mr. Beckam.”

“Sir, I was thinking last night.  If Brett and Ally do manage to stop the Titanic from hitting that iceberg, which I doubt they will, wouldn’t that change history?”

“Ahh, Mr. Beckam,” Mr. Martin said while standing up and walking over to the blackboard.  “What a great question and one I’ve been waiting for.  They would indeed change history.  Just think, one of those who died on the boat could’ve grown up to be President or developed a cure for cancer or started World War Three.  Are you all familiar with the expression ‘step on a butterfly today and three years from now a million people will die’?”