The Magic Factory

He searched the white card, his blurred vision struggling to focus on the black spot. Then he gritted his teeth. It felt like every ounce of his body was needed for this one task, even using the gizmos that were meant to take the hard work out!

But finally the fuzzy shape started to sharpen in his mind. The dot became a stark black shape against the contrasting white background. Then it began to change color, from black to red then to blue. The flashing colors made Oliver feel suddenly very sick.

“What’s happening?” Oliver asked, feeling a little panicked.

“Your mind is attempting to look through the dimensional layer,” Doctor Ziblatt explained. “It is a very unusual experience, especially the first time. Human brains aren’t exactly designed for this kind of work.”

Oliver’s heart started beating very fast. His palms started sweating. He reached up and tugged at the collar of his shirt. He could feel perspiration running down his neck.

Suddenly, he could take it no longer. He dropped the card on the table and tore off the goggles. He grabbed the table to steady himself, fighting back the urge to dry heave.

“Haha!” he heard Edmund’s sneering voice. “Oliver can’t even do it with the goggles!”

“Mr. Branner,” Doctor Ziblatt snapped.

As Oliver gasped for breath, he felt Doctor Ziblatt rest a gentle hand on his back. “Perhaps you ought to see the nurse?”

“No, no nurse,” Oliver stammered. He was embarrassed enough as it was. He’d never live down having to go to the medical room on his first attempt to access his powers. “I’m fine.”

He stood, his head swimming, his stomach swirling. He felt his legs weaken beneath him. Doctor Ziblatt gripped him by his elbow.

“Mr. Black,” she said over his head. “Can you help Mr. Blue back to his seat?”

As Oliver’s vision started to come back to him, he saw Ralph hurrying toward him. But Oliver’s gaze went past Ralph to Esther; his attention seemed drawn to her. She was looking down, averting her gaze. She must be deeply embarrassed on his behalf by his failure. It only made Oliver feel worse.

Ralph reached him then, scooping an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Ollie. Everyone struggles to begin with.”

Oliver tried to take comfort in his words. But the background noises of Edmund and his friends giggling seemed to drown them out.

“Mr. Black is right,” Doctor Ziblatt added. “Everyone struggles.” Then, as she turned away, she muttered in a voice she must have assumed was too quiet for Oliver to hear, “I guess he’s not the special one we’ve all been waiting for after all.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Doctor Ziblatt’s words played on Oliver’s mind for the rest of the class. He felt like such a disappointment.

He was so consumed with his embarrassment that he hardly took in anything she said, and he didn’t dare look to his left at Esther. The image of her crimson cheeks seemed seared into his mind.

When the lesson was over, Oliver couldn’t get out soon enough. He hurried for the exit, trying to position himself in the middle of his group of friends. But in his haste to maneuver himself within them, Oliver bumped his shoulder against someone.

“Sorry!” he said, turning to see whom he’d collided with.

He saw shiny black hair. Emerald green eyes. It was Esther.

“Don’t worry,” she said quickly, immediately tipping her eyes down to her feet. Then she hurried away.

Oliver couldn’t help but think she was trying to get away from him as quickly as she could. He felt crushed.

As the students made their way out of the lecture theater, Oliver felt a slap on his back. He turned to see Hazel smiling kindly.

“Don’t look so sad,” she told him, encouragingly. “You didn’t do that bad!”

“I made a fool of myself,” Oliver said glumly.

Walter grinned widely. “At least you didn’t barf,” he quipped.

Oliver just grimaced.

Ralph looked down at Oliver with an empathetic expression. “Just put it all behind you,” he said. “There’s always the next class.”

“Another chance to fail, you mean?” Oliver said glumly. “Great.”

Simon patted his back. “Cheer up, mate. It’ll be fine.”

Walter added, “And it can’t get any worse than it did back in Doctor Ziblatt’s class, right?”

Hazel punched him in the arm.

“Ow,” Walter moaned, rubbing the spot where she’d hit him.

Just then, Oliver felt a vibration in his overalls. He pulled out his plastic timetable. The coordinates had changed, indicating that he was required on the fourteenth floor. There wasn’t any time to rest at all. No time to absorb anything he’d just learned. Everything at the School for Seers was go, go, go!

“We’d better hurry,” Ralph said, placing his own vibrating timetable back into his pocket.

Oliver felt a sense of dread as he followed them across the rapidly moving walkway. He felt like he’d bitten off far more than he could chew. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be here at all. Maybe he didn’t belong.

Everyone piled into the elevator, riding it up to the fourteenth floor. Then they headed to another classroom. On the door, the word Transformation flashed in soft white letters. Oliver gulped.

They went inside and Oliver saw that it was decked out just like a science laboratory, but not like the type at school with wooden benches and a handful of Bunsen burners. It looked more like the high-tech laboratories of a medical or chemical company. The place was gleaming white.

“Students, take your seats,” the teacher said. He was a young man with a moustache.

“That’s Mr. Lazzarato,” Ralph said, leaning in to Oliver.

Oliver nodded, trying his best to absorb yet more information into his very saturated mind.

Mr. Lazzarato began to speak. “Last week, our top student was Miss Kerr. She was the only student who managed to successfully rearrange the chemical matter she was given to create a small fire. So let’s all give a hand to Hazel.”

Everyone clapped, and Oliver looked over to see Hazel beaming.

Mr. Lazzarato continued. “Today I’m hoping for some good things from Mr. Black. With a biological specialism, this task should be easiest for you.”

Oliver saw Ralph blush deeply. From what he’d told Oliver, he struggled with his powers. Not much came easily to Ralph.

Walter huffed then. “I swear, having a magnetic specialism is the worst,” he grumbled. “We’ve never done a single task where I’ve had the chance to excel.”

Mr. Lazzarato continued. “Mr. Cavendish,” he said, looking at Simon. “Can you hand out the worksheets? And Mr. Branner, please hand out the boxes.”

Simon went up to the front of the class and collected the stack of papers. At the same time, Edmund headed toward a cart that had several small thermoplastic boxes on it.