Science Fiction for Young Readers, grade 4 up
Story by Terry Gibson ©

     Under the tree in the schoolyard, the 
Pariahs met again after lunch.  Other kids left 
them alone.  "Akim warned me," Greg said, "but 
it's stupid."
     Akim hung his head.  "I shouldn't have told."
     "No sweat.  It's just that it goes on all the
time.  They've decided that 'Get Greg's' the thing
to do.  Even kids that weren't there are giving me
a hard time."
     "Contagious."  Akim smiled wryly.  "I'm
sorry."
     Tabitha nodded. "I've seen how they stand
around in groups staring at us."
     After a moment, Greg added, "They follow me
too, if I'm alone.  In groups, even."
     Don't look, but they're behind us now."
     "Uh-huh...  It's meant to be menacing."
     "So don't be alone.  Or they might actually
do something."
     Greg grimaced. "Don't worry about it."
     "What's wrong?"
     "Somebody hid my lunch pail this morning.
When I found it, it had rocks in it."
     "Rocks!"  At Greg's nod, Akim said, "That's
rotten.  I'll share my lunch with you."
     "Me too," Tab said.
     He'd tell Mother about THIS, all right, but
that wasn't the point.  "What really makes me
mad," Greg said, "is what happened when I 
reported the rocks at the office."
     "What happened?"
     "Nothing."
     "Nothing at all?"
     "Nothing.  Actually, worse than that.  
Mrs. Meander-"
     "The principal? She never gets involved in--"
  .  "She didn't.  It was something else.  'While
you're here, Gregory,' she told me, 'Come into 
the office.  Perhaps you can explain something.'
Someone had decorated a library book with 
body parts, and it was signed out in my name."
     "Body parts?  Oh."  Akim smiled.  "But you
didn't."
     "Of course not.  But it took me a while to
prove it wasn't my writing on the library card."
     "So what did they do?"
     "Nothing.  I had to erase all the drawings."
Greg was disgusted.  "I wonder how many other 
books I'll have to clean up."
     "You mean because they didn't go after the
ones that did it."
     "Not even close.  I hate being the source 
of all their entertainment."


     Several days passed.  Tab noticed a lot of
other kids who used to be her friends just sort 
of walked away whenever she came near.  Nobody 
told her why, and Maria was as distant as the 
rest. Tab tried to ignore it, but it was hard.
     The Science Fair was getting closer, and 
she had reached a decision.  After science class, 
she asked Ms. Tempest if she might change her 
topic.
     Somewhat startled, her teacher said, "Is
there something wrong?"
     "It's just that I can't seem to do much with
Gravity.  Nothing original, anyway."  Any display
she might come up with would be novel and
original, but too hazardous.  With no off-switch,
she might find herself caught in the roof struts
in the arena, with a call to 911 to get her down.
As she was imagining the reporters mobbing her,
she heard the teacher say, "You were disappointed,
weren't you?"
     "Yes."  What else could she say?
     "I'm sorry, Tabitha.  I have worried about 
you."
     Worried?  Tab stared at her teacher.  She
cared?
     "I saw how your excitement was gone, but
don't you see?  I had to tell you not to waste
time on occult nonsense.  You do understand?"
     "I guess so."  There was no point arguing.
     "I have often wished I had taken the time 
to explain it to you."
     Yes, Tab thought, she should have explained,
and she had been rude in class too, calling her
work mediocre.  Embarrassing her in front of
everybody....
     "...can help, I will."  Ms. Tempest looked 
at Tab expectantly.
     "Pardon?"
     "What can I do to help?"
     "Oh.  Can I change my topic to Flight?"
     "Of course, Tabitha.  No problem at all.  
Too bad so much time has slipped by."
     "Oh, I'll work very hard.  I know about
Bernouilli's Principle, and drag and lift and
thrust already.  I have some ideas about lift 
and thrust that I want to try out."  She didn't 
say that the whole thing was a drag. 
     "Thank you."
     "Glad I could help," her teacher said.


     Several days later, again in Creative
writing class, Tab had another attack.  Miss
Longshanks had a way of saying,  "Up on your 
feet now..."
     She had lost herself in feelings of 
isolation as she wrote.  The others had pretty 
well left her alone, but they'd keep glancing 
over their shoulder at her as they whispered.
     While she waited for inspiration, Tab 
wished she had the courage to tell everybody her 
secret and not have to hide something that was 
getting more and more difficult to conceal.  
But then she reconsidered.  If they knew her 
trigger word, they'd keep her floating all the 
time, or even send her to the moon.
    She was chicken.  She wrote it vertically, 
so she could add a line beginning with each 
letter.  Rhyme?  Maybe, but she wouldn't force 
it.  The whole thing was just too depressing.  
Now, what was there about chickens?
     How would a hen like to be roast 
dinner? What could she do, after all?  Her 
children would be fried for breakfast before 
they could hatch, or be boiled for lunch, her 
own fate either in catfood or in the roasting 
pan.  "Live for the moment, live for the day, 
for tomorrow may not come?"  Tab looked up and 
saw her teacher coming closer.  Better get 
something onto paper. But what? 
 
     Chicken makes a lovely Sunday roast.  
Write it down beside the "C".  Now what?


     So, go ask one!  Bird-brain answer, of
course!  She had written the first two lines.
After a while, it looked like this:


     Chicken makes a lovely Sunday roast.
     How does the silly hen react to that?
     Interviewing one, you'll hear her boast,
     "Contentment is the best way to grow fat."
     Knowledge of her fate does not oppress her;
     Enigmatic is the omen she can see.
     N...

     Suddenly Tab sat straight in her chair.  It
was a message!  In a rush she wrote:

     Now we know what happens if unwary.




     Then she sat and puzzled over it.  Maybe 
it's warning me they'd kill me if they knew?  
Good reason not to tell.
     Miss Longshanks stood by Tab's desk while 
she was writing.  She picked up Tabitha's little
verse, read it, tossed it down.  "Well, it rhymes. 
I guess we all have our off days, don't we?"
     "It WAS free choice today."


     Tab was dismayed that her teacher had seen
only the surface meaning, which was light indeed.
Why had Miss Longshanks taught that poetry often
has symbolic meaning too?  Why had she said that
meaning can be on several levels?  
     She had taught it, but didn't see it.
     With the put-downs, Tab felt totally blah.

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