Eleven: Chapters 3–8

He rolled out of bed and hustled down the hall to the bathroom.

He spun to a stop, flopped into his chair, and guzzled his o.j., draining the glass in three gulps.

Alex’s mom slid a plate of steaming hot pancakes in front of him. As he drowned them in butter and syrup, he decided that last night had just been a hitch.

Alex finally appeared at the door, hoisting his enormous backpack on with a grunt.

“You’re definitely persistent.”

“So what do you want for your birthday?” asked Kwan.
“Fly jets. Get a dog,” answered two voices in unison.

Kwan was tall and skinny, with big ears that stuck out like handles from his smallish head, which sat atop a neck like a giraffe’s; his straight black hair was cut short, so it stood up on top in a tuft of bristles, adding to the impression he ate his meals out of a basket on a pole.

Kwan was tall and skinny, with big ears that stuck out like handles from his smallish head, which sat atop a neck like a giraffe’s; his straight black hair was cut short, so it stood up on top in a tuft of bristles, adding to the impression he ate his meals out of a basket on a pole.

The bus descended the other side of the bridge.

Alex turned—and came face to face with the sneering mug of Calvin Butts.

Calvin jerked his head, and the boy in front of Alex scrambled to a different row.

He laughed backwards, exhaling in a raspy pant and then making long, wheezy, squeaky yelps while he inhaled.

Unlike Calvin and Deemer, who advertised their weirdness from a hundred yards away, Jordan kept his face so empty that the emptiness alone was menacing.

As the centrifugal force pushed them sideways, Jordan slid across the seat and slammed hard into Alex, ramming him into the side of the bus and smashing the cupcakes into the wall.

Alex tried to push back, but he had no leverage.

A dog.
A muddy stray, nosing through a pile of trash next to an abandoned gas station. He wasn’t much to look at, but the mere sight of him made Alex’s heart lift.

He was everything Alex had ever wished for, fun and feisty and full of mischief.

The light changed, and the bus started to move. Alex held the dog’s gaze as the bus gained speed.
And then the dog took off in hot pursuit.

His eyes lingered over the crushed bakery box, cake and icing oozing out the seams.

He had tried to reassure her that the cupcakes weren’t a total loss.

He figured he could scoop up the mashed remains like snowballs and mold them back into shape. Totally salvageable.

Now Alex’s stomach grew so noisy that Doug started growling back at it under his breath, which gave Kwan the giggles, which goaded Doug to growl even louder, which cracked up the rest of the class but also drew a look from Mrs. Hamlin.

He gave one last glance at the box of mangled cupcakes on her desk, then gave up and headed for the door.

The concourse was bustling with workers from the floors above who’d come down for a break, while new waves of commuters poured off the trains from the level below.

The concourse was bustling with workers from the floors above who’d come down for a break, while new waves of commuters poured off the trains from the level below.

And then it hit: a fireball exploded out of the elevator shaft, blowing the doors off the elevator where the Man in the White Shirt had just been standing.

Instantly, there was pandemonium as the concourse filled with inky black smoke.

Burning debris littered the lobby. Smoke hung heavy in the air.

There was a gaping hole in the side of the North Tower, ninety stories up.

Red flames billowed out, surrounded by black smoke from the burning jet fuel.