PART 1

Who is Ziggy Crabbe?

I blame Logan Moore. If he hadn’t gotten his leg broken trying to be Superman, he’d have been sitting in his usual desk, and I would never have met the Elf.

I told him it was a dumb idea at the time. We were down at the skate park with our scooters, and he was telling us about a new trick he’d found.

“It’s called ‘The Superman,’” he said. “You make a jump, take your feet off the deck but hold onto the bars, and stretch your body out—”

He pretended he was flying like Superman. Some skaters nearby laughed. They look down on us because we use scooters instead of skateboards, but I think they’re just jealous.

“I don’t know, dude,” I said. “It looks dangerous. Are you sure you’re good enough?”

I was mostly worried about him making a fool of himself in front of the skaters, but it was exactly the wrong thing to say to Logan.

“I’ll show you who’s good enough, Rafi Martin,” he said, and pushed down into the half-pipe—that’s the slope where skaters and scooters ride up and down to do tricks.

“I didn’t mean—” I shouted after him, but he didn’t listen.

He scooted from side to side on the half-pipe, pushing with his legs to build up speed. Then he raced up the ramp, and flew over the edge. He swung the scooter forward and straightened his body—

—and soared through the air like Superman. He even landed on the next ramp without crashing. One or two of the skaters clapped.

“You did it, man!” I shouted.

He turned round and waved. And that was when he tumbled over, landing awkwardly on his ankle.

Logan had to have his leg put in a cast, so they moved him into a different homeroom on the first floor. That left an empty desk next to mine.

High school can be hard enough, even when you’ve got your best buddy by your side, but when you’re on your own, you’re just a target for troublemakers.

“Where’s your sidekick, Rafi?” Brandon Walker called out. “Is he taking a break?”

I made a face, but some of our classmates laughed, and that just encouraged him.

 “I hear he hasn’t got a leg to stand on,” Brandon went on. “He shouldn’t go round making snap decisions.”

“You’re not funny, Walker,” Molly Fox said. She’s not exactly a friend of mine, but she can’t stand a bully, and she’s scared of nobody.

Whatever Brandon was going to say next, we never found out, because just then Mr. Dominguez came in. With him was a tall, skinny boy with long hair.

“Settle down, people,” Mr. Dominguez said, and pointed to the skinny boy. “This is Ziggy Crabbe.”

Brandon spluttered with laughter, and Mr. Dominguez glared at him.

“Ziggy is visiting from another country, and he’s spending a few weeks with us, to see what an American high school is like,” the teacher said. “I know that you’ll help him settle in, and show him a big Harrison High welcome. Ziggy, you can sit over there, next to Rafael.”

I tried not to scowl as he took his seat at Logan’s desk. I didn’t want to be mean to a new kid, especially a visitor, but I didn’t want to be stuck with babysitting him either.

While Mr. Dominguez took attendance, I checked out the new student out of the corner of my eye. His hair was white: not blond, but properly white, like paper. All his clothes seemed brand new. He stared wide-eyed, mouth open slightly, and I wondered how much English he spoke. Since he didn’t say a word all morning, it wasn’t till lunchtime that I found out.

I had no one else to eat lunch with, so I offered to show him the way to the cafeteria. Of course, Brandon Walker followed us down the hallway.

“Hey, new kid! What sort of name is Ziggy, anyway?”

Ziggy turned round, and I heard him speak for the first time.

“It’s short,” he said.

His voice was flat, with no accent.

“What’s it short for?” Brandon said.

“Because it’s not long.”

I snorted. I didn’t know whether the new kid was trying to be funny or not, but Brandon got cross.

“Listen, if you want to fit in around here—”

“Leave him alone.” Molly Fox strode in between them and shook Ziggy’s hand.

“Hi, I’m Molly,” she said. “Look, here’s where you wait in line for lunch. When you get to the servers, tell them what you want and they’ll put it on this tray.”

Ziggy looked at the tray like it might explode, but he took it anyway.

“Where are you from?” Molly said cheerfully.

“Eastern Europe,” he said.

That didn’t mean much to me, but Molly was proud of her geography knowledge.

“Hungary?” she said.

“Yes, I am,” Ziggy said. “That’s why I’m standing in this line.”

Molly looked annoyed, but she had another guess.

“Turkey?” she said.

“No, I think those are hamburgers,” Ziggy said.

“Ooooookaaaay…” Molly said. “Enjoy your lunch.”

She stomped off. I took Ziggy over to my usual table.

“Dude, were you trying to be funny?” I asked.

“No,” Ziggy said, looking confused. “I’m trying to be a normal kid. Am I doing it wrong?” 

And that was that. I ended up stuck with Ziggy. I still ate lunch with Logan, and hung out with him after school, but during classes, Ziggy and I were together all the time.

I didn’t mind too much. I knew what it felt like to be the new kid and have no friends. But Brandon laughed at us all the time. And there was a lot to laugh about.

Ziggy didn’t seem to know anything. I mean, I knew he was only learning English, but they didn’t seem to have any sports, or music, or movies, where he came from. He didn’t even know how to play soccer, and I thought they played that everywhere.

The only things he was good at were math and science. In those lessons he answered every question, blinking like he couldn’t believe what simple things we were learning. But in American history he was hopeless.

“What was the Underground Railroad?” Mrs. Harvey asked him one day.

“Like, a subway?” Ziggy said.

Even I joined in the laughter at that one. Molly stuck her hand up.

“It was a secret group of people who helped slaves escape to freedom,” she said.

“Very good, Molly,” Mrs. Harvey said.

“What’s a slave?” Ziggy said.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

“A slave,” Mrs. Harvey said carefully, “is someone who is owned by another person, and can be forced to work for them—”

“You people own each other?” Ziggy said, disgusted.

“Not anymore,” Molly said quickly.

“We fought a war to free the slaves!” Brandon said.

“Who against?” Ziggy asked.

“Erm… ourselves,” I said.

Nobody laughed after that. And that was the last time Ziggy said anything dumb in class. His grades went from F to A so fast it was like he was saying the alphabet backwards on Sesame Street. He not only learned everything the first time he heard it; he must have been studying at home too, because he was soon ahead of us all. He was only getting A’s because there wasn’t a higher grade they could give him. Sometimes I thought he knew more than the teachers.

He got better with people too. I saw him high-fiving Molly when they both aced a test. After a week, I took the risk of inviting him round to play video games with Logan and me. Maybe, I thought, if I got to know him outside school, I might be able to solve the mystery: who is Ziggy Crabbe?