The Great Interactive Dream Machine by Richard Peck Read Free Book Online

At first I thought I knew him. Then I didn’t. Over by the computers was this big, red-headed guy. Upper school at least. He shaved. In fact, he needed a shave.
    There was something else you really noticed about him. He was wearing Huckley dress code like anybody else. But it was six sizes too small for him. His shoulders were busting out of his blazer. His big wrists hung way down from his sleeves. His pants stopped a foot from the floor. He swallowed, and the collar button on his shirt cut loose and flew over his Huckley tie.
    I was still being strangled, but it wasn’t Daryl. It was my shirt. My collar button popped too. We both watched the buttons roll around the floor.
    â€œWho—” we both said, except it wasn’t my voice.
    â€œAaron?” I said in my dad’s voice.
    He blinked, and they were still Aaron’s eyes, pink and dazed.
    We were both twice our size and trapped in our dress code. I could get my tie loose, but my pants were cutting me in half. Aaron winced and stooped down to untie his shoes. His pants made a ripping sound. He eased out of his shoes, and feet popped out. They couldn’t be Aaron’s feet. They were about size eleven. There’s always a hole in his sock. A huge toe with a thorny nail poked through.
    I couldn’t bend over without snapping every stitch of my clothes, but I could kick out of my shoes. Then my feet sort of sprang to life, and they were as big as Aaron’s, maybe bigger.
    â€œLook at you,” we said.
    â€œWho are we?” we said.
    â€œWhat have we done?” Aaron smacked his forehead.
    I didn’t know. I couldn’t think. I scratched my chin. I needed a shave. And another thing, we were tall. Aaron was five ten, easy, and I was looking down at him. I was so tall that when I looked down, I got dizzy.
    Aaron’s stubbly face fell into his big hands. “No,” he said, “no, no, no, no.”
    â€œWhat happened, Aaron? You know. You have a theory.” I couldn’t get used to my voice. It was like my dad was sitting on my tongue, talking out of my mouth.
    â€œEmotional Component,” he said, “too close to the keyboard.”
    â€œBut my mind was a blank,” I said.
    â€œNot when we were going to lunch,” he said. “Then we were really worried about Daryl’s peer group, right? What did we both want at that moment?”
    â€œI don’t know,” I said. “Didn’t we just want them off our case?”
    â€œGo with that thought.”
    â€œOh. We both wished we were bigger than they are. And older. We wanted to be—”
    â€œThat’s it,” Aaron said. “We had the same thought at the same time. We wanted to be upper-school size. We wanted to be seniors.”
    The sacred word seniors hung in the air. My dress code was binding me bad.
    The bell rang, and lunch was over.
    â€œAaron, how are we going to explain this? I wouldn’t know you if I met you on the street. We’re a couple of complete strangers. How can we go to History like this? How can we go home? This isn’t the Hamptons. We can’t just take a train.”
    â€œNo,” he said, “but it’s the same principle, except instead of Ophelia and Heather, it’s us. Our need combined spontaneously with my formula. That virus in it made it so interactive, it’s almost infectious. I’m thinking radioactivity. I’m thinking—”
    â€œAaron, shut up.”
    He thought for a minute. A big new vein in his forehead pulsed. Then, making senior gestures with his ham-sized hand, he said, “Here’s the plan: Forget about History class. We couldn’t pass ourselves off as us. Anyway, look how we’re dressed. We’re ridiculous. We wait till the bell rings again. Then we give it another ten minutes. Then we make a break for the upper-school locker room. After they’ve changed for P.E., we’ll get into their lockers and take