Oliver felt a swell in his stomach. Ms. Belfry really was the most awesome teacher. She was the only person who’d shown anywhere near the level of excitement he had for physics and science and inventors, and her excitement even managed to silence his rowdy classmates, if only temporarily.

Just then, a huge gust of wind made the window panes rattle. Everyone jumped in unison and turned their eyes toward the gray skies outside.

“Looks like the storm is going to hit soon,” Ms. Belfry said.

No sooner had she spoken, than the voice of the principal came over the speaker.

“Students, we’ve just received a warning from the National Weather Service. This is going to be the storm of the century, the likes of which we’ve never seen before. We really don’t know what to expect. So to be on the safe side, the mayor is canceling classes for the day.”

Everyone started shouting excitedly and Oliver strained to hear the final words of the principal’s announcement.

“The storm is due to hit within the next hour. There are buses outside. Please head straight home. The official warning is to not be outside when the storm hits in approximately one hour. This is a city-wide warning so your parents will be expecting you home. Anyone caught truanting will face suspension.”

Around Oliver, no one seemed to care. All they’d heard was that school was out and they were going to make the most of it. They grabbed their books and hurried out of the classroom like a stampede of buffaloes.

Oliver collected his own things more slowly.

“You did great today,” Ms. Belfry told him as she placed all of her little models into her bag. “Are you okay getting home?” She looked concerned about his welfare.

Oliver nodded to reassure her. “I’ll get the bus with everyone else,” he said, realizing as he did that that might mean enduring a journey with Chris. He shuddered.

Oliver swung the strap of his backpack over his shoulder and followed the rest of the school kids outside. The sky was so dark, it was practically black. It felt very ominous.

Head bowed, Oliver started walking toward the bus stop. But just then, he caught sight of something behind him, something far more scary than a black tropical storm cloud: Chris. And running alongside him were his cronies.

Oliver turned and bolted. He headed straight toward the first bus in the queue. The bus was crammed with kids and clearly ready to leave. Not even checking to see where it was going, Oliver threw himself onboard.

Just in time as well. The mechanism hissed and the door shut behind him. A split second later, Chris appeared on the other side, glowering menacingly. His cronies drew up beside him and they all glared at Oliver through the door, which was really nothing more than a thin shield of protective glass.

The bus set off, moving Oliver away from their fierce faces.

He peered out the window as the bus moved away and began picking up speed. To Oliver’s dismay, Chris and his cronies barged their way straight onto the bus waiting behind. It, too, pulled away from school, following closely.

Oliver gulped with dread. With Chris and his friends just one bus behind, he knew that if they saw him get off, they would too. Then they’d pounce and he’d be in for a pummeling. He chewed his lip with worry, not knowing what to do next. If only his invisibility coat really existed. Now was the time to use it!

With a huge crack, the sky seemed to open. Rain cascaded down and lightning streaked across the sky. So much for an hour before it hit, Oliver thought. The storm was already upon them.

The bus wove perilously along the road. Oliver gripped the metal pole and bumped shoulders with the kids standing around him. Things had gone from feeling ominous to feeling suddenly quite scary.

Another bolt of lightning jagged across the sky. Kids on the bus yelped out in fear.

Oliver realized then that perhaps he could use the storm to his advantage. Since getting off at his own stop was out of the question with Chris’s cronies watching on, he’d have to get off unexpectedly. Blend in with the crowd. And with the pounding rain and general disorientation, that might just be possible.

At that exact moment, the bus slowed to a halt. A large group of kids surged forward for the door. Oliver looked around and saw they were just on the outskirts of the good neighborhood, which appeared to be where the majority of Campbell Junior High pupils lived. Oliver didn’t know the neighborhood particularly well, but he had a vague idea of where it was in relation to his own.

So he followed the crowd, hopping off the bus at an unfamiliar stop. Rain lashed down on him and the others. He tried to stick with the crowd, but to his despair, everyone dispersed in different directions, and quickly too, to escape the weather. Before Oliver could even blink, he was left standing on the sidewalk completely exposed.

Not even a second later, the second bus pulled into the stop. Oliver saw Chris through the steamed up window. Then Chris clearly saw Oliver, because he started pointing excitedly and shouting something to his friends. Oliver didn’t need an interpreter to know what Chris’s gesticulations meant. He was coming for him.

Oliver ran.

He didn’t have much of an idea where he was, but he ran anyway, heading in what he was certain was the vague direction of home.

Without looking behind, Oliver ran and ran. The rain and wind beat him, making it hard going, but this was one of the few occasions where being small was an advantage. Chris would struggle to drag his lumbering body around, Oliver knew, whereas he was sprightly.

But, Oliver realized, Chris wasn’t his only problem. All his friends were with him. The girl in particular was a very fast runner. Oliver stole a glance over his shoulder and saw that she was gaining on him.

Oliver passed some stores, then turned into an alleyway leading to their back streets. He dodged and weaved through obstacles such as abandoned shopping carts and empty boxes that had been swept up in the winds.

Then he rounded a corner. For a brief moment, he was out of sight of the approaching bullies.

As a strong blast knocked over a garbage can, Oliver had a sudden burst of inspiration. Without a moment’s hesitation, he leapt inside the can, crawling over rotten food and empty wrappers until he was completely out of sight. Then he curled into a ball and waited.

The girl’s feet appeared on the strip of sidewalk he could see. She stopped and paced in a full circle, as if looking for him. Then Oliver heard more pounding footsteps and saw that she’d been joined by Chris and the other cronies.

“Where did he go?” he heard one of them shout.

“How did you lose him?” came Chris’s distinct voice.

“He was here one second and gone the next!” the girl yelled back.

Oliver stayed very still. His heart was hammering and his limbs were shaking from all the exertion.

“He’s done one of his spells,” Chris said.

In his stinky, shadowy trash can, Oliver frowned. What did Chris mean?

“That’s so creepy,” the girl said. “You mean he made himself disappear?”

“I told you, didn’t I?” Chris replied. “He’s some kind of freak.”

“Maybe he’s possessed,” one of the boys said.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Chris shot back. “He’s not possessed. But there’s something wrong with him. Now do you believe me?”

“I do,” the girl said, but Oliver noticed that her voice was coming from farther away.

He peered to where her feet had been and saw they’d now disappeared from sight. Chris and his cronies were leaving.

Oliver waited. Even after their disparaging conversation about him faded to nothing, he didn’t want to leave the safety of the trash can. There was still a chance one of them was waiting, just in case he was about to reveal his hiding place.

Soon, the rain started to really come down. Oliver could hear it pounding heavily against the metal trash can. Only then did he accept that Chris would definitely have left. Even if he did want to beat Oliver up, he wouldn’t stand in the pouring rain in order to do it, and Oliver was quite certain his cronies wouldn’t be convinced to either.

Finally deciding he was safe, Oliver started to leave the trash can. But just as he wriggled toward the front of it, a huge gust of wind started up. It battered him right back inside. Then the wind must have changed direction, because suddenly Oliver felt the can lurch beneath him. The wind was so strong, it was making him roll!

Oliver gripped the edges of his metal prison. Filled with terror, disorientated, he started to go round and round and round. He felt sick with panic, sick from the motion. Oliver willed it to end soon but it seemed to go on and on. He was thrashed about, jerked around.

Suddenly, Oliver’s head thunked the side of the trash can very hard. Stars appeared in his eyes. He closed them. Then everything went black.

*

Oliver’s eyes fluttered open and took in the sight of the spherical metal prison around him. The spinning motion had stopped but he could still hear the roaring sound of the storm all around him. He blinked, disorientated, his head pounding from the blow that had knocked him out.

He had no idea for how long he’d been unconscious but he was covered in stinking garbage. His stomach swilled with nausea.

Quickly, Oliver shuffled toward the front of the can and peered out. The sky was dark and rain lashed down like a sheet of gray.

Oliver scrambled out of the trash can. It was freezing and it took barely seconds for him to become soaked through. He rubbed his arms in an attempt to get some warmth into them. Shivering, Oliver looked around, trying to discern his location.

Suddenly it dawned on him where he was, where the can had rolled him to during the storm. He was at the factory! Only this time, Oliver noticed, there were lights glowing inside.

His mouth fell open. Was he seeing things? Maybe he’d gotten a concussion from the blow to his head.

The rain continued to lash against Oliver. The lights in the factory glowed like some kind of beacon, drawing him to it.

Oliver hurried forward. He reached the grass around the factory, and it squelched beneath his feet, turned swampy from the downpour. Then he skirted around the side of the warehouse, trampling on the ivy and nettles in his haste to get to the back door, to shelter. He found the door just as he’d left it; ajar, and just wide enough from him to squeeze through. Quickly, he did, and found himself in the same darkened room, with the same smell of dust, the same echo of abandonment.

Oliver paused, relieved to be out of the rain. He waited for his eyes to adjust. Once they had, he saw that everything was just as it had been last time he’d been here, with dusty, cobwebbed machines disused and in disrepair. Except…

Oliver noticed a very thin, straight yellow line running across the floor. Not paint, but light. A shard of light. Well, Oliver knew that a shard of light needed a source, and so he hurried to it, following it like it was a trail of breadcrumbs. It ran all the way up to a solid brick wall.

How bizarre, Oliver thought as he stopped and pressed his fingers against the wall. Light isn’t supposed to travel through objects.

He fumbled around in the dim light, trying to work out how light could pass through a solid object. Then suddenly his hand touched something different. A handle?

Oliver felt a sudden surge of hope strike him. He heaved the handle and jumped back as a huge creaking noise sounded out.

The ground shook. Oliver wobbled, attempting to stay upright as the very ground moved beneath his feet.

He was turning. Not just him, but the wall too. It must have been built on a turntable! And as it turned, a huge shard of golden light burst out.

Oliver blinked in the sudden, blinding brightness. His legs felt unsteady beneath him from the motion of the turning floor.

Then, no sooner had it started than the movement stopped. There was a click as the wall found its new position. Oliver staggered, this time from the sudden deceleration.

He looked about him and was stunned by what he saw. He was now standing in a whole new wing of the factory. It was filled with incredible, fantastical inventions! Not the cobwebbed, creaking, rusted relics from the warehouse before, but instead, floor to ceiling, as far as the eye could see, stood bright, gleaming, new, ginormous machines.

Oliver couldn’t help himself. Filled with excitement, he ran up to the first machine. It had a moveable arm that spun right over his head. He ducked just in time, and saw the hand on the end of the arm deposit a boiled egg into an egg cup. Just beside it, two disembodied automaton hands bounced along the keys of a piano, while beside them a very large brass clockwork metronome ticked out the beat.

He was so preoccupied and delighted by the inventions around him, Oliver didn’t even notice the strange bowl-shaped item from yesterday, nor the man tinkering away with it. It was only when a clockwork cuckoo took flight, making him stagger backward and bump straight into the man, that Oliver even became aware that he was not alone.

Oliver gasped and spun on the spot. Suddenly he realized who he was looking at. Though many years older than the picture in his book, Oliver knew he was staring into the eyes of Armando Illstrom.

Oliver gasped. He couldn’t believe it. His hero was really here, standing before him, alive and well!

“Ah!” Armando said, smiling. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”