Wishing on a Blue Star by Kris Jacen Page A

place where he had fallen. It didn’t make sense. He sat upright and looked behind him. There, he found a boy about his age, who sat at his back, supporting him while he’d been lying there unconscious. They stared at one another while their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.
    The boy gazed down at Kip without much expression at all.
    “You fell,” he said evenly. A frown creased his forehead and his eyes narrowed. “Does anything hurt?”
    “I…” Kip got slowly to his feet. He took a brief inventory of sensation. The air smelled funny and the mud baffled any sound from above ground, but nothing seemed to hurt. “I don’t know.” He tested his legs and looked around in the gloom. On the ground his backpack and insulated vinyl cooler lay where he’d obviously landed. “I must have fallen on those.”
    “Yes, I’m sure that’s exactly what happened,” the boy said dryly, giving him a look that he couldn’t read as he climbed stiffly to his feet. He moved carefully, testing his legs and stretching out his arms. At one point he uttered a sharp exclamation in some language that Kip had never heard before. 
    “I’m Chemuel.”
    Kip faced him and held out his hand. “My name’s Kipling Rush. You can call me Kip.”
    “Hello Kip.” Chemuel took the hand he’d been offered with a warm, firm grip.
    Kip pumped his new friend’s hand a few times then dropped it. “What do they call you?”
    The boy frowned again. “They call me Chemuel.”
    Kip shook his head. “You must spend a lot of time with your head shoved in a toilet. Can I call you something else? How about… Crash. Can I call you Crash since we both sort of crashed here?”
    “You may call me whatever you choose.” Crash gave him a smile so warm Kip felt like he’d put on a sweatshirt. “I’d like to be called Crash.”
    “I haven’t seen you around school before.” Kip studied Crash, who wore a pair of new, dark blue jeans and a polo shirt. He looked like a lot of the kids from school, but his polo shirt wasn’t the uniform burgundy with the crest on the pocket required of all Oak Crest Academy students. Kip knelt down to take stock of the things in his backpack and lunch bag. “What grade are you in? I’m in Mrs. Clepper’s fifth grade class at Oak Crest. She’s young and pretty so everyone likes her.”
    “I don’t go to your school,” Crash told him, kneeling awkwardly beside him. “What are you looking for, tools?”
    “Tools?” Kip blinked up at Crash and his hands stilled.
    “Yes. In your rucksack. Do you carry rope? Matches?”
    “Oh, yeah.” Kip grinned. “ No. But I have Oreos.”
    “Oreos?” Crash frowned at him again.
    Kip wondered if Crash was simply a frowny kind of guy; some kids were like that. All gloom and doom and what’s-the-point. “Yeah. Here.” He gave Crash a handful of cookies. He found a juice box and some water, so he decided he would ask. “Do you want juice or water?”
    Crash looked at the cookies in his hand. “Water, please.”
    “Here.” Crash gave him the bottle. “That one hasn’t been opened – no germs.” He tried to stab the straw into his juice box but it crumpled the first few times. When he looked back up, Crash still stared at his Oreos as if he’d never seen one before, and Kip thought maybe Crash hit his head when he fell.
    “It’s okay to eat those, I have plenty.”
    “That’s not…” Crash looked at him. “What are they?”
    Kip gazed at him sadly. “Dude. You are totally homeschooled aren’t you?”
    “I’m what?”
    “This is an Oreo cookie . A chocolate sandwich cookie with something called stuff inside. You can get them in different flavors but my dad always says you can’t beat the classics.”
    “Oh, I see. It’s a food.”
    “It’s the food, Crash. I’ll bet wars have been fought over these. Or Fig Newtons.”
    Crash brightened. “I know what figs are. And Newton. Nature and nature’s laws lay hid in night; God said, ‘Let Newton be’