Picture this, if you will: an eight year old boy with a bowl haircut, the kind of haircut that should have stopped existing after he turned six years old, but here we are. Anyway, the boy, yes--he is prone to daydreaming, as frequently noted in his conduct reports. "Can't help it," is not the best defense, but it's all he has and it's all he says. The volume with which he defends himself is varied, but the words are always the same. Lindsay Pak is an intelligent boy who gets bored easily, and unlike the other easily bored child in his third grade class, he avoids causing disruptions by staring out the window. Even though he isn't "paying attention" he can still more or less retain the information, or at least get the gist of what was said that day. His grades don't suffer, except for the conduct one.

Lindsey Pak is a normal boy, or considers himself to be one. But he's from The Ridge, so he probably has, like, psychic powers, right? Half of the class thinks he can read minds, which would explain the daydreaming, wouldn't it? The other half thinks he secretly has telekinesis and is the reason why all the chalk keeps disappearing (really, though, Keith White has been behind that from the start). Lindsey thinks the theories are dumb, but he's much too distracted by his Betty & Veronica comics when he is allowed to read them.

Lindsey Pak is normal until he isn't.

It was bound to happen. His older sister moves objects with her mind, his mother is a medium, and his dad is wherever he is.

It happens when he is ten years old and no longer has the bowl haircut he had been sporting for so long; he insisted his entire head be shaved. The fault lies with a rubber ball and his need to throw it as hard as he can against his bedroom wall to see where it would land. He throws it, it hits the window, the arm of his computer chair and finally settles underneath the bed. If the rubber ball hadn't been cool and glittery, he would have abandoned it. Lindsey drops to his hands and knees and crawls underneath the bed without hesitation, and he crawls and crawls and crawls because something is calling to him. It isn't a voice--it's more like a feeling, or a compulsion and--hey, he should have hit a wall at some point because the underneath of his bed has never been this long and this dark.

Finally, Lindsey resurfaces and realizes he isn't in his bed anymore.

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