Getting Down with the Basics : Writing Utensils

For some time now, I have been obsessed with learning the basics, or at least about getting them right. Like a guitar player who must routinely strum and then make chords so that later they can rely on muscle memory to eventually kick in. Or as my niece says,  play without looking. It’s been six years and without a steady music teacher, I am beginning to see places where my tactics are working, and others where they have fallen short. I realize, however, that if you stick with it and do them often enough, there comes a time when it begins to feel like magic, as though your fingers are actually flying off the guitar as you move between chords: going from G to A to D. Or vice versa.

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 This is a result, like muscle memory, of something that has already become ingrained in you. This is what a writer and anyone learning a new skill aims for. Something called mastery. Effortless proficiency which is an indication that your hours of hard work has indeed paid off. And this is why so many beginner questions may seem like an affront to anyone who has already put in their hours. Or paid their dues, because the struggling writer, grappling at straws, may seem more like someone aiming to know outright, something that has taken them ages to master.

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Worry not, the answers will come.

Even to questions that at first may seem rather pesky. Questions about the very semblance of a writer’s life. Questions about routine, and schedules and writing utensils.  For me the beauty of writing has always been that all you need is a pen and pieces of paper. Yet for the beginner it becomes: Which pen? What type of paper? Or even more probing questions, like where do your ideas come from? A couple of weeks ago, I watched a youtube video where Neil Gaiman joked with an audience member that writers are awful to people who ask such questions and that such questions shouldn’t be asked of writers. In many ways I agree with him, although I am also beginning to understand the need for the question in the first place.

Remember the writer, grappling at straws, is trying to figure out just how this thing is actually done. Needing only a little bit of guidance and maybe luck. Although persistence will be the best advice in the end.

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How to learn the basics and get some handle on writing utensils? you ask. Get a good book on grammar like Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style. Read a lot. And most definitely, write a lot. And concerning writing utensils, they tend to vary. The writer and instructor Natalie Goldberg suggests writing in a funky notebook like the ones you would get for back to school. The ones with tweety bird. I use them sometimes, but I also write on yellow legal pads (like John Grisham) and use inexpensive faber pen. Although any other brand will do. You might need to keep a stapler or binder nearby to collate everything. I like Goldberg’s suggestion because she says as writers we should try not to take ourselves too seriously, especially when what we are trying to do is be creative. So if time permits, take a read of: Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones or Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird. These are two excellent books for writers at stage of their writing career. And also check out Chuck Wendig’s site: terribleminds.com. It always has lots of info for writers.

ImageUntil next week, keep reading, writing and blogging!

 

Chapter 30: The End is Another Beginning

     Then the gong dinged.

     Brandi was no longer at the beach. Or on the shore, watching the crabs move. Instead, she was inside the beach house; viewing the projector with the Nameless One. Images flashed across the screen. Parents rushing to collect their fallen children. Trying to keep them safe.

As she stood there, she could still see Roger. Dwight leaning over the boy’s body, a hand pressed comfortingly on his arm. As if he was waiting for some motion that would never come. While Teresa’s mother nudged Brandi’s father outside the door.

A little way off, the Nameless One turned to appraise the girl. Her figure uncontrollably still, as another woman rushed through the still open door. A woman who if Brandi looked closely enough, she could almost swear, resembled her mother.

The girl blinked. Shut her eyes against the sight of undulating bodies. The sound of unruly chatter and the final stillness as the woman fell to the floor, beside Brandi’s bag. On the screen, something beeped and that sound carried her further away into the past. On another journey to uncle Ken’s hospital bed, where her mother had kept a two day vigil. Until Avery and Aunty Pam had walked in.

That had been the last time that she had seen her mother cry as she had screeched to one of the nurses that something was blocking his feeding tube. Killing him….She looked away now, feeling something well up within her throat. Feeling as though she couldn’t go on and had no reason to live, when the Nameless One walked up towards her and put an arm around her neck.

And with a voice almost as measured and controlled as uncle Ken’s she said, “This too shall pass.” The girl nodded, wiping away the stray tear, that threatened to overpower her. Dark and heavy like a flood. Sniffling, she turned her head back to the screen, forced herself to look.

At the hysterical woman who was leaning heavily against Nicholas’s arm, as though she had just received some bad news. Brandi suspected, news that concerned her own disappearance, and she bowed her head, feeling something tug at her chest. As her mother raised a hand to clamp it down over her own lips. The strands of hair that Brandi had always thought possessed a type of military precision were now flying as though, everything had been thrown to the wind. She watched her mother, hug the bag and back up into a wall, taking on the entire scene. Uncertain about what they would all call it in the end. Uncertain, about who had been brave and who would seem guilty.

She nodded towards Nicholas, thinking that he was an even better life raft than her father had been. That somehow like Roger, she knew that he would keep her mother safe. Brandi untangled herself and walked towards the screen. Stopping a few feet away, wanting to touch it, but then being unsure, afraid that like Quasi, maybe, she too would be shocked.

“Go ahead,” the Nameless One said, her voice gentle. Knowing that the girl would soon have to face her own demons and do what was necessary, for them to round up the two fugitives. As Brandi leaned forward as if considering her loss of power. The pendant glittering in Dwight’s pocket, in that other place that now seemed like something beyond.

“Everything you need is right here,” the woman said, pressing a hand to her chest. “Inside of you.”

Brandi paused as if considering the journey that she had just taken, the boy she had loved and then lost. Biting down on her bottom lip, she thought about how Roger had told her that some people could not be saved. And she remembered her uncle. Grandma Rose and Roger. He was right, she thought with a jerky movement as she looked around the room. Nicholas would see to her mother and like she’d done with Teresa, she would do whatever it was that was necessary to take care of her father. She made a step towards the Nameless One and held out her hand, “What would you have me do?”

THE END

Tune in On Monday 19th May, 2014 for the last chapter

Tune in on Monday 19th, May 2014 for the upload of the final chapter of The Way of the Seer, after which (later in the week, say Wednesday and Friday) I will present two articles on novel writing. One will be a sort of wrap up of my experience of uploading chapters and rewriting the novel over the time period that I was posting, and the next will be about naming things/names (be it character names/novel names/place names). So until next week, have a restful Sunday and a very productive week.

Chapter 29: The Thing About Reality

Her friend had tried to warn her. But there was no scathing predicament. No tumultuous outcome that could have prepared her for this. Nothing that the Nameless One hadn’t told her about half a dozen times before. To become a Seer. There are rules. Rules you must follow.

Brandi heard those last few words now and everything passed through her. Even the image of the man at the door. She shook her head. Sad that her mistake had come at such a high price. And so instead of going to the man, she rushed over to Roger, because this price was too steep. Something she couldn’t pay. Wouldn’t.

The man followed her with his head as if waiting for her to say something. Do something, as she picked up the boy’s body and brought it closer to her chest. Even as she wiped away the tears that were trying to force themselves out through her closed lids. She put her lips to her arm, trying to strangle an already muffled cry. As she kissed Roger, hoping to bring him back to life.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said, rocking him as though he were a baby. Then, her eyes went to Teresa. If it wasn’t for Teresa, she was almost certain, everything would be alright. Her eyes opened. Closed. Opened. She tilted her head down, focusing on the silver charm bracelet and bit her bottom lip. Tasted, the metallic tinge that she suspected was blood. And needing to be vindicated. She swore. The way she had heard Teresa do it over the phone, that first time, when they had been discussing Roger.

“Like a vine that grows in the deep, dark forest, may you be turned into something that no one can fix.” She held up a hand, dropping the boy as Teresa raised her head. Stricken, her eyes darting around the room, as she looked for some way to explain her actions. Brandi took a step forward. Continued. “May you forever suffer like you’ve made me suffer. May you see the world through another’s eyes.”

Teresa lifted her hands in the air. “This isn’t what it looks like.” The girl let go of the spray can. “My mother…”

Brandi raised a hand to her lips as though she had already heard too much when Stephanie rushed into the room. Her eyes focusing on the fallen boy.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid youth,” she said, her eyes going towards Brandi, who appeared too dazed to even see her.

But even as the young woman stopped to look at the brazen girl, another type of transformation had already begun as Teresa fell to the ground and groaned. It sounded as if she had been cursed.

Bringing her hands to her lips, Brandi watched the girl grow. Like vines, her hands reached out to touch the pendant, and when they connected, there was a spark. The hand drew back. Brandi smiled at the aborted attack and licked her lips as her friend’s bracelet dropped from her wrist. At her side, Stephanie changed shape, transforming into an older version of Teresa. Brandi watched her sudden appearance and realized for a second that her face seemed familiar. She took a deep breath, her mind finally making the link between this woman and the person in her parent’s wedding photograph.

Brandi felt something in her gut shift. Wrench free. As the woman took a step towards the man purporting to be her father. Like a reunited couple, they joined hands. Clasped wrists.

There would be no saving herself, she thought, watching Quasimodo assume her un-natural shape. Near the door, Lucien appeared and Brandi steeled herself as he took a step towards Roger, knelt, and placed a ball within his closed fist.

Doggedly, she gazed at them. Her face consumed with rage. It took a few minutes, but eventually she stilled herself. Yanking off the pendant, she threw it at the messenger, telling him that she had had enough of his games. When he removed the red baseball cap, everything within her shifted as she realized that she was staring into the face of Dwight. The boy she had once told that he was connected to Roger.

She looked at him glumly as if sad for the way things had turned out. While he pocketed the pendant and buried his face in his hands.

It was then that the other man, her father, stepped forward. Touching her arm as Brandi sniffled, his hands reaching around to embrace her neck. “In the end, I’m glad you did what you did,” he said, kissing her cheek. His face solemn.

She looked at him, perplexed as he too appeared more familiar. Younger. She let go of him, moving backwards to put some space between them. As she caught sight of something forming on his wrist. A string of rosary beads and a familiar pendant.

“Did you cause this?” she asked, her eyes going briefly to the other woman. The broken window. The dying fire and then at Roger.

He shook his head, touching her chest. “No. You were the one who wanted to come here.” He nodded. “The one who thought that having a mysterious object would make you great.”

She stiffened, realizing that it had all been a mistake. Because he had never been who she had wanted him to be. A mirage. She shook her head. Part of her imagination. She looked at Dwight comforting his fallen son. Roger. The boy who had tried to save her. How her mother and Nicholas had also been trying to make her do the right thing. To see beyond everything that was there. She bit her lips, knowing that she would miss them. But there was no other way. No other choice.

“You’re wrong,” she said, going over to her bag and unzipping it. She removed the document she had signed earlier that morning and waved it in the air, as if it were a peace treaty. Cease fire. Or truce. “Unlike you, I choose to forget. To move past my fantasies and step into the future.”

And she closed her eyes and imagined herself back on the beach. Certain that she would have to pay for what she had done to Teresa but almost sure that her mother at least would be safe.

Chapter 28: Putting Up a Fight

At first nothing happened, and then Brandi looked across at Teresa, wondering if the girl had some sort of protection spell, because, somehow her ex-friend always seemed to know what to do. Where she was going. Brandi glanced down. Noticing for the first time, the open bottle of water beside Teresa’s desk, and the soil, strewn haphazardly across the floor.

No, it can’t be, she thought, holding her head. She gazed through the open window and felt breeze. A shiver ran down her spine as a flash of recognition flit across Teresa’s face. There was something in her eyes. Brandi peered closer, hearing a rugged breath. The girl was up to something, she was almost certain, as the overhead light fluttered briefly and then died. Brandi kicked her school bag, up, bringing it closer to her chest, as the hissing sound paused and then she saw a flash of light and then smelt smoke.

Her eyes travelled around the room, until she caught sight of the metal receptacle and made the connection with the flames. Near the door, she could think of no way out without first getting past Teresa. She extended an arm, reaching out to capture her, but there was nothing there. Only air, smoke and shadow. She grunted aloud, her fist connecting with the wall, before she took a few deep breaths and tried to think. She thought of Roger. Tried to focus.

Then she picked up the sound of the chant beginning again.

“Darkest of night and brightest of day, help me to see with sight beyond sight.” She stiffened, trying to get a reading on Teresa’s location when a hand clapped down over her mouth. She eased her elbow back with a sharp force and heard a deep grunt, forgetting the slightly musky fragrance of the sea and the overbearing force of the chant.

“Roger. Is that you?” she asked, the bent figure.

He straightened, holding his stomach. “No. It’s your evil twin.” He motioned towards the door, turning back to her seeming cross. “Remind me never to try any covert moves when we’re dating.”

Her face slackened into a smile, before he turned her to see Teresa. Once again, standing in front of the door, the girl had her arms stretched out like a martyr, as the flames lapped around them, seeming to engulf the room.

Their classmates screamed. The teacher barked inaudible orders. And Roger yanked her arm. “Follow me.”

And then, something exploded.

The windows shattered, and she yelled for them to get down. Already forgetting about the explosion when she brought her hands to her lips, wiped and saw blood. Beside her, Roger sat up dazedly, and pulled back her hair. “I’m going to get you out of this.” He promised, his lips brushing against her cheek as he pulled her closer.

Silently, she nodded, leaning into him, knowing that they would also have to tend to the others.  Little by little, as the smoke began to clear, she could make out some of the injured students who were lying on the floor. Looking into a few faces, she saw their confusion. Fright. Remembered what it had felt like when she had been trapped in the diner and was trying to escape. How Nicholas had been the one to tell her what to do. When to move.

Beside the door, she saw the height of the flames growing taller and somehow she knew that if they waited any longer her friend’s power would become too great. She squeezed Roger hand. Stood up. This time, she told herself, she would not cower. She would not run.

By her side, Roger got to his feet, as she pointed to the desks, that were barring them from going through the windows. Roger looked at her, following her gaze. Prepared to move towards the back. “Okay,” he said, nodding at her. “This time, we’ll do it your way.” Brandi smiled, watching him go as she turned towards the door to go after her old friend. Trying her best to figure out what was going on inside her head, when she looked up through the narrow opening and caught sight of another figure, who was only a few feet shy of the door.

The small fire had spread beyond the front desk and she gave Roger a thumbs up signal, indicating that she was ready to move. He motioned to a few boys, got them to help move the injured students off to the side before they tackled the windows.

Brandi touched the pendant for luck. Breathing life back into it, as the room began to spin. She swallowed down the doubt that was rising in her throat, as Teresa took one giant step towards her. Now or never, she thought, thinking about her mother. Now or never.

Teresa dropped the book of spells. Closing her fists, she went for Brandi, swinging furiously until she ducked. Teresa grunted, stooping forward and shoving her into one of the desks. Brandi screamed, feeling a sharp pain where the edge collide with her hip. Then she groaned, staggered backwards. Her eyes never leaving Teresa’s. There was an almost satisfied smile on her lips and for a few seconds Brandi tried to catch her breath as Teresa lunged forward.

Brandi stood there waiting for it. Dropping her head a few inches, so that she could deliver her own crushing blow, as she head butted Teresa into a wall. Blood ran down her chin and Brandi felt the heat in the room rising.

“Get them out of here now!” she shouted at Roger, no longer sure that she could contain the other girl’s fury.

A few heads turned their way and someone jeered.

As Teresa reached for the can of hairspray. Brandi kicked it away under the desk, trying to placate her with a joke. She touched her own hair playfully, holding her other hand up as if it were a mirror and shook her head. “Honestly if I had known that you needed to be hooked up, I would have taken you somewhere. I mean, my mother knows somebody, who knows somebody…”

Teresa growled, her eyes turning towards Roger before she dove under the desk. Brandi looked across at the almost empty room, and let out a sigh, wondering why she still felt afraid, when there was nothing for her to be afraid of.

She heard the sound of a chain. Or something being pulled and her eyes went to the door again. “Is there someone out there?” she asked, as Teresa’s head rose from beneath the desk. Brandi frowned, concerned about the girl’s somewhat ashen pallor, as the hiss of flames began again.

Brandi fell to her knees, coughing. Closing her eyes against the acrid scent as Roger turned back to get her. Instinctively, she brought a hand up. Told him to stop, but he only shook his head, waited as Teresa raised her palm and jingled the charms on her wrist.

Roger gave her friend a disdainful look, pointing towards the door. “You’re not supposed to be here.” Teresa straightened up as if somehow knowing what she was supposed to do, her hand reaching out for the canister as she spoke a few words. Aiming directly for his chest.

Unaware, Brandi turned back, confused. “What about Teresa?”

His eyes flared open as he shrieked, catapulting himself into the girl. Brandi watched the exchange, holding her breath. Clawing at the pendant, she wondered why she couldn’t see anything. As Roger shook his head, uttering his final words, “Some of us cannot be saved.”

Brandi staggered backward, her fingers cutting through the glass, as another image appeared. Her body aching to get back to Roger as he crumpled to the floor.

Teresa looked down elated, opening the door, where an old man with a stick, had appeared, dressed all in black. His image seemed to mock Brandi as he extended a hand for her to shake.

“They tell me you’re my daughter.”

Chapter 27: Making a Wish!

The ceiling fan cluttered to a stop and someone in the back let out an exasperated sigh. Listening to them, Brandi picked up a book and began to fan herself, as other heads dropped onto desks with a loud clank. She rubbed her shoulders, suddenly feeling sticky and in need of water as she looked around the packed room. The air was almost stifling and she turned back towards the windows, wondering why nobody had gotten up to open them wider. Insanely jealous of the flowers and trees as they blew, she dropped a sheet of paper onto the desk and waited for it to take flight.

It didn’t and so she berated herself for leaving her water bottle on the counter that morning, before she had headed out. If her mother had been there, she reasoned, she would have remembered. She looked at the door again, this time distracted by the sound of feet as someone moved in the opposite direction. Going towards the gym.

She opened the book wider and flicked her wrist the way she had seen some Asian women at the market do it whenever the summer’s heat was getting to them. Up. Down. Left. Right. Not that she had a paper fan. Or knew anything about the art of fanning. But she was willing to try anything. At least once.

Sweat dripped from her brow. Collecting in pools at the base of her neck as she hung her head, suddenly remembering the 2003 blackout her mother had experienced while in New York. How her mother had said that it had been dreadful and her abuela had sworn that she had been made to climb more than ten flights of stairs. Thank goodness they had moved into a respectable brownstone after that. She shook her head, recalling her amusement at her grandmother’s plea. Now though, pulling at her collar, she could almost feel what it would have been like, as the humidity increased, and she felt as though she was being cooked.

The clock on the wall read 4:45. She could leave in fifteen minutes, if Mr. Perkins stuck to the rules and they managed to appease him. She looked down at her words on the page. They seemed more like something her mother would have termed chicken scratch. She pulled out a few strands of her hair which seemed to be going grey and then creased her brow, trying to figure out what was going on. Almost instinctively, she turned and gazed at Teresa who seemed unusually silent. And still.

“What’s up, four eyes?” Her old friend threw her an unwarranted scowl, and Brandi blinked, thinking at first that her friend had misspoken. Then she smiled, pretending that it was some kind of a joke. Jest. Rubbing her palms together, she relived their getting to know you sessions at summer caps when they had both agreed that life was better with a partner, because both their parents were single women. Back then, Brandi had almost relented wanting to divulge her mother’s sporadic dates, when Teresa revealed her mother’s propensity for bad dates. But she had kept quiet, knowing that her mother would never find anyone serious. Not until Nicholas. She held her breath, and gritted her teeth, remembering that the revelation about the glasses had come some time after mentioning uncle Ken’s illness and their plans to leave the state.

Not that Brandi hadn’t wanted a fresh start. In fact, she had been extremely curious about her father’s family and finding the family’s crest among her mother’s things, she had scoured the city’s many libraries in search of something that would reveal more. Agreed even to forgoing the summer film and music festivals in Bryant Park, which she usually went to with Jason. And his friends. Their numerous library tours also partially because she had developed an insatiable crush that her abuela had said would pass.

But she couldn’t pinpoint what was happening with Roger. Even though she felt as though they were both going the extra mile. No matter what, wasn’t she the one who was supposed to make sure that everyone else was safe?

Instead, she felt humiliated. Because the people here didn’t give her a chance to open up. Or to prove herself. And she was fed up of trying, like she had done at the party. Only to be left waiting. Stranded. And then having to deal with her mother and Nicholas. And their constant need for reflection. As if she could learn something from looking back. She slammed a hand into her head, thinking how Roger’s father had been too afraid to tell her father that he was leaving. She looked up at the door, thinking that she was stronger. That she could never do that. That all she had ever wanted was closure.

“Slow and steady wins the race,” Mr. Perkins said, looking down at her. Frowning at the lope-sided scribbles that barely resembled letters. Numbers. She felt a slight twitch on the corners of her lips and looked up as his ruler cracked on the side of her desk. He wiggled a finger. “You haven’t done much?” He looked at her, as if issuing a challenge.

And Brandi stood. Wanting him to be more specific about her errors.

He pushed her shoulders down. Made her sit up straight. “This is bad form. Who taught you penmanship?”

Brandi massaged her fingers, her mind going to her father again. She was almost certain that he was nothing like this burly beast, who questioned her skills and made wise-cracks about her form. She had attended a prep school in New York which may not have been lively or daring as this one. But at least, there she had people she could call her friends. People she could rely on. She passed a hand over her jeans and tried again. Doing her best to make straight strokes and round curves, the way her mother had taught her. Not that she had listened then. No, she had been too busy impersonating her grandmother’s doctor to notice that legibility counted for something.

And yet, the world wasn’t going anywhere. Even if she performed this one task. Silently, she grabbed hold of the pendant, hoping to whisk her teacher away. Whispering something that seemed like magic: Bring my father, home.

Chapter 26: Can you be my hero, baby?

Then the door opened and closed, sucking them in.

“Everyone, quiet down!” Mr. Perkins yelled, throwing the blackboard’s duster into the  bin; before turning to appraise the room full of delinquent students. From the door, Brandi’s eyes followed his as Roger pulled the attendance sheet and filled in their names. The P.E. teacher was a massive, six foot two jock whom she had surmised, over the years, had probably let himself go. His belly was a plump mass that seemed to stick out. And his head was almost as bald as Homer Simpson’s, although she had stopped watching the weekend cartoon after they had moved from New York. But watching her teacher now, she couldn’t help but wonder about the ill-fated attraction between the gym teacher and Mrs. Jenkins. Something the older students had insisted was legit. Even though they avoided each other in the hallway and seldom shared lunch.

Mr. Perkins grabbed the roster, as Brandi clung nervously to Roger’s arm, and then took a few giant steps towards them.

Looking at them, his eyes appeared vacant. But Brandi suspected that behind the closed doors of the staffroom, the lives of the pupils were eagerly discussed. After all, it was human nature to discuss things that were unfamiliar. Truant.

With a sweaty palm, Mr. Perkins batted a few strands of hair down. Cursing himself, for having such shitty luck. Two years earlier, in fact, his ex-wife had taken the dog, a German Alsatian, the jeep, a red jeep grand Cherokee, and his favourite chair. And this morning, he had promised his current girlfriend, Mrs. Jenkins, that he would gladly take over her block of after-school jokers, so that she could have a restful night. Evening. He scratched his head as if he was a man afflicted with psoriasis and was trying to get rid of flakes. This was the punishment he got for avoiding their thirteenth date.

He looked down at the list and then back at the two students who had just walked in. There was Roger Barnes, sports hero, if he continued playing as he had in the last six months. College jock-to-be. Maybe even an athletics scholarship. He nodded approvingly, because the kid had quite an arm and had impressed him during tryouts. He squared his jaw, taking in the interlocking fingers, his eyes on the girl. Brandi Daniels. The thorn in his girlfriend’s side. He shook his head, remembering Cindy, his ex-wife. Past supermodel. Cheerleader. Unlike her though, this girl was vile, probably even had no future.

He searched the room, trying to find two seats. Two. Separate. Seats. As his fingers dug into his pants, in search of a cigarette, although he wasn’t supposed to smoke on the premises. Maybe later, he could grab a coffee. He exhaled. A long debilitating sigh. The one that his ex-wife had said probably meant that he needed to cut back, on his two most important vices. He almost nodded, when his fingers grasped nothing, and he realized that they were probably hidden in another pair of pants, he might have dropped into the wash.

He thumped the boy on the back, thinking he probably also deserved a warning. “I’d be careful with that one, if I were you.” He rubbed his brow. “It’s never good to trouble trouble.”

Roger gave him a suspicious look, arching his eyebrows as the other students snickered. The boy watched Brandi and then glanced back at the teacher. “Thanks, but I think I’ll live.” Self-consciously, he gave the girl’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

But she covered her face with her bag, trying to avoid speculative stares. She darted towards the seat in the back that the teacher had pointed out.

Roger stood there, feeling as her hands left his; watching as some of the other boys gave them catcalls. Some staring almost maliciously at him. While Mr. Perkins dropped the roster back onto the desk and waited for them to resume their silence. He shrugged and trudged on. Knowing that this was part of the plan. Part of what he was supposed to do.

In her seat, Brandi looked at the paper with her penance grudgingly. She would never have expected Mrs. Jenkins to pull something like this, but then again, she didn’t really know her. Like a bullet train, the words jumped off the page and collided with her.

“I will not tell lies,” they said. “Even if everyone is against me and my life depends on it.” Brandi groaned, turning it over. Her eyes glancing up and searching for Roger’s. What was Mrs. Jenkins playing at? She breathed into her hands, feeling the tinge of truth or foreboding locked in the words, draining on her strength.

But Roger wasn’t looking at her.

Instead, he had started to scribble out his own text. And her face went down to her desk as she tried to figure out, what sort of a tortured existence Mrs. Jenkins thought she lived. Her eyes going outside to the lawn, where she spotted yellow daisies and poinsettias.

She inhaled, closing her eyes, retracing her steps until she was back at the beach, encountering the Nameless One for the first time. The beach had seemed so serene. That she almost wished that she could remain there forever. But it wasn’t possible. So she shook her head, wiping away the memory. Her mind settling instead on her father. Wishing that they could be together, even if it was only for a short while.

She embraced herself. Trying to communicate to him just how empty her life had been. Without him. How sad she was feeling now. Even though, a part of her knew that she still had Roger.

And in the front of the room, he coughed. Bringing her back to the present. Just as the door opened and in strolled Teresa. At his desk, Mr. Perkins consulted his list twice, before agreeing to let her stay; and she took the only other empty seat, next to Brandi.

Roger got up, hurried to the front desk as if to excuse himself. Indicating towards the restroom, as though he was a three year old, who was about to burst. Brandi watched the exchange with rapt attention as he headed closer to the door. Then a soft whistle blew and he was allowed to exit.

Brandi sat there, wishing that he would tell her that everything was going to be alright. That she would be safe. But he didn’t even bat an eye in her direction. Or blink. So there was no warning about what would happen next.

No, instead, he just zipped up his jacket and waltzed through the door, as if he was too busy preparing to end one chapter of his life, and so that another would begin.

Chapter 25: Before Running the Gauntlet

Outside the door of the detention room, Brandi paced nervously. Surely her mother would be expecting her for dinner, seeing as how Nicholas had converted their home into a nest for three. So, there would be no excuses. No way to explain how, or why she had acted up. Dropping herself onto one of the benches, she pulled out the comic book that Dwight had given her, wondering if he had been able to avoid his future. Her brow wrinkled. She tried not to think about it, because they were not supposed to mess, with time. Stretching her fingers out repeatedly, she exhaled a breath and then, leaned back against the cold wall.

Sharp, clear footsteps alerted her that she was not alone. And turning her head, she spotted Roger. Their eyes met briefly. He gave her a searching look, before dropping down into the seat beside her. His mouth puckered like an old woman, digesting a sour prune, as his fingers found hers and she lost interest in the book.

Wary of his gaze, though, she kept her eyes averted. Pre-supposing that somehow he had heard about what had happened with her in math class, and had come to chide her. Hesitantly, she watched as his tongue moved inside his mouth, inspecting the top row of his teeth. And she inhaled, trying her best not to lay herself bare, as she let go and brushed flecks of dust, from her pants. “I’m really sorry about what happened,” she said, standing up. Her back facing him.

But instead of the gruff, condemning tone that she had expected, his voice was gentle. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he said. His hands touching lightly against her face. “It was all me.” He shook his head. “I should have been there.”

She turned then, as his hands went around her waist. She breathed in his lemony scent, wondering briefly why he had made the trek to the bathroom, when she caught sight of the spectacles and couldn’t help laughing. Pulling them off gently, she leaned into him. “Is this why I never noticed you before?” she asked, folding them up. Her fingers caressing the edges of the smudged frame. He looked at her calmly, and shook his head. She continued, as though she had never been interrupted, “Why we’re doing this?”

Roger watched her, feeling somewhat vaguely confused. Wondering why it was starting to feel as if she could see through him. And his breath caught, because with the Nameless One it had always been best to keep things hidden. And he thought briefly of his father and aunt and how despite those two things she, Brandi, had always been his only concern. Looking over her head towards the door, he suppressed a groan and whispered, “No. I wasn’t that interesting.”

But Brandi kissed his cheek, as if telling him that that was something she found to be a bit unbelievable, and then he held out his palm and waited as she returned the spectacles. Something within him stirred and he looked at her almost contrite. Hoping that she would forgive him for what came next. “It’s like I said before.” He leaned closer and motioned towards the pendant. “We’re in this together.”

They embraced each other fully, and she stepped back feeling an electric charge pass through their bodies. A few paces away, Roger observed her with a grin as she placed a hand over her heart, as if like the pendant it’s ownership was the thing being disputed. She shook her head, meeting his eyes firmly. “Nobody can have it.” She pointed in his direction. “Not even you.”

“Good.” He raised his head, reassured. And she wondered if he could see through the door. “Especially with Mr. Perkins…” Brandi glanced back at him, waiting for an explanation as they waited for the bell to sound.

Roger straightened up. “Because he’s an ogre. Bully, and much worse than the guy at the party.” For a second or two Brandi gazed at her shoes, wondering what else? What was next? When Roger held up his world literature paper and showed her his F.

She could hardly believe it. Tore the paper from his grip and went around him in circles, feeling both elation and dread. As something in her stomach gnawed at her, again. Certain that if the tables were turned she would choose instead, to escape.

Sensing her misapprehension, he pulled her into a firm embrace. She didn’t need to know everything, he reasoned, deciding to keep his connection to Teresa and the man with the red cap to himself. Besides, that knowledge wouldn’t save her. Couldn’t help them. He kissed her cheek, knowing that she would be strong enough for the both of them. Knowing that if worst came to worst, the Nameless One would protect her, if he couldn’t.

He touched her cheek. “You can do it.” He kissed her forehead. “I know you can.”

Then the bell rang.

And their final moment together ended as Brandi let go and went to collect her things. Standing there with the stream of students passing among them, it was almost like any other day. Except for the prying eyes of Teresa who stooped to retrieve the fallen comic, unnoticed; as they fell into step with one another and entered the aforementioned room, where many said, only compliance brought reward.

Chapter 24: Take Me Home, Country Road

Roger wasn’t like most kids, who had grown up knowing that they had both a mother and a father. No. Instead, he had had one aunt, who had seemed more like a traveling salesman, appearing even more sporadically than even he would have liked.

But what he remembered most about her was the treats. Trinkets that seemed to always appear from inside her slender pocketbook. Or sometimes a slim lilac purse. One time she had given him a baseball glove that she had sworn had once belonged to his father. And another time, she had shown him a picture of his smart cousin, T. A girl who she said, would one day become a great witch. But Roger was only good at sports. In fact, he had grown accustomed to things like academics, being boring, until she had carried him to the local library and introduced him to a book with a convict and a boy called Pip.

Things had happened more swiftly after that. Then whenever she visited, they would go to the park on weekends, and some days she would even take him to the beach. There she would tell him stories of his people. Their people, whom she had said were descendants of gypsies.

Knowing that, had always filled him with pride. Like they could go anywhere. Do, anything. That was until she had taken him back to the city, to that old house on Cauldron Road, and shown him the little lane, street where she said his father now slept. But the man was a thin broken figure. A specter of a man, whom he could not look straight in the eye. A man with a red cap, who even refused to let him enter his new home.

Roger shook his head now, distrusting the man and the image. Distrusting everything because somehow he thought he could do better him. Somehow, he thought the tales were more gallant when the man had been a guardian. And somehow in taking the deal with the Nameless One, he had promised himself that despite everything, he was choosing to become a better man.

Because the bill collectors and the men who had taken away his mother and placed her into an asylum had been wrong. Because they were not the ones with the bad dreams. They were just the ordinary citizens, trying their best to keep on.

Roger brushed the tangled strands of hair back, remembering the magic of the crabs coming together to form a body. He even remember the three witches who had first made the deal. One of them, a youthful version of his aunt. But standing there; he could think of nothing better than seeing his father as a coward; for leaving his best friend behind. Turning his back on his fate and his family.

Standing there, now, he judged him as guilty. A man living on borrowed time, trying to do what was best to maintain the status quo. Roger rubbed his temples gently and put on the dorky glasses he had given up right before resuming baseball, and silently accepted the task he had been called to do. And with an imaginary bat, he whisked after it, swinging at a phantom ball. The image of T in his mind converted to Teresa and he promised himself that he would banish her, if it was the last thing he could do.

Chapter 23: Text Me When You’re Ready

When the period was over, Teresa went into the bathroom and splashed water on her face. The morning had been tough. Seeing Brandi disappear from on the bus and then reappear in front of the school, some twenty minutes later, was almost daunting. But then Stephanie had prepared her for it. Told her to collect some soil samples because it meant that somehow her friend was only getting stronger. She rubbed moisturizer into her palms and then onto her face. The last thing she needed was to age rapidly on account of Brandi, who once again had refused to listen. She lifted her head closer to the mirror trying to spot blemishes. Finding none, she did a rinse and repeat, hoping that she was up for what came next.

She glared into the mirror, thinking about Stephanie, who was big into hexes and witches and their family’s traditional mumbo jumbo. Initially her older sister had told her that they were going to scare Brandi. Now it seemed, she was trying to make her summon her father. She closed her eyes, remembering the scene from Macbeth that Stephanie had shown her. How her mother and Brandi’s father had been made to take part. She didn’t really think that it was possible. But then again, what did she know? She held her head in her hands, trying not to think about how others saw her. A Junior Achiever. She sulked. Someone a few steps away from being considered a nerd. Her lip caught between her teeth as she remembered her mother.

Before her mother had disappeared, she had tried to show her daughter a few things. Reciting an incantation from the spellbook, where and how to find herbs. Remedies. How to collect and use different elements. She opened her fist, letting the image float away on a puff of smoke. Wondering why she had been so dumb. So rebellious. With her more important thinks like band, soccer and her movie dates with Brandi. Now though, it seemed like she was learning everything by force, something the music teacher had assured her was ideal for performers, especially since most of the greats had been discovered when they were still quite young. Although she didn’t consider herself, in the same frame as Mozart.

After washing out the moisturizer bottle, she filled it with water. Then she placed it into her bag, which also contained clumps of soil, she had taken from Brandi’s place that morning. Opening a chewing gum wrapper, she shoved the gum into her mouth. Brandi couldn’t stop her. Even if she tried. Leaning closer to the sink, she shook the can of aerosol. It would have to be enough to light the fire. She flickered her wrist and pointed. A small window opened. Hopefully the same incantation, which she had used during World Literature, would also come in handy during detention.

Teresa fingered the detention slip, glibly, knowing that it was something she would never have courted. Because before today, the only list she had wanted to be on was the school’s top ten academic achievers. The doors swished behind her and the charms flickered on her wrist. She could control the wind. The air, she told herself, trying unsuccessfully to contain a smile. She pulled her cellphone out of her side pocket almost ready to dial the now familiar number. But waited, picturing her sister.

Through the glass, she could almost see Stephanie’s stern features. The young woman seemed to have everything worked out. Not that Teresa needed to know all the details. She fiddled with a paper towel, dropping it into the trash. Dead Man Walking had been one of those movies that she had skipped, along with Thriller and the Shining. She grabbed hold of the sink. It was now or never.

Opening the phone, she wished that her mother had warned her against all of this. Warned her that helping out would make her feel more and more bleak. Like something was dying inside of her. And something else was taking its place. She coughed. Wiped blood from her lips. Then she tapped a few keys, until the message box appeared. “It’s all clear here,” she wrote. “Just text me when you need me.” No. She erased the words. Began again. “It’s all clear. Text me, when you’re ready.”

Chapter 22: Penance

After a while, when it seemed like nothing else was going to happen, Brandi entered the World Literature classroom and took a seat. In the back, she felt safe from the prying eyes of her teacher, even though, Mrs. Jenkins had already moved her up front. Hinting at the parent-teacher conference, that Brandi would need to get her eyes tested. But that had been a month ago, and having missed a few days, Brandi thought, it would be okay. So she took a chance, and slipped into her usual seat.

A few girls stared at her and she swore under her breath as Mrs. Jenkins approached the door. She issued orders. Commanding them to pass up their papers as she silently shut the door. Brandi did as she was told, halting only when a figured appeared outside the door. And Teresa barged in.

Everybody turned, as if they were seeing some sort of specter. As Teresa ambled towards them with uneven steps. She seemed to waver, like someone under the influence, and Brandi put a hand to her lips, hoping to hide her anxiety, as the pile of essays careened to the floor. Then the disjointed girl stooped, mumbled some sort of apology and reshuffled the pile. Brandi watched her carefully, as she inserted her own paper. Going over the possibility of how their lives would have been different, if they had never met. On her hands and knees, Teresa seemed to nod, staring directly at her, as if at that exact moment in time, she had been considering the same thing.

While Roger hustled into the room and noting the disparity between them, made a beeline to a much further seat. Trekking as close to the windows, as their teacher would allow.

At the front, Mrs. Jenkins called them to attention. Banging her thin whip, that some of the students suspected also worked as a cane. They turned to her and she read out the instructions, which had been written down on the board. They were being directed to page 731, to a short story called, In the Grove, which had been written by Ryunosuke Akutagawa. Underneath the directions, questions followed.

Brandi opened her book obediently and flipped through the pages. Wishing that she could be outside stretching her legs instead of in there, with them. Roger waved. Pushing a pencil behind his right earlobe, he stretched and observed Teresa, who had taken Brandi’s seat up front. Looking past her, he peered out the door’s narrow, glass partition, trying to make out the figure who was standing just outside.

Brandi’s eyes followed his. She tried to figure out why he had cut class, when someone rapped on the door. Lifting her head, she spotted Mr. Ono, and a spasm rose in her chest. She ignored it, as Mrs. Jenkins opened the door and let the math teacher in. A few voices rose. Some students even turned their heads in her direction and spoke in hushed tones. She tried to ignore them, even though she was almost certain that they were whispering about her. The news had spread. Was still spreading.

Adjusting the cord, which held the pendant, she tried to feel her connection to the bigger thing. The greater thing, that people often referred to as life. But she couldn’t feel it. Or see it. Everything was a disjointed mess, that seemed to be rushing forth, between her fingers.

She stroked her neck and unhooked her hair, from the coiffured bun, that she now realized had once belonged to her mother. And she held her breath, thinking that schools often came with their own inquisitions. She could almost feel it. The nameless students who had once been accused of cheating, some through the use of their cellphones. Others using their bodies to store pieces of information, that refused to stay intact in their brains. She lowered her head, wondering if it would have been better to have begged her mother for an extension; due to the party and her undiagnosed illness.Besides, hadn’t she taken too much cough syrup? And reached home late?  Wasn’t there somewhere else she could go?

From the other side of the room, Roger gave her a reassuring smile, as he tried to turn the pages of his dilapidated textbook. Sitting there, she could vaguely make out the edges of a comic book and a rueful smile, crossed her lips. She scratched her head, wondering about the date of the textbook’s extinction.

Then the voices at the door rose, and she heard the word penance and retribution. Mrs. Jenkins gave her a wry smile, before turning back to Mr. Ono.

Brandi bit her lip, remembering the last person who had gone mano a mano with Mrs. Jenkins. For two weeks straight, the girl had been made to recite dialogue from Hamlet. Brandi could still remember pieces of it. Pieces that floated across at them during recess: To be, or not to be, that is the question. She shook her head, remembering how she had stuck pieces of cotton in her ears between classes and had almost steam-rolled into the Principal, on the way to the bathroom. She grunted, thinking that even Ron and Harry Potter had been saved from the worst of it, even though they had had to encounter crying Myrtle.

She, on the other hand, hated Hamlet. Couldn’t stand Ophelia with her drivel. How hamlet had sent her mad with his talk of “get thee to a nunnery.” She cranked her neck, thinking that she wouldn’t go down without a fight. That whether or not her mother approved, she would do whatever she thought was right. Besides, she wasn’t one of those gifted children who could rely on scholarships. Instead, for her there had always been academic probation. She took a deep breath, thinking how easy it was to fall back into old habits as Teresa raised her hands in the air and gave her old friend an applause.

The faces of the teachers grew more constrained and Brandi sucked in a breath. If she was going to fail, she thought, she would do it grandly, so she turned and bowed. The way she had seen musicians do it when she had gone to recitals with Avery and they had scoped out the musical conductors. Back then, they would chatter incessantly, calling each other in the day or the night. Not caring about the time difference. But now they hardly spoke. And thinking about it, she almost understood the difficulty that her parents had faced, trying to carry on a long distant relationship. Not that she or Avery had even discussed dating. Besides, Aunty Pam would definitely have had a coronary. Before which, she would have killed them, for good measure and just to be on the safe side.

A piece of paper landed on her desk and someone shouted, “Back to work.” Brandi tore open the note, which read: I know what you’re trying to do. She glanced around the room, trying to figure out who had sent it, as the door closed and Mr. Ono departed. Rolling it into a ball, she stuffed it into one of her pants pockets, deciding instead, to scan the author’s biography for some idea on how he had lived.

The pages turned. Backwards and forwards. The blurb mentioned that his death had been a suicide. But she chose to ignore it. Skipping the lurid details, she jumped to the year of his birth, which coincided with the year of the dragon. And she felt an affinity, even though she wasn’t prolific or a Japanese writer. She focused on the story about the woodcutter and his wife. A story that seemed to have many takes, depending on the participant.

And holding the lower part of her mouth between her hands, she thought of the Norwegian painter, Edward Munch and the painting Teresa had shown her, which had been entitled The Scream. Back then, during the days of their own goals, she had felt the title fitting. Now though, she wondered if ‘Man Losing All Sense of Hope’ was more affable. Or even ‘Hysteria’. She read through the passage, feeling a vague sense of unease, as if somehow she knew that she would not be able to accomplish her task. No, not the way she had first envisioned it.

Then, she blew air into her t-shirt, feeling the heat exacerbate. Surely, her mother would be upset, not to mention Nicholas, who was suddenly getting even more parental. She shook her head, wondering about her father. What sort of a reaction could she expect from him? Guilt? Fear? Confusion?

She rubbed her fingers together, thinking that if they were pieces of wood, soon they would become a kindling. She looked from Roger to Teresa. Who could  she trust? Roger seemed useful. Intelligent. But did he have the strength to go through with this? Whatever this was? And yet, he had sworn to protect her. She wondered how that worked, as Teresa scribbled down a few things from the blackboard.

“Darkest of day and brightest of night,” she hummed. “Help me to see with sight beyond sight.” The windows opened and she felt a strong surge of breeze as Teresa looked across at her and frowned. The pages from Roger’s book scattered, dancing around the room, as his expression hardened and he turned to appraise her.

“Stop it!” Mrs. Jenkins yelled, banging down with her cane again.

The room spun for a second or two, and Brandi almost didn’t know where she was, until an arm touched her shoulder.

“Close those windows,” Mrs. Jenkins ordered. Roger and two other boys leapt to their feet, quickly placating her as Brandi’s eyes narrowed; she focused in on her teacher.

What was happening to her? she wondered, rubbing her sweaty palms into her jeans. She closed her eyes tightly, feeling both cold and afraid. Then she looked over at Teresa, remembering that time they had viewed The Craft. Could her friend, really control the elements? She thought of Teresa’s charm bracelet and her knowledge of aikido.

Brandi closed her eyes, fighting back tears, as the teacher placed a detention slip on her desk. She looked up. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Don’t worry, dear,” Mrs. Jenkins said, removing her arm. “Mr. Perkins is only there to keep you, innocent.” Brandi frowned, bowing her head. It was almost as if, she were back in the cave with Quasimodo. Almost as if, he was telling her, again, that she couldn’t win.

Chapter 21: The Dog Ate My Homework (Second Half/ Part 2)

Squinting, she read the topic. “Do heroes exist on their own? Should their lives be freely taken?” She scratched her head, wondering how many cups of coffee Mrs. Jenkins had gone through in order to write something so pedantic; and yet it seemed almost amazing.

Her lips creased together as she thought about Roger. The many things he might have said. Things like, there’s no such thing as fate. Destiny. Or even that heroes didn’t exist, even though she was almost certain that he read comics; which meant that at one point or another, he had to have believed. She stretched her fingers. She needed to be serious, because this was part of her final grade, and she was failing miserably.

Something the world English teacher had said wasn’t true for him. She closed her eyes, tried to focus. Wondering why everything about him was hidden. Covered up. In some ways, he even reminded her of Teresa, except there was no guilt. No denial. She opened her eyes, fearing his reaction, she decided that she couldn’t tell him, about her visit to the past. Or her talks with his father. She made a scratch, with her pen, crossing off the word, father, which had appeared on her script. She ached, wanting to touch the pendant. To return to that strange place that almost felt like home.

Looking at his empty seat, she knew that there were things that she wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t fully know, but she liked the way he had looked at her. How he had protected her, during the party. Gone so far as to take her medicine bottle and force her to examine herself.

Mr. Ono shifted in his seat. When he looked up, their eyes met and Brandi nodded. She almost felt guilty for disobeying his orders. Remembering the last time, how she had been thrown out. Her head bobbed again, like a sunken submarine that didn’t want to be caught. Or even spotted.

Making a fresh indentation mark, she started a new paragraph; fascinated by the way the Nameless One could change. Shape-shift. The way the pendant had also changed her. Even though, going back was forbidden. But then, she was trying to change things. Make them better. Then the color bled. Mutating as the scene shifted. The one with her father and the three witches. Dwight. Someone would have to save them. She realized that that scene seemed to represent some sort of key. She would save them, but she also needed to know the truth. About him.

But she couldn’t tell Roger, because he would dissuade her the same way, Teresa had, when she had first mentioned Lucien and the mysterious box. Her head bobbed up and down. Teresa had once been her friend. But now, she only had Roger.

And Teresa wasn’t her friend. No. Not anymore. So much for fate, luck and destiny.

Sweat poured from her face and she flinched, remembering the arrow, and then, she looked up. At her side, Mr. Ono stood watch. His arm outstretched, waiting to collect her paper, like an errant guard.

She wiped her forehead. The thud in her chest growing louder, stronger as the pen’s ink smudged. “Not finished.”

“But the others have,” Mr. Ono waited as Brandi looked at the clock, observed the long hand on six and the short on 9. The bell rang. Color drained from her face as she extracted the unfinished essay and folded the test.

Mr. Ono pointed to the sheets. “Everyone except you.”

No longer concerned about the cautionary looks of her classmates, or Mr. Ono who seemed to be registering shock, she handed it over. All the while, shaking her head. “I just didn’t get it.”

Seeming genuinely concerned, Mr. Ono placed a hand on her shoulder and stopped her. Then he lifted her arm. It fell soundlessly. “Okay, but tell me something.” She looked at him, almost ready to divulge a secret. “Who assigned you something on fate?”

She could hear the chairs as they scraped back. The others hurried outside, as if to avoid an avalanche. Standing there, Brandi could hear his breathing. She closed her eyes, knowing before he did that he was going for her essay, so she sidestepped him; shoving the papers into her pants. There was nothing he could do.

But she was wrong.

Because instead of getting angry and shouting, Mr. Ono pointed towards the door. It was as if he was some sort of mystical king who could evict her from his kingdom.  “Leave.” Drawn tightly together, he looked constipated.

Brandi stamped her feet. Glanced, like a spoilt child who had been made to go to bed without supper. She stuffed everything into her bag, thinking that it would have been wiser to go to him before the period. But she couldn’t control things. Her life was hackneyed. There was nothing and no one to excuse anything, so she trudged out. Seeming more than a little defiant.

But oblivious to her walk of shame, other students entered. Among them, Roger and Teresa fell back, busy, observing the hands of fate as Brandi’s mind stretched back further, and she considered the fact that the transfer she and her mother had initially carved out, had failed.

Chapter 21: The Dog Ate My Homework (Part One/first half)

As the other students walked through the school’s mahogany doors, Brandi followed. Wondering how it was that one minute, she was, where she was supposed to be and the next, in another place entirely. Cursing under her breath, she grabbed a couple of things from her locker, and then, she went further down the hall to math class.

Ahead of her, she caught sight of a trio of teachers. Her breath caught. She was dismayed at seeing the curl. Edge of a pair of horn-rimmed glasses which she knew belonged to Mrs. Jenkins. Oh, great! she thought, feeling the huge expanse that she had often thought of as time, slip through her fingers. There was no way she would accomplish this feat in half an hour, she lamented, holding her head in her hands. Why had she squandered the night?

She dropped onto the black-cushioned, metallic chair, searching for her friends, but Roger and Teresa weren’t there. They had absconded. Why hadn’t she also received the memo? she thought, pulling books out of her bag and dropping them onto the desk, as if their usefulness meant nothing to her. She glanced out the window and forced herself to take a calming breath. Then she heard the side door open again and she caught sight of Teresa. A new and improved version of Teresa, who was wearing a pair of designer shades, and looked way too glammed up. Something inside of her shifted and she shook her head, remembering the party that she had been tricked into attending. She turned her face, hoping to avoid another confrontation, like the one on the bus.

It came anyway, (after she put the pencil’s eraser in her mouth and bit down).

From the other side of the room, Teresa seemed to smirk as she slipped into the seat beside Brandi’s. She rubbed her stomach, seeming somewhat discontent; then frowned and leaned forward as if to offer up some secret. Tidbit on life. “If I had known you were hungry,” she said, running her tongue playfully over her lips. “Then, I would have gotten you something.”

Brandi shifted in her seat, looking for clues that would have hinted to her friend, ex-friend that there had been some sort of invitation. She held her breath. Faintly disturbed.

While Teresa edged closer. Her fingers pulling the soggy pencil from between Brandi’s open lips. Her heart hammered in her chest as Teresa continued to inch closer. Her gaze leveled towards Brandi, as she shook the pencil in front of her friend’s face. Blinked. Her head inclined further. Forward. “There weren’t many people in the cafeteria.” She paused for effect. “Nobody from the bus, to admit, that they saw your trick.” The pencil stopped shaking. “Now you see it.” There was a whooshing sound, as it went like a javelin through the open window. Teresa dusted off her palms. “Now you don’t.”

Brandi’s jaw dropped, and she felt the pain returning to her side. It would be better to ignore Teresa. Not rise to her baiting. She exhaled.

The door opened and Mr. Ono, a slim Asian-looking young man, stepped inside, carrying an armload of papers. The other students groaned, on seeing him, sensing that it was another Pop Quiz Monday. Like a magic trick on the street corner, the objects on the desks disappeared. And the clock was reset as he distributed papers.

Meanwhile, Brandi pretended not to have noticed, and Teresa plastered a hand over her mouth and acted as though she was about to throw up. Seizing, her books tumbled into a heap on the floor.

And Mr. Ono reeled back, stuffing a hall pass into her pocket as she made her way to the door, which he motioned for one of the students to open and then shouted, “Make sure the nurse signs it.”

Teresa nodded, giving Brandi a look that seemed suspicious. Hinted at her guilt, while Brandi, rearranged the things on her desk. So much for literature, she thought, flipping through the five-page quiz. There was no way for her to tackle it and still finish Mrs. Jenkins paper on time.

She stuffed the latter into the former. Thinking her mother would applaud her for setting priorities as she attempted to re-write the essay. Burying her head in her books, she couldn’t help but remember her mother’s spiel that morning about college and the future. Her future. She crossed off a few words, because fate and destiny were things that should have been outlawed. And anyway, her future could wait.

In front, Mr. Ono arranged himself behind the rectangular desk. It seemed more like a prop than a regular piece of furniture. There he began to work out the structure of their final, because as he’d often explained to them about being proactive, now was as good a time as any. Why wait for the day, before the day, when you would have to sweat it out?

Like a sore thumb, Brandi hunched over her desk, and wrote out her essay on the various pieces of loose leaf. There would be no time to brainstorm ideas or proofread, what she had written.

She read the topic. “Do heroes exist on their own? Should their lives be freely taken?” She scratched her head, wondering how many cups of coffee Mrs. Jenkins had gone through in order to write something so pedantic, that it seemed almost amazing.

Chapter 20: My House of the Past Has Secrets to Tell

“You should come with us,” Dwight said, motioning to Brandi. After a moment’s hesitation, she raced into the deserted house and joined them.

“Won’t Jenson be alarmed?” she asked, watching as the pool of water settled at the soles of their feet.

“Who’s Jenson?” Dwight asked, casting her a suspicious glance while closing the door.

“The butler.”

Van raised an eyebrow. She touched his shoulder, thinking that this was all part of some game. “He’s here, right?” she insisted.

Van shook his head. “Not that I know of.”

Mute, she walked past the huge family portraits that hung on the walls in the hallway. Looking up at them Brandi caught sight of her father, his parents, a baby sister and a fierce-looking bulldog. Her sneakers squelched as she came to a complete stop and eyed them. She shifted her head, glancing at the other frames, searching for the two men who had opposed her mother in taking possession of the property. But try as she might, she couldn’t find uncle Charles or uncle Phil, anywhere. Her father’s two older brothers, they had been very persistent, going so far as to to fire the butler, a year and a few months after they had settled into their new home. She held her breath, deciding not to broach the subject as she read the sign beneath the dog, which said Pugsy.

“Unless I’m mixing you up with somebody else,” she said, scratching her head again. “This old brain must be turning into spaghetti.”

Dwight, always open for a joke, nudged her and offered her a smile. “You should try wearing a pair of glasses; they’ve been known to help.”

Brandi looked at him confused, wondering what glasses and sight had to do with a muddled brain. Speechless, she waved him away. Pulling her hair into a bun, she followed them down the narrow corridor. She passed her fingers on the edges of one of the frames, caught a trail of dust and cobwebs, then shivered, wondering why she was getting a feeling like this was a decrepit museum instead of the lively home, she had always envisioned. She pulled away.

In the lounge, Brandi discovered an ancient telephone. The one you could put your fingers through and the earpiece that almost covered your entire ear. On impulse, she gave it a twirl.

On the second go-around, the phone rang. She jumped. Alarmed that such an ancient machine could do that to her. Van grabbed the phone, listened for a few seconds and then handed it back to her. “It’s for you.”

Brandi wiped her brow with the back of her palm. “Yes.” She leaned forward, listening intently. “What can I do for you?”

“It must be strange to return home and find that everything’s helter-skelter,” the voice said.

Brandi waited, watching the two boys. Then, looking at the floor, she wondered if anyone had the power to conjure up the rain. Or to make people return to what they were in their youth. She held the phone tighter, trying to decipher the voice that by now was barely audible. “No, everything’s the same,” she lied, replacing the receiver. Turning back to Van and Dwight she acted as though nothing had changed. “Do you guys have anything to eat? Or drink?”

Van nodded. Leading the way into the kitchen’s pantry. “My mum keeps the supplies in here, in case of an emergency.” He took a handful of snacks and stepped back, giving Brandi enough time to observe the overflowing pantry and its adjoining kitchen; the contents of which barely reminded her of home. She shuffled backwards, wondering if, this was how it had been for him.

“Yeah.” Dwight opened an oreo and shoved one into his mouth. “Mrs. Van Elder is the best.”

Her brow creased as she remembered the shouting matches between her mother and the older woman. Matches that had erupted over simple things like a white baptismal gown, she had refused to remove. She cringed, remembering that afterwards, her mother was often left alone, nursing a migraine. “Right.” She nodded her head, letting the memory slip. “My mum can barely make a tuna casserole.” She opened a snack bag and wolfed down some chips. “Thank goodness for takeout,” she muttered underneath her breath.

“Takeout?” Dwight grabbed a few cans of soda as they went back into the living room. He took a seat next to her. “So, what do you do for fun?”

Brandi quieted. Waiting for the lumps in her throat to settle. “Nothing.” She wiped her eyes, afraid of being too honest. “Unless you consider me riding my bike around town and going to the movies, alone.” She lowered her head, momentarily forgetting Roger; knowing that somehow things had been better with Teresa.

Van looked at her. Frowned. “Why’s that?” he asked, as if seeing something about her, that was admirable. He opened a can of orange soda and took a sip. “You’ve got friends, right?”

Brandi averted her eyes, looking at the television set, which was turned off, before turning back to them. “No.” She fidgeted, opening a can of soda. “Not like you and Van.” She explained. “It’s just me and my mum. Have you guys been friends long?”

“It’s been a while,” Van said, grabbed a pack of chips. “We usually meet up in the summer when school’s out.” He motioned towards Dwight with his head, almost chuckling. “Dwight’s folks travel a lot.” He paused. Brandi’s thoughts ran on Roger. She wondered if that was why she hadn’t really noticed him until she had received the pendant. She held her breath, watching as they threw chips at each other. She enjoyed being in the center of the two of them.

Dwight edged his glasses farther up on his nose, appraised her. “You’re like him, aren’t you?”

Brandi nodded as Van got up and headed towards the kitchen. Holding her half-empty can, she supposed, he was going to get another, when he turned back to her. “You want anything?”

She shook her heads and they watched him go. Then Brandi turned back to Dwight. “How did you know?”

He leaned closer, pointed to the string around her neck. She inclined her head, gave the pendant’s cord a slight tug, undoing the kink that was making it partially visible. With a free hand, she pushed it down. “Does Van have one?”

“Yes.” Dwight patted her arm. “Like you, he’s getting used to it.”

She paused, fiddling with the can. “And as his guardian, do you see what he sees? Feel, what he feels?” Her eyes scrunched closer.

This time, Dwight was the one who appeared more cautious as he reached across and captured her arm. “Yes. But only if he wants me to.”

She pulled back her hand as he adjusted himself and asked her another question. “Have you found your guardian?”

“Yes,” she said, wondering how to tell him about his son. But she stopped herself, remembering Roger’s warning about the past. “Are you the reason I’m here?”

Dwight paused, looking at her. “Maybe.” He put down the pack of biscuits. The can of soda. “My folks are thinking of leaving.” He stole a glance at her. She nodded. “For good this time…I don’t know how to tell him.”

Brandi looked at him, admiring the curly black hair that reminded her of Roger’s. “It’ll be fine,” she said, squeezing his hand, almost sure that he would find a way around it, since they hadn’t been separated in the future. “Just be honest with him.”

He nodded, seeming relieved, offered her a tight-smile.

“That’s what your son is doing for me.”

“Son?” His features creased; he rubbed his eyes. “So Van and I both get married.”

“Not exactly.” She turned to look at one of the pictures on the wall, swearing that she had seen some movement.

He propped up his elbows and stared at her. “What do you mean?”

Brandi hesitated, wondering if she had already revealed too much as he edged closer. “My parents never spent much time together, after I was born.” She took a deep breath. “And they say, he ended up trapped in some future that nobody could save him from.”

Dwight frowned. Scratched his head. “You mean us.” He tore off his glasses and gave them another cleaning. “We get trapped on some sort of mission, that’ll take us away from those we love.”

Brandi kicked her backpack, feeling almost foolish. As though she had backed herself into a corner. She looked down and saw her world English book and journal. Then from under the nearby table she heard a distinctive growl. She stood up, sensing that Pugsy had already entered the sitting room, when she spotted a head.

She threw a few chips his way, jumping onto the couch as he rushed forward. He chomped on the pages, as though they were pieces of food. Bones.

Brandi screamed, Pugsy, taking this as an invitation, salivated over the few scribbled pages and continued to eat. Even as Dwight moved to the center table and whacked the dog’s butt.

“Bad Pugsy.” He whacked the center table, shook his head. “Go, Pugsy, go.” The dog barked once more and rushed out, whizzing through the doggie door. Dwight shook his head apologetically. “His bark is worse than his bite.” He took up the journal and handed it over.

Brandi took it, fingering the torn pages, as she reached out and re-captured her bag. How would she pacify Mrs. Jenkins, she wondered, when their relationship had already been strained. She glanced back at Dwight, who was already becoming hazy, as another bell dinged.

Chapter 19: Come Let’s Switch, the Future Once Said to the Past

Scooting down in her seat, Brandi did her best to ignore the feel of the pendant as it brushed against her skin, underneath her t-shirt. Looking around at the other students, she wanted to run. But she squelched the feeling down, as she opened the window wider, to avoid the rising smell of feet and sweat.

She rubbed her palms together, hoping that today would be different, because somehow yesterday she had avoided her mother’s reprimand, because Nicholas had assured her that it was safe, and she had returned to her room. It wasn’t as though she felt, she couldn’t trust them. Only that they had hidden everything about her father – because as they had put it, they hadn’t wanted to alienate her. Her? The only loner in a family of extroverts, she chided herself, trying to forget where she was, as she extracted a few books out of her bag.

“Are you writing a journal?” a once familiar voice asked, as a slim body leaned closer. She raised her head and eyeballed Teresa, wanting to become smaller; the same way she had seen Latoya do it in the Hummer.

Oblivious to her friend’s discomfort, Teresa nodded, pulling out her own assignment. “Did you enjoy the party?”

Doing her best to keep a straight face, she wondered how her friend could be so malicious as to use Latoya. And try to injure her. “Nothing too dramatic,” Brandi said, thinking about how she and Roger had managed to defeat the messenger, and Latoya. How they had even managed to return home safely. Surely Teresa wasn’t going to play innocent, like she had done nothing. Brandi turned away from her friend’s steely gaze. “Somehow we managed it.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Teresa said opening her own book, before glancing swiftly out the window. She wiped her face. Turning back, Brandi watched as she focused on their assignment on fate, as she bypassed the small intro that mentioned something morbid about destiny as Teresa thrust the book into her open palms.

As if Teresa knew her and was familiar with what she had written, she offered Brandi some advice. “If you’re going to mention A Christmas Carol, this would be the worse place to mention the inciting incident,” Teresa said, pointing to her third paragraph, after she took possession of her friend’s partial essay. She pursed her lips and thought for a moment before continuing.

“What you need to do is to say something ingenious to help draw the reader in and then discuss how the hero had no other choice – how he had to do what was desired.” She arched an eyebrow, looking outside as if everything else except Brandi could understand what she was getting at as Brandi raised her head, trying to dismiss her and the neat script that seemed to be written in front of her.

Wishing that Roger was there beside her. That he could at least offer some other explanation for the way things were turning out. And what was expected of her. Brandi took a deep breath, almost wishing for this to pass, as Teresa scooted closer.

Her friend tore out a page and pushed it forward, as the bus lurched to a stop on the crowded street. Teresa took her hand. “You can use it if you like. I’ve already written another,” she said, lowering her head, pensive. “My mother always warned me about being prepared, but somehow I think it’s also ok to be a little reckless. To fly by the seat of your pants.” She offered a tight smile that Brandi though looked pinched. Forced. She nodded her head, so accustomed was she to her friend’s need for absolute favor.

“Your mother? How is she?” Brandi asked, remembering the harsh laugh that she had heard over the phone, when Teresa had tried to warn her away from Roger. But then nothing was wrong with Roger. He was her friend. He had danced with her at the party and then ensured that she got home safely. She shook her head, dismissing the aberrant thoughts. If anything the messenger was the one who needed to be questioned. She looked at her friend. And Teresa.

She eased back. Not knowing who to trust. Or what to do, as her fingers continued to scribble across the page. Whatever it was that was done – maybe it could be undone. She thought about Quasimodo’s warning and felt a sickening feeling in the pit of her stomach. She pushed the pages back to her friend.

“Thanks. But I don’t need it. Them,” Brandi said. Heard a soft click and then there was a ringing of bells. She covered her ears. Some of her books fell to the floor as the scene changed. And everything became fuzzy, she was only a few feet from her house. She turned. Watching it, she realized for the first time that the bus had disappeared.

Behind her, a bunch of children cheered and she caught a glimpse of something that looked like a baseball. It whizzed past her face and landed in the bushes nearby.

Then a thin boy with glasses appeared and retrieved the ball, casting a wary glance at Brandi, he turned back to his more muscular friend, who appeared to be wearing a pair of gloves.

Unconscious of Brandi, the muscular boy stepped forward and closed his palms to receive the ball, which the dark haired boy threw back.

He stepped forward, surveying Brandi for the first time. “You ready for my curveball, Dwight?” The other boy dusted off his pants and jeered, as if accustomed to his friend’s ogling stare. His greeting around new girls.

“Sure thing.”

Brandi looked at them, feeling a sense of familiarity. She was almost certain that the boy with the gloves, Van, resembled the man in one of the portraits at home. And then she shifted her gaze to the other one, who kind of reminded her of Roger.

The two of them watched her for a second and then made their way across the street. Then the boy who had first appraised her, Dwight, turned and gave her a quick wave. She waved back. Hesitantly and then as if deciding to follow them, she tugged at her bag and crossed the street.

“You know how to play?” Van asked.

She looked up at him, eyeing the now familiar brown glove and indicated to the other boy. “Ask Barnes, he’s adept at these things,” she said, before she could stop herself.

But Dwight shook his head as if she was misremembering things as she almost touched the pendant. She looked at him quizzically, somewhat baffled as his eyes met hers. “You must have me confused with someone else,” he said, adjusting his spectacles. “Van is the one with all the skills.”

Her father? Her mouth formed into a small o as she tried to wrap her mind around what was happening. How her father was the talented one, when Roger’s father was the one who seemed geekier. More scientifically prone to follow baseball. She shook her head, because she hated sports. Had never done anything that required too much effort, besides soccer tryouts. Something was wrong here.

Because she didn’t know half of the things, she thought she knew. Her father was into baseball even though Dwight was still his right hand man. She shook her head, wondering just how accurate the things the Nameless Ones had shown her, were. Unless she was wrong.

“Van?” Brandi asked, wondering why her father had chosen to use part of his surname instead of his first name. She peered closer because she had no idea that he was knowledgeable about anything. Let alone, baseball. She smiled. “You’ve got a rather unusual name.”

“I know,” he said, pointing to her colorful backpack. “Do you go to school on the weekend?” Brandi looked at him confused and then nodded, knowing that it would be difficult to explain where she came from and what she could do.

“Alright.” He moved away as if dismissing her and she scratched her head.

“I was going to the library.”

He nodded, apologetically as if he understood her dilemma. Felt her pain.

Brandi gave his shoulder a playful punch and muttered thanks. He smiled gleefully. “My mother thinks my brain isn’t screwed on right.”

He held up the gloves as if in protest. “I know the feeling.”

Beside him Dwight pocketed the baseball and offered her a comic. “Do you have a favorite hero?”

Brandi shrugged, hating to admit that reading wasn’t her strong suit and that she perused rather than read them. As her mind wondered to Roger’s desk and the hordes of comics, she imagined he possessed.

Dwight patted her hand. “Keep it.”

Wordlessly, Brandi stuffed it into her backpack, as her eyes turned and she continued to appraise her father, who was busy pitching another ball up into the air and catching it, just for fun.

She touched his shoulder blade, offering a goofy smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Van shook his head, exchanging an unknown look with Dwight. “I take it, you’re not from around here,” he said, leaning closer.

Brandi’s eyes perked up and her shoulders deflated. “Not really. But I guess like time, it’s all relative.”

Dwight tilted his head and frowned at Van as Brandi adjusted her bag.

“I’ve heard that the two of you like adventures,” she said as if the conversation had never been halted. Watching as the other kids behind them, continued with their own baseball game, and others attempted jump rope. The boys exchanged glances. Seemed intrigued. The kids in her time would be more busy playing video games or listening to music. She scratched her head, thinking about her mother, how that since she had began to work late, Brandi had gotten better at re-heating frozen dinners; and keeping herself company. Not that she minded.

Dwight opened another comic, pushing it closer to her purview. “They say Superman’s nothing without his weakness against kryptonite.” Brandi stared at him, wondering if he could really see her. Like Roger had.

He nodded.

“Thanks,” she said, giving his hand a light squeeze.

“No problem,” he said, wiping his eyes as if he was tearing up.

Van laughed. “Don’t mind Dwight. He’s trying to start a revolution.” Brandi looked down at her hands. Wondering how much damage he could do with a comic, as big drops of rain fell on their heads and they scrambled towards a house that resembled her own.