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.
Today, You Will Write 