Secrets, Lies and Dragonflies

Chapter 30

Although I read at a snail's pace and it takes me twice as long as most to get through my homework, I don't exactly hate school.  Going to the same classes, the same time every day can get old, but I secretly take comfort in the stability.  So when the hallway is full of students rushing to their assigned places and I'm still standing in front of my locker, blanking on what class is next, I start to panic. 

Mrs. Jordan brushes past me. "Come along, Mackenzie.  You don't want to keep Mr. Peter waiting.  He's a stickler for punctuality."

Right.  Art History.  Practically slamming into Christina coming from the opposite direction, we glide through the doorway Mr. Jordan is propping open. 

"Ms. Phillips.  Ms. Temple.  Good of you to join us," he says, letting the door close behind him.  "Welcome back, everyone.  It brings me great pleasure to see you once again." He begins to write under the heading he penned during the first class:

INSPIRATION = JOB

Shillelagh

Evidently,  Mr. Jordan has been very busy decorating since I was here last.  The number of globes now floating from the ceiling and scattered throughout the room is mind boggling.  Where walls once stood barren, an immense collection of artifacts are now assembled in the new floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Various aged pottery and stonework as well as goblets of random sizes fill the area.  Carved wooden sticks are stacked in baskets in the corners of the room and against his desk. Even the Mr. Potato Heads have found a spot along the top shelf by the chalkboard.  Books occupy the remainder of any available space; hundreds of them with weathered spines shoved in every nook and cranny.   

Sounding oddly official, even for him, he says, "You have been identified as the candidates ready to advance into the next phase of training,"

Next phase of training?

"Uh, excuse me," Bridget says. "Am I missing something?  Training for what? All we've done is play with preschool toys and take weird puppet tests."

"Hey.  Come on.  Mr. Potato Head has feelings, too," Christina says with a pout.

Monique nods.  "It's true.  The poor little guys are looking all pitiful sitting up there."

"Thank you, girls.  That'll do," Mr. Jordan says, peering over the rim of his glasses. "Bridget, the training assesses your aptitude for —"

Mrs. Jordan interrupts.  "Peter, a word?" 

"Certainly.  Class, allow us a moment."  He makes his way to the back where Mrs. Jordan joins him.

With a radiating grin, the red headed girl behind me says,  "Interesting class, huh?"

"Very," I reply. Never have I seen so many freckles. "And there aren't as many students this time either," I sort of mumble, noting the dwindling numbers. I wonder if I should have gotten in on the transfer to get out, too.

"Oh, yeah?  I hadn't noticed," she says, scanning the room with her pea green eyes nestled like gems against skin the color of wet beach sand.

Monique leans over and whispers, "Do you know what they're talking about, Ashley?"

"Not a clue," she whispers back.

"Hey," Monique says to me, letting her smile linger a little longer as if she wanted to say more.

The Jordans are talking lowly, but I can still hear them.  Perfectly.  As if they were sitting right in front of me

"I was certain she would be among the chosen, Febronia," Mr. Jordan says.  "She had almost a perfect match on her initial screening."

"I know.  But after the last class session—you recall the situation of concern—I am of the mind that it is not her time," Mrs. Jordan replies.  "As it is written, 'We, being many are one body.'  The foundation of the Shillelagh."

"Yes.  Of course.  It's just that she is well versed and the need is great." Mr. Jordan strokes his chin, his face full of concern.

Christina scoots her chair closer to Monique. "Not sure what they're talking about, but I hope they bust out some My Little Ponies this time."

Courtnee rolls her eyes.

"What?  Don't act like you wouldn't be down for that, Cous," Christina says.

Courtnee tilts her head. "If they do, you can't hoard all the pink ones like you always do."

Mrs. Jordan, still immersed in private conversation, sighs heavily. "It's possible Bridget is destined for a different path, Peter.  Or she is simply not ready yet.  We should instruct the Watchers to stay close until she is called again."

After a long pause, Mr. Jordan says, "Agreed."  

The front door flings open.  Clanking across the classroom wearing battle armor, the kind worn by knights on horses fighting in epic wars, Ms. Eunice tugs her helmet off.  Hair a mess, she tosses her head back, huffing like she's just run a marathon in the getup.  "Gosh, Peter.  You're here already. I hope we're not too late.   You see, we were trying to finish up with Phillips' group, what a fine crop he has this time—"  She spins in our direction. "How rude of me. That's not to say you young ladies aren't just dreamy. Hello my darlings," she waves.  

Most of us wave back. 

Mr. Jordan crosses his arms. "We are fortunate you've made it."

"Why thank you, Peter. Yes, you see, Phillip had his new Shillelagh down with the Doublehorns and well, they were just as frisky as ever and I got a bit carried away with the—"

"Eunice," says a firm, motherly voice.  Dressed like a woman from the Medieval Times show my grandparents took me to in Orlando, Ms. Lois enters from the same backdoor.

"Right. I'm just a babbling along—again," Ms. Eunice says, throwing her hand against her head.  "So, did we miss anything?"

"Didn't miss a thing," Mrs. Jordan says, grinning.  "Peter was preparing our students for their next task."

"Another trial? Goody! One, two, three..." She hums along as she finishes counting us, though I already did math—eleven students today, down from the fourteen last time.  

"I see.  Four more to go," she says. "So what's on the agenda?"

"Field tests," Mrs. Jordan answers with wide eyes.

Ms. Eunice claps. "Splendid. Let me guess—underground subway station?  A swamp in the bayou?  Remember that one, Febronia?" 

"Yes, I do. Not one to easily forget.  But we'll be on the beach this time."

Completely landlocked, not an ocean for hundreds of miles, they're obviously going to put us through some sort of imaginative simulation drill or even worse: role plays.  

Ms. Lois looks herself over then scans up and down Ms. Eunice.  "We better change, Eunice. Guessing there won't be any jousting during this training."

"Good point. I better not dilly dally.  No time to spare." Ms. Eunice disappears out the backdoor again.

"Ladies, our field test awaits. Will you kindly assemble with me, please," Ms. Lois instructs, directing us to follow her through the same backdoor that likely leads to the south side recreational field where the soccer teams usually practice.

Mrs. Jordan stops by Bridgett on her way to the front of the classroom and says softly, "Mr. Peter and I could use your assistance with a certain matter.  Can you come with us?"

While the Jordans walk with Bridgett into the school hallway, Elizabeth and Ashley are the first to trail after Ms. Eunice and Ms. Lois.

"No way! Sand, surf, sun," Ashley shouts from outside. "I just love the beach!"

Christina doesn't waste any time, dancing on her tip toes out the door with her fists pumping in the air, "Oh, yeah. That's what I'm talkin' bout."

"Beach?" Monique asks the rest of us, looking as perplexed as I felt.  "Did I hear beach?"