by Vivien Reis
# ONE
Tap, tap, click, tap, creeak.
Every sound in the classroom crashed through Ben's ears. He couldn't think straight. A blank paper sat in front of him.
Well, not completely blank. It held the stark black writing of questions and his name at the top—no wait, not even that. He rushed to scribble in his name, nearly misspelling it. How stupid would Mr. Flynn think he was if he couldn't even get his name right?
He looked at the first question again, the letters jumbling together.
What three key events led to the Civil War?
Slavery? That was a thing, though, not an event. Ben didn't have any memory of ever learning about this topic. The more he focused on it, the more he was convinced this was just a sick joke. No one knew these answers. Right? He glanced around. Everyone else seemed to be in a writing flurry. Shit. Why did he always back himself into these corners?
A low hum caught his attention but he couldn’t place where it had come from.
Probably someone’s phone.
Mike's pencil was racing across the page. Even he had answers for these questions. Had he studied and not told Ben?
Something swelled up inside of him—shame. He would surely have the lowest scoring test out of the entire class. He couldn't believe Mike would do that to him.
"Eyes down."
Ben met Mr. Flynn's gaze for a brief instant before looking back down at his paper. His coffin.
Most people would fail a test or two and then get their act together. Not Ben. He pretended it never happened and then managed to pass every year.
That's what happened when you were on the varsity hockey team. Things like grades and unexcused absences got brushed under the rug, but only if you were a key player. And thankfully Ben had spent all of his study time practicing so he could be one of those key players.
It didn't seem like it was paying off anymore. He rubbed his hand across his pant leg, hating how he felt. That sweaty, heart-racing sensation when you know you're dumber than the rest of your classmates. When you're the lowest on the IQ totem pole out of anyone around you. Hell, maybe even the whole school.
But he didn't study. Mike usually didn't either, so Ben never felt like a total failure. He always had company. They received their passing grades and didn't care about the score.
That was the issue: they weren't passing. Not in Mr. Flynn's class.
The next question took longer for his brain to sort out.
Who was president during the start of the Civil War and what specific piece of advice did his staff give him?
Ben's stomach ached like he had eaten a boulder for breakfast. These questions weren't ones he could even try to bullshit. But he had to put something down. Students were already getting up to turn in their papers, and the back of his neck burned at the thought they would see his empty page as they passed.
He had to write something. Everyone would know just how stupid he was and people would whisper and the news would spread like wildfire. "Ben didn't write a single thing on Mr. Flynn’s test today."
The humming came back again, louder this time. No one else seemed to notice it. He flexed his jaw, trying to pop his ears, but the humming peaked, making him cringe.
Voices.
His heart thrummed, pulsing at his neck.
They overlapped one another in a surge, too many voices to understand. He pressed his shaking hands to his ears.
It stopped. The classroom noises were tame in comparison. Everyone was still writing, oblivious.
That hadn’t happened. He’d imagined it. Or someone’s phone had gone off. He hadn’t slept much the night before so maybe he’d been daydreaming.
Someone cleared their throat—Mr. Flynn was staring right at him. The clock read 11:20 – only ten minutes left before the bell rang.
He looked back down at his blank test, trying to reassemble himself, to concentrate.
The jumbled letters on his test slowly reorganized themselves, but he didn’t know any of the answers. It was pointless.
If he had just paid attention to a single lesson...
Hockey plays. Mr. Flynn would think him a complete idiot but at least no one else would see an empty page. His hand was still shaking as he scratched out his answers. When the teacher called for the end of the test, each of the nine short-answer questions had nine corresponding plays below them.
"Pencils down, everyone. Pass your tests to the front."
Ben couldn't get rid of his fast enough but prayed it wouldn't end up on top. One tiny glimpse would prove none of his answers had anything to do with history.
The bell rang just as Mr. Flynn began gathering the stacks of tests from the front row.
"Man, that last question was way out of left field." Mike stretched his long legs and slumped down in the seat. His fingers drummed a beat on the desk.
The whole thing was out of left field. Since when did Mike talk about a test like that?
They made their way out of the classroom and to their lockers, bumping into other students in the cramped hallway. He caught sight of Abi briefly before the crowd swallowed her, her short stature making her difficult to spot. She looked happy.
As always, the complete opposite of Ben.
Something seemed different about the hallway. Had the school painted the walls? Replaced the lights? He banged his fist against his locker and it popped open.
"Dude, check it—"
When he swung the door open, silence rang in his ears.
Bright light poured out of his locker, and he squinted as the blurry images became clear. It was a field. Ben's locker had somehow transformed itself into a window, one that looked out onto a large expanse of tall grass. A methodical pounding boomed around him. His own heartbeat.
He tore his eyes away from the strange view to find that Mike was standing still, like someone had just hit pause on a movie. Ben turned and the entire hallway had stopped moving, mid-step, mid-sentence, mid-everything.
Had he fallen asleep during the test? He must have been dreaming.
Rolling golden hills led up to a single, large oak tree. There was nothing to compare the tree's size to, so he couldn't tell if it was close or really far away. Its branches cascaded down, spreading out like fingers in all directions. The sky just behind it blazed with pinks and oranges, casting beams of light in a halo around the tree.
"Benjamin…" He jumped. The tiny breath of a whisper had come from inside his locker. Pinpricks spread all over his body and he slammed the thing shut.
"—out."
The world pressed play again, and it roared back to life. He whirled around, panting, his heart thumping hard in his chest.
Mike didn't seem to notice anything had happened. And Ben wanted to keep it that way.
My mom is crazy, and now I am too.
"Sorry, what did you say?"
"I said," Mike dragged out the last word for emphasis, "check it out." He nodded at something behind him and Ben turned to look. It was Sandy, in the shortest shorts he had ever seen anyone at their school get away with wearing.
Ben couldn't care less. He put his hand on the locker door and, after a few moments, built up the courage to fling it open again. Nothing.
"She's going to be mine by the end of the month, mark my words."
Mike did this after every relationship he was in ran its course. Hell, he did it while the relationship was still running its course. Although Mike played like he was getting lucky with each of them, Ben knew that Mike was more of a romantic than that. Plus, he was pretty sure Mike just liked the drama.
Ben rolled his eyes and dug a notebook out from under a heap of forgotten gym clothes. He slammed the locker shut again.
"What's eating you?" Mike stood still. The
oddity of seeing him not fidgeting broke Ben’s urge to fling his locker door open one last time.
He struggled. Telling Mike what had just gone down was not an option. Mike stared at him expectantly.
"Thinking about that test," he blurted. And if he was being honest, the test really had upset him. Maybe that was why he'd had that...
He stopped himself—he wasn't going to think like that. It was a momentary lapse. That was all. Wasn’t it? Could the stress of taking a test do something like that to someone?
Was this his breaking point? His dad was already struggling to care for his mom, what if Ben needed caring for as well? An image of his spaced-out mom gripped him and he shook it off.
Momentary lapse. Momentary lapse.
"Oh yeah?" Mike was still rifling around in his locker.
"Dude, why didn't you tell me you were going to study?" Ben's left palm felt moist against the locker door. He dropped it to his side.
"I did tell you. When you were too busy texting Miss Thang yesterday after school."
"What the hell, man? Maybe next time you could give me a little more notice? I'm the only one that failed that thing in there." Ben's voice rose but no one really took notice. The noise of the hallway drowned him out.
"The hell you mean you failed that test?" Mike squared up with him. "You had plenty written down. Even for the last question."
"Yeah, hockey plays." He spoke through clenched teeth, hands tightening into fists.
A look of confusion crossed over Mike's face, then he chuckled.
The chuckle built into full-on laughter. "Are you serious?"
Ben wasn't about to stand there and be laughed at. "Fuck you."
He turned and left, a path clearing in front of him quickly. It was lunchtime and he should have been heading toward the cafeteria, but Ben couldn't think about eating right then.
They had always made fun of the people that studied so hard, his sister included. And now Mike was studying too? There was no way that Mike had actually mentioned he’d been studying.
Ben stomped into the gym and climbed the bleachers to sit where a group of hockey players and their girlfriends had gathered. He pretended to listen to them, his mind wandering back to what had happened at his locker, and the test before that. If his dad found out about either, Ben was in serious trouble.
Momentary lapse.
# TWO
Abi's heart sputtered then picked up speed. The rest of the class drifted away as she pressed a shaky finger on the email icon three times before it opened.
Her eyes skimmed the page, hoping to spot the answer, but she gave up, starting again from the top. She was light-headed, her mouth dry like she’d just eaten a cotton ball.
Dear Ms. Abigail Cole,
We, at Indie Youth Magazine, have completed judging for the Young Adult Inter-agency Excellence Competition and are writing to give you feedback on your submission.
Her stomach dropped.
You will receive a separate e-mail from one of our judges containing advice you might find helpful. His/her critiques should aid in shaping your future writing and editing processes as IYM strives to promote the best in our youthful writers.
Regardless of the changes you make, your short story will be featured in our Jan/Feb 2017 issue. You have our fullest congratulations!
Expect a third e-mail within the coming week providing details of the issue in which your winning edition will be showcased.
May your well never run out of ink,
Louise Magdelaine
President of Correspondence
Indie Youth Magazine
Abi's heart was beating so fast it took her a moment to realize someone was poking her arm, again and again.
"You look like you've just seen a ghost. You okay?" Cora whispered, trying not to gain the attention of Mr. Regan.
Abi wasn't afraid, no. She was holding in a squeal, trembling in her seat.
She nodded and passed her phone to Cora, afraid she might have imagined the letter. What if it was a fake? What if someone was trying to pull a joke on her?
It had been an oddly written letter, both the best and worst one she had ever received. Who began a congratulatory e-mail with a notification of feedback?
The same confusion passed over Cora's face.
"Oh shit!" Abi jumped, along with the rest of the class, but Cora kept stride. "Is this for real?"
"Excuse me, Miss Cora!" Mr. Regan glared in their direction.
Abi's cheeks reddened at the disruption to the class. Everyone was staring at them.
"Holy. Shit." Cora’s voice raised a few octaves.
"Cora!" The teacher slammed the yardstick down on his desk.
This snapped her out of it and she finally took notice of the class. "We're in the presence of a famous person here. You all mark my words, you'll remember the day I yelled 'Oh shit' in this class." With that, she handed Abi's phone back and gave the teacher her best model-student impression.
"Another outburst like that and you'll be taking a trip to the principal's office." Mr. Regan's threat elicited a few oohs and ahhs from the other students.
Abi had never been so happy to be so embarrassed before.
Once the class had quieted down, Cora texted her again.
Well?
She didn't reply immediately. Abi had been so antsy about whether or not she would get that email she hadn't given Cora's request serious thought.
Bzzt. Abi glanced at her phone again.
Now you have reason to celebrate! Come on, just one party!
Cora always did this to her, but for the first time, Abi felt a sly grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. She had waited months for that email and now that she’d gotten it, she felt light and…what if she said yes?
Mr. Regan's large belly grazed the smartboard, knocking two markers to the ground. Abi could tell he wrote them off as a lost cause as he continued his lecture, but she wasn't listening to him anymore.
Abi usually declined these persistent, almost forceful invitations. But Cora was right. She did have a reason to celebrate now. She glanced at her friend, who lifted her hands slightly in question.
"Live a little," Cora mouthed.
The class bell rang and Cora immediately perched herself atop Abi's desk in one swift movement, the cheap furniture groaning despite Cora's light frame.
"Well?" She waited a few breaths, but Abi didn't know what to say yet. For once, she wanted to say yes, but now that her dreams were coming true, she couldn't mess that up. Winning this contest was a stepping-stone to her leaving Logan's Bluff behind.
What if they got caught? What if she got arrested? Any hopes of working at a reputable publishing company would vanish before she ever got started.
"I know that look," Cora warned. "It's just one party. You don't even have to drink...that much."
Abi stood with her bag. Her friend walked backward in front of her down the row of desks.
"I can't. You know why!" Even as she said this, though, Abi had to bite the inside of her lip to hide her smile. She wasn't excited about the prospect of a party. She was excited about that email! Right?
"Yeah, because you want to be Miss Goody Two-Shoes and get into all the best colleges, and then rule the entire world." She lifted one hand to make grand gestures, her many rings clinking together, as they entered the noisy hallway. They veered left, toward their lockers.
"Exactly," Abi said, matter-of-factly.
Cora gave an exaggerated scoff. "You're too responsible for your own age. This isn't the end, you know. I still have—" Cora checked the time on her phone "—twelve hours to talk you into it."
Only when Abi's locker door covered her face did she let the smile stretch to its full width. She had done it! Months of poring over that piece had paid off and now she was doing it. She wasn't just dreaming anymore, it was happening!
"By the way...aren't you going to say anything?" Cora threw her bright blue hair over her shoulder, ever the one to go heavy on the dra
ma.
"It looks amazing! I'm sorry, I'm such a terrible friend for not saying anything before."
And it was. Cora's long hair was a sapphire blue at the top that faded to a dark navy toward the bottom. There was a part of Abi that had always been jealous of Cora's devil-may-care attitude. Cora pushed the limits, but Abi could never seem to let go enough to do that or be bold enough to pull off something like blue hair.
Beaming, Cora jumped into explaining how difficult it was to get her hair just the right shade, and how her mom reluctantly had to help her. "It took pretty much all night and I swear my scalp is still tingling."
"So if you spent all night doing that...?"
"Yes, Mom, I did my homework!" She let that settle in the space between them just long enough before adding, "Just not the homework we were assigned in class."
Abi huffed. She knew it didn't matter, that Cora would pass every class with ease anyway, no homework required. Cora half-heard something one time and remembered it forever. But since she never did her homework, she hadn't gotten an A since seventh grade.
"We should plan a big reveal for your publishing news tonight!"
Tonight? At the party? She hadn't agreed to that yet.
"I'm having dinner at your house, aren't I?" Cora's question didn't exactly sound like a question so much as an annoyed reminder.
Abi smacked her forehead. "Yes. I mean, no! I mean—you're coming but no big reveal.”
Cora knew better than to press that issue. The last thing they needed was excitement that Abi's mom couldn't handle.
They weaved through the narrow hallways toward their geometry class, Cora in the lead, until she stopped so suddenly that Abi ran into her.
"Cora! Are you okay?" Abi steadied herself but froze when she saw Cora's face.
Her eyes were wide. Fearful.
"What is it? What happened?" Abi glanced up and down, making sure there was no blood or bones sticking out or—
Cora's shocked face grew into an evil grin, one perfectly groomed eyebrow rising. "I just thought of a brilliant idea!"
