by Quinn Conlan
That leaves five groups. These must be the Backers and their entourages. I have a brief glance at each group. I think I can work out who the Backer is, from their central position and the way that others react to them. There is clearly a lot of wealth on display. Many vampires are decked out in designer clothes and some serious bling. Seeing all these heavy-hitting vampires in the one place, and for the first time, is an intimidating experience.
Mr Foggarty waddles up onto the stage. Jolly old grin: check. Bright red cheeks: check. “Well then! Here we all are! Welcome, one and all, to Backers Day!” Applause fills the oval. “What a treat we have in store. A feast for the eyes and ears! A banquet for the soul!” Something tells me Mr Foggarty wrote this speech well in advance. “I would like to officially welcome the Backers. We are honored to have you down here in our humble little world.” His jolly laugh echoes across the oval. “We would also like to welcome members of the New York Division Council, and, in particular, our great and venerable Division Chief, Alder Brinley.” There is weak applause. Alder is prodded by a Ruler, and he slowly stands up. He limply waves a hand in the air, before being yanked back down by a Ruler. “Well then! Don’t let me ramble on, or we’ll be here all night! Let the presentations begin!”
And so they do. The whole thing reminds me of Olympic gymnastics. Lots of events going on at the same time. We fan out and fall in behind whichever teacher has been put in charge of our year. Miss Montgomery has the Seniors. We have the pleasure of Mr Morrison.
He leads us towards the rapid movement track, fumbling through his running sheet as he goes. When he realizes we’re not quite ready for rapid movement, he takes us over to the diving board. Another wrong turn. It’s at this point that Abner steps in. He grabs the running sheet from Mr Morrison, turns it the right way round, and points us all in the direction of the row of dummies.
First year Combat skills may not seem that impressive to others, but I’m amazed at how far we’ve all come. We line up, grip our wooden stakes, and fling them hard and fast towards the waiting dummies. Nearly every dummy heart gets staked. And the ones that miss come mighty close. I can tell that the whole year is chuffed. As I look across at the stand, I’m not even sure anyone was watching. All eyes are on the Seniors, who are currently showing the world how far they can run in 10 seconds. I look over and see Kate at the starting block, alongside nine other students. Miss Montgomery blows a whistle, and they triple time it down the straight. It’s an amazing sight. Kate shines. She moves so fast, she has time to double back. There is wild applause from the stands.
I have mixed emotions about being on the periphery of proceedings. On the one hand, I’m glad to have the pressure taken off. On the other hand, I feel like all the hard work is wasted. I don’t think a single Backer has glanced in our direction.
Maybe our way with the blood darts will make more of an impact. We each take one of the decommissioned weapons in our hand. Mr Morrison blows his whistle, and we hurl the darts through the air at the long-suffering dummies. It’s harder to wield a blood dart than a stake. They have a habit of straying off course. Mine comes very close to the target, but pulls to the left at the last moment. Several others follow suit.
I notice that Garret’s dart lands directly in the heart of his dummy. He seems so chuffed. I smile in his direction. I don’t hear any applause from the stand, and I realize that it’s another display that has gone unnoticed.
We are herded by Abner to a spot further down the oval. Mr Morrison trails behind him, pretending to kick up a fuss about being demoted. It’s candle-bending time. We all sit down on the grass in front of a wall of candles. There is one for each student. Mr Morison has a timer, and he tells us that we have two minutes to work our magic. It’s not a lot of time. Most successful attempts back in the Skills Center took at least ten minutes each.
The whistle blows. I close my eyes and steady the ship. When I open them again, I stare straight at the candle sitting 10 meters in front of me. Different students have developed different ways of candle tampering. My own party trick will be to make it wobble from side to side. It’s not the flashiest trick in the pan, but I’m happy with it.
I continue to focus, forgetting the clock and blocking out all the sounds around me. My field of vision begins to narrow, until all I can see is the candle. I leave the flame alone, since it’s the candlestick that I’m aiming to move. My eyes hone in on the center part of the stick. I can feel my gaze becoming more and more intense. Suddenly, nothing else exists except for the heart of this one innocent little candle. I own it. It is ready to bend to my will. I have no idea how much time remains, but I know that my focusing has gotten so intense, it’s time to make a candle dance.
Something unexpected happens next. As I start to will the candle to wobble, a stronger feeling passes through. It travels across the field of focus to the candle’s heart. I don’t know what it’s will is, but I can tell it’s powerful. Suddenly, there is a rippling sound of waxy explosions, as every single candle in the line explodes! None are spared. Wax flies off in all directions. Some pieces of shrapnel make it all the way to the foot of the stand.
For a moment, the entire oval comes to a stand still. Everyone looks over at the bombsite. The only sound that can be heard is the high-pitched whimpering of Mr Morrison. He copped a particularly large glob of hot wax to the face. The force of it flung him backwards onto the grass. “Well that’s not cool!” he says, as Abner helps him to his feet.
Only, it is cool. Very, very cool. I know it was my will that did it. But no one else does. As far as the rest of the oval is concerned, it could have been any one of us Juniors. I remember the advice of Lily – don’t stand out. I’m torn. I want to claim ownership of the waxy massacre, but it would naturally make me a ‘star on the rise’ in the eyes of the Backers. If not downright steal the whole day. I opt to remain quiet, as students look along the line at one another, trying to figure out who’s responsible. As activities resume, and we move onto the next station, I look over at the stand and see Lily. She’s sitting with the teachers and she’s looking right at me. She knows. Her face doesn’t show it, but she knows. I wonder if anyone else can work it out? So much is going on, I feel pretty safe in my anonymity.
On our way to the next pit stop, I have another glance at the Seniors. They’re climbing up the high diving board and showing off their flying skills. Apparently, when you’re learning how to fly, it’s a lot easier to go from a falling start. Levitating off the ground takes years of practice. I remember seeing Vincent do it in the Square, and boy was it impressive.
I watch the Seniors as they take the leap of faith and hover in the air. Some students are advanced enough to perform a few aerial tricks. Kate puts them all to shame. She walks the plank, hovers for a moment, and then shoots off through the air! She goes flying towards the stand, sweeping in close to the audience. It’s a hell of a sight. She flies with speed and confidence. I knew she was good, but not that good.
She makes her way back towards the Seniors group and comes to a gentle landing. Wild, jubilant clapping and hoots accompany her. I could not be happier for Kate, as I think about the exciting life that awaits her above ground.
Mr Morrison ushers us, with Abner’s confirmation, to a series of small wooden stages. Our next presentation involves a sequence of basic Combat moves. We split off into groups of five, and disperse amongst the stages. When the whistle blows, we perform a rapid cycle of rolls, kicks, punches and blocks. Mr Nakamura watches on from the stand. As usual, his face betrays nothing, but I know he is scrutinizing our every move.
I’m happy with my sequence. I almost lose my footing when coming down from a flying kick, but I stay the course. Compared to the Seniors, they’re all basic moves. But I still feel proud.
The final presentation for us newbies is the sonnet recitation. It takes place back on the original stage, right in front of the stand. We file onto it and line up in a long row. One by one, we try to do justice to the ancient poem.
It’s over. For us, anyway. We’re allowed to take a place in the stand, away from the invited guests, in the top right hand corner. For the rest of the event, we’re spectators. The Seniors have considerably more presentations than us. It’s heartening to watch them, because we’re looking at our future selves. I hone in on Kate, who is currently wowing everyone with her advanced weaponry skills. She brandishes a double-headed axe and has a mock fight with another Senior. The fight is won on points, or if a student manages to knock the axe out of the other student’s hands. It takes Kate no more than 20 seconds to knock her rivals’ axe to the ground. More wild applause greets her prowess.
What I find most amazing about today is that it’s a mere taste of what’s to come at the end of year Selection. “Imagine this going on for seven days,” I say to Garret. We watch the Seniors get tested on the infamous neck angle. They form a long line that snakes across the oval, and one by one, they tilt the head of their neighbor. Miss Montgomery walks along with a specially designed compass and tests the angle, writing down her results as she goes.
As the head tilting continues its slow ripple down the line, Mr Morrison walks up the stairs towards us Juniors. He’s carrying a bundle of papers, and still picking bits of wax from his hair. He’s got our exam results. He starts to hand them out, but doesn’t get very far. Names aren’t his strong suit. On instinct, Abner leaps up, grabs the bundle of papers, and begins distributing them.
I’m pleased. 72 for Vampology, 70 for Vampirricals, and 95 for Fables. That last mark blows me away and should lift my average nicely. Garret and I swap papers. He got an 80 for Vampology, 75 for Vampirricals and 68 for Fables. He’s stoked. We kiss each other. Things have gone well.
I look around for my friends. Kit is a row in front, next to the long-suffering Abner. I tap her on the shoulder, and she turns around looking pleased. I noticed that she’d struggled somewhat in the physical presentations. Neither her stake nor her blood dart hit the target, and her high kick didn’t meet the regulation height. Her written results make up for it though. 90 for Vampology, 96 for Vampirricals and 75 for Fables. Judging by the way they embrace, I’d say Mr Sniffles did similarly well.
I look around for Jason. I didn’t see any of his physical presentations, so I have no idea how his day has gone. Up on stage, I’d listened closely to his poem reading. He got through it, but only just. I’d really like to know how his exams went. I search the stand and see him up in the top right corner, sitting with his men’s club mates. They’ve turned their results into paper planes. Jason launches his in the direction of the Backers. He looks down and sees me. In the brief window I have before I know he’ll look away, I try to convey with my face my curiosity about his results. He stares at me for just a moment, with a blank expression, before turning back to his trouble-making chums.
As the presentations finally draw to a close, the Seniors join us in the stand. Mr Foggarty takes to the stage. “Well well! What a spectacle! Students you have performed most admirably. I’m sure the Backers and Council members will agree. And so. In accordance with tradition, the Backers will have the opportunity to chat in a more intimate setting with our Senior students. In addition, three Juniors who performed particularly well will be given the rare opportunity to meet the Backers. What a treat!” Wow. I didn’t know about this last part. “And so, I will encourage the following Juniors to come forward to the stage. If your name is not called, you will be asked to return to your lockers and then make your way to the reception room. And just in case any of you need reminding, later on tonight we have the Backers Ball!” The whole school erupts in a cheer. Mr Foggarty laughs. I look across the stand and the Backers don’t seem terribly amused. “Well! Without further ado, I would like to call the following Juniors to the stage. Garret Johnson.” He looks shocked to hear his name. I can’t say I am. He heads down the stand to the sound of hooting and clapping. I’m glad he’s well liked. Mr Foggarty continues. “Abner Holling.” Score one for the mathletes. “And finally, Blake Randell.” Now it’s my turn to be shocked. I didn’t think I particularly stood out in the presentations. There was the whole candle bomb incident, but they couldn’t have known that was me. It must be my 95 for Fables that’s earned me a spot.
I join Garret and Abner on stage and the rest of the Juniors leave the oval. The entire Senior class comes and joins us. I get a brief moment to see Kate, as we wait for the Backers to make their way towards us. We hug. I’m thrilled for her. “Kate, you were beyond amazing.”
“Thanks Blake. That means a lot.”
“I can’t believe you actually flew! I didn’t know you could do that.” Kate pauses for a moment. She’s happy, but there’s something else. She’s reflecting on something. She stares at the stage floor for a long time. I can see the Backers walking up the stairs to join us. Kate looks across at them, then back at me. She leans in close to my ear to whisper.
“Promise me something Blake. If anything happens, promise me you’ll find a way to fly.” I’m puzzled by her words and the expression on her face. She almost looks afraid. But I believe her. I don’t understand what she means, but I believe her.
“I promise,” I whisper. Kate hugs me one last time before returning to the Seniors line.
Slowly, five Backers make their way across the stage. Their entourages have remained in the stands. They watch on keenly. Mr Foggarty rushes to greet the Backers and directs them first to us three lucky Juniors. It’s a bit like meeting the Queen. All lined up and ready to curtsey. I know from the literature that Backers are rivals. It can’t be easy for them to be standing side by side today. Garret leans in and whispers, “so this is what all the fuss is about.”
Indeed it is. The first Backer comes to greet us. He’s an obese man in a floor length chinchilla monstrosity and so much gold it’s a miracle he can stay upright. He has enormous black shades wrapped around half his face. He approaches and smiles, revealing, you guessed it, several gold teeth. I wonder if his fangs have been gold plated? “Who do we have here?” he asks, and if his apparel didn’t make him unlikeable, his voice sure does. We introduce ourselves. It’s hard not to be nervous, since from day one down here we’ve been taught that everything is about the Backers. Now, suddenly, here they are in the ample, blinged-up flesh.
He doesn’t remove his shades, even though we’re in the candlelight. Never a good sign. “Call me Bones,” he says with a beaming, gold encrusted smile. I’d rather call him a cab. He holds out his hand, palm facing downwards. I almost think he wants us to kiss it. One by one, we three minnows give him a lopsided handshake. I get nothing but bad vibes.
He seems impressed with Garret, complimenting him on his physical prowess. “I can always use more brawn in my neck of the woods,” he says. I can tell Garret is as unimpressed as I am, although he hides it well behind his usual politeness. Bones likes the look of me for entirely different reasons. “Enchanted,” he says when I take his hand. I wish I could say the same. We chat briefly about our presentations and exam results. It all seems so well rehearsed, yet laced with hidden motives. Bones finally struts off to meet the waiting Seniors, and we turn to face the next pimp’d up cab off the rank.
It could be Bones’ brother. Another outlandish parade of excess, another voice my heart recoils from. This guy has one of those fox furs draped around his neck where the heads are still attached. The long-dead foxes have had their fangs sharpened to resemble those of t
heir master. A charming touch. He walks with the aid of a diamond-encrusted cane. His name is Julius, and the only difference between this guy and the last guy, is that it’s Abner who takes his fancy. He actually walks straight past Garret and I without even saying hello. “So I hear you’re the numbers man,” he says to a clearly nervous Abner. Abner shakes Julius’ top-heavy hand and nods. “A good number cruncher is hard to find,” says Julius. I can’t help but feel that Abner’s fate has just been sealed. “Mr Curzon tells me you got a perfect score on your first exam. That true?” Again, Abner nods nervously. “Well then. Be seein ya kid.” Without even looking at Garret and I, Julius slithers off to intimidate the Seniors.
What a strange world we’ve been thrust into. I glance at Garret. He looks as mortified and uncomfortable as I am. I hope I’m hiding it as well as he is. “I feel like a used car,” he says, through the corner of his mouth. I try to suppress my smile.
“Would a spit and polish have killed ya?” I say, from my own mouth corner. It’s on.
“I’ll give you a spit and polish in a minute.”
“Dream on white boy.”
“You need to take what you can get farm girl.”
“You need to make peace with the fact that you’ll soon be Bones’ bitch.”
“Jealous much?” I would so gladly stand here and continue to trade mock blows, but the third Backer calls the fight.
She’s a severe looking woman in a designer dress and pearls. Her name is Aphra Prentice-Parker, and the only way I can think to describe her is the vampire equivalent of an Upper East Side matriarch. She looks disapprovingly at each of us. Her voice is very measured and controlled, but laced with all manner of snobbish judgment. “You’re the baseball player then are you?” she asks Garret.
“Ah, football ma’am,” he politely replies.
