Wander Dust

by Michelle Warren

  Chapter 12: A Tour

  “You’re late,” says a short, spunky woman from behind a desk. She ceases pounding on her keyboard when we enter. By the look on her face, Gabe agitates her.

  “Oh, fluff, Ms. Midgenet.” Gabe tosses his palms in her direction.

  “He’s been waiting for you.” Her eyebrows pinch together in annoyance. She jabs her pudgy finger in the direction of a pair of frosted doors.

  Two people hover behind an elegantly carved desk when we enter—an older man, seated, and to my intense displeasure, Terease.

  I flash Mona a glance of disapproval. “What’s she doing here?” I don’t bother saying it low. Terease already knows how I feel about her.

  Gabe smirks at my comment but continues with the introductions. “Seraphina, this is our headmaster, Mr. Evanston. And I believe you’ve already met his extremely irritating pet, Terease.” He grins.

  Mr. Evanston steps from around his desk, rolls his eyes at Gabe’s verbal jab, and shakes my hand.

  Terease’s face expresses pained rage. Her dark eyes beam on Gabe’s. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s trying to burn his brain into a french fry, but he’s not reacting. He’s just smirking.

  “Please sit,” Mr. Evanston says. He hikes up his pants, showing his argyle socks, and seats himself on the front edge of the desk.

  Terease slithers to a nearby window, acting uninterested in our exchange. However, I continue to watch her carefully from the corner of my eye.

  “Well, Miss Parrish, we’re very happy to finally welcome you into our big family.” Mr. Evanston smiles through pristine dentures.

  “We were very sorry about your mother. She was an extremely gifted Wanderer.” His gaze drops to the ground.

  I squirm in my seat. I’m not in the habit of discussing Mom with strangers. That conversation is restricted to Mona and Ray. “Thanks,” I mutter.

  “I realize that accepting your new life will take some time to flesh out in your mind. The faster we can get you acquainted with the other students, the more at ease you will feel,” Mr. Evanston says.

  “Excellent strategy,” Mona offers.

  Gabe stands quietly by the door, biting his nails.

  Terease turns quickly. Her intense stare locks onto mine, but her eyes don’t engage the fire as they have before. Instead, she saunters to sit by Mr. Evanston. “As Mona may have informed you, I’m the Harvester.”

  I nod.

  “You see, I peer into the minds of students to determine if they have the capabilities to join us at the Academy.” She appears smug about her gift. “And when the time is right, I go and—shall we say—collect them.” She grabs at the air with her black claws.

  “I’m sorry that your abilities don’t work on me,” I say, knowing it will annoy her.

  Gabe snickers.

  Terease stiffens. Her eyes slowly find Gabe. As she’s staring at him, she begins to talk again. “All eligible students have a gift that can be broken down into one of three categories: a Wanderer—such as yourself, a Seer, or a Protector. It’s possible for variations, depending on the student,” she explains in her deep accent.

  Terease stands up and paces the office in sinuous movements. “There are three categories for a particular reason.” She turns to face me with her arms crossed. “You will be grouped with two other pupils and work as a team in your studies.”

  “A team? Why?” I regret the whine in my voice, but I hate depending on other people, especially for schoolwork.

  “Your abilities work best in a group. It will be all right. I promise,” Mona chimes in.

  “Do we get to choose our group?” I ask, envisioning P.E. class, where all the boys are chosen for teams first.

  “No.” Terease picks up a ruler and smacks it against the bookshelf near Gabe. He screeches in surprise. Terease laughs darkly. “In fact,” she continues and struts behind the desk, “it’s already been decided. Fate decides.” She leans into the desk, locking her eyes on mine.

  “What’s that mean?” I ask.

  “Gabe, why don’t you call in Seraphina’s team so they might get acquainted,” she says.

  Gabe opens the door as requested. Seconds later, a poised girl with cascades of dark-blonde hair enters. Her eyes lock on Mona, and then more briefly touch on me.

  “Seraphina, this is your Seer, Samantha James,” says Mr. Evanston.

  Samantha looks up and then crosses her arms. Her posture is flawless, and she can’t be any older than thirteen. Cinnamon freckles dust her face, making her seem younger than she probably is.

  Her apparent indifference to me doesn’t matter. I feel a connection with her immediately. Not as a friend or even family member because this is, in fact, the first time I have ever laid eyes on the girl. Somehow, she’s now an instrumental component of my makeup, like a limb. Fate decided. I understand; I don’t have a choice because the connection was there before I ever could have protested it.

  My mind trails to another thought. Samantha is most likely the “Sam” from my list. One more question answered and only a few more to go. Keeping a tally, I reel off the remaining names in my head: CC, Max, Francis Germ Bum, the Grungy Gang, and British Stalker Boy.

  “Hey,” I say to the girl, but she doesn’t return the sentiment.

  “Where’s your other half, Sam?” Mr. Evanston asks, concerned.

  “Couldn’t make it,” she says in an irritatingly cheerful voice.

  “Well, fine. I’ll deal with that later.” Annoyed, Mr. Evanston shuts the door. “Sorry, Seraphina. It seems your Protector is unavailable. You’ll meet soon enough.”

  Without giving me a second look, Samantha takes a seat next to me. She’s rigid in her chair, shoulders back, legs crossed at her ankles, hands neatly folded in her lap, perfectly ladylike. Attentively, she peers up at Mr. Evanston.

  He hands each of us a syllabus. My eyes search for anything familiar. “What kind of class schedule is this?” I read off the categories: “Team Tactics, Relics, Defense Arts, Field Trips,” and then the only thing I recognize, “History and Languages.” The last two items sit separately, under a column marked “Night School.”

  “We do, in fact, have those regular classes, math, English, so forth and so on,” Mr. Evanston adds, twirling the air with his hand, “but not in the traditional sense.” He hesitates and slicks back his feathered white hair. “Let me ask you a question, Miss Parrish. Did it ever occur to you that school is less than a challenge? Somehow, amazingly, you kept perfect grades?”

  “Ray says it’s because I have such a great memory.”

  “Ray?” He looks to Mona, perplexed.

  “Her father. He’s a Normal,” she says.

  I look at Mona, realizing they have a title for everyone else in the world. How original, “Normals.” It makes me uncomfortable knowing that I’m now not.

  “Oh, yes, of course, well that would have been the only way he could have explained it to you, I suppose. The truth is that your memory works at its peak when you hear the information.” He points to his ear, his voice rising with excitement.

  I consider his explanation. I should have realized that my memory works this way. My methods for studying have always been to read aloud to myself. I never bothered with writing notes during lectures in class. Listening always seemed good enough.

  “What does that have to do with the classes?” I ask.

  “Well, instead of making you go to regular classes, we simply let you take those classes in your sleep.”

  “In my sleep?” My mouth drops open.

  I look to Samantha to see if she believes this too. She only rolls her eyes as though I should know it’s true.

  “Yes, I know.” Mr. Evanston snickers through his nose. “Seems like a cliché…‘you can do it in your sleep,’ but you really can. Your regular classes and a few others, such as languages, math, customs, etiquette, and so on, are recorded so that you may listen to them while you’re sleeping. Having expert knowledge of all these subje
cts will allow you to blend easily into other time realms,” he explains while walking around the room.

  “It’s our duty to travel with responsibility, never disrupting the carefully balanced blocks of time,” Terease adds.

  Everyone looks at me in silence. They’re waiting for a response, but I’m too shocked. “Well—I mean,” I search for the right questions to ask, there are so many. “Are you saying I can remember everything I hear?”

  “More or less, if you choose to,” he confirms.

  “What about college? How am I going to be accepted based on my grades in—” I glance down at the paper, “Relics?”

  “Very simple. If you choose not to take your Oaths to the Society of Wanderers next year, and you want to attend a Normal’s university, they will receive the transcripts for your Night Class itinerary. If you choose to attend a wandering university, they will receive your real transcripts.”

  “There are colleges, too?”

  “A few scattered around the world. We’re a small number compared to the rest of the population,” he explains.

  Mr. Evanston must see the incredulous look on my face, and he begins again. “Really, Miss Parrish, you’ll find that you will be more prepared for university than most Normal students.”

  The information settles heavily on the outside of my brain, which seems impermeable to the possibilities at the moment.

  Hesitating, I look over at Sam, searching for a normal reaction from someone else in the room. That’s when I see something that can’t be explained, and my heart absolutely stops.