Melissa Nicholas said, “Mr. Russell, we get our letters this week, and some people have already gotten some.”
They were all seniors, and the letters were, of course, from colleges they hadn’t heard from yet. “So, how’s it going so far?” I asked, knowing I had a reprieve for a moment.
“Not so good for me so far,” replied Melissa. “But I’ve still got three more to hear from.”
I looked around as the kids looked at each other.
“I’ve heard from my safe school, Mr. R. Didn’t get in,” Josh Martin said. “It’s been a terrible weekend at home, I can tell you.”
“I know it’s none of my business. If anyone wants to talk about your decisions, I would be happy to help if I can. Even if you just have questions.”
Susan Adams said, “I got in early decision, Mr. R, but this is really hard for all of us.”
“Mr. R, I got an athletic scholarship to a school in Kansas,” said James Junior. “But my parents aren’t sure they want me to go so far. I’ve still got a couple of schools in the east, but no scholarship, so I don’t know yet.”
A palpable fear of failure permeated the class. “Listen, guys,” I said, “I know you’re worried. You’ve done all this work, all these years, and now it’s out of your hands. But trust me, the world isn’t ending. Your futures are just beginning, so be optimistic. The worst that can happen is you don’t end up where you want to go. When you get all your letters, then you can make decisions. If any of you want to talk when you’re deciding, come and see me. If you want.” A hand went up.
Josh asked, “Mr. R, did you like college?”
I hesitated, knowing it was a serious question. “Do you want a short, glib answer? Or do you really want to know what I think?”
“What you really think,” answered Marjorie Cousins.
“Okay. When I reached this week in high school, I had all my letters but one. It took five days after I was supposed to hear when it finally arrived. I walked home at lunch each day to check the mail because no one was home for me to call. So I know how anxious it can make you, the waiting. I got into my first choice school.”
“Where did you go, Mr. R?” asked Walt Bridges.
That’s the first time since I started teaching that a student has asked. Maybe things are changing. “Cornell,” I said. “Work’s gonna change, guys. You’ll have lots more time outside of class, but you’ll have tons more reading and writing, and you’ll have to study subjects you haven’t seen before. They don’t care how much work you have from other classes. So you’ll need to plan your time. And you’ll meet people from all sorts of backgrounds with stories of their own.” A quick image of my dorm hallway flashed. “My only advice is to try new things.”
“What was it like for you, Mr. R?” asked Terry Francis.
“Well, just to keep this short. The roommate I had my freshman year was also my roommate for our junior and senior years. We still keep in touch. I took classes in subjects I wasn’t remotely interested in, but I also took a lot of history classes. In my last year, I was a manager of the hockey team. That was fun.”
“You played hockey?” asked Josh, surprised.
“Nope. I love hockey, though. I kept statistics and picked up jock straps.” The class snickered. “Anyway, there are four years of stories to collect for yourselves. And I have mine, but I am not going to tell you now,” I said. A few ran through my head, and I grinned.
Walt raised his hand again. “Mr. R, will you tell us what happened on Friday?”
Finally. “We don’t have much time left, so briefly . . .” I told the class what I had told the first period class. As the bell was about to end the class, Kimberly Goldstein said, “So everything we heard about the forest and Robert E. Lee and all, all that was fake?”
“Not fake. It was a projection of an event. It seemed real when we were part of it.”
Kim said, “So it wasn’t real. It was fake.” The class laughed.
“I think you win the semantics battle, Kim. OK guys. Homework.” Over the complaining, I said, “I want you to write a two-page analysis of the difference between fake and fiction, using Friday’s events as you heard them to illustrate your arguments. Due tomorrow.”
“But, Mr. R, there’s so much to do already,” said Susan.
I smiled. “Welcome to college.” The bell rang.
As the second period class exited, Ashley walked in. “How’s it going,” he asked.
“Not bad so far, but the kids are much smarter about this stuff than I thought. The first- period bunch had some tough questions, but I think they believe my story.”
“I hope so, ‘cause George really put you on the spot.”
“That’s your fault. You provoked him.”
“Me?” said Ashley. “He’d be provoked if I said ‘hello’ to him today. He really seems to be nervous.”
“He’ll be fine when the meeting is over.”
“Gotta run. See you later,” said Ashley, as the bell starting third period rang.
••••
“WRITE THIS DOWN,” said the voice. “‘On Friday, the president made a surprise stop at Riverboro High School in New Jersey.’ Make up some kind of story around it. Got it? Good. Get it in the local paper up there.” The man returned to the report he was writing.
Chapter Sixteen
MY NEXT CLASS SAT WAITING, each kid leaning forward, fuses lit. I asked if they’d had a good weekend. Then it started. Raising both hands to hold off the onslaught, I felt like a rookie goalie at hockey practice. “OK, OK, settle down. My first two classes heard my story, but they weren’t there. You were. So let’s go over what happened.” For the third time, I told the same story. The class listened, ready to pounce when I finished. I took as much time as I could to run down the classroom clock.
Jason raised his hand. “Mr. Russell, if that’s all true, how do you explain the blood I put my hand in? It was wet and kind of red, and it came off on the handkerchief.”
“You know, I thought about that myself, Jason. I haven’t spoken to my friend about that yet. That’s a really good question. Tell you what. I’ll be speaking to him again this week. I’ll ask how he did that and let you know.”
Carol said, “Mr. R, if it wasn’t real, how did General Lee hold my computer on his lap? He seemed pretty solid to me.”
“And the tree stumps and the ground seemed real to me,” said Anthony.
“So you think it was real?”
“Well, I don’t know Mr. R, but it sure seemed real. But that means we all time traveled, doesn’t it?” replied Anthony.
“Does it?”
“Of course,” said Dan Wilkinson.
“What if, let’s say it was real,” I said, “what if General Lee came to 2015, rather than our having gone back to 1865?” I was thinking aloud. I got up and walked to the front of my desk. “What if we opened an entrance for him? What if General Lee time traveled? When the bell rang, we just walked into the hallway, and the classroom was like it always is.” Like a scale coming to balance, I thought. Could time work the same way?
The class settled into quiet thought.
“Are you saying that it was real, Mr. Russell?” asked Carol.
“No, but I want you to look at all the possibilities, especially if you’re not convinced I’m telling you the truth.
“But what about the books having no writing and the dates on your license and all?” said Marty Rose.
“It was part of the projection, I think, Marty. Remember guys, this is all new stuff, and it’s pretty advanced technology. I certainly don’t understand it all. But like I said, I’ll be asking questions this week. I’ll let you know how they did it. That’s if they’ll tell me.”
“Mr. R?” asked Pat Leslie. “This is all pretty weird. Why did you choose our class? And fourth period?”
“Pat, I didn’t choose the class or the material. I was pretty surprised too. I did know that something was going happen at some point, but not when. I just gave the
m a list of dates that were out, because there was something scheduled. Let me ask you all, did you find the visit with the general interesting?”
The class was brought up short by the change of subject. Clayton Waters raised his hand.
“Yes, Clayt?”
“Mr. Russell, I don’t know if it was real or not, but meeting Robert E. Lee was spectacular. I really liked it when we told him about cars and planes. And did you see his face when he heard about the moon landing? I think he was as surprised about being with us as we were with him. It might not have been real, but it sure felt like it.”
“And his horse was there too,” said Jason.
“Amazing as it was, I want to apologize to you all because I should have prepared you for something strange. I’m sorry,” I said, “I really am.”
“Mr. R, can we do it again?” said Dan Wilkinson.
I love how my students react to new ideas, even strange ones. If I could teach them anything, it would be to examine and analyze things before making judgments. Nothing makes me happier when they do. “Probably not, Dan. Mr. McAllister isn’t very happy with me right now. Anyway. Homework.” They grumbled, which didn’t surprise me. I told them I wanted them to write a well-reasoned discussion of the visit to the past and to explain why they thought it was real or not. “Due on Wednesday.” The bell rang, and the class began to pack up. I walked into the hall thinking, this is getting harder as I go.
Ashley left his classroom and walked toward me. His disheveled hair looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in weeks, and his long shirt sleeves were rolled up, baring an ugly six-inch scar. Some of the kids knew the story. He had tried to break up a knife fight at the beach the summer before he started at Riverboro, earned twenty-six stitches, and carried a fierce credibility with the students. When I first asked him about it, he just said, “You should have seen the other guy.”
Linda has a scar, too, from having pulled a bike messenger away from the taxi that had hit him in Manhattan. The broken spokes had torn into her leg. She and Ash still argue about who took the greater risk, who did the greater good, and who has the better cicatrix, as he insists on labeling his. In our short moment in the hall, he told me that his last class was a discussion of time travel. He assigned an essay for homework describing where they would go if they could, and why. He planned to give the same assignment to the rest of his classes and let them work on it in class. “I wonder if other classes are going crazy.”
I wasn’t really paying attention. I was thinking about the questions the kids had asked. A wave? “Ash, we need to talk.” Before I could tell him, the bell rang. I walked to the front of my desk, leaned back, and braced myself. “Hands down.”
Anticipation. They were ready, but I knew I had to be cautious. “I want to tell you about Friday. You may have heard something already, but you were there, so we’ll go over what really happened.” I repeated the story, more smoothly now after three rehearsals. I was astounded that they let me finish. But as soon as I stopped, hands flew up.
“Mr. R?” Johnny Clayton, not waiting to be recognized, jumped right in. “I didn’t see anything that looked like projections. I’ve seen holograms before, and those things had substance. It wasn’t just a light, and you could smell gunpowder.”
“And Jason put his hand in blood, and the ground was wet,” added Cheryl See. They were off and running.
Amanda said, “Carol had the laptop on the general’s lap.”
Bob followed. “There was a horse and another soldier, walking in the woods.”
David Jewels came with, “I could see other men in the valley moving around.”
“General Lee was looking at pictures, he saw your license, Dan told me, and he talked about cars and the moon. Why would they have programmed him to talk about those random things?” asked Matt. One after the other, this skeptical class pummeled me with what they considered proof. But of what?
I let them go on for a few minutes. “So you all think we time traveled? Is that what you REALLY think?”
Eric Silver, probably the smartest student in the class, said, “I don’t.” Immediate silence. All heads turned to him. He said, “First, if Einstein is correct, time travels in only one direction, forward. Second, I’ve been reading about experiments the government is doing on image projection for defense purposes. They are trying to synthesize matter using local resources from where they’re projecting. You said your friend makes advanced special effects. I wonder if the government and the special effects community are working together. I’ll bet that’s what he does. Third, nothing real could have been so cool. So I think that you’re telling us exactly what happened, Mr. R.”
Nothing I might have said could have been that convincing to the class. “Thank you, Eric. I’d like to read the materials you’ve been looking at.” I could feel my anxiety ease, as if my toes were a drain spout.
“Sure, Mr. R. I’ll give you the websites.”
“Me, too” came from Johnny, Cheryl, Amanda, Jack and David, together.
“And you should look up interactive holography, too,” added Eric.
“So, all you skeptics,” I asked, pacing the front of the room, “what do you think now?” The class got quiet again.
Amanda said, “Time travel is a myth, I guess. No one has ever done it. No offense, Mr. R, but if scientists can’t do it, why would you be able to?”
“Why, indeed,” I said. “No offense taken. OK, for homework, due Wednesday.” I had to raise my voice over the complaining. “For homework, describe what you would do if you could time travel. Minimum two pages. Tell me why and what you would do while you were there.”
“Mr. R?” asked David. “If Eric is right, does that mean we can only travel to the future? Does that mean General Lee traveled to the present?”
“Good question. Think about what Eric said and part of the essay should be a discussion of whether you think Eric is right.” Class ended. Saved by the bell.
As the class departed, I sat and stared at my now-clear desktop. Fifth period was going to be easier. The kids didn’t realize it, but they had discussed some of the questions I still needed to answer. While I stared from the door to the desk, hoping for a clue, a voice said, “Mr. Russell? Your face looks awful. Are you all right?”
Returning to the present, I said, “Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” But I still wasn’t completely paying attention. I pictured my feet in the portal and the rest of me in the hallway.
Same voice, “Are you sure?”
This time I looked at Marion and said, “Just thinking.”
“About Friday?” asked Sarah Bright.
I nodded yes. “Raise your hands if you’ve heard about what happened on Friday.” All hands went up. “Tell me what you heard.” Immediate cacophony. “Whoa. One at a time. Yes, Fran.”
“I heard that third and fourth period went into a forest and met Robert E. Lee.”
“And seventh period, you went to a fire,” said Steve Christopher, Matt’s younger brother.
“The fire was the Triangle Fire in New York,” said Tom Wyle. His voice reflected his shyness. “But that was in 1911. I looked it up. How did you do it, Mr. R?”
“I told you on Friday I’d tell you when it was the right time. I’ve spoken to Mr. McAllister, and we think you should get the real story. So here goes.” By now, I was able to deliver a detailed and more polished version of both visits to the past, better than I had yet. I dragged it out almost to the end of the period.
When I stopped, Sam asked, “What are you going to tell the other teachers, Mr. Russell?”
“The same thing that I just told you guys, Sam. Mr. Gilbert told me earlier that his classes have all been talking about it, so I’m probably going to apologize to the faculty for the disruption.”
Bill said, “I wouldn’t apologize. This is the most interesting thing I’ve ever heard, even if it isn’t real. I’d like to have a class like that. Can you get one for us, Mr. R?”
Shouts of agreement bounc
ed through the classroom. “That would be so cool, Mr. R,” said Kevin Maher. “I’d like to go to . . .” I stopped him.
“Thanks, Kevin. I stopped you because that will be your homework for tomorrow. Everyone, minimum of two pages—where you would go and why if you could time travel? OK, pack up” as the bell rang. It hit me then that I would have a lot of essays to read.
“Lunch,” I said to myself as Ash stuck his head around the corner.
“Still holding up?” he asked.
“So far, so good. But this has been a real effort. The kids are accepting the explanation, but I think some are unconvinced. Two classes want their own trips. And I don’t know how to stop that.”
He put his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll figure it out.”
••••
THE DOOR TO THE OVAL OFFICE opened. “Mr. President, I think you should hear this,” Tom said. The president stopped work on his speech. Tom reported that he had listened to five classes so far and picked the important parts. The president made notes.
When the recording ended, he grinned at Tom and said, “Well one thing is certain. He knows his students. I’m surprised he’s not a lawyer or a politician. He avoids the truth as smoothly as the best of them on the Hill. Thanks, Tom. If anything else happens, let me know.”
“Mr. President, Mr. Koppler listened too. I couldn’t stop him. I think he’s got a hookup to listen on his own.”
“Thanks, Tom. On the way out, would you please ask Lily to come in?”
Ms. Evans had been on the president’s staff before he was elected. She entered the Oval Office in a bright yellow blouse. “Yes, sir?”
“You are definitely brighter than it is outside,” said the president. “Looks nice. Lily, would you see if you can find Jim Koppler and tell him I want to talk to him, as soon as possible.
“Right away, Mr. President.” She didn’t like Mr. Koppler.
••••
AFTER CAFETERIA DUTY, I grabbed an oatmeal cookie and a bottle of apple juice and returned to my classroom. I tapped the doorknob. Nothing happened. Alone for the first time since the mysterious happenings on Friday, I unlocked my desk, and took out a pad and pencil. What is it that I know? I wondered and began to make notes. Door knob, paperclips, stuff on the desk, maybe in a particular order. Friday was stormy. Are the kids more attentive? I removed the books and the White House pamphlet from the desk drawer, put them where they were on Friday, and looked for the places that I had marked. Maybe I should change the markers. Although I didn’t notice, I was being watched through the window in the door. Then the door swung open abruptly.
Storm Portal (Quantum Touch Book 1) Page 15
