by Laury Falter
I found the teacher and introduced myself, quietly so I didn’t disturb him. For some reason, I was trying to delay the inevitable acknowledgement between us that we’d be in same room together for an entire semester.
“We sit in order of first name,” explained Ms. Wizner, a short, rotund woman with graying hair. “Easier for me to identify you. Now, that means you’ll be seated next to Jameson, since your name is Jocelyn.”
Right then, at that very moment, his head snapped up.
She and I were at my seat by that point so that she also noticed his reaction.
“Well, well, Jameson. That’s what it takes to earn your attention in my class? Sit a pretty girl next to you? If only I’d known last year…”
At that point, I watched my mortal enemy blush.
From then on, the tension flared between us. As the rest of the students filtered in and Ms. Wizner started her lecture, I didn’t have to look in Jameson’s direction to know his breathing was staggered or that his body remained motionless, rigid. By the end of the hour, the stiffness surrounding us must have been almost palpable. Feeling it full force, the first deep breath I took was when the bell rang.
Unlike the rest of the students, I didn’t rush for the door and, I realized, neither did Jameson.
When the commotion of skidding chairs, rustling bags, and hurried footsteps died down, we sat in a cocoon of quiet. Ms. Wizner had even left the room for a quick bathroom break before her next session started.
Jameson and I sat staring ahead, our arms crossed over our bags set on top of our desks, our feet unmoving. It was almost as if we both had waited for this moment and now that it arrived we didn’t know how to react.
I broke the silence. “Thank you for the birthday gift.”
He released his breath, which he seemed to have been holding for a good length of time while waiting for either of us to speak. “You’re welcome. Did it-”
“You should have told me who you were,” I stated in a rush, acknowledging what had held me back, what had kept me in my chair as the room had emptied, before my time ran out and I had to run for my next class.
“I was about to bring that up,” he admitted. Then he sighed, seemingly frustrated with himself. “I should have.” He nodded. “But I…”
“Yes?” I urged, not really caring my tone was harsh.
“I knew what would have happened, if you learned I was a Caldwell.”
“How could you be so sure? You don’t know me.”
He lifted one eyelid at me, skeptical. “Come on, Jocelyn. The first advice your family would have given you, probably before you even entered the city limits, would be to watch out for the Caldwells. And I’m a Caldwell.”
He waited for my response, that intense gaze settled on me once again.
I couldn’t deny it wasn’t true. It had happened exactly as he’d portrayed. “They’re only trying to keep me safe.”
“And you know, I don’t blame them. My family would have done the same thing.”
As I turned my head toward him, our eyes met, stirring something deep inside me. While part of it was the excitement of being within arm’s reach of someone who was incredibly dangerous to me, it was also the fact that he’d recognized that our families were, in fact, similar. Albeit, it was that we shared a preservation instinct.
My gaze dropped to my right arm searching for remnants of the scar that had now completely disappeared, that ailment that had brought me to New Orleans, the domino piece that had set in motion my introduction to Jameson. Then my focus drifted to the scar above his lip and I wondered if it had been inflicted by one of my family members. Hadn’t both families suffered enough, I wondered. Where did it end?
Ms. Wizner, along with several students from the next class, came through the door then, marking the time had arrived when we’d need to leave.
We stood at the same time, collected our bags, and left the class. But only a few steps from the door, Jameson stopped me.
“Jocelyn.” He waited for me to turn and face him. “I’m sorry for not disclosing who I am. That was wrong - but I don’t regret it. It gave me a little more time with you before we had to face reality.”
I nodded and he started down the opposite end of the hallway. Then I stopped him.
“Jameson.” I hesitated, wondering if I’d regret my next words. They seemed so simple but carried such weight. “I’m glad you waited.”
And for the first time since I’d left him on the street in the French Quarter, he smiled - that relaxed, charming grin that had captivated me and made me feel so welcome.
No matter what my honesty might bring, ostracism from my family or fury from his, I felt it was worth it to see that smile.
Then, a few more steps down the hall, I wondered what had just happened. Jameson and I, who were both bestowed the duty of being lifelong enemies since our birth into our respective families, had just acknowledged to each other that we’d wanted to spend more time together. It was ethically wrong, certainly unheard of, and very likely dangerous. Worst of all, it was impossible. Our families would never allow it.
I didn’t bother to try and stifle the despondency that surfaced with this revelation. In fact, as I glanced back in search of Jameson, I found he’d done the same.
Even though we were far from each other, several rows of lockers to be exact, I knew he’d come to the same conclusion. His shoulders slumped, his head bowed, his lips downturned, his forehead creased with disappointment…all told me the truth.
He disagreed with the position we were in too.
We hesitated, for just a second, our eyes locked on each other, and then we entered our respective classes.
Lunch came and went without a sign from the Caldwells. My cousins, having met me at my classroom door, took me to their eating spot, a table on the outdoor patio overlooking an expansive green lawn. I then surveyed the area for the Caldwells, which Oscar noticed.
“They eat inside,” he said, attempting to console me. “They stay well away from us, where they can’t start anything.” He yawned and stretched out his long, meaty legs. “Nope. Out here there’s usually just us, the girl who speaks to the dead, and her boyfriend.”
I held back laughter with a grin that told him I didn’t believe a word he was saying.
“No kidding,” he insisted. “She has a spot in Jackson Square where she sells messages…They were gone most of last semester, something about being in Europe, but they’re back and trying to make up classes so they can graduate.”
“Which one is she?” I asked and he pointed out a petite, dark-haired girl sitting on the grass.
“This is a strange world I’ve been let into…” I muttered.
He laughed. “That’s an understatement. Anyway, you won’t see any of the Caldwells out here.”
“They know better,” said Vinnia.
“So the ones I met in the hallway this morning…Was that all of them?”
“Pretty much. The tall one, Burke, is quiet but has a good temper,” Oscar explained with a snicker, telling me he’d seen it firsthand. “The two girls, Charlotte and Alison, are usually the instigators. They don’t mind starting something.”
“Or keeping it going,” Estelle added wiping her fingers on a purple napkin, specially included in her lunch bag by Miss Mabelle who knew her attachment to the color.
“Yeah, Charlotte and Alison, they’re my favorites,” I said wryly.
Oscar chuckled before continuing. “The other one, Dillon, is the youngest of the Caldwells so he’s stayed clear of us; although I don’t expect that to last long. Once his skill level is up I imagine he’ll use it. And then there’s Jameson,” he gave me an inquisitive look, “who you already know.”
“Not very well,” I corrected. “I just arrived yesterday.” I reminded him.
Oscar nodded and then smiled to himself, evidently realizing the truth behind my statement. “Right. Well, he’s the most peculiar of the Caldwells. Although they’re all similar in that they’re
patient, persistent, and smart, he doesn’t have the same talents as the others. Umm…” Oscar swiftly looked around and realized he wanted to keep whatever he was going to say next as private. Lowering his voice, he continued. “He channels. That’s his thing. He’s good with kids; they don’t seem to see through him like we do. When he sets his mind to something, he does it. No matter what challenge he’s facing, no matter how ludicrous. And, once a week, he leaves the city on some kind of errand, which we’ve never been able to figure out. Tried following him a few times but he always caught on and made sure we lost him.”
“Oh,” chimed Estelle, “and he doesn’t date seriously, has never had a long-term girlfriend.”
My head snapped in her direction. “But he’s…”
“Gorgeous, right?” Estelle filled in my thought.
“Undeniably,” I replied, shaking my head.
“And the girls notice it,” she reassured.
“He’s waiting for someone,” said Vinnia between mouthfuls of crab cake sandwich.
We all looked at her, curious how she might know this, but she simply shrugged, unable to speak beyond the food between her bulging cheeks.
Immediately, I wondered who that someone might be. It couldn’t be me. I was a Weatherford - he was a Caldwell. We both knew it wouldn’t work, which is why he spent those few extra hours with me. He’d been as interested in me as I was in him and wanted to make the most of our time the day before. This - here - right now was what he meant by “before we had to face reality.” This was reality. We would never be able to spend untainted time together again.
Vinnia’s statement settled in the back of my subconscious as I went about laying out my lunch. The bag prepared for me by Miss Mabelle once again showed her knowledge of my tastes. Inside I found a sandwich combining bacon-lettuce-tomato and peanut butter-jelly, Kettle chips and freshly squeezed orange juice.
The conversation turned to other topics then. Tough classes. Malicious teachers. But no one else brought up the Caldwells.
Even then, I couldn’t stop myself from searching for Jameson throughout the day, between classes or in the library where my cousins met after last class to get a head start on homework and to snack while waiting for the next, more mystical, set of classes to start.
As we worked through the mountain of assignments given to us on the first day of school, I continued to keep my hopes up that Jameson would walk through the door. He never did and a few hours later my cousins and I packed up and headed for the parking lot.
In fact, only Spencer’s casual warning got my full attention.
“Get ready for some real lessons,” he smirked lightheartedly as we slipped into his car’s bucket seats.
The truth was that each of the classes I was enrolled in seemed to be several months behind the academy so I wasn’t the least bit concerned about them. My nervousness was reserved for where we were headed and it was only compounded with Spencer’s next comment.
“Now, you’re going to need the canvas bag.”
While I had a number of questions for him, I didn’t bother to ask any. The fact was I had a feeling that I already knew the answers.
I was headed for another school, one that would be teaching subjects far outside the Department of Education’s mandate.
Inside, I sniggered. If only Alisa and Elizabeth could be here to see it. My physics class at the academy was probably going to pale in comparison.
He left the parking lot, with our cousins behind us, and headed for The Quarter, his speed telling me that he’d been to our destination many times before. Being that it was September, dusk had just begun to settle over New Orleans and, while the streets were still lit by the dampening sunlight, neon signs now shone brightly above the doorways beckoning tourists with jambalaya, jazz, and cocktails.
Spencer parked on a quiet street just outside the heart of The Quarter so that when I stepped out the tantalizing smell of southern food and the faint sounds of a jazz horn hung in the air. My cousins found parking where they could, as there seemed to be more vehicles parked on this street than most others in The Quarter, and then met us at an obscure wooden door.
We entered together to find ourselves in a long, dark, arched hallway. With the dim light of the courtyard guiding us, reflecting off collected pools of water and wet cobblestones, we made our way toward the opposite opening.
On the other side was a courtyard, which, like most others here in the city, was draped in flourishing vines. Buildings encircled us, sheltering us from the street, with a single balcony running the entire circumference of the second story leading the way to countless more rooms. I wondered if this might have been a secluded apartment building at one time.
After a sweeping glance of my surroundings, I found that others had arrived before us.
Groups stood in cliques beneath the second story balcony and by flickering gas lanterns mounted alongside various doors. In the hazy evening light, I scanned them and found we were all similar in age, some I recognized from the school we’d just left.
Immediately, my cousins merged with the groups, each one seeming to know at least one other person in them.
“Are these all the students?” I asked Spencer after he’d introduced me to a few of his friends and settled in to wait for the class to begin.
“No, there are classes each day of the week here, based on levels of ability. Most families start their kids as young as four-years-old and as they advance in their casting skills they move on to another level, another day.”
“Which one are we in?” I asked.
“We,” he gestured to the rest of the cousins, “are in the advanced class. You, however, were probably assigned this day to just watch and learn. There’s no sense in sticking you in a class with the second graders - Crafty Casters as they’re called - when you’ll probably pick up skills faster with us.”
“Ah,” I mumbled. “The advanced class…”
Oscar, who stood nearby, took this as a sign of nervousness and wrapped his arm around my shoulder protectively. “Don’t worry, we’ll keep you safe.”
Actually, I wasn’t concerned at all, even though admittedly I should have been. Instead my interest was piqued as to whether Jameson had made it this far in his casting skills.
As it turned out, he had.
I heard scuffling behind me and pivoted just as the Caldwells emerged from the shadowy hallway. I caught sight of Jameson instantly and had to consciously subdue the excitement that ran through me. I also noticed that his eyes quickly examined the courtyard until they landed on me. Then, very briefly, a slight smile lifted his lips.
The courtyard fell silent as the Caldwells made their way to the opposite side from us, fusing with another group of students, while the rest observed both families warily.
Apparently, the Weatherfords and Caldwells had clashed at this school, too.
An elderly woman came through a door then and stopped in the center of the students. She looked Haitian, petite, with thick braids wound up and piled on her head and an orange patterned dress that hung to her ankles. When she spoke, there was an authority in her voice that, despite her size, gave you the impression not to test her.
“I am Ms. Veilleux, the head of this school. Because of the student number this year, we will separate the class in two.”
Although no grumbles escaped from the students, there was an immediate air of surprise. They stood a little straighter, their attention more focused.
“The attendance list is posted on my door. I will give you the next five minutes to review it and to find your respective room. There will be no transfers, no exceptions.” With that, she returned through the door where she’d come as the students filtered toward the paper hammered to it.
The Caldwells steered clear of us as the students gathered and we searched for our names.
I found an A next to mine and was about to exit the crowd when a cluster of names drew my attention. The Caldwells. They were bundled into one group - Group A. The sam
e one as me.
We were to meet in the room on the opposite side of the courtyard, well away from the other part of the class.
Instinctually, I straightened my posture, tilted my chin up, and strolled through the crowd. If I was going to face them, I would do it with a show of confidence.
My cousins were waiting for me in the center of the courtyard, where I stopped to ask, “Which group are you in?”
They all replied at once, casually, some with a shrug - “B”.
I nodded slowly. “I’m not.”
Eyebrows rose as they stepped forward.
“That must be a mistake,” Estelle suggested.
“We should tell-” Nolan was saying before being cut off.
“It’s no mistake.” Ms. Veilleux had returned, standing off to the side where no one had noticed her. She had her hands clasped in front of her as if she’d been calmly waiting for this reaction from my cousins.
“Jocelyn will remain in the group assigned.” She paused to look each of us in the eye, seeming to tempt us into a dispute. Apparently, my cousins came to the same conclusion as I had. She wasn’t going to budge. When she received no response, she prompted, “Lessons will begin now.”
I exchanged looks of suspicion with my cousins but we followed the instructions given and headed for our respective classrooms. As I approached the door, I intentionally straightened my back even further. If I was going to spend the next couple of hours in a room with my enemies, I wouldn’t be showing any fear of it.
Then I entered the classroom with them directly behind me.
The room was simple with only small wooden tables set against each wall. The ceiling was low and the floorboards had gaps in them big enough to see the dirt below. They groaned as weight was unevenly distributed on them, an eerie sound in the nearly silent room. A muskiness filled my nose which, oddly enough, gave me a feeling of comfort, something I appreciated with my enemies at my back.
The students stood on the perimeter, against the wall, after stashing their canvas bags on the tables. I did the same, keeping my attention partly on the other students and partly on Jameson.
