by S. G. Rogers
A couple of her friends sat across from him. Giggling, they introduced themselves as Rachel and Heather. Brett dug in to her salad.
“Could history have been a little more boring?” she asked.
“No, but I think I made an impression on Mr. Dace,” Jon said.
Brett laughed. “The field trip sounds fun, though. I like Egyptian things.”
“Me, too! I was Nefertiti for Halloween once,” Heather offered.
Brett noticed Ophelia. “What a cool ring! Where'd you get it?”
“It was my dad’s.”
“I inherited a ring from my grandmother. It’s kind of sad I never got to meet her,” Brett said.
“I guess your ring is an heirloom, like mine,” Jon said.
“How did your father die?” she asked.
“He's not dead. He's just...not here.”
“Oh, yeah, it’s the same with my dad. My parents got a divorce when I was eight. It's silly, but I always used to wonder if it was my fault. Can I try it on?” Brett asked.
No biting, Jon warned Ophelia silently before he handed her over.
Brett slipped the ring on for a moment to admire the way it looked on her finger. “I like it,” she said, returning Ophelia to him.
Rachel and Heather giggled. Jon got the feeling they giggled a lot.
“I wanted to thank you for buying all those clothes from me, by the way. Because of you, I won employee of the month,” Brett said.
“Wow. That's great,” he said.
“I was a new hire at the store, so it meant a lot to me. I wanted you to know.”
They spent the remainder of the lunch period talking about nothing much. The girls asked him to draw pictures for them on their notebooks. Fred and Lee sat a couple of tables over. Jon could see Fred watching them with a glowering look on his face. When he gave Fred a toothy grin, Fred snarled in return. Although he couldn’t remember what he ate for lunch, Jon couldn’t recall ever having had a more satisfying dining experience.
The rest of the school day breezed by. In fact, the final bell came as a bit of a disappointment. He stopped at his locker on the way out, checking to make sure he had all his homework assignments. As he closed his locker, he noticed a bespectacled, sandy-haired kid waiting to talk to him.
“Hey,” Jon said. “You’re in my chem class, right?”
“Yeah. Casey Scott. I’m the editor of the school newspaper and I thought maybe you could do some illustrations for me.”
Jon gave him a sidelong glance. “Um, how do you know I draw?”
“I've got a spy who says you're wickedly talented. Come over to the newspaper office tomorrow after school and I'll give you an assignment. You can work on it over the weekend and bring it in Monday.”
“Okay. Sure,” Jon said.
Driving home a few minutes later, Jon began to hum. With the exception of Fred Spencer and Mr. Dace, his first day at Pacific High had gone well. As far as Fred was concerned, he would definitely have to keep up his work on the heavy bag.
****
The next afternoon, Jon went to the school newspaper office, which was tucked in the back of the administration building. He found Casey hunched over a keyboard in a windowless room stuffed with computers, printers, and stacks of paper.
“I was afraid you might have gone home by now,” Jon said.
Casey tore his attention away from the monitor. “No, I'm usually here until they kick me out.” He grabbed a large, thick envelope and handed it to Jon. “Let's see what you can do with this. Monday morning before school, okay?”
“Sure.”
Jon suddenly noticed one of his dragon drawings stuck to an oversized corkboard on the wall. “How’d you get that?”
“Brett Tanner gave it to me. She's kind of like your agent,” Casey joked. “You'll need to cut her in on whatever you make from now on.”
“Um…are you and Brett, you know...”
“Brett and I go way back. Just friends,” Casey said.
A smile tugged on Jon’s mouth. “Good. It's good to have friends.”
****
Over the weekend, Jon sketched out an illustration for The Wave, the official Pacific High monthly newspaper. Using a copy of the yearbook as a reference, Jon drew a cartoon featuring certain faculty members as reality show celebrities. Sela practically fell to the floor laughing when he showed her his finished sketch. Mrs. Hansen beamed. “You're so talented, Jon. Your father would be proud.”
At that, a feeling of guilt and shame suddenly hit Jon in his gut. For a few moments he’d almost forgotten his father was missing, a captive somewhere on Yden. Pulling on his training gloves, he went to the garage to work out. Thirty minutes later, the heavy bag was still rocking back and forth with the force of his frustration.
Chapter Eleven
Jon Comes Clean
The Wave was distributed at noon the following Friday. While Casey and Jon ate lunch at a corner table, Casey tried to gauge the general reaction. When heads bent over the paper and screams of laughter ensued, he decided Jon’s illustration was a hot property with teachers and students alike. Brett took delight in pointing Jon out across the cafeteria. Classmates detoured past to say hi.
“Gee, nobody cares about the exposé on bottled water versus tap,” Casey said, with an expression of mock hurt. “You've even got a fan club starting up.”
“Baloney,” Jon replied. “Women are only using me to get to you.”
As he headed to his next class, he noticed Fred Spencer was glaring at him with more animosity than usual. Several students paused to gawk when Fred slammed him backward into a row of lockers. “After school. Just you and me.”
“Sorry, Fred,” Jon said. “I've already got a date.”
Fred punched him in the stomach. “South-side parking lot, punk.”
Even though Jon was gasping for air on the floor, he could hear whispers about the big fight after school. He barely managed to skate into his chemistry lab before the bell rang.
Casey grabbed his arm. “I heard you're going to be massacred by Fred Spencer in a couple of hours.”
“Good news travels fast.”
“Maybe you'd better ditch school and go home.”
“And be branded a chicken?” Jon asked.
“Better chicken than roadkill.”
“You've got no faith. Bring a camera,” Jon suggested. “It should be newsworthy.”
“You're sick,” Casey replied.
“No, I’m just not going to fight Fred on his terms,” Jon said.
“What does that mean?”
“You’ll see.”
After the last bell, Jon hastened to the south-side parking lot, where students had already begun to gather in anticipation of the slaughter. Using the wall as a canvas, he scrambled on top of a sedan parked next to the school building, uncapped a marking pen, and began to draw. When he was finished, he’d created a huge cartoon of a big, dumb football jock, entitled “Fred.” The resemblance to Fred Spencer was uncanny, even if Jon did say so himself. Raucous laughter built as more students arrived and Casey snapped photos.
Fred pushed his way through the crowd.“Get down here, twerp!”
“The pen is mightier than the fist!” Jon declared, to wide applause.
“I'm gonna smear the pavement with you, Hansen,” Fred threatened.
He lunged for Jon’s leg just as Mr. Dace arrived. “Get control of yourself, Mr. Spencer. And that's my car you’re standing on, Mr. Hansen!”
Abashed, Jon hopped off. Mr. Dace shook his head as he surveyed the damage Jon had done to the wall. “Come with me to Principal Lloyd's office.”
“Ha!” Fred crowed.
“Not so fast, Mr. Spencer. That goes for you, too. Everybody else clear out of here.”
Mr. Dace waited until the students dispersed. As he took another glance at the cartoon, Jon heard him laugh.
****
“Your mothers are on their way,” Mr. Dace said.
Jon, Fred, and Mr. Dace w
aited in the hallway outside Principal Lloyd’s office. The silence was oppressive, as if they were waiting for a tornado to touch down.
“You're dead meat,” Fred said to Jon.
“That's funny, I don't look it,” Jon shot back.
Mr. Dace cleared his throat, and the two boys fell silent. At last Jon’s mother arrived, followed by Mrs. Spencer. A bead of sweat rolled down Jon’s temple. Fred didn't look as if he was doing much better. They filed into Principal Lloyd's office, where Fred immediately went on the offensive. “I don't know why I'm here. I didn't do anything.”
“I have several witnesses who saw you attack Jon earlier today. You tried to instigate a fight,” Principal Lloyd said.
“What!” Mrs. Spencer exclaimed. “Not again!”
“That's a lie, Mom! He, um...instigated me first!” Fred bellowed.
“There will be no fighting of any sort on this campus. You'll be serving detention, Fred,” Principal Lloyd said.
Fred stared at the floor, trying to avoid his mother's glare.
“And as for you, Jon Hansen, you may be a gifted artist, but nothing gives you the right to draw graffiti on school property,” the principal said.
Mrs. Hansen gasped. Jon winced, fixing his gaze on the Safety First poster.
“Not to mention the possible damage you did by standing on my car,” Mr. Dace added.
“Sorry about the car, Mr. Dace. I wasn't thinking,” Jon mumbled. “I was only trying to avoid the fight.”
“You should have come to me when you were threatened, Jon. You and Fred will be serving detention together every day next week after school,” Principal Lloyd said.
“I got football practice!” Fred protested.
“No you don't!” snapped Mrs. Spencer. “This is the last straw, Marion Frederick Spencer. Your father and I might pull you out of football.”
His mother’s threat managed to shut Fred up. As for Jon, he would have given anything to transport back into Mandral's dungeon. He'd forgotten to remove Ophelia, and his mother was staring right at her.
****
Mrs. Hansen and Jon walked to the parking lot together without speaking. Although Jon’s mother was usually even-tempered, he could tell she was seething. When they reached the Volvo, she finally broke her silence. “I'm going to pick up Sela. You and I will talk about this when I get home,” she said in clipped tones.
“Yes, ma’am.”
His mother was entitled to be angry. He’d messed up at school and he hadn’t been completely honest with her about Ophelia. Only one course of action remained to him now.
He had to tell her the truth.
When he got home, Jon put Ophelia on a dog tag chain Chaz had given him once and tucked her under his shirt. “This is the way it's got to be for now, but I'll still wear you at school,” he told her.
Jon waited for his mother and Sela in the kitchen. His sister ran in first.
“What's going on? Mom is furious,” she whispered.
“She saw Ophelia.”
Sela's hand shot out. “Give Ophelia to me. I'll hide her.”
“No, Sela, you can't cover for me anymore.”
Mrs. Hansen overheard as she entered the kitchen. She stopped dead in her tracks. “Is everyone keeping secrets in this house?”
Jon took a deep breath and told his mother the truth about the ring, the transporter cuff, and his travels to Yden. Of course, he skirted the more violent and dangerous parts; he saw no need to dwell on every hairy detail.
Mrs. Hansen stared at Sela. “So you knew about this?”
“Not all of it. I want a newtic,” she replied.
Mrs. Hansen paced the kitchen for a few minutes. “I can't risk losing you, Jon. Give me the ring and the cuff right now,” she said finally.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Jon was crystal clear. “I was afraid you were going to say that. I'm sorry, Mom. No.”
His mother froze, as if in shock, and Sela's mouth hung open.
“Dad is being held captive. I’m the only one who can bring him home,” he said.
“It's too dangerous, Jon! When those cygards see you, you’ll be arrested!” Mrs. Hansen exclaimed.
“Or worse,” Sela interjected with a shudder.
The image of Kira kicking at the dungeon door flashed through Jon’s mind. “I haven’t figured it all out yet, but that doesn't mean I shouldn’t try.”
“Stubborn, pigheaded...I don't know what to do with you,” Mrs. Hansen said, her voice cracking with emotion. “You're exactly like your father.”
Jon gave his mother a hug. “I hope so.”
Sela burst into tears as she threw her arms around the two of them. Then Mrs. Hansen had to spoil the moment. “You’re still in trouble for what you did at school today, Jon.”
“What'd he do now?” Sela demanded, wide-eyed.
“I know,” Jon said, deflated. “But—”
“No buts. You'll cheerfully serve whatever detention Principal Lloyd sees fit, and you'll reimburse me for the damage you caused out of your savings.”
“Okay. That’s fair.”
“What'd you do? Somebody tell me!” Sela piped up.
“You won't get into any more fights with Fred Spencer.”
“I’ll try my best.”
“Isn't anyone going to tell me what happened?” Sela asked, bobbing up and down in frustration.
“I'll tell you later,” Jon said.
“You two make yourselves scarce while I fix dinner,” Mrs. Hansen said.
Jon collared Sela as she made a dash for the door. “We’ll pitch in,” he said. “Sela, why don’t you set the table while I make the salad?”
“Er…I can do that,” she said.
As the family made dinner together, Jon was lighthearted. Telling his mother about Yden had been difficult, but it was the right thing to do. For the first time in months, he began to feel real hope the fourth chair at their table wouldn’t be empty forever.
****
After school Monday, Fred and Jon served detention under the watchful eye of Mr. Dace. They painted out Jon’s cartoon in mute hostility until Mr. Dace got a call on his cell phone and moved some distance away to talk.
“You're gonna be sorry, Hansen,” Fred snarled.
“Whatever,” Jon replied. “At least my name’s not Marion.”
“Shut up,” Fred said. “I'm gonna make sure everyone at Pacific High knows you’re a tabloid weirdo. Then you won't think you're so hot.”
Suddenly the can of paint was in Jon’s hands. At the last second, Mr. Dace stopped him from slopping it all over Fred. “None of that, son,” he warned. “Otherwise, I'll double your detention.”
Grudgingly, Jon put the paint back down on the ground. When some of it happened to splash on Fred's brand-new Nikes, he wasn’t especially sorry.
After he got home, he headed straight for the garage. It isn't fair, he thought, as his knuckles slammed into the heavy bag. Just when I’m making friends, the gossip about Dad’s disappearance will ruin everything. Brett and Casey would probably avoid him from now on. By tomorrow, Fred would make sure everyone at school knew Jon was a freak.
Sleep was impossible that night. Just before dawn, he dreamed Efysian was chasing him. Clad in a black fur cape, the Wolf Clan wizard kept pace, no matter how fast Jon ran. The dream grew even worse when Efysian transformed into an enormous wolf. He spit and growled as he pursued Jon down a long, stony corridor. Then, Efysian attacked. When the wolf’s claws raked his back, Jon screamed. He woke up covered with sweat and gasping for breath.
At breakfast, Jon’s sister gave him a hug.
“What’s that for?” he asked.
“You look like you need it.”
She was sweet, but he needed more than a hug. Grim-faced, Jon drove to school as if he were heading toward the gallows. When he pulled into the school parking lot, his breakfast of corn flakes threatened to make a repeat appearance. Finally, he slid Ophelia on, grabbed his backpack, and headed for his home
room.
Surrounded by a knot of cheerleaders, Fred was passing out fliers next to the lunch tables. Jon’s knuckles tightened as he slunk past, wishing he were invisible. One of the cheerleaders noticed him, unfortunately, and pounced.
“There he is!”
She grabbed Jon’s arm and then he was mobbed. Hands patted his head and back as if he were a lost puppy. Several of the girls clutched photocopies of the Magic or Mayhem? newspaper story. Fred had a stack of them in the crook of his arm.
“You're the bravest thing, Jon.”
