Foxworth Academy

by Chris Blewitt

  Brett and Ally changed into their early twentieth century clothes and climbed into their respective glass enclosures. They both nodded at the professor as the tubes closed and they were sealed away from the world. Mr. Martin smiled as he walked over to the wall with glowing lights and switches. He pushed some buttons and flipped some switches. Brett looked over at Ally as the voice boomed overhead, “Your mission...SAVE”, and within seconds, all went dark.

  <><><><><>

  Southampton was quiet when Brett came to. It was still morning when he found himself in an alleyway a short distance from where he’d disappeared the day before. It was only seconds before Ally was standing right next to him, regaining her balance as if she just jumped off a balance beam. It was slightly colder than she remembered and she soon wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

  “Why does it feel colder?” she asked.

  Brett shrugged and replied, “Feels the same to me. Let’s start walking.” They continued down the alley until they came to an intersection. Looking left and right, the scene was the same: small one and two story buildings that were attached to each other showcasing homes, shops, and small offices. On the left they noticed the same boy they had bought the newspaper from shouting “Daily Echo!” on the corner. They walked towards him to try and regain their bearings. They still had no idea where they were or what they were supposed to do.

  “I can’t stop shivering,” Ally said.

  “Look, that place up ahead looks like a little café or restaurant, let’s go inside.”

  Brett and Ally walked up to the front of the Tremont Café and opened the heavy wooden door. It was brightly lit and almost looked like the inside of a home. There were couches, chairs, bars and small tables scattered about the place. A handful of people were sitting on chairs or standing at the bar, drinking beverages out of plain, white ceramic or porcelain mugs and cups. A disheveled looking man with stained, brown pants and a grimy white shirt with suspenders, was sitting at the bar nodding off when Brett and Ally walked in. He raised his cup and turned to look at them.

  “Well, look what the cat drug in,” he slurred, spilling some of his drink in the process. “Ssshhhshouldn’t you two be down at the docks working? Or at least you ssshould. The pretty one there should be down at the factory, folding shhhheets and towels.”

  Brett and Ally just stood there not knowing how to reply to the drunken man. They turned to walk back out of the café when they heard a voice from behind the bar. “Never mind you, William, you leave those children alone.” The woman walked over to the bar with two steaming plates in her hand and set one down in front of the man named William and another she brought to a man sitting in the corner reading a newspaper. “Come in, come in,” she pleaded, gesturing with her arm to a small table near the back of the cozy room. A great amount of heat was coming from the fireplace nearby and Ally was anxious to sit down. The woman had the girth of two high school freshmen, Brett thought, and the short, brown hair of a boy which was underneath a white bonnet. She wore a long, green dress that was half covered by a greasy, white apron. “Does not surprise me a wee bit that you are skipping your duties today,” she said. “Tea with or without milk?” she asked.

  Brett and Ally looked at each other. Brett spoke first, saying, “Two without please.”

  The woman walked away and Ally said softly to Brett, “Tea? We don’t drink tea. Well, at least I don’t.”

  “I don’t either, but it seems like everyone here does, so we will too. This further confirms our thoughts that we are in England.”

  “Shh,” Ally whispered.

  The woman returned with two small cups and a small kettle with steam coming out of its spout. She placed them on the table alongside a small glass bowl of sugar. “Anything to eat, folks, before you make your way down to the harbor?” She winked. “That is where you’re going, right?”

  Brett played along, “Yes.”

  “How about a few lemon scones to fill up your skinny bones?”

  “Sounds great,” Brett replied.

  “The harbor?” Ally asked when the woman was out of earshot.

  Brett just shrugged his shoulders. “We’ll check it out after we eat.”

  <><><><><>

  The class watched Brett and Ally on the big screen TV chewing away on their scones and sipping their teas. Both of them had put a healthy amount of sugar in their cups.

  “It’s definitely England, Mr. Martin,” a girl said near the front. “Tea? Easy giveaway.”

  “Is that your final answer, as they say on that old game show?”

  “Yep,” she replied.

  “You are correct, Tina. Although I’m not sure tea was the easiest of hints. They drink tea all over the world. Ireland consumes almost twice as much tea as England. But five points to you, Tina.” He went over to the blackboard, picked up a piece of chalk and wrote while speaking. “So we know they are in Southampton, England in April of 1912. What happened here on this date? Or close to this date?” He turned to the class. “No one?”

  They stared back him and turned to one another.

  “I understand,” Mr. Martin said. “You only get one chance to answer, but I thought at least one of you would have the correct answer based on the date and the location.”

  A boy in the back of the room cautiously raised his hand. He had dark hair and dark eyebrows and seemed skeptical in his response.

  “Chase Browning, adda boy. Let’s hear your one and only guess on what’s going on here.”

  The boy brushed his bangs away from his eyes, exhaled, and looked at Mr. Martin. Full of confidence he said, “It’s the start of World War one.”

  Like in a tennis match, every pair of eyes went from Chase Browning in the back of the room to Mr. Martin in the front. The teacher nodded his head slowly, crossed his arms, and walked to the other side of the classroom. There were murmurs slowly forming throughout the students and even Chase Browning started to smile.

  “Not bad, Mr. Browning, not bad at all. Only problem is, you’re two years away. World War one officially started in 1914. Very good guess, Browning, very good indeed.”

  The kid was crushed and he dropped his head onto his chest.

  “I give Mr. Browning here credit,” Mr. Martin said to the class. “Anyone else want to step up to the plate? Throw their hat into the ring? Take a bite out of history?”

  All was quiet.

  “Well then, let’s resume watching, shall we?”

  <><><><><>

  Although the sugar helped, the tea was certainly not to their liking. They managed to get through half a cup, mostly to wash down the dry lemon scones they were eating. Soon, the café emptied. Brett surmised that they were all going to their places of employment, wherever that may be. He waved the woman over and asked for the bill. She verbally said they owed sixty-five pence.

  “Cents?” he asked.

  “My dear, cents is the American word. Here in England, we say pence. You really aren’t from around here, are you?”

  Brett did not act surprised when she said they were in England, he figured as much. He reached into his pocket and found some coins and paper bills, thoroughly confused as to how much each coin was worth.

  The woman chuckled and grabbed a few coins from his palm. “That should cover it,” she said. “Now then, I assume you will make your way to the harbor?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Well, you better get going,” she said looking at the clock on the wall. “Have a safe trip.”

  “Smooth,” Ally joked when the woman was out of earshot.

  “Have you ever seen pence before?” he replied.

  “Nope. This hat is so itchy,” she said, reaching under and lightly scratching her forehead.

  He laughed. “Looks great though.”

  She cocked her head and gave him a disapproving look. “Well, I guess we should get down to the harbor, wherever that is.”

  “We could ask,” he said, taking one last sip of his lukewarm tea.
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  “She already thinks we’re going there, we can’t ask.”

  “What about that bum over there by the bar? He seemed to have a liking for you.”

  “Funny. Let’s just walk. It’s probably where we saw all the boats.”

  They got up from their chairs and Brett stopped and said softly, “What do I tip?”

  She shrugged and replied, “I don’t think they tip over here.”

  He dropped a couple of coins on the table and said, “Better safe than sorry.” They pushed the chairs in and made their way to the exit. The street was getting busier and many people were walking in the same direction in groups.

  “You know what?’ Ally asked. “There are no cars here.”

  “Good point. Guess in 1912 they hadn’t been invented yet.”

  Brett and Ally followed the streams of people, hoping it would lead them to the harbor. They turned the corner, quickly noticing the residential area had turned into a manufacturing area. Workers were hustling into fenced-off properties and were ushered into small doors on the sides of brick buildings. As they continued, more people walked in their direction. They arrived at a dead end, turned left, and could smell the ocean. Seagulls squawked overhead, and a horn blew in the distance.

  “Must be close to the harbor,” Ally said. “I love the smell of the ocean.”

  “Yeah, but then what?”

  Ally shrugged. “Beats me.”

  They made one more turn and the harbor came into view. Small boats were rowing and motoring out into the channel and larger vessels could be seen in the distance, their smoke plumes drifting aimlessly into the sky. They followed the crowd along the water. In the distance, music was playing. The breeze coming off the water was cool, prompting Ally to wrap herself in her own arms. They made one last turn around a bend of trees and stopped dead in their tracks.

  “Wow!” Brett said.

  “What’s going on?” Ally replied.

  There were hundreds, if not thousands, of people standing near the dock. Policemen on horseback sauntered along, controlling the large crowd. Some people danced to the sound of a band, a brass ensemble, playing an upbeat tune neither Brett nor Ally recognized. Children bounced balls to each other, while dogs were running rampant, without leashes or collars. The scene was festive and alive until Brett was caught by surprise when he noticed something sitting in the harbor beyond the mass of people.

  Brett grabbed Ally’s hand and started walking toward the crowd.

  “This is it,” he said.

  “What?” she said. He could barely be heard above all the noise.

  “This is it! This is our mission.”

  “What is?”

  He didn’t reply, instead walking ahead. A sign read: White Star Line. To the left, a hoard of people milled about, and to the right, was one of the biggest ships he had ever seen. It reminded him of a ten-story building back home in Wilmington. He picked up his pace, jogging the length of the ship. As he neared the bow on the port side, he stopped and stared.

  “Slow down,” Ally said, catching up to him. “What? What is our mission?”

  Neatly painted on the side of the ship were the seven letters that would make or break their first semester of high school.

  Brett pointed and said, “We’re here to save the Titanic.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The class hooted and hollered as they saw Brett and Ally standing in front of the great monstrosity, revealing the ship’s name: R.S.S. Titanic. The class was in awe, many students staring at the ship’s four gigantic smokestacks towering into the air. People were already on board, standing on the decks, waving to their loved ones below. A steady stream of people made their way on board, handing their tickets to an agent from the White Star Line, the ship’s operator.

  “Okay, they have discovered their mission,” Mr. Martin said. Let’s bring them back and discuss it, shall we?”

  It was more of a statement, rather than a question. Mr. Martin went into the utility closet and closed the door. The students watched as Brett and Ally moved slowly along the harbor dock, admiring the ship’s bulk. Women cried as their husbands climbed aboard, while children tried to sneak onto the ship, all to no avail.

  Brett and Ally heard three short sharp blasts of the ship’s whistle.

  Brett turned to Ally. “What now? How do we get on board?”

  Seconds later they disappeared from 1912 and emerged soon after from the closet, fully dressed in their own clothes. Once again the class applauded.

  “Okay, okay,” Mr. Martin said, pushing his hands down as if to quiet to the class. “We have some time left to discuss. Good going, the both of you. You put two and two together and found your mission. This was the creation of whom?” He gestured to the class. “Who wrote down Titanic on their little piece of paper?”

  All of the students’ heads turned and glanced around the classroom until a short, pimply-faced boy raised his hand.

  “Oliver, well done,” Mr. Martin said. “You’re the one whose paper was pulled and was lit on fire the other day. Yes,” he nodded to Brett and Ally, “you need to save the Titanic.”

  “How?” Ally said.

  Mr. Martin laughed. “If I told you that, what would be the point of sending you back? Now, can anyone tell me anything about the Titanic? And I expect more than what you got out of the movie.”

  “It hit an iceberg,” Brett replied, not waiting to be called on.

  “Genius!” Mr. Martin exclaimed. “Yes Brett, it did. It hit an iceberg in the middle of the night; at eleven-forty to be more precise on April 14th, 1912. She sank roughly two and a half hours later at 2:20 am. What else?”

  A few hands rose. “Yes, Brian.”

  “They didn’t have enough lifeboats.”

  “Correct again. Due to maritime safety regulations at the time, she did not have to carry enough lifeboats for the passengers and crew. There were only enough for about twelve hundred passengers. Unfortunately, she carried over twenty-two hundred souls onboard that fateful night. Gimme more, something that wasn’t from that darn movie. Not that it wasn’t a good movie, but I want something you may have learned on your own.”

  The room went still. All the hands that were up were now down. Mr. Martin waited patiently until a rather heavy-set girl in the front raised her hand.

  “Yes, Kelly, what have you got?”

  “It was built in Ireland?” she asked, rather than told the professor.

  “Ahh, good Kelly, it was built in Belfast, the capital of Northern Ireland. Northern Ireland,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Now that’s an entirely new topic. Maybe we’ll cover that someday. Anyone else?”

  Again the class was silent a few moments before they were interrupted by the sound of the bell. The students gathered their belongings.

  “Okay class, until tomorrow,” Mr. Martin called out as they left the classroom.

  Brett bumped into Frankie in the hallway, neither of them speaking as they made their way to the lunchroom.

  “How was history class, boys?” Krista asked as they took their seats.

  “Kinda boring,” Frankie said.

  Brett looked over at Frankie in amazement. Boring? he thought. Even if he hadn’t stood in Brett’s shoes, the class was far from boring. They were traveling back in time! They were witnessing history first hand. One of the greatest disasters of the twentieth century was happening right in front of them. And it was up to Brett to stop it.

  “Boring? Really?” Krista asked.

  “Maybe for some people,” Brett replied defensively. He met eyes with Frankie who said nothing.

  “Well, please fill us in. If you can,” Krista said.

  Brett just smiled at her and Krista returned the smile.

  “Brett, are you coming to the movies with us or going on your baseball trip?” Liam asked.

  “Dude, you asked me that this morning. I’ll talk to my dad about it when I get home.”

  When it was Brett’s turn to go up to the lunch line, he st
ood behind Krista, grabbing a tray from the stack nearby.

  “Hey, Brett,” a voice behind him called. It was Ally. Both Brett and Krista turned.

  “Hey,” he replied. He could feel Krista’s gaze on the back of his head.

  “Umm,” Ally noticed Krista looking at them and tried to be as discreet as possible. “I think we should, you know, talk about the history project a little. Can I call you after school?”

  “Ahh, yeah,” Brett replied. “I’ll give you my number.”

  “Okay.”

  When Brett turned back around, he noticed Krista still was looking at him, the gap between her and the next person in line increasing. She turned away and moved forward in the line.

  “History project, eh?” she inquired.

  “Yeah, it’s nothing really.”

  “Sounds like something.”

  He moved forward and placed chicken tenders and French fries on his plate, grabbed a blue Gatorade, paid with his meal card and went back to the lunch table. They ate their lunch without much conversation. Brett wrote his name and phone number on a piece of paper, aware Krista was looking over his shoulder while he did it. After lunch was over, he went over to Ally’s table. “Here’s my number. I have baseball practice at six but should be home by eight or eight-thirty.”

  “Okay, cool,” Ally replied. They both smiled. “Talk to you then.”

  Brett walked back over to his table as the bell rang, and without saying goodbye to anyone, he grabbed his things and made his way out of the cafeteria. In the background, a jealous and envious Krista sat alone, sulking over this interaction between Brett and Ally.

  <><><><><>

  Baseball practice was uneventful that evening. Brett’s mind was clouded with thoughts about the Titanic and what the following day might bring. He fielded routine ground balls while playing second base and shortstop. He took batting practice without any sort of enthusiasm. His coach noticed this, stopping him after swinging and missing and asking him what was on his mind. Brett shrugged and just said he was preoccupied with school, to which the coach stressed the importance of the tournament over the weekend. Brett focused in, launching two straight balls over the left fielders head.