2017 Young Explorer's Adventure Guide

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2017 Young Explorer's Adventure Guide Page 4

by Maggie Allen


  “Do I look convincing?” Cal asked.

  “Maybe… Get up and walk.”

  Cal walked across his bedroom.

  “Why are you walking like a baby who’s just learned how?” Agatha asked.

  “I don’t want to get my legs tangled in the skirt,” he admitted.

  Agatha snorted. “That’s not going to happen. Walk like a normal person.”

  He did, and sure enough he didn’t trip. “Better?” he asked.

  She nodded. At her direction, he also practiced sitting down and getting up. He wondered if Reg had felt this strange the first time she’d pretended to be a boy. He bet not. Reg always seemed to know exactly what she was doing.

  “Now introduce yourself as whoever it is you’re supposed to be,” Agatha said.

  His mind searched wildly for a name as he stood up and squared his shoulders like Reg. “Hello, I’m Alice Anderson,” he said, trying to make his voice higher.

  Agatha snorted again. “Girls don’t talk like that. And they don’t stand with their shoulders like that, either.”

  “Reg does,” he pointed out.

  Agatha narrowed her eyes, and for a moment he thought she’d guessed it was Reg he was trying to be. But all she said was, “Reg doesn’t count.”

  “How should I sound?”

  “Just talk normally.”

  So they practiced until bedtime, when he was allowed to be himself again and go to sleep.

  Next Cal needed a gadget to bring. There wasn’t enough time to make something complicated, something worthy of being entered under Reg’s name.

  It would have to be the clock.

  The idea came to him almost immediately, but he pushed it aside. Reg said the judges would never appreciate the clock, that it was just for themselves. Taking it out of the barn would be all wrong. Reg would never approve.

  But Reg wouldn’t approve of any part of his plan. And Reg’s whole argument against the Institute was that she didn’t want to attend a school that wouldn’t accept their clock. If he could get her in using the clock, well, that would prove her wrong.

  He felt like he was in Ma’s middle gray again, choked by a dense fog. But the clock was the only option he had, so it would have to do.

  He needed to practice disassembling and reassembling it, which was a problem because Reg was in the barn whenever he was. Of course he knew how to take the clock apart and put it together; after all, he’d helped build it. But he’d known what he was doing with the gadget last year, too, and that hadn’t kept him from looking like a fumbling fool at the competition. This time he wanted to practice till his hands knew exactly what to do without even having to think about it, because his head would probably be in a muddle.

  The only time he had a moment in the barn alone was when he milked the cows morning and night, so he did that quickly and then popped out and put back in one of the clock’s twelve figures, each of which had its own unique little mechanism. It didn’t seem like enough practice, so he started getting up and sneaking out to the barn after everyone had gone to sleep, taking apart the whole clock, gears, figures, and all, and then putting it back together by lantern light.

  Reg noticed. Not the clock, but him, how tired he was. She glared at him with her sharp eyes.

  “Are you ill?”

  “No,” he said, stifling a yawn.

  “What’s the matter, then? You look dreadful!”

  “I’m fine,” he mumbled.

  “You’re really not,” she said, but to his relief she didn’t say anything else.

  Ma noticed, too, and dosed him with her foul castor oil. He told himself it was worth it even though it made him want to puke.

  He knew he was going to have to tell his parents. He’d need Pa to take him to the competition and swear he was Reg to the person who did the signing in. Parents had to show their Territorial identification cards, too.

  Somehow, though, telling Pa what he was doing seemed a bigger obstacle than convincing Agatha to help him or learning to walk in a dress or knowing every last detail of the clock. Because if Pa said no—and that was a very real possibility—that would be it. Reg would never get into the Institute, and it would be all Cal’s fault.

  Cal knew Pa loved them and wanted what was best for them. Pa had been the one to set up their barn stall workshop. He always appreciated Cal’s and Reg’s help with the farm machinery, readily admitting he didn’t know the first thing about fixing a mechanical thresher or a steam combine.

  Cal got the feeling, though, that Pa had the same mistrust of gadgetry that many of their neighbors had, and that while he may have been glad for their help, he really didn’t see it as a job, not one Reg should go to school for. It seemed like Pa might prefer Reg to stick around and keep bringing in money rather than going off and doing something he didn’t understand.

  But Cal also knew that Pa could sometimes be made to change his mind. Cal had seen Ma do this with Pa, and he’d even see Reg do it a time or two, but he’d never been brave enough to try it himself. He’d always figured Pa was bound to know best because Pa was grown and Cal wasn’t. Thinking otherwise made Cal feel funny, like the earth was a little less solid beneath his feet.

  Three days before the competition, when they were alone in the cornfield, Cal finally asked Pa, “Could you take me to Hartland on Monday?”

  Pa’s eyes seemed to bore right into Cal. “Why?”

  Cal took a deep breath. “For Reg. I want to get her into the Institute. She’s going to pretend to be Winston Kearns, so I’m going to pretend to be her.”

  Pa’s eyebrows rose. “This is Reg’s plan?”

  “No, sir. She doesn’t know.”

  “But Reg said she doesn’t want to go.”

  “I think she’s only saying that. We can do all right without the money she brings in, can’t we?”

  Pa nodded. “Truth be told, your ma and I held onto most of that money. Figured we’d save it for Reg’s dowry. It could do just as well for her education. But are you sure about her feelings on this?”

  “She was set on going last year, before I failed. So it’s my fault. I need to make this right.”

  Pa gave him another piercing look. “Who’s to say you won’t fail again?”

  The words threatened to bowl him over, but Cal stood firm. “I might, but I have to try. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  It was one of Ma’s expressions, and Pa smiled slightly. “What does your ma think about this?”

  “I didn’t tell her yet,” he said. It dawned on him that he could have—Ma was more likely to be on Cal’s side, and she could have convinced Pa—but it wouldn’t have been right. He needed to convince Pa himself.

  Pa stood there awhile longer looking at Cal. An appraising look. “All right,” he said finally. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  The final days before the competition flew. Cal told Ma the plan, and he practiced explaining the clock, taking it apart, and acting like Reg, all while holding tight to the secret. Now that Reg was the only one not to know, it seemed even harder to keep quiet.

  On Monday morning, after Mr. Kearns had left with Reg, Cal got into the dress and had Agatha pin on the braid. She was quiet and seemed extra jabby with the pins. “It’s Reg you’re pretending to be, isn’t it?” she finally said.

  He turned to look at her, and nearly got stuck in the eye. Agatha scowled, and Cal tried to find the words to explain himself.

  “Turn around. I’m not done,” Agatha said. Once he did, she added, “You could’ve told me.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to help if you knew it was Reg,” he mumbled.

  Agatha paused. “Do you really think I’m that mean?”

  “No,” he said honestly.

  She jammed in one last pin. “Besides, if Reg goes to the Institute, I’ll have my own room.” She smiled at Cal. “Get her in!”

  Cal had forgotten just how many people came to the competition. Hartland’s main street was packed with people, and h
e tried not to think about the likelihood of his failure.

  He reached the registration desk, placing the clock down carefully as he signed Reg’s name and Pa vouched for him. The man behind the desk told him where to go to for the written test, and Pa squeezed Cal’s shoulder before he left in a way that made Cal feel a little more confident.

  He’d been nervous he’d be in the same room as Reg, but he was in a small room with only girls. Did they get a different test? A harder one, because the Institute thought a girl would have to be truly exceptional in order to deserve a place there? Or easier, because they thought girls were capable of less to begin with and were therefore impressed if a girl exceeded these low expectations?

  He hoped it was neither. He wanted to be judged—he wanted Reg to be judged—as any other tinker.

  They were given tests and told to begin. It didn’t seem any different than the one he’d taken last year. He knew most of the answers because Reg had taught him.

  Afterwards they were sent to another room, still all the girls together. Everyone looked calm. Maybe they were hiding their nerves, like he was, or maybe they were just naturally confident, like Reg.

  He wondered how many of them would end up getting in, and then he shut that thought away and eyed their inventions. Many of the girls had all manner of big, brassy contraptions with them, the purposes of which Cal couldn’t guess. All practical and impressive, surely. A wave of doubt crashed over him—the clock was nothing special, he’d be laughed out of the room—but he took a deep breath and tried to shut that thought away, too.

  The girls were called individually to another room, alphabetically, so Cal knew he’d be toward the end. None of the girls returned. There must be another exit from the room they were being called into, but as girl after girl disappeared, he couldn’t help feeling there was some kind of dragon in there eating each of them in turn.

  When there were only two others left, the man at the door called, “Regina Robbins.”

  Cal marched into the room, his chin up. Reg wouldn’t be scared of any dragon.

  The room was tiny. Sure enough there was another door at the opposite side and no dragon, just a table with four chairs and a woman and two men, all frowning.

  Cal sat, putting the clock in front of him.

  “What’s this?” asked one of the men.

  “A clock I made,” he said.

  “A clock?” said the woman, her voice dripping scorn.

  Something inside Cal began to shrivel, but when he opened his mouth it was Reg’s voice that came out, bold as brass. “A clock,” he repeated. “Like the one the senior students at the Institute made. There’s a figure for each hour.”

  “Let’s see,” said the second man.

  He wound the clock, and then pushed the minute hand ahead to the next hour, over and over, so they could see all twelve figures.

  He couldn’t tell if they were impressed or not, but Reg wouldn’t care, so Cal tried not to, either. One of the men jotted something down in a ledger.

  “All right,” the man said. “Let’s see its guts.”

  Cal grinned, because it sounded like something Reg would say. He began to disassemble the clock while they fired questions at him, all the same questions as last year, all the same questions he’d practiced. He stumbled over a few of his answers, but he kept going. More importantly, he kept his hands steady as he showed off the inner workings of all those tiny figures and then put them back together again.

  He had no sooner breathed a very tiny sigh of relief when the woman said, “Tell us, Miss Robbins— how will you benefit from attending the Mechanical Institute?”

  Cal fumbled the screwdriver in his hand. It was hardly the most difficult question he’d been asked, but it was the only one he hadn’t been prepared for. Maybe it was new this year, or maybe they only asked it to girls, or—

  “Miss Robbins?” the woman prompted.

  A dozen answers rolled through his head, all of them about what a wonderful opportunity it would be, but when he opened his mouth he said, “Truth be told, you can accept me or not. Even if I don’t end up going to your posh school, I’m still a mechanic, and I’ll still go on tinkering. It would be nice to learn things official-like, but if you don’t end up taking me, that’s your own loss. Because I’m a fine mechanic.”

  Somewhere deep inside, Cal cringed a little, but he smiled Reg’s fierce smile and didn’t let it waver, even when no one smiled back.

  “Thank you. You’re dismissed,” the woman said, and Cal strode out of the room.

  Out in the crowded hall, he faltered. What had he done? Hadn’t Reg herself said that the judges didn’t want anyone’s true self, just automatons? Here he’d gone and ruined everything.

  But somehow, it didn’t seem ruined. Somehow he thought Reg might even approve.

  The weeks after the competition felt impossibly long. Cal changed his mind about whether Reg would get in every other minute till he thought he’d go crazy.

  On August tenth, he and Reg walked to town to get the newspaper, Agatha tagging along. Once again, Reg waited till they were outside of town to look at the list. Cal wanted to rip it out of her hand.

  Reg opened the paper, then grinned. “Winston Kearns is going to the Institute,” she said, letting the paper fall to her side.

  Cal couldn’t breathe. He’d failed, and now he had to pretend everything was fine, because Reg could never know—

  Agatha elbowed past him. She snatched the paper, looked at it, and then handed it back to Reg. “Did you read the whole list?”

  Reg looked at her like she was crazy. “Why would I?”

  “Just read it,” Agatha said, her voice as fierce as Reg’s at her fiercest.

  Reg looked at the paper again, and her face went still, like it had somehow frozen. Cal felt frozen, too, because hope was rising all around him but he couldn’t quite believe it. He managed to look over Reg’s shoulder at the list, at her name on the list, Regina Robbins, really there, and surely they couldn’t take it back, couldn’t—

  Reg’s head came up slowly, swiveling from Agatha to Cal. “How…?”

  It was the first time he’d ever heard Reg speechless.

  Agatha was all but dancing. “Cal did it! Cal was you!” Her eyes widened, and she turned to Cal. “It’s not a secret anymore, right?”

  “No,” he managed to say.

  “Good.” Agatha nudged Reg. “You should thank him.”

  Reg still didn’t say anything. Cal wondered if she ever would. The euphoric feeling of his victory faded into a cold dread that what he’d done was all wrong.

  Agatha sighed. “Can I go tell Ma and Pa?”

  Neither of them said anything, so Agatha ran ahead.

  “Are you mad?” Cal asked.

  “No. I… How did you manage?”

  He told her everything. “So it mostly wasn’t me. Pa brought me there, and Agatha made sure I looked like a girl, and it was your clock—”

  “Hush!” Reg said so fiercely that Cal immediately stopped talking. “It was you. You’re the one who did it.” She didn’t sound upset. She sounded like she did when they were in the barn struggling over some mechanical problem, and she’d finally grasped it and was excited to show him.

  She grabbed him in a hug so tight that he could feel just how badly she’d wanted this, how happy she was.

  “Do you know why I said I didn’t want to go?” she asked, releasing him so she could look him in the eyes.

  “Because I failed last year, and you wanted to keep making money. And because you thought the Institute would be an awful place that wouldn’t let you make fun things, like the clock,” he said. “I think the judges liked it, by the way.”

  “Of course they did,” she said. “It’s a very impressive clock. And it’s yours as much as mine, don’t ever forget that. But the reason I didn’t want to go was because they couldn’t see the brilliance in you.”

  He stared at her, not understanding.

  “You still d
on’t get it, do you? I thought the Institute must not be worth it because you couldn’t get in, and you’re so talented, Cal. And now you’ve gone and proved it and gotten in, you’ve gotten me in, and I want to go…” She laughed, a pure whoop of joy that seemed to fly across the fields like a bird. “It’s like some kind of fairy tale.”

  “I don’t think most fairy tales have gears and sprockets,” Cal said, grinning.

  “Then they’re missing out,” Reg said. She grinned back at him. “Next year you can hire yourself out again, and the year after that you can get in yourself…”

  Her words deflated something inside him. He toed at the dirt. When he was pretending to be Reg, he could say anything. Maybe it was time to do the same as himself.

  He took a deep breath. “I’m not sure if I’ll go myself, but I don’t want to pretend to be anyone else again.”

  Reg frowned at him. Cal thought she was going to erupt, but she sounded quite calm as she said, “What do you mean you’re not going yourself?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I mean, Pa might not…”

  “You just found a way to get me into the Institute, which was darned near impossible. I think you can find a way to convince Pa to let you go, too.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’re going!” she said. “We’re going to be unstoppable there!”

  He pictured it, their bright future. No fog in sight. “We will,” he agreed, and they walked home.

  Rela

  by Marilag Angway

  Marilag Angway started her foray into science fiction and fantasy sometime in the early ’90s by reading books written by females for females. She had no idea that these books were far and few at the time and feels lucky to have had the opportunity to be inspired by female authors to think big and never stop imagining. Her various fantasy and science fiction scribbles can be found in publications such as Ticonderoga Publications, Rosarium Publishing, Bards and Sages Publishing, Hadley Rille Books, and Deepwood Publishing, among other places. You can find Marilag’s bookish and writing and randomy ramblings at http://storyandsomnomancy.wordpress.com.

 

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