He motioned for me to bring my booklet but put a hand up to keep me from going back to my seat. He flipped through the booklet to ensure I hadn’t forgotten any questions. Looking up, he pointed a thumb at the board behind him. He had written the chapters to do as homework. I nodded and headed back to my seat as quietly as I could. I felt like skipping.
I was engrossed in my physics notebook and neither saw nor heard the teacher approach me. I jumped at the sight of him. He was holding my exam. My graded exam! His face was neutral, I couldn’t tell if it was good or bad. He didn’t hold me in suspense for long. He placed a finger on his mouth to remind me to stay quiet as students were still working on their own exams, though many had finished already.
It happened just like in my vision. His arm lowered in slow motion as he handed me the exam. Not only did I have a good grade, I had a perfect grade. He had scrawled a huge “100%” with a red sharpie followed by four exclamation points and a happy face. I looked up, tears welling in my eyes. I mouthed the words ‘thank you’ as I cradled the test to my chest. He smiled and mouthed back, ‘it’s all you.’ He held out his hand, he wanted the test back. I looked at it one more time, sighed with happiness, and reluctantly handed it back to him.
When the bell rang, Sam dropped his booklet on the teacher’s desk and waited for me outside the classroom. When I walked out, he pulled me into a hug.
“I saw your grade, that’s amazing Claire. I knew you had it in you!” he said as he released me.
I beamed with pride and replied, “I’m sure you did well, too.”
He shrugged and said, “of course!” He nodded towards the hallway and said, “come on, I’ll walk you to your next class and you can tell me how you did it.”
* * *
In French class, Monsieur Marcel handed out our graded responses. He had given me a ninety-six percent and written ‘Bravo!’ I had a few grammar errors and forgot to add a title. Regardless, it was the best French grade I had ever had on a written assignment.
My joy was short-lived. We needed to prepare a short oral presentation based on our written response. I bowed my head in desperation. I perked up when I heard he’d be listening to our responses individually, out in the hall. My heart leapt and I couldn’t resist clapping. I was immediately mortified when everyone turned and looked at me.
We had fifteen minutes to practice in pairs and Monsieur Marcel told us to be prepared to answer follow-up questions.
I paired up with Joshua. He was the least judgy of the bilinguals. He lived on my street and we went to elementary school together, but we were not friends. He was in the robotics program and, well, still spent his time playing with plastic bricks. But he made a good partner since we had nothing personal to talk about to distract us from the task at hand.
When it was my turn, I took a moment before going out in the hall to apply what I had learned at the Castle. I can do this. Monsieur Marcel started by saying how pleased he was with my progress in class. This bolstered my confidence and I started my comments on Barbe Bleue with excitement. He asked about women’s traditional roles in the home, and about gender dynamics in today’s relationships. I took my time and all the words I needed were instantly available to me. I realized my accent was not as pronounced as I had imagined.
The teacher nodded as I spoke and scribbled furiously on his notepad. Minutes later, he showed me the grid; it read ninety-two percent. I was so happy, I didn’t even look at my errors. I just didn’t care. Besides, he’d scan it and post it to the parents’ portal. “Merci, Monsieur Marcel,” I stammered out, still reeling from my accomplishment.
I felt like jumping from joy, but I had already clapped like a lunatic today. I went back to class and called the next student. On my way back to my seat, I checked the whiteboard for our next assignment. We needed to choose from among the novels in the bookcase and the corresponding study unit.
Lo and behold, a translation of The Giver was one of the choices. I quickly grabbed a copy of the book and grabbed the unit from the cabinet. Could this day get any better?
Actually, it could. After a quick lunch, I headed for the Language Arts class for my tutoring gig. I was on time, but my student was not. I asked the teacher what to do and she said to wait another five minutes and if he didn’t show up, I could leave.
He never showed up. I still got paid. Sweet! I debated looking for my friends or going for a walk. It was a gorgeous spring day and most students were out in shirt sleeves. Walking it was. It was too nice to walk in the tiny woods behind the school, and the grass was too soggy to walk on. I followed the path that led to the pool and found a perfectly positioned bench to sit on and soak up some rays.
I sat there in total bliss until the bell rang, and then I headed back to class. I felt like a superstar.
Chapter 10
I was talking a mile a minute and Mom was listening with an indulgent smile. When I finally came up for air, she said, “I’m so proud of you, honey. You’re finally coming into your own!” I cringed at the last part. Such a mom thing to say. I focused on her pride. It didn’t make me feel as joyful as it usually did. Or I should say, not as much as how proud of myself I felt. I swished this new feeling in my mouth and swallowed the ambrosia.
Mom had picked up pastries for dessert. It’s our Friday night splurge. There was a selection of bite-sized classics to choose from. I picked an almond tart and a mille-feuille. Mom had an eclair and a tiramisu. We savored these with a cup of our favorite rooibos and vanilla tea while we decided what movie to watch after dinner.
We settled on the new adaptation of Little Women and planned to meet in the living room at seven-thirty. Mom’s friend Michelle was early for their walk so I offered to do the dishes by myself. She kissed me on the forehead and promised to be back in an hour.
I pulled up my music playlist and sent it to our smart speaker system. It would keep me company as I cleaned up the kitchen. I took advantage of having the place to myself and showed off my dance moves and my lack of singing ability.
I was right in the middle of belting an 80s classic when I heard, “you’re not a bad singer!” I screeched to a halt, my arms barely still flailing about. I looked at the front door, no Mom. Back door, nothing. I told to the smart speaker to can it and listen. The windows were closed, it was not coming from outside.
“Is now a good time?” the voice asked. It was coming from inside my head, I realized.
“Who is this?” I asked out loud. There was no response. I repeated my question in my head.
“It’s January. Can you come to the Castle?’ she asked.
I checked the time on the oven clock. It was only six-thirty. Mom wouldn’t be back for at least another thirty minutes, maybe an hour if the gossip was good. “Sure, give me a minute,” I replied. I went to my room, I closed the door, and lied on my bed. If Mom would knock and not get a reply, she’d think I was napping.
I said my usual intentions and arrived just inside the door of the yellow room. January was sitting on the sofa with a serious-looking girl wearing the kind of clothes my mom wore for work: navy pleated pants, a white shirt, and a maroon jacket.
As I sat, I saw there was a crest on the breast pocket of the jacket. She was on the debate team. Maybe she was just back from a regional meet. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. She wore no makeup, her unvarnished nails were clipped short, and the only jewelry I saw on her was the watch Nana gave us last Christmas.
She extended her hand, all business-like. “Hi, I’m April.” I shook it and told her I was March, but she already knew that. January asked if I wanted tea or coffee. I declined. Was I finally going to know what’s going on?
“Well done on your Physics test!” she said. I narrowed my eyes at her, about to ask how she knew, but she was April. She knew everything that happened in April in all twelve of our realities.
“Thanks,” I replied politely.
January took over the conversation. “Right. Now that you’ve mastered the basic skills, it
’s time to get down to business. At present, you know what happens in March of your reality, but not the other realities. That’s what you’ll be working on this weekend. But as the matter is rather urgent, April is going to share what’s been going on in her reality for the past few weeks.”
“When you say share, do you mean we’re going to talk about it, or do you mean I’m going to visit her life the way I did yours?” I asked. January’s life was amazing, but I wasn’t so sure I wanted to see April’s life. From the look of her, she had no fun whatsoever. I berated myself immediately as I realized that by judging her life, I was judging myself.
“I’ll take you back through a series of key memories. You won’t be acting as me, just going along for the ride, so to speak,” explained April.
I shrugged and said, “Let’s go!” She took my hand and I was immediately back in my room, studying for the math test I failed miserably a few days ago. The room was different. For one thing, it was a lot tidier than mine. I checked my planner and saw it was packed with afterschool activities and weekend outings. Where did she find the time?
Mom called out to tell me Sam was here. Sam? We usually studied remotely, it was more efficient. Frowning, I opened my door and there he was, reaching for the handle. I didn’t have time to check out the kitchen and look for differences because Sam’s hand snaked around my waist and pulled me close as he kissed me full on the lips. On. The. Lips. What?
“In the dining room guys, you know the rules!” hollered mom from the living room. Sam grabbed the books from my desk and took them to the dining room table where he dropped his backpack.
I grabbed a couple bottles of mineral water from the fridge and joined him at the table. I was not driving this body, so I could only observe. However, I could feel what April felt. This was a regular occurrence. Kissing him was pleasant and natural, not first-kiss thrilling. Me and Sam? It boggled the mind. Sure, we had been best friends since grade school, but that was it.
The scene changed. I was watching a Barbie movie with a girl about nine years old in the living room. It was Penny, my baby sister, and we were snuggling under a blanket. I had a sister in this reality? Who’s her dad?
There was no time to ask because the scene changed again. We’re in some kind of waiting room. Everything was institutional grey, but it didn’t feel like a hospital. Other people were waiting, talking in low voices.
There was a huge buzzing sound, like being buzzed into an office building but louder. My eyes followed the sound to a speaker right next to the clock. It was ten o’clock and the large steel door opened automatically.
Families filed in through the door. Sam said, “are you ready?” and I nodded. We followed the others into a large cafeteria-like room, with the type of round metal picnic tables where the seats were attached. There was a man sitting at each table, waiting for his visitors. Oh my God! We’re visiting someone in prison. Who? Why?
We reached our destination and there was Dad. Wait, Dad? He wrapped me in a tight hug. April hugged him back, she was happy to see him. He released me and shook Sam’s hand. “I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me,” he said and kissed my cheek before he left. Dad motioned for me to sit.
He didn’t look the way I remembered him from the pictures. I had never met him. Mom had said he had died when I was a baby. He looked older, leaner, and tan. Like he spent a lot of time outdoors. He was smiling at me, hands clasped on the table.
I was still drinking him in when we came back to the yellow room. I had a ton of questions. I opened my mouth, but January held up her hand to stop me. “You’ll get all the details tonight,” she said. “We just needed you to understand the situation before we proceed.”
“Dad is a corporate banker. He’s been charged with embezzling company funds,” said April.
“Did he do it?” I asked.
Chapter 11
Mom and her friend were back and chatting in the doorway, making plans to have lunch next week. I was still reeling from April’s revelations. Did Mom lie about Dad being dead or did he just not die in April’s reality? Could I go back in time and change things so that he would be alive in mine? Was Dad a crook? Had he been a crook back then? Had he been in jail this whole time?
I heard Mom coming. I sat up and grabbed a book, pretending to read. “Ready for the movie?” she asked. “I’m making popcorn!”
I wanted to ask her about Dad. Instead, I said, “in a minute,” with false cheer. I had never felt less like watching a movie. I wanted to pick at this scab until the pus came out. I tossed the book, squared my shoulders, and practiced patience. All would be revealed tonight.
The movie was good, but it was a tearjerker that has us blubbering. Tonight, I would have preferred a comedy to distract me. I kept telling myself that what was happening to April was not happening to me. I felt like it was, though.
When the movie ended, we brushed our teeth and said goodnight. I reminded myself that the only thing I could do was to expect the best possible outcome. But what would that look like? Clearly, something had happened in March that April thought could be avoided or handled differently.
I said the words, they were part of my nightly routine now. I was not sure I still needed them, but they helped me focus. Especially since my mind was so agitated with worry. I slowed my breathing. In for five counts, out for five counts.
When I got to the yellow room, January and April were waiting for me. There were other girls in the room, chatting in low voices by the window. As I took my seat on the sofa, the teacher appeared at the door and soon joined us.
“April, have you had a chance to speak with your Guide?” she asked. My ears perked up. This was the first time anyone had referred to the Guides.
“Yes, she said that I need to gather information from the past three months to assess where the problem originated. I’ve already spoken to January and February. Once I have March’s perspective, I’ll be able to proceed,” replied April.
“Proceed how?” I asked. I wanted to know how this worked. If it was guaranteed to work.
“Once April has all the facts—well from her perspective, since she’ll never know the facts from anyone else’s perspective, like your parents for example—she’ll put in a request to speak with herself in the future. Should the events play out without interference, what would be the outcome? Depending on the gravity of the situation, you may speak with up to five future versions of yourself. If you cannot accept the outcomes, you may petition for a reality adjustment. That’s when you explain what you want to your group. If everyone agrees, the adjustment is performed,” explained the Teacher.
I was trying to wrap my brain around meeting various future versions of myself. Was one of them my Guide? Did my Guide change every time I made a decision?
“Why does everyone need to agree? Why would someone disagree?” I asked.
January fielded this question. “Technically, the only reason someone would disagree is if the changes you are requesting would cause harm to you or someone else.”
“Or if the change eliminates an important outcome. When you meet to discuss the petition, you’ll receive the perspectives of the girls responsible for the months after the event. This will give you the short-term outcome of the unchanged event,” put in the Teacher.
“Can you give me an example?” I said. I was confused.
“Let’s say what you wanted was to prevent a breakup between you and your boyfriend. But June tells you that you’ve met an even better guy. She would disagree with your request,” explained April.
“Oh, I guess that makes sense. But what if I really pleaded my case?” I asked.
“If you are not doing yourself or others any harm, whoever had objections could go your way. You would obviously be trying to learn something through the experience,” answered January.
I found this answer satisfactory. Unless I had evil intentions, my petition would likely be approved. Evil. “There has to be evil, or naughty versions of me, right. To keep the ba
lance?” I asked.
“Yes, but they are not here. This is Clarity Castle, home to those seeking clarity,” replied the Teacher.
“Do they have their own place, like, Obscurity Castle?” I snorted. Everyone laughed at this.
“No, dear. And there is no in-between either, in case you were about to ask. There is no darkness, only the absence of light. Therefore, the versions who are not here at the Castle are either on their way or are not following their path to clarity,” she explained.
“But what if I did something very naughty, like rob a bank?” I asked.
“Do you remember that scene in the movie Legally Blonde where Elle insists that Brooke is innocent by stating ‘exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t shoot their husbands?’” said January in a perfect imitation of Reese Whiterspoon’s character. I grinned. We all did. It’s one of our favorite movies.
“Are you saying that if I was happy, I wouldn’t rob a bank?” I asked.
“Exactly! Happiness is not just a feeling, it’s also a frequency. The higher the frequency, the better you feel. At higher frequencies, you have access to different thoughts and experiences. If you had a problem, you could ask any one of us to help you solve it easily,” added April.
“What do you mean by frequencies? Like on the radio?” I asked.
“Yes, just like on the radio. If you are tuned into the happy channel, you can only hear happy music. If you are tuned into the grumpy channel, you can imagine what you’ll hear,” she said.
I mulled this over. The channel I tuned into the most was the worry channel. That would mean I heard worrisome music, or rather thoughts and experiences. That was probably why I stayed stuck there.
“But how do you change the channel?” I asked.
“By distracting yourself. The point is to stop thinking whatever thought as you tuned in. It’s very hard to change your thoughts at first. It’s best to simply focus elsewhere entirely. The best ways are to take a nap, meditate, go for a walk, listen to some music, play with your pet, or do anything that brings you joy. You’ll quickly change the channel. In the case of nap or meditation, you’d be turning off the radio altogether,” explained January.
Clarity Castle Page 5
