Homerooms and Hall Passes

by Tom O'Donnell

  “Ha! I had nearly forgotten about the undead warlock’s tome!” said Thromdurr. “The answer to our predicament must lie within its yellowing pages. Well done, elf.”

  “No. Not well done, elf,” said Vela, snatching the book back. “This thing is pure evil. Just look at the screaming faces on the cover! If Zazirak was using it to summon a world-ending demon, it is undoubtedly filled with forbidden rituals and foul magic. No good can come of dabbling with such dark forces.”

  “Personally,” said Sorrowshade, “I think dark forces sometimes get a bad rap—”

  “No,” said Vela, in a tone the rest of the party knew meant she wouldn’t give an inch. “Albiorix, is there some method by which we can permanently destroy this horrid grimoire?”

  “Hmm,” said Albiorix as he leafed through the pages of The Manual of Middle-School Maintenance. “Yes! It looks like there’s a heavy-duty paper shredder in the school office. We can wait until nobody’s around and shove it right in.”

  “Then do that,” said Vela.

  She handed him the Malonomicon. Sorrowshade, Devis, and Thromdurr—whose collective morality was perhaps a bit more flexible than Vela’s—shared a look.

  “So if the evil spellbook is off the table, and Albiorix is totally useless—no offense,” said Devis, “what’s the plan for getting us home?”

  Vela stroked her jaw. “Well, if this really is our H&H game, then perhaps if we can achieve the goals of our scenario, the curse will be broken.”

  “Good thinking!” said Albiorix, digging through his Homerooms & Hall Passes supplements once again. “This is the nonadventure I’ve been running for you guys.”

  He held up a thin book. On the cover was a lovingly detailed illustration of several middle-school students in rows of desks, staring back with glazed eyes at an unseen teacher. The title read The Semester of Stultification: A Homerooms & Hall Passes Nonadventure for Level 8 Characters.

  “So how do we win it, Magicless Man?” said Devis.

  Albiorix paused, hesitant to give up any of his precious Hall Master secrets to his players. His companions stared at him.

  “We could all die, Albiorix,” said Sorrowshade.

  “Right, no, I know that,” said Albiorix. “Fine. Okay. I’ll tell you guys how to win, although that certainly will suck some of the fun out of playing it once we return home and resume our—”

  “Spill it, human!” said Sorrowshade.

  Albiorix flipped to the final page of the book and read aloud: “‘The goal of the scenario is for the players to finish their fall semester of eighth grade at J. A. Dewar Middle School without Blowing It.’”

  “That’s it?” said Vela.

  “Er, not quite,” said Albiorix. He continued to read. “‘Players earn special distinction if they manage to achieve any of the following: getting elected class president; maintaining a 4.0 grade point average; becoming captain of a sports team; winning the eighth-grade creative writing contest; or making twenty new friends.’”

  “These challenges are well within our ability!” said Vela, taking the character sheets from Albiorix’s H&H pile and passing them out to the party. “Valerie the Overachiever has been class president the last two years in a row!”

  “And Douglas the Nerd only receives A’s, because his mighty brain is without rival!” said Thromdurr, pounding his head as he took his character sheet.

  “Twenty new friends will be a breeze,” said Devis. “Everybody loves me!”

  Only Sorrowshade shook her head. “You all really think it’s going to be that simple? There’s a reason they call it a curse,” she said. “Need I remind you of how our last interpersonal interaction went? Our little chat with Evan Cunningham and Derrick Day?”

  “Those two are jerks. Not at all representative of everyone in JADMS,” said Albiorix. “But I am glad you brought it up. Evan might have an Intelligence of 6, but I think he was onto something. The social groupings of middle schoolers are, uh, kind of specific.” He held up a book called The Codex of Cliques.

  “What do you mean?” said Vela.

  “Well, it would be a bit suspicious for us to be hanging out together all the time,” said Albiorix. “A Nerd and an Overachiever, maybe. But not with a Class Clown and especially not with a Loner.”

  “So you’re saying I should pretend the rest of you aren’t my adventuring companions?” said Vela, her eyes narrowing. “That is awfully close to a lie, Albiorix.”

  A few of the other adventurers may have rolled their eyes at this. As a noble paladin, Vela was strictly forbidden by her sacred oath from ever lying (even to orcs!). Needless to say, the issue had come up in past quests.

  “No, no, it’s not a lie,” said Albiorix, trying to choose his words carefully, “We just maybe need to keep our interactions a little more discreet, so we don’t draw any unwanted attention to ourselves. For the good of the group.”

  “Socializing is overrated, anyway,” said Sorrowshade. “Happy to pretend like I hate all of you.”

  “Anybody else feel like she was a little too quick with that?” said Devis.

  But before anyone could answer, the bell rang, marking the end of lunch.

  “The Great Bell of Learning!” said Thromdurr. “Douglas the Nerd’s heart leaps at the sound!”

  “Okay, that means we have exactly four minutes to get to social studies class,” said Albiorix. “That’s room 207, Ms. Levy. And just to avoid suspicion, maybe we should . . . leave the auditorium separately.” He glanced at Vela, not quite sure where this fell on the lying scale.

  “Fine,” said Vela, crossing her arms.

  “Indeed,” said Thromdurr.

  “Love it,” said Devis, who was now munching a taco he’d been keeping . . . somewhere.

  They turned to Sorrowshade, but the gloom elf was nowhere to be seen. She had already disappeared into the shadows.

  So one by one, they waited a suitable interval before exiting the darkened auditorium. Albiorix, the wizard, was last (mainly because it took him so long to get all of his Homerooms & Hall Passes books stuffed back into his pack.)

  He exited and blinked for a moment in the bright fluorescent lighting of JADMS. Walking to class was a surreal experience for Albiorix, to say the least. Aside from the strangeness of seeing an impossible fantasy realm come to life, fictional characters he had previously only conceived of in his Hall Master’s imagination were now passing him left and right. He saw Mr. Armstrong, the art teacher, frantically trying to blot a stain out of his tie. Nicole Davenport stood by the water fountain, lording over her clique of popular girls. And there was Mr. Driscoll, the custodian, mopping up a mess that was best left unnamed. Albiorix gasped as he walked past the school library: a huge room, full up to the ceiling with books. There were too many to even count. Such a collection would have been the pride of any wizard—any king—back in Bríandalör.

  “Hold it right there,” said a woman in a blue uniform and badge.

  “Ms. Rhee, the school security guard!” Albiorix blurted out.

  Ms. Rhee cocked her head. “Yeah . . . the question is: who exactly are you?”

  There was a very long pause.

  “Huh,” said Albiorix at last. And for the first time it dawned on him: unlike his four companions, he had never had a character in their weekly Homerooms & Hall Passes game.

  “Um, the Hall Master?” said Albiorix.

  “You’re going to have to do better than that,” said Ms. Rhee. “Come with me.”

  And so Albiorix, apprentice wizard of Bríandalör, was escorted to the vice principal’s office.

  LEVY, Irene Joy

  OCCUPATION: Eighth-grade social studies teacher

  ATTRIBUTES: Cunning: 11, Intelligence: 16, Likability: 13,

  Willpower: 14, Fitness: 8

  SKILLS: Academic Subject (Social Studies) +8, Classroom Management +7, Computer +2, Cooking –3, Drive +7, Needlepoint +1, Public Speaking +3, Trivia (80s Hair Metal) +10

  BIOGRAPHY: Ms. Levy is the long
time social studies teacher at JADMS who is known for her love of both early American history and her fifteen-year-old pug PRINCE WILBERT (see page 296 for game statistics).

  —Excerpt from The Tome of Teachers

  ON AN UNCOMFORTABLE GREEN COUCH in the J. A. Dewar Middle School office, beneath a poster of a waterfall with the words “Inspire Leadership,” sat Albiorix. Despite the sleepy atmosphere of the office, the wizard was panicking. There was a reason nobody in this world seemed to know who he was. Without a character, he didn’t exist. And so he desperately paged through his collection of Homerooms & Hall Passes sourcebooks, attempting to come up with an identity and plausible backstory for himself before his meeting with Vice Principal Flanagan, which, according to the clock, was happening in less than seven minutes. Albiorix consulted Table 11c: Random Student Names. As discreetly as possible, he rolled a handful of dice for his first, then his last name.

  “What are you doing?” said a girl sitting across from him, startling Albiorix.

  “My name is Armando Boort!” said Albiorix. “And I am a foreign exchange student from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada!”

  The girl blinked. “. . . Cool?” she said. “I went to Toronto once when I was eight.”

  “Toronto is the largest city in Canada, my home country!” said Albiorix.

  “Okay,” said the girl. “So you’re new here too. My mom got offered a job at Seed Pharmaceuticals. We just moved to Hibbettsfield from the city.”

  “Well then, er, welcome to our school,” said Albiorix. “J. A. Dewar, a Great Place to Learn! Gooooo, Titans!”

  The girl cocked her head. “You just said this is your first day.”

  “Right, yes, good point,” said Albiorix, scrambling. “But, the thing is, I’ve already been filled with school spirit. Because it’s Spirit Week. In fact, today is Dress Like a Pirate Day.” He indicated his clothing.

  “Yeah, I was definitely wondering about the robes. Felt rude to ask,” said the girl. “But that sort of explains them.”

  The girl turned back to her phone. Albiorix swallowed. As he replayed their interaction in his mind a few times, it occurred to him that it wasn’t exactly not suspicious.

  “So, what are you doing?” said Albiorix.

  “Oink Pop,” said the girl, not looking up.

  Albiorix was at a loss. “I certainly know what both of those words mean, but . . .”

  “Oh. It’s just a dumb game,” said the girl. “You tickle these little pigs until they pop. What, they don’t have it in Canada?”

  “Exactly!” said Albiorix. “That’s exactly it. It’s so different there. You wouldn’t even believe it.”

  “Huh,” said the girl. “Are your hands greasy?”

  Albiorix froze. He didn’t know how to answer. Was having greasy hands a good thing here? Had he somehow just missed that detail in the books? At last he spoke. “I believe my hands have the appropriate amount of grease on them.”

  “Well, I hope that means no,” said the girl. She handed Albiorix her phone. “Here. Try it.”

  “Er, okay,” said Albiorix.

  On the small glowing screen, a grid of adorable spherical pigs appeared. A timer clock started counting down as peppy, up-tempo music began to play. Albiorix tickled one of the little pigs with the tip of his finger. It started to giggle, then guffaw, then it burst like a balloon.

  “I did it!” said Albiorix.

  “Yeah, but you want to go for groups of three,” said the girl. “That’s how you get the Triple Tickle Bonus. Here, like this.” The girl grabbed her phone back and expertly began to tickle the pigs. One after another, they laughed and popped. Her fingers danced across the surface of the phone, moving almost too quickly for Albiorix to follow. It occurred to him that if she wasn’t fictional, and if people did magic here, then this girl might have made an excellent wizard herself. A friendly chime marked the end of the round.

  “Wow, you’re really good at that,” said Albiorix.

  “Ha, yeah, well, 39,730 is an embarrassing score. But that’s because I let you play the first half of the round. No offense. I’ve made top ten on the national leaderboard seven times. I was even number one, twice,” said the girl, before she seemed to catch herself. “I mean, it’s just a dumb game. I guess being the best at tickling fake pigs until they pop isn’t something to be proud of.”

  “No, it truly is,” said Albiorix. “I can do this!” And before he really thought about it, he had reached into a pocket dimension beside her head and pulled out a coin, seemingly from thin air.

  “Neat,” said the girl. “But please don’t lunge toward my ears again. I don’t know you.”

  “Yes, you do,” said Albiorix. “I am Armando Boort.”

  The girl laughed.

  “What?” said Albiorix.

  “Sorry, I really don’t mean to be rude and please don’t take this the wrong way,” she said. “But that name almost sounds . . . made-up.”

  “Well, it’s a very common name in Canada,” said Albiorix, crossing his arms.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” said the girl.

  “Wait, what’s your name?” said Albiorix, suddenly remembering that he’d forgotten to ask.

  But before the girl could answer, Ms. Roland, the receptionist, interrupted. “The vice principal will see you now,” she said to Albiorix.

  “Okay,” said Albiorix. He rose to follow Ms. Roland down a short hallway lined with doors. As he walked, he glanced back at the girl. She was already playing Oink Pop again.

  Albiorix took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves. This was a critical hurdle to get over. If he had no Homerooms & Hall Passes character, then he technically wasn’t a student at JADMS. If he wasn’t a student, then he wasn’t allowed on school grounds (see Article Six: Section A of the student handbook). And if he wasn’t allowed to come to school, then according to rules, that meant he would Blow It.

  Ms. Roland led Albiorix to a sparsely decorated office dominated by a desk and an oversized national flag, topped with a furious-looking eagle. Sitting behind it was the scowling bald man from the cafeteria. He gestured to the chair across from him. Albiorix sat.

  “So, who exactly are you?” said Vice Principal Flanagan.

  “My name is Armando Boort,” said Albiorix. “I am a foreign exchange student from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada.”

  “Uh-huh,” said Flanagan. “Then why doesn’t my office have any paperwork indicating that?”

  “There must have been some sort of administrative mix-up,” said Albiorix. “My school back in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, submitted everything. Maybe it hasn’t arrived yet? Or perhaps the problem is on your end?”

  “The problem is not on our end!” said Flanagan. “Without the proper documentation, you can’t be here. To officially enroll at James Alexander Dewar Middle School, we need to see—”

  “A reliable form of identification such as a birth certificate or passport,” said Albiorix. In the waiting area, he’d made sure to memorize this section from The Album of Academic Administration that he had in his backpack.

  “Correct,” said Flanagan. “But do not interrupt me again, Armando.”

  “Sorry,” said Albiorix. “The good news is that I can definitely get you the paperwork, which I definitely have. And in the meantime, perhaps I can keep going to school here—”

  “Absolutely not,” said Flanagan. “You enroll first, then you can have the privilege of learning at J. A. Dewar. Those are the rules.”

  Albiorix sighed heavily and shook his head. “Wow. This will mark an unfortunate break in my education, just because I moved to a new place,” he said. “It’s too bad. I was so very excited to learn about your country’s impressive military history.”

  Vice Principal Flanagan shifted in his seat. “You know, my father was in the military,” he said. “Great man. Heck of a disciplinarian. But his career meant we moved around a lot.”

  “Really?” said Albiorix. Though in truth, he already knew these biograp
hical facts. He’d read them minutes earlier in the FLANAGAN, Myron James entry in The Album of Academic Administration.

  “Yes,” said Vice Principal Flanagan. “So, believe me, I know how tough these transitions can be on a young person.” He drummed his fingers on his desk and looked out the window. “Look, Armando, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume there has been a routine mistake somewhere along the line. I’ll allow you to enroll in JADMS—”

  “Oh, thank you, sir!” said Albiorix, leaping to his feet. “Gooooo, Titans!”

  “I said don’t interrupt me,” said Flanagan. “You can enroll on a temporary basis, but unless I get those documents tomorrow, you’re gone. Get it?”

  Albiorix nodded.

  “Don’t make me regret this,” said Flanagan. “Now get to class.”

  And so the wizard Albiorix rejoined his brave companions in the midst of their fourth-period social studies class, where the wise Ms. Levy taught them about early colonial history. But when Albiorix arrived, there was nowhere for him to sit. And thus Mr. Driscoll, the doughty custodian, brought another desk, which he managed to sort of wedge in, near the back. And all the while, the rest of the students in the class stared at Albiorix and it was awkward.

  “Well, let me be the first to welcome you to our school, Armando,” said Ms. Levy.

  “Gooooo, Titans,” said Albiorix.

  “Sure,” said Ms. Levy. “So, picking up where we left off . . . can anybody name one of the factors that made North America an attractive location for the European colonial powers?”

  Thromdurr’s hand shot up. Ms. Levy smiled.

  “Yes, Douglas,” said Ms. Levy.

  “No monsters,” said Thromdurr.

  At this, the entire class burst out in laughter. Thromdurr looked around, confused.

  “Douglas, I never took you for a comedian,” said Ms. Levy, with a slight frown. “Perhaps it’s best to leave the jokes to Stinky.”

  She pointed at Devis.

  “Excuse me?” said Devis, leaping to his feet, indignant. “How dare you—oh, riiiight. Stinky. My name. That is what I’m called.” He slowly sat back down.