Albiorix didn’t have a character in this game world, and so he had no backstory, no address, and no family. That meant he didn’t have a home here in Hibbettsfield. Until the party figured out a way back to Bríandalör or he thought of a better idea, he would be sleeping at school. Where, exactly? Now that was a good question.
Albiorix cracked The Manual of Middle-School Maintenance. He studied the maps of J. A. Dewar Middle School, searching for a good place to spend the night. After he found a few likely locations, he cross-referenced them with the custodian’s cleaning regimen. (Mr. Driscoll mopped east to west, first floor to third, then cleaned all the bathrooms and emptied all the trash cans in the opposite order.)
“Aha!” said Albiorix.
He’d finally found what he was looking for: room B-3. In the basement, there was a little-used storage closet where the school kept its industrial floor polisher—an unwieldy contraption that was brought out once a week on Saturdays to scour gunk that a normal mop couldn’t handle. Tomorrow was Tuesday, so nobody would need the device for five more days. There was only a two percent chance of encountering anyone there on a day other than Saturday. Room B-3 was hardly the most desirable place to spend the night, but as an adventurer, Albiorix had slept in far worse places. To be honest, even many of the actual beds in Bríandalör were moldy straw-filled pallets, often infested with fleas or imps.
Around five fifteen, while Mr. Driscoll was mopping the east side of the second floor, Albiorix crept down the staircase on the west side of the building.
He made a brief detour to the vending machines, where he pulled a handful of magical coins out of a pocket dimension—luckily the same size as quarters—and bought himself some peanut-butter crackers, a bag of corn chips, and a grape soda for dinner (all popular choices from The Fulsome Folio of Foods, thank you very much, Vela). It may not have been a feast fit for a Bríandalörian king, but it was a far sight better than the blind lizards the party had once subsisted on as they tried to navigate their way out of the Endless Caverns of Cúach.
After obtaining his rations, Albiorix continued downward to the school basement. It was dim and dusty, honestly a bit dungeonlike. Sure enough, B-3 was a small room dominated by the floor polisher, some boxes of outdated textbooks. and a few other assorted odds and ends. Albiorix reached for the light switch and stopped himself.
“Nope,” he said. “Wizard.” Then he cast a simple light spell from memory. A soft orb of moonglow rose from his fingertips and drifted up toward the ceiling, bathing the closet in silver light. Albiorix smiled.
Then he ripped open the corn chips and got down to work. Problem one had been solved: he’d located a safe haven for the night. It was on to problem two: figuring out how to prove he really was Armando Boort, a foreign exchange student from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. After carefully reviewing the relevant portions of The Album of Academic Administration and then studying The Sourcebook of School Subjects, he hatched a plan that he felt sixty-five percent good about. Maybe seventy percent?
He’d finished the peanut-butter crackers by the time he’d proceeded to problem three. This was the big one: transporting the entire adventuring party back to Bríandalör without having to spend two more months stuck inside the game world (though if he was being honest, this prospect didn’t bother him as much as it seemed to bother the others).
Albiorix read and reread every relevant Homerooms & Hall Passes supplement in his pack: The Hall Master’s Guide, The Cyclopedia of Students, The Tome of Teachers, and more. As the night wore on, he tossed the books he’d digested in stacks at his feet. And the stacks grew. After many hours—though Albiorix now knew far more about the most popular brands of sneakers at JADMS and all the faculty members’ individual salaries—he hadn’t come to a better solution than the one Vela had proposed: that they finish the nonadventure module he’d been running, The Semester of Stultification, as successfully as they could.
“Hmph,” said Albiorix, crossing his arms. Not being able to outthink someone whose main job was, let’s face it, to poke things with the pointy end of a sword, didn’t sit right with him. Sure, everyone else was braver, or tougher, or their one-liners were better. But he was supposed to be the smart one, right?
Just then a musty tang caught his nose, and Albiorix remembered that there was still one book left. It wasn’t an H&H sourcebook, though. He reached into the bottom of his pack and pulled out the Malonomicon.
Bound in age-stained red leather, the tome had splotches on the cover that faintly suggested dozens of souls melting in agony. Surely it was evil. The paper shredder that Albiorix had found in The Manual of Middle-School Maintenance was likely unattended. In a few minutes, he could have destroyed the vile book forever.
Instead, Albiorix the wizard began to peruse its crumbling pages.
In the real world, to learn something or find something or create something, magic is often your best option. But in the fantastical setting of Homerooms & Hall Passes, many of these same functions fall to mysterious devices called “computers.” Though few understand the arcane methods by which they work, computers are everywhere—from cars to toys to the phones in nearly everyone’s pocket—and various forms of computer worship stretch back for decades. . . .
—Excerpt from The Hall Master’s Guide
“GAAAH!” SCREAMED MR. DRISCOLL.
“Bah!” said Albiorix, sitting up from the pile of H&H sourcebooks where he’d dozed off the night before.
“What are you doing here?” said Mr. Driscoll, evidently not expecting to find anyone asleep in room B-3.
Albiorix blinked and tried to collect his thoughts. “I, uh, had Pizza Club, but I ate some chess and, uh, . . . am I early for school?”
“It’s six twenty-seven a.m.,” said Mr. Driscoll.
“Oh, that explains it,” said Albiorix. “Where I’m from—Edmonton, Alberta, Canada—this is when class starts.”
“How did you even get into the building?” said Mr. Driscoll.
“The door was unlocked,” said Albiorix with a shrug he hoped would sell the lie.
Mr. Driscoll’s eyes narrowed. “I’m positive I locked all the doors when I left last night,” he said. “Why are you down here in the basement?”
“Oh,” said Albiorix. “Isn’t this my homeroom?”
“It’s obviously a storage closet!” said Mr. Driscoll.
Albiorix looked around. “Ah, okay,” he said. “That explains the floor polisher.”
“Look, I don’t care if you’re new. There’s obviously something fishy going on here,” said Mr. Driscoll. “You need to report to Vice Principal Flanagan’s office. I mean, as soon as he actually gets in.”
“Er, please don’t make me do that,” said Albiorix.
“And why shouldn’t I?” said Mr. Driscoll.
A disciplinary action was definitely not what Armando Boort from Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, needed to make the case that he belonged at JADMS. The wizard’s mind raced. He’d read Mr. Driscoll’s entry in The Manual of Middle-School Maintenance the night before. He knew the man loved baked ziti, hockey, abstract expressionism, and puns. How could he convince Driscoll to go easy on him?
“Look,” said Albiorix, “if I get something like this on my permanent record, it could ruin my chances to become a . . . professional hockey player.”
Mr. Driscoll stared at him for a long moment. His expression slowly softened. “You play hockey?”
“Yep,” said Albiorix, who had definitely also read about hockey in one of his less essential H&H sourcebooks at some point, but had completely forgotten what it was.
“What position?” said Mr. Driscoll.
“Er, all of them,” said Albiorix.
“Wow,” said Mr. Driscoll. “You know, I used to play goalie for Pine Hill High. Broke my ankle senior year. Didn’t get a scholarship.”
Albiorix shook his head. “It’s a shame how a little bad luck can derail the career of a promising young hockeyist.”
Mr. Driscoll
took a deep breath. “Okay, fine,” he said at last. “You’re new here, so I’m going to cut you some slack and assume this was an honest mistake.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Driscoll!” said Albiorix, who stood and started to leave.
“Wait a second,” said Mr. Driscoll, placing a hand on the wizard’s chest and stopping him. “I’ve never met you before. How do you know my name?”
“It’s . . . on your shirt,” said Albiorix. And luckily it was.
“Oh, yeah,” said Mr. Driscoll, glancing down at the patch on his chest. He chuckled. “I always forget about that.”
“Well, uh, next time, be shirt to remember,” said Albiorix with a big smile.
Mr. Driscoll’s expression hardened again. “You know, normally I really enjoy puns,” he said. “But that one was . . .” He shook his head in quiet disgust.
“Sorry,” said Albiorix, as he scrambled to collect all his books and stuff them back into his pack. “I’m still trying to understand your culture.”
“For future reference,” said Mr. Driscoll, “first bell is at seven thirty. No need to arrive an hour early. And stay out of the basement. It’s dangerous down here.”
“Got it,” said Albiorix.
“Oh, and I don’t want to hear that you’re up to any more funny business,” said Mr. Driscoll. “Focus on the sport and keep out of trouble.”
“Yes, sir,” said Albiorix. “The only thing you’re going to hear about me is how I did some amazing hockey stuff on the hockey court with my hockey bat.”
Mr. Driscoll cocked his head. Albiorix could feel the custodian’s eyes on his back all the way up the basement stairs. The wizard silently cursed his luck. Now room B-3 was out and he’d have to find another place to sleep while he was stuck in this strange world. Still, it might have gone worse. Albiorix sat down by the eighth-grade lockers to wait for his companions. He pulled out an H&H sourcebook called The Great Grimoire of Games, which detailed many of the strange sports people played here, and began to reread the entry for hockey. Turns out it didn’t involve horses at all.
When the other adventurers finally arrived, the wizard almost didn’t recognize them. Vela, Thromdurr, Sorrowshade, and Devis had shed their normal clothing, and they were dressed like true Suburbanites now. In their new outfits—hoodies, T-shirts, sneakers, jeans—the Bríandalörians were virtually indistinguishable from the natives. Again, the five of them discreetly convened in their mostly deserted alcove near the library.
“Ugh, I can’t believe I’m wearing this stupid getup,” said Sorrowshade. “So embarrassing.”
“I think you look nice,” said Vela.
“Thank you, Vela,” said Sorrowshade. “I wish I could say the same.”
A passing student, Nicole Davenport, snickered as she overheard this.
“Shhh,” said Albiorix as Nicole disappeared around the corner. “You definitely don’t want her to notice you.”
“Sorry,” said Sorrowshade.
“Do people here really change clothes every day?” said Devis, picking at his sweater. “What a waste of time.”
“Yeah,” said Albiorix. “Most middle schoolers are scared of smelling bad.”
“Bah!” said Thromdurr. “A powerful stench lets friend and foe alike know that you are not afraid to exert yourself in pursuit of your goals!”
Albiorix shrugged. “That reminds me,” he said. “I can’t really wear my robes again today. It’ll be too suspicious.”
Devis and Thromdurr rummaged through their backpacks to offer their gym clothes to Albiorix to borrow for the day. Devis’s were too small and Thromdurr’s were too big. In the end, Albiorix decided too big was preferable.
“Thanks,” said the wizard as he stuffed the T-shirt and shorts into his own pack. “I’ll change before homeroom.”
“So,” said Vela, “how did everyone’s evening goooo . . .” The question trailed off into a long yawn.
“Wow, Vela, you look more tired than I do,” said Albiorix, “and I slept on a floor polisher.”
“I had to do all of Valerie’s activities,” said Vela, yawning. “Debate Club, studying for the PSAT, an hour of solo flute practice—an instrument I have no idea how to play, by the way—and some essay contest about fire safety. My H&H character is overcommitted. I wish I hadn’t chosen to play an Overachiever. It seems like a Gamer or a Class Clown would be easier.”
“Sure is,” said Devis. “All Stinky has to do is crack wise and eat soup. . . . I mean, it was a little too much soup. We had soup for breakfast too. I think we’re having soup for dinner tonight. Next game, I’m going to think through my backstory a little more.”
“How about you, Thromdurr?” said Albiorix. “How was your first night as Douglas the Nerd?”
“I could not build the eStar T6-010 Electronic Minicar Model Kit,” said Thromdurr, hanging his head. “I have brought shame upon the name of my father, Ron Schiller.”
“Yeah, well, at least you weren’t tortured,” said Sorrowshade.
The other adventurers turned to stare at Sorrowshade in horror.
“Three hours of Traders of Oogoo with Pam, Keith, Josh, and little Carter,” said Sorrowshade, “And then I had to hug all of them before bed.”
“Sorrowshade, that honestly sounds like a warm and loving home life,” said Vela.
“I know,” said Sorrowshade. “And I’m not sure I can take two more months of it. Albiorix, have you figured out another way home yet?”
“Er, no, I mean—not as such,” sputtered Albiorix. He neglected to mention all the time he had searched the Malonomicon for answers. He’d seen a section on bargaining with demons using your soul as collateral, a spell for raising undead minions from the grave, a nasty little hex called “mass paralysis,” and even a ritual for turning inanimate objects evil. Most of the dark magic in the book was well beyond his ken. And so far, none of it seemed especially useful.
“Huh,” said Sorrowshade. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s seeming less and less like you’re the smart one.”
“What is the right way to take that?” said Albiorix.
Sorrowshade shrugged. “Do you at least have a plan for convincing Vice Principal Flanagan not to expel you?”
“Yeah,” said Devis. “Which long con are you going to run on the guy? The widow’s brother? The Ostädian prisoner? The Tom Bombadil? The ol’ kobold in a knapsack?”
“I have an idea that I think could work,” said Albiorix.
“Know this, Albiorix,” said Vela. “I will not lie on your behalf.”
“Oh, here we go again,” muttered Devis.
Thromdurr sighed.
Sorrowshade shook her head. “These people are just made-up Homerooms & Hall Passes nonplayer characters,” she said, waving to the hall around them. “They aren’t real. Who cares if we—”
“I will not lie,” said Vela again, her tone hardening to steel.
“And I won’t ask you to, Vela,” said Albiorix. “But I may need a distraction during second-period Computer Applications class.”
“Then you’re in luck, Magic Man,” said Devis, “because I’m basically a walking distraction.”
The first bell rang, cutting their conversation short.
“Okay, I’ll see you all in room 106, Ms. Chapman’s homeroom,” said Albiorix, “Except for you, Vela. You’re the student body president, so that means you deliver morning announcements with Olivia Gorman from the video lab, room 311.”
“Ah yes,” said Vela, swallowing. “The announcements that are . . . seen by the whole school?”
“Yep,” said Albiorix, patting her on the shoulder. “Don’t mess up.”
The party broke. Albiorix made a quick detour to the boys’ bathroom to change into Thromdurr’s oversized gym clothes. The billowing T-shirt and shorts didn’t quite go with his travel-worn adventurer’s boots, but there was nothing to be done about that now. The wizard made it to Ms. Chapman’s homeroom just before the tardy bell. As he ducked through the door, he not
iced the Oink Pop girl from the day before, sitting in the front row.
“Good morning, everyone,” said Ms. Chapman, who was wearing a tweed blazer and a seasonal turtleneck.
“Good morning, Ms. Chapman,” said the class in unison.
“First off, I want to remind you that we are electing our class officers next week. So get ready for some democracy in action! Who knows, maybe this time the class president will be someone other than Valerie!” said Ms. Chapman with a laugh, as though the prospect was very, very unlikely. “Secondly, we have two new students with us today. As I understand it, some of you already met Armando Boort yesterday. On behalf of our school, welcome, Armando!”
“Hello,” said Albiorix. “Very excited to be here and, uh, learn.”
“Hello, Armando,” said the class.
“What is he even wearing?” said Evan Cunningham, eliciting a round of snickers from the back of the class.
“Shhh,” said Ms. Chapman. “Now I’d also like everyone to give another warm J. A. Dewar Middle School welcome to our other new student, June Westray.”
“Hello, June,” said the class.
“Hi,” said June, who looked mortified.
“June is from the big city,” said Ms. Chapman, “so I’m sure she can tell us what all the hip new styles are. June, when I go to the city I like to eat falafel. Have you ever had falafel?”
The girl, June apparently, looked like she wanted to die. Her “yes” to the falafel question was virtually inaudible.
Unfazed, Ms. Chapman proceeded to call roll. (Jackie Barrera and Tim Fumihiro were absent.) She then turned on the TV at the front of the room. There sat Vela and a girl with glasses.
“Gooooood morning, Titans. I’m Olivia Gorman, and this is the J. A. Dewar Morning Bulletin,” said the girl in a slightly forced monotone. “Today is Tuesday, October sixth, the second day of Spirit Week. Polka Dot Day. For lunch we will have hamburger or fish sandwich. And now Valerie Stumpf-Turner will lead us in the Pledge of Allegiance.”
Homerooms and Hall Passes Page 6
