As it had turned out, David wasn’t the only one who had walked in late on the first day of summer school. Samantha had entered the room about fifteen minutes after him, heedless of the fact that she was half an hour late for class. The school, being non air conditioned, kept the windows open throughout the day and David wouldn't have been surprised if he had been told they even stayed that way throughout the night as well. When he had arrived the day before he had gone to the only table left and had tried to set himself down inconspicuously, taking the seat closest to the isle — all the better to leave quickly, my dear. As he had entered the room, John, a boy who had been in his science class during the regular school year, had said to him, loud enough for the entire class to hear, “Let me guess, you couldn’t find the room.” For that he received a smattering of giggles from the class.
That was the same joke John told to anyone who had walked in late last year, that was the same thing he said to Samantha yesterday and it would probably be the same thing he’d say throughout the month of July. (It was supposed to be funny because Ceedon’s Valley Secondary School was notoriously small, consisting of two stories and a total of two long corridors.) On the first day of summer school David had wondered if John sat by the door for just that purpose, and after a moment’s consideration decided yes, he did.
When Samantha had walked into the room on that first day, stopping about two metres past the door to glare at the class with obvious distaste, Mr. Peters had misread the look and showed her to the seat beside David. As she sat down, miraculously managing not to split the seam of her very tight, very short skirt, David mused that you had to know Samantha in order to know that the look she handed to class was one of contempt. She pitied them. It was only by some great cosmic mix-up that she was there amongst them at all. Her fellow classmates for the rest of the summer were so much beneath her… and there was little doubt in David’s mind she would remind them of that every day.
“Images,” she had declared to David, after pronouncing him a slob, “are everything.”
She lived by this motto, no doubt. It was either that or she was highly self-centred. Like centre of the universe, almost hitting six feet in heels, self-centred. David would put twenty dollars on the latter. It was more than clear by the way she’d pull out a mirror while Mr. Peters was delivering a very detailed dissertation on photosynthesis and start applying mousse to her black locks. Curls that, although she claimed were natural, came and went from time to time.
“It’s your fault,” she had told David, “I need to shut that window…. What health hazard? You can acclimate; I can acclimate…. Well then let’s trade seats.”
David had refused to do either and felt a pang of guilt every time Mr. Peters looked over to see Samantha applying make-up or fixing her hair. David would kick her under the table and try to tell her that the teacher was watching, but Centre-of-the-Universe didn’t seem to care. Every great diva needed an audience, after all.
“If I wasn’t by the window I wouldn’t have this problem.” Right on cue a gust of wind had come bearing through the meshed frame, sending the just brushed hair of Samantha into new tangles.
Now, for the second day in a row David had, very easily, gotten the seat furthest from the window, closest to the isle. It was an extremely easy task and if the sixteen year old girl was surprised she should not have been. David, after all, was the fastest short distance runner at Ceedon’s Valley Secondary School — in the entire district, as a matter of fact. But that had nothing to do with Samantha and her world so he doubted that she knew that. To her credit, David had a few non-specific memories of Samantha and tennis. He seemed to have the impression that she mostly played at the private rec club on the outskirts of town. Maybe she played on the school team as well but he doubted it. She just didn’t seem all that competitive.
As he took his place on the uncomfortable lab stool, Samantha, who was only three-quarters of the way across the room, stopped running and walked the rest of the way. As she neared, David noticed that today her black hair was pulled loosely back in a braided ponytail, and she wore bright red lipstick and huge movie star sun glasses. Looking at the sun glasses David absently wondered if she was going to keep them on throughout the entire class. He was struck by how worldly she looked, as though she had travelled to every country imaginable and was just stopping over in her home town of Ceedon’s Valley for some well deserved R&R. For that short, barely-there second he had felt a kind of wonder and fascination about her, like maybe there was something more to her than what she presented. As quickly as those feelings had come they were gone. The only thing left was Samantha standing in front of him, her red lips drawn together in a pout.
“This is great,” she heaved in an overly dramatic manner, weaving her hands over her chest, “you’d think a lady would be shown a little something in the way of consideration, to say the least.”
“Tell you what,” David said in his most bartering tone, “manage to beat me here and this seat will be yours for the rest of the summer.”
David tried to search her eyes for some reaction other than suspicion. Mike had told him that his mother always looked into a person’s eyes when she wanted to find out some truth about that person. That didn’t work in this situation, though. Samantha’s sun glasses stood on top of her nose like a brick wall. All of her features had returned to normal, her hands had slid down to her hips where the fingers held on loosely, her pouting lips were poised delicately, and her posture was its usual self: regal with back arched just enough to strike an attractive pose. Diva.
“If I was dumb enough to believe that, I’d have to be dumb enough to believe anything,” she finally spoke.
Fortunately David had a reply ready. Well, truthfully he had two replies ready, but he stuck with the one most befitting of a ‘lady.’
“Let’s try it and see. Mr. Peters wouldn’t mind. I mean, since we wouldn’t be walking in late every day.”
She gasped. David couldn’t say what for and the truth of the matter was he didn’t care. It could have been that she felt insulted by the jab but he thought it more likely that she had come to the realization that that would cut into the time she spent with her boyfriend. Theirs was a ‘meaningful relationship.’ At least that’s what Samantha had told David while Mr. Peters was explaining something about plant growth and their structures. David always saw the pair together on his way into the building. According to Samantha the boyfriend was some upper year jock every girl in Ceedon’s Valley, if not the world, would have killed to go out with. Football?… Basketball?… Something. Not track, so David hadn’t concerned himself with the details.
“Okay, I’ll humour you, but I’d like to have it on record that any try on my part is purely half-hearted.”
David agreed. He suspected the reason he even thought up a ridiculous idea like that was because of the excitement lacking in his life. Summer school, he knew from past experience, although notoriously short, could also be paradoxically long, especially in the presence of Centre-of-the-Universe whining.
When Mr. Peters walked into the classroom on that second day of class he immediately declared that only two students had passed the previous day’s quiz. He then proceeded to explain, again, the stages of plant growth. At some point during one of the early stages David unconsciously reduced Mr. Peter’s voice to ambient background noise, like one of those CDs filled with ocean sounds that people used to relax or fall asleep. With that accomplished he was able to focus on the enigma that was Mike. He knew that even if Mike had never wondered about the growth of plants, he would have been able to explain it perfectly, the spelling and pronunciation of Mr. Peter’s fancy words intact. In fact, Mike probably would not have been able to stop explaining it. David wondered what Mike was doing at this very moment — not botany, that was for sure. Mike’s genius was real, well, genius. He didn’t have to study.
Without even realizing it consciously David was already missing the presence of Mike first thi
ng in the morning — they had been in the same English class. He thought that maybe on his way home from school he’d drop by his friend’s house and see if Mike wanted to go down to Riley’s for a slice of pizza, maybe play a few video games.
Soon David’s mind began to wander even further afield, conjuring up images of Milton’s Resort. It wasn’t long before he settled into the class with a distant look, one that was absurdly compatible with Samantha’s, on his face.
CHAPTER TWO
Mike was dreaming. Well, not really dreaming. He was in that light sleep state where memories came bubbling to the surface of consciousness in a dream-like manner. He was remembering how he had discovered the path into the drop and how he had found that strange object with its strange magic but two years ago. He was sure that was the point at which he had morphed from a bland, insignificant twelve year old boy with a solid C average to a bland, insignificant, nerdy twelve year old by with an A average at any level no matter how hard he didn’t try. His teachers and parents thought it was puberty — a real maturing of the mind. He knew differently. He knew it was the magic. It had happened all of a sudden on that fateful night. Though his memories were sound he relived them now through the ethereal haze of sleep:
Mike had his head down, hands stuffed into the front pocket of his jeans, bent on getting home before dusk. It was the rule. He didn’t want to break it — again. That’s why he had taken the short cut through the woods — even though he was not supposed to do that, either. On his right the trees abutted the dirt path which he followed. On his left, just beyond a low guard rail, a second parallel path had been made and the ground dropped away into a steep cliff. The tree canopy obscured what was at the bottom but one could only assume it was more trees. As always the Drop seemed to call to him. Mike could only assume it had that effect on everybody. Like walking a tight wire or climbing a ladder, there was always the whisper to look down — just one quick look.
Well Mike didn’t have time to indulge in whispers and subliminal messages. Anyhow, when he did, it usually got him in trouble. And, he reminded himself, he was actively trying to avoid trouble.
Mike continued scurrying along, his body braced against a rising wind and the on-coming chill. Suddenly he stopped. What was that?
Before he could discern a sensible answer in his conscious mind his instinctive response reached the front of his brain and decided that it was the Drop. The Drop was calling to him. But just now he thought he had heard an audible melody — audible in his mind, anyways.
He shook his head defiantly, determined to clear it of that train of thought and began to move forward again. No sooner had he taken two steps that he heard — very clearly, in his mind, that wordless singing again. He was just about to tilt his head in an attempt to determine the direction from which the sound had come, just in case it had not been in his mind only, when a burst of colour exploded behind his eyes. So vivid was the splash of blue and white and red and orange he was momentarily blinded. Instinctively he turned his gaze in the direction of the setting sun. The sunset was spectacular but not as spectacular as what he had seen in his mind’s eye a moment before.
A new urgency gripped him and he was now more resolute than ever to make his way home. He started forward again, again shaking his head to clear it from intruding visions and sounds. This time he was intent on staying in the present. He walked with his head up and back straight, his eyes sweeping the path ahead. Once his vision again became accustomed to the gloom he again stopped in his tracks. This time he felt more fear than curiosity. Further up along the path, off in the distance — too far to make out its features — a shadowy figure was moving awkwardly along the path towards him. It may have been a man, but there was something not quite right about its shape nor about its gait, which was a shuffle, really.
The instinct to hide was strong in Mike and it over-rode even his determination to be home by curfew. With not so much as a thought, he answered the call of the Drop. He stepped over the low safety rail and gingerly — as quietly as possible — stepped back to hide amongst 5the trees. Hopefully whoever or whatever it was had not seen him and would just pass him by. To be sure he was sufficiently hidden he took one more step back into the brush. That was when he started to fall….
Mike’s eyes opened suddenly. Somehow he knew that his cold had already gotten worse. This certainty had something to do with the heaviness of his nose; he was confident it was a bright pink. He was also quickly aware of a dull but persistent pounding within his head and grimaced at the pain. How anybody could begin their summer holiday with a cold he did not know. But it wasn’t just that, it was the way that it had come out of nowhere.
Late yesterday he found himself coughing and by the time he was in bed for the night a stuffy nose and a sore throat had joined the mix. He had done his best to keep away from his mother. If she had found out about his condition he would have been up half the night being force-fed various syrups, drops and pills; as well as a well-rehearsed regimen of home remedies. It was either that or he would have been dragged down to the Emergency Department; his mother not giving much of a thought to the fact that what he had was a case of the common cold and for that there was no cure. If his father hadn’t been away on business Mr. Gregory might have been able to calm his wife, but without his being close Mike was sure his mother would be out of control. And that was a thought he did not like.
From below there was the sound of cupboards banging and his Ma humming. A hand rose to his throat and an oppressive feeling settled within him. It was the same feeling that had been there the night before and had come on and off without so much as a warning over the past year or so, never lasting much longer than a few seconds. When the feeling had come yesterday and persisted for long moments Mike thought that would be all he’d hear from it for a long while. So he was taken by surprise when he woke and the feeling had settled on him again. It was only one-half as painful as it was annoying, and it sent Mike feebly rolling onto his stomach, pulling both pillow and blanket over his head in an attempt to try and stop the hurt.
This was supposed to have been a good holiday, even if he hadn’t been able to go away with the rest of his classmates. He hadn’t even bothered to ask. There was no doubt the answer would have been a brisk, unyielding, “No!” He doubted that even his father would have agreed. All was not lost though. David hadn’t been able to go either. For Mike that was good because the truth was David was one of the few friends this fourteen year old boy had. Maybe even the only friend he had ever had.
Sure, another summer visiting his aunt on her farm would have been okay, but a summer with David would definitely up the fun factor. Mike often wondered what it was David saw in him. Let’s face it, he was boring. But was it his fault? He thought not. He wasn’t to blame for the fact that he was fourteen years of age and headed into grade twelve. He would much rather be in the tenth grade where he belonged, but there’d be no way his father would allow that. Thoughts of trying to persuade Mr. Gregory into letting him go back came to mind and a grave, depressed feeling settled in. He let out a moan to express the agony of his existence, but even as he did so he knew he shouldn’t have.
“Micheal!” came the high-pitched, whining voice of his mother from the doorway. (There were those who believed he sounded just like her at times.)
Inwardly he moaned again.
“Oh Mikey, what’s wrong. Are you ill?”
He wanted to answer but wasn’t given the chance.
“Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll have the doctor over here in no time.”
“Oh Ma,” Mike turned around to see her exiting through his room door, “Ma! Ma!” Mike called.
“Yes Honey?” She had returned in another second.
“Ma, I’m fine. Really, I am.”
“But look at you. You look awful. You sound awful.”
He supposed what she said was true, but surely it was nothing some decongestant wouldn’t fix. “Ma, I’m fine. Honest. I’v
e just got a stuffy nose, that’s all…. I think it’s allergies.”
She looked doubtful but Mike thought she was beginning to buy his act. For the past few weeks he had been watching his father very closely and if his hunches were right, soon it wouldn’t only be Mr. Gregory who knew how to maneuver the chubby lady standing in the doorway.
Quickly the covers were thrown off and the young boy jumped out of his bed. All this appeared to be done easily but the truth was Mike thought he would collapse back onto his tangled pile of sheets and blankets at any moment. Running over to give his mother a hug. Mike felt certain that he had won her over.
From his own observations he knew that the strategy employed by his father involved three basic maneuvers: First, try to see how firm she was on a decision. This could be done by an opposing statement, question or answer. Next, show or say something irrefutable to prove your point. A physical demonstration seemed to work best. The final stage was, simply enough, show her she was needed and her concern appreciated.
He smiled into her orange hair and hoped she didn’t feel the heat burning within his flushed cheeks. There was little doubt in his mind a fever was next to come.
“Are you sure, Honey?”
“Ma, I’m positive.”
“Well, if you’re really sure I guess I’ll go on to the grocery store. Let me get you some Advil before I leave. You really look awful.”
Mike smiled his appreciation. The Advil was probably just the thing he needed. He’d pop a couple of them into his mouth and sit himself in front of the television and wait for summer school to let out.
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