And so, being the mature and reasonable adult that I was, I did not talk to him about Fantasy or his wife, and I certainly did not admit to him that I’d found out his secret. I would leave it up to him to tell me on his own time—give him his space, respect his boundaries. I didn’t tell him I knew. I just tried to manipulate him into divulging his secret, so I could then act hurt and indignant.
For example: The Friday before classes began, I left a grubby magnifying glass out on the coffee table, and when Randy arrived home later, I asked him where in the world it could have come from. Did he know? Because I certainly didn’t put it there. I mean, what would a Boy Wizard be doing with something so clearly belonging in Detective?
Okay, it wasn’t the subtlest of approaches, but even so, Randy didn’t give. I tried the same thing with a pair of handcuffs; a black, felt detective hat; and finally, a white T-shirt that simply said “DICK” in bold, black letters. (At which Dach-shund barked profusely until I explained that it was short for detective and told her to get her mind out of the gutter.)
He still didn’t give in though, and by the time Monday morning rolled around, I was fed up, overwhelmed with the need for someone to talk to, and ready to be away from my roommate, the dick.
In my excitement to get out of the apartment, I arrived on campus almost fifteen minutes early. My first class, Fantasy Through the Ages, was in the main building—the plain, brick, cubelike thing bordering the school’s courtyard. I walked around the square, happy just to be on my own. Students were milling about, chatting, and sitting on benches along the shady edge of the square where the stones of the courtyard faded into lush trees beyond. I walked by a group of goblins who were playing hacky sack, laughing their garbage-disposal-like laughs, and was surprised to see a swarm of northern pixies hovering in the air chatting, not ten feet away. They were about the size of my hand and had thick, leathery wings and fluffy tufts of blue fur covering their little bodies. But this wasn’t what surprised me—I already knew what northern pixies were. I was surprised that they were flying so close to the goblins, who are known to have a taste for them.
As I looked around the square, I realized that everybody seemed to be getting along, or at least coexisting. Goblins and pixies; ghosts and ghouls; wizards and—
Jenny. She threw me a quick glare and an impolite gesture before disappearing into the math building. Suddenly, I didn’t really feel like people-watching anymore. That settled it: avoiding Jenny was my best bet. I tried not to think about my brief flirtation with falling in love with the beautiful and terrible Jenny, or my own inability to actually flirt with said Jenny. As I walked into the main building, I decided I needed a distraction. I would devote the ten minutes before class to being productive and getting the reading assignment done. Or I’d at least take the plastic wrapping off my textbook; that would be something to do. But when I walked into the classroom, I was surprised to see that the room was already full and completely silent.
I made my way in between the mahogany desks and velvet chairs until I got to the very front row where there were a few remaining seats. I had already done the Exaggeratedly Cruel Boarding School thing (a common trope in Fiction) and that hadn’t gone so well, so I decided I might as well start out my career at Fiction Academy on a positive note.
Still not thinking about Jenny, at all, I set my mouth into a smile and leaned across the small isle that separated my desk from my neighbor’s. She was cute, if not a little dull-looking. She had light-blonde hair, almost white, cropped short like a boy’s. Her eyes were a dark shade of green, and they slanted up toward her long, pointy ears. She was clearly an elf. Well, she wasn’t nearly as developed or pretty as Jenny, but at least I hadn’t ended her series—I don’t think. I reached out my hand, ready to blow her away with an amazing and charming first impression. “Hi, my name is—”
She looked at me vaguely, and I realized she must be trying to glare, though not very successfully. She seemed to realize it too, so to further emphasize her point, she mouthed something rather rude and then resumed watching the front of the classroom. Alright—two for two. I looked around the room, smiling at my neighbors easily and pretending that my hand was not awkwardly reached out, but merely testing the air or something. I didn’t want them to think that the elf’s or, for that matter, anyone else’s rebuff was bothering me, not even a little, because it wasn’t, but nobody was paying me the slightest bit of attention. All eyes were trained on the podium at the front of the room.
After about ten minutes of staring at the empty podium, I got a little restless. I opened my backpack and took out the syllabus and book for the class.
Fantasy Though the Ages: Monday, Wednesday, Friday, 9:00-11:00. Honorary Guest Professor TBA.
The syllabus went on to list the required readings and assignments for the semester, the first of which I was already slacking on. Just as I was ripping the plastic from my textbook, an even more hushed hush fell upon the room.
I looked up and saw the reason why. Behind the intricately carved wooden podium, shrouded in a cloud of thick smoke, was our Honorary Guest Professor: Merlin himself.
Riiiiiiiiiippppppppppp. The sharp sound of tearing plastic cut through the silence as the book fell from my desk. The plastic unraveled, loudly and quickly, like a roll of toilet paper, as gravity did its job. The length of plastic stopped just short of the stone floor, though, and thankfully kept the book from landing.
“If I may interrupt this fascinating display of Rising Action,” Merlin said as he stepped out of the cloud of smoke and into full view, “allow me to introduce myself. I, as I am sure you are aware, am—”
THUD!
How a book falling two inches could be so loud is beyond me. I stooped to pick it up, hoping not to attract any more undue attention for the rest of my life. So of course, I fell out of my chair, banged my knee on the floor, and clumsily whacked my head on the desk on the way back to my seat.
Merlin fixed me with a stare that might have broken a lesser man. But not me—I just shrank into my chair and wished I’d never been written.
“As I was saying, my name is Merlin, and I will be your professor this semester for Fantasy Through the Ages.” He placed his elbows on the podium and rested his hands beneath his pointy chin. I’d always pictured Merlin to be impossibly old and wizened; have a long, white beard and scraggly hair down to his knees; and at least have a cool accent or something. But this Merlin was clean-shaven, his hair was only about shoulder length, and I couldn’t detect any hint of an accent in his booming voice. I was right about the old and wizened part though.
“I take it you are all in the Fantasy genre? Everybody in the right class? Good!” he shouted, waving his hand in the air and producing a book from nothing. “Now take out your textbooks, and let’s discuss the reading. Mr. Able will start us off.”
Of course I hadn’t done the reading, but I had an excuse on the tip of my tongue. Unfortunately, I was sitting before the most powerful wizard in Fiction (sorry, Gandalf), and a moment later, I felt something peculiar in my mouth, as though I had tried unsuccessfully to swallow a bee. With a snap of his fingers, the little excuse burst from my lips and flew into Merlin’s outstretched hand, my fragmented words trailing through the air in an arc.
“That’s my excuse!” somebody said from a few seats behind me. The speaker was rugged, handsome, undoubtedly a master of landways and seaways, and a thoughtful, mild, and kindly king to boot. It said so on his large and rather inappropriate name tag, underneath “Odysseus.”
I spent the rest of the class listening intently to Merlin as he moved around the front of the room, waving his arms this way and that, robes billowing behind him dramatically. It was all very impressive, and I was determined to impress him as well, to show him I could be a good student. So I pushed aside all thoughts of my failure with females, and focused intently on his words. I even asked a few rather astute questions, if I do say so myself—which I do. I’m not really sure what that means.
> My next class passed without much to-do, and it really isn’t worth too much description. Here, this will probably suffice: BIO 101: Creatures of Fantasy: Monday, Wednesday, Friday, 12:00-2:00. Professor Uk. Okay, okay, I guess there are a few more details worth mentioning. The class was held inside the science building, which was just behind the math building and also rather castlelike. The room was dark and chilly, and made entirely of stone, rather like a cave. It was lit by blue flames, hanging low over our small wooden desks in silver sconces. The already dull ex-characters in the room looked positively peaky in the light, and when the professor walked in, everybody paled even more.
And I’m not trying to sound like I was all brave or anything—I nearly fainted myself. Professor Uk had been the humongous and horrifying captain of the Uruk-hai band of Orcs back in his literary life. After reviving a small nymph who actually did faint, he chatted happily about his days in books. He told us all about how he had made his way into the plot, how he had captured the two hobbits, and how he had been the one to kill Boromir (not Mauhúr). Sure, he was still humongous and horrifying, but by the end of class, I decided Uk seemed like a pretty decent guy. He didn’t even give us homework.
After Creatures, I had a two-hour break before my last class, so I decided to go to the school’s little coffeehouse. My face reddened as I realized that the little awning I’d stood under with Kiki was actually the entrance to the shop, and to my horror, my “embarrassment” was obvious. I swiped at the little word, yellow and about the size of a bee, as it buzzed around me. Luckily nobody seemed to notice, and I made my way to a small table, holding my embarrassment within (my pocket).
The shop was cozy and quaint, the walls a dark cherry wood lined with bookshelves that to my delight were filled with dictionaries and thesauruses. All around the place there were mismatched armchairs—some squat and squishy, others tall and formal-looking. Some looked like large, red-spotted toadstools sprouting from the floor. Tables strewn with coffee mugs and tea sets filled the small spaces between chairs, and nearly every one of those was filled with a student. I squeezed my way in between a toadstool (which I realized was actually a toadstool) and a straight-backed leather chair, and made my way to a little corner table near the counter.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Peter Able,” a rather squawky voice said from behind me almost as soon as I’d put my stuff down. I wheeled around, almost expecting it to be Jenny for the amount of malice in that voice. But it was . . . a penguin. A rather fat penguin.
“Uh, yes?” I said ever so cleverly. It had been a long day already, and I still had one class to go. I just wanted some coffee, some lunch, and maybe a quick nap. The penguin, who I noticed was rather bright and clear (for being black and white), was clearly very irritated with me for some reason. She was tapping her foot impatiently and her eyeballs looked like they might just pop out of her head.
Before I could do anything that might further offend her, like move or breathe for instance, the penguin leaned down over the table, nearly upending it with her bulk.
“You’re dead, Peter,” she whispered. And then, with a final scathing glance over her shoulder, the fat penguin waddled out of the shop before I could even wonder what in the world I’d done to her, or ask the obvious: “Huh?”
I ended up gulping down five cups of coffee during my break, looking around the shop nervously for any more angry females—penguins or otherwise. But despite my record-breaking caffeine binge, I was still so wiped out by my four o’clock Basic Conflict class that I barely had any energy left for capitolization or speling. Ultimately, I think this lack of energy is why I wound up the one destined to be assassinated. Let me explane.
All of the Conflict classes were held on the basement floor of the main building, which was really more of a dungeon than your typical dump-everything-that-doesn’t-fit-in-the-house type basement. I walked down the sloping hallway, surrounded on all sides by dark stone, the sound of dripping water, and sconces lit with blue flame. It was eerie and it smelled like old socks. As the hallway leveled out, it opened up into a room with tall ceilings and several black iron doors lining the walls. There were only a few other students in the space, most of them looking warily at the various classroom doors. The first door I passed had a sign that read, “Person vs. Self.” There was a student waiting outside this door, fidgeting with the straps of his backpack. As I watched, the door swung open and a small, rather mousy girl came out. Somebody within shouted for the next student, and the boy, pale even for an ex-character, went in.
The next door was labeled “Person vs. Person.” Nobody was waiting outside this door, but I did hear what sounded like a lot of yelling from inside. The door burst open as I passed, and I had to jump out of the way as a little cannonball of a human sailed through the air and into the wall behind me.
“And stay out!” somebody shouted before the door slammed closed.
I leaned over to help the person up, and to my horror realized it was my fellow wizard and biggest fan, Jenny. Without thinking, I drew my hand back just as she was reaching for it, and she lost her balance and fell inelegantly back to the floor.
Surprise quickly turned to anger when she looked up and saw it was me.
“Of course, it’s you,” she said, glaring.
I didn’t know quite what to say—yes, it’s me? So I just nodded, and when I still couldn’t think of anything to say, I kept nodding. I was creeping her out again.
“Are u OK?” I finally asked as Jenny gingerly moved around the space, apparently looking for something. She seemed to be favoring her left leg, and I wondered if she’d been badly hurt.
“Fine.”
“Did u lose Sumthing?” I asked, cursing my fatigue.
No answer.
“I can help U find it.”
Finally she sighed, stopped patting down the stone wall, and turned toward me. “I’m looking for the Basic Conflict classroom. There are no more doors down here, there don’t seem to be any secret doors in the wall, and you can’t very well go into any of these classrooms and ask for help, because you’ll just get thrown out!” she hollered in the direction of the Person vs. Person door.
“I assume that’s why you’re down here too, right?” she asked impatiently. “Do you know where it is?”
I shook my head, wishing more than anything that I knew where it was. Perhaps if I knew where the classroom was, she might just overlook that whole my ruining her series thing, and we could ride off into the sunset together. On dragons.
And so we searched in silence. First of all, because I was almost too exhausted to speak, let alone spell correctly; second of all, because my mind was far away, wondering why there weren’t more dragons in Romance; and third of all, because, well, she seemed to really hate me. We were the only two left in the room, and it was not so large that we didn’t keep crossing paths.
Along the walls were the doors to the other Conflict classrooms. There was “Person vs. Society,” “Person vs. Nature,” “Person vs. Supernatural,” and “Person vs. Destiny.” After a few times of awkwardly passing by one another, rereading the signs on the doors as though they might magically change, I decided to go ahead and address the elephant in the room. No, not literally.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I was a little confused. Wasn’t that my line?
“Look. I know I was rude to you just now, and that first time we met, but I guess I’m just a little . . . bitter. I’ll try to work on it. I guess. You can’t help when your author decided to start your series, and that you’re kind of weird. And I shouldn’t have said that stuff about Randy or his wife. I don’t know what the deal is with her; I’d only heard rumors that she was a . . . well, it doesn’t matter. So yeah. Sorry.”
And with that grudging apology, she got down on her hands and knees and began crawling around on the floor, looking for secret passageways in the stone. I did the same and made my way toward her, realizing halfway that I could have just walked. She was on the other
side of the room.
I couldn’t very well apologize for having been written, so I just said, “I’m sorry I Dropped u on the floor just now.”
She nodded curtly and looked back to the floor, ignoring my obvious exhaustion.
“It’s been a really weird day, and I guess I was just surprised to see it was U.”
No reaction.
Just as I was about to tell her about the fat penguin from the coffeeshop, to see if I might at least get a sympathy smile, my knee sunk a little bit into the floor, like it was made of sand. I thought it was weird, sure, but in my exhaustion I was getting Careless and stoopid, and kept moving. Not a moment later I found myself plummeting down an endless hole.
Okay, a very deep hole. I landed some thirty feet below, a little winded and a little surprised to be alive. Above me was the long tunnel I’d just fallen down, and at the top was Jenny, already carefully making her way down the ladder.
“You’re the third one that’s happened to today,” a gruff voice said from behind me. I turned my head and found a classroom full of students staring at me, many of whom were stifling giggles, the rest of whom were laughing openly. The room was only slightly cozier than my Creatures classroom, and that was just because the sconces burned orange instead of blue.
The Fantastic Fable of Peter Able Page 6