by A Corrin
Kitty came in the cafeteria last, giving me a small smile. She walked to the end of the breakfast line, eyes on her shoes as usual, face hidden behind her abundance of curls. I followed and ended up a little behind her with a couple of guys I didn’t recognize in line between us. They must have recognized her from class or something because they started talking to her, and my daydreaming about griffins and fighting dragons fizzled when I heard something mocking in their tone.
Tuning in, I realized that they were picking on her, something about an argument she’d had with a teacher in class.
“So I don’t believe in the big bang, so what?” Kitty said in a small voice, shrugging. Her face was bright red.
One of the guys, a real charmer reeking of cigarette smoke, showed his yellow teeth as if her discomfort brought him some weird kind of pleasure and he said, “What, do you think the earth is flat, too? You realize there’s like, tons of evidence to support the big bang, right?”
“And there’s tons of evidence to the contrary as well. I respect your opinion, but I don’t have to accept it.” Kitty’s voice shook a little, like she was about to cry. Other people in line had started listening in as we inched forward and were either expressing pity for Kitty’s obvious embarrassment or nodding in agreement with what the other kids were saying.
The second guy, tall, with a long, horse-like face, switched astounded looks with his friend at Kitty’s expense and said with appalled disgust, “It’s not an opinion, it’s scientific truth!”
I got ready to interfere for Kitty’s sake—she looked ready to burst into tears—but then something happened that surprised me as much as the two douchebags picking on her.
Kitty’s head snapped up and there was a sudden flash of lightning in her eyes that made the two guys switch unsettled expressions, as if Kitty had just picked up a weapon. Though her cheeks were still bright red, Kitty elegantly lifted her chin and said, “So then you’re of the opinion that all time, matter, and space came together to create all time, matter, and space?”
The guys stared, floundering for words, as taken aback as I was. One of the guys even looked back at me as if for help and I just blinked cluelessly at him. Kitty kept pushing.
“What about the law of entropy, which implies a beginning to the universe? Or the Teleological argument? The presence of fundamental constants in the so-called laws of nature? The Anthropic principle?”
One of the guys made a sound like a drain being unplugged as he stuttered for words and Kitty flapped her arms in an impatient gesture.
“Come on, you had so much to say just a bit ago. If you want to debate, let’s debate.”
Finally, shame colored the guys’ faces and with muttered oaths and flustered grumbles they left the line. Kitty turned on the spot, covering her mouth in mock surprise and looked at me.
“What? An intelligent Christian?” she gasped.
I laughed, and so did a few of the other kids in line who’d witnessed the verbal smackdown.
I stepped forward, filling in the gap left behind by the two guys, giving Kitty a grin of admiration and putting my arm around her shoulders in a fond, brotherly kind of way.
“Damn, Kitty, where’d that come from?”
She showed her teeth in a sweet little smile, draping her arm around my waist and steering me slowly forward in the breakfast line.
“I don’t mind having a discussion, but I won’t let them mock me for what I believe,” she said in a calm, casual way, as if she had mind-boggling theological debates all the time. Maybe she did.
I studied her as she spooned some canned pears onto her tray and grabbed a bagel, humming very quietly to herself. Of all of my friends, Kitty was the only one Garrett had never messed with. I had always assumed that it was because she was so quiet, she just kind of blended in and stayed out of his way, but now I wondered if it was something else. There was something...oddly powerful about Kitty. Something she had that couldn’t be touched or taken, something I had never seen before. A unique and solitary kind of—
“Strength,” I said.
“What?” Kitty said, handing the cafeteria lady some bills.
I paid for my breakfast too and Kitty waited for me while I grabbed us some napkins.
“I never knew you were so...strong. I never knew a person could be strong, like that. With their words.”
Kitty gave a high, merry laugh. “It’s not my words that give me strength, it’s my faith,” she said, leading me toward our table. “And everybody believes in something. It’s just a matter of how much.”
“Well, I don’t have that kind of strength,” I mumbled.
Kitty adjusted the flowered beret clipped into her dark curls and studied me quietly with a maternal expression. “There are different kinds of strength. Like not doing something when you really want to. Congrats on not pummeling Garrett into a pulp. Nikki’s really proud of you.”
I chuckled. “It took every ounce of willpower I had.”
“He’s your foil,” Kitty said.
“He’s certifiable is what he is,” I said, then paused. “What’s a foil?”
“He’s like...the anti-Jonathan. It’s like he exists to test you.”
I gave her a puzzled look. “How so?”
She slung her backpack down beside Ben, who was immersed in conversation with Tyson and Nikki, and I waited impatiently while she searched for words. “Well,” she said, “whenever he starts causing trouble, you’re there to swoop in and stop it. The things he does are terrible but look at what they’re turning you into.” She gave me another bright smile and shrugged. “A hero!”
As Kitty slid in between Ben and Lia, Tyson’s girlfriend, I plopped down next to Tyson and mulled over what Kitty had said.
Kitty seemed to have an answer for everything. An answer for why life sucked so much and why she was so content all the time. But the problem was that these answers required a lot of faith, and that was definitely not my kind of strength. I found it hard to trust something you couldn’t see and feel. Ideals, dreams, faith, none of it mattered. None of it belonged in the real world where there were just as many people happy to crush your dreams and mock your ideals as there were people struggling to hold on to them.
I was a bit jealous of her. I admired her courage to so proudly stand up for what she believed in. I couldn’t do that. Sure, everyone believed something, was willing to put up a fight for something. The problem was, I didn’t know what I believed in. I pondered that all through breakfast and even after the bell rang to start classes. I knew what I liked and what I didn’t like. I loved spending time with my friends and playing football. I loathed Garrett and the other bullies that idolized him. But was there anything that I was truly willing to fight to the death for? To stand for, even if it meant standing alone?
I had an appointment with my counselor after first period. All of the seniors had to meet with their counselors a few times during the year as part of a graduation requirement to discuss their career or college goals and to discuss steps for life after school. My counselor, Josiah, was a really cool young guy with shoulder-length dark hair that flipped out all over the place and easygoing eyes that were mottled amber and sea-green. When I entered his office, I saw that he was hunched over his desk, peering intently at his phone.
“Bad news?” I asked, shutting the door behind me.
“That depends on what you consider bad,” Josiah said distractedly. “I’m almost out of time.”
I looked up at him with concern. He sounded a little agitated. Then he held his phone out to me and said, “Can you find the soup spoon?” He was playing some kind of I-spy game.
I rolled my eyes at him, slinging my backpack down by the chair across his desk and plopping down onto the seat while he clicked a few things on his computer. Josiah had a unique fashion sense, like someone from a different time period trying to fit in. Today he had
on a pinstripe vest over a white dress-shirt and some nice slacks, as if he’d be going to a speakeasy after work. He leaned back in his leather office chair and folded his arms behind his head.
“Have kids been giving you a hard time about what happened on the mountain?”
“It hasn’t been too bad. So long as no one asks for my autograph I think I’ll be okay.” I held his phone out to him. “The spoon was behind the swing set,” I said.
“Much obliged.” Josiah set his phone aside and gave me a genuine, fraternal smile, which I returned in kind. Of all of the teachers I knew at the school, Josiah was the most authentic. He loved what he did, and he’d worked patiently with me ever since my freshman year, back when I’d been nothing but a belligerent, short-tempered pain in the ass.
Looking at his computer screen, Josiah said, “So… I see that for your culminating project you’re doing a research paper on...mythology? Care to elaborate?”
“It’s always interested me,” I said somewhat sheepishly. Tyson and Ben had already given me enough flak for choosing something that they labeled “extremely nerdy.” Josiah waited, and I added, “I think that creatures of myth say a lot about human nature, I mean. We’ve created these monsters over time to represent traits that society has deemed ‘evil.’ Traits like lust, savagery, and greed. And we’ve used them to teach our children the repercussions of indulging in such traits. These monsters are scary, but not because of their fangs and claws… They’re scary because they’re us.”
“Well put,” Josiah said, after digesting my words. There was an odd sparkle in his eyes, like he knew something I didn’t. “Consider me impressed. Do you have enough sources to cite?”
“Not really,” I admitted. “There isn’t much in the library about werewolves and goblins.”
Josiah held up one finger. “I can help you there.” He bent over, rummaged in his satchel, and pulled out three books, setting them in a pile in front of me with a flourish.
All three of the books had bright, shiny leather covers. The one on top especially caught my eye. It had a deep-red cover, rough and bumpy like lizard skin. There were small, downy feathers stuck to it in places, like you’d find in a craft store but more realistic. Some feathers were inky black, some were a silky cream, others were a deep brown, and one cluster above the title was a bright blazing scarlet. It reminded me of someone’s scrapbook or journal that they’d take with them traveling or something.
The title wasn’t stamped into the book in any modern way, but hand-scribed in swooping arcs of calligraphy. It read:
Magnificent Creature, the Griffin
“Griffins?” I asked, touching one of the feathers in confusion.
“Is that a problem? Griffins are creatures of myth too, aren’t they?”
“Well, yeah, but...they’re not really monsters…”
Josiah pushed the books closer to me and said, “I think it would be interesting if you also explored the other side of the equation. If gremlins and bugbears and what-have-you symbolize unflattering traits of humanity, what do more heroic creatures say about us? What do they say about you?”
I met his eyes at that last, thinking of my dragon-slaying dream, of Kitty’s encouraging words from that morning, and Josiah added playfully, “Hero He’klarr?”
I gave him a small, distracted smile and picked the books up carefully, tucking them into my own bag. Griffins were my favorite animal. Researching them could be fun.
“Thank you,” I said a little awkwardly. I wasn’t used to receiving gifts.
Josiah stood up and reached over his desk to shake my hand to indicate that our meeting was over. “No problem, Jonathan. If you have any questions, I’m here to support you.”
Chapter Four:
The Final Dream
What with all of the attention I received throughout the day for my adventure on the slopes, and what with the three books Josiah had given me, I completely forgot about telling Nikki about my dream until the end of the day. The books claimed my attention for much of the day. In sixth period, I unzipped my backpack while my economics teacher droned about something or other and pulled out the red griffin book.
The pages were bound with knots of string to the spine. According to the text, a guy named Peter Malone was the author. Illustrated beneath his name was a large and detailed sketch that I was sure symbolized something.
I flipped through and saw an illustration of a thickly sinewed griffin sitting on its lion haunches and airily licking a fore-talon, its sly eyes peering up and behind it. Above it was a fanciful introduction on the “wondrous beast with a knightly heart.”
Chuckling at the author’s imagination, I closed this book, slipped it back into the bag, and pulled out another book.
This one had a blank yellow cover but for the spiky title:
LOCATIONS
The first page showed a pretty cool tropical beach called Pebble Embark with calm blue waters, warm golden sand, and all manner of flora and fauna. I flipped through other pages, looking at illustrations of cottages built in trees, a street where the cobblestones were interspersed with giant prisms, a small city floating in the sky. This was a little jarring, as my research paper was about mythological beasts, not made-up worlds, but I figured that the books must have belonged in a set and Josiah had to get all three together.
When the bell to end class finally rang, I dodged a few people who wanted to pester me with questions about rescuing Carl, found Nikki, and we went to her house. On the way I told her about the nightmare I’d had about Mom, and about Josiah’s gift.
“The man in your dream called you a little griffin?” she asked, her lips pursed.
“Yeah, weird, huh?”
She tilted her head at me. “It is weird because...wouldn’t that be considered a compliment? Didn’t you say that griffins are good?”
“According to most myths and legends, yeah, they’re indicative of nobility and bravery.”
“Yeah, like unicorns and fairies.” Nikki smiled, mischief dancing in her eyes.
“Except tougher,” I said, flexing my arms. “More manly.”
Nikki just laughed.
Nikki’s quaint home was large, paid for by her father, an engineer. Her mother was a stay-at-home mom, and as loco as a Jack Russell on caffeine. The house was rather lacy and warm, stuffed with Victorian furniture inherited from English ancestors.
Nikki’s mom was always doing bizarre things to the décor. One day, cute rows of porcelain cats would be lined up on the mantelpiece; the next, photos of deceased relatives. Today, there wasn’t anything on the mantel, but gooey ladybug stickers adorned the windows, and a blanket depicting an exotic flower hung on the wall behind an armoire.
“Mom’s in the kitchen baking scones,” Nikki said, explaining the delicious scent in the air. She fiddled with her hair. “Dad’s at work.”
I took a deep, relieved breath. Whenever he was home when I came over, he’d take me into the living room and engage me in conversation that reminded me more of a high-stakes interrogation. Probably because he kept glancing pointedly around me whenever I said something less than stellar—toward his open bedroom door where his hunting rifle was propped in full sight. He didn’t think I was good enough for his daughter, but in my defense, I don’t think anyone would have been up to his standards.
Nikki led me upstairs to her room and sat on her bed. “Okay, show me the books.”
I sat cross-legged on the floor and pulled the books out one by one, handing them to her. Nikki touched one of the soft feathers on the griffin book’s cover as if it were made of the most delicate lace, then flipped through the old pages, stopping on the illustration of a hatching griffin chick. She smiled tenderly, a finger on her lip. “Sweet,” she said.
In the next ten or so minutes, Nikki’s mother came in and lay a tray of scones before us, wearing a blue checkered dress like Dorothy fr
om The Wizard of Oz. I greeted her, and she fondly ruffled my hair.
“How have you been, honey?” she asked. “Did you pass that algebra test you were worried about? I’m sure it was nothing compared to racing a bear down a mountain?”
“I did pass the test, thank you. I’ve been”—I shot Nikki a furtive glance—“fine.”
Nikki’s mom tilted her head at me, and I could see that she knew I wasn’t being entirely honest. Her husband probably would have assumed I’d done something improper with Nikki and gutted me right there, but she respected my privacy and gave her daughter a secret smile—the kind that meant she knew I needed Nikki’s support at the moment.
She left us, and then Nikki and I lay side by side, alternating between eating and looking through the book, our legs resting against each other’s, commenting every now and then on the detailed drawings. Whoever this Peter guy was, he was talented.
Nikki perused the griffin book while I browsed through the book I hadn’t looked at yet.
Like the other two, this book was by the same author, Peter Malone. It had a pale-blue cover of similar material and a journalistic theme with small illustrations pasted to the front: glorious mermaids, furious dragons, prowling chimeras, black-cloaked strangers, and a lot more. This time the title was in bold ink and spelled:
CREATURES OF DREAMS AND NIGHTMARES
Oooh. Maybe Garrett was in here.
Having more of a diverse choice of what to read about, I flipped curiously to a random page that displayed a rough but detailed illustration of something called a siren.
Okay, Peter, you’ve caught my attention…
There was only one picture, and it showed a gorgeous woman floating on her back on the water, her arms extended and her face inviting.
The dreadful siren coaxes all men into her disastrously covetous arms. To them, she is as beautiful as a queen. But it is indeed good luck to have a woman on board in encounters with the siren, for to her, they look like the demons they truly are—with glowing yellow eyes, fleshless skulls, and hollowed-out, emaciated bodies.