The Children of Hamelin

by Danny Lasko

  She pulls something out of her ear as I draw closer, and before I can ask, she pushes it into mine, fiddling with it until it’s stable.

  “—I predict that tonight, you will witness the birth of a legend,” declares the smooth, fast-talking Billy Jack, the voice of every Allen Escape and Texas’s resident expert on the sport. It’s a preview of tonight’s match. Annie points to me, indicating that the “legend” the guy on the broadcast is talking about is me, Horatio Gaph. She clips the com to my waistband.

  “You carry it.”

  Annie pulls me forward, urging me to run and listen at the same time. We pace with Billy’s unique cadence, running faster with the expectation that it will help Billy keep up.

  “We saw what Gaph can do with the star three years ago,” argues Billy Jack. “He lit three pillars on two throws. Every time he touches a star, he scores. Who else can say that?”

  My granddad says The Escape reminds him a little bit of a game he used to play when he was a kid, something called Ultimate, but the stars didn’t glow, nothing blew up, and there was only one goal instead of six. And when you won, your reward was a bunch of high fives and a short-lived adrenaline rush. Not things like running water or tar shingles for the roof. I asked him why play the game at all. He says he used to play it for fun.

  “Look, we don’t know how good he’s going to be now,” says Racin’ Rick Rowly in his trademark guttural voice. My eyebrow involuntarily rises. “Look, the reason Gaph’s had only two throws is that on the second, he got blasted by three guys at once hitting him up down and behind, which sidelined him for the last year and a half.”

  “I don’t like Rowly,” declares Annie, swinging her arms back and forth and fiddling with her own earpiece. How she got a wireless com, I don’t want to know. Billy Jack doesn’t seem to like Rowly’s claim, either.

  “The reason Gaph has only two throws under his belt is the Zorn Scandal—”

  “Here we go again.”

  “—at Allen Academy, where Drake Zorn’s father was paying off Coach Billerby with beef lard to start his son at striker and keep Gaph on the bench,” argues Billy Jack. “That’s why Gaph has only two throws under his belt. Otherwise, he’d have started as a fourth-year, passed early Trials and be playing for the Texas Tornadoes right now.”

  “Got that right,” I say between breaths.

  “Horatio Gaph is the best chance Allen has of raising its status. Every year, we think—we hope—we will receive the coveted upgrade in ranking, which for Allen is ‘third-level district,’ and we all know what that means. Water treatment and medical advancements, not to mention we keep a portion of the beef raised here. Beef! The Blue Eagles will beat Trinity tonight. Horatio Gaph has to come through for us, for everyone.”

  “First of all, nobody takes early Trials, let alone passes them, Billy,” says Rowly. “Second, we’re pinning our hopes on an unproven commodity. Look, he hasn’t played a real game in, what, never, and before the beginning of training didn’t even practice for eighteen months! I say expectations are too high. I say he’s going to be a bust!”

  We listen and laugh at the banter as we run our familiar route through town. And for a lo-pry district, it’s actually in decent shape. It’s one of the luckier districts in Texas, which is saying something since it’s the biggest state in New Victoria. During the unification, Texas absorbed a lot of the old states around it and now borders California on the west and Southland on the right. Crime is relatively low in Allen. People aren’t killing themselves. In fact, they’re pretty civil to each other. Most attribute the relative tolerance to the hope they have in their Escape team. “This will be the year” is a common slogan around here. All in all, it could be worse. Still, Allen is a pit. Maybe slightly less of a pit out of sheer willpower and a little blindness to the dread when you’re running with a beautiful redhead, but a pit just the same. These are good people. And they deserve better.

  I don’t know how long we’ve been running, but I suddenly realize by the sun’s position in the sky that we’re late for class.

  “See you at lunch?” I ask Annie, as we have to split off to different branches at the academy.

  “You know,” she says, catching her breath, “all week it’s felt that everything that’s happened in the last two years, everything since we met, has been building up to a crescendo that will tip tonight. Like tonight, life will change. Forever.”

  “You think so?”

  She folds her arms around my neck and buries her face into the side of mine.

  “I’m thrilled for you, Raysh.”

  I love it when she calls me Raysh.

  It’s another twenty minutes for me before I’m showered, dressed in my Eagle blue uniform, and peeking into Mrs. Sterling’s creative writing class. All the walls at the academy except for the principal’s office and a couple of discipline rooms are floor-to-ceiling glass. We’ve gotten so used to it that most people don’t look at anything but what’s in front of them. The students, all dressed in matching blue uniforms, sit at their glass and aluminum desks positioned in the standard double crescent facing a solid aluminum podium, which at the moment is occupied by one of their classmates. And by the looks of it, he’s a sleeping pill. I steal a glance toward Mrs. Sterling. She peers over her wire-rimmed glasses and flicks a wily strand of that long, apple-scented blond hair of hers as she leans in toward the student presentation droning on in front of the class, mercifully muffled by the door. We’re going to be quizzed on the presentation later, but I’m not worried. I know Linus Sob’s presentation almost by heart.

  For the last four years, Linus has stood up during the required annual oral presentation and preached the great value of fairy tales. I know, ridiculous. Fairy tales, specifically the one about the Pied Piper, the mysterious musician freeing an entire town of their overwhelming population of rats, and when they refuse to pay for his service, he takes their children. Linus wants to convince anyone who will listen that all the answers to life’s happiness lie within the words of children’s stories written 1,400 years ago. Could anything be more irrelevant in this world? Especially for us lo-pry, for whom happiness has never been a choice. I mean, every year, it’s nearly the same speech.

  The kid is my age, an eighth-year—which is seventeen in this state—but that’s where the commonalities stop. He looks closer to fourteen and wears a hand-me-down uniform that’s barely still up to code. It’s the right color of blue and the shirt is the right color of white, but the coat hangs just below his hips, not to mid-calf like the rest of ours. He talks like he’s thirty and is one of these guys who knows everything and wants to make sure everyone knows it. And, he’s a band geek, the exact opposite of an athlete. But none of this is why he annoys the crap out of me.

  ENTERCLASSSTAYSILENT Mrs. Sterling scolds you in front of class gives you detention. ENTERCLASSMAKEEXCUSES Mrs. Sterling scolds you and gives you detention. ENTERCLASSASKQUESTION Mrs. Sterling allows it and lets the class continue.

  The second-to-last thing I want to do right now is engage Linus in his fairy studies. But it is better than detention.

  “—to their greed, the Pied Piper absconds with one hundred thirty children, all of whom obey the mesmerizing song, leaving behind their families. Their lives. All for the unknown—”

  “I have a question,” I say, swinging into the room. I’m greeted by a sudden storm of cheers and applause by all but one of the twenty-three students in the class. Joag Hogsworth, starting enforcer for the Eagles, visibly sighs and wipes his brow.

  “Okay,” he says to himself, nodding. “Okay.”

  Tommy Briggs, my best friend, shines that patented smile and hammers his fist into his hand, while shaking his head enough to make his long dreads whip from side to side. I guess I didn’t realize what people would think when the starting striker for The Escape wasn’t in his seat when the first be
ll rang. It’s nice to feel loved.

  “Quiet, please,” commands Mrs. Sterling and waits for the class to calm down. “Yes, we’re all very happy you’ve decided to join us, Mr. Gaph. Now, you said you had a question for Linus?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “How can I apply the lessons of fairy tales to beating Trinity tonight?”

  The crowd goes wild. And I eat it up. Everyone is thinking about the game. It’s almost a crime that we’re still required to attend classes today. Linus’s eyes dart around the room as if each applause or whoop is an arrow to dodge. Waiting for me to take my seat, he’s fingering the thick white stripe on his wide lapel, old-fashioned compared to the double-pinstripe narrow lapel the rest of us wear.

  “Actually,” replies Mrs. Sterling, pacing out in front of her desk, “I think it’s a great question. Horatio is asking how we can put Linus’s claims into action. To test them.”

  I’m pretty sure Linus’s gulp is heard a mile away. But he runs all ten fingers through his moppy, dirty blond hair that curls up on his head, like it hates being there. All lo-pry have long hair. It’s an easy way for Citizens to know who they’re talking to. In fact, it’s actually against the law for lo-pry to cut it past a certain length. But Linus’ is so tightly curled, he’s often pulled aside for inspection. He straightens his glasses, and goes for it.

  “Well, Horatio,” he begins. I can feel the entire class leaning in, halfway toward me, halfway toward the band geek at the front of the class. I can feel them thinking, what does Linus Sob possibly have to offer Horatio Gaph? “Your life is kind of like a fairy tale, isn’t it? I mean, you were born with incredible talent. Everyone knows how you could throw a star fifty yards at age two. How you grew so quickly, counselors had to check your age to make sure you really were a first-year. And how your family moved you to a place where you could develop that talent.”

  “Allen!” cries Joag Hogsworth, starting enforcer, throwing his fists in the air and nearly ripping his coat at the arms. More cheers.

  “Right, Allen. Allen … ” Linus drifts away for a second. “But you became a victim of a deception. Then injured. The doctor said you’d never play again. The town all but abandoned you, blaming you for losing their chance at a superior existence. But here you are. Just a year and a half later, you’re healed, you’ve won back Allen’s hearts, and you are set to make history. If all the predictions come to pass and you break every record in the book, you’ll be raising yourself, your family, even this community to a level of life that can’t be achieved any other way. How could anyone refuse to walk away from a moment like that?”

  The question throws the rest of the class into bewilderment. Walk away, they ask.

  “You asked me how fairy tales can help you win tonight,” Linus continues, ignoring the growing anxiety in the room. “After the townsfolk refused to pay him and hoarded their gold, the Piper realized that they needed to learn a lesson.”

  “Which is what?” I shoot back at him.

  “When you only protect the present, the future is easily stolen away.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Sob. Okay, class. That’s it for today,” says Mrs. Sterling before the class can figure out what Linus has just suggested. I know exactly what he was suggesting, and the way he stares at me without a blink of his eye until Mrs. Sterling taps his shoulder tells me he knows, too. I decide to stay in my seat until the boy leaves so I don’t throw him through a wall. He should probably be expelled for it.

  “You comin’, Sooth?” bellows Joag Hogsworth.

  “I’d like you to stay, Mr. Gaph,” interrupts Mrs. Sterling.

  “You’d better not be busted, Sooth,” warns Hogs as he and Tommy make an exit. Hogs doesn’t want to lose to Trinity—not for the fourth time. Tommy gives me a head nod to tell me he’ll catch up with me later.

  I pull back my dark brown hair exposing my ears.

  “Excuse me!” calls Mrs. Sterling.

  Idiot. The earpiece shines like a beacon, now exposed in plain sight. I forgot to put it away. Mrs. Sterling pulls it from my ear, and I know I’ll never see it again, something I’ll have to explain to Annie. At least she doesn’t ask for the—

  “Com,” she orders, holding out a long slender hand.

  DEFENDYOURACTIONS get written up APOLOGIZE will not get the receiver back THREATENMRSSTERLING get written up CRY confuse Mrs Sterling will not get the receiver back SUBMIT will not get the receiver back incident will be forgotten.

  “What does ‘Sooth’ refer to?” she asks, putting the com receiver and earpiece aside. She pulls off her wire-rimmed glasses and leans against her desk. There’s something different about Mrs. Sterling—the way she talks to students, the tone in her voice, the lack of desperation most other teachers here have. Even her figure, toned and tanned, as if she climbs mountainous cliffs every day, doesn’t fit in with the typical Allen Academy instructor. She folds her arms against her red and yellow patterned blouse in an intimidating way, and I completely forget what she’s asked me.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am?”

  “What does ‘Sooth’ refer to? And don’t call me ma’am.”

  “It’s a nickname the team calls me.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s short for Soothsayer. Coach Mane gave it to me in practice.”

  “Soothsayer,” she repeats. “Someone who can see the future.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You can predict what will happen.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I know what it means.”

  Mrs. Sterling gives me that slight head shake and flicker of a smile she’s famous for. “Then tell me this, Sooth. Tell me I’m not going to see Linus Sob bruised and bloody on Monday. Can you see that far into the future?”

  “Sorry?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I’m the least of Linus’s problems, Mrs. Sterling,” I say, trying to deflect. “He’ll be lucky if they find his body.”

  “Why would someone hurt Linus?”

  “He suggested I abandon the game, Mrs. Sterling.”

  “No, he did not.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I was there. If people find out, he and his family and maybe even this school—”

  “Calm down, kid,” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t get your hostility toward the boy.”

  “I’m not hostile.”

  “Of course you’re hostile. I’ve seen you with other people. You jump to help anyone you see in need. But with Linus, it’s different.”

  “Most of the kids here have problems they can’t control, so I help. Linus causes problems.”

  “You really think that’s true?”

  I don’t answer. If I did, I’d have to tell her why Linus preaches the Piper every year. And why I think Linus was suggesting my priorities should be somewhere other than helping lift Allen out of the pits. And that’s not a conversation I want to have. Not even with Mrs. Sterling.

  “Did it occur to you that perhaps Linus was not committing treason but advising you on Trinity?” asks Mrs. Sterling, taking my silence for doubt.

  “What?”

  “Trinity Academy, the defending state champs, know you’re starting.”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re going to expect you to do certain things.”

  “Sure.”

  “They’ve prepared for that.”

  “As much as they can, I suppose.”

  “Linus was just offering you advice for the game. Strategy.”

  “We’re talking about the same Linus, right?” It would certainly make Linus more interesting if he were in fact talking about The Escape. But I don’t buy it. Linus Sob has a one-track mind that never strays far from the fairy world he dreams about.

  “Horatio, surely you can appreciate the message of the story,” she continu
es. “To win The Escape, you have to light five pillars with the team’s designated discs, correct?”

  “Stars, actually,” I correct her. “They look like stars, five-pronged with a little curve in each of them, just like the shape of the academy. And you have to light the pillars to open the trove. Destroying the trove is the object of the game.”

  “Exactly. And you have five other members who you, as the striker, can throw the stars to, advancing them toward each of the pillars.”

  “Or I can light the pillars myself by hitting the strike zone.”

  She pauses. “The strike zone is about the size of a bus tire. You are that accurate?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She’s surprisingly impressed enough to ignore the “ma’am.

  “So you see Linus’s point,” she concludes with her tilted smile. “I would think it’s pretty easy to get one pillar lit if you sent your whole team to the same one, correct?”

  “Sure, but you’d leave the rest of the field wide open. You’d be sacrificing the overall game.”

  “That’s all Linus meant,” she says slowly. “You have to keep the main thing the main thing. The difficulty is discerning what that main thing is.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say, more just to get out of here. She narrows her eyes, as if she’s attempting to look past mine, holding me in her stare for long enough to make me flinch. Slightly.

  “Alright, you may go,” she says finally, straightening herself. I glance over to my com receiver and earphone. I am six-foot-four, strong, wicked fast, and starting striker for the Allen Eagles Escape Squad. Still, I hesitate.

  GRABCOM written up and suspended DONOTHING Mrs Sterling shows respect.

  I resist the urge and put my hand in my coat pocket. I turn to leave. Annie won’t be happy.

  “Horatio,” calls Mrs. Sterling.

  “Yeah.”

  “Go Eagles.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Usually, seniors don’t have to take classes in any other disciplines than their focus, but I took the creative writing class because I don’t like being full-on Escape all the time. Mrs. Sterling, with the exception of today, is honestly inspiring. There aren’t the gloomy undertones in her voice or in her walk. She has real hope. Not the desperate kind that usually blankets this place.