The Dryad's Kiss

by Scott VanKirk

  Dave glared at me and snapped, “Don’t slam the damn door!”

  “Oops, sorry I keep forgetting. Thanks for this. I owe you big time.”

  He chilled, easing back into the worn seat. “Yep, I think an extra ten pawn of vis for Aden should express your gratitude adequately.”

  Dave played Aden in my gaming world, a wizard of some power and prestige who was a magic slut. Vis, pronounced “wees”, held distilled magical power in the gaming system of Ars Magica we used when playing. I cringed a bit inside for a couple of reasons. First, I always felt like such a geek when we talked game mechanics outside the safety of our gaming nights. Of all our gaming friends, I think only Gregg felt that way, too. The oddity of the guy who spent all his free time designing our adventures and being uncomfortable about it was not lost on me. I suspected it came from my dad’s ruthless brand of secular humanistic realism. He held supernatural tales, magic, and religion in utter disdain.

  I voiced my second reason for cringing. “Dave, you could summon up a full-blown hurricane with that much vis!”

  He grinned, “Yep, I got big plans.”

  “I’ll give you two.”

  “Ten or you’re walking.”

  “Okay.” I sighed and tossed my hands in the air. Then, thinking about my game led me to remember my dream of the dryad from the previous night. “Dude, I had this great dream the other night.” I related the dream to Dave and then told him how it had lured me into working on my game instead of calculus last night. I finished about the time we pulled into the school parking lot. “So, I guess we should be prepared for a lot of dryads in our next game?”

  I matched his grin as I tugged my bag over my shoulder and stepped out of the car. “Oh, yeah.”

  The bell sounded, and I rushed to first period English Composition with Miss “Battleaxe” Kramer. She intimidated me so much I even forgot about getting an escort of friends to keep me safe from Parmely's revenge. I forgot, that is, till I saw Chester walking down the hall towards me. Oh crap, I should have known.

  I wanted to turn and walk a different way, but Kramer's wrath was scarier than Chester's so I brazened it out. I kept my eyes down and walked as fast as I could. When I passed Chester, he muttered, “Dick.” That was it. I spent the rest of my walk to class thanking whoever might be responsible for my luck, but my gratitude was short lived.

  Miss Kramer’s short stature came packed full of mean. She had no patience for anyone who didn’t believe that grammar and style weren’t the most important things in the universe.

  I made it through the door just as the second bell rang and she pulled it shut. I got a glare for my efforts but gave her my best brown-nosing smile.

  “Good morning, Miss Kramer.”

  “Get in your seat, Mr. Morgenstern,” she said, undeceived.

  Quite often, I did sincerity poorly, even when I was sincere.

  I slid into my seat, nodding to a couple of friends.

  Miss Kramer had a nasally voice that grated my ears. Today was no exception. “Class, today we are going to be writing in our journals.”

  Several groans echoed through the room, but I wanted to pump my fist in the air and cry, “Yes!” What a perfect excuse to give me time to finish my calculus. To the rustle of other kids searching their bags for their notebooks, I pulled my homework out and started on it again.

  Just as I squeaked out the last derivatives, Miss Kramer snatched up my work. I nearly had a heart attack. I hadn’t heard her sneak up in my rush to finish.

  “What do we have here, Mister Morgenstern?” She skimmed the paper.

  My witty riposte consisted of, “Uh…” I blamed that genius remark on missing breakfast.

  “Mr. Morgenstern, you will see me at the end of class. Now get out your journal and work on your English assignment.”

  My face turned red at the assorted snickers and whispers, quickly cut short by a glare from the Battleaxe. “Everyone, back to work.”

  About ten minutes later, the bell rang and everyone flooded toward the door after dropping their journals on the Battleaxe’s desk—everyone, that was, except for me.

  Miss Kramer eyed me over her horn-rimmed glasses. I swear she kept a copy of “The Far Side” beside her bed as a fashion guide.

  “Mr. Morgenstern, I teach English in this class. When you are here, I expect you to learn English, not arithmetic, or history, or whatever else may take your fancy.”

  While staring at my calculus homework sitting forlornly on her desk, I mumbled, “Yes, Miss Kramer.”

  “Just to be sure you understand, you can have this back when you complete your journal entry.” She waved the illusive pages in my face.

  So not fair! I gaped at her. “But…but, calculus is my next class, and he won’t accept it if I turn it in late!”

  “Not my problem, Mr. Morgenstern. Perhaps you should have finished this last night instead.”

  Sheesh! There ought to be a rule saving you from enduring more than one lecture for a single mistake. All my arguments tried to bubble up, but when I saw the self-satisfied smile on the Battleaxe’s thin lips, I realized I had none. I wheeled around to flee the room, but she called me back before I reached the door.

  “Mr. Morgenstern, I have not dismissed you yet.”

  I spun around with fury in my heart and mayhem on my mind. From her dropped smirk, I knew she saw my rage.

  She looked down at her paperwork. “You may go.”

  I left fuming, stomping, and kicking lockers, and ignored the stares from other students while I headed to my next class to face the music there. Anger made me reckless and, yet again, I totally forgot my fears of the Quartet’s Revenge. After a disastrous calculus session, Jim met me outside the classroom, and we headed to the science lab for my open period, where we hung out with the other nerds who thought brains were good and science was important.

  At our school, every species of student had its native habitat: the jocks hung out in the gym; the stoners vanished into the woods; and the nerds retreated into the science lab. It wasn’t actually a lab, but more of a study room. As usual, the room held an odd assortment of nerdy types reading or writing industriously. Several tables surrounded by chairs filled the room in rows along with stacks of science reference books and magazines along the walls. Anyone could check out equipment like microscopes, and binoculars from the lab, but the Science Department only had one of each. Usually for this period, Gregg and Jim arrived first together. They only had to come around the corner from the AP Chemistry lab. Gregg greeted me with a wide smile, and a voice held low as I plopped down on a chair.

  “Hey, homey! Howz muh mofo favorite peckerwood fro da hood, yo?”

  Gregg had been practicing. I rolled my eyes and said, “How long have you been saving that one for?”

  He laughed, white teeth flashing against his mocha face. “Hey, don’t make a bro get all active on your whitey ass, yo. Doan throw a shade on a mofo from the hood. Yo dig?”

  I frowned and reminded him, “You’re from upstate New York, Gregg, and your dad is a doctor from Arizona. You moved here when you were ten. You don’t have a hood; you live in a neighborhood. And besides, don’t you think you’re being condescending and racist with all that?”

  He dropped his fake, and probably inaccurate, attempt at Ebonics. “It would only be condescending if I were making fun of it, but I happen to find it a compelling, concise, and poetic dialect of English. It would only be racist if you did it. When I do it, it’s culturally identifying with my racial peers. Besides, I get the joy of knowing it bugs the hell out of you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did the Battleaxe tear you a new one for being late?”

  “No, Dave picked me up, so I was just on time. I finished my calculus in English class, but Kramer confiscated it.”

  “Damn, boy, that’s harsh. What happened? I thought you loved that calculus class.”

  “I do. I just got to working on my game last night.”

  “Well, at leas
t your F was for a good cause. We thank you for your sacrifice.”

  Though I still felt rotten, there were appearances to keep up. I stuck my nose in the air and sniffed disdainfully. “At least someone recognizes the sacrifices I make for the edification of my friends!”

  The time went by quickly and soon I was headed to my next class. This time, Jeff escorted me. It didn't make much sense that I felt safer walking next to Jeff or Jim, neither of whom could fight any better than I. I wouldn't be surprised if I subconsciously decided I had a better chance of getting away if any of the Quartet of Evil caught my friends first.

  Maybe I'm being uncharitable to my younger self, and I would have jumped in to save my friends, but happily, that test of my character wasn’t scheduled for that day. After we left the lab, the remainder of my classes went smoothly. My friends took their turns escorting me around the school from class to class, and I didn’t have any run-ins with the Quartet. My anger at Miss Kramer and, to a lesser amount, myself, simmered all day. I just couldn’t shake it.

  To help me toss off my bad mood, Dave, Jen, Gregg and I made a trip to the Grease Burger, where I worked nights and weekends, to have a direct salt and fat attitude adjustment. The rest of the world knew the Grease Burger as the “Mighty Burger.” It sold burgers, shakes, and other standard Americana health food. The burgers were actually pretty good, and the place did a rocking business, but seeing what went on behind the scenes would have dimmed the enthusiasm of anyone less tolerant of... er, perhaps more, uh... hygienically minded than I.

  Jen was sitting next to me, and her floral scent surrounded me while I was eating my fries. It was a pleasant combination. Dave, sitting across from us, was industriously stuffing his face with a double burger and was unusually quiet.

  “Hey Finn, how was your day?” asked Jen. “Did you run into any of Erik’s many assholes?”

  I laughed despite myself. Sometimes her language jarred me a bit. It just didn’t fit my image of the chaste young girl I imagined her to be. That particular thought would have shown a more observant version of me that I needed to update my image of Jen. Unfortunately, there is only me, Ian Finn “If it were poisonous, I’d be dead” Morgenstern. I can be a little slow at adapting to reality.

  I said, “No, just had a run-in with the Battleaxe this morning. She reamed me for doing my calculus homework in her class, ripped it up, and I got an F.” I shortened the truth a little to make it more dramatic.

  She regarded me seriously with her big brown eyes. “You know she’s not that bad, Finn. If you just showed some interest in her class, she would like you a whole lot more. She’s a terrific teacher, and I happen to like her class.”

  Annoyance at receiving a lecture from a young girl flashed through me, but ran smack into her earnest brown gaze. My irritation slid off that wall of pretty and fluttered to the ground.

  My ego’s need to conquer fought with my desire to please a pretty girl. I reached a compromise, which came out as a desultory, “Yeah, maybe.”

  Then, I got my lesson for the day thrown in my face yet again. “Besides, Finn, she’s right; you really should have finished your calculus homework last night.”

  This, of course, was like CPR for my dying irritation. “Gee, thanks, Mom.”

  If my tone bothered her, it didn’t show. Gregg arrived with his fries and sat next to Dave.

  Jen still wasn’t done, though. “I know you’ve been working hard on your grades lately so you can get that scholarship, what happened with your homework?”

  Having a close-knit gang of friends had its good points and bad. This was an example of the latter type. Everyone knew my business.

  Gregg piped in, “Give him a break, Jen. He was taking one for the team.”

  I told her about the work I did on the dryads in my world the previous night. I didn’t tell her that fear of Parmely and his thugs had driven me to it.

  When I finished, Jen frowned. “I think it's sexist that there are only female dryads.”

  “You can take that up with the Greeks.” I said.

  “No, really, I want the chance to have some big, naked, muscle bound hunk of a man pull me into a tree and have his way with me.”

  Gregg's jaw dropped. “Jen!”

  Dave snickered. “I imagine that boy'd be swinging a huge woody!”

  Jen's lips pushed out into a puckered smile, and she batted her eyes at Dave. “Oh yeah, as big as a tree stump... Unlike yours twig-boy!”

  I laughed as Dave sputtered and Gregg glared at his little sister. Maybe I didn't need to censor my stories for Jen after all.

  Showdown at Frankies

  A couple days later, I woke up feeling fantastic. All thoughts of Erik and English had been banished. I caught the bus without a fuss and sat with Jen and Gregg. On the way, I told them about my latest dream.

  This time, it started out with me sitting in the kitchen eating lunch. The voluptuous form of the dryad appeared through the sliding glass door leading out back. Reflections on the door from the kitchen spoiled my view, but the parts of her I could see were intriguingly bare. She smiled and beckoned me with a finger. Entranced, I got up, went to the door, and opened it. It was definitely a dream, because I can’t ever get that damn door open when I’m awake. I went out back and looked for her, but didn’t see her until I heard a little giggle from behind my oak. I turned to catch sight of her ducking behind the tree.

  As in the last dream, the oak towered above me, immense and so healthy it almost glowed. I dashed behind the trunk, but she had disappeared. I searched everywhere and then whirled when something pulled my hair from behind. As fast as I spun, she was quicker, and I only saw a flash of leg and lusciously curved derriere disappearing behind the trunk of the oak. I ran around the tree again, and then I heard her gentle laughter drifting down from up above. I looked up to see her face peering at me from one of the large lower branches. I climbed up after her. We continued our chase through the tree. I never could see her fully and just got tantalizing glimpses of naked flesh.

  Throughout the climb, her joyous laughter was constant goad. We continued up and up into the tree. Finally, I reached the topmost branch that I could stand on. In the dream, my oak towered over the lesser trees of the forest, but I barely noticed the view. My quarry wasn’t there, but there was no place for her to have fled.

  Then, a touch brushed against my ankle, and I jumped in surprise. Even in a dream, that’s not the thing to do when at the top of a tall tree. I fell back, flailing for balance. As I dropped, my dryad grabbed my ankle. She came out of the tree itself—definitely not fair! Delighted at my surprise, she giggled, and then gave me a little extra push. Down I went, flailing for something to grab. All I received for my efforts was a handful of leaves. After the first moment of fright, I realized that my fall was not a rush to my death. Instead, every branch I passed caught me with soft spring-green leaves and slowed me down before passing me with a soft caress to the next. As I floated down, I spied the dryad above me, leaning out from the tree smiling. She leaned away from the tree, free of its branches from the waist up. For the first time, I had a clear view of her full and tantalizing breasts, but I was going in the wrong direction.

  The dream, or what I remembered of it, ended there. Of course, on the bus I went ahead and edited it for content in deference to Jen. She might not have minded the whole story, but her brother would have minded it enough for both of them.

  When I finished, Jen was delighted. “That is so cool Finn! Your dreams are always so awesome. Mine never seem to tell a story like that. Mine go all over the place, and when I wake up, even the ones I really like don't make much sense.”

  Gregg couldn't let that one go. “It's because you're a scatterbrained girl.”

  Jen stood up and gave Gregg's arm a meaty thwack over the intervening seat.

  “Ow!”

  Jen sat back, crossed her arms, and stuck her tongue out at Gregg.

  The dream cast a rosy glow of recollection and anticipation over eve
rything that morning. I’d had dreams do that to me before, but never with such consistency or strength. I even managed to forget my dread over Miss Kramer and my calculus.

  The next Thursday, we had a half day at school. In a long, honored tradition on half days, we all piled into Dave’s car and headed down to Frankies. Frankies—with the apostrophe left out for some unknown reason—was the local pizzeria. Franky, the owner made excellent pizza, but the name of the restaurant struck more lively debates between us than you’d possibly believe.

  “It’s just missing an apostrophe.”

  “Yeah, but he spells his name with a Y.”

  “Well then shouldn’t it be F-R-A-N-K-Y-apostrophe-S?”

  “Maybe the pizza is frank.”

  “Perhaps there is more than one Frank—or should that be are more than one?”

  “Maybe they call pizza a Frankie where he comes from.”

  “Maybe he’s just illiterate.”

  “Yeah, well, the weirdest name I’ve ever seen for a restaurant was Kettle. No “the”, no “apostrophe-S”. What kind of name is that? Hey, let’s go eat at Kettle? Come on!”

  Frankies had an all-you-can-eat lunch buffet. That made it the most popular place in town on half days at school. Boisterous high schoolers packed it full for hours. That day, we crammed Dave, Gregg, Jim, Alan, Jeff, and me into the car. Alan and Jeff sometimes gamed with us, but always went for pizza with us on half days. At six-foot-two, one hundred and fifty pounds, and built like a ladder; Alan’s rail-thin physique came with a bottomless stomach. Jeff, on the other hand, came with average height and weight. Both sported keen minds and imaginations.

  We had to squeeze uncomfortably into the Mustang. Dave, being king of the car, bestowed the blessings of the front seat on Gregg. We had grown accustomed with the royal lottery by now. As Dave said all too often, “My car, my rules, and don’t slam the damn door!”

  I was already squeezed in and hating it when I heard my name called. Jen waved at me from the parking lot along with her friend Jane. The two of them, whom we collectively called J.J., made quite a pair in their identical green-and-blue soccer uniforms.