Dickensen Academy

by Christine Grabowski

  The smell of paint hit me the moment I stepped into the spacious Creative Core art studio, even with the windows cracked open. The front was similar to a typical classroom with twenty desks in tidy rows. However, the back was twice as big and cluttered with tables of various heights, easels piled to one side, and cabinets lining an entire wall.

  Ben motioned for me to take the empty seat in front of him near Ryan and Aditi. I slipped into the spot and gave a little wave to my new friends—our second class in a row all together.

  Our teacher was writing on the whiteboard in big green, block letters: Mr. Gary Robbins. I bet he was the person those sophomores had referred to. Judging from his balding head, graying brown beard, and wire-frame glasses, he had to be in his fifties or so. Unlike all my other teachers, who dressed in business-casual attire, Mr. Robbins wore a loose flannel shirt and blue jeans smudged with a dozen colors of paint.

  “Good afternoon. You’ve almost made it through your first day. I’m sure by now you’re dying to get back to the dorms. That’s the tough part about teaching the final period.”

  A few students chuckled.

  “Lucky for me I teach the fun course.” He grinned. “So I hope you won’t spend your afternoons pining for the bell.”

  I smiled. This guy seemed pretty cool and laid back.

  Before long, Mr. Robbins began to go off about how we were special and would do great things with our creativity. Then all of a sudden, he stopped, glanced at the doorway warily, and started taking roll.

  Someone tapped my back, so I twisted around.

  Ben whispered, “Did you see that?”

  A chill went through me. He’d noticed our teacher’s odd behavior too. I nodded then returned my attention to the front. There had to be a logical explanation. As Dad would say, there’s one for everything.

  “A good portion of the freshman Creative Core curriculum focuses on visual arts, so I’ll teach you the fundamentals of a variety of art forms this year. We’ll begin with drawing.” While Mr. Robbins continued to speak, he strolled up and down the rows. I peered down the aisle, trying to see what he was passing out. He placed a piece of paper, a ruler, and a sharp pencil on my desk.

  We spent the rest of the period learning about one-point perspective and vanishing points. For Aditi and those who had taken multiple art classes, it might have been basic, but I was fascinated these techniques would help us make our drawings appear three-dimensional. The time flew by as I worked on our first assignment: a street scene with the buildings getting smaller and smaller as they converged toward a single point on the paper, giving them the illusion of vanishing into the distance.

  ****

  Sunday night, I finally got ahold of Julia. Her phone had gone straight to voicemail all week. “Hey, what’s up?”

  “Oh my gosh! This has been the best week of my life! I can’t even begin to tell you everything.” Then Julia launched into a detailed account of each and every person we knew and all the students she’d met, focusing on the boys of course. “I wish you were here, Autumn. You’d love it. And everyone would know who you were, being Josh’s younger sister and all.” She barely paused to catch a breath.

  Meanwhile, each time she spewed a new story, I swear my body shrank smaller and smaller. Not once did she ask me how I was doing at Dickensen. I’d been dying to tell her about Ben and our frequent walks and hushed conversations. He was suspicious something was up with Creative Core based on Mr. Robbins’ comments and a few things he’d managed to pull out of Gabe. I wanted Julia’s take on it and also to see if she thought Ben might possibly be interested in me. But she never gave me a chance, and by the end of the call, I had lost my desire to share.

  When I hung up, an empty feeling entered my chest. Seattle may as well have been a million miles away. I picked up the phone to call Mom. At least she’d care what was happening with me.

  During our conversation, I mentioned I was trying out for cross country the following day. Technically, it wasn’t a try-out—there were no cuts—but I wasn’t positive I’d enjoy it enough to complete the season. I’d planned to do cross country with Julia at Haller Lake, so at least we’d still have that in common. Mom agreed it’d be a great way to make friends.

  Dad picked up after Mom and I said our goodbyes. “So I overheard you’re thinking about cross country?”

  “Yeah. I thought it’d be nice to get involved.”

  He paused. “Well, I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

  “Why? You knew I was going to join the team at Haller Lake.”

  “It’s different now. I’m not sure you can handle so many changes. You need to focus on your studies. If you get a handle on them, you may consider a sport later this year.”

  “But Josh always does sports.”

  “You’re not Josh.”

  I swallowed hard. He’d meant I didn’t get Josh’s grades. “But—”

  Mom spoke in the background. “You’re being too hard on her, David. Let her try.” The words grew muffled. Talk about ironic—as a heart doctor, you’d think he’d be thrilled I wanted to do some form of cardiovascular activity.

  “All right.” Dad sighed. “But you need to keep up your grades. I want us to talk every Sunday night and go over the materials from the past week. Got it?”

  “But…I was only thinking about it.”

  “Doesn’t matter. A weekly review session will be valuable regardless until I can trust you’re succeeding on your own.”

  “Fine.” I silently slammed my seat in the phone room. I should never have brought it up. It’s not like I needed his permission.

  “I’m only looking out for your best interests, Autumn.” That was his excuse for everything. “So tell me more about math. Your mother mentioned you might be eligible for tutoring?”

  I took a deep breath, then explained what Mr. Yoon had told us.

  “Tomorrow, let your teacher know you’re interested, and I’ll call the school to make arrangements.”

  “Okay.” Please let this be over. But he was just getting started. I should’ve hung up on him, but I was a wimp. Why did I care so much about what he thought?

  “Now tell me, what are you learning in science?”

  By the end of the call, I was wiped. It was as if I had relived my entire first week of school.

  Chapter: 5

  After the final dismissal on Monday, I went straight to my room to change into running clothes. I could handle the addition of a sports practice whether Dad believed so or not. If anything, our discussion had spurred me to commit to cross country and earn the best grades of my life.

  As I pulled my hair through an elastic band, I made one final plea. “Aditi, are you sure you don’t want to join cross country?”

  She swiveled around from her desk. Her face looked as appalled as if I’d asked her to swim with crocodiles. “I don’t even own running shoes.”

  I laughed. Aditi lived in high heels when she wasn’t forced to wear something more practical. She even dressed up for school. Not me. I’d choose jeans, hoodies, and athletic shoes over fancy clothes any day.

  “Besides, I’m joining band. Some practices might conflict.”

  ****

  About fifteen other girls were waiting on the grass field inside the track. Most were older and chatted in little groups, but two were in my classes and stood off to one side, so I gravitated toward them. Tessa Williams was the towering, lanky one, and Hannah McIntyre was the stunning blonde with a Texas accent.

  “Have y’all ran cross country before?” Hannah asked.

  Tessa shook her head.

  “It’s my first time,” I said.

  “Me too,” Hannah admitted.

  My gaze then drifted toward a striking young woman with ebony skin jogging up the hill, her black hair held high in a ponytail. Although slender, the outline of muscles in her arms and legs suggested she was an athlete. She’d been introduced at the Freshman Welcome, but I couldn’t recall her name.

  “We
lcome. I’m Ms. Davis, and I teach history. But here, call me Coach Kat.” Then she went into a spiel about her background and her goals for the season. She’d attended Lawrence Academy, Dickensen’s sister school in Virginia, and this was her third year teaching. After a warm-up lap around the track and some stretches, she broke into an enthusiastic grin, her perfect teeth gleaming against her dark skin. “Let’s get running.”

  We took off down the hill, across the track, and past the pond. The pack began to separate by speed. Although Tessa had never run long distance, she left us in her dust by the time we entered the forest. Hannah and I brought up the rear.

  Hannah chatted about Coach Kat and how excited she was to join the team. In school, the girl intimidated me. She’d just sit in class, in all her beauty, and gaze around, rarely talking with anyone. Stuck-up had been my guess. But here, her words tumbled out.

  “Who’s your roommate?” she asked.

  “Aditi.”

  “Lucky you. She’s nice.”

  I smiled. I was lucky. “Who’s yours?”

  “Caitlyn.”

  “Oh.” Caitlyn didn’t smile, didn’t frown. She floated silently from class to class like a ghost. Even her skin and hair were nearly white. The only time she came to life was when she spoke to teachers. “How’s that?”

  “Um…we get along. I suppose. She does her thing. I do mine.”

  I’d been curious about Caitlyn but wasn’t about to approach her. “Do you happen to know if she’s part of the Black family? You know, the one who paid for the library?” My tour leader had used them as an example of the importance of alumni for continued growth and maintenance of the academy.

  Hannah laughed. “Don’t get me started. I asked her about that when we met. She about bit off my head and made it clear Black was a common last name. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.”

  Soon we both had to stop talking as it became harder to breathe. For most of the two-and-a-half-mile loop, we jogged in the shadows, but every once in a while, a ray of sun pierced through the evergreens, casting swaying geometric patterns of light. The dirt path was wide enough for a few students to run side by side, and the pine needle coverage made our steps soft and quiet. Coach Kat had warned us that when we ran on the narrower paths, we’d need to avoid branches and tree roots.

  “Hey, what’s over there?” Hannah asked.

  I checked where she pointed. Bushes and tall trees filled my vision. Nothing else. Then something silver glinted through the green. “Must be the fence.”

  “A fence? Way out here?”

  “They mentioned it on the tour. Something about keeping wild animals out.”

  “Oh.” Hannah looked around nervously. “Think it works?”

  “Hope so.” It’d keep out the coyotes and wolves but not the animals that could climb. I kept glancing in its direction. What were the chances it was the fence those sophomores had referred to? I’d have to hash it out with Ben. My brain was too low on oxygen to contemplate.

  Several minutes later, Hannah huffed, “I’m fixin’ to walk soon. Cramping up.”

  “I’ll walk too.” Glad it wasn’t just me.

  Up ahead, Coach Kat had joined the girls ahead of us. We’d worked our hardest to keep them in sight for the last twenty minutes. But then our coach turned and jogged toward us.

  “How’s it going?” she asked.

  “Okay.” What I wanted to say was I think I’m going to die!

  Coach Kat observed us and probably noticed Hannah wheezing. “Let’s take it down to a walk to catch your breath. We’re almost back to campus.”

  The three of us slowed. Unexpectedly, Coach Kat stayed with us and took the time to learn our names and hometowns. “This first week, why don’t you try running for ten minutes, walking for two, running for ten, and so on. Make sense?”

  We nodded.

  “Tomorrow, run slower. If you can’t hold a conversation, you’re going too fast.”

  “’Kay,” Hannah said.

  “Don’t worry about everyone else. Go at the pace that works for you.”

  I bit my lip. Maybe I could do this.

  Soon the campus clearing appeared ahead.

  “I’m going to catch up with your teammates. Run back to the track, where I’ll guide you through your stretches. After that, practice is finished. Fantastic job, girls!”

  Coach Kat ran ahead, her skin glistening as she emerged from the trees into the bright light.

  Hannah smirked. “I was right. She’s going to be awesome.”

  ****

  The second day of practice, Hannah and I were in the back of the pack again. But we took our coach’s advice and ran slower as we alternated between jogging and walking, allowing us to talk more easily.

  Hannah told me she lived on a ranch outside of Houston and had been homeschooled until now. That explained everything. The poor girl had been thrown in with a bunch of hormonal peers for the first time. I couldn’t even imagine starting school in ninth grade. No wonder she’d come across as unapproachable. Turned out she was really sweet, and we had a ton in common. She even loved to write and dreamed of becoming an author.

  “You know,” Hannah began, “I almost didn’t come to Dickensen.”

  “Me neither. I was enrolled at my brother’s high school.”

  “I meant when they invited me to apply, my parents said no.”

  I watched her from the corner of my eye. “What happened?”

  “I thought a small academy might be good. You know, for my first school.” She paused for a moment. “Can we stop a sec?”

  “Sure.” My heart could use the break too.

  Hannah bent at the waist, filled her lungs, and let out the air. Once she could breathe better, we began to walk. “My parents were dead set against this place. Didn’t want to send me so far.”

  “How’d you feel about that?”

  She shrugged. “My parents were fixin’ to enroll me in public school. Finally. So I had that to look forward to. But a couple weeks later, my parents had this dream about this place, and they changed their tune.”

  The hairs rose on my arms. “What kind of dream?”

  Hannah shrugged. “Don’t know. They admitted they were being selfish. Next thing I knew, they’d arranged for my testing and interview.”

  I glanced behind us to confirm we were alone. “I also had a dream about Dickensen. A couple nights after being accepted. Made me want to come here.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You did?”

  “Didn’t think much of it at the time. In my dream, there were some photos of me on campus…and some with Ben Coleman.”

  “The Ben in our Creative Core?”

  “Yeah. But not that big of a deal. Ben’s also from Seattle. We did our testing together. I must’ve connected him with this academy in my dream.” My face was likely reddening. I hoped Hannah attributed it to exercise.

  “That’s what I figured happened with my parents. They had this boarding school on their brains, so it’d make sense to dream about it.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.”

  I checked the time. “We better start running. That was way longer than two minutes.”

  As we jogged in silence, millions of ideas circulated in my head. Ben had also dreamed about Dickensen this summer. Maybe there was something unusual about it after all. I remembered the nagging feeling I’d had that Aditi looked familiar. Could she have been in my dream too? Or did she merely resemble someone else?

  Hannah and I were the last to leave the track. Now that everyone knew the stretches, runners could complete them on their own after they finished with the trails.

  “Looks like Taylor forgot her sweatshirt.” I bent down to retrieve it from the grass. Its neon pink had been impossible to miss on her earlier. “Want to help me find her?”

  “Sure,” Hannah said. “She’s got to live in Rogers. Isn’t she a junior?”

  “Maybe even a senior.”

  We walked toward the
dorm, keeping an eye out for Taylor. I hadn’t been in Rogers Hall since the school tour. I wouldn’t mind checking it out.

  When we got into the entryway, we wandered around, disoriented. From the outside, the dorm looked identical to O’Reilly, but the inside layout was different.

  A girl approached us, smiling. “Looking for the campus store? You came in through the wrong door.” She motioned toward our left. “You need to enter it from the quad.”

  “Actually, we’re looking for Taylor.” I lifted the sweatshirt. “She left this at practice. Do you know where her room is?”

  “Sorry. Freshmen aren’t really allowed here.” She reached for the sweatshirt. “I’ll take care of it for you.”

  “No, but thanks.” I clutched the sweatshirt. “We’ve got it.” I moved to go around her, but she stepped to the side, blocking me.

  Her smile disappeared and her tone sharpened. “I told you, freshmen are not allowed in this part of the dorm.” She snatched the sweatshirt from me.

  “Okay,” I stammered. “Um, thanks.”

  The girl watched us leave.

  “Wow, she was rude,” I muttered as soon as the glass door shut behind us.

  “Yep,” Hannah agreed. “I get the impression the older students don’t want to associate with us freshmen.”

  “What do you mean? Everyone’s been nice at practice.”

  She turned to me. “That’s not what I meant. Seems to be more of a group mentality.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “You know, like the closed door to the sophomore wing.”

  I didn’t know.

  “Haven’t you noticed they close the door each night around ten o’clock?”

  I shook my head.