Dickensen Academy

by Christine Grabowski

  “We must’ve scared it. Typically they prefer the ground,” Mr. Katz said.

  “Don’t they hang upside down?” Hannah asked.

  “A myth. Their tails aren’t strong enough to hang for more than a moment,” he said. “Let’s turn off our lights but remain quiet. Follow me. We aren’t going to spend much more time here.” I felt a twinge of disappointment, like when the power goes out during a movie that’s starting to get good. Perhaps our teacher thought we needed sleep.

  Soon the surroundings slowly grew brighter. Then a familiar sound pattered the branches above.

  “Uh-oh,” Aditi said. “Rain.”

  “It’s to be expected,” our teacher said.

  The pungent smell of moist earth replaced the pine scent, and my feet began to squish through mud. My new shoes were soaked. Great! Mom is going to kill me. Instead of the coolness I associated with rain, I started to sweat.

  Flickering rays of morning light now outlined the trees. It made no sense. We hadn’t been gone for more than thirty minutes…or so I thought. Deciduous trees, rather than conifers, now grew near us, and thick vines and plants hung from above.

  My shock mirrored my friends’ whose mouths hung open as if they were in dental chairs. They twisted around, gazing in every direction. Mr. Katz slipped off his jacket. I did too. The humidity now clung to my exposed arms.

  He turned to me as I stuffed my jacket into my pack. “What do you think?”

  “It feels like we’re in a rainforest, but that’s impossible.”

  “Nothing is impossible at Dickensen.”

  What is this place? Rainforests covered parts of the Olympic Mountain range closer to the Pacific Ocean, but they held primarily evergreens. Were we in a secluded section of the Cascades that our teacher knew about?

  Hang on. Could this be a dream?

  I pinched my arm but didn’t wake up. Then I remembered Mr. Robbins had warned us not to dwell too much on the fact we may be dreaming because the awareness could cause us to exit the dream, so I focused on Mr. Katz instead.

  He quizzed us about tropical deciduous forests. “Could someone tell me which type of flora is most common here? How about the fauna? Who can list the nonliving factors?”

  My science knowledge began to click into place. It was so much easier to understand the dependencies between the rainforest’s components when I could see, feel, hear, and smell them. When we got to the decomposition of the forest floor, our teacher overturned a huge leaf. I jumped back—the soil teemed with life. But curiosity overcame me. Soon all of us circled around the leaf, bent at the waist, while Mr. Katz pointed out the unique, oversized insects.

  After we had our fill of the larger-than-life bugs, he identified the surrounding trees.

  “Does the rubber in toys and other products come from these trees?” Ben asked.

  “Yes,” Mr. Katz said. “In fact these trees can be tapped for a milky sap called latex, a component in natural rubber, making these trees a significant source of income.”

  Hannah scrunched up her face. “Doesn’t that kill the trees?”

  “No. It’s more like tapping for maple sap. Rubber tappers, as they’re called, do everything in their power to keep their trees healthy. These trees are native to the Amazon but are now being planted elsewhere.” He went on to describe how planting rubber trees in areas where they were not indigenous was taking a toll on the environment.

  “That’s crazy a tree so helpful for some parts of the world can be so stinkin’ awful for others,” Ryan said.

  “Yeah,” I agreed. I wished humans would leave Earth’s natural balance alone.

  Soon we came to a taller tree—a mahogany—and Mr. Katz began to climb a series of wooden slats nailed into its trunk. “Follow me.”

  “Wonder what’s up here?” Aditi asked as she climbed, echoing my thoughts.

  Hannah followed. “Maybe a tree house?” She looked down at me, her blue eyes sparkling and her mouth turning up into a gigantic grin.

  After a few minutes, we stepped onto a wooden platform. It was much brighter up here, and Mr. Katz continued his lesson about the vertical stratification of the forest.

  “Look!” Aditi pointed up. “You really can see how the canopy differs from the emergent section.”

  I trained my gaze on the birds above. “Yeah. I never quite got all this stuff before.”

  Mr. Katz grabbed several vines and held one out. “Who wants to go first?”

  He had to be kidding.

  Ryan stepped forward, his eyes lit up. “Me.”

  “Don’t let go until you reach the far end,” Mr. Katz instructed.

  Without hesitation, Ryan grabbed the vine, ran toward the edge of the platform, and jumped off. His joyous screams traveled back to us.

  “Who’s next?”

  Ben and Hannah each took a vine. They both appeared eager. Ben gave the vine a quick tug, presumably to make sure it’d hold his weight. Then he leaped off, followed by Hannah.

  I waited for Aditi. She was the least athletic and needed more encouragement. When she left the platform, she screamed like a heroine in a horror film.

  Soon my teacher and I stood alone. My stomach tied in knots. I always liked thrill rides, but amusement park rides were designed and tested by experts. I peered up to see where my vine was attached.

  Before I could analyze too much, Mr. Katz said, “Let me show you.” Then with the confidence and grace of a trapeze artist, he pulled himself up with both arms, held his feet in front of him, and sailed away. Ten seconds later his vine swung partway back, empty.

  I wasn’t about to stay here alone, so I closed my eyes and jumped. Warm air rushed by me and rustled the trees. Opening my eyes a crack, I hurtled past branches and giant leaves, praying I wouldn’t hit anything solid. After nearing the forest floor, I began to fly up. When do I let go? As the rope reached its zenith, I loosened my grip.

  Thump. I landed on my back in a pile of scratchy, yellow grass. When I looked toward the sky, an animal hovered over me, staring down. My stomach leaped to my throat. I scuttled backward on my elbows and heels but couldn’t move far in the thick grass.

  The animal’s warm brown eyes gazed into mine. It didn’t appear scared; rather, it seemed curious. Its stocky body and curved horns were familiar, but the name wouldn’t come. Since it was a herding animal and unlikely a threat, I stood cautiously. Wow! Hundreds of them grazed a stone’s throw beyond me.

  Off to my right was Mr. Katz. Obviously he’d landed on his feet because he stood tall and appeared straight out of a Banana Republic advertisement. My friends, on the other hand, were disheveled and covered in dust and grass.

  I spun around. The forest behind me had vanished, replaced by a grassy plain. All I could do was stare in wonder at its vastness.

  Ben pointed to the herd of animals. “Are those wildebeests?”

  Mr. Katz nodded. “Yes, they’re migrating.”

  “How did we get here?” Aditi asked.

  Instead of answering her question, Mr. Katz explained the characteristics of a savanna ecosystem. As we examined unfamiliar grasses and shrubs and the occasional tree, our conversation delved deeper than it could have in the classroom and became more memorable. When we got to the topic of biomes versus ecosystems, Mr. Katz recited a textbook explanation.

  “I still don’t get it,” I said.

  “Here, let me show you…”

  The next moment I was sprawled on the bottom of a glass bottom boat staring into the murky depths of a stagnant pond. The change in ecosystems reminded me I was dreaming. But as before, I forgot as I immersed myself in the new environment. It continued that way all night as Mr. Katz toured us around the world. Some of the transitions between locations were subtle such as when we moved from one aquatic ecosystem to the next. But some were more dramatic. My favorite was when the sunlight, dancing on the ocean, twisted like a kaleidoscope before my eyes and became glaring crystals of snow and ice.

  Our adventure lasted for what
seemed an entire day. We delved into far greater detail of the many processes he’d taught during class, including photosynthesis, decomposition, and the food chain, and we discussed how they varied from one ecosystem to the next. I’d never done well memorizing lists of random facts, but the facts were no longer random.

  As the sun set in the desert, the temperature plummeted, and I reached into my backpack for the umpteenth time today—or was it night? The treetops in the distance seemed to approach us, and soon the ground changed beneath my feet. A glimpse down showed the sand was giving way to pine needles and dirt. What a relief to walk on something solid after the effort required to trudge through deep sand. As I slipped into the darkness of the forest, I took one last look over my shoulder at the sun glistening on the sand dunes and the long shadows of the camels that had been our most recent companions.

  We followed our teacher through the woods back to our dorm. My adrenaline had faded to nothing. Aditi and I were so tired we paused only long enough to remove our muddy shoes and damp coats before crawling into bed fully clothed.

  Chapter: 13

  I woke, gradually opening my eyes to the morning light.

  Aditi stared at me from her bed. “You…you had it too?”

  It all came back. I glanced down at my pajamas, half-expecting to see my dirty clothes. I chuckled. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

  “It’s weird. It feels like I got twelve hours of sleep. I haven’t felt this rested in forever.”

  “Me too. You’d think we’d be exhausted.”

  The dining hall was louder than usual at breakfast with hyped up freshmen comparing notes. All of us had similar dreams. The primary differences seemed to be the people who traveled with us and the length of time spent in each ecosystem. The skeptics now had to accept the concept of Dream Management. Ryan even asked me to describe my football dream in detail—he’d been cynical, to say the least, when I told him about it last weekend.

  The entire experience bonded us. I could remember chitchatting with Hannah, as our camel lumbered across the desert, and dying of laughter when she grabbed me from behind to keep me from tumbling over the camel’s head when it eased down to the ground. And I could recall the bear sauntering past our raft, shocking us when it plunged into the river rapids and came up with a flapping salmon in its mouth. I’d never shared such memories with anyone. Between last night’s dream and the football dream, it was now easier to understand the benefits of created dreams, and my fears continued to lessen.

  ****

  Mr. Katz’s light blue, button-down shirt, brown pants, and loafers struck me as odd. Such a turnaround from last night. My impression of him had changed too in the last twenty-four hours—more approachable, yet at the same time, my respect for him as a science expert had skyrocketed.

  “Good morning, class. I hope you had a nice, relaxing sleep last night.”

  The classroom erupted in snickers.

  “Based on your attitude, it appears I was successful. But first, does anyone not understand what I’m referring to? It’s important for me to find out if anyone missed last night’s field trip.” He scanned the room. “Anyone?” No one raised a hand.

  “Great. That’s what I expected, but sometimes one or two students have difficulty in the beginning. Usually academic dreams go through as intended since they’ve been created by experienced dream-makers. As you progress, you’ll discover this isn’t true for all dreams.” He smiled. “So, did you enjoy it?”

  I nodded with enthusiasm while my more outgoing classmates shouted out. I was so relieved Dream Management was turning out to be positive.

  “I created the dream to assist with our upcoming test. I developed it a few years ago and give it to my classes each year when we wind down our Ecology and Environment Unit.”

  A hand shot up.

  “Yes, Daniel?”

  “Was it real?”

  “Yeah, right,” Ryan muttered.

  Mr. Katz ignored Ryan. “No, it didn’t really happen. It was the first in a series of academic dreams you will receive over the next four years. Before we move on to review the science you learned, let’s pause a moment and discuss these dreams in more general terms, since it was your first.

  “The primary purpose of academic dreams is to further your education. There are at least three distinctive styles of learning.” He wrote Auditory on the board in blue marker while I pulled out my pen and paper. “Some of you are auditory learners. This means you learn best by listening. This is helpful in a traditional school which relies heavily on lectures.”

  He returned to the board and wrote Visual in green. “A second learning style is visual. People with this style prefer to see something to learn it. Reading a book, studying pictures, or watching videos are examples.”

  Next, he wrote Kinesthetic, a word I didn’t recognize. He underlined it several times in red. “Kinesthetic involves touching or moving. This style is ideal for people who learn best when they are performing an activity. That’s why high school science classes often incorporate a laboratory component to get students involved.

  “Here at Dickensen, we can create a kinesthetic learning experience in all of our subjects.” Mr. Katz strolled back and forth at the front of the classroom. “For example, last night you experienced the ecosystems in a unique way because you believed you were there. Not only could you see and hear, but you were immersed in them so all five senses could be employed. In reality, you didn’t leave your beds. It was more of a simulation. Additionally, REM sleep stimulates regions of the brain involved in learning, so by dreaming about the ecosystems, you were simultaneously learning.”

  He stopped in front of Daniel’s seat. “So back to your question. Last night wasn’t real. But I did my best to create an authentic representation of each ecosystem we studied, drawing on my expertise as well as my experiences traveling to many of those locations.”

  Mr. Katz gazed out at the class and smiled. “Of course, some aspects had to be changed from reality. Any guesses on which parts were altered?”

  “The temperatures?” Ben suggested.

  “Absolutely. I made the tundra a bit warmer. We didn’t have the proper gear to survive in the extreme cold. Other ideas?”

  “How we moved from place to place seemed almost magical,” Aditi said.

  “Yes.” His eyes twinkled. “I based my transitions on movies to up the fun factor.”

  Those tree vines were definitely fun, although a bit scary. It would be awesome to jump again knowing it was safe.

  I raised my hand.

  “Autumn?”

  “Did you have the same dream last night?”

  “I didn’t. However, I did run through the dream in my mind and on my computer as part of the conveyance process. I should mention, so you are realistic in your expectations, not everyone will be capable of sending such complicated, interactive dreams.”

  “What will we be able to do?” Ryan asked.

  “You’ll start small by sending a dream to an individual in the same room as yourself. As you advance in your skills, you’ll increase the distance you convey and the number of recipients. Eventually, you’ll add complex interactions through the use of computer programming.”

  Once all our Dream Management questions were answered, Mr. Katz guided the discussion to what we learned about the ecosystem. Complaints were mumbled when we switched to academics, but as our teacher said, education was the ultimate purpose of the dream.

  Friday was the feared science unit test. The test was a combination of multiple-choice and essay questions. Although the pages seemed daunting, I flew through the multiple-choice section. During the essay portion, I came to the dreaded question: please explain the interdependencies between biome, ecosystem, and habitat. I closed my eyes. My skin went cold with the tundra wind, then warmed with the desert sun. Floral scents hung in the air. Parrots squawked from the trees. I ran my fingertips along the sharp needles of the evergreens. When I reopened my eyes, the answer flowed from my pen com
plete with examples.

  Chapter: 14

  My shorts and T-shirt stuck to me under a blazing sun. The nearby ocean filled the air with a salty scent. Older homes made of stucco with tin roofs and arched windows lined the street—nothing like the houses I’d seen before. Palm trees and colorful flowers brimming with hues of violet, mustard, and magenta, like the kind in advertisements for Hawaii, grew everywhere. The foreign, unfamiliar environment murmured you are far from home.

  Joyful shrieks of children came from behind me, so I turned around. I stood on the edge of a dusty playground with several little kids playing together. They couldn’t be much older than five or six.

  “Otoño! Otoño!” a woman called from a park bench.

  I gasped. Was she calling me? She’d used my Spanish name, and no one but the kids were in sight.

  “Coming!” I jogged over to her.

  The woman had thick, black hair and mocha-colored skin similar to Mrs. Lopez, Julia’s mother, although this woman’s skin was a shade darker. “Hola Otoño, tengo que ir a mi casa por un largo rato. ¿Podriás cuidar de mis hijos cuando me vaya, por favor?”

  “What?”

  “¿Podrias cuidar de mis hijos, por favor?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “No hablo inglés.”

  I understood that. She didn’t speak English.

  “No hablo español,” I said. “Solo un poco.”

  The woman pantomimed, gesturing to the children and then to me. She pointed to her watch and held up one finger. “Una hora.” She repeated, “¿Podriás cuidar mis de hijos por favor? Regreso en una hora.”

  My mouth went dry. Had she asked me to watch the children for one hour? What mother in her right mind would ask a stranger to watch her children? Then I realized it must be a dream conveyed by Señor Ortiz, so I finally uttered, “Sí.”

  “Gracias.”

  She left me with three boys and three girls. They couldn’t be siblings—they were too close in age—but they all had the same beautiful skin, and they conversed in Spanish as they played.

  What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t even speak with them, so I sat on the bench and observed. Every once in a while, I caught a word I recognized and managed to figure out two of the kids’ names. One was Nicolás and another Isabel. But as I listened and got used to their accents and speech patterns, I comprehended more and more. Lucky for me, they used fewer words than adults, and their speech was nothing like Julia’s family when they’d all get talking at once.