“I…I don’t know, Dad.”
His voice sharpened. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
I truly didn’t know. At the beginning of the year, Dream Management hadn’t been introduced, so we weren’t told how it would factor into our grade. But how to explain? “Um…we haven’t gotten some of our assignments back.”
“I didn’t send you all the way to Timbuktu to have art mess up your grades. Do you realize this class lowered your GPA more than algebra?”
“Yes, Dad.” Do you think I’m that stupid?
“I’m not going to allow you to stay at some fancy school if you’re required to take so many art classes to graduate and you can’t earn As in them. I permitted you to go to Dickensen because they promised their creative curriculum would supplement college prerequisites. Never in my wildest dreams did I consider an elective might hurt you.”
Creative Core was far from an elective, but I wasn’t about to correct him.
“I want you to speak with your teacher and find out what you need to do between now and the end of the semester to bring your grade up to an A. If you can’t do that, we’ll have to reconsider where to send you next year.”
Both his words and his tone burned my heart. My legs gave out and I slid down the wall. Cowering on the floor, I forced my voice to remain strong. If I cried, it might come across as having given up. Then he might make me transfer to Haller Lake mid-year.
I took a deep breath and spoke deliberately. “I was going to talk with Mr. Robbins on Monday. I promise to work harder. I swear. And I’ll do extra credit if I need to.”
The receiver went quiet for several agonizing seconds. “Okay…okay.” His tone softened as his anger subsided. “You can do this, Autumn. But I’m serious when I say I want to see an A next time.”
I remained silent.
“Call me after you meet with your teacher.”
My voice almost broke as I said goodbye.
I held the phone to my ear long after the click. Still in shock, I sat there incapable of even replacing the handset on the receiver. Eventually, blood surged back through my body, and I tore head down through the dorm to my room, where I dropped on my bed and wadded my pillow.
Aditi was still there. “Are you okay? Who called?”
“My dad. I hate him!”
She sat beside me and placed her hand on my back. “What happened?”
“He was furious about my Creative Core grade. Stupid B minus. It was my worst grade.”
“That’s not so terrible.”
I sat up, leaned against the wall, and let out a deep breath. I hadn’t cried, but I’d come close. “I think he’d have been fine with a B minus in algebra. It’s what he expected. But he views Creative Core as a useless elective. Something you could drop at any other high school.”
“Is that what you want? To drop it?” Like it was even a choice.
“Of course not. I love it. Well, at least the art. But I’m so frustrated I still can’t convey. And the worst thing, he warned if I don’t earn an A in June, he might make me switch schools.”
“He wouldn’t do that.”
I shot her a look. “You don’t know my dad.”
She mulled it over. “Well, you’ll just have to get an A, then.”
I swallowed. “Can I ask what you got?”
Aditi looked down. “An A minus.” She raised her eyes to meet mine. “But I got a B minus in French. Even with all those immersion dreams, I still struggle to get it right. I have this Hindi-American-French accent going on. Maybe because I never learned Hindi properly. But I doubt my parents will care or even notice. I’m the least of their problems.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I promise, I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
****
Later in bed, I tossed and turned. I seethed with the anger that had been brewing all night. Dad hadn’t even said anything positive about the rest of my grades. He knew it was by far the best report card of my entire life. But he was so focused on that one low grade I could scream. Mom would be proud, but I wanted Dad to be proud too.
I tried to calm down by meditating, but my mind fixated on my future instead.
What would happen if I left Dickensen? Haller Lake for the next three years was a given. But what about my mind? Would I be plagued with nightmares for the rest of my life? Or would my memories of this place be destroyed like Allison’s friend? I could promise Principal Locke never to reveal the secrets…but maybe it’d be best to forget everything.
As I debated the merits of persistent nightmares versus brain tampering, my thoughts drifted to Hannah and her recent nightmares. It seemed possible dream-making was messing with her mind. Maybe Dream Management wasn’t as harmless as the faculty made it out to be. All those fun field trips might be masking dangerous consequences that could afflict us for the rest of our lives. But no. Many students before me had gone through this curriculum. If awful side effects were occurring, the school would’ve shut down Dream Management. But if that assumption held true, then Caitlyn was sending nightmares on purpose. But how?
Dickensen-created nightmares were supposedly much more difficult than freshman dreams. However, Caitlyn was a solid dream-maker—one of the best in our freshman class—and she had a brother. Could he have helped her? Was that even allowed?
I was overtired and still furious with Dad. In the safety of my bed, my anger gradually transferred to Caitlyn. My suspicion she was behind Hannah’s problems grew to enormous proportions. No one else was having a setback like Hannah. I had to know more about Caitlyn’s brother.
I hopped out of bed and opened my laptop.
When I typed Tom Black into the search engine, it came up with a million results, reminding me how Caitlyn had lectured Hannah about her commonplace last name.
I narrowed the parameters. He was undoubtedly a Thomas anyway, so I typed Thomas Black and Dickensen Academy. Two pages of results. That was more like it.
I clicked on the most promising item and read.
Expecting to learn about a guy in his teens or early twenties, I read about Thomas Black, a man appearing to be in his forties from Texas. Toward the end of the article, I spotted the names of his children, Tom and Caitlyn. I wiped my sweaty palms on my pajamas, then pulled up another webpage dated six years ago: Thomas and Michele Black Donate $1,000,000 to Alma Mater, Dickensen Academy in Washington State. The piece said the money was slated for a library renovation.
I pressed back against the chair and tried to breathe regularly. I had to do something or I’d go crazy. Should I wake Aditi? No. She was fighting a cold and needed sleep. Besides, this didn’t necessarily mean Caitlyn was doing anything wrong. But she was hiding the significance of her family and had flat out lied about the library.
Finally I grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. Using the glow from my computer screen, I wrote frantically, making sure to disguise my handwriting.
To Caitlyn,
Word around school is you sent that terrible nightmare to Hannah. I’ve heard you’re behind the conveyance problems she’s having now, but Hannah is too sweet to suspect anything. It’s just a matter of time before you get caught. You’re being watched. If you try anything, I’ll tell Mr. Robbins even if Hannah won’t.
Sincerely,
A Friend
P.S. I know about your family.
When I finished, I sealed the envelope and peeked out our door. The hallway was empty. I tiptoed toward Caitlyn and Hannah’s room.
Silence.
I kept going. Suddenly footsteps approached from my left and a growing shadow appeared on the wall. Could it be one of the RAs? Rumor had it they patrolled the halls at night, and I had no reason to be in this area. I dashed toward my right, trying to be both fast and quiet. Only when I locked myself into a bathroom stall did I dare take a breath. I crouched near the toilet, my feet freezing against the icy linoleum—I hadn’t bothered with slippers. After about five minutes, I reentered the carpeted hall and walked toward my room. It
was now silent, so I continued past my room. No one saw me as I slipped the paper under their door.
Once I was safely back in my warm bed, my mind returned to the contents of the note. Even though it was a stupid and immature thing to do, I was proud of myself for standing up for one of my best friends.
If only I could do the same for myself.
Chapter: 29
The bell rang and students rushed from their seats. Mr. Robbins stood at his usual post near the door, saying goodbye as everyone left. It’d be so easy to follow them out, but I had to get this conversation over with. It had hung over my head all weekend.
I waited up front, swaying side to side, hugging my notebooks tight to my chest. Once the room cleared, I asked, “Can we talk about my grade?”
He nodded toward his desk. “Sure.”
Once we were both seated, I said, “I’d like more information about how my grade was calculated so I can earn an A next time.”
“Good question.” He leaned back in his chair. “And a good reminder for me to review my grading system with my classes. I always forget how much some students care about their grades. Personally, I believe what you learn is more important. If it were up to me, I’d do away with letter grades.”
His answer didn’t shock me. Mr. Robbins acted contrary to my other teachers from day one: less organized, less strict, and a lot more fun.
“Well, of course I want to learn, but you see…it’s my dad. Grades are extremely important to him, and he expects me to get an A. He sees Creative Core as a regular art class, which would be optional at other high schools. And of course, I can’t explain what actually goes on here. He threatened to pull me out of Dickensen if I don’t bring it up.”
“Oh my.” He scooted his chair toward his desk. “Well then, we have our work cut out for us. Let me start by reviewing this past semester.”
“Okay, but was it my art projects? I know my skills aren’t so great, at least compared to Aditi and some others.”
He reached for his grade book, found the proper page, and ran his finger down to the middle. “Let’s see, I gave you a B for Visual Arts. As you can see here, your project grades have improved since September. If you keep that trend up, you’ll be on track for an A there.”
I studied the book. A neat row of Bs and a few As followed my name. The only Cs were from months ago. I’d worked my butt off to improve my art skills.
“My apologies for not sharing your recent grades. But the last two projects were so impressive, I got ahead of myself and tacked them straight up in the hallway. I should’ve let you look at their grades first.”
I forced a close-lipped smile.
“But you should know Dream Management had a slight impact on your grade. For this class, the score is based predominantly on your ability to convey a dream. The script writing goes toward your language arts grade. For the first semester, I gave you a C minus.”
Mr. Robbins continued to rattle on about grading, but I tuned out as the realization sank in: my final grade could’ve been a whole lot worse. The C minus barely affected it.
Then he said something, breaking me from my trance.
“Could you please repeat that? Sorry, I missed the last part.”
“I said, for this current semester, Dream Management is going to weigh more heavily. It only accounted for a small percentage of your grade last semester, which is why I neglected to bring it up. Also, my expectations are higher going forward. Everyone should be able to convey dreams by summer break. I pride myself on having over a ninety-seven percent success rate.”
My hands went clammy. “What if I can’t?”
“Don’t worry. This semester I’ll have more time for individual consultation since most freshman procedures have been taught. Our recruiters do a terrific job selecting candidates, and everything should click into place for you soon.”
“But if I can’t? I need to know.”
“Technically, it’s possible to flunk Dream Management and walk out of here with a passing grade of perhaps a C minus or D plus. That sometimes happens to a student or two, but they’ll be asked to leave the academy.”
I trembled. My dad would kill me for getting that kind of grade. After a moment I recognized there might be something even worse than Dad’s wrath. “What would the school do to me if I left?”
Mr. Robbins tugged his ear a couple of times. “I can’t say. It’s not up to me.”
“Please…” My voice shook. “What would happen?”
He sighed, then looked around the room as if to confirm we were still alone. “All I know is disciplinary actions are determined on a case-by-case basis, and the committee does the best they can to minimize detrimental impacts to departing students. If memories need to be adjusted, they usually don’t erase much more than Dream Management knowledge.”
Usually?
“Honestly, Autumn, you don’t need to worry. I see how hard you work and your enthusiasm as you complete your scenery. And I’ve read your stories. You’ve got talent, but you need to start believing in yourself.”
I gave him a half-smile. That was so much easier said than done. And although he said I had no reason to worry, simply the idea a disciplinary committee even existed caused my anxiety to rise.
“I’m more concerned you’re falling behind. Most students are working on their second or third dreams, so even if you’re successful soon, you’ll have some catching up to do. Many freshmen don’t complete all six dreams in all of their permutations by June. These skills can be mastered in the sophomore year. However, if your father requires an A, not only must you learn to convey, you must finish all six dreams. Make sense?”
I nodded.
“Good. Now as I mentioned before winter break, there are some nontraditional routes we can take to push you harder. I’d like to propose you switch partners.”
“You mean roommates?” He couldn’t be serious.
“Yes and no. What I suggest is Aditi remains your roommate, but for the next couple of weeks, I’d like to alter your sleeping arrangements on conveyance nights.”
My mouth dropped open as he explained.
“There are a couple of reasons for this suggestion. First, Aditi may be a tougher dream recipient, requiring a more advanced dream-maker. Second, a new partner will wipe out some memories of failed attempts, which may course through your mind during the conveyance. It can reset your mind to how you felt back in November, but you’d have the advantage of knowing the steps inside and out.”
“Makes sense. But who do I switch with?”
“It needs to be somebody in this class. I prefer to switch you with another pair where both partners have found success. So in here, that would be…” He scanned his grade book. “Either Caitlyn Black and Hannah McIntire…or Grace Nguyen and Tessa Williams. Would you be comfortable with one of these girls?”
“Hannah,” flew out of my mouth without thinking. A split-second later, I backpedaled. Partnering with Hannah would mean Aditi would get stuck with Caitlyn. “But…I don’t know if Caitlyn would want to help me. We’re not really friends. Maybe Tessa or Grace would be a better choice.”
“Leave that to me. There’ll be benefits to everyone involved to make up for the inconveniences.”
“There will?”
“We’ll go through it all together when I inform them about the switch.”
Guilt weighed me down. Why did I suggest Hannah? “Please consider Grace or Tessa. I think I’d prefer to switch with them.”
“I’ll look at all the options. Now don’t mention this little conversation to anyone until after I make a decision.”
I nodded and stood to leave.
He rose along with me and smiled. “Stay positive, Autumn. This should work.”
As I dragged myself through the empty halls back to my locker, I envisioned Dad’s face seeing my next report card. It’d be summer and I’d be at home. I couldn’t face him if I brought home a near-failing grade. And I might have to face a disciplinary committe
e too. Would I sit before them and plead my case while they determined my trustworthiness and doled out an appropriate punishment? I shuddered.
I cautiously climbed down the frozen stairs of the school building. I breathed in the crisp air while my eyes adjusted to the sunlight reflecting off the snow-covered world. My thoughts shifted to working with another partner, and my pace sped up. Perhaps I could do it. Most students ultimately learned. It’d be a fresh start. I was only behind by two dreams with four months to catch up. I just had to get over this stupid stumbling block, the first conveyance—the simplest and yet the hardest, at least for me. If I could actually convey, catching up was simply a matter of spending more time on schoolwork and less on everything else.
When I walked back into our room, Aditi stopped reading. “What’d he say?”
I relayed most of the conversation, leaving out the part about switching partners. I was dying to tell her about Caitlyn’s family too but had been waiting for a time when I could tell both my friends at once. Since I stayed late after school, Hannah was already at her indoor soccer practice.
At the library later with Ben, an awful idea hit me. What if Caitlyn thought my note was from Aditi? Then she might send Aditi some terrible nightmare while she partnered with her as a favor to me. It’d be all my fault. I was so stupid to have written it. What was I thinking?
But maybe it’d be okay. Although Aditi and I had to be high on her list of suspects, lots of students liked Hannah, and Caitlyn had rubbed many people the wrong way. I’d phrased the note so it didn’t necessarily point to either of us. All I could do was pray Mr. Robbins switched me with someone else. At least I hadn’t mentioned anything about Caitlyn’s family yet to my friends. No doubt Caitlyn would catch wind of it, and it looked like I might need her help with Dream Management.
****
My fingers carefully sorted through the colored glass fragments, searching for the perfect purples to form the petals on a flower in my mosaic piece, when Mr. Robbins called, “Autumn, Aditi, Caitlyn, Hannah. Would you please join me at the front?”
My stomach went sour. So much for my prayers.
Dickensen Academy Page 17