The Wisherman

by Danielle

  He spent the better part of his day craning his neck to the side to see if anyone would notice. Mr. Johnson asked him in history if he would like to be excused to the nurse’s office for the crick in his neck. Oliver had shrunk down into his seat, mildly embarrassed, but also secretly hoping that all of the attention had caught someone’s eye. By lunch, a frustrated Oliver slammed his tray down at the center table, and slid into the seat next to Owen.

  “No one even knows what this means. They all think I have skin cancer!” Oliver said.

  Alex waved his hand, evidently unperturbed. “It’ll take some time. I know one in the junior class. I told him to look out for a sign, on all of us. Word will spread.”

  Oliver stood in the serving line at dinner, looking miserably at the winding line before him. The cook had come out the kitchen in a flurry earlier, saying that the oven was broken. The tiny French man had thrown down his hat, screamed “I quit!” and fled the kitchen. It was due to this that Oliver had spent the last thirty minutes staring at the boy in front of him, presumably for a meal that was never going to come. Dean Tenbrook emerged from the kitchen sometime later, her demeanor as calm as the chef’s had been frazzled, and said “Soup and sandwiches today, boys. Everything will be back under control by tomorrow.” She smiled cheerily and left amidst hundreds of groans.

  The boy in front of him turned around. He was much taller and he titled his head down towards Oliver so they were at eye level.

  “Great day for a sandwich, huh?” The boy then craned his neck to the side and Oliver found himself absentmindedly wondering if he’d had a particularly rough gym period. As he looked up at him, bewildered, a marking on the boy’s neck caught his eye. He froze. Oliver wanted to say something, but he found himself grinning stupidly instead and when he finally collected his soup and sandwich, he ate them as if it was the greatest meal he had ever had.

  ~

  “I got one today. Tall blond junior?” Oliver said. Malachi made a tally mark on the giant piece of poster board that Owen erected over his bed.

  “Next. Owen, how many?”

  “Two, maybe three. Maybe that really was a mole.” Owen shuddered.

  “Alex?”

  “One. Man, I’m losing.”

  “It’s not a race.” Gabriel said.

  “Gabs, how many?”

  “Three” he responded smugly, prompting Alex to moan louder. Malachi tallied up the numbers.

  “Six so far, eleven including us. Seems a little low.”

  “They could be scared. We were.” Gabriel said, honestly.

  “How do they know that we’re not going to round them up or something?” Alex said.

  “I mean, we are. But for a good reason.” Malachi protested.

  “Let’s give it a few more days, and see what happens. Meeting adjourned.” Oliver slammed down his cup as if it were a gavel and the court was dismissed.

  By Thursday of that week, Oliver had quite possibly developed permanent muscle damage from holding his neck to the side. After another impassioned plea by Mr. Johnson, Oliver consented to keeping his neck upright, but his eyes peeled. He returned to his room, to find Robert sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at the doorway.

  “Hey.”

  Oliver made a beeline for his bed. Check-in would be soon, and then the meeting. Robert cleared his throat loudly. Oliver continued rummaging through his bag, looking for his history book. He hadn’t seen his history book in weeks, and well, he supposed he should try and crack it before the test. Robert cleared his throat again, and Oliver turned around reflexively. When he’d finally gotten Oliver’s attention, Robert stood suddenly and jerked his neck to the side. Oliver’s palms grew sweaty.

  What exactly was he doing? Oliver curled up his fists.

  Robert walked over slowly, his dark eyes apprehensive. He pointed to his neck, and there on his moonlight pale skin was a small black circle. Oliver felt the unmistakable rush of pride, and he was hugging Robert, and Robert was hugging back and they both were reveling in the feeling of not being so alone anymore.

  ~

  Oliver knocked three times on the basement window, while Robert looked nervously over his shoulder every few seconds. The return knocks came swiftly, and within seconds the window popped open. Robert mouthed “Are you sure?” and Oliver nodded vigorously before nearly pushing him through the open sliver.

  “Roll call?” Malachi wrapped on the poster board with a long, skinny tree branch. Owen held up one finger and shrugged. Both Alex and Malachi shook their heads, while Gabriel made a circle with his index finger and thumb.

  “He’s mine.” Oliver said, preemptively.

  “I’m your what?” Robert asked. The eyes of all in the room swiveled towards him as if they were just noticing him. To be fair, Oliver reasoned, Robert wasn’t exactly the most obvious of people. It was as if he simply faded into the background wherever he went, like old wall paper, only making its presence known with a new wrinkle or crack.

  “His recruit.” Owen said. He looked Robert up and down as if he were sizing him up.

  “You want to tell us about yourself?” Gabriel asked, his voice taking on its usual slow, charming drawl.

  Robert shook his head furiously. “No, I don’t.” His voice was firm.

  Gabriel opened his mouth as if he were going to argue, but he stopped himself and nodded instead. “Alright. Well, you’re down, right? That’s all we need to know.”

  Robert nodded sharply, his dark eyes unreadable and nearly invisible in the lamp-lit dorm room. Oliver could see from the corner of his eye that Owen was still studying Robert with a curious look on his face.

  “Alright!” Malachi rapped on the poster board with his stick, bringing everybody’s attention back to the center of the room. “What are our goals?” Malachi turned his stick around and pointed it sharply at Alex.

  “Find everybody?” Alex offered.

  Malachi nodded. “And then what?” He pointed next at Gabriel, who laughed.

  “I don’t think we had a step two yet.”

  “Organize everybody.” Robert’s soft voice came floating over Gabriel’s laughter.

  Malachi hesitated for a moment before pointing his stick at Robert. “Keep going.”

  Robert blushed slightly. “We should organize everybody. Send out a message and pick a meeting place.”

  “How are we going to do that without the matrons finding out?” Alex asked.

  “We pick somewhere secret.” Robert said, his face growing steadily more animated. “We could go into the woods. I heard that a while back, an instructor used to have classes out there.” Oliver suddenly felt cold, as if his entire body had been dipped into an icebox. Despite his most valiant attempts, he hadn’t forgotten the carvings on the tree. They were forever frozen in his subconscious, it seemed. Too terrifying to bring up, but too haunting to let go.

  However, Gabriel, Owen, and Alex met each other’s eyes and burst into laughter.

  “Only if you’re not too scared.” Alex jeered.

  “Ah yes.” Gabriel cut in. “I remember you, Oliver, on your first night.” Robert and Oliver exchanged sour looks.

  “I’m not scared!” Oliver said, but his voice wavered slightly, sending the three older boys into a fit of laughter once more.

  “Silence!!” Malachi rapped on the poster board and shot a harried look around the room. “If nobody is too scared”. His lips curled up slightly. “Then it’s settled. We’ll hold our open meeting in the forest this weekend. Now, I’ve got to go study for history.”

  ~

  Oliver stared at the blank history test before him. His palms were sweaty and his eyelids kept drooping of their own accord. He looked sideways at Paul, who was writing quite possibly faster than the speed of light, with a grin plastered on his face. Paul had been right of course, but Oliver would never tell him that. He looked back to his own paper, then to the clock and swallowed hard. Twenty minutes left, and the answer space for question one remained blank. Oliver turne
d around to look for Malachi. Malachi was sitting in the back row, chewing on the end of his pencil.

  “Oliver?”

  A shadow loomed over his desk. Mr. Johnson stood over his desk, with his thick eyebrows raised high. “Do you need something?” Oliver shook his head furiously until Mr. Johnson walked away, and then he cursed himself for being so stupid.

  When the bell rang, Oliver looked down at his paper, still as blank as when the period had begun. He waited until the last of the students had turned theirs in before slipping it in the middle of the stack and slinking from the room.

  He slid in next to Malachi at lunch, who was discussing the test with Robert. “I thought the last question was pretty tricky. I mean, how are you supposed to explain that? What’d you put, Oliver?”

  Oliver smiled weakly. “I kind of made it up. I think I probably got it right though. It is Johnson. Shouldn’t have to do too much, right?” Malachi laughed and nodded, while Oliver’s stomach, if possible, sank closer and closer to the floor below.

  The remainder of the week flew by without incident, and Oliver found himself speed walking back to his room after the last session of the day on Friday. His bed, normally the brick upon which he slept begrudgingly, became god’s cloud and he drifted off into sleep.

  The sun hung low in the sky as Oliver made his way through the woods behind Delafontaine. He looked behind him every so often, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching. The pine trees seemed less ominous when the sun was still shining, but he couldn’t help the feeling of dread that crept over him every time he looked through the rows of trees. It was as if someone was watching his every move, like someone was following him, but every time he turned around, they would slink back into the shadows.

  He stepped into the clearing, and his eyes lit up. The clearing was nearly full with boys in various Delafontaine wear. On one side, Malachi herded students into a line, while on the other Owen had a notepad and paper and was marking off names. Gabriel jogged over to him, wearing a huge grin. “18 in total. At least four in every year, so far.” He held up a piece of paper with names scribbled on it.

  Robert followed up quickly behind him. “They’re asking when the meeting starts. What should I tell them?”

  Oliver felt his chest swell with pride as he looked out over the sea of faces. “Tell them, it starts now.”

  He stood up on the makeshift stage---improvised by Alex using a stump and a chair---and he looked out into the crowd. Oliver didn’t know most of the boys by name, although he spotted the boy who he’d met in the sandwich line. And another, who’d slipped him a note after Calculus. They were all here, waiting for him to speak.

  “I’m sure you’re all wondering why you’re here today.” Oliver began, and his voice cracked at the end of the sentence. A round of soft laughter rose from the crowd, and Oliver felt his cheeks burn. He cleared his throat and continued. “My name is Oliver Donovan. I’m a new student here at Delafontaine. Before I came here, I thought I was alone in the world. That I was the only one who was cursed in this way. When I learned that I wasn’t, I decided that I would stand up and say something. I know I haven’t been here too long, but I can see one thing already. Delafontaine doesn’t want us to realize our talents. They want to stamp them out. They want to stamp us out. I heard that people rarely graduate from Delafontaine. Why? Don’t you all want to know why? We deserve better than that.” Oliver paused and licked his lips. “I don’t know how much you all want to do, or are willing to do, but I told myself that I would show Delafontaine that they do not own me. I am not a number. I am not a basket case. I am not an experiment, and I am definitely not troubled.” A few whoops rose up from the crowd. “What if I told you that maybe all this was a gift? Being different. I’ve been where you all have been. I was told all my life that being me was wrong. What if being me, being you is right, what if it always has been, what if----“The crowd erupted in cheers cutting him off for good. “Oliver! Oliver! Oliver!”

  By the end of the meeting, Oliver had shaken so many hands that he felt like the President. The meeting ended just as the sun went down, and boys sprinted back to their rooms to make curfew. Some asked when the next meeting would be, and Oliver had responded gleefully that it would be every week.

  “Every week until when?” A dark haired boy had asked, and nearly everyone had stopped milling about to hear the answer.

  “Until we’ve made our point.” Oliver had said firmly and the boys shared a secret smile before returning back to their individual dormitories.

  The secret spread quickly. The mole was no longer necessary, but the smile was key. Oliver sprinted to the library in search of a desperately needed history study guide, and an upperclassman held open the door and nodded, wearing the secret smile. At lunch time, two boys slid over an extra table to the center table and were soon joined by four more boys, putting Oliver in a good mood for the rest of the day.

  ~

  “The history test next week is going to be brutal. Do you want to quiz me?” Malachi flipped through the history textbook.

  Oliver shook his head. “I haven’t started studying yet. I have to work on my problem sets.” Malachi looked at him, critically. The two were hanging out in Malachi’s room, and Malachi was hunched over his desk, face nearly touching his textbook. Oliver gazed at the Boondocks posters that decorated the walls of Malachi’s room.

  “I’ll start later. I need to work on some more ideas for The Disciples.” Oliver said.

  Malachi laughed. “We’re really calling ourselves that now. Like, in public?” He swung his feet around so that he was sitting backwards on his chair.

  “I thought that was just like an ‘us’ thing.”

  Oliver shrugged. “We’ve got to call it something. Give it an identity, you know.” Malachi opened his mouth to argue but shut it after a withering look from Oliver. “Okay, well, quiz me, alright?” He said, instead.

  ~

  Mr. Johnson handed Oliver a history test, and he lingered at his desk for a moment too long. Oliver felt his cheeks grow hotter under the gaze, and he began to scribble on his paper. Just nonsense, but anything to get Mr. Johnson away from his desk. When Oliver heard his retreating footsteps, he looked down at his history test and blanched. The test was even more difficult than last time. It asked for dates, days, and full names. Next to him, Paul sat writing away as usual, bobbing his head as if he were singing along to something in his head. The song was probably “I’m an annoying know it all” to the tune of ‘He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’, Oliver thought bitterly. The bell rang with Oliver having attempted just three answers. Again, he slinked from the classroom, berating himself for not studying. But, as he did, he got another head nod and secret smile, and soon his thoughts were off with the Disciples.

  A sharp rap at the room door pulled Oliver from the relaxing daydream he was having. He lay on his bed, eyes to the ceiling but his mind was busy drawing up plans for the Disciples.

  Robert looked up from his book. “Are we having a meeting or something?” He asked, and he twisted his mouth into a frown. Oliver frowned and shook his head no. He started to get up, but the door swung open with such a force that the door knob banged on the wall behind it. Matron Charlie walked stiffly into the room. Her eyes lingered on Oliver’s unmade bed for a moment before she locked eyes with him.

  “Oliver, Dean Tenbrook requests your presence in her office immediately.” Robert looked over at him with a terrified look, and Oliver swallowed hard to get rid of the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “Now.” Charlie barked and Oliver flew from his bed and followed her from the room.

  ~

  Oliver stepped into Dean Tenbrook’s office. Every inch of wall was covered with abstract art and photos with motivational quotes at the bottom. Dean Tenbrook sat at her desk with her arms folded and her smile wide. Directly behind her, there was a poster with a tiny silver figure shouldering the world. At the bottom in bold, white letters were the words “Be in control.” Oliv
er cringed inwardly, and sat down as Matron Charlie shut the door behind him.

  “How are you today, Oliver?” Dean Tenbrook leaned forward and placed her hand on his forearm. Oliver stared at her mega-watt smile and he wondered how she had learned to talk and smile at the same time.

  “I’m doing fine.” He said, and he inched his arm back slowly. Dean Tenbrook frowned, but continued speaking.

  “How have your classes been going? Good?” Oliver blanched. So this is what this was about, he thought, somewhat relieved, but mostly embarrassed.

  “History could be going better.” He said, simply. Dean Tenbrook’s smile faded for a minute. “I’ve been told that you turned in your last two tests mostly blank.”

  “I answered a few on the second one.” Oliver said weakly.

  “Would you like to know what you got on either of those tests?” Dean Tenbrook’s smile had completely disappeared now. She reached into her desk drawer and pulled out both of Oliver’s tests. She slapped them down on the desk in front of him and pointed to large, red F’s in the corners of both. Oliver pulled at his tie. It suddenly felt too constricting.

  “Do you have any explanation for this?” Dean Tenbrook sat back in her chair, and she looked larger than ever.

  “I guess I just didn’t study.” Oliver sputtered.

  “And why didn’t you study?” Dean Tenbrook asked with narrowed eyes.

  “I suppose I lost track of time.” Dean Tenbrook narrowed her eyes until they were but tiny slits, before bursting into a wide grin. “I hope that you aren’t spending your time on any unnecessary extracurricular activities. Delafontaine provides more than enough stimulation for young boys, I think.” Oliver’s heart thudded to stop, and he tried to keep his face as non-reactive as possible.

  “No, of course not. I just need better study habits. I didn’t really study much for things at my old school.” Oliver said and he smiled. It wasn’t like that wasn’t true. He hadn’t exactly needed to study, as all his tests ended up being sent home with him.