Revary

by Abigail Linhardt

  She didn’t freeze. Of course Al would know they were all online last night and that he and Stella were the only ones not in the chat. But she didn’t care. If only Al had a clue what she had been through. She wanted to tell him right then, but something held her back. Did he deserve to know? She wanted to snap and throw Stella’s phone across the lab. She wanted to slap Al for being too insensitive and rude.

  She steadied her breathing. “I have to go see LeGrand about my assignment.”

  The lab was almost over anyway so the teacher didn’t stop her as he told the class to start cleaning up, but to be careful with his precious instruments.

  Fortunately, LeGrand was in his office. The door was closed, but Clare could see his silhouette against the back window. She knocked and bounced up and down nervously as she waited for him to tell her to come in. She opened and closed the door with a wild flourish of unbridled emotion.

  He looked up from his book, astonished by her entrance and waited for her to collapse in the chair on the other side of his old desk before speaking.

  “What is it, Clare?” he asked agitatedly. “What can I help you with?”

  She didn’t really know. She stared up at him, willing him to read her mind and have a ready answer like a genie in a bottle. He was a teacher and an adult; he was supposed to have the answers.

  “What do you do when your friends are driving you crazy?” she asked instead of pouring out her every thought. Her voice still quavered embarrassingly.

  “All is not well in Sun Age, then?” he asked a little more lightly. He smiled when she froze, a look of surprise on her face. “Yes, I know about it. You wrote a piece in the school’s paper a couple years ago when you were, how you put it, ‘opening the draft to commoners.’”

  She winced a little. “Yeah. I wish Sun Age was the problem. At least I know how to fix that.”

  Alexander closed his old book and pushed his glasses up onto his yellow head. “You know, that game you have going is really great. You should do something bigger with it.”

  She didn’t really hear him. On his bookshelf, among his many odd historical artifacts, was a little portrait of a very young couple. Something about the man’s face was intensely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. He saw her studying it with a look of recognition and turned to face the photograph as well.

  “My grandparents,” he said, taking it off the shelf. “I think my great grandfather made them get married because she,” he pointed to the young girl, “was carrying his son.” A small smile lightened his face that was very somber up until then. “My grandmother is still alive today. But my grandfather passed long ago.” He faced Clare. “Have you seen her?”

  Clare shook her head. “Actually, it sounds stupid now, but your grandfather looks familiar. Crazy, huh?”

  Alexander smiled in a subtle sly way. “Maybe not.” He placed the picture back and sighed, taking up his book again. It was entirely handwritten and Clare assumed it was his journal. “What can I help you with during your math class?” He cocked an eyebrow playfully.

  “Oh right,” she stuttered. “I’m sorry to come to you with this, but…” How could she say he was all she had and not sound strange? “I just felt like you could help me. Not to sound desperate or immature, but I don’t really have adults I can go to with problems. We’re an odd family. Not that close. I tried to talk seriously to my mom once and it didn’t work out.”

  He nodded patiently. “Go on. I’m listening.” When she hesitated, he encouraged her with, “I’m not allowed to discuss your questions with other students. I promise whatever you say is safe.”

  She didn’t really need any encouragement, but it helped.

  “Al is driving me up the wall,” she began. Then she hesitated. “Can I really tell you anything?”

  “I have a Ph.D. in psychology if that helps,” he offered casually. He sat down behind his desk and gave her his full attention. “But I prefer high school students to all-knowing college kids.”

  A small scoff escaped her as she looked across at him. “I thought people with Ph.D.s were old.”

  He smiled. “Go on,” he said.

  “Al won’t leave me alone,” she started again. “Ever since junior year, he’s been asking me out, telling me about white picket fences and kids…”

  “What?” Alexander interjected, honestly confused.

  “Like that’s the house he wants,” she tried to clarify.

  He nodded.

  “And he says I’m in it and his job is great and that we can’t play Sun Age any more. I know it sounds shallow, but that’s not the point. Playing a game was never the point with Sun Age. It didn’t have to do with being a kid, acting immature, or excluding any one. It was something I made and the others really liked. It’s not hurting anyone and I think it helps with imagination. I love playing and writing the games and plots after work and school. It helps me. It helps everyone! Is that so bad? Why does he want me to give that up?”

  “What does he say?” Alexander asked in a low, soft voice. He had tented his fingers and was watching her closely from across the desk.

  “He says it’s silly and it takes too much time. I still have good grades and Max’s have gone up since he made his own dark elf chapter. And where else could a sports fanatic like Lance and a brainy girl like Alice become such great friends?” She felt her heart thumping as she kept on talking. Her passions were rising as she went on. “Al’s like Mrs. Vander. She has the best job in this school. She teaches literature and she hates it. Why? Why do people like that have to exist and bring me down?”

  He laughed and removed his glasses from his head. “I thought I had the best job. I try to make it new every day. To keep myself interested.”

  Now she realized. Clare nodded and breathed, “Oh, I see.”

  He smiled and motioned for her to go on.

  “She does teach the same books every year, right? Maybe she’s not interested anymore.” Clare tried to imagine old Mrs. Vander in her home reading some highflying fantasy romance, but couldn’t finish the image. The woman had lost her love for the subject. “Who can lose interest in stories?” she asked.

  “Don’t you think you’d get tired of teaching kids who aren’t interested in the same books over and over?” he asked.

  “I’d make them interested with new ideas, projects, and readings.”

  At this, Alexander’s grin broke into a genuinely pleased smile. “I think you’ll do just fine, Clare.”

  Her heart lighter, she stood up without really meaning to leave, but deciding to since she’d made the motion.

  “Thank you, professor.”

  As she turned to leave, she glanced once more at the old book Alexander had been reading. It was an old,] green leather journal with a tie clasp. Instead of being blank on the front, branded across in black letters was the title Revary. She could see from the inkblots on the sides that it had indeed been handwritten.

  “What is that book?” she asked. “I love to read,” she added as an excuse for asking.

  He placed his long-fingered hand across the front and touched it gently. “This was something my grandfather wrote before he was gone.” He looked up at her through his lashes without moving his head up. He critiqued her for a moment. “Have you ever wondered about other worlds?”

  Clare nearly fled her skin at the question. How could he possibly know that?

  “Why do you say that?” she asked nervously. Her hand jumped to her necklace.

  “No reason.” He lounged back in his chair and smiled dismissively. “My grandfather liked to write a lot. My grandmother said he was crazy with stories and adventures. These are the ones he wrote down.”

  “Well, he misspelled reverie,” Clare laughed carefully.

  “Do you think so?” he asked casually. “What would you call it?”

  No answer came to her so she stalled halfway to the door. “Call it? Name his book?”

  “Naming things is so important in a story,” Alexander said. He
pushed his glasses back up onto his head where the sun was lighting his golden hair. Suddenly, he looked like he was wearing a crown. “A name comes to give you emotion when you hear it. It stirs up memories, brings images to your mind. It means things. In a way, it’s power.”

  Clare found her voice again though it was shaky. “I like Revary,” she said. “Like a dream or something.” She took another step then stopped again. “If names are important, what do you think would happen if someone went to another world, like in a book, and called themselves by another name? Or didn’t know who they were in that book?”

  Without delay, the historian said, “They would no longer be who they are. They would be who they said they were. I assume you would lose some powers and gain others that went with your new name.”

  It was like he was reading her mind. “So names are important.” She thought. “I read once that Stella means star. Is that true?”

  He shrugged. “A star would be a powerful character, I think.”

  She smiled nervously and thanked him again for his time.

  He picked up the book and weighed it in his hand. “Why don’t you take it and read a few pages?” He held it out to her with no expression on his face. “Maybe it will inspire something for Sun Age.”

  Wanting to reach her hand out and snatch up an original story, she made a grab for it, but then stopped short, something pulling her hand back.

  Don’t touch it, a voice nagged in her head.

  Wondering if one of the wraiths she had released into this world were tempting her to leave it alone, she quickly snatched it up and dropped it in her bag before she changed her mind. Alexander had seen the hesitation.

  “Enjoy that,” he said as the bell blared in the hall.

  The Friday of that week was Halloween. It was one of those days where there was frost on the grass in the morning, but the sun was warm by noon. Somehow, the school had flooded from the old piping and a great wall of graffiti had read, “This night, all will hail the Troll King!” in green and red letters. Since more than half the classes had been canceled, the principal had blessedly released all the children early since the water was becoming unmanageable.

  To everyone’s surprise, Al had suggested they all meet up at the game store where Lance was busy managing a large group of freshmen and international kids at a table. They all went in costume to go to the party later that was, sadly, being thrown by Dwyerstoph as the sign had declared. The only reason no one argued with him was because his parents were perhaps the richest couple in the neighborhood and he had a fantastic house. His mother was an ex-super star entertainer from a TV show and his father was a producer. His parties, despite who he was in real life and Sun Age, were the best.

  “I killed you for forty!” a loud Korean child called across the table to Lance who was still under the close tutelage of Max. “Your orc is dead.”

  “No, Hans,” Max explained as Lance sighed in frustration at being bested by the small child once again. “Your wizard moved forward and that stone is a trap! You have activated the poisoned darts in the wall. You can either roll for defense or try to roll enough spaces to get out of that hallway. Either way, you killed your elf friend behind you.”

  “What?” another Korean boy exclaimed as he realized his friend had led him into a trap. “Did you not see the crack? That can mean there’s a trap. Use your seeing eye spell!”

  “Okay, kids,” Lance sighed, pulling his hair up into a pony tail, “I am out now and my coworker will be here in five minutes to finish up the campaign. Take a break and no cheating.”

  Clare smiled up at him as he came and joined their table with Max close behind him. They were all seated at laptop consoles with headphones on and were logging into their favorite RPG online.

  “I cannot believe you’re going to the Trolls’ party,” Alice said to the whole group. “I have never been and I really don’t want to start now.”

  “I need you to come,” Clare said, making her character loot Alice’s while she was distracted. “I have something to tell you all and I just feel like I could do it better after a huge party.”

  “At the house of our enemy,” Max added sadly, moping through his black bangs.

  Lance slung his muscled arm around Max’s narrow shoulders. “Think about it this way, Maxey. We go to his place, where he is king, ignore him to his face, eat his food, drink his wine, dance, party, and he can’t stop us. It’s like the ultimate revenge.” He finished with a hard noogie, leaving Max’s hair uncharacteristically messy.

  “That makes sense,” Alice laughed. “Hey, let’s go loot this old castle I just found! I guess I could do that.” She switched back and forth between game-talk and reality flawlessly. It was simple for everyone to keep up. It was second nature. “Do we have to use these costumes though?” She had been disgusted at buying an in-a-plastic-bag costume from the super store down the street.

  “The rules are no Sun Age costumes,” Jeff reminded her. “Found the entrance to the castle. Come to my character’s flare.”

  The group fell strangely quiet as they made their electronic way through the game castle. It was like everyone knew what the next question was. It was the weekend and that meant camping. Clare didn’t have the heart to ask anyone. She knew each council member was waiting on her to give the all clear so they could let their clans know, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything about it. Not with Stella gone and Al in such a tight knot.

  She chanced a look up and noticed no one was looking at her for an answer or a prompt. Except Max. His black-rimmed eyes met hers for what felt like the first time in forever. Surrounded by their blackness, they seemed bluer than before. They seemed rounder and more inquisitive. He was asking her something with his eyes, but she couldn’t read it.

  Finally, he broke the contact by lowering his head, giving up. Somehow, Clare felt like she had failed. She had let him down by not speaking up or answering his mind waves. She didn’t know why she felt like this, but she knew it was her fault. She saw Lance nudge him inconspicuously under the table. Max shook his head.

  “Okay then,” Lance said loudly. “Let’s go terrorize some goblin babies tonight.”

  There was no denying the grandeur of the party. The Troll King’s neighborhood was rich and full of every kind of Halloween party. His house was decked out on black and orange glitter and party decorations. His mother had really outdone herself on entertainment as well. The huge backyard had been converted into a dance floor where a DJ had the whole crowd dancing. A trio of gothic belly dancers in shimmery black costumes had even been hired to get the party started.

  Clare felt awkward at first because she didn’t even know hostesses’ name. No one knew Dwyerstoph’s either. Fortunately, the hostess had drunk just enough that she didn’t ask for names as cascades of high school kids crossed her threshold and she took their coats and bags.

  After a few rounds of walking alone through the party, Clare spotted Stella alone with her mobile. She wasn’t dressed up; just wearing jeans and a black camisole with a lace bolero shrug. She was obviously sad. Clare made her way cautiously to her friend’s side and tapped her on the shoulder.

  Stella turned, expecting someone else and her face fell like a rockslide. “Oh. You.”

  “Stell, can we talk?” Clare begged. “I thought if I shared that place with you, you’d understand.”

  Stella pushed past her and grunted loudly. “Understand what, Clare? That magic is real and I need to believe in it? Or is it not that simple?”

  Clare trotted after her friend. She would have to ignore the mocking tone. “I don’t think it is that simple. I was talking to Alexander today—”

  “Who?”

  “Professor LeGrand.”

  “Ugh!” Stella’s face twisted in a grimace and she marched toward the front door again. “You call him by his name? What’s next, a nickname?” She stopped and turned sharply to Clare. Her eyes sparked in the darkness. “Listen to me one last time. Quit talking to people a
bout your fantasy trips. You left Al and me out of it. Yeah, I told Al, and he thinks you’re crazy.”

  “You guys talk about me behind my back?” Clare gaped.

  Stella threw her hands up and went out the door. Not wanting to lose her best friend, Clare ran after her, calling her name.

  “It’s not about that, forget I said it. Please, just don’t cut me out of your life. We’re still friends, right? At school? Why are you so angry?”

  Stella shrieked and charged back at Clare. She bent down into Clare’s face and hissed, “I am this angry because I had no one to come to with my feelings! I had to deal with all of this by myself! Max didn’t want me. My own parents don’t want me until I change. I had no one!”

  “You had me!” Clare cried, her heart breaking even more than before. “Alice was here too! We are all friends.”

  “I’m not close to you guys like that,” was the whip-like reply. The venom of the strike hit Clare like a poisoned knife. “I didn’t feel like I could divulge that part of myself to you. We weren’t that close. We were just gaming friends and I don’t even want that anymore.”

  Clare couldn’t even blink back her tears now. “You’re right. I wasn’t there for you like I should have been. That’s my fault, not yours.”

  Stella was not about to break down. Her mind was made up and Clare knew nothing she could say would bring her dear friend to her knees and spill her secrets.

  “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry.”

  Stella looked around quickly and then hissed, “And in that place, you used me, Clare.”

  Clare was taken off guard at the sudden topic switch. “I used you for what? You wanted to come and see the magic world, remember?”

  “If you’re going to try to get all literal, no, I didn’t. You took me there to teach me a lesson, didn’t you?”

  “No!”

  “And you said using magic there does something to me here, remember?” Clare shrugged, scared of Stella’s new attacks. “You said something bad happens and yet you told me over and over to use magic to save myself. You had me use magic to escape. If it’s so bad, why did you make me do that, huh?”