Race the Night

by Kirsten Hubbard

  “This time, I want you each to think of an object. Ideally, something that evokes emotion. Don’t just picture the word, but the object itself. You’ll go one at a time, thinking of your object, while the other kids try their best to see what it is.”

  Jay was first. He stood in front of the others, his face screwed up in concentration. “Okay,” he said at last.

  “A rock?” Finch guessed.

  “A buffalo?” Avis tried, then giggled. Teacher didn’t smile.

  Eider stared at Jay, trying to see his thoughts. All she saw was his unpleasant face. What would Jay be thinking about? She remembered his board of bugs with pins in them. The wicked-looking bug in the center.

  “A scorpion,” she said.

  Jay’s eyes widened. “She’s right!”

  Teacher smiled, and Eider smiled too. Beside her, Avis frowned.

  Finch was up next. For some reason, he couldn’t stop twitching: shuffling his feet, rubbing his nose. Eider wished she could telepathically tell him to relax. “He’s thinking about the World Book,” she guessed. “World Book Q–R, specifically.”

  “That’s right!” Finch exclaimed, a little too loud.

  “Nice job, Eider!” Teacher said. “You just might be a natural at this. How about you go next?”

  Beaming, Eider took her place at the front of the group. The first object that came to mind was the housing-development pamphlet, with its pages full of families. That wouldn’t work. Nor her fairytale book, which she pictured next. Then the gap in the fence. Then Finch’s radio. Now she understood why he’d gotten all twitchy—she was starting to twitch too.

  What else was there? Her penlight! Too obvious, but at least it wouldn’t get her in trouble. “Okay,” she said.

  “Avis? What do you see?” Teacher asked.

  “I don’t know,” Avis said flatly. “Oatmeal. The wash bucket. A giraffe eating a banana.”

  Eider laughed. “Not even close.”

  “I need you to take this seriously, Avis,” Teacher said sharply.

  Avis reddened. And then she blurted: “She’s obviously just thinking about Robin.”

  Everybody gasped. The name hit Eider like a fist in her belly. “I wasn’t!” she exclaimed. “I swear I wasn’t.”

  The other kids looked as shocked as Eider felt. Jay being mean was nothing unusual, but Avis? In front of Teacher? Eider braced herself for a scolding. Or worse, discipline. But Teacher’s glare was aimed elsewhere.

  “What’s gotten into you lately, Avis?”

  “Into me? Eider’s the one who—”

  “I didn’t say anything about Eider. It’s you I’m speaking to right now. Do you have a problem with this lesson?”

  The only right answer was no. But for some reason, Avis didn’t say it. She stood there with her mouth twisted, her eyebrows furrowed. “I just don’t—”

  “Yes?”

  “I just don’t see why any of this is important, all right?” Avis burst out. “Extrasensory lessons are silly. They’re not making us stronger or smarter. They’re just make-believe. Just stupid make-believe.”

  Everyone stood very still. Linnet gulped audibly, then covered her mouth.

  “Extrasensory lessons aren’t make-believe,” Teacher said. “Not only are they real, they’re important. The most important lessons of all.”

  “Why?” Avis asked. “Why do they matter? Why does any of this matter?”

  Eider cringed. They were questions she’d always wanted to ask—but Avis was asking all wrong. Didn’t she remember what happened when Robin threw tantrums?

  Of course she didn’t. But Eider could.

  In Eider’s memories-that-weren’t, Robin had thrown lots of them. Stamped her feet and stuck out her tongue and yelled at the top of her lungs. Teacher would threaten to discipline her, but she never had….

  Because Robin wasn’t real. Eider squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. Teacher was silent, still suspiciously calm. She looked from kid to kid: Avis to Linnet to Jay, Jay to Finch to Eider. Back to Avis, who was staring at her feet.

  “I’ll explain,” Teacher said.

  IN THE CLASSROOM, nobody knew whether to sit or stand. Jay and Linnet sat. Eider and Avis stood. Finch hovered somewhere between sitting and standing. They’d left their notebooks behind, flapping in the breeze. Maybe they’d blow away and become some other person’s secret papers, Eider thought.

  “There are many things we know,” Teacher began. “And many things we don’t. We can only do our best to guess—to make educated guesses, based on what we do know. Based on facts.”

  She nodded at the World Books, lined up on their shelves.

  “The world has ended. That’s a fact. It’s ended—everywhere but here, at the desert ranch. Here, you’re sheltered and protected. You’re the most brilliant, the most special, the purehearted, the truly good.

  “And you’re here for a reason.”

  A reason? Eider made fists to avoid biting her thumbnails. She felt nervous, or maybe excited. It was hard to tell which.

  “Here, at the desert ranch,” Teacher said. “Here, after the end of the world. Here: where and when you exist. Right here. You know you’re here to learn. But you’re also here to train—for the world beginning again.”

  The start of everything good again. The beginning of the beginning.

  It was all Eider could do not to look at Finch, or Avis. Or the empty space where Robin had never sat.

  “You won’t just live in this new world,” Teacher said. “You’ll lead it.”

  Nobody uttered a word, or even a gasp. It was too large. Too confusing. The kids at the desert ranch would lead the world? The whole world?

  Finally, Jay raised his hand. At times like these, Eider felt thankful for him and his stupid questions.

  “What do you mean, lead the world?” he asked.

  It was the kind of question Teacher usually waved away, but she didn’t this time. She began to pace. The classroom wasn’t very large, so she could only take a few steps before turning.

  “I’ve been researching for years,” she said. “Many years. And I’ve confirmed that it’s a prophecy shared across cultures, in countless ancient texts: that a child will save the world. That a child shall lead. Out of the darkness. Away from the night.

  “It’s only natural that one of you—the most brilliant, special, and purehearted, the very, very best—is fated to be that child.”

  After a moment, Finch raised his hand.

  “Yes, Finch.”

  “Only one of us?” he asked.

  Teacher nodded. “You’ll all be important, of course. You are important. But only one of you can lead. That’s why I’ve been observing you so closely. Taking notes. Clocking times.

  “The leader won’t be just the strongest, or the fastest, or the kindest, or the bravest. Not only the smartest, or the quickest, or the most dedicated, or the most agile. No, it will be whoever most represents all of the above. Combined.”

  The nervous excitement in Eider’s stomach began to curdle.

  Because she wasn’t the most anything. Not the smartest, or the quickest, or the most dedicated, or the most agile. Ever since her rattlesnake fever, Eider least represented all of the above. Except for today’s Extrasensory lesson—but it was only one lesson, and they hadn’t even completed it.

  “That’s why it’s important that you excel in all your lessons,” Teacher said. “Now, more than ever before. Every single one of you has potential to lead. But only one of you is the natural leader of the world.”

  Finch raised his hand again. “But who?”

  “Like I said, I’m still determining which one it will be.”

  Finch shook his head. “No, I mean, if the world has ended and nobody’s left…who will we be leading?”

  Eider clasped her hands together under the table. She couldn’t believe what Finch was asking. Would Teacher answer? What would she say?

  “Each other,” Teacher replied.

  “That’s
all?” Finch asked.

  The other kids looked bewildered by Finch’s interrogation. Of course they did—they didn’t know. They hadn’t crouched over the radio and heard the blurry word.

  The warning in Teacher’s eyes didn’t make it to her mouth. She opened it, then closed it. She looked out the window, as though she were turning something over in her mind. When she finally turned back toward the kids, her expression was soft—but resolute.

  “Each other,” she said again. “And all the Other People, too.”

  There was a collective pause. Then small sounds from everyone, like evening crickets. Uncertainty, confusion. Surprise over what Teacher had said. And from Eider and Finch, surprise that she’d said it at all.

  Other People.

  Teacher had admitted it. She’d admitted she’d been keeping a secret from them—a colossal one. Even if she hadn’t told untruths outright, she’d hidden the truth. Not by mistake, but on purpose.

  Linnet lifted one small hand. “So…the world didn’t end?”

  “It did,” Teacher said. “It did end—that’s a fact.”

  “Oh.”

  “Everywhere but here. But that doesn’t mean everything has vanished entirely. Anything that remains has changed for the worse. Like the sea. Right, Eider?”

  Eider started chewing her thumbnail.

  “And that’s the problem.” At last, Teacher stopped pacing and took her seat at the head of the table. She leaned forward, just a little. “Everything has changed for the worse—and everyone, too. Everyone who’s left. They’re not like us here, at the desert ranch. They have ill in their hearts. They’re dangerous—even evil.”

  Eider and Finch glanced at each other. His face mirrored her distress.

  “Evil,” Teacher said again. “And that’s why you’re here, at the desert ranch. Staying safe, until you’ve finished your lessons and training. Until we know which one of you is ready to lead the world.”

  Eider was startled to feel her own hand rise.

  “Yes, Eider?”

  “But if anything left is for the worse…” she began, “and any Other People are bad, or evil…what’s there to save? What’s the point?”

  “That is the point.” Teacher thumped her fist on the table. “You’re all brilliant and special and good. You have the ability to make it better. To save the world. To help the world begin again. The point is you.”

  Eider’s nervousness started to feel like excitement again.

  “Will everything good come back?” Linnet asked.

  Teacher nodded. Her eyes were bright, like lanterns burned behind them. “Everything,” she said, “and more.”

  At that, Eider couldn’t help it. She grinned. Beside her, Finch was grinning too. Which meant everyone else started grinning. Even Teacher.

  They were brilliant and special.

  They were going to save the world.

  “I was always going to tell you, of course,” Teacher said. “I was just waiting for the right time. Which wasn’t going to be today, but of course it’s too late now.” She turned to Avis. “Do you understand why Extrasensory is so important, Avis?”

  “I think so,” Avis replied.

  “Good. Because I don’t want you making a scene like that ever again. We’ll have a little talk after the other kids leave.”

  Avis glanced at Eider, then back at Teacher. She sank a little lower in her chair. “Okay,” she mumbled.

  As the rest of the kids headed for the door, Teacher’s voice sounded stronger, more powerful than ever. “Never forget,” she said. “Some people were put on this earth to live. You were put on this earth to soar.”

  EVERYTHING CHANGED ONCE THE KIDS learned the truth.

  Not in any distinct way. But it was always in the background, like the crackly hum from Finch’s radio. A new kind of energy, aimed at each other.

  “The world deserves the best,” Teacher said. “Strength. Intelligence. Determination. Perseverance. The world’s natural leader will be whoever most represents these traits, combined.”

  Everything came together. The way Eider had imagined the scroll of history, unfurling toward them. All their structure, all their lessons—Physical, Practical, and especially Extrasensory—suddenly made sense.

  The kids at the desert ranch were the best and the most brilliant and special. But one of them was better and more brilliant and special than the others. And now they knew Teacher was trying to figure out who.

  “You’re in competition—but remember, you’re not at war. You’re allies. Not enemies.”

  Actually, things did change in one distinct way—Avis’s braid was gone.

  After Avis returned from her talk with Teacher, Eider had wanted to confront her over what had happened at Extrasensory. But at the sight of her, Eider instantly forgot. “What happened?” she exclaimed.

  Avis touched her hair. It was chin-length and shaggy. Even a little bit crooked, like she’d just lopped off her long, red braid. “Oh,” she said breezily. “I guess it was time to try something different.”

  “But you love your hair….”

  Avis’s expression made Eider shut up. They stared at each other in silence, until Eider saw tears in Avis’s eyes.

  “I can fix it if you want,” Eider said, her anger falling away. “If we can get our hands on some scissors.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Avis paused. “Eider, listen. I’m really sorry about—”

  “Shh. It’s okay.” Eider looped her arm through her best friend’s.

  They were allies, not enemies.

  Eider tried to remember that over the next few days, and the next few days after that. Even though everybody’s eyes had gone a little shifty. When Eider lifted hers during a meal, she’d often catch another kid looking at her, then looking away.

  Except sometimes Jay didn’t look away. He’d keep looking.

  More than that, everybody was trying harder. Including Eider. Even when half of their Extrasensory lessons seemed impossible. Like telekinesis: moving objects with their minds. Or levitation: using their minds to lift an object—or each other. While the others giggled, Eider took it seriously.

  And Teacher noticed.

  FINCH

  EIDER

  LINNET

  AVIS JAY

  Maybe because Eider wasn’t just trying harder during her Extrasensory lessons, but during Practical and Physical too. Instead of examining her fairytale book and the papers inside, more often she found herself with her notebook, rereading that day’s notes. A couple times, she even sat in the classroom during Free Play and skimmed the earlier World Books.

  On purpose!

  She found it more interesting than she’d thought she would. Topics that hadn’t made much sense when they’d studied A and B and C now had more meaning, and they spread it to the topics around them.

  And Physical. Eider had never liked Physical. She liked walking—she could walk forever and ever, she sometimes thought. But all the obstacle courses, the methodical running and jumping and hop hop hop, she hated. Compared to the other kids, she wasn’t any good.

  But was that because she didn’t like it?

  Eider decided to try not hating Physical. She couldn’t love it, but she could care. And after a while…Well, she still wasn’t the best at Physical. That was still Avis and Jay. But Eider beat herself time and again.

  One day, Linnet almost caught up to her halfway through a race. Eider pushed through the pinch in her side and ran faster—and faster, and faster, until she rocketed through the finish line just behind Avis.

  “Very good, Eider,” Teacher said.

  Eider hadn’t heard that during Physical in a long time, if ever. She glowed.

  Until she caught Avis watching her.

  Ever since Teacher’s little talk, Avis had been acting quieter. More subdued. Not only during Extrasensory—which she hadn’t gotten any better at—but during Physical and Practical, too. Almost like her haircut had changed her personality.

 
Eider didn’t really get it. Sure, Avis had loved her braid. But hair grew back, right?

  An unexpected bonus of being so busy: Eider didn’t have time to remember Robin.

  For so long, forgetting had been an action. Something Eider did on purpose. Actively chasing away her memories-that-weren’t, the same way Nurse shooed kit foxes from the garbage pails sometimes. “Get out of here, you rascal,” he’d say, waving a wooden spoon.

  But now, Eider often went at least half a day without remembering.

  Sometimes Eider caught Finch looking at her meaningfully, the way he had before. She knew he wanted to listen to the radio again. Once, she was pretty sure she heard him whisper, “Eider,” outside her window, but she pretended to be asleep.

  Sneaking out just didn’t seem worth it.

  Last time they’d tried, they’d barely heard anything. Maybe it hadn’t even been a voice—just something automatic, like airplanes. Or even wind, maybe. Howling wind. And even if it had been actual people—they were dangerous and ill-hearted, like everybody left. They didn’t matter. They were pointless.

  Eider didn’t want to get caught sneaking over something pointless. Especially now that Teacher had told them the truth. A truth that involved something different. Something more.

  All Eider had wanted was a point. Now there was one.

  EIDER

  FINCH

  LINNET

  JAY

  AVIS

  “HOW ARE YOU FEELING, KIDDO?” Nurse asked as Eider sat down for her checkup.

  “Good,” Eider said. Her usual answer was “Okay,” but today it sounded too melancholy for a potential leader.

  “That’s not as good as great.”

  “Actually, I feel amazing!”

  Nurse chuckled. Eider cooperated as he checked her ears, tonsils, heartbeat, and reflexes. He locked his implements in the cupboard, then leaned back in his chair. The overhead light zinged off his flat, bald head. “I hear you’re doing a lot better in your lessons,” he said.

  Eider perked up even more. “You heard? From who? Did Avis tell you?”