by C. C. Lynch
“Here goes.” I sucked in a breath and memorized the grey stone building in my mind before jumping out of the car.
I loved the way the stone dust crunched and moved beneath my feet. The sound calmed my anxious mind and I fell into step next to my mother who did not seem to be bothered at all by the strangeness of the situation. We both stopped in front of two large oak doors. I went to grab the handle but as I did the door opened slowly.
“Good morning!” A tall girl not much older than I with a tiny frame stood in front of my mother and me. She wore a light blue plaid dress that reminded me of a table cloth and matching high heel shoes. Where did she get a dress with matching shoes? “My name is Rebecca,” she put her hand out to shake mine, “and you must be Abrielle. What a unique name!”
Rebecca was personable, but there was something about the way she spoke that made me uneasy. Gently and cautiously I tried to read her. Suddenly she stopped speaking and narrowed her eyes at me as if she could tell what I was trying to do. I jumped at her reaction. As far as I knew, no one could tell when I tried to read their minds but it definitely seemed like she knew.
Random facts about Glaston Academy were spoken almost in a sing song manner while Rebecca brought my mother and me to the Dean’s office. Since it was a college I had expected to see hung over students, people making out, sorority pledges, and the token gritty student that was still in pajamas but everyone was engrossed in their studies rather than social interaction.
“Here is the dean’s office.” A flat palm traced the way from our view to the open door. “Go right in, he is ready for you.” She smiled and gave a brief curtsy before walking away.
We walked into the office and I froze. What I was witnessing held my body captive; I could not compel any of my limbs to move. I blinked rapidly to try and determine if I was seeing the person sitting in the Dean’s chair correctly.
“Pleasantries, Mrs. and Miss Abbott, please come in.” Mr. Murphy ushered us into his office. “I am Professor Horicon, the dean of students here at Glaston Academy. Now, seeing how Miss Abbott is not yet eighteen I just need you to sign some paperwork and then we will get her to orientation right away.”
I was going crazy; it was the only explanation. That was why there was a fake Nicholas, why I was suddenly accepted into a college before I was supposed to finish high school, and why the dean at the college was my homeroom teacher. Glaston Academy was just a mental institution that my mother was dropping me off at. There was no other explanation.
My mother signed the papers and everything seemed to move quickly but in slow motion all at one. Once she was finished I took deep shallow breaths expecting a strait jacket to be put on me. “Bye sweetie. Good luck,” my mother hugged me quickly and tightly.
“Mrs. Abbot one of our students, William, will be waiting in the foyer to assist you with Abrielle’s belongings.” The man had his hand resting lightly on his diaphragm as he stood waiting for my mother to leave the room.
Tears threatening to escape stung my eyes and I searched for something in the office to take my attention away from the horrible feelings welling within my chest. Mr. Murphy, or Professor Horicon, shut the door behind my mother and went back to his seat.
“Take a seat, Abrielle, I’m sure you have a few questions.”
“First and foremost being, who are you? Are you Mr. Murphy or Professor Horicon?”
Amusement tugged his lips upwards. “Glaston Academy is a college for young adults that are gifted. Part of my job is to perform clandestine scouting for gifted individuals at other schools that are deemed worthy of Glaston Academy. Due to the sensitivity of the gifts that our students possess it is critical that I hide my identity while I scout. Mr. Murphy is my alias but Professor Horicon is my true identity.”
“Gifted? I have good grades but I’m second in my class at a public school. I’m not anywhere close to gifted. Mensa not Mega,” I clarified. Had my high school teachers not been so eager to give extra credit my GPA would have been under a 4.0.
“We do indeed look for intelligent students. You will find that Glaston Academy has an extremely rigorous curriculum and if you cannot find a way to keep your grade point average above a 3.0 then you will lose your scholarship.” He stood and looked outside. “The gifts I am speaking of are much more arcane in nature. I am talking about telepathy, telekinesis, one’s ability to manipulate energy, and so on.” He turned to me for a dramatic effect. “We even have a student here who has perfected invisibility.”
“Professor Horicon,” I spoke cautiously, “did you say this is Glaston Academy or Glaston Asylum?”
“Very clever, Abrielle.” He scowled and cleared his throat. “We had a few scouts at your previous school. We sensed telepathy, empathy, healing, and possibly replication.” He gave me a moment to allow his words to sink in. “Here at Glaston Academy we will help you further develop your skills, among other things.”
“Among other things?”
He ignored my question and continued on as if his introduction to the school was previously recorded and was simply playing through his mouth. “I’d like to show you some figures. You were given a full scholarship your meal plan, books, tuition, even a small clothing allowance.” He put a sheet of paper in front of me that showed the sum of charges that added up to a figure that my mother made in a total of twenty years. “Now, if you fail one class you are put onto academic probation. Fail two classes and you are on an academic warning. In the fashion of our all-American past time, three strikes and you lose your scholarship.”
“I lose the scholarship, but I am not expelled?”
“Heavens no,” his lips curled into a smile that would be painted on an evil clown doll, “the material we teach here is much too sensitive to be only partially taught. We cannot have gifted individuals running amuck with just part of their talent polished. It could create chaos.” He paused and pursed his lips together, “we… Glaston Academy cares about each one of its students.”
“Three class failures in one year or in the entire four years we will be here? Do I have a major? I never signed up for one.”
“Wonderful questions, Abrielle. The failures are for your entire education here. The academy is not necessarily four years because each person has a different gift and it takes some longer to perfect that gift than others. We give you a major based upon your strengths. It is not the typical way that universities do this, but we find it works well for our students.” He stood up and straightened out his tweed jacket. “So that we are clear, if you fail three classes while you are here your mother is responsible for your tuition. Plenty of extra credit opportunities will be given so I should hope this will not be an issue for you.”
“The worst grade that I have ever received was a C+ in junior high because I kept burning things in my cooking class. I cannot imagine that I would fail anything.”
He held the door open for me so we could begin the tour. “Classes at Glaston Academy are taught at an exceptional level. You are all intelligent so we teach the classes for our brightest pupils. Receiving a C is a mark that you are average. Failing simply means that you had the lowest score on the test in that class. You will understand soon enough.”
Since the entire Glaston Academy ordeal was entirely too good to be true and there was so much emphasis on the three failures policy I figured that this was the one visible blemish on their beautiful façade.
The inside of the academy was breathtakingly intricate in an old mansion sort of sense. Stunning dark hardwood floors lay beneath elaborately patterned high ceilings. The interior style of the school reminded me of one of those old mansions in Rhode Island. My anxiety was actually diminishing as I observed the architecture.
Professor Horicon showed me where the bulk of the classes would be held, the offices of the professors, and the kitchen where we were free to make our own meals or have them made by the chef Susan something or other when she was working. We exited a door through the kitchen out to the yard. A fountain and two st
atues separated a long yard of perfectly mowed grass and a line of trees. To the west of the building were stables and to the east was a smaller stone building and a couple tennis courts.
He informed me that there was also a running track and swimming pool on campus but he believed my roommate would show me that in time. The smaller building was used for dormitories. The first floor of the residence hall had a small kitchen, sitting area, and another room for recreation. The second floor housed the females while the third was designated for the guys. There were about one hundred and fifty students and each shared a room with either one or two other students.
I stepped onto a slightly slanted tile floor into the recreation room of the building. A few pool tables, televisions, and foosball tables seemed brand new and untouched. The next room was a massive carpeted sitting room where a dozen people were lounged on different sofas studying. Inside the sitting room was a stately staircase leading up to the second and third floor.
We stopped in front of Room 217; my new home for the next year. He knocked on the door and introduced me to my roommate, Elizabeth. After the brief introduction Professor Horicon turned on his heel and vanished.
My new roommate had straight blonde hair that curved against her chin, an angular face, and deep green eyes that were almost brown. “Liz,” she stuck her porcelain hand towards me. I took it in mine and nodded, “Abrielle.”
She ushered me inside the room. An old hardwood floor was covered by a large grey area rug that disappeared beneath two beds on opposite sides of the room. Two wooden desks underneath their own windows were against the far wall separating the beds. Identical lavender duvets lay atop the twin beds and the one furthest from the door had my luggage piled atop it.
Liz shut the door behind her and squared her chin towards me. “I am going to do this the fairest way I believe possible. In the closet are your books. Once I hand you the books you become a student and then we are in competition with one another. Until you set your hand on those books you are simply an acquaintance asking questions about the school. I can give you an hour for questions, after that I will hand you the books. Fair?”
She was polite, but direct. My jaw hung slack for a moment from simply being overwhelmed. “Yes, that is fair.” I moved the luggage off the bed and sat down. “So, I guess it is really competitive here.” It was both a statement and a question.
“Yes. The goal is to get the best grade that you can. The classes are small and range from five to twenty students. The way they teach things here is a bit unorthodox but the main concentration is our gifts. When it comes to our gifts we are mostly in competition with ourselves, but the regular classes are not easy and are taught at a graduate level. Academia is graded in terms of your classmates. Even if you get, say, a 95 on an examination but the rest of the class scored above you, you will fail.”
Liz paused for a brief moment then continued, “You will get a schedule delivered to the room in about two hours so you will have a better idea of what is in store for you. Monday, Wednesday, and Friday will have two academic classes and a four hour block dedicated to your skill. Tuesday and Thursday have three academic classes and one hour for gifted learning. The weekends are for studying and practicing.”
“What is your gift?”
Emotionless she answered, “Invisibility.”
“No way!” My jaw dropped with excitement. “Can I see?”
My roommate had the gift of invisibility? I had thought I was a rare gem for having telepathy but learning that there were actually people with other capabilities was incredible. I did not think I would ever have anyone to talk to about my gift let alone be able to learn how to use it or perfect it in any manner. Glaston Academy was quickly changing from a possible asylum to a godsend.
“We cannot use our gifts unless it is the weekend or we are in class.” She began to fidget then pace.
I tried to focus on what I would need to know about the school. It was impossible to tell what the important questions were since I was not acquainted with the school yet. Biting my lip I searched for the first question to come to mind so as to not waste the hour. “What is replication? Professor Horicon said that they sensed replication. How do they sense what we can do specifically?” I had no idea what replication was or if I was truly able to heal organisms, but I was more interested in how someone could sense my gifts.
Her eyes grew wide momentarily. I almost thought that I imagined it because it was so quick before her face was back to stone. “Replication is the ability to mimic another person’s gift. It is really rare and the only person I know to have that is the headmaster. You must have misheard him. I can see that you’re a telepath and an empath. That is it.”
“How can you ‘see’ that?” Sure I could feel when I was around Samantha that she was a telepath like me, but I definitely could not pick much up from anyone here so far.
She informed me that we were only allowed to use our gifts during particular hours and I desperately wanted to read her. The body language she was displaying said that she was moments away from hitting me but my innate senses were telling me that I could trust her and she was a friend. “You will learn it in the next two weeks, I’m sure.” She then sighed and rolled her head to the side as if I was exhausting her.
“So, how exactly do you get extra points?”
She sat down on the bed across from me. Apparently I had asked a question she deemed worthy. “Extra credit is awarded by doing things that the professors highly approve of. Some professors are harder to impress than others and some things that you might do for the academy will get you extra points towards whatever class you wish. For instance, you had scouts go to your school or work or what have you. A couple of those scouts were students. They will most likely get between twenty and fifty points.”
“There was a guy there that was pretending to be my friend, he was identical to him. Who, how, and why?”
“Oh,” she flicked her hand in the air, “it was either Vlaine or Draxe. They are the only people here who can shift. They can take on the image of whoever they want. Vlaine is a bit more talented in the shifting department but Draxe is a better scout. For all I know it could have been them both trying to see if you were Glaston worthy.”
“I don’t have my schedule yet, but are there any study tips or tricks for the classes you think I might have?”
Her eyes were focused on me and she smiled for a fraction of a second. I had asked another question she approved of. “I heard they nabbed you from high school. Assuming you had above a 3.2 you will test out of your high school classes and go right to college ones. You will probably have a healthy mix of economics, physics, robotics, anatomy, and calculus. If we can finish up this painful discussion I promise to give you five minutes dedicated to this question once you get your schedule.”
I nodded my head in agreement and she quickly rushed to get my books and pushed them towards me.
“Wait,” I said before touching them, “just one last quick question.” She groaned in response. “What is the worst thing that can happen to me while I am here?”
Liz hugged the books to her chest and her flawless porcelain complexion drained to a grey one. “You could get a visit from the headmaster. He is someone you never want to meet and if someone says that you have a meeting with him I would be very, very concerned.”
I nodded and put my hand on the books that she was still clutching tightly to her chest. “Thank you, Liz.”
She ordered me to get a decent meal because it would be the last enjoyable one I would have until I graduated from Glaston. I went to the kitchen and reintroduced myself to Susan who seemed thrilled to have someone to speak to. Her ruddy red hair was cut short like a boy, she was stout and homely, but her voice was entrancing. I wondered if the entire faculty was gifted as well because I was sure that if she had one it was the ability to captivate someone with her speech.
Susan put a plate of salad with diced grilled chicken and asparagus in front of me and pushed a napkin
wrapped cookie towards me with a wink. I ate quietly and listened to her describe her children and what they did for a living. While she spoke I tried to study the students that shuffled by quickly. Each one had an arm full of books and there was no particular clothing style. The other girls wore anything from jeans and a tee shirt to dresses and heels. I made a mental note not to use a backpack and to keep to myself until I could figure out who was friendly enough to approach.
Just as I was finishing up my meal an older man in his forties walked through at a normal pace. His lack of rush was the first thing to get my attention and the second thing was his appearance. He was the definition of debonair. My eyes scanned his body from his shined shoes, up a perfectly ironed suit that met a clean shaven, strong chin. Raven black hair was combed into place and his dark eyes did not appear to look at anything in the room. He walked towards the side of the refrigerator and opened part of the wall that led to a hidden room behind the kitchen. I looked away, not sure if the concealed room was something I was allowed to know about.
I had been so fixated on the man that I did not realize that Susan had stopped speaking. She was frozen in place, her eyes watching me until the panel was completely closed. Once it was back in place Susan continued on with her story as if nothing had happened.
“Wait,” I cut her off from telling me about her grandchild that was soon to be born, “should I pretend that I did not see that panel open up into another room?”
“The headmaster did not seem to hide it from you, but I would not go telling the entire school about it.” Her mouth formed a thin line.
“That was the headmaster?”
“It sure was,” she gave a quick nod before taking my plate away.
“The way I heard about him I expected a terrifying old man, maybe with horns.”
Susan put the plate down and leaned close to me. “The headmaster is not to be trifled with. He is the most powerful man here and trust me when I tell you that being off his radar is in your best interest. Now go on little missy and start your studying. Just because you are new here does not mean they will give you any leniency.”