Poppy Mayberry, Return to Power Academy

by Jennie K. Brown

  Sam began to speak again, “But you haven’t answer—”

  “Enough,” Larriby said, the loudness and power of her voice practically shaking the room. A book from a nearby shelf tumbled toward the ground. Using my Monday power, I caught it and willed it to go back in its proper spot. To think, a year ago, I would never have been able to do that.

  “There will be no more discussion about your cusp powers. Mayor Masters has assured me there are no cusp students here this summer, so there is no reason it should even come up.” Headmistress Larriby flopped herself down in the chair. I chuckled to myself, thinking about how I had accidently moved a chair from under her butt last summer, making her crash to the ground.

  “Now let’s continue discussing this play,” Ellie said, obviously unaware of the awkwardness that just engulfed the room. I had to laugh at her naïveté.

  “Yes. Yes. Let’s do move on,” Mr. Fluxnut continued. “Since you all did so well with last year’s challenge, each of you will monitor the progress of your assigned weekday during the rehearsals and shows. As mentioned before, you will attend their power intensive class each day and work with them during rehearsal time. If your mentee is able to master his or her power by opening night, you will receive an added bonus.”

  “A bonus of what?” Sam said.

  “A monetary bonus,” Headmistress Larriby interjected. I believe you want a new dog home for your mutt, she thought to me. Then her eyes darted to the back of the room once more. “Now off you go,” she said, pointing to the exit. “Your schedules will be in your rooms before you wake tomorrow morning.”

  I went to sleep that night unsure of what Power Academy had turned into and what it had in store for me these next few weeks.

  Chapter Five

  I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of Ellie’s light, breathy snores. If we were still enemies, I would have whipped out my purple cellphone and tape-recorded her snorts to be broadcast all over the Academy the next day, even though technology of any sort was forbidden at Power Academy.

  I tapped on the comforter next to me, signaling Pickle to jump up. I rubbed her belly and then gave two scratches behind each of her ears. She pushed her head farther into my hand. Too cute. I glanced at the floor to see that, just as Larriby promised, our schedules had arrived.

  Poppy Mayberry – Daily Schedule

  Mentee – Sabrina Pennycoff

  8:30-9:15: Breakfast in the Cafeteria

  9:30–10:30: Rehearsal with Mr. Fluxnut

  10:45-11:45: Monday power intensive class

  12:00-1:00: Lunch

  1:15-2:15: Monday power intensive class

  2:30-4:00: Rehearsal with Mr. Fluxnut

  4:15-5:30: Free time

  5:45-7:00: Dinner

  7:00–8:15: Additional rehearsal upon request of Mr. Fluxnut

  8:30: Report to dorm room until morning

  I sighed at all the rehearsal times, but at least we didn’t have pointless classes. Last summer we had a History of Nova class every day, which was … well … useless. Meteor hit Nova. Yada, yada, yada. One meteor per day of the week. Yada, yada. Woke up to newfound powers. Yada. Same old, scripted stuff we learned every year since the first grade. And these lucky weekdays didn’t have to power through it this year. Pun totally intended.

  I glanced over to see a still-snoring Ellie and decided to use this extra time to explore Power Academy a bit while all remained quiet. Since I already saw the changes in the library, I wanted to check out what else was new.

  Last year, we weren’t allowed to leave our dorm rooms outside of specific time frames, probably because we didn’t have much control over our powers back then; they didn’t want electricity going on and off in the middle of the night or hopeful Mondays accidentally breaking windows. Still, I was really surprised that they didn’t put many restrictions on us this year. Larriby and Grimeley, well, Fluxnut, must have thought a step above powerless weekdays warranted a bit more freedom. Or maybe they didn’t want it to seem like such a prison.

  I got to the bottom of the wooden staircase and found myself in the entryway once again. For some reason, it seemed a bit creepy without all of the other weekday students roaming around. The ceiling seemed extra high and the hallways extra dark. Pitch black, to be exact. If I were a Wednesday, I would simply light the hall with my finger, but that wasn’t the case.

  My eyes adjusted to the blackness. All of the main rooms and hallways branched from this grand foyer—the center of the Academy. The huge chandelier hanging in the center of the room boasted like one hundred crystals. There had been too much chaos upon arrival yesterday for me to even notice how beautiful it was. Next to the front entrance door was the pocket door to the library and the first hallway, where all of the classrooms were located. From the looks of my schedule, I’d be splitting my time between there and the newly constructed auditorium for rehearsals.

  The next hallway contained not only the boys’ dorm rooms but also the faculty apartments; I had absolutely no desire to explore that hallway. The last corridor seemed to be a wing of administration offices, where something caught my eye—a giant, sliding glass door. It looked out of place and really modern compared to the wooden doors in other parts of Power Academy. Naturally, I had to explore this a bit more, even though this was the only hallway forbidden to students and counselors.

  I started my way down the administration wing. Labeled Mrs. Mayella Larriby, the first door on my left was that awful headmistress’s office. The next door down was Mr. Harold Fluxnut’s office. A shiver went down my spine—there was something outright creepy about that dude. The guy from Novalicious seemed so—different—from the flamboyant play director here at the Academy.

  Shrugging, I tiptoed my way to the end of the hallway. I took a final step forward at the sliding door, thinking it would open on its own when I got close. No such luck. Ouch! I banged my head smack in the middle of it. “Way to go, Poppy,” I said to myself, rubbing the spot on my forehead that would surely turn into a huge goose egg by the afternoon.

  I tapped my foot forward this time, hoping again that the glass door would budge. Nope. Finally, I attempted to use my Monday power to do the same thing. I concentrated hard. Move. Move. Move. Nope. That was strange. Now that I was almost twelve, my power worked whenever I willed it to. There was no reason it shouldn’t work now.

  Then I noticed why it wouldn’t open to any of my commands, normal or Monday—directly to the right of it stood a tiny black box with a red blinking light. It seemed like I needed an access card to get the doors to slide open. Obviously, the only ones with a card like that would be N.P.C. workers. Go figure. Maybe Sam could use his Wednesday power to open it—if that would even work.

  I was about to turn around and make my way back up to my room when I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Even with his back toward me, I recognized the boy standing on the other side of the door—Mark Masters—Mayor Masters’ nose-picking extraordinaire of a son. I took a step to the side so he couldn’t see me. I could tell that he was having a conversation with someone else, but not a normal one. His face was bright red, and he was using huge arm movements. It almost looked like he was arguing with someone. And what was he doing here so early in the morning?

  Suddenly, the other someone came into view. A short, stocky man in a Nova Power Corporation jacket had a vice-like grip on Mark’s collar. I watched as Mark’s right fist made contact with the man’s forearm, but to no avail. The guy’s arm didn’t budge at all.

  Even though I couldn’t hear any talking through the thick door, I could still channel my Thursday power. “I don’t want to go back there,” Mark said, his head tilted toward another door. He tried to wriggle his way from the man’s grasp but the short man continued to hold on.

  He yanked Mark toward him so fast that his head snapped back in my direction. Mark’s eyes locked with mine. Fear. Mark was afraid. I didn’t hear him say it, but he was thinking Help, Poppy. T
hen the man wrenched forward and the two were out of sight, making their way somewhere into the Nova Power Corporation part of this ginormous building.

  What the heck was that all about? I needed to find out, and I knew exactly who could help me.

  Chapter Six

  I filled Ellie, Logan, and Sam in on the incident with Mark over breakfast.

  “And you’re absolutely sure it was him?” Ellie said, using her cusp Monday power to slide the syrup down the table and right into my hand.

  “Ellie!” I whisper-yelled.

  “Relax, Poppy,” she said, looking around the cafeteria. “Nobody noticed.”

  Thank goodness for that. She slid it back toward the middle of the table, further away from Sam.

  “Um. Excuse me? I was about to use that,” Sam said, reaching in the place where the syrup stood just seconds ago, before Ellie slid it away. Once he realized it was Ellie and not me who slid it from his grip, he smiled. He was totally crushing on her.

  “I’m positive it was Mark,” I said through chews of waffle goodness.

  Sam lifted up his cowboy hat to scratch the side of his head. “You know, it was super late at night. Maybe you were sleepwalking or something?”

  I rolled my eyes at him. That was just about the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. I’ve never sleepwalked in my life.

  “No,” I replied tersely. “I’ve been through every grade with him. I know it was him.” I’d stared in awe at Mark digging for gold so many times that I could recognize him, his finger, and his nose anywhere.

  “His Mom is the mayor of Nova, so don’t you think she’d know if something fishy was going on?” Logan asked, suddenly appearing next to me. I hated when he just appeared like that, but I was glad to see him. My cheeks grew warm—until he looked up at me.

  “Whoa! What happened to your head?” he asked, staring at the bump that I predicted would form after smashing my head on the glass.

  “Anyway,” I said, pouring more syrup on my breakfast and ignoring his comment, “let’s just keep a look out, okay? It was just plain weird.”

  They nodded in agreement and we got back to our waffles and strawberries.

  After breakfast, we had our first “rehearsal” of the summer. I was excited to go because I could finally meet my mentee, Sabrina Pennycoff.

  “Alright, alright! Let’s hustle, please,” Mr. Fluxnut announced, making his way down toward the stage in the new auditorium. He had changed out of his N.P.C. garb and was now dressed in skinny jeans and a t-shirt that read World’s Best Director. Was that really necessary? I looked him up and down. Poor Mr. Fluxnut looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. He was as thin as a candlestick, all skin and bones from his pointy chin the whole way down to his long, shoeless feet.

  The weekday students were seated in the middle of the stage in a circle, arranged by day of the week. Mondays sat stage right, then the Wednesdays, Thursdays, and finally the Fridays. Tuesdays didn’t come into their teleporting power until they were thirteen (except for Logan, of course), so there were no Tuesdays at Power Academy.

  “Now, where are my Wednesdays?” Mr. Fluxnut said, looking around the stage as if he wasn’t the one to organize the seating.

  “Because of your Wednesday electricity-manipulating powers, you will be in charge of the lighting, sound effects, and other technical elements of the play.” He did a dramatic spin in the middle of the stage. “And you will be expected to do this entirely with your weekday powers, of course.” He pursed his lips together and did a little humming laugh. The pressure was on for those poor Wednesdays.

  Sam stood behind the struggling Wednesdays. He nodded at his mentee, Lester Manchester, a freckled-faced boy with black-rimmed glasses that looked just like Sam’s.

  Mondays were to master their telekinesis by opening night. In A Midsummer Night’s Dream, they were playing the magical fairies and some of the actors in Pyramus and Thisbe—the play within the play. These were the most magical and whimsical roles, so it seemed appropriate for them to sprinkle fairy dust or propel objects across the stage using their Monday power instead of special effects. That could definitely become disastrous if these Mondays didn’t get a hold of their powers by opening night. I was in charge of seeing that my mentee Sabrina Pennycoff did just that—and that she did that exceptionally well.

  “Because Thursdays are supposed to read minds and don’t actually have the power to do anything tangible,” Mr. Fluxnut spoke with what sounded like disdain, “your job is to telepathically send lines to the other Thursdays. Therefore, you will be serving as stage managers and playing the roles of some of the main characters.”

  Phew. For some reason, I was under the impression that Ellie, Logan, Sam, and I would be playing some of those major roles. Thank goodness that wasn’t the case.

  “Except, of course, for our camp advisors,” Mr. Fluxnut said, staring at me. If he weren’t a Monday, I would have sworn he’d just read my mind.

  “Logan Prince, you will play one of the leading male roles—Demetrius.” He rolled his eyes in disgust yet again.

  “The role of Helena will go to Ellie Preston.”

  “Oh-em-gee, my breakthrough performance! I will not disappoint you, Mr. Fluxnut,” she squealed, pushing a few strands of chestnut hair that escaped from her headband out of her face.

  Mr. Fluxnut raised and then lowered his arm—an attempt to get Ellie to calm down.

  “Sam, I want you to portray Lysander.”

  I thought back to the synopsis of the play I read before rehearsal. That must mean that I would be playing the only other female lead, Hermia. Great.

  “And Poppy Mayberry—you will be portraying the role of Robin Goodfellow—Puck.”

  What? “But isn’t Puck a boy?” I asked, trying not to sound too disappointed.

  “You will be a female Puck,” he added, and before I knew it, his skinny, clammy fingers were in the spirally mess I like to call my hair. I grabbed my mom’s orange pendant that I wore on a necklace—my security blanket, so to speak.

  “I just think this hair would go to waste if you played a character like Hermia. Puck is much more fitting.” He smiled, twirling a few orange strands around his fingers. “Much more magical,” he said, dropping my hair from his hands. “Don’t you think?”

  Seriously, what did hair have to do with anything? Mr. Fluxnut was so weird. And why did a play have to be this year’s challenge? The only other two plays I’d been in had been disast—

  The buzzing of the overhead speaker broke my thought.

  “The following individual is wanted in Headmistress Larriby’s office,” a voice bellowed from above.

  They didn’t even have to say the name. I knew who it was.

  “Poppy Rose Mayberry”

  I rolled my eyes, frustrated that I not only had to go to Larriby’s office, but that I didn’t get to meet Sabrina. What had I done, now?

  Chapter Seven

  The office door crashed behind me as Headmistress Larriby scuffled to her seat. Today, she wore the outfit that made her look like a giant eggplant. The too-tight, purple dress hugged her body in all the wrong places and she had a funny-looking, puffy green scarf tied around her neck. I knew that was too tight too, because a skin roll hung over it—a skin roll that seemed to have grown even larger over the past year. Yuck.

  The last time I was in her office was at the end of Power Academy last year, when we found out about our cusp powers. Of course, I’d had a feeling about mine for some time before then; the conversation between Ellie, Logan, Sam, Mayor Masters, and me just solidified it.

  I glanced over at the bookshelf in the corner—and the secret compartment tucked behind it. Last summer, Miss Maggie had told me and some other Mondays an old secret to the school. Before Power Academy was converted into a school for the powerless, the building was used as a hospital. Hidden compartments where doctors kept medical supplies were tucked behind all sorts of furniture in classrooms and in
offices.

  “Look. I think we need to discuss something you saw early this morning,” Headmistress Larriby said, wedging a fat finger between her scarf and her neck. When she lifted the green piece of fabric, a bright red line pressed into her skin. The scarf dug into her neck. It had to hurt.

  “It doesn’t,” she said, obviously using her Thursday power to read my mind.

  How embarrassing. “Sorry,” I mumbled under my breath, ashamed that I had thought it. At least I didn’t say it out loud. That had to count for something, right?

  Clothes-too-tight Larriby sat down on the other side of her desk. “Don’t you think we need to discuss that incident early this morning, Miss Mayberry?”

  I blinked hard twice, trying to remember her last comment before I was so entranced by the scarf cutting off her circulation. Oh, yeah. Mark. “I … um … I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. Of course, I knew exactly what she was referring to. My thoughts flashed back to Mark Masters standing on the other side of the glass door and how scared he looked when that crazy man grabbed him. How did Larriby even know about that? Oh, yeah. Hidden cameras. They were probably everywhere around here, and I was sure Larriby was watching every move we made.

  Headmistress Larriby tugged at the green piece of fabric around her neck once more. It gave way a bit, and a hot breath of air burst from her mouth. She cleared her throat. “Miss Mayberry, even though you haven’t exactly been the example Monday student, there are others much less fortunate than you.

  “You see, those poor Saturdays and Sundays have no special talents. They go through life like any other normal, boring person who lives outside of our marvelous city.” Her arm lifted a fat yet perfectly manicured finger toward the giant window to her right. “So here at Power Academy, and over at the N.P.C., we find certain jobs for those less fortunate.” I’m sure the fact that Mark was the mayor’s son played into his finding a job while other Saturdays and Sundays were homeless.