Paldimori Gods Rising Box Set

by T. L. Callahan

  “I’m not going to let you leave a trail of broken hearts in my town.” I set the sign on my shoulder menacingly. “You’re here to do a job. Lia is my best friend. She didn’t do whatever they’re saying. If you don’t get her out of there, mister hotshot lawyer, I’m going to bedazzle the inside of your underwear.”

  1

  August

  A group of little expectant faces looked back at me across the classroom as I leaned against my desk. I took a deep breath, savoring the waxy smell of crayons mixed with the fruity scents of our last project of homemade finger paints. Brightly colored cabinets and bins filled with assorted art supplies lined the back wall. A sink stood in one corner next to a row of little art smocks hanging on pegs. Paper lanterns swayed in the breeze from the air conditioner vents on the ceiling. Nearly every available surface was covered with the art projects from my classes over the last three years at W.C. Lawson Academy.

  My classroom was more of a home to me than the house I was living in with Dan. Every scrap of art in this room was an outlet for a child’s imagination that I had helped to nurture. It filled me with pride and made me giddy all over again that I had gotten this teaching position at one of the best schools in the area. I’d built up this classroom to be my paradise: the place where I could truly be me.

  “Cats,” Mia shouted from the table toward the back of the room.

  “Let’s raise our hands, ok?” I gave her a wink and she giggled. “One of the other classes already picked cats.”

  “How about ponies, Ms. Dia?” Rachel asked with her hand in the air, her golden-brown pigtails swinging as she kicked her feet.

  I tilted my head letting the image of horses prancing across fluffy white clouds take form. My artistic soul appreciated the image, but it didn’t feel right. And I always trusted my instincts when it came to art. “Hmm, good suggestion, but maybe we can think of some other ideas.”

  Each class was to pick their theme for the kites we would make for our festival in a couple of weeks. The other classes had already started on theirs, but this class was still struggling to find their theme. Inspiration had struck last year when I had dragged Dan along with me on a five-hour drive down the coast to Long Beach to witness the awesomeness of tens of thousands of kites soaring at the International Kite Festival. It had been so amazing that I had decided that Port Lawson would have our own little version of those festivities this year. Now we just had to pull it all together.

  “Yeah, cuz it’s dumb,” Ronnie groaned. “You always wanna make horses. How ’bout the Indominus Rex like in Jurassic World? He would eat all the other kites. RAWWR, RAWWR. Chomp.”

  “Ronnie it’s not nice to call things dumb.” I struggled to keep the irritation out of my voice. “This is a friendly competition. We don’t want to eat the other classes’ kites.”

  “That’s dumb too!” Ronnie shouted in agitation. His gray eyes radiated the same level of disdain I had seen his father display when he bothered to accept my requests for meetings to discuss his son’s behavior.

  “Do you think Lightning McQueen thinks its dumb when he gets on the racetrack?” I’d learned the hard way that the direct approach wouldn’t work with Ronnie. Being the grandson of Jack Lawson IV, and a direct descendant of the town’s founding family, made the kid nearly untouchable. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t keep trying to be the teacher I’d always wanted to be. Someone to nurture and open young minds to the possibilities of the world. Someone to help them find their potential—like a teacher had done for me. “McQueen’s not trying to wreck the other cars, he’s trying to push himself to do his best.”

  “I don’t wanna be no loser.” Ronnie crossed his arms. “I’m doing a dinosaur kite.”

  Great Mother, give me patience to deal with him today. Remember he doesn’t have the best role models. His mom is scared of her shadow and his dad is a big bully. The kid is learning from his father’s example.

  I took a deep breath, hoping—maybe for once—I could get through to him.

  “Win or lose, as long as you try your hardest you should always feel proud.” I smiled at Ronnie, but he huffed and kicked his chair leg. “Does the class agree with Ronnie that we should make dinosaurs our theme?”

  A hesitant little hand raised. “Yes, Amanda?”

  “Uhm, maybe we can make butterflies?” Her big blue eyes darted to the side nervously checking on Ronnie sitting next to her. “We planted a butterfly garden at my house. My Mom is a hoot … hort—uh, she grows plants. Mom says butterflies are important. They tell us when things are bad or good outside.”

  An image came to me. I was maybe seven and our apartment was so hot I was using damp washcloths to cool down. Mom hadn’t been out of bed in days and the electricity had been turned off. Probably because she hadn’t paid the bill again. I had climbed out the window to the fire escape, too restless to stay inside one minute longer. The steps had made loud clanging noises as I climbed up to the rooftop. Pots of flowers surrounded an area where someone had placed a couple of rickety picnic tables. The flowers seemed to call to me as I walked along touching their soft petals. Dozens of yellow butterflies had come to land on the flowers. That afternoon had been the best in a while, as I spent hours with the butterflies as my confidants, listening intently.

  Energy filled me. This was it.

  “I love that idea!” I bounced excitedly as my artistic juices started flowing with designs we could make. “What do you say, class?”

  There were a few grumbles, but almost everyone agreed. I helped the kids to get their supplies together and walked around to talk to them about their ideas. Then left them to build whatever their imaginations came up with. I picked up supplies for my own kite and sat down at my desk. Creating art was almost like an out-of-body experience for me. My hands worked diligently, while my vision turned internally to focus on the image of what I wanted to create. The designs came alive beneath my fingers as if by magic.

  A shrill scream rang through the classroom jerking me out of my daze. Agnes was under the table crying hysterically as she hugged her knees to her chest. Sheets of construction paper, markers, and stickers littered the floor around the middle table. Ronnie’s table. He was concentrating really hard on gluing sticks to his paper at the moment. That wasn’t a good sign.

  I gathered my long skirt and got down on my knees to peek under the table. “Agnes, sweetheart, are you ok? What happened?”

  She sobbed harder. There was something gripped in her hand. I awkwardly leaned under the low table trying to get closer, but not scare her. I gently placed my hand on her arm and, when she didn’t pull away, wrapped my arm around her shaking shoulders. “Are you hurt?”

  “N-No. H-He ...” Agnes raised her head to look at me. The freckles across her cheeks stood out starkly against the paleness of her tear-streaked face. Over her right ear jagged stumps of hair stuck out in sharp contrast to the rest of her shoulder length copper curls.

  “Oh no, honey, what happened to your hair?”

  More tears slipped down her cheeks as she raised her hand to show me the large chunk of her hair. “R-Ronnie wanted my glue! I told him it was my turn.”

  My skin buzzed as anger filled me. It took everything I had not to shout at Ronnie and pull him out of that chair by his ear. I ran my fingers across the stubby ends of Agnes’s hair, “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Your hair is still beautiful; it’ll just be a little different than normal. Hey, you can try out a new hairstyle, right? Different isn’t always bad. What do you say we get out from under this table?”

  She sniffled, “Is my mommy going to be mad at me?”

  “No, sweetheart. She’ll be upset, but not at you.” Her mom would reserve all of her anger for me. This wasn’t the first time I’d had to wipe away the tears and confront angry parents over something Ronnie had done. “But we need to go talk about this and call your parents. Can you come out now?”

  She let me help her up but hid behind me as I sought out Ronnie. “Ronald Lawson, what on ea
rth made you cut Agnes’s hair?”

  He squirted out a huge glob of glue, ignoring me. My bangle bracelets rattled together as my irritation grew. “You can tell Principal Mathers all about it. Let’s go.”

  Ronnie got up and shot a mean look at Agnes who was peeking around my hip. “Tattletale.”

  “That’s enough, Ronnie. Let’s go. Now.” I turned to address the rest of the students. “Class, I want you to keep working on your kites. I’ll be right back.”

  I took Agnes’s hand and Ronnie trailed petulantly behind us as we left the room. I stopped to let Ms. Bresbane next door know what had happened and asked her to check on my class.

  The administrative assistant gave me a sour look when we got to the front office. Surprise! I’m back to file another complaint on the bully in my class. Let’s hope this time Principal Mathers would actually do something.

  We were told to go in to the principal’s office a few minutes later. Principal Edith Mathers sat behind her desk, her wrinkled lips pursed like she had bitten into a lemon.

  “Ms. King, I hear there has been another incident with one of your classes. Is this the fourth time you’ve been in my office this year?” Perfectly arched eyebrows pulled down over her hard, hazel eyes. “Ah no, I believe this is the fifth. I try to forget that disaster with the ice.”

  I winced at the reference to the Frozen play we had put on right before spring break. Evidently ice melts really quickly when you apply the body heat of a dozen kids. The castle had been beautiful while it lasted, though.

  “The ice was my fault. Those other visits were because of student concerns.” My eyes drifted over to Ronnie. He stood there looking bored as he picked his nose. I turned away before I had to witness what he was going to do with the treasure he had just mined. “Which is why we’re here again. Ronnie, why don’t you tell Principal Mathers what you did?”

  “I wanted to make a dinosaur kite. Ms. Dia said it was dumb.” His lip poked out and his shoulders slumped. “She said we had to make butterfly kites. I ain’t no girl.”

  That lying little …

  “Ronnie, that isn’t what happened. Tell the truth,” I gritted out. Heat rushed across my chest and up to my ears. I could swear steam was coming from them. “Tell her what you did to Agnes’s hair.”

  He looked at his feet, mumbling, “Agnes put her head down on the table while I was cutting. I didn’t mean to get her hair.”

  Agnes started crying again and buried her face against my waist. I smoothed my hand down her curls trying to soothe her as best I could in this awkward position.

  “Principal Mathers, Ronnie’s lying. He cut Agnes’s hair because he wanted the glue she was using. He keeps bullying the other kids and it’s getting worse. He—”

  “Ms. King, that’s enough.” Principal Mathers pushed up her horn-rimmed glasses and steepled her fingers. “Did you see him cut Agnes’s hair?”

  “No,” I said, “but Agnes told me what happened, and I believe her.”

  “I see.” She pushed a button on her phone and barked out orders to her admin. “Call the nurse to take Agnes to her room to calm down. Call her mother in ten minutes and put her through to me. That will be all.”

  Principal Mathers turned to Ronnie. “I’m sure you feel horrible about this accident. It is generally Ms. King’s decision on projects for her classes, but in this instance, I think we can make an exception. Art is about being creative after all. You have my permission to make your dinosaur kite. See Mrs. Mitchell for a hall pass and go straight back to your classroom. Thank you for being brave enough to tell me what happened.”

  Shock jolted through me. Agnes clutched me tighter when the admin entered and called her name. “You can’t really—” I bit my tongue knowing that I was on the verge of saying something that would get me in trouble. The admin called for Agnes again, the poor girl refusing to let go of my leg. “At least, let me stay with Agnes and call her mom myself. As her teacher, I should be the one to explain this.”

  Agnes gripped me tighter before the admin grabbed her hand and pulled her away.

  “Agnes, I hope you feel better soon,” Principal Mathers said, ignoring me. “Ronnie go with Ms. Mitchell.”

  I felt a tug on my skirt as Ronnie shuffled by with his head still down and then they were gone.

  “Ms. King have a seat.” Principal Mathers ran a hand down her perfectly coiffed salt-and-pepper bob. Then straightened her already immaculate blazer with the school logo of a sailboat on it. I smoothed my skirt down to sit in the one of the chairs in front of her desk and my hand met a sticky substance. No, surely, he hadn’t. I glanced down to find a slimy green booger smeared down the side of my skirt. I wanted to gag, but the principal was in full-on lecture mode.

  “A teacher must always be in control of their classroom.” Principal Mathers gave me a pointed look that said: “pay attention.” “You seem to have some trouble in this regard. As the principal, when one of my teachers fails to do their job I am required to step in. That is what I am forced to do here today, since you appear to be too emotionally distraught to handle the situation.”

  “Principal Mathers, you can’t really believe Ronnie over Agnes. This isn’t the first time he’s done something like this.”

  “And you chose to believe Agnes over Ronnie.” She pushed up her glasses, her eyes turning glacial. “You accused the son of one of our most prominent citizens of attacking another child without any form of proof. Did you ask any of the other children what happened?”

  “No,” I replied, thinking back over my actions. Had I jumped to conclusions? No. Agnes was quiet and sweet. She wouldn’t blame him if it weren’t true. “I probably should have asked them, and I can still do that. But I know he did this. Last week he pushed Dory because the finger paints she made looked better than his. The week before he locked Shelly in the supply closet when I was helping another student. His behavior is only going to get worse if he keeps getting away with this because of who his family is. His attitude, especially toward girls, is concerning.”

  “Ms. King, are you implying I wouldn’t take action against a bully because his family funded this school and continues to make generous donations?” Her nose flared like she smelled something rotten. Her eyes pinned me in place with a glare of righteous indignation.

  You are the only one standing up for those girls. Don’t fail them now, Dia.

  “I’m only saying that Ronnie needs the right guidance and I don’t think he’s getting that.”

  Principal Mathers’s eyes narrowed, but after a moment she leaned back in her chair. “Ms. King, every student in our school is a lump of clay needing our hand to help mold them. Ronnie needs a bit more finesse than most. Being a teacher is a trying job. One not suited to everyone. You’re a good teacher, but your ... eccentric ways prevent you from becoming an excellent one. I’ve made allowances, but no more. One more visit to my office and we will not be able to approve your tenure.”

  “B-But ... I’ve worked so hard. Surely—”

  “This is your last chance, Ms. King,” she said sternly. “You have come a long way from the young, impulsive girl you were as a substitute teacher. However, there is a certain image that we cultivate here at the W. C. Lawson Academy. One that I don’t think you will ever fit. No more of these visits or I will be forced to let you go.”

  2

  It was finally Friday and the day of our kite festival. The smell of fried food filled the air. Two rows of blue-and-white canopy tents lined one end of the school parking lot. I waved to a group of kids that were in line for the ring toss game. Then helped one of the volunteer parents refill cups of lemonade.

  A couple of teachers stopped to congratulate me on pulling this all together. Happiness swelled inside me until I wanted to squeal. I was finally one of them. No longer was I the substitute teacher or “that new girl.” I had brought the whole school together to enjoy this beautiful day and everyone was impressed. I was up for tenure in a few months and I couldn’t wait. I
would be one of the alumni and my career here would be set for life.

  I ducked behind one of the game booths to check my phone again. My perfect future was within sight. All I needed now was for Dan to propose so we could start working on building our family together. Why hadn’t he called yet? His flight should have landed hours ago.

  Dan had been acting strange for months, but what happened this morning had me really worried. I had been so excited, talking a mile a minute about the festival and bouncing around our bedroom. Dan had suddenly whirled on me and shouted at me to stop. I was so stunned by this completely out-of-character behavior that I backed right into the bed and sat on Mr. Skittles.

  My cat had yowled like he was dying and squeezed his fluffy eight-pound body into the opening of Dan’s duffle bag. If the noises that had come from that bag were any indication, the neat piles of clothes Dan had packed were not going to be usable for his conference. Instead of turning this into a lecture, he had simply smiled wistfully and said he would buy what he needed when he got to Reno. He had tugged on the Cinderella scrunchy that I used to keep my extremely long hair piled on top of my head and told me to never change. It was such a different Dan than I had grown used to these last five years, that he was out the door before I could even say goodbye.

  My phone blasted “Can’t Stop the Feeling!” from the Trolls movie as my alarm went off letting me know it was time to start the kite show. I glanced once more at my phone then made my way to the field where my students were getting ready for showtime. The music continued to play and lift my spirits. I stopped next to Amanda and shared a smile with her as I increased the volume on my phone. We were both big Poppy fans. She giggled as I started doing some of the dance moves from the movie. Kids joined me, and we were all laughing as we danced.