The Butterfly Ethic/2

Chapter 2

Amber’s List

I couldn’t sleep that night; I was simply not allowed to. Ever since I woke up at the medical center, I felt like a stranger, seeing through another’s eyes, thinking through another’s thoughts, and feeling someone else’s feelings. I stayed awake until midnight, running through philosophical questions. How did I know I was really Martin, and not someone else? For that matter, how did I know that the world around me was real, and that the people around me were real? What made me so sure I wasn’t in some dream and might wake up sometime soon? That was always a fun one to ask. I pondered these things over and over. A few times I felt at a breakthrough in the field of truth, but then I’d get the feeling that I was being watched closely by something just beyond my perception.

I did fall asleep a few times that night, but only for a total of around three to four hours. When I awoke the next morning, I felt like I understood everything—even though I didn’t, but that didn’t matter. I felt ready to face whatever was at school, but, as anyone can tell, you’re never ready for life in junior high school.

i The first person I ran into was an ill-mannered seventh grader named Richard Jenots. I met him on the way to first period in the dim, spacious room used for gym and auditorium that we called room ten. He was around my height with a blonde buzz-cut and a rash on his right arm from the October Incident, though you couldn't really see it in the dark. He was sitting on the stage under a fluorescent light, playing a Gameboy. His brother watched over his shoulder. When he saw me, he put it down and stood up.

“So how’d your trip to the hospital go?” he asked.

“Dunno,” I replied. “I was asleep, it was that boring.”

“Well maybe next time you shouldn’t get in fights like that.” Richard suggested.

“Fight with who?” I replied.

“The sidewalk, that’s what I heard from the news.” He said.

“I fought the sidewalk?” I asked.

“Yeah,” his brother said. “And it kicked your butt.” Richard, who we shall now call Dick, snorted at his brother’s remark.

Ha-ha. I’m out of here.

I left with him telling other things he heard. Amber’s door was locked, so I stood outside where I had to put up with another anti-welcome back. It took every ounce of strength I had to put up with it until class began, with more students congregating outside the classroom. When Amber finally let us in, unlike everyone else, she seemed oblivious to what happened. I didn’t know why; being married to my cousin, she knew more about my situation than anyone else, but she said nothing as she waited at the door for her students to enter the classroom.

The classroom itself was one of the nicest in the school. I know that’s not saying much in a school where a third of the walls are made of office cubicles, most of the ceiling tiles are broken from students falling through them, and cracked concrete for the lunchroom floor, but hers was actually well-kept. The only defilements to the tiled floor were a few marks at the doorway from when people entered irresponsibly. The ceiling also had a few tiles missing from when people tried to enter illegally. The walls were clean. The desks were arranged in an orderly fashion and the whiteboard looked like it had never been used. Next to Amber’s desk in the corner was a potted fern she once called Pilocarpus.

On top of the order of the room was its illumination. Every fluorescent light bulb was glowing, but as of today, Amber wasn't. She seemed vexed by something this morning, it showed in her voice.

<p style="text-align:center">“Ross,” Amber said. “How’s your book doing so far?”

<p style="text-align:center">“Eh, it’s boring. There’s no mockingbird killing in it. I don't understand. There’s no mockingbirds at all.”

<p style="text-align:center">“The mockingbird is the state bird of Mississippi.” Said Amber.

<p style="text-align:center">“What does that have to do with anything?” Ross asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“It’s the setting of the book.” Said Amber.

<p style="text-align:center">“Oh, so if a book takes place in Utah, It should be called to kill a-“

<p style="text-align:center">“Beehive.” I filled in.

<p style="text-align:center">“No, what’s the state bird of Utah, is it the sea gull?” He asked me.

<p style="text-align:center">“Yes.” Amber replied in my place. “And if you need to, you can choose a different book from the shelf over there.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Yes!” Ross grinned, instantly at the bookshelf.

<p style="text-align:center">“Ishmael, how’s your book so far?” Amber asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“It’s bad.” Said Ishmael.

<p style="text-align:center">“How is it bad?” she asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“Well, it makes fun of Mormons, the old kind. It says that the Book of Mormom is boring and stupid, and that if it didn’t say ‘It Came to Pass’ so much, it would only be a pamphlet.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Are there any positives, Ishmael?” Amber asked. As she listened, she wrote our Literature assignment on the whiteboard.

<p style="text-align:center">“Well, I like the way he describes the desert, but then he gets stupid and bad. He says that the Mormons dressed up like Indians and killed a bunch of pioneers, and that Brigham Young set up a group of Mormons to kill everybody who was against the Mormons.”

<p style="text-align:center">A loud squeak filled the room as Amber whirled around to face Ishmael, making yet another mark on the floor. “Brigham Young was not behind that. It’s called the Mountain Meadows Massacre—and it really did happen—but Brigham Young played no part in it. If you want to know more, you can ask your mom.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Wait, so the Mormons killed people?” Ishmael asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“That’s awesome.” Said a student in the back of the class.

<p style="text-align:center">“Yes, but Brigham Young wasn’t behind it, and it wasn’t awesome what those Mormons did.” Said Amber. “Ishmael, the Mormon part of that book is only three chapters, and if you want to, you can skip those three chapters.”

<p style="text-align:center">Ishmael looked like he had to repeat his sixth grade year. “I already finished those chapters!”

<p style="text-align:center">“That’s not fair!” whined Richard.

<p style="text-align:center">“Richard, Ishmael has one of the longest books in the class. If anyone has the right to skip parts, it’s him.” Amber told him.

<p style="text-align:center">“But my book’s pretty long too.” He whined.

<p style="text-align:center">“Richard, do you want to preserve what’s left of your grade?” She asked him.

<p style="text-align:center">“Yes.” He replied.

<p style="text-align:center">“Then get out your homework sheet.” She ordered.

<p style="text-align:center">“I didn’t even do nothing!” He argued.

<p style="text-align:center">“Richard!” she shouted. “If you want to stay in this class any longer, you will bring me your homework sheet!”

<p style="text-align:center">Richard looked frightened now. He yanked the crumpled paper from his backpack and gave it to the teacher.

<p style="text-align:center">“Dang, she’s a grouch.” One of the kids on the opposite side of the room from Richard muttered.

<p style="text-align:center">“John, bring me your homework sheet.” She growled.

<p style="text-align:center">“But I-“

<p style="text-align:center">Do it!” Amber interrupted. John brought his to her. She signed both his and Richard’s and handed them back. She then breathed in deeply and attempted to run through the lesson, but it was harder than it looked to get us back on track. We weren’t out of her hands, but in her hands with her fists tightening on our throats. This was fear that the heathen churches have tried for years to instill in their people.

<p style="text-align:center">Under these circumstances she tried to continue with the book report discussion, but we wouldn’t raise our hands or respond to her questions with more than a few words. With a sigh, she switched to our spelling and English lessons, but not before taking a small helping of Jawaa juice.

<p style="text-align:center">As the period progressed, we had to diagram our sentences. I found one sentence that said: “On Friday, Jane asked Jesus to come into her heart and was saved.” I felt the sentence was stupid enough on its own, but now I had to deconstruct it in all of its stupidity.

<p style="text-align:center">“This is a stupid book.” I whispered, but Amber heard me and she had my homework sheet in no time.

<p style="text-align:center">So there you have it. Whenever I say something like that I get a card pull. A card pull is like a strike for us. You start on a green card, then go to white for doing wrong. Next you pull to yellow, which is supposed to lead to an after class lecture from the teacher, but nobody enforces that. Then you go to an orange card, which sends you to the office top call your mom. After that, the dreaded red card, which sends you straight home. Going home isn’t the dreaded thing about it. What is, is that you have to come back to school with a parent for two hours before you can stay there.

<p style="text-align:center">My mysterious journey wasn’t spoken of again until we finished Kolleen’s math class and prepared to go to lunch, when Ross brought it up to me.

<p style="text-align:center">“So Nephi said you planned to commit suicide.” He commented.

<p style="text-align:center">“How would he know that?” I asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“He said you were talking about it on the bus on Tuesday.” Ross said.

<p style="text-align:center">“I told him I wasn’t. I was planning something else.”

<p style="text-align:center">“What?” he laughed.

<p style="text-align:center">“None of your business.” I replied.

<p style="text-align:center">“Well it must’ve been their business, otherwise you wouldn’t have told them anything.” Ross said. It was true, but I didn’t plan on seeing them again. “So why don’t you just tell me what you were doing?”

<p style="text-align:center">I hesitated.I’d regret it if I told him, but he would bother me forever if I didn’t. So I took a deep breath.“I tried to travel through time.” I said quickly. He laughed hard all the way to the lunch line.

<p style="text-align:center">“You know that’s not possible, Martin.” He chortled. I really begged to differ. He was told stories since birth about great men parting seas, 2000 warriors going to battle and coming back without a scratch, and Harleys getting 1,500 miles to the gallon. Surely there must have been some room in his beliefs for time travel, but there wasn’t.

<p style="text-align:center">I noticed that Giovanni was in the line a few feet behind us. He would probably sit at our table and bring up my attempted journey, so in a deliberate act to avoid him, I grabbed a piece of bread and ran straight to the playground. I stayed in the third to fifth grade section to keep away from Giovanni. Here, there was nothing but monkey bars, which were too low to provide any enjoyment, and two basketball hoops. Next to the hoops were two games of elimination divided between boys and girls. The hoops were spread out on the east and west sides of the playground, which was only a distance of sixty feet in an alley, but that distance was sufficient enough to protect the boys from the shrill frequencies of the girls’ game.

<p style="text-align:center">I played elimination with the boys for recess. These were the boys in Sophia’s fifth grade class. Richard’s little brother was there, along with Nephi, Sam, and Christopher Reagan, who greeted me with: “Hey Martin, I thought you weren’t going to come around here anymore.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Ah, I heard about you on the radio. They said you were getting rebuilt.” Said a short, black haired boy.

<p style="text-align:center">“Ross just barely told me that he went back in time.” Sam told him.

<p style="text-align:center">“Waah! Really?” said Nephi. “Hey, did you by any chance get a piece of the triforce? ’Cause we really need a hero right now.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Yeah,” Another kid joined in. “Someone needs to save us from Sister Sophia. If you were that person, it would make up for being a wuss again and again. Aherr, herr herr aherhearrr.”As he gave his liquefied laugh, a basketball was thrown in his unsuspecting arms. He let out a yelp as the kid behind him flung the ball through the hoop. .

<p style="text-align:center">“Ha!” the kid behind him boasted. “You’re out, Jeremy.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Hey no fair! I was laughing!” Jeremy whined. .

<p style="text-align:center">“Doesn’t matter, you’re still out!” said the boy.Jeremy slammed his ball on the ground. It bounced up and went in my arms. I shot the ball, but missed. Luckily, the boy behind me missed too. We both ran after our runaway balls, but by the time I got my ball out of the watershed, the other kid had already made it in the hoop.

<p style="text-align:center">“Ha-ha!” Christopher mocked. “Maybe you should go back in time and stop yourself from losing!”

<p style="text-align:center">“Not that he could.” Someone else complemented.

<p style="text-align:center">''What have I done? '' I thought. I left them to their game. I’d probably have better luck playing with the girls, but it would be easier to avoid the storm of ridicule if I stayed away from the older kids altogether. I spent the rest of the time wandering around with the smaller kids. I moved into their territory like a Jew moving to Poland, and they didn’t care. To kids this young, rumors and ill will didn’t mean much. They could be wronged by someone and forgive them in only five minutes. It was times like this that I often longed for. To be a child again is what everyone wants.

<p style="text-align:center">When the break was over, it was off to band class. Despite being a poor school, we were fortunate enough to have an art program. It was half-baked, but it was there. Everyone had the choice between concert band, orchestra, or choir. At one point, there was guitar and piano, but those were stopped after their first year. They quit teaching piano because the kids kept leaving their instrument home, and I’m not entirely sure why they don’t teach guitar lessons anymore. I think it has something to do with the guitar being the instrument of the devil, but don’t quote me on that.

<p style="text-align:center">My point in explaining this is that, with few exceptions, music classes were sorted out by stereotypes, and I was with the band geeks. Giovanni and most of his brothers were off in choir since that was the easiest.

<p style="text-align:center">I heard a few comments about Tuesday’s incident, and one of Giovanni’s brothers, Lenny, said that Giovanni talked about me during lunch, but nobody directly mocked me for it. There was peace, but I knew it wouldn’t last; in two periods, we joined the eighth grade boys’ PE. I doubted that even my own comrades could resist the chance to ridicule me.

<p style="text-align:center">If I didn’t play dodgeball, I’d be called a wuss again. I had to get out of school. So while we were practicing Time to Say Goodbye in band class, I squealed on my clarinet. Charlotte gave me a cold stare as everyone stopped playing.

<p style="text-align:center">“Try not to do that again, Martin.” She told me. I did stop for a while, but near the end of class, I did squeak twice. She then realized that I was doing it on purpose and pulled me off to the side of the room.

<p style="text-align:center">“You’re doing that on purpose, Martin.” She scolded. I shrugged it off. I couldn’t lie to her and we both knew it. “I know you’ve been gone and your mom’s had it rough, so I’m going to go easy on you. I want you to go to Amber’s class and stay there.”

<p style="text-align:center">''I thought you said you were going easy on me! ''I thought. I could’ve objected to it, but I knew that Amber would have no problem pulling me to a red. Judging from the way she was this morning, today was probably not one of her lenient days.

<p style="text-align:center">“Listen Martin,” she said when she heard the situation. “I know you’ve been gone and your mom’s had a rough time so I’m going easy on you.” She told me. “I want you to stay here and work on homework until your next class.” Amber turned around and continued teaching the choir seminary class.

<p style="text-align:center">''That’s exactly what Charlotte said. ''I thought. “The irony.” I muttered. Amber quickly turned around and stared me down with green flame.

<p style="text-align:center">“What did you just say?”Amber asked me.

<p style="text-align:center">“Nothing.” I replied.

<p style="text-align:center">“You said something, now what was it?” She asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“Suspend Him!” Giovanni yelled. Amber ignored him and kept her eyes on mine.

<p style="text-align:center">“I said, ‘the irony’.” I replied quietly.

<p style="text-align:center">“Do you know what that word means?” she questioned.

<p style="text-align:center">“It means something’s a coincidence.” I replied.

<p style="text-align:center">“No it doesn’t!” she exclaimed.

<p style="text-align:center">“What does it mean, then?” I asked as the class grew restless.She had to go back to them soon, or they’d be unruly.

<p style="text-align:center">“It’s hard to explain, Martin, but-“she paused and smiled, probably the same way Brutus did shortly before the Ides of March. “There’s a dictionary on the shelf over there, I want you to copy the word ‘irony’ and its definition ten times, and then write a sentence to use it right.”

<p style="text-align:center">“What?” I asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“It's either this or go clean the cafeteria with Joshua. If you’re going to be a brat in Band, you will at least do well somewhere else.”

<p style="text-align:center">“But class is almost over!” I argued. She glanced at the clock. “You still have eight minutes, that’s plenty of time.” She told me.

<p style="text-align:center">She overestimates us students, I thought as I opened the dictionary and flipped to the word ‘irony’

<p style="text-align:center">I didn’t even get the definition: something about being the opposite of what you’d expect. So where was the true irony here? Was it that Amber and Charlotte both said the same thing? Or maybe that Amber didn’t pull Giovanni’s card.

<p style="text-align:center">I copied the definition ten times, but I couldn't figure out a proper usage of the word. It wasn't until the bell rang that Amber came to help me.

<p style="text-align:center">“Do you know what the word means?” she asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“It's when the opposite of what you expect happens?” I replied.

<p style="text-align:center">“Not quite, there are several definitions, but the main one that’s abused is when you have the opposite of your expected result occur resulting in an awkward situation.” She told me.

<p style="text-align:center">“Sooooooo. . .”

<p style="text-align:center">“If a policeman gets robbed, it's irony, if someone dies by a seat belt, its irony.” she explained. “Now write down a sentence of something ironic.” She stood by the door and watched the students enter and exit the room. I looked at my paper for about a minute trying to think of something. At the threat of being late for my class, I scribbled down an example of an ironic situation and handed it to her on the way out of the room.

<p style="text-align:center">The paper read:

<p style="text-align:center"> Irony is When Charlotte talked to me, she said she wanted to go easy on me and so rather than pull my card, she sent me to Amber. Oh, the Irony.

<p style="text-align:center">For the rest of the day, Giovanni and company were surprisingly mute toward me. There were a few comments during computer class, and dodgeball was only as bad as it usually was. The only thing they mocked us for was our technique of getting ready to throw the ball, complete with the stock rifle cocking sound effect, only to pass the ball to a teammate who could actually throw.

<p style="text-align:center">I was beginning to wonder if Nikola’s kids just didn’t care, but the bus ride home proved me wrong. The bus engine had to idle for a whille, so the driver went to take care of some business, leaving everybody on the bus alone. The result was a primal environment that not even Jane Goodhall could tame. I knew better than to sit in the back with the bad kids, but my brother Walter had a friend who had some cool toys of giant monsters that destroy Japan on a regular basis. He wanted me to go back there with him, and I wanted to hear what Giovanni would say about me when he thought I wasn’t around. I went back before the crowd of kids arrived and sat in the sixth seat from the back. All around me were unfamiliar people I only knew from their families. The only one I knew by first and last name was the older sister of the boy Walter was playing with. She was a seventh grade girl named Gwen Faber. She read a book on Norse Mythology next to a third grade boy, who I would assume to be her brother. Her hair was short, light brown, and unkempt, and she was wearing an old leather jacket. She looked up from her book and returned my observance with a cold glare, followed by her returning to her book.

<p style="text-align:center">When Giovanni and Lenny got on the bus, I turned my head to the window and hoped they wouldn’t notice me, but luck wasn’t with me. I realized then that I had moved into the bad kids’ territory like Jews moving into Germany.

<p style="text-align:center">“Hey, McFly!” He shouted. I turned to look at him. The back area of the bus quieted down a bit. “I thought I told you not to come on the bus anymore!” Lenny and a few of the others snickered at his clever reference. “So what are you doing in this time period, Marty?” he mocked. He paused to let me answer. I didn’t. “Hey, I’m talking to you!” He said. He began knocking on my head. “Hello, is anybody home?” I breathed out a heavy sigh. Whatever humor this joke had was lost after two sentences, but he continued. “Hey look, you’re shoes untied.” I didn’t look down.

<p style="text-align:center">“You know,” I replied. “This stopped being funny like a minute ago.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Only to you.” He said. He laughed and turned to everyone over the age of ten for approval. They all smiled and guffawed at his remarks, all except for Gwen, who was giving him the same look she gave me minutes earlier. His smile faded as he looked at her. I half expected him to crack another Biff Tannin joke, but it seemed that even he was tiring of them, even if everyone else still waited for more.

<p style="text-align:center">“Don’t worry Marty.” He said. “Going through time is nothing to be self-conscious about. Hey, maybe you can go back in time and tell your mom to take care of her kids better, or even better, tell her not to have any kids.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Or even better.” I retorted. “I could say that to your mom and do your dad a favor.”

<p style="text-align:center">“My dad loves me.” Giovanni said.

<p style="text-align:center">“Yes, but I think Brother Soren loves everyone, so it probably brings him pain to see all of the decent people of the co-op having to put up with you. Wiping you out of existence would make up for losing you.” Giovanni gave a fake laugh and walked up toward the front seats.

<p style="text-align:center">“Martin actually thinks the world would be a better place without me. Who agrees?” Giovanni asked the people of the bus. Nephi and Sam both raised their hand. I joined them. As he was asking this, Corinne got on the bus.

<p style="text-align:center">“Who thinks the world would be better without him?” Giovanni asked. Nephi and Sam raised their hands higher. Everybody joined them except for my siblings, Gwen, and Corinne, who told Giovanni to sit down. He refused and started talking louder. As Corinne started driving, he said: “So Martin should tell us the secret to time travel, so we can wipe him out of exi-“ At this moment, Corinne slammed on her brakes for no apparent reason and Giovanni fell backwards. He grasped at the air for anything that would save him,, but he landed on his face. Everybody who wasn’t cringing at his pain was laughing at him. Giovanni stayed quiet until his stop, but, to Corinne’s misfortune, everyone else was just as loud as ever, and it stayed that way until we reached the suburbs.

<p style="text-align:center">“So how was your time traveling trip?” Nephi asked. The bus was almost empty with only about forty people left on it. Among those forty were myself, Christopher, Nephi, Gwen, Ross, and our respective kith and kin.

<p style="text-align:center">ii “It was strange.” I told him. I didn’t really have much memory of anything, but I told him what I did remember and made up the rest. “I went to the past and found myself on another planet, which was empty.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Cool.” Said Nephi. “What else did you see?” I really couldn’t make him stop. I had to dig this pit deeper.

<p style="text-align:center">“I saw a forest where everything grew down.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Grew down?” he asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“Yes, the trees grew top to bottom. They grew from the sky to the ground.” I told Nephi. He laughed and said the same thing to Christopher, who passed it on to his friend, Elden. Next thing I knew, the entire bus was mocking me again, but I liked it.

<p style="text-align:center">To them it was a joke, but, to me, it was victory. I’d been ridiculed for almost everything: my strange tendencies, my physical weakness, my poor dodgeball skills, my hair, and what happens when I eat too much sugar, but time travel was new. I had incited a rumor of doing something I was proud of. Their insults and gossip was a celebration of my new role: The Hero of Time. Now I just had to do something heroic and time-related. Going back in time is useless if you can’t remember anything from the future. I needed to regain those memories.

<p style="text-align:center">I went home to my notebook. Kolleen gave it to me for math, but I used it for something different. It had my thoughts through my seventh grade year. Most of the pages were devoted to hating Giovanni’s gang, but a small section was devoted to dreams and ideas. I looked for what I wrote just before I collapsed, but it was nothing important, just some science homework I did that was overdue now. I crumpled the paper in disappointmentand shot for the wastebasket. The paper landed on the floor. I had been too busy with the puzzle to write anything. All I had to show for the last three days was a headache from dodgeball and a hospital wristband.

<p style="text-align:center">''Well, duh. Don’t you remember the whole “let go of earthly attachments.”''

<p style="text-align:center">''Yeah, but how hard would it have been to write down something? There’s probably something I thought of then and forgot.''

<p style="text-align:center">Whatever, you know I don’t forget things that easily.

<p style="text-align:center">Then what the heck are we doing here?

<p style="text-align:center">Oh Yeah.

<p style="text-align:center">There was only one thing to do now. I found a blank section and wrote above it: Lost Memories. My pen waited on the blank page for a while as I tried to remember things, but I realized I wasn’t getting anywhere. This was going to take a while.

<p style="text-align:center">iii I slept curled on the bus seat with my knees in my coat and woke up to a freezing draft and the horrid buzzing sound the bus makes when you open the back door. It was time to start another day, and I was not prepared.

<p style="text-align:center">Up until school started, we had to wait outside. You’d think we’d be used to it, but Tuesday was an exceptionally cold day. I had to sit under the lone tree with Freya and some of the fifth graders, which included Nephi and Sam.

<p style="text-align:center">“You know, I saw an owl in this tree the other day.” Said Sam.

<p style="text-align:center">“N- no you didn’t.” Nephi shivered.

<p style="text-align:center">“How d- do you know that? Sam asked. “You weren’t the- there.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Well. No owl would ever come-“ he paused and breathed into his hands. “Screw this! Let’s go inside! They can’t lock- they can’t lock us out like this!”

<p style="text-align:center">“You’re right.” Said Freya. “We should go to Sister Rose’s classroom.”

<p style="text-align:center">“I already tried.” Said Ross. “She’s not here.”

<p style="text-align:center">“But her ch- child’s here.” Freya said. She beckoned toward a sixth grade boy on the other side of the playground next to the building’s electrical unit.

<p style="text-align:center">“Jasper!” Nephi shouted.

<p style="text-align:center">“Yeah?” He replied.

<p style="text-align:center">“Where’s your mom?”

<p style="text-align:center">“I dunno. I’m waiting for her.” Jasper replied.

<p style="text-align:center">“You guys wanna wait for her?” Nephi asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“Nah, let’s sneak in.” Sam suggested. There were no objections.

<p style="text-align:center">The school was divided into four sections, with the knowledge getting more advanced the further south you went. On the west side of the building was the playground with ten doors leading into the building. On the east side of the playground were two doors leading into another building inhabited by important Mormon people, but these doors were alwayslocked and nobody ever used them. The southern section of the school was the least used with only two classrooms, Amber’s and Rose’s. The rest of the space was used for room ten and a bunch of dilapidated rooms that were never used for good intentions. We wanted to go into room ten since Rose was a nice teacher and Amber was—well, we hoped she wouldn’t find us.

<p style="text-align:center">Unfortunately, the doors were locked all the way up to the fifth one, whichlet us into fifth grade territory.

<p style="text-align:center">“Now we must move quietly.” Said Nephi.

<p style="text-align:center">“Lest we be captured.” Freya complemented. She silently moved ahead to the hallway and looked all around her. “Area’s secure.” She confirmed.

<p style="text-align:center">“Let’s go.” Sam said. We followed him carefully, trying to follow his exact footsteps. “Oh Man, it’s Sister Amber.” He said fearfully. We dashed down the hall on our left leading to Kolleen’s classroom. Next to this room, the hallway turned again, leading us straight to Ishmael.

<p style="text-align:center">“What’re you doing here?” Ishmael asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“Sneaking around.” Freya said. I saw Sam throw her a discouraging glance, but she ignored it.

<p style="text-align:center">“You can’t do that.” Ishmael said.

<p style="text-align:center">“Then what are you doing?” Nephi asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“My mom’s class is right there.” He pointed to Kolleen’s classroom.

<p style="text-align:center">“Well, my Aunt’s class is here somewhere.” Said Sean.

<p style="text-align:center">Amber’s voice met us from around the corner and everyone darted into the next hallway.

<p style="text-align:center">“Quick!” Sam whispered. “Get in the closets.” We tried the first closet door, but it was locked. We scuttled to the end of the hall. To our left was another closet, in front of us was a door leading to a dark hallway, and to our right was the boy’s bathroom. Further right was a hall leading back towardAmber’s voice. Since there were girls with us, and the dark hallway led to the bad place, we crammed into the closet.

<p style="text-align:center">This closet was big enough that it was once used for dressing rooms, and certainly big enough that all of us could fit in, but there was a problem.

<p style="text-align:center">“Hey.” Said Freya. “We can’t have boys and girls together in the dark, that’s a violation of proper etiquette.”

<p style="text-align:center">“What?” Nephi asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“It’s breaking Jean’s Code.”

<p style="text-align:center">“No, it’s not Jean’s Code if we’re in a group.” Said Nephi. “It’s only bad if you pair off. Because there’s three girls and five guys.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Actually, Ross says it’s bad even if you’re not pairing off, but it isn't bad if you don't do it more than once in a fifteen day period, or something like that.” Said Sam. “What was it again? Ross? Ross?”

<p style="text-align:center">The doors flew open and Amber and Kolleen yanked us out.

<p style="text-align:center">“What are you doing in there?”

<p style="text-align:center">“Uuhh.” One of the girls said.

<p style="text-align:center">“They were hiding.” Said Ishmael.

<p style="text-align:center">“From me?” Amber asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“We wanted to stay inside.” Said Ross. “It’s cold out there.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Why didn’t you just stay in Rose’s class?” Amber asked.

<p style="text-align:center">‘She wasn’t there this morning.” Ross replied.

<p style="text-align:center">Amber sighed.“I still have to pull your cards.” She said. “You’re all on my list.”

<p style="text-align:center">The list was a probation list. If you were on it, Amber was less lenient toward you and kept a closer watch on you. Then if you were unlucky, she’d stare you into submission. Everyone was given card-pulls and sent outside to wait for the bell’s toll, but Ross and me, who she forced to copy the dictionary.

<p style="text-align:center">For people being forced to copy the dictionary, Ross and I felt good. We felt like those rich people who sit on the sidewalk and pretend to be poorer than Uganda while taking the sympathy and cash of others. Where the winds brought cracked skin to the others, the heat vents above showered us with warmth. We still feared for Amber’s arrival, however, but, for a blissful ten minutes, we were alone, sitting by the door to her classroom. We ignored our dictionaries and complained about how Ishmael didn’t get punished at all because he told on us. When he was certain that Amber wasn’t coming in the next minute, Ross moved to the thermostat and turned it down.

<p style="text-align:center">“You’re turning the heat down?” I asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“Just a bit.” He replied.

<p style="text-align:center">“But it’s cold.” I complained.

<p style="text-align:center">“Settle down, I only turned it down to sixty-five.” He said.

<p style="text-align:center">“But—“ I said.

<p style="text-align:center">“Just keep your coat on, that’s what I’m doing.” He said.

<p style="text-align:center">I walked to the thermostat and attempted to turn it back up, but Ross shoved me aside and said, “Keep it down.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Why?” I asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“I don’t want to take my jacket off.” He said. I would’ve explained to him that the needs of the class outweighed his own, but I knew Ross didn’t believe in that. My trust was placed in Amber to turn it up, but when she came in, she didn’t. instead, she asked Ross and me how much we had copied, I had copied two words, and Ross had one.

<p style="text-align:center">“Then, in that case,” She told us as she spread rat poison in the corner of the room by the closet. “You two must meet me at lunch and finish up then.”

<p style="text-align:center">“The whole dictionary?” I asked.

<p style="text-align:center">“If that's what it takes.” she replied.

<p style="text-align:center">When the rest of the class came in, we received a spelling lesson. Many of the kids misspelled the word although and few others while exploring the world of the letters ough.

<p style="text-align:center">“There are eight different pronunciations to the letters.” Amber said. “Eight of them. When in doubt on whether to spell it like that, you probably are. Now I want you all to stand up.” We all got out of our seats and stood next to our desks.

<p style="text-align:center">“Spell although.”  She commanded.

<p style="text-align:center">“Although, A-L-T-H-O-U-G-H, although.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Now spell through.” She told us, and we did. After we finished spelling all the ough words on the list, Amber took a deep breath. “It’s cold in here.” She said, putting her jacket back on. “I’m going to turn up the heat.” She stepped carefully out of the room. Ross’ head rose from his desk. He met my eye and mouthed the words, “Dang It”, then put his head back down. Within a few seconds, the furnace fired up, and we all removed our jackets, except for Ross. He kept it on all the way through lunch break, which was when he actually needed it. The lunchroom had no heating save for a heating box twenty feet above the outside door. In this room, Ross and I would spend the entire period copying the dictionary while eating. I left the cafeteria with a serving of salad, apples, bread, and rice with white gravy. I eyed the gravy suspiciously and smelled it. It wasn’t as strong, but definitely there. This gravy was the same kind they were making last Tuesday. I set my tray down on the faculty table and ate my apples, salad, and bread, then started writing the words from the dictionary.

<p style="text-align:center">“Man, I wish I chose to fast today.” Ross muttered.

<p style="text-align:center">“Quiet Ross.” said Amber. We copied in silence until she became occupied in conversation with Charlotte.

<p style="text-align:center">“What word are you on?” Ross asked me.

<p style="text-align:center">“Abduct.” I replied.

<p style="text-align:center">“Dang. I’m only on abbreviate.” Said Ross. Amber eyed us from the end of the table.

<p style="text-align:center">“Martin.” She said. ‘Why aren’t you finished eating?”

<p style="text-align:center">I dunno.” Because this rice smells like crap.

<p style="text-align:center">“Well then. Eat.” She ordered. I took a bite. It tasted better than it smelled, but not by much. It was like someone mixed pine cones, sour milk, and grease together and then let it burn in the oven. This was a new level of abhorrence that summoned thoughts I never knew I had.

<p style="text-align:center">“Martin.” Ross said after Amber left the table, leaving only Rose and a couple of other teachers. “I’m on abhor, what are you on?”

<p style="text-align:center">“Assign.” I said.

<p style="text-align:center">“No way! You’re skipping words.” He said.

<p style="text-align:center">“I’m writing words at random.” I said. “I’m sick of words that start with A.”

<p style="text-align:center">“Assign starts with an A.” Ross said.

<p style="text-align:center">“Yeah, well immunity doesn’t.” I wrote on my paper: Immunity: the ability of a cell to react immunologically in the presence of an antigen.

<p style="text-align:center">“Why do they make the definition more complicated than the word?” I asked rhetorically, but Ross answered. “I know.” He started reading the word aloud: “Adenosine: A white, crystalline, water. Soluble. Nucleoside. Now I have to look up all those words too.” He complained.Amber started back to the table to talk to Charlotte. He turned to his paper and started writing.

<p style="text-align:center">“I would like to see these kids someday composing their own music.” Charlotte said.Amber remained silent, cracking something that looked like a huge walnut. “We have plenty of musicians in Utah, we need to get some of our people there.” Charlotte added.

<p style="text-align:center">“Why haven’t you finished eating?” Amber asked me when Charlotte stopped talking. I could only say: “umm”

<p style="text-align:center">“Ross. You may go.” She dismissed. She turned her head to me. “You may go as well when you finish eating.” She said. I sat there alone, eating the bio-waste while writing. I couldn’t even remember the words I was copying; they faded into some monotonous chore Amber had me bound to. After I had ingested the last of my meal, I got up, stacked my tray on the cart, and went outside. By then there were only three minutes of lunch break left. I had just enough time to go to Amber’s classroom and put my bag back. I took a look at the paper as I placed the dictionary on the shelf.. I was shocked not only because both sides were full, but also with some of the words that were there. I didn’t remember writing any of them, but they were arranged in this sequence:

<p style="text-align:center">Salt: a crystalline compound, sodium chloride, NaCl, occurring as a mineral, a constituent of seawater, etc., and used for seasoning food, as a preservative, etc.

<p style="text-align:center">Lake: a body of fresh or salt water of considerable size, surrounded by land.

<p style="text-align:center">Community: a social group of any size whose members reside in a specific locality, share government, and often have a common cultural and historical heritage.

<p style="text-align:center">College: an institution of higher learning, esp. one providing a general or liberal arts education rather than technical or professional training.

<p style="text-align:center">Redwood: a coniferous tree, Sequoia sempervirens, of California, noted for its great height, sometimes reaching to more than 350 ft. (107 m): the state tree of California.

<p style="text-align:center">Finance: the management of revenues; the conduct or transaction of money matters generally, esp. those affecting the public, as in the fields of banking and investment.

<p style="text-align:center">Class: the period during which a group of students meets for instruction.

<p style="text-align:center">Picture: any visible image, however produced

<p style="text-align:center">Frame: a border or case for enclosing a picture, mirror, etc.

<p style="text-align:center">Flea Market: a market, often outdoors, consisting of a number of individual stalls selling old or used articles, curios and antiques, cut-rate merchandise, etc.

<p style="text-align:center">Money: any circulating medium of exchange, including coins, paper money, and demand deposits.

<p style="text-align:center">Profit: the monetary surplus left to a producer or employer after deducting wages, rent, cost of raw materials, etc.: The company works on a small margin of profit.

<p style="text-align:center">As I read this, I could only say: “What the heck?”