Authors: L.L. Muir
Crap.
“No sir, Mr. Evans. I don't remember that at all.”
Someone gasped in the back. He turned to see the Somerled girl from next door looking at him. She looked concerned, like she thought he was about to piss off the teacher.
“Have you also forgotten that you claimed to have read
Lost
Horizon
?” Mr. Evans came around to the front of his desk and sat back on it, a copy of the novel in his hands. “Or have you just forgotten what you read? Because let me warn you now, that whether or not you remember one word written by Mr. Hilton, you and your classmates are going to be tested on it today, Mr. Shaw.”
“Well, sir, I'm pretty sure I can answer just about anything. Would you like to try me?” Jamison smiled, daring the man to ask him something in front of witnesses.
Mr. Evans grinned. “Was it Mr. Cloward or Mr. Gardner who told you I like to be distracted by my own voice?”
“I don't know, sir.” Jamison smiled. “Which one is Mr. Cloward?”
The teacher barked out a laugh, not at all insulted that his students knew him well.
“Brownie points for not denying it, I think.” The man began thumbing through the book and paused, briefly reading to himself. “All right, Mr. Shaw. Tell me, who is the coward in this story?”
Jamison tried not to laugh. If anyone was an expert on cowards, it was him.
“Well, I’d say Mr. Conrad’s the biggest coward.”
Mr. Evans’s eyebrows rose. “How so?”
“I think he pretended to prefer wisdom as an excuse to avoid life.”
“Oh, very good, Mr. Shaw. Tell me, did you pay much for your Cliff's Notes?”
“No sir. You can read them online.”
“Oh ho! More points for honesty. Anyone else in this class want points for reading Cliff's Notes?”
Most students raised a hand.
“Well, you don't get any.”
Grunting was unanimous.
“Why shouldn't we get points for reading Cliff's Notes?” Jamison was on a roll. He'd had no intention of doing what the other kids had asked, but this guy was too easy. “After all, studying is studying. And if Cliff's Notes help us understand the crap we have to read, then isn't it a valid source?”
Mr. Evans looked like he didn't want to play anymore. Jamison had to talk fast.
“Okay, how about this? Cliff says Conrad was brave because he didn't fear the unknown, and that Mr. Mallinson was a coward because he feared so much he wanted to get out of Shangri La.”
“And you disagree.”
“Hell—heck yeah, I disagree. I think Mr. Mallinson was the brave one because he was willing to stand up and fight the unknown. He was right to fear it and did something about it. And Mr. Conrad was the coward, like I said.”
“Wait a minute.” The Somerled chick piped up from the back. “You're calling Mr. Conrad a coward because he didn't want to face real life? That's ridiculous. He chose
eternal
life—well, not eternal, but incredibly prolonged life, anyway. It was a different kind of life, but still—”
“It wasn't real life. There was only one choice to make, to be a coward or not. Two categories. In
Lost
Horizon
or High School, or whatever. Everyone is either one or the other.”
Evans walked to the side of the room and leaned against the wall. “Two categories? Those who fear and those who do not?”
“No, sir. Everyone fears; we just fear different things, but even
what
we fear doesn’t really matter. There are those who fear and fight, and those who fear and hide.”
“Interesting philosophy, for someone your age, whether you play football or not.” Evans folded his arms. “Be honest. Where did you read it?”
Jamison laughed, then pulled out his finest Scottish Brogue. “I lairnt all I ken sitting at the plaid knee of me Scottish grandsire. If ye’re brave and braw, ye’re a Scot. If ye run and hide, ye’re Anglish. Right and Wrong, Good and Evil, are all decided by where you’re born; North or South of the Border.
Mr. Evans looked long and hard at Jamison, then he looked around at the rest of the students.
“Okay, there is your assignment, children. Write an essay about which you are, one who fears and fights, or one who fears and hides.”
“Mr. Evans?”
“Yes, Mr. Shaw?”
“Why not have a debate instead of an essay? I mean, this is College Prep, and we should learn how to debate our opinions, right?”
“Go on.”
“So, if we just all say which group we are in and why, we wouldn't need to write it down.”
The class went still.
Mr. Evans shook his head. “Is it going to be like this all semester, Mr. Shaw?”
“I don’t think so, Mr. Evans. I'm sure you'll catch up.”
Mr. Evans laughed. “Fine. Miss Phillips, you’re first. If you don't like it, complain to Mr. Shaw.”
Twenty minutes later it was Jamison's turn. He was almost anxious to surprise those idiots who thought he was leadership material.
“I'm a Conrad. I usually choose anything but standing and fighting. I'm a coward.”
Miss Phillips looked like she was going to run over and comfort him.
Evans noticed too, and cleared his throat, probably to distract her. “Not as Scottish as your grandfather, Mr. Shaw?”
“No, sir. I wish I were.”
Jamison resisted turning around to see what affect he'd had on Skye Somerled. He vaguely remembered talking to her in the parking lot the day before but couldn’t remember what they’d talked about. He’d liked her laugh, her soft gloves. He’d caught her lying about sunglasses. When they’d gotten to class the jerk behind him had poked him in the back, warning him that Somerleds didn't date outside their kind, or something like that.
Was that only yesterday?
The confessions went down the line. Most didn't care to join Jamison in the coward club. But when it was time for the last confession, Skye’s, he couldn't help but turn around and watch.
“I'm neither. I fear nothing, so there is no reason to hide or fight.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and lifted her chin.
“Oh ho!” Mr. Evans clapped his hands once. “Miss Somerled has just proven your theory, Mr. Shaw. Did you see? She just chose a side, even though she meant not to. She chose fear and fight. She lifted her chin, ready to take on all comers, didn't she?”
“No, I did not. If there is no reason to fear, there is no reason to fight.” Skye lifted her chin again.
“And yet you are fighting, Miss Somerled.” Evans walked to the board and started writing a mathematical equation,
if
a,
then
b
or
c
. “Mr. Shaw’s argument is if there is fear, then there is either flee or fight, agreed?”
The class murmured its agreement.
“And Miss Somerled’s argument is the reverse, but basically means the same thing.” He wrote on the board,
if
not
a,
then
not
b
and
not
c.
“If there is no fear, then there is no flee and no fighting. Agreed?”
“Agreed.” Most of the class spoke in unison.
Evans faced Jamison. “You were right about one thing, Mr. Shaw; this is turning into an excellent lesson in debate.” He lifted his chalk to the board, writing
if
b
or
c,
then
a.
“Follow my logic, if you will. If the first two sentences are correct, if both Jamison and Skye are correct, then it stands to reason that
if
there
is
fighting
or
fleeing,
there
is
fear
. Agreed?”
Only a couple kids answered. The class was either a little slow or indifferent.
“So, if Miss Somerled is ready to fight, as implied by the raise of her chin, she must therefore have fear. Agreed?”
Skye was looking at the board, her mouth open, her brow pinched together in confusion.
Jamsion felt bad that his comments had led to this.
Evans slapped the chalk dust from his hands and walked back to his desk. “You make a good argument, Skye. I'll give you a pass for your participation, but I don't buy it, that you have no fear. Everyone fears something.” Evans looked at his cell.
Jamison didn’t want things left that way, with her squirming in the spotlight.
“What about you, Mr. Evans? Which side are
you
on?”
The man glared at Jamison, then the clock. Still two more minutes.
“I'm the fear and hide type, Mr. Shaw, like you. But I'm getting out of Shangri-La, just as soon as I dare.” He turned to the class. “Tomorrow's discussion will be Wisdom vs. Passion. How old do you think you will be when you do as Mr. Conrad did and exchange the latter for the former—exchange the passion of youth for the wisdom of maturity? I want an essay, not a debate, so be prepared. I recommend reading the classic,
Lost
Horizon
, to get some perspective. If you haven't read it, Mr. Cloward, you should!”
Wisdom over passion? Jamison had settled for wisdom years ago—the wisdom to keep his mouth shut and his head down. Passion, though...passion, for basketball or anything else, only caused pain.
Holy crap, Jamison was as old a fart as the teacher. His wisdom seemed to fade with Skye Somerled around, though. Better to avoid her like the plague.
But that wouldn’t be easy—not with her popping up around every freaking corner.
Jamison was fairly certain which direction to take for his next class was, but suddenly she was there. Skye. Odd name. It suited her though.
“Jamison.”
“’S up?”
“I don’t know any better way than to just tell you. It’s about your grandfather.”
He reached out and grabbed her shoulders to steady himself. “What? He’s not...”
“No. Sorry, he’s fine. It’s just that he had a test done a couple of days ago.”
“Yeah, I got there just as they were taking him away.”
“Sorry. I didn’t know if you and your mom were aware.” She bit her lip and looked down, and in that instant...
...the world stopped.
The feeling that he’d forgotten something vanished, like a tooth ache ebbing away as the pain medication kicks in. And Jamison felt unbelievable relief. What if he hadn’t remembered?
But that wasn’t right. He hadn’t forgotten her, really. He’d just forgotten what it felt like to be near her, talk to her, touch her. He suddenly remembered touching her in the parking lot the day before and feeling absolutely...complete. Then he’d run into her at the Recovery Center and been jealous of both her and Granddad, that they had a friendship he had no part in.
He remembered the feeling of an elastic stretching between them, and sensing how far away from him she was whenever he couldn’t see her. How had he let her slip his mind all morning? How had he woken up without her being his first thought? The first image?
He was probably grinning at her like an idiot, but he couldn’t seem to stop. She was fidgeting, noticing other kids noticing them, so he let go of her shoulders and grabbed her hands instead. She wasn’t wearing gloves.
The world lurched, started turning again, like a merry-go-round stopping and starting beneath him, then humming along smoothly. He could have stood there all day looking into her eyes. The hall was emptying and there was no one around to stop him from doing just that.
“Jamison!”
“What?”
“Listen to me.” She tried to pull her hands away, but he held tight.
“I’m listening.”
“Kenneth is going to find out about those test results tomorrow, and if it’s bad news, it would be best for him to have family with him.”
“I’ll be there.”
“I mean, your mom. It might be a really hard day for him, and if your mom could be with him, it might make a huge difference.”
Jamison came out of the Skye haze he’d wandered into. Odd, but he got the feeling she didn’t want him wandering there.
“I don’t know. My mom still hasn’t forgiven him for something. I think she’s trying to work herself up to being able to face him again.”
“Jamison, you have to push her. There may not be time for her to come around on her own.”
He’d been worrying the same thing.
“You have to get her to read the letter.” Skye squeezed his hands, but he doubted she realized it.
“What letter?”
The bell rang. An effeminate teacher walked toward them and cleared his throat like an old librarian subtly telling them to shut the hell up and get to class.
“I’ve got to go. You’ll know the letter when you see it. Just find the letter.” Skye ran off in the opposite direction of his next class.
He hurried to Ballroom Dance, wishing she were in his class so he could hold onto her and get credit for it. They dared to call it an Elective, but in order to call it that, they should let you
elect
who you had to dance with.
He’d spend as much time with Granddad as he could, then he’d tear the house apart for the letter. And he’d have to do it before it got buried under all that stuff the movers would be unloading that evening.
Crap. He had no room in his schedule for school that day, but he had no choice. If he went to the Recovery Center, Granddad would call him on the carpet for missing school. If he mooched a ride home in the middle of the day, the school would call his mom. It wasn’t like the city; there were so few students in Flat Springs they were easy to keep track of.
And what was it he’d lost track of again? Was it because Skye had gotten away that he once again felt as if he were forgetting something? Had to be. She was gone and the feeling was right back where it started, making him feel like an idiot, like he’d walked into a room looking for something but had forgotten what it was.
Maybe Skye wasn’t the thing he’d lost. Maybe she just made him forget everything when she was around. One thing was certain, though—it was going to drive him crazy until he remembered.
***
Skye’s visit to Kenneth was short. She tried to build his spirits by talking about his grandson, but his side of the conversation lacked his usual attention.
He was worried about the test.
She quit torturing him with her questions and chatter and helped him find something amusing on TV, but as soon as she walked out the door, she heard him turn it off.