Chapter 5: How to teach your Dragon Boy
Eventually, a little after one AM he cried himself to sleep, still mumbling his “sister’s” name. I too found sleeps sweet embrace shortly thereafter, however it wasn’t an easy sleep. The rapid turn of events from celebratory (all be it just a little) to sadness had left my mind running in circles. The first and most obvious thing was that Spike wasn’t leading me on with a false story. What he had been telling me was true. He was a dragon and did live in this land called “Equestria”. I guess what’s his face’s multiverse theory was right. This lead to the second question, if the letter was able to reach him, would they be able to come get him? Would he just “Poof” out or would there be a portal or would someone come get him and then both vanish?
“Its times like this I wish I drank”
I say to the demon next to me, its eyes glowing a baleful green showing the evil Three AM. Rolling over another though comes unbidden to me. If they do come for him or he just disappears, if I’m watching him at that time. What do I say? How do I tell child services that his family came and got him suddenly? Bullocks, this is to complicated to think about when half asleep. Snuggling into my blanket I decide to be served that arrest warrant when its issued.
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Waking up Saturday morning at the early hour of 10:30 (some people like to sleep in, so sue me). I head out to the kitchen and find breakfast absent. Moving as quietly as possible I go check on Spike, finding him deep asleep, his covers splayed everywhere. I wonder if he had a nightmare after I finally got some sleep. Walking back to the kitchen I start talking to the appliances.
“Well boys, time to wake up. Since it’s later in the morning, I need you all for brunch duty.”
Grabbing the assorted ingredients from the cabinet and fridge I prepare for the coming meal. Hopefully a good meal will help improve Spike’s mood when he wakes up, or at least the smells will make waking up most pleasant. Once again to the appliances, who I might add are very good listeners.
“Okay, the menu for this morning will require the cooperation of both you and the oven Stove. You will be in charge of cooking the eggs and turkey bacon. Oven, you will have the most important duty, Muffin detail!”
With the debriefing done, I preheat the oven and get to missing the muffin batter. I’m trying out a new recipe Mrs. Smith somehow slipped into the paperwork I last filled out. I don’t know how she knew or did it, but I’ll have to thank her later. The recipe is an Apple Crisp Muffin, using the more tart Granny Smith apples. Interesting. In short order the batter is mixed and the apples diced and covered in cinnamon sugar. Pouring the mixture into the muffin pan, I make sure to not add to much so that once the apples are added mid-bake, the batter does not leak to bad. That done and placed into the oven I stare at the coffee machine, willing it to percolate faster. Soon the red light turns green and a mug is poured. Sipping the brew I sigh.
“Now I’m awake. Stove, its show time. I think I can use you without burning the place down.”
On queue I have two pans warming on the stove and a bowl of eggs all seasoned and mixed. The rest of the breakfast comes together like a well-oiled machine. The apples get added, the muffins and bacon don’t get burnt, and Spike comes out with a hungry, yet happy look on his face.
“What smells so good?, I’m starving.” His stomach growling in ascent of his comment.
“This would be Saturday brunch my young friend.” Sweeping my arm across the counter laden with goodies I continue. “We have a veritable smorgasbord of delights. Scrambled eggs with cheese, fruit salad, apple crisp muffins (baked fresh), bacon, and of course, toast. Now go wash up, your bed-hair is enough to scare grown men.”
A glare and grunt of affirmation are all that I get as Spike heads off to tame his hair. Meanwhile I set the table for two. I pause, its weird. A little over a week ago I was only ever cooking for myself. I hardly ever sat at the table, preferring to eat in front of my computer or just leaning against the counter. Why does this feel normal and my old way abnormal? All I can do is shrug and blame growing up with a large family. Whatever the reason I brush it aside as Spike renters the kitchen.
“Better, now grab a plate and eat up. Remember this is both Breakfast and Lunch, hence ‘Brunch’.
Filling his plate he looks up at me, “There some special occasion for this? I mean cereal would have been fine. Why all the effort?”
Already sitting down, I set the mug in my hand down and turn my head to him with a small smile on it. “You see Spike, I found when growing up that nothing helps cure a lousy nights sleep and ‘issues’ the night before like a hearty breakfast.” While I’m talking spike carries his fully loaded plate to the table and sits down. “Speaking of which…..” My face taking on a more somber expression, “How are you doing? You seemed really upset last night.”
Swallowing he mouthful of eggs and taking a drink of the milk he finally replies. “I’m better. Fine actually. I realized something last night while I was crying. I can’t do anything here. There’s no magic and I don’t know enough about how technology works to even consider using science to get home. So basically crying and worrying won’t do me any good. I need to make the best of what I’ve got and when…
“Don’t you mean if?” I interject on reflex.
“No I mean WHEN Twilight comes for me, I’ll be ready to leave. Twilight let me know that she is working on solving this. I’ve never known anypony more dedicated to tasks as her. If she says she will find a way to get me home, she means it.” Taking a bite of the muffin he continues. “Good muffin. Not Sugar Cube Corner’s quality, but not bad none-the-less. “
Taking his segue as a silent ‘drop it’ I go back to my breakfast. The silent meal continues until I finish my plate, Spike is still only halfway through the mountain of food he had grabbed.
“Once you finish Spike, its time for the task of the day. As you know, you start school Monday. With school, comes a litany of necessary items. Items, which we must go purchase today. So after you’re done, go get ready. I’ll handle the kitchen and package the leftovers up.”
A nod of his head and he goes back to shoveling the food in. I myself getup and start packaging up the leftovers. He drops his plate into the sink and goes to get ready, I load the dishwasher and wipe down the counters. He’s done about the same time I finish washing my hands.
“Give me a minute so I can go grab my keys and phone, then we’ll head to the mall.”
“Mall?” he asks, “What’s a Mall?”
Thinking, I guess he doesn’t have anything like that, or at least that term, where he comes from. “It’s basically a large shopping district that’s all under one roof. You’ll understand better when we get there.”
Grabbing the two items from my desk we head out the door and to the car.
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While the city is large enough to have a college and a decent downtown shopping area, its not large enough for a mall, which is why we have to go to the next city over. The drive itself is quite; Spike spends most of it looking out at the sprawling farmland on either side of the road. Its normally only a 15-20 minute drive, but this time it took almost 45 minutes. Spike insisted on stopping at one of the road-side produce stands and get, in his words, some “Real fruits and vegetables”. I didn’t mind to much though, I actually like the produce the local farmers have.
Farmland gives way to houses and houses to stores. Then, to the two story sprawling complex that is the local mall.
“Wooooooow. I don’t think I’ve seen a bigger building other than the castle. Is this really a shopping center?”
Chuckling I park. “Spike,” with the Jurassic Park score playing in the back of my head, “Welcome, to the Westfield Mall.”
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Walking into the entrance, while I go over the list in my head, I see Spike’s head turning left and right in rapid succession.
“Watch yourself there, do that any faster and you’re liable to get whiplash. Now pay attention. While most of the items are generic school supplies like pencils and notebooks, we need to get you some clothes that,” looking over him, “Actually fit. Then you’ll need some shoes, a jacket, and some other assorted items.”
“That sounds like a lot and like it will take some time to get made. Can we really have it ready for Monday?”
I look at him with a raised eyebrow. “No worries on that. Nothing we get today will be custom tailored, we’ll just need to find your size and then get a few of each, maybe vary the color. It’s rather simple.”
Shrugging his shoulders, “Whatever you say”.
A short walk later and we enter “Generic Department Store number 1”. Spike stops and stares.
“Wait till I tell Rarity about this place. She’ll totally flip and be so jealous!”
Putting my hand on his shoulder I guide him to the young men’s section. 30 minutes later we have: three pairs of jeans, two pairs of gym shorts, seven t-shirts, one pair of khakis, one button-up shirt, three pairs of shoes (dress, regular, gym), and a heavy fall jacket. Thanks to coupons, sales, and Spike not being to picky, it’s not as expensive as it looks. Both of us carrying the bags we leave the store and head to just wander the mall. I think it’ll do Spike some good to experience it before school. Don’t want him to be to “out of it”. After about an hour we head for the food court for a light snack and drink.
“Spike, why don’t you sit here”, gesturing to an empty table butted up against a pillar, “with the bags while I go get us something. You good with iced tea?”
“Sure, thanks.”
He sits down and I set the bags I was carrying down on the floor next to the pillar. “I’ll be right back.” I head for the shortest line to get our snacks. I start going over the list, again, to make sure I didn’t miss anything when my thought train is interrupted.
“Well, Mr. Hall. Its nice to see you and young Spike out and about. Also, from the looks of things, you’re getting him some needed school supplies and clothes. Very good.”
“Gah”, I exclaim, caught off guard. How does she do that? More importantly why is she hear? Is she following me? “Good afternoon Mrs. Smith. Sorry about that, I was caught up in my thoughts and didn’t notice you there.” Of course I didn’t notice her, she’s like a freaking ninja.
“That’s alright, I didn’t mean to surprise you. I just noticed the two of you shopping and thought I’d say hello.”
“Ah, so what brought you here today, you’re not following s are you?” I ask with a bit of jest in my voice.
She chuckles, “Oh dear no, we have people for that. I walk the mall every morning to stay healthy in my old age.”
The conversation pauses as I order and collect the drinks and small munchables. “Well, Mrs. Smith it was nice seeing you, but I need to get back to Spike, you understand.”
“Indeed I do. Say hello to Spike for me. Oh, two things. The first is that a clothing and school supplies stipend should arrive in the mail in the next week. Secondly, when you see the recipe I gave you, add the apples about a third way through the cooking instead of halfway through. They come out so much better. Good day.”
Did she know I made them? Is she psychic? “Thanks.”
I head back to the table when something she said comes to the forefront of my mind, “people for that”. Wait, they have people whose jobs are to follow people? I start looking around, everyone over a certain age looking suspicious. This is an uncomfortable revelation. I get back to the table and we share some small talk over the food. With it done we leave the mall, our task completed. A quick stop by a Big Box Store to get the notebooks and such, as well as a spare key, and we’re done. A less than quite drive back as Spike recounts the glories of the mall.
“Sounds like you might be a burgeoning ‘Mall-rat’ Spike.”
“Mall what?”
“American saying for someone who enjoys going to the mall and just window shopping.”
“Your language is weird.”
The drive is uneventful and the rest of the day goes quickly, mostly with Spike reading through more of the spare textbooks I have lying around. Dinner is a simple but filling affair. Both of us sleep much better that night.
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The next morning dawns as a tranquil Sunday morning. No drama, just a leisurely pace. I finish some general book keeping work and stroll into the TV room to find Spike watching the BBC.
“So, whatcha watching? Top Gear?”
“Nah, something called ‘Dr. Who’. Kind of interesting”
Not being much of a ‘Whovian’ myself, I have no idea about the show. “That’s good, I’ll let you finish that then.” I head out to my study to watch TV in there when Spike calls back to me.
“You know what’s funny? The Dr. reminds me of Doctor Whooves, Ponyville’s resident timekeeper. Its something about the way he speaks and acts. I guess it’s kind of like that ‘Q’ guy in that show the other day.”
“Yeah I guess.”
The rest of the day is uneventful. I give Spike a copy of the house key and written instructions on which bus to take back from school. I make both our lunches. We both call it an early night. School starts at an early 7:45 AM, so that means the both of us need to be up by 6:00 AM or so. This is going to take some getting used to.
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“BEEEEEEEEEP”
“BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP”
“BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE…”
I smack the alarm clock to turn it off. It’s too damned early. Begrudgingly I get up and go wake Spike up. He seems to take getting up this early about the same as I do; guy after my own heart. Breakfast is a wordless affair, well other than intermittent yawns. By 7:15 we’re in the car and heading for school.
“Okay Spike, got to cover a few things before I take you to the school’s office. First thing is they believe you have amnesia, so hopefully there won’t be many questions about your past.”
“Makes sense. I mean I can’t really tell them I was a dragon two weeks ago. They’d think I was either crazy or pulling their leg.”
I nod in agreement, “Yeah, its convenient, but try not to slip up. Secondly you have the key I gave you correct?”
“Yup, got it right here with which bus to take home.” And he pats his pocket to indicate where it is.
“Good, good. Now I’ll be home about 5:30 or so. School gets out at 2:30, so you’ll get home around 3, 3:15. There are some leftovers in the fridge if you want to grab a snack until I get back. I assume you know the rest, don’t talk to strangers, yadda, yadda, yadda.”
“Yeah, Twilight made me memorize a list of like 50 things not to do when going home from somewhere.”
We pull into the parking lot, park, and then head into the building.
“Something’s never change.”
“What do you mean Drew?”
“Oh, I was just looking at the school. It hasn’t changed at all since I went here. I bet they haven’t even updated any of the rooms either.”
This has us both chuckling for some unknown reason, which we stifle once we enter the office.
“Hello, I’m Drew…”
“Hall, I know. I might not have seen you since your mother’s retirement dinner, but I still recognize you.” The elderly lady behind the secretary desk interrupts me. I’m a little surprised that she’s still working here. I mean Mrs. Fritz was the secretary here when my mother started teaching like 40 years ago.
“It’s nice to see you Mrs. Fritz. While I’d like to catch up, I’m just here to drop,” gesturing to the young man next to me, “Spike here off for his first day at this school. It also relieves me to be leaving him in such capable hands.”
“Oh you flatterer, you haven’t changed a bit. Buttering me up won’t get Spike there any extra late passes.”
I smile sheepishly, busted.
“But I do know about his, and your, unique circumstances from the forms you filled out and child services faxed over. Don’t worry; we’ll take good care of him. Now why don’t you head off to work and tell your mother I said hello the next time you talk to her.”
“She’s actually going to be in town for Thanksgiving, I’m sure I can convince her to swing by and catch up some.”
“Oh that would be lovely. Now take care.”
I turn around and with a backwards wave I take my leave, “See you after school Spike”.
“Later Drew” is his only response as the door closes behind me.
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My workday is busy, but it’s a good busy though, not the “I want to kill myself” crazy busy, but more a never have a chance to look at the clock busy. It doesn’t take long at all for 5:00 to roll around and like clockwork, I’m home at 5:30. Entering the front door, I thankfully find Spike sitting in the TV room watching some show narrated by Morgan Freeman.
“Sorry to interrupt your show, but it looks like you made it back safely.”
Looking up from his show, Spike waves at me and smiles, “Hey, welcome back. Work okay?”
“Yeah, same old same. So, how was your first day of school?
“Good I think.”
Ushering him into the kitchen with me I start to grab the items for dinner, “Why don’t you take a sit at the table and tell me about it while I get dinner ready.”
He sits down and starts to recount his day. “I guess I’ll start with being introduced to the teacher and the rest of the class.”
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Earlier that day…
A green haired teen is seen walking down the hall lined with lockers, an elderly woman by his side guiding him. The only sound other than their footsteps are the muffled noises of teachers and students in the classrooms. The woman is the first to break the silence, turning her head to the young man.
“Now Spike, you scored high enough on those placement tests to fit into our accelerated 8th grade classroom.”
The boy looks confused, “Accelerated?”
“Yes, but its not by much though. The course work is only a quarter ahead or so. We found it lets the students who want to learn, learn.”
“That makes sense.”
“Now, the class is smaller than the others, only 9 students, you’ll be the tenth. Also, unlike the others, you will move as a group since each class outside art, music, and phys. ed. is accelerated a little. Got me so far?”
Spike, who has been nodding the entire time stops, turns his head, and gives and affirmative, ‘Gotcha. So which classroom am I in?”
Mrs. Fritz, the woman showing Spike to the room, stops herself and looks at the number on the room they’re in front of. “Oh dear, it looks like in my ramblings we walked right by it.” Pointing two doors down the woman prompts the young man to follow her. “This is the classroom. Now Ms. Leah will be your teacher.” She holds her hand up to stop a question forming on the student’s lips and knocks on the door. A female voice on the other end answers, “Come in”. With that, the secretary pushes the door open and escort’s Spike in.
“Oh, Mrs. Fritz, is this the new student?” The teacher gestures to the teen next to the elderly lady.
“That’s right Ms. Leah. I’ll leave him in your care.” And with that the secretary takes her leave, closing the door after her. Spike decides that the floor has been inspected enough and takes in the classroom. It’s not big or small, but just the right size for a smaller class. 10 desks are spread out in a rectangle with a central larger worktable. The Teacher, Ms. Leah, is a woman in her late 20’s with a bright smile and long hair that you can’t quite tell if she’s a blond or a redhead. Turning his eyes to the students he sees a mix of kids his age. Almost an even split of boys to girls, with him evening it up. The teacher speaks again, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Now Spike, welcome to my class. As you’ve most likely been made aware, I am Ms. Cheryl Leah, please call me Ms. Leah though.” She motions for Spike to join her in front of the black board, to the left of her desk. “How about you introduce yourself to the class then they’ll do the same.”
Nervously, with his hand occasionally scratching the back of his head, Spike beings. “Hi, my name is Spike McDreugan. I….uh…don’t remember much of my past so, I’m…um… staying with Drew Hall until it comes back. Its, uhh, ncie to meet you all.”
Theres a smattering of gently clapping by the students out of habit. Spike looks around and then back at Ms. Leah, as if to say what next? She takes the queue and with a gentle clap of her hands gets the classes attention. “Now students, why don’t you introduce yourselves to Spike and say a little something interesting about you.
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“Wait, Cheryl Leah? I went to school with her. I didn’t know she was a teacher, or teaching at the middle school.” I interject as I set dinner onto the table
“Ahem” an irate teenager interrupts my interruption.
“Oh, sorry, that was rude of me, continue.”
With a good-natured glare, he starts talking again, “As I was saying…”
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Ms. Leah’s eyes scan over the students locking on two boys sitting in the back corner, chuckling away at only a joke between the two of them. Raising her voice to get their attention, “Why don’t we start with the two of you in the back corner.”
A lanky boy and pudgy boy stand up and look at each other before speaking.
“I’m Doug,” the lanky one states.
“and I’m Dane,” The pudgy one finishes.
Putting their hands on each other’s shoulder, “We’re cousins!” they both say in unison, breaking out in chuckles again as they sit down. An exasperated look crosses the face of the teacher but is quickly vanquished by her cheery default expression.
“Thank you. Now why don’t we move counter-clockwise around the room.” Gesturing to the girl sitting in front of the two cousins, Ms. Leah nods her head and the girl stands. She is a brunet of average height for one her age. Glasses adorn her face. She speaks with a hint of New England in her voice.
“My name is Silvia, I moved here a few years ago when my mother became the Dean of Students at the college.”
Finishing she sits back down and the girl in the front row, shooting a disapproving look towards Dane and Doug stands. She is wearing an ankle length designer dress and has her long blonde hair done up in cascading curls. Holding it back at the top is a gemmed hair band. Standing there she radiates an “I’m better than you” atmosphere. She speaks with a haughty tone to her voice.
“My name is Diana Richards, my family has been in this town since it was founded and own most of the buildings in the down town area.”
She sits back down with an air of finality; her arms crossed in front of her and chin slightly pointed upwards. The brown haired boy to her left rolls his eyes and stands up. His clothes are a slight mystery, sporting a pair of slacks and what looks to be a 19th century tunic. He flashes a toothy smile, which appears to reflect the overhead lights with a glint.
“My names Peter, but my chums call me Pete,” a light British accent peppers his speech , “My parents moved here from England last year so my father could teach history at the college.”
With a slight bow and a motion as if tipping a hat, Pete sits back down. The seat next to him is empty, Spike assumes it will be where he will sit. The next desk over sits another guy, this time a gangly looking boy with a longer unkempt head of sandy brown hair. Dressed in a more standard t-shirt and jeans he speaks with a slightly higher pitched voice and rather fast.
“Hi, my name is Frederick, but you can call me Freddie. My parents teach art at the college. My father teaches photography.”
Just as quickly as he spoke he’s back down in his seat. Moments later the girl behind him gets up to introduce herself. While not as plainly dressed as Silvia or as fancy as Diana, she is wearing a pair of capris with a pink blouse. He straight black hair brushed to a lustrous shine that takes on an almost purple or pink tone as the light reflects off her shirt. Her voice is crisp, clear, and loud.
“My name is Isabelle, my father is a traditionally trained opera singer and now teaches voice at the conservatory.”
She seats herself and smiles. The next student to stand is almost an antithesis to Isabelle. Her beat-up skater shoes match her worn and slightly torn jeans. Her arms are covered in bandages, but remarkably her t-shirt, featuring skateboards and BMX bikes is in pristine condition. Her sandy-blond hair is cut short and with a defiant look in her eyes she finally speaks.
“Call me Sam and one day,” she takes a more defiant pose, “I WILL join the X-games!”
With that she poses. The teacher coughs a little and sheepishly, Sam sits back down. The last girl gets up, a freckled redhead with hair in a ponytail. Wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, she gives a very “country” vibe. He voice only cements that.
“Hi, mah names Angela and,” turning towards Diana, “mah family owns and runs Bloomfield Orchards jus south o town. Because of the farm we helped found this here city.”
Diana shoots a death glare back at the country girl who just smirks and sits back down. It doesn’t take a genius to sense the animosity between the two of them. Clapping her hands again the teacher breaks the tension. Then with a wave of her hand points the newest member of her class to the empty seat next to Pete and Freddie. Spike sits down and shakes the offered hands of the two boys next to him.
“Let me know if yah need any help there chap. I’ll be glad to lend a hand.”
“Thanks Pete, I may take you up on your offer depending on how much I remember.”
The exchange over, Ms. Leah returns to the center of the classroom and lessons resume. Just as the secretary said they move from language arts, to science, to history, to math as a group. Lunch comes and goes with a few odd looks directed at Spike, notably because of his odd green hair. He pays it no mind having been raised as a “one of a kind” creature where he comes from. Finally the first of the three non-academic classes arrive, art. The ten students of the accelerated class merge with another class and take seats at large tables arranged in rows in the wide-open room. Spike sits with Freddie and Pete, the only two people he’s talked to really thus far.
“BONG BONG BONG”
The bell chimes and then an eccentrically dressed man in his mid 40’s comes from a supply room pushing a cart full of inkwells, pens, and parchment. He surveys the room and focuses on our green haired protagonist. Depositing the cart in the center of the room, he turns towards Spike and begins speaking.
“Well young one, I’ve not seen you in hear before. Could you be the new student mentioned during the morning staff meeting hmm?”
All eyes no on him, Spike can only nod in ascent.
“Excellent, excellent. Well it is a pleasure. I am Mr. Stephan Magnes, please call me whatever you like.” Looking closer at the young man’s hair the teacher continues, “ What a delightful shade of green. What did you use to dye your hair?”
Running his hand through the aforementioned hair, Spike answers truthfully, “Its, um natural. I was born this way….I think”.
“Fascinating, truly fascinating. But it matches you so well,” turning away from the puzzled teen, Mr. Magnes addresses the entire class, “Now my burgeoning artists we continue our lessons in the art of calligraphy. Please get a pen, inkwell, and some parchment.” Turning to spike once again, “For those who are unfamiliar with the art, you may also take on of the reference cards.”
The entire class gets up and collects the required supplies. Spike grabs one of the reference cards as do Dane and Doug. Once everyone has gotten their items and retaken their seats, the teacher walks up to the board and writes the goal of this period., speaking it at the same time.
“Students, today you will be using calligraphy to write a letter. You may address it to whomever you like. Be it a character from a drama, a book, or a loved one. Take your time, but know that this isn’t language arts so grammar and spelling will not be judged. Now onwards to art!”
Taking that as a call to start, each student dips their pen and begins the task. Spike references the card and notices that each letter is the same as he was taught from a young age. Dipping his pen he begins, addressing his letter to the first name that comes to mind.
“Dear Princess Celestia….”
One page of clear and crisp text gives way to a second and then to a third; his practiced hand recounting the tale of the past week, omitting his past as best he could. Spike loses himself in the writing as time slips by. He is a dragon again writing a letter for Twilight about one of her most recent friendship escapades. He is so swept up in it that he doesn’t notice the astounded looks on the faces of his tablemates at how fast and accurate he is working. Only when a shadow is cast over his fourth page and a pleased hand lands on his shoulder does he snap back into reality.
“My dear boy have you done this before? I will be astounded if this is your first time writing this way. And so fast. I dare say you write faster than I.”
The eyes have once again turned to him, the teen can only shrug his shoulders, “I’m not sure sir. I have amnesia so I don’t remember to much of my past. This just felt right. I can’t really explain it.”
“Intriguing. Hopefully your memory does return in time,” gesturing at the pages the teacher continues, “May I?”
“Um, sure I guess.” Spike stated flatly, which was all the affirmation Mr. Magnes needed as he scooped up the papers and called the class up to the display board where the pages were now pinned. The teacher went over the pages with the rest of the class, using them to illustrate differences and other such things in each student’s own work. Only Spike and an elegantly dressed young woman did not go to the board. The former being to busy being embarrassed and the latter shooting the former death glares while crumpling up her own page of near flawless text.
“BING BING BING”
“Well young ones, our time together is at an end today. I do hope the lesson has been enlightening. Now off you go to your next class.”
The class does just that. The next period is music for the entire 8th grade. Every student is required to participate in Band, Orchestra, or Choir. The latter being the dumping ground for any of the students who do not want to play an instrument. Of the members of Ms. Leah’s class, Sam, Doug, and Dane are in the band. Sam playing the various drums and the two cousins putting their hot air to good use on trumpet and trombone. Silvia and Diana both were raised to play a stringed instrument, Diana the violin and Silvia the cello, so they were in the orchestra. Angela herself had been taught by her grandmother to play the fiddle and had taken to the violin quickly, which much to both her and Diana’s chagrin placed them in the same music class. The remaining four, Spike included, were in the Choir. Isabelle, trained by her father was a soprano. Freddie, voice cracking and everything was a warbly baritone. Pete had a rich baritone, with a hint of bass, but like his friend, suffered from a minor vocal crack. Spike was the oddity. As the new kid his voice was an unknown.
Entering the classroom, the four found the teacher, a heavy set African American woman in her early 40’s. He size belied her voice, a bright alto that resonates throughout the room, showing her years of work in the craft. Seeing the new, green haired student she smiles broadly.
‘Well you look to be new honey. I’m Mrs. Rivers, the choir teacher for the district.”
“Nice to meet you mam,” he replies.
She laughs a little, “such a polite child. Now, since you’re hear you either can’t play an instrument or like to sing, so which is it?” she was not one to dance around a subject, so she went straight to the point.
“Well, I don’t particularly like singing, but I think I know how to play an instrument, my memory’s a bit hazy” He adds the last part hesitantly as he does know he can play one, but his amnesia excuse needs the hesitation.
“Well darling, what instrument do you ‘think’ you can play?”
“Piano…….I think.”
“Well, why don’t we find out” and she points at the piano in the room. “You can either play what’s on the stand or anything that comes to mind.”
Spike seats himself and begins to stretch his fingers, thinking about what to play. He decides to go with a jaunty tune he performed with Pinkie Pie once. Closing his eyes and adjusting his position some he begins to play the jaunty western tune. He plays from memory, letting his fingers do the talking. Once again he slips into being a dragon again and playing for his friends. He finishes the piece and opens his eyes back to reality. The room is quite and then applause.
“Well dear, looks like you CAN play the piano. Hazy memory or not, looks like somethin’s there under the surface. Now,” gesturing to the sheet music on the stand, “don’t you try playing one of these”.
The class continues with Spike playing some on the piano, but mostly with Mrs. Rivers directing the choir as they worked on the songs for the winter concert. Time passes and the bell rings signaling the end of the period. For Ms. Leah’s class, PE is the last class of the day, but we will omit that due to the shear embarrassment suffered by Spike when he did not know the rules of Basketball.
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“And then we all got changed, the bell rang, and I took the bus back here. I got home, showered, and then you came home while I was watching a show on parallel universes.” Spike finally takes the opportunity to take a bite of the cooling meal in front of him.
“Sounds like you had an exciting day. Lets finish dinner before it gets any colder. Also you probably have homework of some sort to do correct?”
“Yeaph,” comes a response spoken through a pile of food. Spike swallows, “I mean yes.”
The days pass much the same, getting nightly updates about his school; helping him with homework; making lunches; sleeping in on the weekends. It’s become a new habit and feels almost normal. His art classes eventually turned from calligraphy into embossing into soft metals, which he isn’t as good at. Says he tends to use to much strength and punches holes in the metals. Choir really turned around for him. Mrs. Rivers now has him playing the piano for their practices, lets her focus on adjusting the voices and saves Spike from having to sing. Some days he goes and hangs out with Freddie and Pete after school. It’s good that he’s made some friends.
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“Beep Beep BEEEEEEP”
My alarm goes off on a Wednesday morning signaling a funeral dirge. It’s the start of a short holiday for both the college and the schools, but yet here I am still getting up at 6:00 AM. I’m letting Spike sleep, this is my sisyphean task to complete. I donned my robes of battle and went to the front, my trusty weapons at the ready. Then I cleaned. I cleaned the house like the dogs of hell were nipping at my heels. No corner was left unvacuumed. No surface undusted. The wood and tile glowed, reflecting the lights overhead. The noise had awoken Spike. He came out of his room with a puzzled look on his face.
“Why are you cleaning everything so obsessively? I haven’t seen this level of paranoia since the last time the Princess visited the library.”
I pause, looking up from the stain I am currently assaulting, “My parents will be arriving this morning. The house MUST be clean!.”
“Its just your parents, besides this is your house,” he states blunt as always.
“That’s the problem. As much as the paperwork says that this is my house, it isn’t”
“Come again?”
“I was raised here. This is my childhood house. No amount of paperwork can tell my subconscious that this is my house now. It will always be my parents. A house they kept spotless for company.”
“DIIIING DONG”
The doorbell chimes. They’re early.
“BAARRRK WOOOF”
And they brought the dog…