Secrets, Lies and Dragonflies

Chapter 22

"Welcome back, students." Mr. Jordan's bellowing voice causes me to lose the staring contest I'm winning with an over-sized globe planted on the edge of his desk. He picks up a stack of papers piled next to the globe and raises them high. "I have here the results of your tests."

I instantly recognize the tanned paper: fortune teller puppet exams.

"I must say, these are some of the best scores we've seen.  It is refreshing to know our hope in the future generation is not wasted. Although, it was evident a couple of you are going to need a lot of work." 

I smile awkwardly as he strolls by, wondering if it was just me he was talking about.

"In fact, some of you may ultimately be dismissed, but for today's purpose, all will have equal opportunity to participate."

Fewer students are in the class, I've noticed. Looks like the girl who was to my left from the other day didn't make it back.  Maybe the convinced her advisor in the guidance office to move her out. And still even more alarming?  None of my friends are stuck in here with me.  How did my plan fail?  I don't even recall comparing our schedules together when the school issued them. We always meet up as soon as we get them. Why can't I remember?

After placing the stack of tests down next to the globe, Mr. Jordan returns to the front of the room. "Your exams will be returned to you at a later time." He's left the writing he put up from the first class on the chalkboard:

INSPIRATION = JOB

Planning to take notes, I search for my backpack. Did I forget it? I never forget it.

"Today, we will be reviewing important material critical in executing some of the more difficult tests you will face," he says with an intensity that would put Ms. Fletcher's Medusa charm to shame. And Executing tests? Who talks like that?

"I cannot do the work for you. You must have the determination and preparation required to get the most out of the limited time we have with you."

"Come now, Peter," a voice says from the back. "You're making everything sound a bit scary, aren't you?"

Standing next to the over-sized globe and in front of a door that I swear wasn't there a minute ago is a woman with graying chestnut hair neatly pulled into a clip. Dressed in a tailored, cream-colored skirt and matching blazer, she isn't terribly tall, but taller than my five foot two inch frame.

"It's no laughing matter, Lois," Mr. Jordan replies, gruffly.

Her shoes click across the tile floor as she glides to the front of the room, gently placing her hand on the shoulders of the students she passes. "Why, you forget. These are children and learn much better with a touch of fun. Don't you think, class?" She casts a teasing gaze across the room.

A murmur of relieved "yeses" softly percolates.

"Oh, now I know you can do better than that," a snappy voice calls from the back. Certain the owner of the voice was not there just a minute ago, I'm also just as certain the door next to the enormous desk Mr. Jordan's wife is sitting on wasn't there before either. "Let's try this again for Ms. Lois, shall we?" Her voice shoots three octaves higher, showcasing her coaching skills as she breezes through the room.  "Wouldn't you young ladies like to have a little fun?"

"Oh, I don't know about that," says Christina Phillips.  "So would that mean no more warm and fuzzy lectures from Mr. Giggles over there?"

"Chrissy? Really?"

"What? I'm just playin'."  Christina says to another student, one I've never seen around school before.

"Yeah, you're always playing," the girl replies. "One of these days, that mouth of yours is gonna get you and me in trouble."

"Trouble? Why sometimes trouble can simply be another word for misdirected adventure, Monique." Inconspicuously slipping in from the same door that wasn't there a minute ago is a wildly dressed woman, half out of breath and bearing Santa sized bags. "I was hoping we'd have a student like you, Christina. Such spunk and pizzazz!"

"Ah, Eunice. You have arrived, dear friend." Mrs. Jordan tilts her head toward Mr. Jordan. "I think we can take it from here, Peter."

After tossing the bags on top of the desk, Ms. Eunice lets out big huff. Her over-sized floral top is wrapped with a thick, florescent pink, elastic belt. Purple capris pants, knee-high socks and white Velcro-laced shoes complete her ensemble. Sticking her head in one of the giant bags, she starts to ramble. "Let's see. Yes, yes, I have all of these and, oh, good I see they're all intact. Oh no.  Spoke too soon.  Does this one really need both ears? Maybe so..." When she emerges, she puffs away stains of hair falling from of her loose braid. Scanning the room, her greenish-blue eyes lock in on something by the front door and she beelines in that direction. When she attempts to lift a long beam leaning in the corner, Mr. Jordan comes to the rescue.

"Let me help you, Eunice." His towering frame lifts the timber effortlessly.

"Oh, yes, yes. Thank you. Thank you, Peter. You know how excited I get with each new class. I can't wait to meet everyone. Yes, yes, indeed."

While Mr. Jordan repositions the post by the chalkboard, Ms. Eunice is glancing around again, seemingly checking off a mental list. "I have this and that is here from last time. Aaaaand, I think that about does it. Oh, how many students? More than I expected I think. Let me see.  One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, and fourteen. Fourteen? Uh oh. I'm missing two? I'm missing two." Alarmed, she hustles out the back door that wasn't there before. In seconds, she returns holding two Mr. Potato Heads.

A  rumble of laughter rolls across the room.

"Eunice, are you ready noooow? The girls only have so much time you know," Ms. Lois says.

Ms. Eunice sighs. "Oh, yes. This'll do. No we have one for everyone."

As soon as a Mr. Potato Head is delivered to every occupied desktop, Ms. Eunice clears her throat and robotically reads off a card.  "Hello students. My name is Ms. Eunice." She pauses from the script and points to Ms. Lois.  "Mother Lois and I have been teaching this class for a long while now and would like to pass on our knowledge to you. In a moment, you will be placed into teams. Your Mr. Potato Head will be the only form of acceptable answers we will take.  Now, shall we begin?"

Something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.