The Spiral Society: Chapter One

The Chronicles of the Sacred Rulix Crystal
Book XIII: The Spiral Society
Uzoma Peter Lane I



Chapter One: A Hope in Sorrow


Dawn had come again to the city of Miriam, to Weeping Willow Lane, and to a shadowy bedroom. Weak, dust-laden beams of sunlight played upon the sleeping face within. That face was pinched in the hollow anger of bitter dreams. The boy to whom it belonged was twisting violently between his blankets as if he were being pelted with burning coals. He was drenched in a spreading wave of sweat and the cotton pajamas he wore had become plastered against his slight frame. Swift, sure footsteps could be heard pounding ever closer as the child’s fevered murmurs turned to the desperate screams children usually reserve for impossibly dire situations. His movements seemed to grow more brutal with each passing second and he began to tear at the air as his screams grew louder still. The door banged open just as the curtains came off their rod in shreds. A silhouette was immediately visible in the light that spilled from the hall. It dived for the bed, tearing away the sheets the child was tangled in. The child struggled fiercely against this apparition until his eyes shot open in blind terror to behold his guardian’s face. “These nightmares have got to stop” she cried softly, and with a great effort, she freed her charge from his blankets.
The shouting died away at once, replaced by rivulets of bitter tears. His chest heaving with emotion, he fell into his guardian’s waiting arms. She rocked him gently, tears staining her hospital scrubs, and soon the crying turned to hiccups, and a single word. “Rowan?” he sobbed with every breath, “Ro-r-rowan?” Each time it was a question, as if he doubted his guardian was real. “It’s all right” she replied, “its all right. I’m right here. It’s okay.” She rocked him a few minutes more and, as always, he fell silent. “Good morning, Alexander” she sighed, and helped him into fresh clothes.
The nightmares began a year ago but each was the same as the last. A sleek and powerful jaguar with eyes like yellow moons would stalk young Alexander through stinging winds and choking fog. He would run barefoot over jagged stones, tear his clothes on hidden barbs, and scream in the purest terror as vipers struck at his heels in unending currents. Above, wine-red spirals would pierce the clouds and when Alexander strayed beneath these it felt as if thousands of needles had been driven into his soul at once. He had learned to fear sleep above all else but it could not be avoided. The first morning had been unbearable, and in the weeks to come, the woman he called Rowan tried everything she knew. But no amount of hot chocolate or medicine seemed to work. Each morning held the same feral screams.
This morning, Alexander ate in silence. Rowan didn’t even bother trying to start a conversation this time. Each day she would build up her hopes only to suffer another agonizing disappointment. At first, she thought he was being rude and punished him accordingly, but after several days, she sought the help of her colleagues. But no one could solve the mystery of Alexander’s silence so she sat before the glorified card table they used for dining, and watched as the child ate his cereal. Alexander’s movements were deliberate. Almost mechanically, the spoon found his mouth each time, but he might have been eating sand for all the difference it made to him. He kept his eyes focused on the woman before him, whose proper name was Hannah Bennett. He was only eight but he knew enough to recognize anguish and frustration in his guardian’s eyes. For the first few weeks, he had tried to speak but his throat felt as if daggers tore at its lining. No sound ever came through, but his every attempt brought him hours of fierce suffering. Eventually, he had given up, and his voice could only be heard each morning crying “Rowan”, the last word he had left.
Hannah leapt out of her reverie as a miniature grandfather clock struck eight. “I’m going to be late!” she cried in a voice that was only slightly flustered, and she crossed the table to catch Alexander in a quick one-armed hug. “Don’t take any shortcuts to school, be on your best behavior, and call me if you need anything” she panted. She bent to deliver a peck of a kiss to Alexander’s forehead, but missed her mark and ended up with strands of pillowy, golden brown hair on her lips. As she snatched up her equipment and dashed for the door, she got a rare treat. Behind her, she heard her unfortunate young charge clearly trying to hold back laughter. It sounded no better than a faint whisper, but that didn’t matter. Her heart seemed to swell, and she dropped the dark leather relic of a nurse’s bag she carried and rushed to his side. Moments later she was tickling him without mercy and his expression had become a vision of rapturous joy. But soon, her eyes fell to the carrying case she had discarded and she broke into a sort of stooping run in order to swipe it up without losing time. “Have a nice day Alexander!” she called as she tore the front door open, and in a moment, she was gone.
Joy quickly fled Alexander’s face. His forced silence had made his world seem far emptier than it was. He hated to be alone with his memories of the night before, and the thought of vipers and spirals almost made him eager to get to school. Almost. Most people think of school as a place to learn and make friends. They assume it’s a controlled environment where children can foster friendships and work together in peace. Alexander knew better. His school was a waking nightmare. For years, Alexander had attended Sunrise Elementary School with only one goal in mind: to someday make a friend. Instead, his days were spent dodging hordes of bullies, and something much fouler.
He rose slowly from his seat, almost collapsing one of the shaky, wooden legs. A moment later he was in the apartment’s tiny kitchen staring at peeling custard-colored paint as he rinsed his cereal bowl. The floor beneath him became wet almost immediately and Alexander made a note to mention the leaky pipes that evening. Then memory hit him like a furious wind and he wiped his hands and, fishing a small notepad from his pocket, tore out a sheet and scrawled a note. He stuck it on their ancient refrigerator on his way back to the dining room and snatched up the small book bag Hannah had placed there earlier. With a heave the bag was slung across his shoulder and he stepped into the hall to begin his march toward another day of unmitigated suffering.
The hallways of the Jennings Apartment Complex were badly lit. Every so often a fluorescent light that seemed to be flickering through its last throes provided just enough of a beam to see by. Several of these beacons were missing their covers and sported stained and discolored bulbs. Halfway across this gloom, Alexander passed a woman whose skin had grayed with age. She stood before her door in a stained lace nightgown, a ratty pink housecoat, and bunny slippers with missing ears. Her hair was one ghastly shock of white, and her eyes bored into the child with bare hatred. “S’help me I’mma git your screaming behind outta this place one day!” she called after him. “Ever’ morning’s the same thing. C’mere boy lemme beat all that hollerin outta ya.” She screamed hoarsely and dived after Alexander in a tipsy little shuffle but by then he had reached the stairwell. Without a word, he dived inside and both of them knew the old woman stood no chance of catching him. She continued to stand in the hall grumbling ferociously to herself.
“Old” Dottie Jenkins wasn’t the only neighbor with complaints about Alexander’s nightmares. Indeed, just a week ago, the landlord had arrived to threaten Hannah with eviction citing thirteen complaints of “intolerably disruptive noise”. It had taken an hour of garnering sympathy for Alexander to keep from being thrown into the street. As he marched down the Spartan staircase, his miserable sentiments were joined by guilt. Someday the two of them would end up sleeping in Arcadia Park, across from the school, and it would be entirely his fault. With a deep sigh he shoved the heavy door before him and emerged in a deceptively elegant lobby.
The road to Sunrise was easy and painless for most. As one came out of the apartment, he would turn right and walk straight for about four blocks. He’d pass another three-story apartment complex, the middle school, and the police station on his right, and the dry cleaners, a Chinese carry-out and a mini-mart on his left. At the police station, he’d simply cross the street to the library and turn right to arrive at the entrance to the school’s playground. But, for Alexander, things were never simple. His route would begin at the edge of the wood that bordered the parking lot behind the apartments. Here he parted waves of overhanging branches whose leaves shielded the entrance like a curtain. The path beyond was shaded by a canopy of impressive oak trees and Alexander entered the cool darkness with a sense of relief. With the grace of an expert, he stepped past barely visible barbs and brambles, glancing to his right every few moments to make sure he wasn’t lost. A cacophony of insects chirped out of sight just as Alexander spotted a small stream to his right. At once, he became fiercely alert. Now came the most difficult part of his chosen route. The trees became denser and the path narrower. Soon the wood had become a solid wall on Alexander’s left. The child shook badly as the road began to rise sharply but he managed to reign in his growing panic. When Alexander finally stood eight feet above the rocky stream with nothing to hold on to, he began crying silently, filled with a heavy anger. At any moment, he could slip from this narrow perch and shatter the bones in his body, or drown beneath the muddy water. Children throughout the Jennings Apartments had been warned against it time and again, with horrid stories of unwary children’s disappearances and much harsher disciplines, but Alexander had no choice. For him, the easy way was barred.
Fear is not always an easy lesson to learn. Quite often, pride and ego interfere with what should be an incredibly simple judgment. Thus, Alexander had borne the perils of the normal route for a year before it finally sank in. Each morning, he had dashed across the sidewalks, dodging a clandestine hail of sharp rocks hurled with a sniper’s accuracy. More than once, they had scarred his arms and lodged in his head, leaving bloody craters. Hannah, the local police, and Amanda Phillips, Sunrise’s principal, had tried to discover the culprits but their efforts proved to be in vain and were rendered unnecessary when Alexander discovered his perilous new route. The rocks were followed by merciless taunting and spiteful attacks, but Alexander showed up every morning just the same. He believed it his right to be able to choose a route to school and he did not intend to let himself be deterred by bullies. Then, one cold December morning, Alexander learned his lesson.
That morning, like many before it, Hannah had left for work in a fit of hysterical tears. Between her immense workload, the nightmares, and his endless silence, she was slowly losing control of her emotions. Seeing his only guardian in such a state had branded Alexander with guilt, and on the walk to Sunrise, his heart seemed to slip toward his shoes. The wind was a menace and slashed Alexander’s peach-like skin until his eyes watered with pain. And it was in the teary blur and stinging wind that he saw it. At once his heart tried to rip a hole in his chest. His entire body quaked savagely and feral instincts screamed within his mind. Acid seemed to swell like a geyser in his chest, and he vomited loudly as his legs gave up the ghost. He tried to call out for help and was rewarded with such miserable pain that his face twisted in anguish and he slammed his fist into the ground. Before him lay a pretty girl his own age sporting crisp blue eyes and auburn hair. She wore a navy-blue and white dress woven with lace and covered in elegant images of hummingbirds. She lay in the cold unmoving, and covered in wide gashes and a sickly gray-red blood. Rats were perched all around her, slowly gnawing at every available surface. Alexander had begun to back away in craven fear when two of the rats leapt at him like small missiles. He had passed out from sheer terror then and ever since, he’d been balancing between a wall of trees and a steep fall.
Just as the path became so narrow that Alexander had to shuffle his feet to keep from falling, it swept to the left through a gap in the trees. “Finally!” Alexander thought, and carefully followed the road uphill to its destination: Arcadia Park. Verdant fields and crisp blue skies greeted anyone lucky enough to visit the aptly named playground. It contained an exercise center, a baseball diamond, a basketball court, picnic areas, and all the standard playground equipment a kid could ask for. Even the terrifying memory of a nameless little girl could not dampen the sheer joy the park inspired in children everywhere. Alexander’s guilt and terror vanished without a trace and the only weight he was carrying now lay in his book bag. He was tempted to stay here all day. After all, he would be home long before Hannah was and she’d never know a thing. It was also quite certain that the happiness he felt would evaporate the moment he set foot in Sunrise. A day in the park would have been a dream come true but Alexander marched resolutely toward the park’s proper entrance. For all its woes, he knew Sunrise held something so wonderful it put even Arcadia’s wonders to shame.
Sunrise and Arcadia Park were bisected by a dead end street placed there primarily to funnel traffic into the Miriam City Library parking lot beside the school. Alexander crossed at a solemn pace that might have been dangerous if more people read on Monday mornings. On the other side a wild collection of trees bordered a walkway comprised of wide, wooden steps. Alexander took these to the fence that marked the end of Sunrise’s play area, and with a sigh, he marched across the low cut grass toward the four-story nightmare ahead.
Inside Alexander marched past the morning and afternoon kindergarten classes, which were plastered with wild sketches and macaroni art. The pictures conjured unpleasant memories of solitude and loneliness. Ignoring a returning feeling of hopeless sorrow, he started up the green, carpeted ramps that led to each bank of classrooms. At Sunrise, each grade had four classrooms. Each room was designed to hold twenty-eight children, but sometimes, thirty or more were accepted. Alexander crossed the ramp that led to the school’s third grade bank and entered the second classroom on the left.
The second the door shut behind him, Alexander dived for his cubby and deposited his heavy book bag. From the top shelf, he procured a thick but functional pair of glasses and lovingly put them on. Since the rock attacks had begun, Alexander made a habit of leaving his glasses in his cubby where they were safe from damage. He meant to find a seat in front of the classroom’s three octagonal tables, but as he turned, a fist caught him in the stomach. “Hello, Mouse” said his attacker, in a crisp English accent. Alexander folded over in pain, eyes watering behind his glasses. He recognized the faded blue jeans of April Rainer, a vicious brat who had bullied Alexander since the first grade. “I should have stayed at the park” he thought bitterly. But it was too late for regrets so Alexander tried to stand and face his foe. “Oh no you don’t” April cried, and with a swift motion, she caught his woolly hair in her hands. April yanked with all her might, her brow furrowing with the effort. At once, Alexander was rocked by mindless pain. For such a small girl, April’s grip was like a vice, and Alexander was sure he’d be bald if he didn’t react soon. His face grew red as he struggled against what felt like walls of scalding air. He commanded his arms to move and they did so very gradually, as if they were suddenly weighted with lead. After what seemed like eternities, his hands were finally in position and he caught April’s wrist with all the force he could muster. A tug of war commenced with Alexander pulling toward himself and trying to free his hair, and April unrelentingly resisting. The pain in Alexander’s head had now past unbearable and he began to kick and squirm violently, as if he were being electrocuted. April smiled down at him pitilessly. “Gonna squeak, Mouse?” she teased. In response, Alexander forced all of his will into a punch and caught April in her jaw. April flew back in disbelief, releasing her captive more from shock than anything else. One of the reasons April loved to tease Alexander was that he could be counted on never to fight back. Alexander did not observe the outrage on her face as he fell to the floor in a heap. The migraine marching across his mind like a conquering army was far too great. April, however, was up in a flash and ready to take revenge for her aching jaw. Without a second thought, she landed a stellar kick in Alexander’s stomach. Fire swelled hatefully in his chest as every ounce of air spewed out of his body. “That’s what you get for punching me!” she cried victoriously. And with a venomous glare, she turned to leave.
By this time, Alexander’s classmates began to flock to the source of the commotion. This was unfortunate for April because as she took her first step, Alexander pulled her ankle with enough force to cause her to trip. April yelped in surprise and was soon surrounded by her mirthful peers. At the head of the pack was the rust haired “Wild” Bill Wildre. Bill was a legend at Sunrise. His aptitude for troublemaking had won him many allies and followers. Rumor had it that during his first weeks in kindergarten, he was suspended twice for attempting to make fireballs with paper and matches. As time passed, his antics grew in scale and creativity so that one occasion the school had to be evacuated. Bill stared at Alexander with a mischievous grin etched upon his face. As their eyes met, Alexander tensed visibly and struggled to gain his feet. But Bill leaned in with the blinding speed of a hawk and snatched Alexander’s glasses from his face in one smooth motion. “You wont be needing these” Bill laughed, waving the thick, metal frames in the air, “so I’ll just get rid of them for you”. The class broke into a raucous laughter as Bill danced away with Alexander’s most beloved possession. Hannah bought the glasses two years ago as a Christmas present. Alexander knew she had pawned much of the little jewelry she had to afford it, and he had always treasured them. Soft cases and gentle pockets had thus far kept the heavy frames in one piece, but now they had graced the palms of Sunrise’s most destructive student.
A mix of rage and fear exploded in Alexander’s eyes as he leapt after the menace, all pain forgotten. April was just getting to her feet, deep hatred carved beneath her eyes, when Alexander shot by her, “accidentally” sending her to the ground for the third time. “You’ll never catch me” Bill laughed coolly. He dived expertly through the rapidly increasing throng of students. Every few moments, the door would open and Bill would have more people to hide behind. He thought Alexander would give up after a few minutes but he pursued his glasses single-mindedly. “Give it up!” Bill crowed as he ducked past a gaggle of his classmates. The hellion laughed triumphantly in a way that made one think of an evil Peter Pan. But his celebrations were short lived, for at that moment, he began juggling the glasses haphazardly while laughing like a maniac. He had forgotten to watch where he was going and when Alexander leapt at him, quite enraged by now, Bill dove right…and into Molly Hall. Molly was a legend in her own right. Somewhere beneath her peach-toned oval face, the soft clusters of freckles, and the long and unruly brown hair that framed it all was one of Sunrise’s sharpest intellects. Few could hope to equal her impressive feats of academic prowess, from mastering division in mere moments to deciphering the cryptic puzzles they were often given to improve critical thinking. She was usually quiet and often shy but, unlike Alexander, few dared to hassle her very often. Unlike Alexander, Molly understood revenge. When Bill realized who he had run into, he shook badly, and the glasses flew from his hand. “Why the hurry?” Molly asked as they skittered across the floor. Alexander shot past the pair and searched the room with his eyes, desperately trying to locate his glasses. But his efforts were suddenly rendered pointless by the sickening crunch of glass ground sadistically beneath a high-top sneaker. The laughter that had permeated the classroom died suddenly. It was replaced by April’s triumphant yawp as she continued to stomp the tangled mess beneath her feet. Molly’s normally morose features registered shock at the hateful glee in her classmate’s dancing eyes as Alexander folded to the ground like a marionette. Flaring pain returned to lick at his bones and his head felt as if it might explode. A rapidly constricting chest forcefully expelled the air in his lungs but he crawled toward his enemy, determined to cause her an equal amount of pain.
Bill surveyed the chaos he had begun and laughed heartily. Smashing Alexander’s glasses had been exactly what he had in mind. Now that April had done it for him, she would be punished and he would be free to plan more chaos. But Molly had other plans. Her hand flew across Bill’s face with the agility and precision of an expertly cracked whip. She followed this with the most effective knee to the stomach he had ever gotten from a little girl in a plain, brown dress. Bill crumpled to the floor as Alexander had, and with a final kick to his legs, Molly dived after Alexander and caught him around his middle. “Stop struggling!” she said patiently as he tried to shake himself loose from her, “you’ve been hurt enough today. Trying to fight April won’t fix your glasses!” Alexander knew this, but he didn’t care. He fought Molly with all the indignation and fury he possessed. For years, April had been asking for the vicious beating he longed to deliver at this moment, and now she would receive it, if Molly would only let him go. But it was useless. The little girl braided her fingers together and dug her feet into the ground. Her face twisted with determination, she tethered Alexander with all her might.
April took full advantage of the situation. Still crushing the broken heap that had once been Alexander’s glasses, she called out to him in what she meant to be a sugary voice, but what sounded to Alexander like a mosquito drowning in vinegar. “Gonna hit me again, Mouse? Or is your little girlfriend going to do it?” At this, laughter crept back into the classroom and Molly’s face grew hot and prickly, though whether this was cased by April’s remarks or the physical strain of pinning an eight year old boy was hard to tell. But before either of them could respond, the door opened once more.
A teacher who genuinely enjoys her work is a very rare thing indeed. Many children will pass through the education system like wayward orphans, without ever having seen one of these marvels. But such a wonder had just stepped foot in Alexander’s classroom. Ms. Washington scanned the room expertly. She sported deep forest green eyes that shone like lighthouse beacons upon the slightest sign of trouble. More than a decade of teaching had honed her senses beyond those of what she liked to call the “civilian population”. Long, crinkled tresses of soft auburn hair swept behind her as she dashed to the spot where Bill still laid mumbling into the carpet. She was kneeling to help the troublemaker to his feet when she noticed April who, despite having seen her teacher, continued to mash Alexander’s glasses defiantly. Ms. Washington’s face, normally a mesmerizing caramel oval, began to fissure with anger. She regained her full height, a feat that never failed to impress, and smoothed the wrinkles in the plain blue dress she was fond of wearing. The laughter she had heard on the way in had stopped short, and when she looked about instinctively, guilty faces were all that greeted her.
“Good morning, class” she began in her usual musically soft voice, “would anyone care to explain what’s going on here?” At the sound of her voice, Alexander turned his head so quickly that Molly was thrown off balance, and she fell aside unnoticed. He felt his skin warm as he craned his neck to see her better, and despite all his troubles, he smiled. Ms. Washington’s offer got no takers so she glided elegantly toward April with a mischievous smile on her face, determined to solve the mystery on her own. “Ms. Rainer” she said sweetly as Molly pushed herself into a sitting position, “we do our best to keep this classroom clean. What are you grinding into the carpet?” April was not the least bit afraid of her teacher. In fact, given the circumstances, she was surprised Ms. Washington wasn’t terrified of her. Nevertheless, she removed her foot from the shards of glass and twisted metal, laughing wickedly. “Those were Alexander’s glasses. Now they’re rubbish.” Ms. Washington’s voice became even as Molly finally got to her feet, eyes lit with anger. “And why would you break someone else’s property?” the teacher asked, and at that moment a curious thing happened. April’s laughed again but this time it sounded like a soft, sinister whisper. She stepped closer to Ms. Washington and tapped the teacher’s nose with an index finger. Alexander had moved into a sitting position behind his teacher, his focus, immovable. “Curiosity killed the cat” April replied in savage undertones, “remember the maid in the garden.” Ms. Washington gave her pupil a blank look. What on earth is…” But before she could finish, April caught her nose in a heavy pinch. Ms. Washington gritted her teeth against the surprising pain and muttered something in a slightly nasal voice. Alexander didn’t hear her the first time, so he cupped his ear as she repeated herself. He distinctly heard his teacher mumble “your little friends don’t scare me.”



“Class” Ms. Washington began her voice still slightly irregular, “this is the new student I promised the last time we met. Had it not been for certain interruptions” here she glanced sternly at Bill, “we might have had time to let her introduce herself. As things stand, we do not. This is Judith Miller from Washington, DC. Due to a family emergency” a nearly imperceptible scowl crossed her face, “she will be living with me. I hope” she said with conviction, “that she doesn’t follow the example of people like Ms. Rainer.” She paused for breath. “I would not appreciate having to sentence my niece to a week’s detention. With no chance of recess” she finished with emphasis.
The students eyed their new compatriot as she took her seat at the middle octagonal table. Ms. Washington’s seating arrangement “coincidentally” placed her between Molly and Alexander, the students least likely to bother her. Normally, April’s devilish eyes would be boring through her flesh, looking for weaknesses, but the little hellion would spend the rest of the morning in the Principal's office glaring at twisted metal and broken glass. “Alright class” Ms. Washington began, “this morning, we are going to learn to divide larger numbers.” She ignored several rather dramatic groans and continued. “If everyone would kindly open their workbooks, we’ll see if we can solve the problems on the board.” Alexander wasn’t paying the slightest attention to the problems on the board. His eyes wee locked on his teacher’s face as surely as the sights of an expert sniper. She continued to instruct the class, but all he heard was a sleepy, wafting lullaby. Forgotten were his anger, the pain of April’s attacks, and even the loss of his precious glasses. His mind was consumed with the wonder before him and he was suddenly grateful he had not remained at the park.
Beside him, Judith leaned over her workbook, scribbling furiously. Like her aunt, she wore a crown of auburn hair. Her eyes, shielded by a small pair of royal blue box-frames, shone in a lighter, more playful shade of green, like grass on a playground. Her small hand blazed across the page, making notes, working through calculations, but mostly, violently erasing. She began mumbling to herself about columns and places until Molly looked up from her work. “Calm down” she advised quietly, “or you’ll ignite the page. It’s only your first day. Besides” she said, leaning over to blow Judith’s eraser crumbs away, “if you keep that up you’ll never find your work.” Judith looked up at Molly and smiled sweetly. “It doesn’t matter” she laughed, “I may never understand how all this works. Move the two, carry the three, for goodness’ sake am I a student or a juggler?” Molly giggled loudly, something she rarely did at any volume. At once, several people at the table looked up and Molly dived into her work in case Ms. Washington had heard. She hadn’t. If Molly had glanced at her teacher, she might have noticed that the woman’s face was furrowed with thought. A rather thorny problem was weighing on her mind and she was tearing though it for a solution. An hour ago, when April had her by the nose, she had felt indignant and angry. Then she had truly believed that April could not frighten her. Now, surrounded by over two dozen scratching pencils, she wondered how the child’s “little friends” would react to their companion’s punishment.
Judith noticed that Alexander still hadn’t even opened his workbook. She tapped his shoulder several times but Alexander barely noticed. His mind was lying on the cushion of springy grasses Arcadia Park was famous for, offering his bemused teacher Earl Grey in a china cup decorated with violets. When Molly saw what Judith was up to, she frowned slightly and asked “what are you doing?” in the loudest whisper she could safely muster. “Well, it’s kind of odd he hasn’t written anything yet” Judith replied quietly, “and I wanted to ask him about it.” Molly sighed heavily as she turned to Alexander, still plainly staring at Ms. Washington. She meant to tell Judith to focus on her own work, that what other students did or did not do was none of her concern, but she didn’t truly feel that way. Truly, she felt an acute, grasping annoyance she couldn’t account for. She skillfully targeted his earlobe with a swift, effective pinch. Seconds later, Alexander was staring dead at her, outrage on every line of his face. For the first time his pencil tore forcefully at the paper before him, and Judith struggled not to laugh. “He hates when I do that” Molly whispered, satisfied, and without another word, she snatched up her pencil once more. Alexander worked bitterly, robbed of his only peaceful dreams, and when Edwin Cole threw a spitball at him, as he usually did, Alexander reached across the table and jammed the graphite into the back of his classmate’s hand.
“Annnnd” Ms. Washington called to her students, “pencils down. Let’s see who remembers Friday’s lesson. Lucy?” she said, pointing to a short, blond girl with puddles for eyes and a sharp nose, “what did you get for the first problem?” Somewhere at the third table, the tiny girl shook her head, nodded, looked in every direction, shook her head, wiped her eyes, and answered “six thousand n-n-nine?” in a voice that began as a high squeak and slowly died. Ms. Washington nodded gently and Lucy almost melted from relief. “Edwin, what’s the answer to the second one?” As her aunt continued to quiz the class, Judith’s attention began to wane. Out of boredom, she tapped Alexander on his shoulder. On Saturday, when Judith had arrived at her aunt’s, a bundle of tears, Ms. Washington had registered her for Sunrise. The thoughtful teacher had also introduced her niece to a fascinating topic: a student incapable of speech. Her interest had been sparked all weekend, and now she intended to witness the spectacle herself. She tapped a second time and Alexander’s hand immediately flew to the ear Molly had pinched moments before. “I’m not gonna pinch you” Judith laughed when Alexander turned to glare darkly at her. “Yes you will” interjected a dark-skinned boy without looking up from the problems he was checking, “everyone does something to Alexander.” Right on cue, Edwin prepared to fire another spitball but Judith moved her hand to block the projectile’s path. “I just want to say hi” she insisted. Alexander waved hello in response, but eyed her suspiciously.
Judith was hurt. She didn’t know why but it hurt a lot that Alexander had already taken her for a bully. Perhaps if Ms. Washington had made her niece aware of the sheer volume of bullies at Sunrise, she might have felt better. As it was Judith felt she had been done an injustice and resolved to prove herself unworthy of the title. “Jonathan” Ms. Washington called, but before she could ask, the dark-skinned boy called out, “three hundred seventy times one hundred twenty equals forty four thousand four hundred.” “Is he right Alexander?” Judith asked, hoping for some response. Alexander looked up at her, surprised, and nodded. He pointed to the number, engraved halfway down his workbook page, and began to turn away from her. Judith sighed. “You’d think I was poison” she grumbled audibly. Molly uttered something unintelligible in reply. “You’re gonna pinch him aren’t you?” Jonathan asked knowingly. In a huff, Judith punched him in the arm.

“You were what?” the shadow asked coldly, glaring from its side of the table. It was lunchtime at Sunrise and, since no punishment devised by the school could legally prevent it, April had rejoined her compatriots in the All-Purpose Room. The room was just a massive area of space that, as the name stated, could be used for whatever purpose the principal dreamed up. When it was used as the school cafeteria, it featured row upon row of cold, splintery, white picnic tables, and two streams of red tape on the stained marble floor clearly marking the line for food. April sat before one of the uncomfortable tables and quivered noticeably. Her expression, normally featuring a fierce cunning, was now pale, devoid of the faintest sign of courage. Though the room was brightly lit by clusters of fluorescent lights, she faced what was undeniably a veil of darkness. It was a grim and imposing shadow, and it belonged to a peculiarly dark-hearted little girl. Helen Greywiche had arrived at Sunrise about three years ago, a morose, silent, antisocial individual. Since then, a collection of morbid and sinister rumors accompanied her rise to prominence among Sunrise’s troubled students. As she sat before this awful figure, April could not help recalling these frightful whispers, and soon her eyes were widening in sheer terror.
Helen glared at the bundle of nerves across from her and laughed dryly. “I have warned you before to carry out your assignments with more stealth.” She leaned over slowly, her darting red eyes burning like hot coals, “now you will just have to convince her otherwise.” Helen caught the front of April’s shirt in one of her chalk-white hands. “You serve no purpose in detention” she growled quietly, “do you understand?” At her final word, Helen traced one of her fingernails along April’s throat. At once, her world disappeared, replaced by her own deafening screams. April felt blood run down her neck in rivers but passers-by saw and heard nothing but two girls having a conversation. Artic winds tore at April’s skin and she felt the table beneath her crumble into dust. Her hands shot out, instinctively trying to find something to hold on to. “LILITH!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, and her tormentor, still gripping April’s shirt, replied with a cold laugh. Darkness enveloped the spirit that had burned so brightly that morning.

No one wondered what April was yelling about, for none heard her cries. From where Molly sat, eyeing her with unbridled hatred, the girl was simply having a chat, although she shook a little more than usual. Molly turned back to the mysterious, unappetizing dish the school had provided for her. It had looked like an egg roll when it was placed in her tray, but when she cut it open using the badly designed “spork” she had been given, she found it contained grayish tuna slathered with American cheese. She wasn’t interested. Sighing, she looked up from her tray, meaning to ask Alexander for something from the lunch he always brought from home. But Alexander was not in his usual seat, across from her. Instead she met a pair of playful green eyes.
Judith wasn’t eating. She had been scrawling something on a piece of paper, and she folded it into a neat square and slid it to her right. Alexander feigned disinterest in the offering until Judith moved to slide it closer. At once, Alexander deftly swept up the note, moving his ear out of her reach. “Ugh!” Judith groaned, frustrated, “she pinched you, not me.” And for effect, she pointed dramatically at Molly. Ignoring her, Molly turned in her seat to face Alexander. “She” Molly said, mimicking Judith’s tone, “saved you from turning in nothing this morning and thinks half a sandwich is a good reward.” At the mention of the morning’s work Alexander turned away to hide a hot blush. He was certain Molly had seen where he’d been looking and he quickly divided his sandwich, hoping to change the subject.
“How come he listens to you?” Judith asked, her note still unopened. Here she had gone to all the trouble of thinking of a way they could “talk” and he was still trying to brush her off. Judith wondered why it even mattered to her. Usually when people were rude, Judith was adept at telling them so, and leaving. This time though, she couldn’t convince herself to just walk away. And it was beginning to bother her.
Nearby, somewhere on her left, came a lazy yawn of a reply. “He listens to her cause she’s the only one who’ll go near him. Can’t stand the smell myself.” All three looked up and saw Bill Wildre lazily munching a candy apple. At once, Alexander snatched up Judith’s note and for one awful moment, she was afraid he’d rip it in twain. But he threw it down at the last second and fished out the rumpled notepad he had used that morning. His hand raced across the small page with blinding speed before tearing out the sheet and handing it to Judith. She had to squint to read the messy scrawl but when she made it out, a smile crossed her lips. She handed the slip of paper to Bill who, after greedily devouring the remaining apple, dramatically covered his hand with his sleeve before accepting it. “And just what color were those sleeves when you bought them?” Molly interjected. Bill gave one sleeve a fleeting glance and returned to his note. Molly looked smug. When he had purchased the shirt about a week ago the sleeves had been off-white. Now they were a dingy gray and covered in small black balls of lint. Bill had no trouble reading the single word printed in the center: INVICTUS. “What’s in-vyct-hus?” he asked the room. “Give me that!” Molly cried, and snatched the note in exasperation. “It’s Latin” she remarked after a moment. “It means “unconquered”. Her eyes caught the words that had made Judith smile. “Good morning” was wedged in a corner of the sheet. Molly sighed. Alexander was tired of being lonely.

“Some are born for recess, some achieve recess and some have recess thrust upon them” Amelia Dickinson stood atop of the “twisty slide” shouting her wisdom like a forgotten queen. Most of it was sound and fury, signifying boredom. When her hair wasn’t whipping across her eyes, she could see Alvin Eldridge leading a pack of unidentifiable classmates in an out of a football shaped jungle gym. Behind her, children scuttled nimbly up cargo nets, spun down sliding poles, and swung across the monkey bars, completely contented with their limited freedom. Halfway across the oft-trampled grasses that made up Sunrise’s playground a lazy game of soccer was coming to an end. A rotund, hoary and liver spotted bald man ran amongst the students shouting out directions. Despite his appearance Coach McGregor was a formidable athlete, something he demonstrated with a fierce kick of the soccer ball in mid run. “That”, he cried as the sphere appeared to sail into the clouds, “is what a real kick looks like!”
Beyond the field, at the playground’s furthest edge there stood a massive creation that was called a tree simply because no other term would adequately describe it. At least forty tall, it towered into the clear, blue, sky. Yet unlike most trees, its branches spread out, like an overlarge bush, and draped down, concealing the first two thirds of the trunk. The last third was sealed from view by an overgrowth of brambles and thorny bushes that skirted the tree like the moats that safeguarded old English castles. These plants had yet to yield to pruning of any sort and their wild strength had been the death of several saws and other cutting tools. It was here, in this natural fort, that Alexander now lay reclined. High in its branches he gazed at what little sky could be seen through the wall of leaves, and pondered Judith’s note. He had been fascinated with the impossibly beautiful tree since his arrival at Sunrise but it had taken a month of recesses to discover an entrance through the curtain of thorny branches woven into the fence that marked the playground’s end. On that day, he carefully stepped into the dark world he called “Cradle”, and had hidden there ever since. He squinted to see a few defiant beams of sunlight penetrate the thick canopy. This forced his missing glasses back into his mind, but no anger came with the bitter recollection.  Cradle was a safe haven, another realm in which there were no dire dreams, horrid visions or heartless foes. There was only semi-darkness and cool shade. It seemed as if Nature itself would not permit his rage, so the thought merely swirled lazily in his mind, like an autumn leaf caught in a wind.
“Besides”, some inner voice counseled, “there are more important thoughts.” Like the words in her note. Judith had made a request Alexander had never seen in writing before. In fact, he had never heard it spoken either. Not even Molly had made such an offer, though she, unlike many, could often be found near him. In simple but neat manuscript, the note read “I want to be your friend.” Below this was a surprisingly well done sketch of the benches on the blacktop near the school’s side entrance. One of them was normally occupied by Emma Prescott, a bespectacled young teaching assistant, but the drawing showed Judith sitting alone, patiently waiting.
Could he trust her? A similar situation had occurred only a year ago. An innocent looking fourth grader named Ellen had promised him a kiss if he would only follow her to the edge of the park once school ended. Alexander had been certain something terrible would happen but curiosity had driven him to go anyway. He had hoped this “Ellen” person would become his friend, and give him the kind of protection only a fourth grader could provide, but instead…
Still, his home was a lonely place where few people could stand him, as was his school, and Alexander was tired of solitude. Even the slimmest chance that he might one day have a friend who would call him so in broad daylight had to be taken. He slid to the ground with practiced ease and stepped beyond his Cradle, wincing as the full sunlight hammered his eyes. He hadn’t taken twelve steps when a blood chilling scream rang across the playground. Several heads turned as the horrible cry resounded and a few had located its source. Alexander rarely ran. Even when faced with a hail of small stones Alexander had merely quickened his pace. But at this moment he launched himself toward the blacktop with the force of a cannon. His sprints became a series of leaps and turns over and around all that crossed his path. In his mind, Ms. Washington’s words echoed uncertainly: “your little friends don’t scare me. “
By the time he reached it, the blacktop was enfolded in a ring of curious students. The screams were louder now, mercilessly spearing his eardrums, and at last, Ms. Prescott was coming to investigate, clutching a thin romance novel. Alexander shoved madly through the crowd, struggling against arms that meant to block his progress, and legs that thought to imperil his health. Finally, he emerged and beheld, in the ring’s center, the only person ever to ask for his friendship. Judith Miller writhed on the ground shrieking in pain every few seconds. Both her eyes had been blackened by violence, and her nose ran with blood. Her glasses were furrowed with cracks and fractures and had been tossed several feet away. Some of her hair had been cut away viciously, and wisps of it clung to the sturdy brown dress she wore, which despite their location was marred with streaks of dirt. Tears streamed from sickly purple veils as Alexander finally reached her. He took her in his arms, tears and blood, cascading down his shirt, and tried to say something comforting. Instantly, his throat was on fire and he clamped his mouth shut so fast he savagely bit his lip. Alexander couldn’t understand how his classmates could watch someone do this without interfering. How could anyone be so callous and hateful as to allow this to happen? But at that moment, Judith’s eyes widened in recognition, and she forced herself to compose enough breath for one last word: “April”.

“I