IA: Initiate (7 page)

Like the houses in the Exclave all of the middle schools were identical. Naz noticed that the long, ancient hallways of Lincoln, along with the lockers, lights, and doors that lined them, were a carbon copy of Trenton and Monticello, the last two schools that he had attended. The only difference was the school’s color scheme. There were also pictures, paintings, and plaques all over the walls, past and present heroes of the school. He looked at the floor under his feet and made out a large caricature of a pale, bearded man with a big head and an even larger axe in his hands.
Abraham Lincoln, the Railsplitter,
he thought. It was funny-looking to Naz. It made him smile for the first time since the stabbing occurred, and he knew everything would be OK. That’s when he looked up and saw—

CHAPTER NINE

AN ANGEL

Naz
saw her at the drinking fountain. She had thick, bushy, dark hair that was pulled back and gathered into a long ponytail. The nerdy glasses she wore did a poor job of disguising how beautiful she really was, at least that’s how Naz saw it. He felt he was going to suffocate, but it was a good feeling, one he had never experienced before. Just as in his dream and in the Exclave earlier that morning, things began to slow down. Then they were back, the voices. He’d never heard them twice in one day before, but the voices were the last thing on his mind right now.

“What are you looking at?”
said the voice.

Naz watched as the water from the drinking fountain bubbled up, hit her barely parted lips, and then cascaded back down. Then unexpectedly the water shot out of the fountain and hit her in her face. Composed, she stood up, looked at the fountain curiously, then with her hand she wrung the dripping water from her face. She turned and looked at him.

“What are you looking at?”
the voice said again.

His eyes were glued on her as he inhaled deeply but did not exhale. He thought his furiously pounding heart would stop, and he felt an unfamiliar stirring in his middle. Without hesitation, the girl walked toward him. He was like a deer frozen in the headlights of a speeding car.

“Well, don’t just stand there; say something,”
the voice said.

She walked right up to him, took his hand, and said, “Come with me.”

“Can you talk?”
the voice asked.

He was in a trance, and in an instant he finally understood what Samson must have felt for Delilah.

She led him down the hallway at a hurried pace, all the while holding his hand until they reached a door. It was there she stopped him by putting her hand on his chest. “I have to pee and I don’t want anyone to come in. Wait for me and knock on the door if someone comes,” she said, as she walked through the door of the girls’ bathroom.

Naz finally exhaled. He didn’t hear the voices anymore, but his thoughts were in overdrive.
What just happened?
he thought.
This has to be a dream
. But Naz always knew when he wasn’t dreaming, he just wasn’t always sure when he was, so he reasoned to himself he was definitely not dreaming.
What if somebody came by and saw me just standing here, waiting next to the girls’ bathroom?
he thought.
What would they think?
He was already on Fears’ bad side, and now he had been gone for what seemed like a long time. But he didn’t care. He wasn’t moving until she came back out of the bathroom. In his mind, that was his only assignment right now, and he was determined to do it well. Then, just as quickly as it all started, it suddenly ended.

“Thank you,” she said, as she rushed out of the bathroom, ran past him down the hall, and disappeared around another corridor.

Naz was stunned. The school bell rang startling him. Naz knew he and Fears were going to have a conversation—most likely a one-way conversation.

All summer long Naz heard stories of how Lincoln was one of the most popular middle schools in the Exclave, but he had no idea why. What he did notice was how every seat was filled in each of his classes, and now within a matter of seconds the hallways were jam-packed with people. There were students, as well as teachers, going in both directions. There were students lingering at their lockers. There were students still flowing out of classrooms. There seemed to be waves of students as far as the eye could see.
It was never like this at Trenton or Monticello,
Naz thought. He had also heard that students often lied about where they lived just so they could go to Lincoln.

Just then Naz saw, in the midst of the bustling students and teachers, head and shoulders above them all, Fears. He was hugging some students and shaking the hands of others. He even greeted fellow teachers as he slowly made his way down the packed hallway. Not only did he stand out in stature, but he had a voice that stood out as well. You could hear his thunderous voice above all the rest of the end-of-the-day noise and commotion. It was clear the same sovereignty and respect he commanded in the classroom reigned over the hallways of Lincoln. Moses parting the Red Sea came to Naz’s mind, as Fears moved ahead unfettered. Naz began to wonder if Fears himself had anything to do with the legendary fame of Lincoln Middle School.

Naz came up with an idea. He would walk by Fears with his head turned the other way and slouch down until he got back to the classroom. With any luck, the door would still be open, he could make off with his books, and then exit at the opposite end of the building. Naz figured the chances were good that the next day Fears would possibly never remember that he hadn’t come back before the bell rang. Naz hoped. He passed Fears, and the plan seemed to be going well—that is, until he heard the thunder.

“Andersen!” bellowed Fears. “You left your books in my room.”

Naz stopped dead in his tracks, stood erect, and turned to look at Fears. Fears continued to wade through the students going in the opposite direction, as if he’d never turned to see Naz. With that, Naz continued down the hallway shaking his head with a sheepish grin on his face and entered Fears’ classroom. Naz went to his desk and picked up the two textbooks he had been given earlier and a notebook. When he turned to leave, he noticed a composition notebook still on the desk of the boy with the spiky military haircut. He turned and glanced through the open door into the bustling hallway, then looked back at the notebook once more. He figured he had enough time to take a peek. He walked up to the desk while still glancing out the door. When he got to the desk, he didn’t touch the notebook, but angled his head so he could read the words on the cover.

H.Y.

AKA

Wordsmith

CHAPTER TEN

HARVIS

Wordsmith
, he thought,
what does that mean?
One more time Naz glanced out the open door. His curiosity got the best of him, and he threw caution to the wind and opened the notebook with his free hand, but
he still didn’t pick it up. To his amazement they weren’t class notes at all, but words—words on every line on every page it seemed. He continued to turn the pages, but there was nothing about health or any other school subject for that matter. And they weren’t just words, but possibly songs, poetry, or some type of code or cipher. He stopped and decided to read:

Too many atrocities being committed with extreme velocity

They’re steady choosing the corners instead of varsity

In describing our city, you could call it larceny

And have a strong point like archery

To look into the skies and see a halo with no glow

Is to look into my eyes and see an angel with no soul

A tough Exclave to escape

The best place is where they educate

So this is where one meditates

They dare to break focus when one concentrates

These hands I’m quick to demonstrate

No heat on this waist, just cold looks on this face

Nothing but coldness from this race, so boldness is our place

An exiled Young, Wordsmith, they wish to harness in darkness

But this image can’t be cropped ’cause this is the last harvest…

From out of nowhere the spiky-haired boy appeared. He came face-to-face with Naz, grabbing Naz’s wrist with one hand and slamming the book closed with the other. Naz now found himself in a face-off with the boy. He tried feebly to release himself from the boy’s hold on him, but it was futile. The boy’s grip remained extremely tight, and Naz knew if he wanted to break free, he would have to exert himself, and then a struggle would likely ensue. He decided to defuse the situation with some light humor.

“Take it easy, Robin; back up. Superman doesn’t have a sidekick,” he said jokingly. The boy didn’t say a word. His expression didn’t change, nor did his grip on Naz’s wrist. As Naz looked at the boy, he thought that he saw something, something in and around the boy’s eyes that reminded him of—himself. He also saw something even more familiar that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Like two boxers in a prizefight who’ve met at center ring, they stood toe-to-toe, locked in an intense, but familiar stare. Naz now saw a fight coming, and his smile faded to nothing. It had been a long day, and he’d had enough. Naz didn’t know if he himself could fight, but they were both about to test his abilities.

“Let ’em go, Harvis,” Fears said calmly, as he entered the room and sat in the chair behind his desk. The boy immediately let go of Naz’s wrist, while never taking his eye off Naz and never changing his expression. At the same time Naz turned to look at Fears.

“My guys, my guys,” Fears laughed. “Good to see you getting acquainted. Mr. Young takes his work seriously, Mr. Andersen … very seriously. Maybe you should, too.”

Naz looked back at Harvis and replied, “Yes, Mr. Fears.” Figuring that was his cue, Naz gathered himself and headed toward the door.

“And Mr. Andersen,” Fears called.

Naz turned in the doorway and noticed Harvis still staring at him.

“True vision goes beyond what the eye can see. If you ever want to talk about how you got that nice little trophy, you know where to find me,” finished Fears. He was obviously referring to the bandage on Naz’s neck, as he pointed to his own neck and then to Naz’s.

Naz nodded and continued out of the classroom.

Once outside, Naz blew a sigh of relief. As he walked, he scanned the different clusters of students that had congregated on the school grounds. He checked the time on his phone. He had a few minutes.
What was that all about,
he thought,
H.Y
.
, Harvis Young AKA Wordsmith? Just cold looks on my face,
he remembered reading.
Harvis got that right
, Naz thought—a cold look indeed, colder than any he had ever seen before, but again, familiar. Naz could still feel where Harvis had grabbed him round the wrist. He flexed his hand back and forth and then round and round without thinking about it. But his wrist wasn’t heavy on his mind; his mind was somewhere else, on something else. He was looking for something, someone. In his search, he ended up walking around the entire school.

In his realm of reality, surviving the first day of school meant he successfully made it through a whole day,
and what a day it had been!
he thought.

Naz couldn’t help but laugh when he noticed an extremely lanky boy from Fears’ class on his bike. Half standing and half sitting, he was trying frantically to hide his bicycle helmet before anyone could see it. He was trying to stuff it into a backpack that was already bursting at the seams. The boy wouldn’t have been so obvious, except that he was so freakishly tall, taller than any boy Naz could ever remember seeing—almost as tall as Fears himself.