Excerpt: The Sivarta

"When you're finished with your test, turn it in to my desk and then you're free to leave."

Christopher Phillips nodded to himself at the teacher's words and picked up his yellow number two pencil, freshly sharpened just for this test. He had studied very hard and thought he was ready for it. He had picked up most of the material during the class discussions anyway, but there were always things he might have missed along the way.

He flipped the paper over, surprised to find a single question on the page. A rustling murmur went through the classroom, telling him everyone else had received a similar shock. He glanced up at Miss Spencer and saw her suppressing her glowing smile.

The question was an essay question, but it had nothing to do with the history they had been discussing all week. It was simply: "What are you planning to do with your summer vacation?" This wasn't the kind of last day of school test he had expected. This was more of a first day of school oral assignment. Still, if this was the question she wanted to ask, he would answer it to the best of his ability. That was what his father expected of him, so that was what he had to do.

He put pencil to paper and began to write. Although he had no specific plans, other than the summer camp Miss Spencer had helped him get into, he wrote for a very long time. He made a few things up, because the truth wasn't something he liked to think about until it reared its drunken head. He talked about the fabulous trips he wouldn't take, the sights he wouldn't see, the pictures he wouldn't take. The only true thing in the entire essay was his hopes for making friends at this camp where no one knew him. He could become anyone he wanted to, and no one would shove him for no reason. They wouldn't flush his head in the boys' room. They wouldn't extort lunch money from him in a protection racket they would then not follow through.

And out in the woods with these other kids, HE wouldn't be there.

He wrote more than he knew he needed to, filling up the entire space on the page and then three quarters of the other side. He heard the other students file out of the room as they finished, but he kept writing. Leaving early would only mean going home early, and Chris didn't really want to do that.

When at last he was out of things to make up, he put his pencil down. It made a sharp clack in the silence of the classroom. He slid the paper off the edge of the desk with a crisp rustle, and slowly made his way to Miss Spencer's desk. Since he sat in the front row, it wasn't much of a trip.

He placed the page face down atop the stack already there, his neat but still childish scrawl a stark contrast to the pristine condition of the one it replaced. When it seemed there was no other excuse to remain, he turned to retrieve his belongings and face the demon at home.

Miss Spencer's voice stopped him. "Chris, wait. I want to talk to you for a minute, if that's okay."

He turned back to her, hoping his relief didn't show on his face. "Yes, ma'am?"

She stood, coming around the desk to talk to him with no barriers between them, careful not to disturb the stack of test papers. The untidy pile was the only thing left on the surface, except for her planner, which she had been writing in while her kids took the test.

Her arms folded in front of her, she leaned against the desk. "Happy to be leaving here?" she asked him in an almost conversational tone, not that of a teacher who had just asked a student to stay in the room after everyone else had been allowed to leave.

"Well, no. Not really," he admitted. "I doubt Junior High will be any better for me than Grade School was." He suppressed a shudder at the thought of how much more cruel the next level of school mates was bound to be.

Miss Spencer nodded sympathetically. "I guess it's not easy, being in your situation."

"My... situation?" he asked, his hackles suddenly raised by her phrasing. She couldn't possibly know about--

"Bullies," she explained. "I'm a teacher, Chris. I notice things. Just today, Jack shoved you from behind and you nearly lost your grip on the stack of books you were bringing back here." She leaned forward and said in a conspiratorial whisper, "Between you and me, he got an actual essay question on the significance of the Boston Tea Party and how it led to the Revolution." She straightened back up. "I don't like bullies."

"Neither do I," he agreed, then thought of something. "Miss Spencer? Why did you get me into that summer camp, anyway?"

"Let's just say I think this camp will change your life," she answered mysteriously. "With the right skill set in place, you're going to make a great ruler one day."

Ruler? What the heck was she talking about? This was the United States in the 21st Century. Rulers were people who lived across the ocean, and a good number of them were really nothing more than figureheads.

"Suffice it to say that I think you'll finally find the place you belong," she continued. "You'll make new friends, and you'll share something with them that no one will ever be able to take away from you." She leaned forward again. "And I do mean no one."

Chris still had no idea what she was talking about, but he nodded. "Okay," was all he could think to say.

Miss Spencer smiled at him. "Believe me when I tell you that I wish I could fully explain what I'm saying, but you would never be able to understand it right now. And when you're able to understand, I won't be able to say anything. This will be my only chance to..." She couldn't seem to find the words.

A feeling started in the pit of his stomach, not entirely unlike the feeling he usually got just before one of the Troll Patrol rounded a corner and grabbed him by the collar to throw him around the hallway or yank him into the boys' room. Something was going on here, something not entirely on the up and up, but not something overtly dangerous. At least, not yet. She was trying hard not to tell him something he needed to know, but he had no idea what. And whatever it was, she thought it was important that he be aware, if not fully informed.

"May I go?" he asked, his voice shaking the same way it did around the Troll Patrol.

"Of course," she replied, shaking herself out of some kind of internal debate. "I'm sorry, yes... you may go. Have a wonderful summer, Chris."

"You too, Miss Spencer," he called back to her as he left her classroom. "Maybe I'll see you around town!"

As he left her line of sight, he put his back to the wall just outside her door and exhaled-- what, relief? No, not that, exactly, but he had to admit to himself that he was glad to be away from her piercing gaze. Miss Spencer was a nice teacher, but when she looked at him, sometimes it seemed that she wasn't looking at HIM, but some version of him only she could see. She had been getting that look when she called him a ruler, and it was definitely beginning to freak him out.

And in the classroom, he heard her say softly, probably not realizing he could still hear her, "A kind and just ruler some day."

That was all he needed to hear to know it was time to get home. If things were this weird at school, it was bound to be bad at home.