School

Granger woke up with a start. He struggled to recognize where he was. He looked around, trying to regain his bearings. The desk in front of him seemed familiar… Yes, it was his desk. Then, he must be in his room, right? He scanned the space, looking for pointers. A series of markers reconciled him with his surroundings: his dirty clothes thrown on the chair, his books, his own bed. Everything started to look familiar again. The feeling in his body surfaced too. Granger noticed a kind of gentle caress on the side of his face, warm and cozy. He turned. A pale ray of morning light gushed through the window and spread over him like a blanket. He closed his eyes and let the light seep through his eyelids. The sense of time flowed back into him. He opened his eyes. It was morning, Monday morning.

“Granger, are you up!?” shouted his mom from the first floor.

Granger startled. “Coming!” he yelled back. 

He did not rush out of the bed, though. He turned over, instead, and stared at the ceiling. He felt strange, weird... What was the word? Disconcerted. Yeah, he felt disconcerted. Granger rolled the word over on his tongue, trying to savor its meaning, hoping it would bring insight into how he felt. It did not. It only reinforced that sense of vague uneasiness that weighed him down. There was something lurking somewhere inside him, he was sure. Yet, he did not know what or where exactly. He had a hunch the answer lay right beyond the wall of sleep. Something must have happened while he was sleeping"maybe a bad dream, a nightmare, he thought. He tried to remember. Only a vague reminiscence of something unpleasant, perhaps scary, came back to him. Nothing concrete, just a blur of vague feeling. He did not like that at all. He did not like being afraid of something he did not know. He did not like being afraid of something he knew either, for that matter, but this was worse. How could he fight what he did not even recognize? 

Granger shook himself. Enough! It must have been a bad dream, or whatever. It was over, now. He just wanted to get on with his life. Then, the thought of what Monday morning actually meant came back to him: School. Granger grunted. Oh, well… Being stuck in a classroom for five hours was not exactly how he wanted to spend his time, yet it was still better than wasting away in bed before a bogey.

“Granger, breakfast is getting cold. Come down!” called his mom from downstairs.

“Coming, I’m coming!”

Granger pulled back the bed sheets, threw on a sweater, and marched downstairs.

As he was descending, he suddenly realized his muscles hurt. He felt cold and rigid. The fact that the heat was off did not help the situation. As soon as he got to the bottom of the stairs, he grabbed one of his mom’s jackets and put it on.

“‘morning, mom!”

“Good morning, tiger. Did you sleep well?”

“Yeah,” lied Granger. He did not want to get into specifics, when he himself did not know exactly what was going on. 

“You’re cold?”

“Just a bit,” answered Granger in a croaky voice.

“Hmm…” Maddie frowned, but did not elaborate.

Granger flicked on an evasive smile and sat down. 

Maddie went back to the stove to get his breakfast. 

Granger knew what she wanted to say: he probably should not have sat all wet in the grass at sunset in March. True, but he did not regret an instant of it. He was happy to deal with a cold, if it came down to it, in exchange for the great moment he had. Maybe mom knew what he was thinking, because she did not say anything. Or, maybe, she shared the same appreciation for adventure he had"she did like to hear the recounts of his deeds, after all. Whatever the reason, she did not argue with him and Granger was thankful. It always felt like mom was on his side, that she understood him. He liked that a lot.

Granger shivered and hugged the jacket tighter. What he would also have really appreciated was if they had more money and could afford turning on the heating a bit more often. He hated having breakfast in the cold. The worst was feeling the freezing air seep through his clothes every time he lifted his arm to get a bite. Because of that, he always ended up eating too fast without realizing it. Every time he would find himself with a tight, heavy knot in his stomach, colder than when he started, and completely unsatisfied. It was a catastrophe. It totally spoiled the pleasure of eating the first meal of the day.

This morning wasn’t so bad, though: the oven was on and gentle waves of warmth ebbed and flowed toward him. Mom had somehow found time to bake an apple pie. The fragrance in the air was delicious. Mom’s apple pie was always excellent, so Granger was really looking forward to this breakfast.

Maddie handed him a generous portion of pie and put a steaming mug of hot milk in front of him. 

“Enjoy. I’ll finish feeding the horses.”

“Thanks mom,” said Granger with a smile. 

Maddie smiled back, threw on a jacket and walked out. 

Man, he did not envy her, thought Granger. Every morning, she woke up so early and started doing heavy work right from the start. A pang of anger toward his dad hit Granger. That was not fair. Mom was strong, but all that work was too much even for a man. She should not be treated that way. Mom was nice"she should have time to enjoy herself. Instead, all she did was working like a slave. If they could only be richer… 

Granger snorted. Right, as if just wishing would change anything. This was their life . It sucked. 

The sweet nutty fragrance of the pie wafted up to Granger’s nose. Granger let it distract him from his dark thoughts. He inhaled and the flavors warmed him, making his mouth water. He lowered his eyes and stared at his breakfast. If his mom’s love could have a shape, though Granger, that would be this apple pie. A sudden chuckled escaped Granger’s lips. That was funny, and true at the same time. Now, he felt even more thankful to his mom. Well, then it would be a sin not to eat and enjoy this glorious token of love. 

Granger sank his fork in the fragrant paste and took a bite. Cinnamon, and apple, and sugar, and that brown flavor that flour took when baked to perfection, all melted in his mouth. Granger sighed and smiled. This pie was baked happiness, that’s what it was! He chewed slowly, deliberately. Mom was awesome.

Granger reached for the mug and rolled it gently. The hot ceramic thawed out his hands, as he finished chewing. He blew on the milk, to make sure it would not burn his tongue, then took a sip. As the milk poured down, his stomach gave an unpleasant throb. Weird…, noted Granger. Well, it was early morning after all. Probably his stomach just needed to warm up a little more to agree with liquids. 

He turned back to the pie and started chipping at it with gusto. Granger sat back and let his mind wander aimlessly as he enjoyed his meal. He was not looking forward to going upstairs in the cold bathroom to take a shower. He would have to get his clothes right at hand, so he would not freeze his buttocks. Thinking of getting stuff ready…. He still needed to sort his books for the day. He was always too lazy at night and invariably forgot to prepare his backpack for the next. He certainly did not wish to give Ms. Ambrose, his teacher, any reasons to be angry at him. 

As he took another sip of milk, the image of Ms. Ambrose’s face flashed in front of Granger’s eyes. Something stirred inside him and his stomach suddenly lurched. Granger jumped up, holding his mouth for fear of spewing vomit in the kitchen. He rushed into the restroom and threw himself onto the toilet. He let the gag reflex take over and retched violently. His stomach continued convulsing, until there was nothing left inside it. Panting, Granger leaned on the toilet and flushed it. He felt better now, but he also felt weaker, empty, but not just physically. There was something else, a shaking somewhere inside him. Fear? Was he scared? Of what?

A knock at the door shook him out of his reverie.

“Are you OK, dear,” called out his mom from the kitchen.

She must have heard him retching, thought Granger.

“Yeah, It’s the milk.”

“Are you feeling OK?”

“Just the milk. Did not sit well with me, this morning.”

“Ok. Do you want anything else?”

“I’ll just eat some bread.”

“Ok. I’ll toast it, then, so it’s warm, at least. Come out when you are ready.”

“Thanks.”

Granger pulled himself up and spit the last remains of sick into the toilet. A tiny piece of apple pie floated in the water at the bottom. What a waste, thought Granger. That pie had felt like such a gift. He was sure his mom would feel bad. She put so much effort into this little gift. He would take some with him to school, Granger decided. He wanted to show her that he really liked the pie and it was not her fault he got sick. Yeah, he would do that!

Granger flushed the toilet again and walked out.

He made an effort to eat the toast his mom had made for him, even if he still felt sick, then run up to get changed.

By the time he climbed down the stairs, he was feeling much better. The nausea had almost gone away.

“Let’s go. It’s late,” Maddie called out at the door, grabbing the keys.

Granger hurried in their old Ford, and they were off.

As soon as they hit the road, the old car started rattling ominously. Granger held his lunchbox carefully on his lap, while he and everything around him vibrated. 

Driving in their old Ford always felt like sitting on a really bad, old washing machine. Everything shook so violently, you lost the sensation in your body. At a certain point, you felt like floating, as if your were entering another dimension, or you were about to be shot somewhere. Granger wondered if that’s how you felt before being beamed off by a teleporter. Now, that would have been nice, instead of driving to school! Too bad the old Ford did not look the part of the high tech machine. It was sure to shoot you somewhere, and you may not get there all in one piece, exactly as a teleporter, but the similarity between the two ended there. 

Granger held his breath, trying to push down the nausea that was coming back with a vengeance.

Maddie slowed down, sighting a puddle on the road. 

Granger lifted his feet instinctively. Water did not agree very well with the old Ford. The car had stood the abuse of many seasons and now, in its later years, it was rotting from the inside like a tree struck by a thunderbolt. Everywhere in the body of the vehicle, red rust had eaten away at the metal and flaked off like the skin of an old man. Old tooth that it was, the car was now tunneled through with cavities: some you could see, some you could not. 

Granger and Maddie had learned that the hard way the first time they had driven the old Ford in bad weather. He and his mom had sped through a puddle as you would normally do. Oddly, the plastic car mats under their feet had billowed like sails and a huge wave of cold, muddy water had suddenly surged out at them through the floor. It splashed up to their bellies and scared the hell out of them. 

Drenched to their socks, they had to drive back home very slowly to avoid another swim. 

Mom had laughed at the whole affair and she still laughed at how old their Ford was. She treated the little car like a pet or a person. For reasons Granger could not fathom, she seemed quite fond of the old death trap on wheels, as you would be with an old relative: she loved it, even though occasionally it drove her mad. 

Granger thought the “puddle incident” was rather an adventure, and kind of liked the whole thing. It certainly was not something that happens every day, so it had rightfully earned a mention in his book of records as extraordinary. It was like one of those old slapstick movies, where people sank up to their ears in seemingly innocuous puddles. 

At the time, Granger thought it was funny, so he told his classmates as soon as he got to school. He had regretted it since. For a long time afterwards, whenever his mom had driven him to school, many of his peers had laughed at him. They had called him things like “loser” and “bum” behind his back. Granger had felt furious at himself and at them. They were mean, but he was stupid falling for it every single time. Had not he learnt well enough it was not OK to mention he was poor? Why did he keep on forgetting it? Or was he pretending it actually did not matter?

The muffled sound of water splashing filtered through the plastic car mats. Granger put down his feet, as Maddie accelerated. 

He shifted in his seat wondering how far the rust could have eaten the metal floor around him. He was terrified one day the whole seat would sink in as they were speeding and he would die in a hell of sparks and grinding metal. Sheesh! Granger shook his head at himself. We are having some pretty apocalyptic thoughts this morning, Granger, aren’t we? 

It always surprised him how certain things could pop into his mind. His own thoughts were an infinite source of wonder to him. And trying to figure out why he would ever think such thoughts was equally engaging. It was like following a trail barely marked under the falling snow: the more you went on, the less you could see the trail, yet you knew it was there leading you somewhere.

The car rattled nastily on a down shift. Granger felt his brain was coming off the hinges and worried his mom’s pie would not survive the trip intact. He would have preferred biking to school, but mom had insisted she drive him. Granger had felt bad enough about throwing up her pie to refuse.

Finally they arrived at school. Thankfully they were late, so a lot of Granger’s classmates were already inside. Granger bad his mom goodbye, then trotted into the red cement building.

As soon as Granger entered his classroom, Sara Winters, his desk mate, beckoned him.

“Hi, Granger!”

Sara was a tall, brown hair girl, with an intelligent face. Granger always sat next to her, because she was the smartest in the class and because he liked talking to her. Unfortunately, they had very little in common other than their love of learning, so their exchanges did not go further than school. 

“Hi, Sara.”

Granger sat down next to her. He noticed that she already had her math books out and was looking at him with an eager expression. Granger knew what it meant: she probably aced her homework, but needed to make sure.

“Did you finish the math assignment?” asked Sara.

“Yeah, I think I did well.”

“Do you want to compare?”

“Sure.”

Granger took out his notebook. A familiar giggle made him look up. 

Holly appeared at the door, hand in hand with Francesca Willson. Granger stared at the pair of them for a second, puzzled, before he could take in what he was actually seeing. 

They looked like twins! They had the same hair, same shoes, same skirt, same blouse"even the same socks. Why did they do that? Why would they want to look the same? 

Granger studied their outfit. Francesca looked better. She was very pretty, probably the prettiest girl in the whole school, and that set of clothes suit her best. Holly, instead, looked strange. She did not look like herself. It dawned on Granger that, perhaps, it was actually just Holly who had dressed up as Francesca. Why would she do that? 

There was something wrong with this whole twin thing, but Granger could not put his finger on what exactly. Girls were so weird… 

Even so, he was happy to see Holly and wanted to say hello. He kept looking up at her, as she and Francesca passed right in front of him, apparently not noticing him. Granger watched them as they sat down together on the other side of the classroom, and waited. Holly put down her backpack and finally looked up. Granger waved his hand to say hello. Holly startled and flicked his hand impatiently at him.

That was a pretty lame hello, thought Granger. Now she was not even going to say hi anymore? Great. Whatever!

“Quiet!” hissed a velvety, poisonous voice behind Granger.

As the classroom went suddenly silent, Granger realized how much chaos and chattering had been going on around him. He sat up straight and greeted his teacher together with the rest of the class.

“Good morning, Ms. Ambrose!”

Ms. Ambrose glared at them and brushed their courtesy aside with a curt nod. She was an elegant brunette in her mid forties, with burning eyes and a skinny figure. She was so skinny, in fact, as to almost look gaunt. Granger always thought that she looked like something was eating her from the inside. Whatever that was, Granger hoped never to catch it.

Ms. Ambrose scanned the classroom for trouble"she immediately spotted Francesca and Holly. She looked Holly up and down with a smirk. 

Holly blushed violently.

“Holly, close the door,” ordered Ms. Ambrose.

Why did she ask her? wondered Granger. Holly was sitting on the other side of the classroom, while he was next to the door. Ms. Ambrose usually ordered him to the door. Why the change today? 

Granger watched Holly spring un nervously and scuttle to the door, all the way smoothing her dress and hair. She looked very self conscious. A few stains of sweat started spreading on her back and under her armpits. She noticed, and blushed even harder. 

Looking at her fumbling with the door knob, Granger was suddenly hit by a pang of embarrassment for her. 

Ms. Ambrose did not say anything, but watched her with a sarcastic smirk on her face.

Holly slinked back to her desk and sat down sheepishly. She looked like she wanted to disappear through the floor. 

Granger wondered if that was the reason Ms. Ambrose had sent her to the door. Did she want to parade Holly in front of the class and humiliate her? That was so strange. Yet, by the look of things, Ms. Ambrose had done it on purpose and Holly was definitely blushing scarlet. Why was she so embarrassed Granger could not tell. It must be a girl’s thing, he thought. He could not really grasp what was going on, but he could sense something mean had just happened. Granger felt bad for Holly. Even if she did not want to say hello to him anymore, she did not deserve such a treatment. She had just dressed up like her best friend. Maybe it was strange"I mean, it WAS strange"but why make her feel so bad about it?

The creaking of Ms. Ambrose’s leather bag made Granger turn. 

She pulled out a stack of paper and placed it on her desk. The air in the classroom went suddenly sour. 

Those were the history class essays! Granger prayed he got a decent grade. History was his favorite subject and one were he could hold his own against Sara. They were the best of the class, but it was usually Sara who got the better grades.

Ms. Ambrose beckoned him.

Granger stood up and walk obediently to the desk.

“Hand them out to the class,” Ms. Ambrose said, passing him the stack of paper.

“OK.”

Granger picked up the essays, thankful to have something to do, instead of being locked at his desk, sweating his way through the minutes it took to get to his own essay. He tried not to peek at his classmates’ grades, but guessed many of them by the reactions on their faces. 

When he arrived at Holly’s and Francesca’s desk, he could not resist anymore. He picked up the papers with deliberate slowness, giving himself the time to recognize the red ink scribble that spelled out the grade. Holly had gotten a B. Francesca, instead, had only gotten a C. Granger smiled"they may look the same, he thought, but Holly was smarter than Francesca. He gave him pleasure to know that. He did not know why, though. Hope, maybe? For what? That Holly would reconsider and be friends with him again? Yes, definitely! And also hope that she would figure out that twin affair, too. She did not need to look like somebody else. She was pretty and smart on her own. Granger watched her as she smiled at the red B on her paper. Francesca leaned in, frowning.

“How come you got a B?” she hissed in Holly’s ear. 

Holly glanced up, alarmed.

Granger feigned he did not hear. He moved up one desk, but kept his eyes on them.

Francesca pinched Holly’s arm viciously. “You kept the good stuff for yourself, didn’t you!”

Holly flinched. “No. I didn’t. I don’t know why"“

Francesca scoffed and turned away. 

Oh yes, thought Granger, Holly knew very well why Francesca had gotten a worse grade. She knew she was smarter, that’s why, but she couldn’t say it, otherwise Francesca would write her off. Why did she waste her time with her?

Granger sat down at his desk and glanced back at them. Holly looked mortified. She leaned in apologetically and whispered something in Francesca’s ear. Francesca shrugged her off. 

So, thought Granger, Holly had copied… And they had cheated together. He did not like that. He thought Holly did not need to do that. She had always been good without having to cheat. Holly still got a better grade, though, Granger noticed. That cheered him up a bit. Yes, she and Francesca both had the same material, but Holly was able to use it better. Francesca was too stupid, or maybe just lazy"after all she did not look stupid. She was, if not smart, what was the word? Shrewd… Cunning? Yes, she always got her way. Anyway. But Holly was definitely more intelligent. She could think better. Yes. Why did she hang out with Francesca, then, and not with him? He was a better person than Francesca. It did not take that much to see that. Perhaps it was arrogant of him to think that, but it was true. It suddenly seemed that the whole thing did not have anything to do with Holly’s smarts anymore. The spark of hope inside Granger flickered. He shrugged. He still could not make head or tail of this whole situation.

He finally looked down at his own essay. A red B+ blotted the paper. Yes! A wave of relief ran through him. He looked up at Sara to see whether this time he had won their little unspoken competition. It looked like it. Sara was frowning cross-armed at her own essay, huffing grumpily, unable to contain her disappointment. As soon as she realized he was staring at her, she shot him a look.

“B. I only got a B! I studied a whole week for this.” She stabbed the paper accusatorially with her index finger.

“It’s just bad luck,” said Granger, trying to console her.

“You got a B+!”

Granger was taken aback momentarily. “Well… It’s not a A,” he said defensively. He knew she only liked As. 

Sara waved his comment aside and turned around.

That was rude, thought Granger. What was wrong with her? Did she mean he was not smart enough to get a better grade than her, for once? Did she really think she was the only smart person in the whole class?

Sara turned around, her face screwed up-she looked embarrassed. She raised her eyes nervously up into his and said, “Sorry…”

Granger nodded. He did not know what to say, but his anger faded away immediately. Sara WAS nice. Thank goodness. It was almost funny how upset she was"she still got a good grade. She was so tough on herself"too tough. She only liked As, and he knew she would torment herself until the next test. He wondered whether their parents pushed her, or it was just her wanting to be the best. He wished he cared so much about grades as she did. In the end, he did not. He could not study for a grade, it just never worked. Either he liked what he was studying, or he would invariably do a lousy job. He had tried many times, but it was like swimming against the flow. It never worked and he hated it. He felt spoiled behaving like that, childish, so, he forced himself when he could not stand the topic, or the subject. It was all he could do, really. 

Ms. Ambrose leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. “Let’s see if you have done your homework,” she said with a hint of menace in her voice.

The class, apart for Granger and Sara, cowered back, hoping not to be called. 

Granger sat up, eager to hear the question. This was his favorite part. Whenever there was some kind of discussion, he enjoyed himself. Learning things by heart was boring, and sitting at a desk all morning instead of playing outside was even more boring, so he welcomed any kind of engagement.

“What did Marco Polo do?” asked Ms. Ambrose.

Granger knew that one easily. He had been really fascinated by the man and his expeditions. So much so, that he had even borrowed from the library “The travels of Marco Polo,” the book that recounted many of his deeds. Sadly, he found the text too dense and dry for him, so, after pushing himself several times, he had finally given up reading it. The tale of Marco Polo’s epic journeys, though, had still roused the greatest admiration in Granger for this incredible traveler. Granger often wished he could live in a time where adventures like that could still take place. He would sign on right away.

He raised his hand.

The rest of the morning went on pretty smoothly. Granger answered a few more questions in history class, then raised his hand a few more times in geography class. By the time recess came, he felt like he had managed not to get bored to death and that his brain had had some good exercise.

The bell rang. Granger opened his lunchbox carefully and scooped out his pie. Despite his old Ford’s treacherous attempt to destroy it, the pie was still all in one piece. Granger smiled happily. This time he would enjoy the pie and keep it down, too. He left the classroom and headed down the hallway, looking forward to eating in the sun.

“Granger!” called Francesca behind him.

Granger turned around and saw her walking up to him. He felt an instinctive pang of anxiety at being called by her. She usually ignored him, so it was strange she wanted to suddenly talk to him. But he had not done anything. Maybe she had come to ask him if he wanted to eat lunch with her and Holly. That would be great.

“Hi!” Granger greeted Francesca with a smile. 

She did not smile back. 

Granger noticed that, but his smile remained glued on his face against his will. A few feet behind Francesca, Granger spotted Holly waiting impatiently. The whole thing looked fishy.

“You need to stop,” broke out Francesca, bluntly.

Finally Granger’s smile dissolved. He frowned. He had no idea what she meant. “Stop what?”

“Raising your hand,” said Francesca disdainfully. “You are making us all look bad.”

Granger opened his mouth to respond, but what she had just said was too absurd. He could not make sense of it, so he closed his mouth again. He felt stunned. He was just trying not to get bored and, instead, he was making them look stupid? Them all? Them who? He wasn’t trying to hurt anybody. 

Suddenly, Granger felt his temper rising. “I wasn’t trying to make anybody look bad,” he said stiffly.

“I don’t care,” replied Francesca, “You are making us look stupid, and you must stop.”

Was she talking about she and Holly? Granger could not believe Holly would think he made her look stupid. No, this was Francesca’s making, as usual. She just wanted things her way, as usual. If you don’t want to look stupid, he thought, then maybe you should raise your hand, instead of being lazy as you are! And why now? He had been raising his hand since first grade. Nobody had ever complained before.

“You can’t"” he started saying, but Francesca cut him off. 

“Yes, I can. I am the class rep. We voted. We are tired of you making us look bad.”

Granger winced. They voted? She meant the whole class voted? Everybody? They thought he made them look bad? They were all against him?

He watched Francesca scowl at him disdainfully, as if he was too stupid to deserve even being talked to, then, she gestured Holly to follow her and they walked away without saying good-bye.

Granger stood nailed to the spot. His head swam and swayed in a pool of boiling anger. How dared they telling him what he could and could not do? He was not hurting anybody. He was not trying to look better"he was just trying not to get bored. Why did he have to listen to them? They did not have the right to tell him what to do. We voted, he heard Francesca’s voice echo in his head. They voted. So, if he did not listen to them, they would attack him. They would not talk to him anymore. He did not want to listen to them, but he did not want to be isolated either. Answering questions was the only thing that made school bearable. If they took that away from him, school would become a nightmare. Why were they doing that to him? Why didn’t they tell him, before? Why nobody ever talked to him about it? They just “voted” behind his back! They were all against him. 

Granger suddenly realized he was squashing mom’s apple pie in his fist. He willed himself to relax his hand. He did not want to waste another piece of cake"it was probably the only slice of sympathy he would get today.