Michael Liddle: The Portal of Prophecy

By R. D. Blake

Michael Liddle walked alone into his new school on the first day of a new year. All he wondered about was whether he would make some new friends, fit in with his classmates, and do well enough at his school subjects. Unknown to him, a web of fate and hope had been spun around him long ago that was soon going to ensnare him. He discovered that much of what he thought he knew about himself wasn’t true at all and that secrets about his past had been kept for millennia. Soon, the dreams he had for his new life in Cantonville were to be replaced by others.

A forgotten ancient prophecy from a race of bestial giants who live on a planet at the other end of the galaxy has resurfaced: a prophecy concerning the Chosen and the Cast-Out and an approaching dark force that now threatens more than one interstellar civilization.

Salvation of the races in the path of this ominous galactic evil rests on the unlikely shoulders of eleven-year-old Michael Liddle and an elf-like princess of Tiana, a world directly in the path of this impending danger. Whether the prophecy of the Chosen and the Cast-Out applies to these two children is uncertain but what seems sure is that a time of great conflict is imminent and the Chosen and the Cast-Out are called to seek out the “Gift of the Ideema.”

This first book about Michael Liddle tells of how he becomes aware of his true family, the abilities his birth father intended to give him and the manner in which he first meets the princess. Yet as the year unfolds, what Michael learns of who he really is—and each discovery he makes only results in more mysteries—and what his destiny might be, he must keep secret not only from his mother but also from his new school friends. His secret life only adds to the complications he is facing at school with his teachers, two girls who express budding romantic interests in him and a bully who has Michael firmly in his sights.

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. D. Blake
• Release date: Apr 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9780987982605

R. D. Blake

R.D. Blake recently retired from a successful accounting and business career. Even as a child, he had an interest in science in general and space in particular and loved reading science fiction. As a parent, he enjoyed entertaining his young children with inane and wild stories he would make up on the spot. And now he is turning that interest and talent toward a larger audience. He currently resides in Kitchener, Ontario Canada.

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MICHAEL LIDDLE:

THE PORTAL OF PROPHECY

R.D. BLAKE

imotifbooks

Kitchener, Ontario Canada

All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

First published in Canada in 2012

imotifbooks, 39 Askin Place, Kitchener, Ontario N2A 1K9

www.imotifbooks.com

Copyright © R.D. Blake

Cover illustrations by Gary Babb copyright © imotifbooks.

Michael Liddle, names, characters, and related indicia are copyright and trademark imotifbooks.

R.D. Blake has asserted his moral rights.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

R.D. Blake

Michael Liddle: The Portal of Prophecy

ISBN 978-0-9879826-0-5

¹.Title

This book is dedicated to my father.

His bedtime stories caused our imaginations to soar

Far outside our bedroom walls

And created a love of dreams…

I would also like to acknowledge the efforts of my editor, Anna Bowness, who through her suggestions and insights brought the dream of the story of Michael Liddle to life.

And a special thanks to my young focus group readers:

Cameron, Rileigh, Courtney, and Joel

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Glossary

About the Author

Prologue

Secrets. He was tired of keeping them, treating them like treasures he needed to hoard, to be stored away for a better day. In the silence, he laughed bitterly at that thought. Had he really fooled anyone? Half-truths had made everyone distrust him; people who had relied upon him; people whom he had needed, used, and then abandoned. But they all paled in comparison to what he’d been forced to promise for the dream of a new beginning. That was the one secret he could never tell Jaz. In so many ways he was no better than…

The walls shuddered again with another blast from the outside. An ominous, heavy hush followed, filling the chamber they’d sought out as their final refuge. Suddenly, the lights flickered and the external monitors flashed out.

This is it. It’s all over, she said from beside him; those few words so edged in sorrow and containing such a deeper and more personal and mournful meaning.

He pulled her to her feet, grasping her in a tight and needful hug, letting out the breath he’d been unconsciously holding. I tried. We all tried, Jaz. It’s the end for us. Though part of him wished to, he found he couldn’t say more. The truth—the real truth would have to be kept locked away inside himself. All he had left in these final moments with her were the lies and the deceit he had used to come to this end. Not at all what he desired with the one he loved. I only hope—

Hope! Don’t talk to me about hope, Bri! Don’t! she said coldly, cutting him off. There never was any. We’ve lost everything…and everyone! Osk, Mera, Geo, Flor, and Win and Lakendra…and all of the others. Suddenly, instinctively, she buried herself deeper into his arms. We had so many dreams and endured so much to start again. And then having to give up…giving up Kellah… She couldn’t continue, beginning to cry silently and convulsively into his shoulder.

The complex suffered more blows. Torn metal screeched and the air throbbed with the shock waves. With the sudden shifting of the floor, they struggled to keep their footing.

Murmuring into her hair, he tried to find the words to console her. I know. I know. We’ve lost all of our family, our friends, our people… Even our child. They sacrificed everything for us…to give us one last chance to escape what has always been our fate. We’ve faced more terrors in our short lives than any would have imagined. Pachelle, Lomar, Uhala, Kana… All our worlds gone forever.

Between gasps, Jaz stammered out, A fool’s hope. That’s all we ever had. Wasn’t it, Bri? There was never any real chance of us surviving. How can you still hold onto any hope when…when there’s been no word back from Tulron? They… she gestured to the outside with her eyes …they’ve beaten us at every turn. Won everything. Taken everything from us!

He looked down and took her head in his hands, brushing back her hair. Kissing her forehead gently, he regarded her light brown eyes. I’ve trusted Tulron all my life. Even now I’m not giving up on him or on the Regir. Geo made certain they had all they needed to follow the plan. Osk, Mera, and the rest…? He shrugged his shoulders. I don’t know. Likely, more than likely, no one ever will.

They could hear the outer doors being hammered in. It would only be a matter of a few more moments, a minute at the most. He took Jaz’s hand, quickly looking at the entrance into this room. I need you to trust me with one last thing. I didn’t know when to tell you. I should have done it sooner, like I did with the others, but I was selfish; I wanted to be with you as long as possible.

Jaz looked down at the hand he was holding. What do you mean?

Again, the room shook violently. They fell over and the furniture slid to the far side of the chamber and the acrid odour of burnt metal began filling the air. Only one light remained, dimly illuminating their corner.

There’s no time to explain! He managed to untangle himself from Jaz and pulled out a metallic hoop from his pocket, snapping it over her wrist.

What…what are you doing? Why now?

Just know…just remember I love you. Lifting her to her knees, he embraced her as if he wanted it to last forever.

The outside corridor became silent once again. Then dimly from beyond their enclosure they heard heavy, ponderous footsteps approaching. Suddenly, the frames of the secured entranceway bulged inwards as some great force crashed against them. Fumbling, he tried to reach Jaz’s wrist just as the doors blew inward, tearing the room apart.

_______§_______

In the sputtering light, a black form waded in through the wreckage. Following, like a froth, a deeper blackness poured in, skittering and buzzing about the armoured figure. Seething back and forth, the shadowy mass finally slowed, settling, quivering as it came to wait upon its master. On the upright form, two mean red eyes appeared, surveying the room, finally alighting on the corner. There amidst the scattered debris on the floor, drawing its attention, something gleamed. Carefully stepping through the wrack and ruin of the chamber, the figure bent and picked it up.

Afterwards, for untold minutes, it stood unmoving, watching, seemingly brooding. Then, shaking its head as if it was waking from a dream, it turned and slowly trudged back out into the corridor. In its wake, the black swarm flowed out, leaving the crumbled remains of the room and its former occupants as a hard-paid token to false hope.

_______§_______

CHAPTER ONE

Who are You?

He dreamt he was at the beach again. A warm breeze tousled his hair and the bright sunlight pricked at his burnt shoulders and glared off the dunes. In a steady swash, the waves rolled in and out, out and in. He raced down the slope and into the water. Stroking out and diving under, he felt the cool water running over his head, slicking back his hair. Then he saw it down deeper, far off, floating just above the sandy bottom. It darted up to him and swirled around him faster than he could follow. Swimming closer, it playfully blew bubbles at his face—but even under the water its breath was incredibly foul!

Waking with a start, Michael discovered two liquid brown eyes staring intently back into his own. A panting rhythm of rank air wafted across his face and drool was already slowly seeping down from his hair to join a pool of slobber on his cheek.

Oh, Bones! Michael muttered out, as he turned over in his bed and pulled the sheets up over his head, trying to ignore the birds singing outside and the sunlight beating down onto his bed through the open window. Despite his best efforts to go back to sleep and pretend this day was not about to start, Michael could hear his mother in the kitchen downstairs, making more clatter than anyone had the right to this early in the morning. It didn’t help at all to feel his dog jump up on his bed and begin tugging at his sheets. Bones! Stop that! I don’t want to get up! But his pet wasn’t having any of it and simply tugged all that much harder. Finally surrendering to the inevitable, Michael pushed the damp hair out of his eyes and sat up in his bed. Giving the dog a long hug, and then a harder push, he forced Bones back onto the floor.

He shouted out through his bedroom door, Mom, you sent Bones up here on purpose!

Her voice echoed up the stairs in laughter. It’s time to get up, you lazybones. I’ve been up for an hour getting everything ready. Now be quick and clean up. We don’t want to be late on the very first day!

Michael headed for the bathroom, ordering Bones to go back downstairs—the English setter was continuing to follow in his footsteps. Washing his face and hands, he removed the sticky, smelly mess that his dog had left on those parts of himself. Then using a comb in his light brown hair, he attempted to untangle it, determining early on that he needed a considerable amount of water to smooth it all out and remove Bones’ own contribution. Returning to his bedroom, Michael traded his pyjamas for the clothes he and his mother had laid out the night before. As usual, he struggled pulling on his socks, but he checked one last time that they were hole-free and—for his mother’s sake—that they matched.

Finished, Michael made his way to the stairs. As he always did, he took his time reaching the bottom. On entering the small kitchen, he gave his mother a quick hug. She loved his hugs—unless, of course, he was dirty or smelly, in which case she always shooed him away with feigned horror. It was an ongoing joke they liked to play on each other.

His favourite breakfast awaited him: a bagel with crunchy peanut butter, a bowl of homemade fruit yogurt, and a glass of milk cold enough to make your teeth hurt. Sitting down beside him, his mother dug into her oatmeal cereal topped with fruit. She gave him an easy smile and said, Eat up or it’ll get cold! Michael grinned; his mother always said this when she served him a cold breakfast.

As they ate their meal together, they chit-chatted and watched Bones finish up the kibble remaining in his bowl and, according to his usual habits, make his usual mess. So are you ready for your first day at the new school? his mother asked. I can hang around to make sure you find the auditorium, if you’d like me to.

No, I’ll be OK, Mom, Michael replied. Don’t worry about it. I’m in the sixth grade now. I can look after myself.

All right, if that’s what you’d prefer, she replied. But make sure you put your lunch in your backpack. I’ll just clean up and get ready myself. Meet you at the car in five minutes or so. Oh, and don’t forget to brush your teeth.

Mom! Michael exclaimed in an exaggerated manner, pretending to be annoyed. Remember? I’m eleven, not a five-year old. You don’t have to remind me.

She laughed and began clearing the table before preparing for work.

A few minutes later, after grabbing his jacket and backpack and putting up with the usual tussle with his running shoes (the left one was always a challenge), he went outside and tossed his stuff into their old car and decided, while he was waiting, to shoot a few baskets. He picked up the new basketball his Uncle Matt had given him for his birthday. Using his prop to help him keep his balance, Michael shot the ball toward the hoop. His father had built this basketball set for him a few years ago. Michael was glad that they had brought it with them when they’d moved here to Cantonville.

His first shot hit the bottom of the rim and dropped back near him. Michael moved one step closer and tried again. This time the basketball rose above the hoop but bounced from one side of the rim to the other and then back down to the ground. As he picked up the ball from the other side of the driveway, his mother came out of the house. It’s time, she announced.

Once he climbed into the car, joining her, and she was backing out of the driveway onto Cherry Avenue, she added, Here we go! Off into a new future for both of us.

_______§_______

As they drove along the tree-covered streets, Michael’s mother chattered on. We’ve had quite a few new experiences already this year, she remarked. Today, you’re starting at a new school in a new town, and I’ve been at my new job for just over a month now. Wow! Have I been learning a lot about it, and of course, the people I work with. She smiled down at him. I’m certain it’ll be the same for you, Michael. New subjects, new teachers, and new friends. Just imagine! Maybe some of our dreams for our life here in Cantonville will begin to come true.

Yep, Mom. Everything will be new, he replied with a slight sigh. But I’m not so sure about the friends.

Oh, I don’t want you thinking like that. Not on the first day, his mother said, admonishing him. Everyone in the sixth grade will be new to the school, and I don’t doubt that there will be a good number, like you, who won’t know anyone in their classes. They and everyone else will be looking to make new friends this year. Just be the best you can be, and remember what your father always said: ‘Friends are just around the corner for those who want to be friends themselves.’

I haven’t forgotten, Mom, Michael said, adding another sigh. I just wish Dad was still with us.

So do I, Hon, she said in return. There’s not a day that goes by when I don’t think about him. But I see so much of him, whenever I look at you. She paused, her breathing slowing for a moment. After she turned onto another street, his mother perked up again. That’s why I’m certain it won’t be long until you’ve made some new friends from among your schoolmates. Look, here we are!

Michael looked out the car window as his mother pulled into the parking lot, gazing across to a brown bricked, three-storied building. Several long rows of old maple trees bordered the edges of the large grass-covered school yard. A flagpole stood out in front of the main entranceway like the figurehead on the prow of a ship, the fluttering pennant a declaration of the school’s civic purpose. Above the doorway hung a banner which caught Michael’s attention: WELCOME SIXTH GRADERS. And farther up on the building were the words: CANTONVILLE JUNIOR HIGH.

The school yard was full of children, all of them milling about and gathering in clusters, then breaking up again, and racing to join other groups of their friends. They were all laughing, their voices a babbling tumult, everyone seemingly eager to become reacquainted after a summer chock full of adventures. Others were running around, chasing their friends just for the fun of it. Along the fringe of the school yard, a few kids with soccer balls or basketballs were playing together. New clothes and splashy backpacks were making their own individual fashion statements. However, there were a few students standing by themselves, glancing about apprehensively. When Michael noticed them, he forlornly thought: "I guess I know who I fit in with."

Do you want me to pick you up after school? his mother asked, interrupting his musings. I’m sure my boss would let me leave a little early today.

Nope, Michael replied. I know the way home, and I’d rather walk anyway. His mother gave his hand a quick squeeze below the car window so no one would notice. Over the last year, he had let her know that he wasn’t too keen on public displays of affection. At his old school, he’d been teased far too often when caught in a moment like that.

Michael got out of the car, grabbing his backpack and jacket out of the backseat, and then waved a goodbye. She mouthed Good luck! as she put the car back into gear and drove away.

Turning away from the parking lot, Michael decided he wouldn’t dawdle about outside. He needed to find the auditorium where the sixth-grade students would be assigned their home rooms. The previous week, a package of information from the school had been sent to their house outlining how the classes were to be organized, along with a map of the school. As Michael walked toward the entranceway, he passed by several circles of other students. Though he kept looking straight ahead, out of the corner of his eye, he noted that a few of them had glanced his way, staring for a long moment, and then just as quickly sliding their eyes away from him. "Situation Normal," he glumly thought to himself.

Hitching himself up the one step into the entranceway, he walked into the first hallway; it was so much bigger and wider than those in the last school he’d attended. But immediately, Michael knew he wouldn’t have a problem finding the auditorium. The tension which had been building up in him since leaving his mother dropped a notch. There were posters up all along the walls with arrows coloured in flaming red, indicating what directions to take. As he followed the signs, he passed swarms of older students whom he figured to be in the seventh and eighth grades. Boy! Some of them seemed to be almost twice his size. Last year, at his old school, even though he was one of the smallest students in his class, at least he’d been bigger than the kids in the lower grades. Here, he felt like he was Gulliver in the land of the giants.

Turning yet another corner, still following the arrows, he could hear a crowd of people somewhere up ahead. Down the hallway above a set of double doorways was another sign with giant red arrows pointing into the room with a caption written in glaring strokes of magenta: Congratulations, Sixth Graders! You made it! But as Michael neared the doors, he noticed that someone had added another message: Enter here and meet your Doom! Already feeling apprehensive enough, those sentiments did nothing to settle his nerves.

The auditorium was already half full; the fragments of individual conversations were being lost in a growing din. Down at the front were a number of adults: the teachers, Michael assumed. Some were holding coffee cups or water bottles while others were sorting papers, and another was testing out the sound system. At the moment, he couldn’t obtain a sense of what they might be like and wondered which one might be his. Behind them, a large banner hung from the ceiling above the stage bearing the school name with the words below it: Excellentia in Omnibus. Beside it was another long banner depicting a mountain lion with the name Cougars written prominently in bright gold letters.

Since the seats in the back of the auditorium were more or less fully occupied already, Michael decided he’d sit right at the front so he could avoid having to get up and down in his seat if others wanted to sit beyond him. Surveying the clusters of kids already bunching up along the aisleway, and discovering moments later that the floor was sloped, Michael carefully and slowly made his way down to the front. Not that it helped much; he was almost knocked down twice when several chattering students raced past him.

In the midst of a rising clamour in the room, he finally reached the front row and selected a seat near its middle. Over the minutes which followed, no one else joined him, only adding exclamation marks to how uncomfortably close he was to the teachers gathered at the base of the stage. One or two happen to notice him, giving him appraising glances, ones that in his burgeoning, somewhat frantic imagination, seemed to say: Fresh meat for the eighth-grade students.

He slunk down deeper into his seat.

Since nothing seemed to be happening at the moment, and didn’t appear likely to be for several more minutes, Michael swivelled about in his seat and surveyed the large room. Most notably, there were huge posters hanging in long rows up both sides of the auditorium: Snow White, Five Days in Paris, Sherlock Holmes, The Pink Panther—and there were others farther back which Michael was unable to read, obviously plays or productions the school had staged in previous years. A loud screech from the sound system drew his attention back to the front of the room with apparently everyone else’s. The chatter in the auditorium dropped suddenly as a stern-looking adult stepped up to the microphone on the stage.

Good morning students, my name is Vice-Principal Stover, the man boomed out. If you haven’t yet done so, please find a seat and do so immediately. And I would ask you to refrain from talking from this point on. He paused and waited for a deeper hush to come over the room. Now, if any of you are in the seventh or eighth grades, this meeting is not for you. You should go directly to your home rooms. Lists containing that information can be found in front of the main administration office.

There was a commotion near the back that even Michael could hear from where he sat. His head, along with about another two hundred others, all swivelled at the same time to the rear of the auditorium. Several tall boys, laughing among themselves, stood up and left through the back doors.

It seemed as those double doors slammed shut, everyone sitting in the auditorium was filled with the sudden feeling of being encapsulated and cut off from the rest of the school—maybe the entire world. There was hardly anyone who wasn’t eyeing the others near them, trying to understand the meaning of what had just happened, though the man on the stage appeared unperturbed by it all.

Speaking loudly into the microphone once more, he drew their attention back to himself. Again, my name is Vice-Principal Stover and I want to welcome you to Cantonville Junior High, the home of the Cougars. Many of you have come from our local elementary schools in Cantonville, and a good number of you have older sisters or brothers who have attended our school in years past. Of course, some of you will be brand-new to Cantonville and our school, and we wish to extend to you our very special welcome. I, and my fellow teachers, want to make this a fulfilling and successful academic year for all of you. You will find that our expectations for your subject materials, homework, and projects will be much higher than what you experienced in your elementary school.

An audible series of groans erupted from all about the room behind Michael. Ignoring it, the vice-principal carried on. "You see behind me our school banner with the words ‘Excellentia in Omnibus.’ These Latin words mean ‘Excellence in All Things.’ That is our aim for each of you: to achieve excellence in your academic studies, in any of the extracurricular activities you may choose to participate in, and in your relationships with each other. We will endeavour to make this both an exciting and a challenging year for all of you.

Now there is one last thing to mention before I turn this over to Mrs. Sanchez who will direct you to your home rooms. As do your elementary schools, Cantonville Junior High maintains a zero-tolerance policy for bullying. Unfortunately, during the past year, there were several instances where one of our students chose not to adhere to this school community standard. I wish you to know and comprehend fully that the consequences for such behaviour is a minimum of a week’s suspension from the school and a ban from all extracurricular programs. Vice-Principal Stover paused to emphasize his point, staring severely out at all the upturned faces before he continued. Now one final word to you all; while I truly wish you the best for this year, I hope that none of you will behave in any fashion which will give rise to an opportunity of meeting with me in my office. An ominous tone grew in his voice. And I don’t think you will either. Thank you. Now over to you, Mrs. Sanchez.

There was a general hush as Vice-Principal Stover walked away from the microphone and sat down in the front row—right beside Michael! Gulping, he tried to shrink down even lower into his seat.

Mrs. Sanchez walked up to the microphone. Adjusting her glasses, she peered out over the faces looking up at her. Hello, students, she began in a much more upbeat fashion than the vice-principal. "I’m here to assign you to your home room class teacher and inform you of his or her corresponding room number. There are seven sixth-grade classes this year. As I introduce them one by one, each teacher will stand up and he or she will move to the rear of the auditorium and meet you outside this room. Now, as I call your name, please remain seated until I have completed the entire roster for each class. Then you may move out of your row, and proceed to the hallway outside the auditorium and follow your teacher to your home room.

Class 6-A, your teacher is Miss Simpson, Room 313. A petite, blonde young woman rose to her feet up on the platform; she waved and smiled brightly to the students sitting out in front of her. Michael crossed his fingers, hoping. Mrs. Sanchez began calling out the names of the students who would be in Miss Simpson’s class. Rose Anderson.

Michael heard a girl shout out: Whoo-ee! All right!

Mrs. Sanchez glanced up. Please. There can be no more of that! she warned. Aaron Anvari, Sam Bushell, Tori Buttenham, David Cox, Tasha Dillion… Despite Mrs. Sanchez’s admonition, as she called out the names one by one, a general low murmur began to fill the auditorium. Even though the vice-principal was right beside him, Michael was glad he was at the front because he knew he would clearly hear his name when it was called out. Short moments later, Mrs. Sanchez was finished with the first class. His hopes dashed, Michael tried to convince himself that there might be another teacher just as nice as Miss Simpson appeared to be.

The assembly wore on as Mrs. Sanchez reeled off name after name and assigned each student to a classroom. Though Michael’s intention was to listen closely, the droning litany of names was causing his attention to falter. He wasn’t the only one it seemed—the level of noise in the auditorium was rising as others were also becoming impatient or bored. When it attained a certain volume, Vice-Principal Stover stood up, and turning around, glared out at all of the remaining students assembled behind Michael. As if he’d cast a magic spell, the chatter died away, leaving the auditorium as silent as a graveyard in the darkest part of the night.

The vice-principal slowly turned around and just as slowly sat back in his seat, brushing up against Michael, apparently finally coming to notice him. His dark eyes seemed to bore right into Michael’s brain and implant in it the warning: If it happens again, someone is going to be made an example of! Right there and then, Michael promised himself that he was never ever going to see the inside of Vice-Principal Stover’s office. However, after several other classes had been called out and Michael hadn’t yet heard his name, his worries turned to being overlooked. Had his mother messed up somehow and the school didn’t know about him?

Finally, there were only two classes left to be assigned with two teachers remaining up on the stage. One was a woman who had been smiling pleasantly throughout the meeting, having an appearance somewhat like his own mother, though much younger, shorter, and slightly stockier but all the same possessing an undeniable air of excitement about herself: Miss Keller. But she seemed the complete opposite of the other teacher who was introduced as Mr. Wolfgram. Holding himself stiffly, he appeared to be scowling as if he’d just eaten something that had disagreed quite severely with him.

Mrs. Sanchez began calling out the roll for Miss Keller. Crossing his fingers again, Michael began a silent refrain: Pick me. Pick me. But as each new name was announced and his wasn’t, his stomach began roiling. Michael began to wonder which would be worse: having his name called for Mr. Wolfgram’s class or not being mentioned at all. Just before Mrs. Sanchez started in on the list of names for the last class, Vice-Principal Stover stood up and walked up the aisle and out of the auditorium.

The names rolled off for class 6-G: Abigail Bruder, John Donohue, Justin Doyle, Madeline Ellis, Keith Forest, Amanda Kerr, Michael Liddle… Finally! Michael didn’t know whether he should be relieved or not. Mr. Wolfgram’s frown hadn’t disappeared—in fact, it seemed to have only grown deeper as he surveyed the students who would be included in his class. Mrs. Sanchez continued on. …Rachel Reid, Jessica Savic, Nadia Wadel, Scott Watson, Han Wu. Finally, she was finished.

Now, she added, is there anyone whose name hasn’t been called? Please raise your hand. One girl midway toward the back nervously slid her arm up. Michael had the sudden wish to raise his own. Don’t worry. Instead, please come and join me up here. We’ll go to the main office and sort this out, the school administrator said in reassuring tones. This happens every year. For the rest of you who were just called, please follow Mr. Wolfgram out into the hallway.

The teacher tripped down the stairs from the stage and strode up the aisle at a rapid pace. Quickly, everyone, he boomed out. We’re the last class and have to make up for all the time we’ve already lost. Out the doors now, and up to my room, 314, on the third floor.

Michael stood up, hoisted his backpack up onto his one shoulder, and then tried to move up the aisle as fast as he could. Fortunately, there was no one in his way. Unfortunately, all of his fellow students had already departed. By the time he was out in the hallway, Mr. Wolfgram and his classmates were nowhere in sight! He looked back into the auditorium, but Mrs. Sanchez had apparently left by a side door exit.

Feeling his stomach ache only becoming worse, and suspecting that he was going to be in the class with the most difficult teacher in the entire sixth grade, Michael was growing afraid that he might be in trouble before he even found the classroom. He quickly looked about, but there was no poster on the walls which said This way to Room 314 in bright red letters—or for that matter, in magenta either. He quickly dropped his backpack to the floor, unzipped it, and rummaged around in it until he found the school map that his mother had insisted he take with him for the first few days. Michael found the floor plan for the third floor and quickly identified Room 314. Next, he looked at the schematic for the first floor and found the auditorium. Now how to find a stairway up to the third floor? He studied the first-floor plan carefully and compared it to the one of the third floor. If he kept to the right wall going around the outside of the auditorium, he’d come to a stairwell on the opposite side that appeared to go up to the second and third floors. Figuring he had nothing to lose, he set off. Less than a minute later he was at the stairs. Now Michael often experienced some difficulty going down stairs but going up had always proved a greater challenge.

Off he started. The first flight was easy, but because he was trying to hurry, Michael found he was out of breath by the time he reached the bottom of the last flight to the third floor. Finally, when he entered the hallway at the top, puffing hard, he hurried up to the first classroom door he saw. It was closed and on the door was the number 305. In fact, all the doors down the hallway were closed, and the hallway was so whisperingly quiet that in Michael’s rising anxiousness his footfalls echoed like cannon blasts. He pulled out the map which he had shoved into his pocket and smoothed it out as best he could. Now where was Room 305 and how would he get to Room 314? He noted that the third floor was laid out like an H and that he was near the cross corridor. He walked down the hallway, passing Rooms 306 and 307, trying to be as quiet as possible, and found the adjoining hallway. At the end of the cross corridor, he found Room 310 and could hear muffled laughter sounding out from inside the classroom.

Which way to go? Michael headed left and the next room he found was Room 309. "It would be the other way!" he morbidly thought to himself. Doing a quick U-turn, he passed Room 310 again. The next room was 311. I must be going the right way—finally! Sure enough, Room 314 was at the end of the hallway. As far away as it could possibly be, Michael muttered, feeling totally exasperated. A clock near the door, up high on the wall read 10:04. Oh boy! Am I late!

He discovered the door closed. Now what should he do? Just open it and hope he wouldn’t be noticed? But would there be a seat available for him right beside the door? That wouldn’t work. Michael decided to knock. At first, he just tapped the door lightly, but after half a minute of waiting, with no results, he rapped it harder. The little noise that he could hear coming from inside the room abruptly ended. A moment later, he could detect heavy, ponderous steps approaching. The doorknob slowly turned, followed by the door being pulled partially open into the classroom, all while making an ear-jangling, grating squeal. As Michael looked up, he could see half of Mr. Wolfgram’s face looming above his.

With a one-eyed glare his teacher growled out, You’re interrupting my class. Just who are you?

_______§_______

CHAPTER TWO

New Beginnings

Michael gulped and replied, I’m Michael Liddle, sir. I’m in Class 6-G. Your class, sir.

You’re late, Mr. Liddle! Do you know what time it is? This is absolutely unacceptable: that you decided to show up here long after the rest of us arrived! Just what have you been doing? Dawdling merrily along in the hallways? The teacher’s eyes bored into Michael’s for a moment before releasing him. But since this is the first day of class, I will make allowances…this one time and not send you directly to the office. This. One. Time, Mr. Wolfgram repeated with a timbre of cold menace in his voice. Opening the door wider, he waved Michael into the classroom.

I’m sorry I’m late, sir, Michael began, but by the time I got out of the auditorium, I—

That’s more than enough, Mr. Liddle, Mr. Wolfgram said, cutting him off.

Michael’s stomach tightened until it felt like a hard and shrivelled lump inside himself, his face heating up like it had turned completely beet red. Walking into the room, he scanned about for a desk to sit down in. Class, this is Mr. Liddle. He's late! I do not accept any excuse for tardiness under any circumstances. The consequence is an automatic detention. Mr. Liddle will be serving his at the end of school today.

Absolute silence reigned in the classroom as everyone focused on Michael. A snickering whisper followed. Liddle… came a voice from the back of the room. Yeah, that’s the right name for him!

Hurry along, Mr. Liddle. Find a seat, Mr. Wolfgram urged him. There’s one near the back of the second aisle. Michael tried to be quick. Now what’s this, Mr. Liddle? You’re not putting on an act, are you?

Stopping, Michael turned around, and faced his teacher. Now his head felt like it was igniting. He was certain his cheeks were brighter than even the posters down by the auditorium. Sir, my left leg has always been this way. My mother says that the knee joint—

Never mind, Mr. Liddle, Mr. Wolfgram interjected. We don’t have time to hear your entire life story. You’ve already cost us valuable time here this morning. Now take your seat and follow along with the class schedule that’s already been handed out. Oh, and Mr. Liddle? If you think, whatever the true state of your leg, that it gives you an excuse to be late for any of my classes, think again!

Michael limped down the aisle, looking mostly at the floor, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes following him—including Mr. Wolfgram’s. He found his desk and slipped off his backpack, shoving it and his jacket into the cage under the seat, and sat down, discovering that his left leg couldn’t fit exactly under the desk. The boy behind him muttered something about the cripple to the classmate on his right.

Mr. Wolfgram walked back to his desk, choosing to sit on its edge. After exhaling a long breath, he picked up a sheet of paper. Let’s carry on from the point at which we were interrupted, glancing over at Michael with obvious distaste. As I was saying, I’m your home room and Core teacher, and this means that the subjects as listed on the schedule will be what I’ll be teaching you throughout the week. You’ll be with me during five of the eight periods you’ll have at school each day. Music, gym, and art will be taught by other teachers during the last three periods. The entire morning and the first period of the afternoon will be here with me. Now let’s go over the details.

Michael realized that everyone was looking down at their desks with a schedule in their hands. Everyone that was, but him! From where he sat, he couldn’t clearly see the schedule that any of his nearby classmates were holding. Tentatively, with his heart hammering, he put up his hand.

Spelling dictation will be first thing on the schedule, then history, Mr. Wolfgram began, reading from his own copy. Then there will be a lesson on mathematics. At that moment, the teacher looked up and noticed Michael’s hand in the air. Mr. Liddle, not through causing enough interruptions? What is it now?

Compared to his previous ones, which now seemed like the shade under a tree, the current intensity of Mr. Wolfgram’s baleful stare felt like the heat from a magnifying glass. Michael put his hand down, and in a soft voice said, Sir, I don’t have a schedule, sir. Sorry, sir.

I don’t have time for this, Mr. Liddle. You…the girl, across from Mr. Liddle. Pull your desk over to his and let him follow along with you. Mr. Wolfgram raked his hand through his black hair and glared about the classroom. Now, Mr. Liddle, is there anything else you need or want to say, before I go on?

No, sir, Michael replied, speaking almost in a whisper and looking down at his desk.

The girl to his right stood up and pushed her desk as quietly as she could over to his. Sitting down, she placed her schedule halfway over onto his desk, silently giving him a twitch of a smile before refocusing on the piece of paper. Mr. Wolfgram continued on. Now where was I? Right! After mathematics, we’ll start geography. Your lunch break will follow that for one period, and then you’ll need to be back here and in your desks no later than 12:55. That will give you time to have your notes and books open to the correct page. The class will commence at exactly one o’clock. Have you got that, Mr. Liddle?

Once again, everyone in the classroom looked in Michael’s direction. With his stomach doing another flip-flop, Michael answered, Yes, sir, Mr. Wolfgram, sir.

After that he concentrated on looking down at the schedule, avoiding the stares of everyone else around him. Why was Mr. Wolfgram picking on him? He couldn’t help it if he’d been late! He heard the boy behind him chuckling and whispering, Little Liddle to the student beside him.

Mr. Wolfgram picked up from where he’d left off. "You can see that the period after lunch will be literature. Then you will have the final three periods of the day with other teachers in other classrooms. Please familiarize yourselves with those room locations. Since most of you are coming from elementary schools, you will not have had much experience moving from room to room, so ensure you do this today during lunch or after school. However, today…because it is the first day of school…there will be no art, gym, or music periods, and the school day will be shortened.

Now, the teacher added further, "I want you to clearly understand what my expectations are