“Welcome to Narnia!” announced a broad, hunched woman of gargantuan stature.
She had rust-colored hair; green eyes set so wide and low they nearly aligned with her ears; crooked, coffee-stained teeth; and a chin pointy enough to spear pineapple. Her billowing white dress was a sort of cross between a karate gi and a bathrobe.
Kallie peeked inside the third-floor classroom and sighed. It was worse than she’d expected. There wasn’t a single desk. Instead, the room was filled with truckloads of worn pillows most likely salvaged from a yard sale. Plush ones, floral ones, striped and polka dot. Cotton, chenille, and faux fur.
This wasn’t a classroom, Kallie decided. At best, it was a giant slumber party. At worst, a fire hazard. She made a mental list of all the building-code violations. She would notify Mr. McEwan just as soon as she saw him.
“In you go,” said Ms. Beausoleil. “Make yourselves comfortable.”
Kallie planted her feet, rooting them firmly to the old tiles. Everyone, including Anna, rushed past her on either side. They practically dove onto the pillows, stretching themselves out, shouting and laughing in a most unruly manner.
“Hello, Kaliope,” said Ms. Beausoleil.
“Kallie,” she replied softly. “Not Kaliope.”
The teacher tilted her head and smiled apologetically.
“Where are the desks?” asked Kallie. “How are we supposed to work?”
“Oh, we are going to work very hard, I can assure you,” said Ms. Beausoleil. “But you won’t need a desk. Not here.” She tilted her head side to side. “Well, not at the moment, anyway.”
“But how are we supposed to write about our studies?” Kallie protested.
“Write about our studies?” Ms. Beausoleil seemed genuinely confused. “We aren’t going to merely write about the stories we study. We are going to live them. Breathe them. Let them take hold of our very souls and spirit us away.” She appeared to clutch at something in the air and then cast it off toward a distant horizon. She grinned and winked.
Kallie narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw as the teacher gently guided her inside. She reluctantly crossed the threshold.
“This is an affront to education,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s anarchy.”
“Not to mention unhygienic,” whispered Pole, who came marching in behind.
“Now, now,” said Ms. Beausoleil. “Speak up. No whisperings or mutterings necessary here. I encourage free conversation, differing opinions, and debate in my classroom.”
Kallie made a pinched face while Pole carefully cleared a spot on the dusty, tiled floor. He sat cross-legged. Kallie remained standing. The very idea of working in such close proximity to other people’s messy thoughts upset her. They’d be like sticky fingers reaching over and messing with her mind.
Once everyone had settled, Ms. Beausoleil reached behind her, grabbed a worn book from one of the numerous dusty stacks piled high at the front of the class, and held it up for all to see. Its cover was wrinkled and cracked, its pages yellow, and the corners dog-eared.
“The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe,” she said. “A hero’s journey. A tale of courage and sacrifice. Betrayal and redemption. Fraught with consequence and award-winning pain. Filled with magic.” She smiled. “Ah, yes … magic.”
Anna sat up straighter. Her face beamed like a lighthouse. Kallie sighed. Just what she needed. More magic.
“Written first, this novel is actually the second book in the series. The sixth book is the first, the fifth is the third, the second the fourth, and—”
Kallie shook her head. Any writer who couldn’t decide on the sequence of events was simply not to be trusted.
“Today, you are no longer students.” Ms. Beausoleil eyed half the room. “You are dryads and nymphs.” She nodded at the other half and smiled. “Red dwarfs and fauns.”
Kallie observed her classmates. Their eyes widened with curiosity. Even the cool kids who worked very hard at appearing perpetually bored seemed a little intrigued.
Then Ms. Beausoleil’s gaze settled on Kallie. “Have a seat, dear.” She motioned to a large, lumpy pillow with a paisley pattern.
“I prefer to stand,” said Kallie, unable to mask the disdain in her voice.
“Wonderful!” said Ms. Beausoleil. “We shall need a lamp-post as well!”
Kallie could feel steam rising from her skull as the teacher settled onto her own pillow the size of a truck tire. And with a great sigh blowing through the class like dry wind across the desert, she began to read:
“Once there were four children whose names were Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy.”
Kallie stared at the clock above the door. She watched the second hand tick, tick, tick as the wasted period dwindled. All the while, she tried desperately to tune out the story. It wormed its way into her head all the same.
It made no sense. A world through a wardrobe? Ridiculous—not to mention scientifically impossible.
At long last, a bell sounded, putting Kallie out of her misery. Ms. Beausoleil had managed to read five chapters. All four children had now entered the wardrobe and were left shut in the dark.
“That’s it for today,” said Ms. Beausoleil, closing the book.
“No!” shouted Alex.
“You can’t leave us hanging!” squeaked Grace.
Ms. Beausoleil sat grinning as the class moaned, groaned, and begged her to continue. “Tomorrow you must come prepared—for the road ahead is perilous. And I will call upon each of you to take a turn reading.”
Accepting the period was over, everyone gathered their belongings, chatting happily about the story as they left the class.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” whispered Anna as she passed Kallie.
“I suppose … if you like gerenuks.” Kallie sighed. How would she ever survive the year? If only she could have had Mr. Bent. She’d heard the previous sixth graders had spent the entire year diagramming sentences. Kallie was an expert in pronouns, verbs, articles, and adjectives. She knew her subjective completions and subordinate clauses like the back of her hand. She eyed Pole, and a silent message passed between them.
“Lunchtime,” he said.
Aside from math and science, it was Pole’s favorite time of day. Kallie sanitized her hands three times, retrieved her lunch bag from her locker, and followed Pole into the cafeteria.
By the time they arrived, many of the long tables were occupied. They found an empty end and sat opposite each other.
Pole got out his thermos filled with a thick, lentilish mush. He was a strict vegetarian. Kallie sanitized her hands one more time for good measure and then began to munch on a cucumber and salmon sandwich. She had sliced the cucumbers extrathin and cut the bread diagonally, just the way she liked it.
“How could they all fit in the wardrobe?” said Pole. “It’s not physically possible.”
“It’s magic, remember,” said Kallie, sarcasm distorting her expression.
“Magic! I know everything there is to know about magic!” trilled the now-familiar and all-too-enthusiastic voice. Anna hovered over them, her backpack slung over her shoulder, a chipped ceramic cup dangling between her fingers. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell us what?” asked Pole.
Kallie fired him an angry look. Pole should know better than to encourage the girl. She was one of those people with permanently rosy cheeks. It made her look excessively cheerful all the time. Of course, cheerfulness had its place, thought Kallie. But it was a small space, a neat and tidy compartment between joy and contentment. Anna’s cheerfulness was sloppy. It spilled all over the place, dripping onto the floor, leaving a trail of smiles wherever she went. Disgusting.
Anna slipped onto the bench beside Kallie. “My parents are world-famous magicians. They’ve traveled the globe with the Curious Carnival of Kickapoo Kansas, performing for all sorts of nobility. Kings … queens … basketball stars … Perhaps you’ve heard of them? The Amazing Alonzo and his Alluring Assistant, Ava.”
Pole shook his head while Kallie sat blinking.
“Well, no matter. Maybe someday you’ll come see their show. When they’re back, that is.”
“Listen,” said Pole, changing topics. “I’ve been thinking. I’m tired of all the silly celebrations we are forced to endure. Halloween, Valentine’s Day, Groundhog Day…”
“The worst, because it pretends to be scientific.” Kallie nodded.
“So,” he continued, “this year, I think our school should celebrate something truly meaningful.”
Kallie could see the glint in Pole’s eyes. He rarely got this excited about anything. She knew something great was coming.
“National Periodic Table Day.” He raised his chin in triumph.
Kallie beamed. Anna looked confused. “National what day?”
“Periodic table,” said Kallie. “Pay attention.”
“National Periodic Table Day,” said Pole, “occurs every February seventh to promote the challenges overcome by individuals in order to create the modern periodic table.”
“I love the idea! It’s cooler than absolute zero,” said Kallie.
Pole grinned.
“How are we supposed to celebrate that?” said Anna.
“Well,” said Pole, “I was thinking we could begin by playing the periodic table song, then cycle through various chemistry challenges and…”
“Hey—why did the scientist dip his shoes in silicone rubber?” said Kallie.
“To reduce his carbon footprint,” said Pole. They giggled.
“I’ve got an idea!” announced Anna. “We can all come dressed as our favorite element.”
Kallie stopped laughing and stared.
“Well,” said Pole, “how about we put that in the maybe box.”
“I’m going to come as Kryptonite,” she said with a smugness Kallie felt was utterly unearned.
“It’s krypton,” said Kallie. “There’s no such thing as Kryptonite.”
“Not on this planet,” said Anna. “Why should I limit myself to earthly elements?”
“There’s no Kryptonite on any planet,” said Kallie, increasingly annoyed.
“How do you know?” said Anna. “Have you mapped the entire universe?”
“She has a point, Kallie.” Pole smiled at Anna, then ate a big spoonful of mush.
Kallie gritted her teeth. She didn’t know what galled her more—Anna’s ridiculousness or Pole’s defense of it. She took a bite of her sandwich, all the while eyeing the girl’s backpack and her ceramic cup. It looked hand-painted, with splotches of purple and green covering the inside and out. On the front was a single, lopsided pink heart. “Where’s your lunch?”
“Oh, I had an absolutely ginormous breakfast. Mrs. Winslow—I’m living with her while my parents are away—makes the biggest breakfasts in the world. A veritable smorgasbord of sausages, bacon, and ham. Pancakes shaped like flowers with whipped cream petals. And the fluffiest scrambled eggs that just melt in your mouth. I’m really stuffed, couldn’t eat another bite.”
She paused for a quick breath. “But … I would like some water. Where is the nearest fountain?” She plunked her backpack on the bench next to Kallie and held up her cup.
Pole pointed to the hallway. “Just outside the cafeteria, in front of the washroom. I can show you the way.”
“No need,” said Anna. “I’ll be right back.”
“What do you think of her?” he asked once Anna was out of earshot. He was smiling again—as if he’d just received an A+ on an assignment.
“I try not to,” said Kallie. She shifted away from the musty-smelling, shabby-looking backpack crammed with so much stuff it was coming apart at the seams.
“I don’t know. I kind of like her.”
“How can you?” said Kallie indignantly. “She’s so … incongruent.”
“Yes.” He nodded. “I think that’s it. There’s a sort of scalene quality about her, don’t you think?”
Kallie rolled her eyes and sighed. She took another bite of her sandwich, chewed, and swallowed, all the while thinking. “Can I ask you something?” she said finally.
“Is it about geometry?” he said, eagerly.
Kallie shook her head. She chose her words carefully. “Have you ever done something, well, without thinking?”
Pole nearly dropped his spoon. He looked shocked. “You mean something rash? Impulsive? Unplanned?”
“No, no. Nothing like that,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. “What I meant to say was, have you ever, well, done something, such as gotten something out of the fridge without knowing you’d done so? Maybe you poured yourself a glass of milk without realizing and the next thing you knew it was sitting on the counter waiting for you and you had no idea you’d done it? Like that?”
Kallie pictured the box, sitting on her desk, as though she had placed it there herself when she was certain she hadn’t gone near it.
“Of course I have,” said Pole. He pointed his spoon at her. “You’re talking about the automatic brain.”
“The automatic brain?”
“Exactly.” Pole dug into his thermos, extracted a heaping spoonful of mush, placed it in his mouth, and swished it around for a bit before swallowing.
“You see, most of what we do everyday, we do unconsciously—without thinking about it. Our brain has memorized patterns of behavior, and then we just go through the motions.”
Kallie let the idea swish around her brain like a glob of Pole’s mush. It made sense. She could have gotten out the box unconsciously.
“If we had to think about every single movement, every single breath, every single step, or blink, or cough,” said Pole, “we’d be exhausted. Thinking is really hard work.”
“So, it’s as though we go on autopilot?” said Kallie, placing the remainder of her sandwich into the tupperware and zipping up her lunch bag.
“It’s the magic of the unconscious mind!” said Anna, shifting her backpack down the bench, slipping in beside Kallie, placing her cup on the table.
Kallie had no idea Anna had been there, eavesdropping on their conversation. She was about to tell Anna there was no such thing as magic when she heard a loud crash and the cafeteria went silent.