TALK ABOUT HAVING STORIES to tell. The kids outdid themselves. Luke’s idea of adding a carnival-like atmosphere, via calliope music— “Colonel Bogey,” “That old Gang of Mine,” “In the Good Old Summertime” —with syncing lights and a rented aroma machine to give off a popcorn smell, brought in a crowd. “Being considered a bit weird can work to your advantage when it comes to carnival,” he said, displaying his shrewd market savvy. “The peculiar attracts. Look at how many kids are showing up and buying our stuff, when usually they won’t give us the time of day.” He’d even talked Granny Max into the role of carnival barker, which she took to like a pro, tailoring her pitch to individual passers-by.
Soon students swarmed all six exhibits, not one booth more popular than the next. Lines formed, tapered off, and formed again, customers coming back a second time and a third, as if fearing they would miss out on the unusual items for sale—thereby increasing their value.
“We won’t be selling products,” Luke had said during one of their brainstorming sessions, “but solutions to problems people don’t even know they have.”
My throat hurt from holding back the tears, my chest from holding in the joy.
“I’m making a small fortune,” Ethan whispered when I stopped by his display, consisting of two burlap-covered tables, four honey-scented candles, and piles of plastic pill pouches filled with mini ceramic buffaloes. “My totems are selling like… Well, you know.”
“I get the point. Save one for me.” I didn’t mention my missing stone mouse. Not here. Not now.
He handed me a buffalo. “Better take one while they last.”
I wondered if that meant I wasn’t getting my mouse totem back. “Thanks, kiddo. You’re doing an awesome job.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I know.”
Moving on to Luke’s booth, I noticed he’d almost run out of slogan buttons. “I should’ve made more,” he said, counting out change. “They’re practically biting my hands off to buy the ones I’ve got left. But no worries, I’ll do rain checks.” He’d gotten quite creative with his setup, using a small wooden storage shed spray painted with graffiti-type messages and slogans—Grass and gas, not a laughing matter; Do dope, lose hope; Cope without Dope—with multi-colored, bubble lettering of amazing quality.
I laughed when I got to Jason’s black pop-up tent. With Joni Mitchell singing in the background about being stardust and an LED star ball projecting bright white beams on the inner walls, he was relating the story of man’s origin. “Just think,” he said to his spellbound audience, “we’re all formed from stardust. Everything around us is crystallized mathematics.”
Granny Max, aka Carnival Barker, who happened to be passing by, caught Jason’s last words and smiled as if to say, Math is God’s language.
On seeing me, Jason frowned. “I thought I’d ordered plenty of stardust but had to send Dad out for more.” He was wearing white high-topped sneakers, white jeans, a white ribbed shirt, and a thin white headband. On anyone else, this getup would have looked ridiculous, but on Jason, well, he looked like a magician.
“Um, Jason. What’s in those capsules?”
“Silicon dioxide.” At my look of confusion, he added, “Everything in the physical universe is formed from stardust, Ms. V.” He checked for eavesdroppers before whispering, “Which includes sand with some glitter mixed in.”
Smiling as if I’d discovered the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, I moved on to Tessa’s booth. Fortune cookies gone, she’d resorted to writing messages—interspersed with tattoo-like symbols—on students’ hands with fluorescent markers. I suspected each of her customers also received the benefit of her healing touch.
Codi, oh Codi. Her Medicine Wheel dream catchers were delicate yet sturdy like spider webs. Tiny colored beads and animal totems marked the four directions. I ran my fingers over a wheel decorated with faux buffalo skins and blew out my breath. “Codi, you’ve outdone yourself.”
“They’re a bit pricy, which hurts sales, but I doubt there’ll be any left by the end of the day.”
Each time someone stopped to inspect one of her Medicine Wheels, she stilled. Calm as a clam, I thought, and moved on.
Shawn’s cards were selling like valuable pieces of art. I stepped in closer to inspect the ones displayed on a pegboard turntable. “I had to eliminate some of the cards I made as inappropriate for kids our age,” he said. “The artist in me got carried away.”
Maybe encouraging him to craft oracle-like cards hadn’t been such a good idea. Like many works of art, they were open to interpretation. Depending on the viewer’s state of mind, the free-flowing works could be seen as invitations to self-discovery or vessels of evil. What a relief he’d had the foresight to eliminate the ones he deemed inappropriate. It seemed everything I did with and for these kids involved risk and invited trouble.
“The ones I laminated sold right away,” Shawn said. “As bookmarks and coasters.”
I would have given a hearty whistle had I known how. “Good going, Shawn. Any luck with explaining about Indigos?”
“No time.”
“I think they may be getting the idea.”
Shawn picked up a card illustrating a man with his eyes closed and hands held out in front of him, palms up. It was hard telling if the sketched figure meant to draw in or ward off, invite or repel. “Most of the vibes I’m picking up are positive, Ms. Veil. But there’s some bad energy floating around that’s hard to shake off. Granny Max led a couple of rowdies out of here. The one she called ‘Wyatt Earp’ looked like he could cause some serious trouble. She gave him a hug and told him to shape up or there’d be more where that came from. Being cuddled by an old lady in front of a crowd probably spooked him more than threats of suspension.”
Go Granny! I wondered if Shawn was reading his customers’ minds.
“No time for that either,” he said, his tone confidential. “The cards are a huge distraction to my original mission.”
Kids pressed in like a crowd at a post-holiday sale. I met Shawn’s gaze. “Are you okay with this?”
He nodded. “Good for business.”
Throughout the day, I’d noticed teachers from other classes grudgingly checking out the Indigo’s exhibits, but, so far, no sign of Charles Lacoste or Dr. Matt. I tried not to let this bother me. Dr. Matt, for one, had other duties on a day such as this; but darn it, offering these kids extra support had been his idea. So, where was he?
Shawn glanced over my shoulder and stilled. I turned to see the subject of my thoughts headed our way. And just like that, warmth crept into my heart. About time.
“I heard complaints about you stealing the show,” he said.
My reaction, two thumbs up and a grin.
“Hi, Uncle Matt,” Shawn called out. He looked like a kid who’d just hit a home run and wanted to share his victory with someone who cared.
Dr. Matt waved and gave him a tight smile.
Shawn’s eyes lost their brilliance.
I wanted to grab Dr. Matt by the shoulders and tell him to shape up. His whole attitude was counterproductive to what he’d claimed he wanted to achieve with these kids. Try putting yourself in his shoes, I told myself. What could be causing his change of heart? I concentrated hard, but all I came up with was an image of Charles Lacoste. Oh, please, don’t let it be something as petty as gossip from a fellow teacher.
Keeping Dr. Matt in my sights, I took a deep breath and relaxed my mind. The result, a new picture, one of Angelina, smiling as if she knew something I didn’t. Next came an image of Ethan. Ethan? I turned toward his booth and caught his eye. He looked worried—no, terrified. What was up?
Dr. Matt checked his watch— “I’ll meet up with you later” —then walked away without a second glance at the exhibits the students had so painstakingly put together. Shawn followed his uncle’s retreat with the blank expression of someone accustomed to such neglect.
“For crying out loud,” Codi said from the booth next to Shawn’s.
Yeah, I felt like doing just that. After experiencing what I had today, I realized for the second time that Dr. Matt had been right in hiring me. Too bad, on encountering a fork in the road, he’d taken a wrong turn. How long before he found his way back? For Shawn and the rest of the Indigos, I hoped it would be soon. For me, it hardly mattered. I’d lit a flame within my students, which wasn’t about to be snuffed out by the likes of Charles Lacoste and Dr. Matt.
“Clean up time,” I said.
Luke yelped. “We hit pay dirt.”
Jason shut his cash box and shook it. “Enough to replace the projector bulb I blew. And then some.”
I felt suddenly tired.
We faced a big cleanup ahead.