Alchemist Academy: Book 1 (11 page)

“First to a hundred. You people had better get moving.”

The sound of mixing erupted as everyone rushed back to their bowls. This was the craziest class I’d ever seen.

Barry turned back to me, smiling. Had he already forgiven the things that had been said to him, or was he grateful for the buildup? I knew then that I never wanted to fail at making a stone out of fear of getting a buildup.

I shook my head and stared at my bowl, thinking about my triggers. My stepfamily was an easy one, but if I dug deeper, I could find all kinds of stuff. It seemed that my well of anger was bottomless and I could access a bucket of it at any moment. I studied the ingredients.

“Ahem,” Dill said.

I looked up and noticed him standing directly in front of my desk. I hadn’t failed yet, and my breath quickened as the thought of exposing myself to the class.

“Make a stone, Allie.”

“How did you know my name?”

“We communicate with each other,” he said bluntly. “Now mix a stone. I need to see this.”

Annoyed by the callout, I pinched a few shavings into the bowl and stirred as I poured small amounts of milk into the mix. In a second, the bowl filled with white steam and then I heard the distinct sound of the rock rolling around in the glass.

“Very impressive. Are you of similar talent, Mark?”

Mark huffed out and I could tell he wanted to play it cool, but I saw the corners of his eyes crunch down. He was nervous. I was curious as well. I hadn’t seen Mark make anything yet.

Mark dropped a small amount of shavings into his bowl, his face turning red as he stirred in the milk. The bowl steamed, but I didn’t hear the clunking sound of a stone solidifying. He kept mixing the muddy liquid.

“Just stop,” Dill said. “This is painful. If you can’t improve, I’ll have to send you back to room thirty-two.”

Mark didn’t look up at this threat. He kept his attention on the bowl in front of him, staring at the milky brown liquid.

Dill shook his head and walked back to his desk. He plopped down on his chair and rubbed his forehead. Raising a hand, he pointed to a digital number displayed above him.

“Back to work.”

A girl with straight black hair sitting diagonally across from me turned back, looking at me. “You need to put your stone in the box,” she said, urging me on.

“Okay.” I shrugged and used a black cloth the size of a napkin to pull the stone from the bowl.

It felt heavy, and having one so close to my skin gave me goose bumps of excitement. I wanted to make more. I wanted to make fantastic ones, like the type Mark had showed me. I stepped up to the wooden box with a round hole in the top, just big enough for a stone. When I plunked it into the box, the number above changed to fourteen.

The students went back to their work and I heard a few comments about some Malki, but mostly they just kept their heads down and kept working.

“Nice work, Allie,” Dill said.

“Thanks.” I smiled all the way back to my desk.

Mark sighed. I knew he wanted to tell me something, but he bit his lip and turned back to his bowl. He had cleaned it out and looked as if he might be having another go.

The black-haired girl turned back to me. “If you can make the stones that easily, we have a chance of winning today. For once I would love to win.” She said the last bit through gritted teeth.

“Win what?”

“We beat the Blues next door to us. The first to a hundred wins the right to—”

“Quiet back there. Get back to mixing.”

The black-haired girl quickly went back to her work.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

She turned back long enough to say, “Ira.” Then she rushed back to her work.

I leaned close to Mark. “This place is freaking weird.”

“I know, right?”

“Keep talking back there and I will personally tie you to the fence.”

I looked at the number fourteen on the wall. First to a hundred? I wondered how many of these stones I could create.

In less than a minute, I had created another one. I walked to the front with it in my hand, and the rest of the class watched. I saw the awe in their eyes as I dropped it into the box. Fifteen. Another person dropped theirs into the box and a few more as well. Soon we were up to twenty.

The class seemed to be hyper-motivated. The sounds of mixing didn’t slow, and the line to wash out the bowls grew as the attempts at creation increased. I didn’t need to wash my bowl out as each time, a stone plopped into my bowl. I was churning them out like a beast.

I walked my thirtieth stone up to the box. I hadn’t seen anyone even come close to my production and with each drop a few of the Reds cheered.

Ninety-two displayed above.

Dill smiled, and when he looked up at the number on the wall, optimism crept into his eyes. I really wanted to get to a hundred. As I walked back, the faces which had once looked beaten and depressed now held a spark of hope. Many glanced at the big number on the wall before getting back to work.

“Have you ever won?” I whispered to Ira.

“No, at least not since I’ve been here.”

I went back to my bowl. I wanted to give my team a victory. I had never been involved in a team before, at least beyond small work groups back in high school, and those had sucked. I always ended up trying to do the project while the others just sat there with dumb looks on their faces waiting for me to do the work. This was different; I wanted the win. I wanted the class to know I had gotten it for them. It felt great to be the driving force behind something bigger than myself. I had to win.

I dropped another one in the box. Ninety-seven.

I turned and bumped into Mark holding a stone in his hand. I beamed at his creation, but he didn’t seem happy at all. It was difficult to understand how he couldn’t get behind this win with enthusiasm. We were about to beat the Blues.

Mark dropped it into the box. Ninety-eight.

I ran back to my desk as I saw another person drop a stone into the box. The class went silent as everyone stared at the number.

Ira turned to me and slapped her desk. “Go for it, Allie! Make the last one.” She slapped her desk again and kept doing it in rhythm. The rest of the class joined in, and soon all eyes were on me as they slapped their hands on their desks in unison. I breathed hard and pinched the last of the wood shavings into the bowl, then poured in the milk. Steam filled the bowl and I heard the distinctive clunking sound of the spherical rock forming.

The class erupted into applause and I covered my face. One girl near the front was in full tears as I passed her. She nodded and mouthed
thank you
as I walked by. Wow, these people had really needed a win. What did we win, cookies? I stared at the stone, smiling, and realized I hadn’t summon the anger to make it. I had felt so elated with all the attention, I had made it with another emotion.

“Put it in the box,” one yelled out.

As I neared the box, the room plunged into silence. Everyone leaned forward. When I dropped the stone in, everyone looked up to see the number change to one they hadn’t seen before—one hundred.

Everyone in the room cheered and bowls spilled to the floor as some of my classmates jumped up from their desks. Many of them openly sobbed in joy as they embraced. The expression of sheer elation in front of me sent chills through my whole body. A few people rushed toward me and thanked me. I didn’t know what to say.

My classmates were happier than I had ever seen a group. It was as if their favorite team had just won the championship. I felt like I didn’t deserve the accolades coming my way because of the ease I had making stones. It was just stirring stuff in a bowl as far as I was concerned, but Mark could only make one. Maybe it was hard for others? He was sitting in the back with his arms crossed, shaking his head. Why couldn’t he celebrate my victory?

Dill stood up from his desk and held a bowl high above him. He hit the bowl with a mixing spoon and the celebration slowed to a murmur.

“Please, Allie, stay up here.”

I stopped my retreat back to my desk and turned to Dill.

“We owe this win to you,” he said to me, and then looked over the class. “Since this is the first win for many of you, I will state the rules before we head over. No permanent marks, and no touching under clothes.”

I frowned at the rules, not understanding, but my classmates rubbed their hands and talked closely with each other. I had no idea what these rules meant, but they morphed the expressions of joy on everyone’s faces to looks of mischief and malice. What had I actually won for us?

“Okay, let’s go,” Dill said and opened the door out of the classroom.

Dill held his hands up to quiet down the racket and waited until near silence had spread over the group. He grasped the handle of door twenty-seven and pushed. The fifteen students around me held their heads high and chests out as they walked into the classroom.

Mark and I stayed in the back.

“This place is all wrong,” he said into my ear.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s purely a hate factory. Did you learn one thing back in that class? All we do here is create stones for them.”

We edged closer to the room.

“I see your point.” I thought about it a little. “But I kind of like the competition. And did you see how many stones I made? I won this for the class. Did you see their faces?”

“Yeah, like a bunch of jackals running for a kill.”

We walked past the door.

The room looked similar to the Reds’, but the students’ necks or wrists were adorned in Blue. All their hands lay flat on the desks in front of them and none of them moved. Were they real? I pushed my way between two Reds and got a better look at them. They were frozen in place, locked in paralysis like wax figures.

“Go ahead and get it over with,” the Blues’ professor said as he rubbed the top of his balding head.

“Okay,” Dill said. “Class, show them the same courtesies you’ve been given.”

“There’s that bitch, Jill,” Ira said, and stomped over to her desk. She hesitated, shaking her hands and grunting as if trying to decide what to do. She reeled back and slapped her face hard enough to make a cracking sound. Ira then screamed a long stream of profanities, directed at Jill’s appearance, skills, and breath.

The rest of the Reds each rushed to a Blue. It was clear that each classmate had a particular person they wanted to berate, smack, or downright violate. Some of the Reds simply yelled in the Blues’ faces, while others went into physical attacks, smacking and knuckling the tops of their heads. Barry climbed on top of a desk and began humping a Blue’s head, smashing his crotch against her face. Mark rushed over and pulled the guy off the girl, towering over the small guy. He scurried away to find another Blue to attack.

I felt ill. This was our victory?

“How do you like it, Jill?” Ira screamed as she repetitively slapped the girl’s purpling cheek.

How long had the Blues been doing this to them? This kind of manic hate seemed to have been built up over weeks or months, if not years. The Dolls had harassed me for a long time, but I was nowhere near this level of venom. The stoic Blues took it; they had no choice. I tried not to judge. Who was I to judge their pain? This was their moment of payback.

I couldn’t help it, though; I felt for the Blues, and wanted to scream and make it stop. My mouth hung open and I couldn’t breathe. I felt tears building in my eyes. Ira continued to berate the girl in front of her while Mark darted around the room, pulling the most egregious offenders off their victims.

This was how the school worked? I was going to be sick.

A whistle blew and Ira glanced back. She slapped Jill once more before getting off her desk.

The Reds left their counterparts and headed for the door. Some were sweating, and wiped the clumping strands of hair stuck to their foreheads. Others glided to the door, as if on clouds.

Mark and I stayed back, transfixed by the train wreck they left behind. I hadn’t even noticed the student on the floor, still in a sitting position with his palms flat out. The Blues’ eyes twitched in their sockets, and tears were falling down many faces.

“I take it you were the difference?” the bald professor asked me.

I couldn’t reply; the words choked my throat. I was still in shock from what I had seen. How could anyone treat another person so badly?

“Don’t feel bad for them,” the teacher said. “That will only ignite a fresh anger, and during the next competition, they’ll have a lot of hate to work with. I bet you won’t be around to carry them next time.”

Mark pulled on my hand and I let him guide me from the room.

Dill closed the door as we entered the hub. He smiled at me and nodded his head. The Reds roared with cheers and surrounded me. I had never had so many people hugging me and thanking me. More tears flowed and I didn’t know what to say or do.

“Class, you can take off the rest of the evening.”

They cheered again and dispersed, with most walking toward the Red houses.

Mark placed his hand on my shoulder and turned me to face him. His face was contorted with all sorts of emotions, but the most obvious was worry. “We need to talk, somewhere private.”

“We can go back to our living quarters.”

“Fine. I don’t like being out here anyway.”

I glanced back at door twenty-seven. My mom had always told me never to judge another culture, but this didn’t seem right on any level.

“Thanks, Allie,” a guy said before smiling and walking away.

Another girl rushed up to me. “You rocked it so hard, making those stones. We owe you big time.” She reached out to me and I went to shake her hand, but she gripped my hand with both of hers before bouncing and running off toward the House of Red.

I watched her catch up with a few others. They huddled close together, jumping in unison. Even with the horrible stuff they’d just done to the Blues, I bet it would pale in comparison to what they had endured. Those particular thoughts made me more comfortable, and I felt warm inside, like I was actually part of something. The only people who’d cared to give me any notice at my old school were the Dolls, and that was for a completely different reason.

We left the hub and walked close together past the first section of Red houses. I recognized a few people from room twenty-eight. They made sure to wave enthusiastically as we passed, calling my name.

“You’re a damned celebrity on day one,” Mark said.

“They’re just happy we won.”

“I don’t know if that’s what I would call it.” He put his hands in his pockets.

I wanted to defend myself for a second, but he was right. It was definitely not a
win
. Both teams were losing, any way you looked at it.

“You even picked up a stray.”

Behind us walked Ira.

“Hey,” I called to her.

She stared at the ground before looking at me.

“What’s your name again?” I asked. I already knew, but it seemed like a good conversation starter for the nervous-looking girl.

“Ira,” she answered.

“Ira. I like that name. And it’s good to meet you outside of that class.” I extended my hand. She shook it with a limp grip, fingernails painted black.

“Nice to meet you.” She looked down and her hair covered some of her face.

“I’m Allie and this is Mark.”

Ira regarded Mark for a second through her bangs, but didn’t say anything.

“I take it you really didn’t like that girl?” Mark commented. “Jill, was it?”

“She’s done … terrible things to me for almost a year now.” Her face crunched up; she was fighting not to cry.

I looked at Mark and then back to Ira. “You’ve been here for a year? Overall, how do you like it?” I asked.

She looked up with her mousey face. “I hate it here.” She kicked the ground and stumbled forward. “Today was different, though. Today
we
won because of you.” She touched my arm with both hands and made eye contact.

“Okay, well, I’m glad we won. We’re going to our house now, but it was really nice meeting you,” I offered.

Ira pulled my hand back, her limp wrist turning into a vise. “I need to know something about the outside world.”

“What do you want to know?”

Ira looked around at a few Reds mingling nearby. “Can we go to my room? This will only take a minute, and it’s right here.” She pointed to the red door ten feet away.

“Sure,” I shrugged.

She let out a quick breath and smiled.

Mark and I followed her into her room.

“It’s a little messy, sorry,” Ira said as she flung a few article of clothing into a basket.

A black theme ran wild through the room. Black sheets were hanging over the windows and the floor looked marred with black streaks running across the wood planks. I spotted a book on her nightstand and squinted to read the spine.

“Do you have any books on alchemy?” I asked.

Ira picked up another heap of clothes and dumped them into a hamper. “No, there aren’t any as far as I know.”

A scratching sound came from the back of the room, like nails on cardboard. Ira cleared her throat and rushed up next to me and Mark.

“I just want to know if you’ve heard anything about my dad. Right before I left, we found out he’d been taken prisoner in Iran. He’s a freelance reporter, and his name is George Parker.” Wide-eyed, she waited for my answer.

I searched for the name, but came up with nothing. I looked to Mark and he gave me a slight shake of the head. “I’m real sorry, Ira. I haven’t heard anything.”

She sighed and pulled on her red scarf. “I thought maybe there would be news of his release, or....” She closed her mouth and sighed.

Another scratching sound came from the back of the room, followed by a squeak. I gazed around behind her, trying to find the source of the noise. A few items of clothing lay scattered around a dinette table. Above the table were drawings of circles with symbols mixed in with them. Finally, my eyes landed on a cardboard box just as it moved with the same scratching sound.

“What’ve you got back there?” Mark asked and took a few steps forward.

Ira went pale. “You can’t tell anyone. We aren’t allowed to have pets here. They’ll take him away from me.” She rushed to the box and knelt down to pull off the lid.

“He’s really friendly,” Ira said.

I walked over and peered into the box. At the bottom stood a ferret, clawing at an edge. Ira reached in and pulled it out, holding it against her chest as it smelled her face.

“You won’t tell anyone, right?” Ira asked.

“No, we won’t tell,” Mark said.

“What’s his name?” I smiled and petted its soft, furry back. It cocked its head and I pulled back my hand.

“Sir Joffrey.” She smiled so big it brightened her whole face. I realized how beautiful she looked without the sulk and slump. “He gives me a reason to keep moving on, and when I can find an excuse to not go to class, he and I have so much fun in this room. Don’t we, Sir Joffrey?”

The ferret nuzzled against her nose and she giggled.

“Well, I wish we had good news about your dad, but we’d better get back to our place,” Mark said.

“I understand,” Ira said and looked away.

“Maybe I can come back and visit with you and Sir Joffrey?” I offered.

“Oh, would you?” She lit up again and her beauty shone through.

“Yeah, of course.” I knew her better than I wanted to admit. I saw the loneliness in her eyes, the hurt. I wanted to wrap her up in a hug and tell her things had a way of getting better over time, but I wasn’t sure how true that would be here. I knew I would make sure she had another victory during the next class competition. The thought of Jill violating her, or whoever it might be, sent my blood pressure shooting up.

“Thanks, Ira, for showing us your pet. We promise, not a word.” Mark locked his mouth and threw away the key. “Come on, Allie.”

“Bye, Ira.”

“Wait. Sir Joffrey wants to say goodbye.” The ferret stood on her shoulder and waved both of his tiny, furry paws up and down.

I wanted to snatch that thing up for myself. “So, so cute. I’ll see you in class tomorrow, okay?”

The smile left her face. “You won’t be there next time,” she said so low I didn’t know if she had really said it. She sank her head and Sir Joffrey ran into her lowered hands.

We left her house and started walking back down the spoke towards our place.

“Uh, I feel so bad for her.” I turned and glanced back at her door.

Mark’s eyes followed. “She’s a mysterious little thing, isn’t she?”

“I kind of like her.”