Emma and the Minotaur (9 page)

“Sir?”

“You’re a good student. I looked at your records. But this year hasn’t got off to a great start, has it?”

“No, sir.”

“Your grades are excellent but your behaviour has been upsetting Miss Robins.”

“Yes, sir.”

“In any case, don’t be afraid to come to me if you should need help with anything at all. That goes for Jake as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

He took a blank piece of paper and scribbled on it. “Here,” he said, and handed it to Emma. “Take this to Miss Robins so you won’t get in trouble.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said.

When Emma reached her classroom, Miss Robins turned from the board and cast a furious glance at her. Before the teacher could speak, Emma rushed to her, waving the life-saving note above her head. Miss Robins took it and read it. She frowned at Emma and then pointed to the girl’s desk without saying a single word. Emma could tell that she had been very angry, and the fact that she couldn’t yell at her had only made her angrier.

Emma sat down at her desk. Her clothes were still moist. She was cold and shivered for a while. It was hard for her to pay attention while her teeth were chattering but she tried her best to seem fascinated by the lesson. She didn’t want any more trouble today. She considered herself lucky to have escaped the day unscathed.

The afternoon wore on and the rain continued to beat upon the windows on the side of the classroom. The children had to stay inside during recess, something for which Emma was glad. She took that time to pull out her map of Glenridge Forest and mull over its puzzle again, glancing for a moment at the empty chair where Jake should have been. He was probably sick at home and she had been worrying all day for no reason. She was going to have to help him catch up with what he’d missed today, starting with the lesson on translations of objects.

“Wow,” she said without intending to speak out loud. A few kids looked her way but quickly went back to chatting with each other.

A strange thought had struck her. It was an impossible idea but a fun one to consider, and it would explain a lot. The way Emma thought about translating an object was that it just meant that she moved it around. She thought of drawing a circle on a piece of graph paper in the corner. If she were translate it to the centre of the paper, then the circle would remain exactly the same, only its location would change. This idea of moving shapes around made Emma wonder what it would be like if maybe it wasn’t her ribbons that were being moved, but what if it was the trees themselves that were translating?

If Mr Milligan had become lost in the forest, all he would’ve had to do was to walk in a single direction and, eventually, he would have come out of it somewhere. But if the trees were moving around and changing the layout of the forest then it could be that he was trapped inside a sort of labyrinth. This would also explain why she and the boys had never been able to stay on a course due north.

It was a crazy idea but she knew that it was one that Jake would like. She took a hard look at her map and decided that she would go back and make more copies and use a different copy each time they went into the forest. If the trees were actually moving, then there could be some pattern to their translation, and if they kept track of how the forest changed each day, then they could possibly be able to figure out the pattern.

“So cool!” she said.

Emma looked around and noticed that the class was silent. All the students were back at their desks and they were looking toward the front. A few heads were turned in her direction and she saw Suzie Collins roll her eyes at her. Recess had ended and she hadn’t noticed.

“Emma!” said Miss Robins from the front of the room. She stormed to Emma’s desk and looked down at her map. “This again?” she yelled. “I told you that you can’t be playing around during my class. You’ve been a nuisance since day one, Emma. Just because your father is a university professor doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.”

“Miss Robins, I…”

“I nothing! I had just about enough of you!”

The teacher went to the front of the room and picked up a permanent marker from her desk. Beside Emma’s name on the Strike Board she put a third “X.” This one was much bigger than the previous two.

“Strike three, Emma Wilkins. To the principal’s office. Now!”

And so Emma found herself back at Mr Clarence’s office. He raised an eyebrow at her when he saw her standing at the door but motioned for her to come in. Emma saw that the towel she had used was still draped across one of the chairs so she made her way back to it and sat down.

“What’s the matter, Emma?” asked Mr Clarence.

“Miss Robins sent me, sir,” she said.

“Now, why did she do that?”

“I disrupted the class. She gave me a third strike.”

“Are you playing baseball in there?”

“No, sir, it’s just that there is this board…”

“I know, Emma,” he said. “It was just my little joke. Well, here’s the thing. Miss Robins takes her strikes very seriously so I can’t just send you back there. She’ll kill me if I don’t give you detention for at least one day.”

“Okay, Mr Clarence,” Emma said.

“Not today though. I think today you’ve been through enough. Maybe tomorrow at lunch time. Just come to my office then.”

Emma nodded and stood up, wondering if the principal was this nice with everyone. Before she made it to the door, he spoke again.

“Emma, you know we have to call your family?”

“Yes, sir. My dad.”

“Maybe I can tell the secretary to hold off until tomorrow so you can explain this to your parents yourself and prepare them.”

“No parents, Mr Clarence. Only a dad. But yes, please. Thank you, sir.”

As soon as school let out for the day, Rebecca Robins made her way to the Main Office of Briardale Middle School. There was no one there except for the secretary, who was sitting behind a counter typing into her computer.

“Hey, Dory,” she said to the older woman.

“Hello, Rebecca,” the secretary said, looking up.

Rebecca leaned against the counter. “Listen, did you call Emma Wilkins’ parents yet?”

Dorothy stopped typing. “No, I didn’t,” she said. “George said to wait until tomorrow.”

Rebecca frowned. “Now, why would that be?”

“I have no idea. He didn’t say.”

“Can I have their number?” Rebecca said. “I think I want to talk to her parents myself. It’s important.”

It was still raining when Will and Emma were dropped off by their bus. The ride home had been a quiet one because Will was good at sensing when Emma wasn’t in a talking mood.

They ran from the bus all the way to their house without slowing down. Emma got soaked for the second time that day. They went to their separate rooms without saying a word. When she was in her bedroom, Emma changed into her pajamas and put on a pair of pink slippers. She wanted the day to end already but she knew that the hardest part was yet to come. She had to tell her father what she had done and the trouble she had gotten into.

When she had put her things away, she reached underneath her bed and took out the yellow lunchbox. From it, she withdrew an old and tattered copy of her favourite book and snuggled into her blankets to forget the world. She started reading and in her mind she was taken to a hole in the ground where she found some quiet comfort before tired eyelids closed on their own and she fell asleep.

When Emma woke up, it was dark outside. Her book was resting on her chest and against her chin. She blinked a few times and it took her a moment to notice the voices. One of them sounded like her father’s. The other voice was also familiar, but less so.

She got out of bed and put her book under the pillow, thinking that she may need it later when this was all over.

She walked out of her room, down the dim hallway, and into the living room. Her father was speaking but he stopped doing so as he saw her enter. Seated across from him was Lucy Leroux. The girl looked up and Emma saw that her eyes were streaked with tears and there was black makeup running down her face. She gave Emma a little wave and a forced smile.

“Hey,” Lucy said.

Mr Wilkins wasn’t smiling as he beckoned Emma over. She sat on the edge of the armchair opposite the windows so that the three of them formed a triangle. She was still disoriented and she wasn’t sure what time, or what day, it was.

“What’s going on?” she said.

“Emma…” Mr Wilkins said. He shook his head. A pulse of panic beat in Emma’s chest when she noticed his expression. A deep-set frown dominated his features. He took off his glasses, closed his eyes, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Emma had never seen him that way. In the pause that followed, for just a moment, he seemed like a stranger to her and she felt afraid.

“It’s just… you’re such a good girl, Emma, but lately...”

“Dad,” Emma said, “what is happening?”

“It’s my fault,” he said. “I’ve just let you run off and do whatever you want. Your mother—”

“Dad, what are you talking about?”

Lucy Leroux spoke up in a small voice. “Professor, maybe I should go?”

“No, no, it’s alright. I’m sorry, Lucy.” He turned to Emma and sighed. “I know you’ve been in the forest,” he said. “That’s why Lucy is here.”

Emma stood up, a flood of thoughts crashing in on her mind. The first was that she was in a great deal of trouble, more than she had thought. Then the rest of the day’s events came back to her. Jake was missing and she hadn’t heard from him. Maybe he was lost forever. She had her third strike at school. Now, on top of it all, she had to explain her excursions into the forest.

And then there was Lucy.

“You did it to me again,” she said, almost yelling at the girl. “You’re just a giant snitch!”

“Emma, calm down!” Mr Wilkins said, yelling back at her. He stood up and in his anger he seemed taller than before.

Emma cowered back a step.

At that moment, there was music. It was a symphony, a cascade of sound that inundated the room.

“Why are you being so difficult lately?” Mr Wilkins said, still yelling.

Emma looked around frantically. “Don’t you hear that?” she said.

“Hear what? Stop playing around, Emma. First this obsession with the forest and now I get a call at work that you have detention. What is wrong with you?”

He was shouting. Lucy Leroux was looking at the floor, trying to disappear. The music filled Emma’s head and her thoughts were in a jumble. Lucy had betrayed her again. Mr Clarence had also broken his promise and now she was in a heap of trouble. Her father was yelling at her and she couldn’t remember ever seeing him so furious.

“I’m sorry,” she shouted and tears began to flow. She brought her hands up to her ears but she couldn’t stop the music. It grew and grew until she could no longer hear what her father was saying to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said, and it was all she could do.

She dropped to her knees, feeling betrayed by everyone except Jake, who was now lost. She took a glance to her side and saw that Will was standing in the hallway. He appeared to be shouting something at their father. Emma could hear nothing but the music.

She looked back at Mr Wilkins and saw him take a step toward her. She ran.

Out of her house and into the night Emma ran.

7

A Girl and a Tree

Emma ran.

Pink slippers slapped the cold, wet street as she ran. It wasn’t raining anymore but the clouds that lingered shrouded the light of the moon. The street lamps shone feebly and their light glinted off a parked car here and there.

She was halfway to Lockhart Road when she stepped in a puddle and sent water spraying up all over her pajama bottoms. As she slowed down, she saw that there was a dog on the side of the road and he was staring at her. He was a small dog with big ears.

“What?” she said, but she couldn’t hear her own voice over the music.

The little dog tilted his head. He barked twice, though Emma could not hear him, and then rushed toward a house where a woman stood just inside the door, waving him in.

Emma put her head down to avoid the gaze of the woman. She walked on and, before she knew it, Emma found herself facing the darkness of Glenridge Forest.

“The music!” she said.

She tried to calm down and think things through. This could be the the music that she had heard once before, and it could be the music that Andrew Milligan claimed to have heard. But it was so loud that it was almost painful. It hadn’t been that way the first time around. The first time she had heard the song of the tree, it had been sweet and it had made her happy. Maybe this was something else.

As she was thinking this, the intensity of the music relented and it didn’t feel as though her head was filled with it. The music wasn’t everywhere at once anymore but it seemed to be coming from a particular direction. It was as though the source of the music had read Emma’s thoughts and, where before it had had a great sense of urgency, now it was content to let Emma figure things out.