Boxed In

Meeting the "Monster"

The butterflies in my stomach must be in some sort of dance competition, because the amount of jitters I have is ridiculous.

Standing at the front gate of Barnaby's Boarding School for Children with Powers (est. 1926) with my suitcase and carry-on bag brings a tidal wave of memories, of fear and anxiety from my first visit, but mostly joy and relief at my second, third, fourth, and every time up until my tenth. I smile a little, and think to myself, "I'm home."

As I enter the gate, a panel opens up from the otherwise 19th century-looking iron fence. I quickly, almost without thinking, type in the numbers 1 5 8 3, and the panel slips back into its antique home. A faint humming I hadn't realized was there subsided, and I knew that the laser field had shut off.

"RHETTA! YOU'RE HOME, OH DARLING, YOU'RE HOME!" Is how I was greeted as I entered the huge, antique style house.

"Mrs. Houstin! How wonderful to see you!" I say as the plump, pale-blue skinned woman trotted down the stairs. Although I grew taller than her several years ago, she never stops scolding me about silly things and kissing my forehead, even if I have to bend down to allow it.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's so good to see you! How long has it been? It feels like ages. at least 20 years, I'd say!" She grips me tightly around the middle, giving a hug that only she can give. Also, since she gets to

"No, Mrs. Houstin. It's only been two years," I laugh, hugging her back as she squeezes me. She's the closest thing I've ever had to a mother, and I think that's true for most of the students here. Almost all of them arrived parentless and friendless, and Barnaby's gave them a home, a family, and many, many friends.

Mrs. Houstin released me and stepped back, sizing me up. "You've gotten taller since the last time I saw you. But you've lost weight. That can't be good."

My smile fades a little as I remembered my struggle with anorexia, but I fight to brighten it again as Mrs. Houstin begins to look concerned. "Yeah, well. I've been working hard."

"Come, come. I'll get you something to eat as I show you around. I'm sure you remember the basic layout, but we've changed a few rooms around." Mrs. Houstin busily led me out of the main entrance and through some halls.

"I remember what Barnaby's looks like exactly," I reminded her, tapping my forehead. "Photographic memory. I'm sure I'll get around fine, once I know the changes."

Just then, class let out. The way this school works is that there are different types of classes. One type of class is for small groups of kids with similar powers, and a teacher helps them develop control. Those classes are taught in groups ranging in size from 3 to 10 kids, but usually no  more than that, so that it can be relatively personal. Then there are large group classes, with 20-25 kids, like a normal school. These are classes like regular ones, with Math, Science, Language Arts, History, and other "normal" classes. The final type is the personal lessons. Twice a month, each student has a private lesson with the Headmasters of Barnaby's, to work on developing their specific skill set. The lessons are an hour long, and most of the students look forward to them. The Headmasters are Professor Lucia Martinez, a telepathic woman with bright orange hair and wild emerald eyes, with an electric personality to match, and Professor Elizabeth Jenkins, a quieter, but just as engaging, woman with long brown hair and sparkly silver eyes. They're married.

As kids chitter chatter their way down the halls to their dorms for books, Mrs. Houstin gets a few shouts of "Hi, Mrs. H!" and "How's Periwinkle?" Periwinkle is her little dog, who is not, in fact, periwinkle. He's snow-white.