The Pearl Inside of Anything

Wednesday, June 3, 12:04 p.m. Under Vetruvian Man

Bran is running his hands over the table when I sit down.

"Man," he says. "Look at how we can spread out here. It's great."

Ben looks a little surprised and Bran's new interest in our surroundings.

"Dirt," says Bran. "Are you thinkin' what I'm thinkin'?"

"D & D?" says Dirt.

"You know it! There's room for a map, dice rolls, character sheets... it's perfect."

"What's D & D?" says Ben warily. He looks a little nervous, like he's afraid they'll say Dumbells and Drugs. Come to think of it, I wouldn't put it past them.

"Dungeons and Dragons, man! Greatest game ever played!"

Oh. No.

"Can't say I've heard of it," says Ben.

"Man! You haven't lived. Where are you from again anyway?"

"Tasmania," says Ben. "With a few stops in between."

"Seriously? Where is that anyway? Is it near Egypt?"

I am so glad I am not responsible for bad Geography tutoring. There's only so much you can blame on me.

"Well, actually, it's part of Australia. An island state."

"I knew that," says Dirt. "Do they really have devils there?"

"You mean Tasmanian Devils? The marsupials?"

I mouth the word "opossum" to Dirt from behind Ben's shoulder, where he can't see. What? I can help, can't I?

"Uh, yeah, the mar... mar,"

"...supial!" I finish.

"Sure, but you don't see them much. I never saw one. You can hear them rustling around in the bushes once in awhile though. No worries if you can run."

"Cool," says Bran. "Anyway, about D&D. They don't have it in Tasmania?"

"Well, they might. I just haven't heard of it," says Ben diplomatically.

"Well, it goes like this. We mount a campaign or a quest to loot a few tombs, defeat some menace, maybe wrestle carnivorous beasts , save some nobility, cleave some enemies..."

"Cleave?" says Ben, looking puzzled.

"You know, cleave, like in half, with a bastard sword..."

"Shhh!" I hiss at Bran and look around. "You can't say that in here! You'll get us kicked out."

"What? Bastard sword? That's what it's called. But whatever, use a greataxe...

"Back up a second" I say. "What do you mean WE?"

"Like the four of us," says Bran. "I mean, I'm the Dungeon Master, I call the shots, but you guys can..."

"No, no, no we can't." I say. "Definitely can NOT. I am on my last chance with you guys. We're supposed to be here to study." I look over at Ben. He nods grimly, but doesn't speak. Fine back up he'd be in a campaign.

Not that I'm thinking about a campaign, but still.

Wednesday, June 3, 1:15 p.m. Home Economicking

"So? Did you call?"

It's tricky to have a conversation with Yammy in Home Ec. This is because I actually have a vested interest in my sundress turning out right. If there's a chance I can wear it without hearing: "Oh, that's the sundress you made in Grade 9 Home Ec", I will. Yammy doesn't care so much. This year, her whole wardrobe is "Lady Di". She's got the red sweater with all the white sheep on it, and the one black sheep that matches the black silk bow on the collar of her blouse. Sometimes she wears it with jodhpurs. Real Wellington boots, Liberty-print skirts, and even the short-short haircut. In other words, there's not a thing in her closet I can wear to Mirabella.

"Did!"

"Didn't!"

"Did! I SO did!"

"Okay, okay, what did they say?"

"Next Wednesday, 4 o'clock. Bring my portfolio."

"Your portfolio?"

"I know, it's a problem. I only have that Polaroid you took of me last summer in the sandwich suit."

"Oh geez, don't take that!"

"I could get a test shot from Angie downstairs...."

"AnJAY,"she hollers. "Aaaah aaanJAY. Where will it lead us fru uhm heee eee eeeerrre?"

"Yammy, that is a very bad Mick Jagger."

"Couldn't help it," she shrugs.

"What song says I have nothing to wear?" I wail. Stirrup pants and a man shirt just won't cut it at Mirabella.

Yammy makes a worried frown. She knows I won't borrow anything from her.

It's like every time I take a step, I walk into a new problem.

Mrs. MacCardle stops at my machine. "That's turning out very well, Wendy," she says looking over her bifocals at my dress. "I don't think we've ever seen you in a dress?" She's trying to be nice, but it's bad when even teachers think your clothes are blah. "A little rickrack on the bottom, a pair of strappy sandals and we'll have you kick off our end-of-year class fashion show!"

Giggling breaks out further down the row and Mrs. MacCardle's head jerks up. "Brenda! Jennifer! And you, Miss Whitney Avery! There are three weeks left in this class and you haven't even finished stuffing your alphabet pillows from last semester! Back to it girls! Chop chop!"

I hear grumbles that sound like stuff this stupid sweat shop and Mrs. MacCardle swishes down the row, her long jean skirt dusting the table legs.

I look at my dress, bunched up under the sewing machine needle. Up until now, it's just been these scraps of orange and yellow cotton that Mum got on sale at Fabricland. I had to cut around a water stain, so the pattern is a bit wonky on one side, but the rest of it is okay. Anyway, I have been ripping out and resewing this thing since January and I've almost given up on it. I really should, except for the grade.  Now when Mrs. MacCardle says strappy sandals and rickrack my imagination breaks free and I see the possibilities. Not just of an A, but an outfit.

This I can do.

Thursday, June 4, 12:02 p.m. Templeton library

Things are looking a little strange when I arrive for Study Hall. Not only are Dirt, Bran and Ben here first, but they are all seated, facedown on the table, arms cradling their heads. It looks like a game of Heads Up Seven Up. Which I think we last played in Grade Four. I'm not kidding—Bran even has his thumb up.

"What's going on?" I thump my bag maybe a little too loudly on the table, but none of them look up.

"Shhh, Wendy!" says Dirt from under his arm. "We're telling our brains we're doing History now."

"What?"

"It's Ben's idea," muffles Bran. "He says it helps if you tell your brain what to prepare for. Get it ready to work."

"And what does your brain have to say about this?" I ask him.

"Well, right now my brain is not too cool with it."

"It'll come around," says Ben, still facing downwards. "Give it another go, mate. Focus."

Bran shuffles around in his seat and his thumb does a little dance. But he keeps his head down.

"Okay, Wendy," says Ben. "You give it a try."

"My study skills are just fine, thank you very much. My brain and I talk all the time."

Ben rolls his head to the side to face me. He silently mouths, "for the guys". I shrug and put my head down and wrap my arms around it. Actually, it feels kind of nice, my neck was kind of sore anyway. I should try this with Beowulf. I take a few deep breaths and think: doing History now...doing His...

A little snore to my right breaks the moment. Ben sighs. Oh Dirt, what are we going to do with you?