The Library of Powers

Chapter 3 - Part 3

The next morning Jackson woke up in his bedroom (his real one that is, not his makeshift one in the Library). Jackson's little trick of sleeping inside the Library had taken him quite some time to figure out. For the majority of his childhood he had not known to do so, and so he wandered the halls of The Library of Powers, alone and afraid. With each night in the Library lasting somewhere between a week and a month, Jackson was relieved he didn't go crazy during that time. Or maybe he did, he mused. There was really no way to know for sure.

Get out of bed. Brush teeth. Take a shower. Dry hair. Stare into the mirror. Jackson continued to stare. What was his life coming to. The whole school knew all of Jackson's careful plans to ensure his anonymity crumbled right before his eyes. Just finish the year, Jackson said to himself.

"Just finish the year," he repeated, this time out loud.

Yeah! There was no one home, why did it matter what he said? "Just finish the year, just finish the year," he intoned, still staring at his reflection. How had he never noticed how dull his eyes were? They were two empty, lifeless sockets, stress lines already folding onto his face.

"What are you going to do, Jackson?" he whispered. He decided to go to school and start dealing with his problems. So what if people knew he had powers? How did that change his end goal? Go to college, become a doctor or something (he hadn't really figured that part out yet) and help people. In a way that didn't require his power at all. Just because they knew he had a power didn't mean he had to use it. Jackson bristled with electricity, finally leaving his mirror as he didn't need confirmation to know he was smiling. Jackson skipped breakfast and headed to school. He would be fine.

Jackson took his off-pace route, straight to the Writing Well. It could only be used once a day. His proverbial refresh timer just about to wear off. It was a slow day for visitors, only a few milling around the waters. Jackson strode directly over and unceremoniously stuck his arm in. Wisps of ichor seeped from the cracked blue tile, much more elegantly traveling to Jackson's hand then he had traveled to the fountain. As he removed his appendage, he caught a glimpse of the chicken-scratch, which read "She's sorry. Ask her about Dino & Sons..." ellipses and all.

Not again. Jackson's good mood evaporated into the cold January air, leaving only the remnants of a broken smile twisted now into a grimace. Who did the Writing Well refer to? Was it Melanie? Ivory? Ms.Salmon? Jackson crossed that last one off his list, there was nothing for her to be sorry for. Either option didn't sound great. What was Dino & Sons? A quick google search on his phone told Jackson nothing, just a painting store in New England. If he had to guess, that wasn't related. Jackson left the Writing Well in an even more rancid mood then he had the day before.

The school day was uneventful yet surprisingly relaxing. Jackson didn't have to deal with either Melanie or Ivory since they were both absent. Once he realized he wouldn't be able to confront either, most of his troubles faded away. He got plenty of stares, even more than yesterday, but they didn't bother Jackson as much as they had. He had resigned to the futility of the situation. Better to be on damage control then coverup-duty, he guessed. He almost had another encounter with Lillian and Jennifer but shut them down with a singular look. They probably hated him by now, but Jackson didn't really mind.

As Jackson left sixth period to head home, his escape was halted by a short yet imposing man with a crisp black suit. "Where do you think you're going?" Principal Gonners commanded as Jackson passed the ever-open main office doorway. "You have Superpower Class. Yep, turn around and head off. I won't be hearing any dissensions from you young man. Room 103. Get going." Jackson attempted to argue with the man, but all his attempts were cut off and shattered into tiny fragments lying on the laminate tiles, soon to be mopped up and replaced with a sign warning, "Caution: Floor is slippery when wet."

Jackson stood in the threshold of room 103, wavering near the doorframe. It was an eastern facing room, with large metal-rimmed windows letting plenty of natural light inside. Jackson had two reasons for not entering the room. For one, he still wasn't sure if he was going to go to the lazily named "Superpower Class". He might have been able to fool Principal Gonners for now, but how long could he fool actual superhumans? The other, and even more pressing reason, was that no one was there. The classroom was completely empty, aside from some scattered desks and tables. The sign on the wall outside, instead of showing the teacher's name like it usually did, was blank. Oh well, he conceded, what can I really do about it. He went into the classroom and sat down at one of the desks, which he had his pick of. As he did, the air around him visibly rippled, and all his arm hairs stood on end.

Boom! A large drum rippled from some unseen location, and the resonance in the air came to a cacophony of movement, like a lake after thousands of grains of sand have been thrown in. It became so visually noisy that Jackson had to close his eyes, and when he opened them he had transported to a new location, the waves of air rapidly dying down. The drum still reverberated, but even further off now, the echo above a thickly wooded forest.

Jackson was in a slightly larger room than before, one with only four or five desks distributed randomly. There was no adornment to the walls, nor any obvious light source. One door was all else the room held. The room was a uniform pale yellow, from floor to ceiling. As Jackson shakily stood from his scholarly transport device, the door in front of him slid open, which was strange, because there were clear doorknobs and hinges. Behind the door was a familiar, dreadful face.

"Jackson Reil, if I had to guess which students in our school were secretly hiding dangerous powers, you would be the last on that list. Which is not a compliment." Ms. Doil, his Extraordinary Peoples History teacher, crooned. She stepped through the door, her hands behind her back and her tortoiseshell glasses hanging from her neck, instead of its usual spot low on her nose. Jackson jumped back a few paces but did not respond.

"But nevertheless, I am glad you are now here," She said, breaking into a smile that Jackson could have sworn was an impossible expression from Ms. Doil. Jackson had always wondered why she had never liked him, at one point deciding it was because their last names were too similar. Ms.Doil seemed like the type of teacher to make that sort of arbitrary decision. But as she stood there, completely at ease, she seemed less like an aging history buff and more like... a superhero.

"Well, what are waiting for? Follow me," Ms.Doil cackled, obviously amusing herself. She snorted a soft chuckle as Jackson hastily grabbed his backpack and followed her into a narrow passage similar in design to the room he had just exited.

"Okay, a few things to know before you get in there," Ms.Doil told Jackson, "First, don't tell anyone about this place. For your safety and mine. Second," she continued, never even taking a breath for air, "Please don't piss off Selina, she will make your life hell and I don't want this classroom to become a battleground again. Thirdly ---"

"Ummm. Ms.Doil?" Jackson interposed, finally getting a word in edgewise.

"Yes, Jackson? Also, please, none of that Ms. Doil crap. Not my real name. Call me Ms. Forrester," she responded.

"Yeah, Ms... Forrester. Where are we?"

"Well, Jackson. This is my plane. But more accurately," she started, holding off finishing her sentence until we reached another door. Right before we exited through it, she finished "Welcome to Superpower Class."