Foxworth Academy (2 page)

“Faster!” the boy in front said. 

“I’m trying!” came the reply from the girl holding the camera. 

A gunshot rang out so close they instinctively ducked. 

“No!” shouted the boy.

They reached a landing that had the number “6” stenciled on the door and paused to catch their breath.  Another gunshot boomed nearby.  The boy looked back at the camera and said, “We’re too late.” A final gunshot pierced the silence of their heavy breathing. 

“We gotta get out of here before we’re seen,” the girl pleaded.

The boy glanced up and they climbed the steps to the next landing and stopped.  They crouched behind the railings and the boy put his fingers to his lips to signify that silence was necessary.  No sooner had he done this, then the door to the sixth floor flew open and a man emerged, paused, and then shuffled quickly down the stairwell.  They peeked their heads around the railing and recognized immediately who it was.

Mr. Martin hit a button on the remote and the TV went black.  The students could only watch in silence.  He removed the disk, locked it back in his desk and turned to face the blank stares of his class.

“But, that was...” a boy in the back of the class began.

“Yes, it was,” Mr. Martin replied.  “That was Lee Harvey Oswald exiting the sixth floor of the Texas School Book Depository.”

“But...how?” the boy asked.

Frankie whispered over to Brett who was sitting nearby.  “Told ya.”

“We’ll get to
how
a bit later in the class,” the teacher answered.  “Just showing you how much fun we have here in my class.”  He winked at them.  “Okay, let’s get started.”  He moved over to stand behind a lectern, put his glasses on, and held a piece of paper in his hand.  “This semester we are going to discuss twentieth century history.  Let’s start by asking ourselves one question: What are some of the significant events that occurred in the twentieth century?  Anyone?”

The class looked around at each other, waiting for the first person to raise their hand.  They still appeared to be in disbelief at what they just saw.  It wasn’t long before a skinny red-haired girl with glasses raised her hand.

“The JFK assassination,” she said.

“Oh yes, yes,” Mr. Martin replied.  “One of the great tragedies of the twentieth century, that’s for sure.  Who killed JFK?”

A dozen hands shot into the air and Martin called on a boy in the back of the room.

“Lee Harvey Oswald,” the boy said.

“Correct,” Mr. Martin said, laughing.  “That was

kind of easy, wasn’t it?  Don’t believe the crazy theories out there claiming the possibility of a second shooter.  Oswald was a lunatic who went off the deep end.  He was an extremist and wanted to kill JFK, plain and simple.  I still can’t believe the Warren Commission spent so much time and money on proving me correct.”

“What we just saw on TV, was that...?” the boy asked.

“I told you we’d get to that later,” Mr. Martin said.

A pretty girl with straight black hair that curled onto her shoulders raised her hand.  She had dark eyes and a tan complexion.  Brett had noticed her the day before, taking note of how attractive she was.

“Yes,” Mr. Martin looked at his roster again, “Miss Ally Davidson?”

“World War Two,” she said.

“Yes, Ally, that is probably considered the most significant event not only of the twentieth century, but also of the last two centuries.  Let’s spend a minute on this subject.  What can you tell me about the war, Ally?”

The pretty girl seemed to curl into a ball and shied away from answering right away as everyone in the room focused on her.  Finally, she crossed her arms and said, “Japan bombed Pearl Harbor.”

“Ahh, the Ben Affleck movie,” Mr. Martin said, smiling.

Ally nodded and smiled as well.

“Yes, it’s true.  The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, the naval base in Hawaii, on December 7
^th
, 1941, fully bringing America into the War.  Two years earlier on September 1
^st
, 1939, the Germans invaded Poland, setting off the start of the war.”

Brett looked around the room.  Some of the students were taking notes so he did the same.

“Millions of lives were lost, some estimate more than sixty million people died, culminating with the atomic bombs that the United States dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.  What else happened in the twentieth century?”

Brett was jotting down notes, stealing a glance at Ally Davidson every once in a while. 

Mr. Martin continued, “The twentieth century saw great change in the makeup of our country.  The automobile was first introduced.  We participated in numerous wars, World Wars I and II, The Korean War, Vietnam, and Iraq.  The technology that exists today is beyond the realm of possibility just a few decades ago.  Our ancestors would be turning over in their graves knowing that we can communicate so easily and so quickly.”

He went on like this for most of the class, not once referring to notes or a book.  Brett was amazed that a teacher could grip the class so easily.  It was just a lecture, but Brett was mesmerized by not only the teacher’s voice, but by the subject matter as well.  Never before had he taken such an interest in history.

“Now, your assignment for the weekend,” Mr. Martin said, wrapping up.  A collective groan was heard in the class.  “Now, now, class.  Your assignment is nothing to be read or to be written.  I want you to think.  That’s all.  I want you to think about a subject that you would like to learn more about this semester: an event, a milestone, a person, anything you want, from the twentieth century, of course.”

Brett’s mind raced in all different directions.  He had no idea what he wanted to learn more about.  He looked over at Ally and thought that she would be something he could learn more about.

“When’s he gonna get to the good stuff?” Frankie asked once they reached the hallway. “What good stuff?” Brett asked.

“You know, the secret stuff.  The stuff we just saw on the TV.  The reason he made us sign that stupid form the other day.  I think I was right about the dress-up part, don’t you?”

“Beats me, maybe there is no
secret stuff
.”

“There better be,” Frankie said. 

At lunch Brett looked for Ally, but she was nowhere to be found. 

CHAPTER THREE

T
he beaches of Wildwood were as famous in New Jersey as Coney Island was in New York.  Tourists came from all over New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware, and even New York to visit the famous beachside town.  A large boardwalk with multiple piers hosting all sorts of amusements was the major attraction.  Ferris wheels, roller coasters, water parks, and games kept the boardwalk packed with people from morning until night.  Since this was the unofficial last weekend of the summer, and the weather was great, it was even more crowded than usual.

Brett walked with his parents and younger sister down one of the piers.  At age fourteen, and a freshman in high school, Brett thought he was a little old for this scene but he indulged his parents anyway. 
Next summer will be different
, he thought.  It would be his friends alongside of him. 

Brett’s younger sister by two years, Reilly, was holding his mom’s hand and pulling strands of blue cotton candy off a stick with her teeth.  As they neared the paddle boats, he saw her: Ally Davidson.  She had just come out of the pirate ship haunted house and was laughing with two of her girlfriends.  They walked toward him at the exact same time Brett’s dad put a hand on his head and was about to rub his short brown hair.

“Whaddaya say, Brett?  Should we race your mom

and your sister?”

Brett quickly pulled away from his hand.  He did not want to be seen like this.  He had to get out of here, fast.

“What?” his dad asked.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Brett replied.  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw they were getting closer.  Thirty feet and closing.  There weren’t many people toward this end of the pier—maybe she wouldn’t notice him.  Most of Brett wished she wouldn’t.  He didn’t want to be seen walking the boardwalk with his parents and little sister.  But the closer he got to her, the more he secretly wished she
would
recognize him.

And she did.

He took one more look her way and she looked right at him, locking eyes as recognition set in.  He couldn’t turn away either.  He tried to, but couldn’t.  He just stared aimlessly at her, now ten feet apart.  He slowed his walk to let his family get ahead of him a few steps.

“Hey,” Ally said in a soft, questioning tone.

He stood frozen as she stopped three feet in front of him.  He had nothing to say.  She looked good in a white tank top and khaki shorts. 

“Do you go to Foxworth in Delaware?” she asked.

He had to say something.  “Umm, yeah.”

“Mr. Martin’s history class?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

“I thought so.  Me too.”

“Oh yeah,” Brett said, sounding surprised.  “I thought you looked familiar.”

“I’m Ally,” she said, waving her hand.

“Brett,” he replied.

“Pretty cool to get him first semester.”

“I hate you,” the girl next to Ally said, laughing.

“These are my friends, Lindsay and Emma.  Emma goes to Foxworth too but she didn’t get Martin.  Who are you here with?”

The worst question he could possibly be asked was just asked.  But what came next was even worse.  “Ahh....”

“Come on!  Mom and Dad are waiting,” his little sister said, coming up around the girls and tugging on his shirt.

“Oh,” Ally managed to say.

“Yeah,” Brett responded.  “Last weekend of the summer and all.”

“Yeah, sure.”

One of her friends giggled and the other one grabbed Ally’s hand and started leading her away.  “Come on, let’s get a slice of pizza,” the girl said.

“Nice meeting you,” her friend Emma said in Brett’s general direction.

Ally turned as she was walking away and said, “See ya Tuesday, Brett.”

He watched them walk away and hoped she’d glance back at him but she didn’t.  He looked down at his little sister, still pulling on his shirt.

“You little runt!” he said, his forehead creased in an angry snarl.  He flicked her ear, hard.  She let go of his shirt and ran toward his parents screaming, “Mom, Brett hit me!”

B
rett spent the final two days of the weekend scanning the beach for Ally but came up empty.  The drive home, however, he spent thinking of Mr. Martin’s assignment.  What did he want to learn more about this coming semester?  His thoughts floated to sports, mainly baseball.  He was a pretty good player himself and played on the local travel team.  Unfortunately, Foxworth was too small a school to field its own team, but that was fine with Brett.  The local teams were very competitive.  The Philadelphia Phillies were his favorite team and he could always learn more about them, but Mr. Martin may not be so appreciative of his selection.

What else did he like to do?  He played baseball, liked to play games, like to chat with his friends on email.  Email.  Computers.  That would be good.  He decided on computers.  His family had an Apple iMac so he chose that as his discussion topic to learn about.

Tuesday came rather quickly and Brett found himself a little sunburned from the weekend at the beach and hoped he was not called on so no one would notice his tomato-like complexion.  Sure enough, he was the third person called on.

“Apple,” he replied to Mr. Martin’s question on what he wanted to learn about this semester.

“Ahh, the forbidden fruit,” Mr. Martin replied. 

There were a few chuckles from the class and Brett could feel his face turning even redder.

“No, the company,” he said, correcting the teacher.

“Just having a little fun, Brett.  I knew you were talking about Steve Jobs’ masterpiece of a company.  Wish I had bought some of that stock back when it was fifty bucks,” he said softly.  “Great discussion piece, Brett.  You, Miss Catherine, what is it that you’d like to discuss?”  He moved about randomly between the aisles of desks and asked almost half the class the same question.  He then told them to take out a piece of paper and write down the name of their subject;  then scrunch up the paper into a ball, making sure no one looked at the papers, and pass them forward.  He went across the room and collected the paper balls from each person sitting in the front of the row and brought them over to his desk.

Mr. Martin went into a closet in the back of the classroom and brought out a clunky looking bird cage of some sort.  He brought it to the front of the class and placed it on his desk.  “Got this when they upgraded the bingo equipment at my church a few years ago,” he said. It looked like a barrel that was lying on its side.  There were long spokes made of rusty metal that connected the ends and a crank on one side.  He opened the hatch on the top and dumped all of the students paper balls inside, closed it, and proceeded to turn the crank, which in turn, rotated the balls inside. 

The class was dumbfounded and watched in great anticipation at what Mr. Martin was doing.  He turned the handle for about thirty seconds before calling on the kid in front of him.

“Jimmy, come up here please.”

A heavyset kid with matted down black hair clumsily got out of his chair and walked toward Mr. Martin.

“Pick one please,” Mr. Martin said, opening the hatch.

Jimmy stuck his meaty arm into the barrel and swished around the balls a few times before extracting one.  He was about to start opening it when Mr. Martin snatched it from his hands.

“No, no, Jimmy.  Thank you and back to your seat.”  He watched Jimmy walk back to his seat before turning his back to the class.  He unraveled the paper, flipped it over and nodded his head.  “Ahh, yes.  This should be fun.”  He crushed the paper back into a ball, walked to his desk, and opened the top drawer.  Mr. Martin fiddled for a moment before coming out with a cigarette lighter. 

The class watched as Mr. Martin moved over to the nearest window and opened it.  Then, to their amazement, he proceeded to flick the lighter and engulf the balled up piece of paper in flame.  He quickly dropped the paper on the tiled windowsill and watched as the paper charred and shrank, with the smoke going directly out the window.  In mere seconds it was over and Mr. Martin brushed the remaining ashes out the window before shutting it.