[Poem "on turning ten"]

The door slammed shut with a thud. Taylor glared at the handle sullenly,
knowing that it would be entirely too easy to just wait a moment until the
teacher's back was turned and silently sidle to the back of the classroom,
and entirely skip going to the principal's office. But people would gawk and
snicker behind hands, and it would be a bigger defeat than staying out in
the hallway.

Taylor slid down the wall outside the door and waited. There was no point in
rushing to see the principal, and there was every chance that Ms Peabody
would forget entirely that there was a punishment to mete out, having
already delegated it in her mind to the principal, without so much as a word
to actually make it so.

The linoleum tile stretched down the hallway, shiny and reflecting the
fluorescent lights above in a thin white line, surely erasing any pleasing
pattern the floor might have had in the architect's mind and replacing it
with an institutional beige.

Everything about the hallway was uniform. The light, the even rows of
lockers -- even the artwork, hanging in the walls, something that should be
unique statement and bold pieces of color hung in trite lines, each 9 x 12
sheet painted in a predictable blue sky and green grass. Thirty paintings,
every one different, but strangely the same, all in neat lines.  A dozen
closed doors, each with the same slit of window.

Taylor figured there were a few more minutes before the hall monitor came to
collect and whisk anyone lagging in the halls off to the principal's office,
and so sat and fidgeted with the oversized black coat. Taylor's brother had
given the coat as a birthday present, the only good thing to come out of the
last birthday. Everyone had ignored what Taylor wanted, and so it came down
to the same uniform gifts. A science lab kit without any of the things in it
that would make it interesting. All the things that go boom or hiss having
been tamed until the only things that the kit could make were variations on
goop.  Some toy that was obviously the kind of thing that was put on the end
caps in a grocery store, meant just for the sort of harried adult who's
forgotten a birthday or needs to make a good showing without making any
effort. Not that it mattered, Taylor didn't care, and the only friends that
came to the party were ones that Taylor's mother invited, because she worked
with their parents and wanted to make a good impression.

The jacket was the only good part. It was heavy, for motorcycles and dirt
bikes, and Taylor's brother Mike had done both for years. It didn't fit
right, obviously a cast-off, having a worn-out spot in the right pocket, but
Taylor didn't care. There was a cinch around the middle that kept it from
flapping, and if you took out the insides, you could wear it all day and
still look tough.

The night after getting it, Taylor had pressed for a pair of boots to go
with it. "The army kind", but Taylor's mother had shot down the idea without
even looking up from her book. "You don't need army boots. You need school
shoes". And so it had gone, they'd picked the first pair of shoes that fit
at the discount store and bought them before going for groceries one
boring Saturday in August.

Taylor had won that one, though. The shoes were tame enough when they were
purchased, inexpensive canvas high-tops. But the laces could be ripped out
and a piece of black cord put in their place, and the white edges got
colored with a permanent marker. They didn't stomp like real boots, but if
you didn't look too closely, they looked like the real thing. 

Taylor added a few safety pins pinned into them just to make them look
fierce. Not sure if it worked, but it was a good attempt.

So Taylor fidgeted with the safety pins there in the hallway and waited,
pinning and un-pinning them with no particular reason, alternately pinning
the tongue of the shoes to the body, and pinning the shoes to the coat,
since sitting in the hallway didn't leave a lot else to do. It was the last
period of the day, but if they found out you left early you'd be doing
detention for a week.

A shadow blocked the line of fluorescent lights and Taylor looked up,
expecting to see the hall monitor coming, and half jumped up with mind to
run. It wasn't the most calculated response, but it seemed like a good idea
at the time. It went off half cocked, though, and Taylor ended up sprawled
out on the ground, coat still pinned to shoes and unable to stand up. Taylor
braced for the arm grab that was coming, and got ready to be hauled,
undignified and hunched over into the principal's office.

Nothing happened.

Taylor looked up to see a man with a clipped moustache, a vest and little
round glasses looking back down with an expression of bemusement on his
face. He looked like someone who'd be perfect in an old time barber shop or
behind the bar of an old west saloon.

"Sorry about that."

Taylor wasn't expecting to hear THAT, and didn't know what to say at all,
and so just hastily unpinned the coat from the shoes and turned back around
to sit against the wall and made a small show of dusting off as if it were
perfectly normal to sprawl on the floor and then pretend it'd never
happened. 

"Ms Peabody kick you out of class again?"

"Again?" Taylor was indignant, even if it was true. Third time this week,
actually, and probably the eighth time this month. The face Taylor was
making said it was true anyway.

"I'm Mr. Cox-Sachs. English."

Taylor's first thought was to say something about the name, but something
stopped that. I will not be that kid. I will not be that kid.

"Taylor." Taylor extended a hand from the floor, and was surprised to be
lifted to standing. 

"If you're going to shake a hand, you're going to have to do it properly.
You can call me John."

"Is it okay if I just call you Mr. Cox-Sachs?" Taylor made it a point to
enunciate the name carefully. "Teachers always make me feel squicked if I
use their first name."

"I suppose." Mr Cox-Sachs frowned for a moment. "Want to spend the rest of
the period in my classroom?"

"I guess it's better than seeing the principal."

----

The classroom was the same as every other one. The same four windows and
bookcase along the outside wall, the door made of fake wood with the safety
glass in it. But something was different. Taylor couldn't make out what it
was. It was weird enough being in a classroom that didn't have a dozen
teenagers in it, and not having it be detention.

Mr Cox-Sachs perched on the stool beside his desk. Taylor watched him,
trying to figure out what was different, not sure if it was him, or the
classroom. 

Taylor flopped into one of the desks and impulsively started to fidget with
the safety pins again, but it felt out of place. That's what it was. This
room was neat. The desks were exactly lined up. The desk had only one pile
of loose papers on it, and it was neatly stacked up, next to the blotter.

There weren't any brightly colored posters with inspirational sayings on
them, either. Just one, a plain, brown piece of paper, neatly lettered and
saying just "Courage is grace under pressure". At the bottom, Taylor could
just make out "Hemingway".

Even the chalkboard was clean. No smears of chalk either.

["I am but dust and ashes and the world is made for me"]

Taylor fidgeted for a moment more, then realized that there was no seatbelt
and no reason to stay there, and wandered to the bookshelf. The usual high
school English book lined the first section of shelves, but for some reason,
the copies in this room weren't so tattered, not so heavily used.

The next section of shelving had neat rows of books, tidily arranged and
sorted by the last name of the author. Adams. Asimov. Clark. Duane.
Heinlein. Herbert. There were two or three of some books, a couple paperback
copies of things tucked between the neat rows of hardbound ones.  The
alphabet started over again in the next section, this time starting with
Angelou, and another section with Alcott.

Taylor finally gave up trying to read all the names and titles and just took
a paperback copy from the start of the shelves. Easy enough to put back in
the right place. Taylor sat down on top of one of the desks.

The bell rang, and Mr Cox-Sachs didn't move. Taylor was surprised. Every
class so far would have had the teacher packing their bags during the last
few minutes of class, ready to leave as fast as they could. Mr Cox-Sachs
just kept skimming whatever it was that he was reading from a clip-board.
Taylor looked back down to the book as the door to the classroom opened and
in filed students. 

The students started quietly moving desks to the edge of the room, picking
them up and shuffling them with what looked like practiced motions. Soon,
they'd been pushed neatly to the edge of the room in a tidy ring, leaving
just Taylor sitting on top of the desk in the middle. Derek, one of the
students that Taylor had only ever seen in art class, and someone who was
totally unfamiliar were watching as Taylor closed the book. They closed in
at once, and Taylor panicked and braced for whatever was coming.

Together they picked up the desk with Taylor on top and just as gracefully
as the rest put it against the wall with the rest. The book stayed perfecly
balanced in Taylor's lap, and they sat on top of the desks on either side.

"I'm Dylan." "I'm Derek." They both offered their hands, and Taylor tried to
shake both at once.

"If you're going to shake hands" said Derek.

"You're going to have to do it properly." said Dylan.

Taylor got off the desk and shook each of their hands, hoping that counted
as properly. "Taylor."

A round girl with freckles and curly black hair and overalls sat down across
from Taylor and waved. Taylor liked the way her hair curled the same size
her big hoop earrings did and waved back. "I'm Maria." "Taylor."

Taylor kept wondering what was going on. It's not like there was a good
reason to go home though.

A tiny red-headed girl bounced in a moment later, carrying a round little
girl, maybe two years old, with the same black curly hair and freckles and
put the little girl in Maria's lap. "Here you go. Just woke up from her
nap." Maria lit up and started bouncing the girl on her knee.

Derek and Dylan stood up and closed the door, and then in near unison, said
"The next meeting of the Disillusioned Student's Union is now in session."
There was a tone in their voices that said something was a huge joke, but
Taylor had no idea what it might be.

"Well?" they said in unison, looking at Taylor. Taylor shrunk back into the
jacket and tried to hide. It usually was close enough to invisibility to
work, but this time everyone was looking.

"Oh, let Taylor be." Maria chimed in. "Taylor's new."

The door cracked open and a tall young man in a trenchcoat ducked inside
hurriedly. "Hey, I'm Jake." Taylor recognized him instantly. He'd been
expelled the year before, and nobody knew exactly why. There were rumours,
of course, that he'd had a bomb in his locker or a gun or something, but
nobody really knew.