Special Education

Special Education

By Laura Brady DePace

I took a deep breath as I surveyed the empty classroom. In a few seconds, this room would fill with twenty-five hyperactive, hormone-driven teenagers, who had no interest in anything I might try to teach them. Bad enough to be a “regular” Middle School science teacher, but as a substitute teacher, I felt like I walked in the door with a target on my back. Why would anyone want to be a substitute teacher? I wondered. For me, at least it wasn’t a life sentence. I was here for one reason, and hopefully for only one day.

For my “real job,” I was a teacher at a very special school for very special students. Our students - and our teachers, myself included - had special powers, special abilities, special “gifts.” Some of us could fly. Some of us could transform into animals. Some of us could affect objects around us, moving things, creating things, destroying things. While these abilities were “gifts,” they could also be burdens, and the children blessed - or cursed - with them needed the strong guidance and support that my school could offer.

My gift was that I could read and control the minds of others. My ability was strong, even when I was a child, and I had spent many years training myself to build and control my power. I was able to sense power in those around me, to send and receive messages that helped me to seek out and identify others like me, like us. That sense had brought me here, where I felt a great power and a great need. My task here was to find the source of that power, and to offer them the sanctuary of my school, New Day. I was here seeking one child. One special child.The trick was to recognize who that one child might be.

The first class came clattering into the room. Their faces lit up as they noticed me. They nudged each other, snickering, smiling cunning smiles.

“A sub! Excellent!”

They settled into their seats, ignoring the seating chart that the absent teacher had left. I gave them a few seconds, then decided I wasn’t in the mood for playing games.

“Ahem,” I said softly. Naturally, they all ignored me. God, how do teachers do this every day? I thought impatiently.

“You will sit in your assigned seats,” I stated, a little less softly. I added a mental order, from my mind straight to theirs: And you will NOT give me a hard time, or you will be sorry! A few looked up, startled, and moved immediately to their assigned seats. I sent a mental reinforcement. Now. Silence fell, and they settled down.

I called attendance. A few smart alecks responded with wisecracks, but a quick disciplinary thought sent their way silenced them.

Class began. I followed the lesson plan the absent teacher - a Miss Evans - had left for me. It was a rather dry chemistry lesson, but I jazzed it up subtly, using my mind control ability to create an illusion or two.

“Jeez, it looks like it’s moving!” one student muttered.

I turned and smiled at the mutterer. “Did you have something to share, Julian?” I asked cheerfully.

“No, Ma’am,” he replied hastily.

“Where did she get the colored chalk?” one of the girls whispered admiringly. “It’s so pretty!”

“I’m glad you approve, Chenille,” I commented, hiding my smile, my back still to the room.

“It’s like she’s got eyes in the back of her head!” another voice growled.

“Perhaps I do, Sharonna.” I turned to lock eyes with her. “Sorry, you prefer Roni, don’t you?” The scrappy, tough-looking girl in the back row slouched farther down in her seat. I smiled at her, which seemed to make her even more edgy.

It was so much fun messing with them! It occurred to me that my mind-reading, mind-controlling ability was particularly useful for a teacher. Though a full-time teacher with my abilities would undoubtedly be too much of a good thing in a “regular” school setting. That was the sort of thing that touched off witch-hunts.

The first class ended, and the students began filing out. They were unusually quiet. Some looked back over their shoulders, glancing at me out of the corners of their eyes, peeking at the blackboard, where the chalk had returned to the boring white it had been from the start.

Chenille, a pretty, dark-haired girl with extraordinary sapphire-blue eyes, stopped at the door, then turned back to approach me shyly. “Thank you for the pretty colors,” she whispered in my ear.

“You’re welcome,” I whispered back. “I’m glad you enjoyed them.” I put my finger to my lips and winked. “It can be our little secret.”

She nodded soberly, slipping a folded piece of paper into my hand, and walked out the door. Returning to the desk, I opened the paper. She had drawn a picture for me: me, at the blackboard, with colorful words and diagrams originating from a white piece of chalk in my hand. There seemed to be a golden glow pulsing out from me. As I looked, the image appeared to move …. Hmm, I thought. Maybe…not overwhelming, but still, unusual…. Perhaps I was here for her? There was definitely something there, but it didn’t seem strong enough to have pulled me here. Still, I would keep her in mind. I refolded the paper and tucked it into my pocket.

The day dragged by. Ensuing classes were better-behaved than the first, as word spread about me. I sensed no unusual interest from the other teachers, though, so it seemed that the kids were keeping their thoughts about me to themselves.

I was beginning to feel disheartened, as the day passed uneventfully. None of the kids stood out to me as having potential. Surely there was one! Something - or someone - had drawn me here.

The day neared its close. Nothing. Could I have been wrong?

I closed the classroom door and turned off the lights. I had a “free” period before my final class, and I needed time to think. Well, time to seek, to try to identify what had brought me here. I sat in the desk chair and closed my eyes, folding my hands in my lap. Without forcing it or trying to focus, I relaxed and opened my mind, sending my mental waves out, letting the swirl of thoughts and feelings that filled the school wash over me.

Of course, in a Middle School, the emotions I received were particularly strong and chaotic. With all of these hopes and fears and insecurities buffeting them, it was a wonder these poor kids could get themselves from one class to another, never mind focusing on learning chemistry! Gathering my energy, I sent out a wave of love, support, and calm from my psychic center, allowing it to lap over them, giving what comfort I could. The massive effort only did a tiny bit of good, but at least it was something.

Then I began to focus my seeking, reaching out to identify points of strength, points of power. A small pinprick of light here - perhaps it was Chenille? A brighter point there, but only for a second, before it was snuffed out. Deliberately? I reached farther.

Suddenly, a wave of power hit me like a thunderclap, rocking me as I mentally staggered under the weight of it.

What the hell? Shaken, I opened my eyes, looking wildly around me. So strong! So close! A movement at the door caught my eye. A man stood just outside the door, eyes locked intently on me. It took a concentrated effort to shake off the mental shock and raise one hand to beckon him to enter.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. We stared at each other wordlessly for a moment, eyes wide. His eyes were an intense, deep brown, almost black. His dark hair, well styled, curled just above his collar. He was probably about 5’8,” but he had a - a presence about him that made him seem larger than life. He was a very good-looking man, but he exuded a “keep-your-distance” aura that felt ominous and almost threatening.

I sent out a mental greeting - Hello. How are you? WHO are you? - but my attempt hit a brick wall of resistance, a protective shield. I stood - slowly, warily, as if I was approaching a dangerous and unpredictable wild animal. He gathered himself, tension rolling off of him to push me away. I stopped and raised both hands placatingly.

“Let’s just take a breath,” I suggested gently. “No one’s going to hurt anyone.”

His tension eased infinitesimally.

“I’ve a feeling we have a lot in common,” I continued. “I am Aubrey Swift.”

I waited for his response. He took a breath and unclenched his fists. “Keenan Edgers,” he introduced himself, without offering a handshake.

“Please, have a seat,” I said, gesturing to the other “teacher chair” by the desk.

“I’ll stand, thanks,” he said flatly. “I’ve never seen you here before,” he continued. “Where’s Lacey? What did you do to her?” He took a threatening step toward me.

I raised my hands again. “Now, now, calm down,” I pleaded. It was really hard to talk to someone when I couldn’t read their mind! How frustrating! Not a situation I ran into often.

“Miss Evans simply called in sick. Headache, I believe. I’m sure she’ll be fine in a day or two.” This information did not put him at ease as I had hoped.

“Look, Keenan - can I call you Keenan?” He glared at me wordlessly.

I sighed and perched on the edge of the desk. So much for small talk. Might as well just dive in and tell him the truth.

“I’ll be honest with you. But please hear me out.” He waited, leaning back on a student desk-top. I took a deep breath. “Miss Evans called in sick because I convinced her, with a mental message, that she had a headache. She’s fine. I needed her to be absent so I could step in as her sub. As soon as I’ve accomplished what I need to do, she’ll be back, right as rain.”

“Accomplished what you need to do? What exactly are you planning to accomplish?” he demanded.

“I work at a special school. I’m looking for candidates for our program.”

He surged to his feet, instantly angry. “Gadston Hall?! No way am I letting any of these kids go to that hellhole!”

“No! No!” I protested, jumping to my feet and putting the teacher desk between us. “Not there! God, no!” I shuddered at the thought, which seemed to mollify him.

“You know Gadston,” he said thoughtfully.

“I’m an escapee from Gadston,” I replied flatly.

He stared at me intently. Then, reaching some conclusion, he nodded and sat back down on the desk. “Me, too,” he said. “I’m listening. Explain yourself.”

I sank back into my chair, considering how to proceed. Best to begin at the beginning, I decided.

“I was ten years old when I was sent to Gadston Hall. As you know, they sell themselves as an elite school for children with special abilities. My special ability is mental, being able to hear other people’s minds, and to control their thoughts and actions to some degree. Since you’re familiar with the place, I’ll skip over the years that I spent there, while the so-called “masters'' did their damnedest to bend my ability to their uses.” I swallowed back the anger that still burned in me, even after all these years.

“Six long years later, I escaped. When I ran away from Gadston Hall, I was lucky. I “heard” a powerful mind calling to me. I followed that voice, and it led me to New Day Academy, a very special place where people like you and I can live, learn, grow, and prosper. New Day is the real deal; it’s everything Gadston Hall should be, but isn’t. I finished my education there, learning how to use and control my power. When I graduated, I stayed on as staff. Now I use my gift to seek out children with special abilities and offer them sanctuary and training within the safety of New Day.

“The school is, as you would expect, very secret. Only those who belong there, those who are invited there, can find it. Those like you and me. Everyone else gets lost in the mist, or wanders away, forgetting why they were there.

“But you have never been there. Yet you, like me, escaped from Gadston. How? When? And why did you not come to us?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, looking away for a moment. Then he turned back to me. Something indefinable had changed, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I tentatively reached out with my mind to him; the shield was gone. I retreated, not wanting to pry.

“I was always a loner,” he began. I nodded understandingly; most of us were. “I had a few very good friends. We were the kids who got picked on, and that drew us together. As I got older, I found that I had an … ability, I guess you would call it … to sort of protect myself and my friends.” He glanced up at me to see if I believed him. I nodded encouragingly.

He smiled, a soft, nostalgic smile. “I called it my forcefield. I could sort of wrap it around myself and people who were close to me. It wasn’t a physical thing - not something you could touch, or even see. But it - I guess you could say it redirected any kind of attack. Some bully would take a swing at me, and I’d duck and he’d hit his buddy. Or someone would come charging at a friend to knock them down, and he’d trip and fall on his face. It was subtle, but word spread, and eventually the bullies left me and my friends alone. Picking on us made them look bad.

“But, of course, I got cocky. I started baiting them, counting on the idea that they would walk away. And one day, this - monster - went after a girl I liked. I shielded her as best I could, but the bully - well, he quickly got frustrated when he couldn’t get at her, and that just made him angrier. Mad swings that spun him around, making him look ridiculous. Lunges that always just missed.” He glanced up at me, judging my reaction. “Finally, after a particularly wild attack, he fell and hit his head, hard enough to knock himself out. I didn’t touch him! But, of course, no one believed me.” He took a breath and shifted uncomfortably. “Turned out, the bastard’s daddy was an important guy on the School Board. He got me expelled.” He rose, pacing across the floor.

“The next day, someone turned up from Gadston Hall.” He gave me a dark look. “He made it sound like Gadston was the best school in the world, the only place for ‘special’ students like me. Told my mom how much I’d learn, how I had an ability that, with the right training, could make the world a better place. Told her -”

“That you would be a hero,” I interrupted softly, nodding sadly. “They told us all that. That we would be heroes.”

He nodded, anger flaring in his eyes at the lies we had been told.

“Anyway. I was older than a lot of the kids, already 15. Old enough to be able to see when someone was trying to manipulate me. I wasn’t there long, but I did make a few friends. One kid in particular, Freddy Carolina. He was a sensitive kid, a couple years younger than me. His “power” was a … gentle one. Nothing scary. He could turn rocks and sticks and things into living creatures. Birds, lizards, butterflies.

“But the so-called “masters” thought that he could do more. That he wasn’t trying hard enough. They wanted him to create creatures that could be weaponized: hawks, tigers, that sort of thing. They pressured him constantly. I tried to protect him. My shield worked on him, as long as I was close to him, but I couldn’t protect the creatures he created. And the “masters” used that. Every creature he created, they destroyed. Stepped on the ladybugs, swatted the butterflies. Finally, Freddy couldn’t take it any more.”

He looked at me bleakly. “He killed himself. And I ran away.”

A tidal wave of sorrow and regret swept from his mind to mine, swamping me in his pain. I rocked under the weight of it, then pulled myself together. I sent a wave of love, support, and understanding back to him. Surprise - and relief - touched his face as my mind touched his. We blinked back tears together, fought back the sorrow.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “So sorry I wasn’t there for you. So sorry I couldn’t help. I must have already been gone by the time you arrived.”

“Well. Bygones and all that,” he said. He gave himself a little shake. “I never knew about your school; maybe it would have made a difference if I had. I drifted for a while, undecided about what to do with myself. Went to school to become a teacher, thinking I might be able to help kids like me, kids who might be bullied. Thinking maybe I could use my “forcefield” for the greater good. Wound up here.” He glanced around the room, then returned his gaze to me. “So what brings you here now?”

“Recently, I’ve been receiving a strong mental voice from this school. Somewhere in this building, there is a child - or, perhaps, children - with special abilities, someone who belongs at New Day. The power is very strong in them; it’s what has brought me here. I arranged to come here as a sub, with hopes of identifying that child, and offering him or her sanctuary at New Day.”

“What about their family?” Keenan asked. “You can’t just kidnap them.”

“Oh, no, of course not!” I reassured him. “In many cases, children with special abilities are living in foster care. It’s hard to live with that kind of “differentness” so kids often act out, and Social Services removes them from their families. Sometimes, of course, they do have supportive families; in that case, we approach their caregivers and present the option of coming to New Day. Sometimes they agree to send their child to us as a boarder; sometimes the whole family moves to our complex. Sometimes, they aren’t ready, and we simply leave contact information in case they change their minds. We make our decisions on a case-by-case basis.”

Keenan sat quietly for a moment, staring out the window. I gently pushed my mind towards his. The barrier was back, though not quite as solid.

“You know someone, don’t you?” I asked. He turned to meet my gaze.

“Maybe.”

“You’re protecting him or her. You’re blocking me.”

“Maybe.”

“But - “

Just then the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. The sound of thundering feet and deafening chatter filled the halls. Keenan and I both rose. My mind questioned his. His mind pushed me back. Finally his gaze dropped, and he stepped away from me. As he reached the door, he looked back.

“See what you can see in this next class,” he said tersely. “Then we’ll talk.”

My last class for the day entered. Clearly, the word had reached them about me. They silently took their assigned seats. I called attendance, trying to keep my mind open and receptive. I felt no special power from this class. Perhaps a touch of dead air in the back corner?

I reached into my pocket, fingering the picture that Chenille had given me. I unfolded it, smiling as I glanced at it again. Such vivid colors. I laid it on the desk, where I could admire it.

And felt a strong stab within my mind.

Startled, I looked up, trying to identify the source.

There. In the back corner of the room, nearest the door, sat a dark-haired boy. Startling sapphire-blue eyes glared forcefully in my direction. What the - ?

Tentatively, I reached out with my mind. I hit a wall. The boy twitched in his seat.

A sudden movement on my desk diverted my attention, though I didn’t catch its source. When I looked back at the boy, he was looking down at something on his desk. The wall was still there, blocking me. A tiny smile touched one corner of his mouth.

Giving myself a little shake, I proceeded with the lesson. Again, I jazzed up the boring material by adding a touch of color and movement. Again, my teaching generated a tiny buzz of interest and curiosity. For a change, not one of them offered a smart-alecky comment.

I gave them their seat-work and began to walk around the room, monitoring their progress with the lesson. Eventually, oh-so-subtly, my wanderings took me by the desk of the dark-haired boy who had so unsettled me.

I looked over his shoulder… and stifled a startled gasp. There, on his desk, was the picture that Chenille had given me. The picture that I had just smoothed out and placed on my desk where I could admire it. The bright colors glowed. The same, yet slightly different. As I watched, the words and lines moved. The picture seemed to come to life.

I reached over the boy’s shoulder to take it. Fast as lightning, he slammed his hand down on the page, pinning it down. He looked up at me, anger and challenge simmering in his eyes.

“No,” he said. Said? No. Thought. His mind briefly touched mine, then pushed it away. No.

“That’s my sister’s,” he said, quietly, menacingly. “Not yours.”

“Chenille’s your sister?” I asked. “And you’re…Aiden?” He studiously ignored me, jaw tight, fists clenched. I squatted down next to him. He leaned away from me. “Chenille gave that picture to me,” I said gently.

“She shouldn’t have,” he growled. “She should be more careful.”

Eyes locked on mine, he snapped his fingers. The picture disappeared into his pocket. His gaze challenged me.

This was why I was here. This boy. And his sister. But I must proceed carefully. Aiden had power, barely leashed, together with a strong drive to protect his sister. If I handled him wrong, the result could be disastrous.

I walked away, thinking. Though he pretended to focus on his work, Aiden’s eyes followed me. Not twins, but in the same grade…he must be at least a year older, I thought. My eyes returned to him. He must have stayed back to watch over his sister.

I returned to my desk. Well, I had found my source, but what now? The boy radiated a brooding anger that I could feel from here. Power rolled off of him in waves.

Having fun yet? The amused question touched my mind, a voice I hadn’t heard before. The boy? Not likely. Then who?

Keenan? Is that you? Who else was it likely to be? I waited. So did he.

Aiden, huh? I questioned. Silence that felt like an affirmation. Chenille, too? I added.

Keenan’s voice again, with a hint of a chuckle. Well, well, you are a fast worker, aren’t you? There was a moment of silence. Interesting method of communication, he commented. Handy, this!

I glanced across the room at Aiden. His eyes were locked on me, all pretense of working on the lesson gone. I nodded to him. He dropped his eyes with a tense jerk.

Can Aiden hear us? I questioned Keenan, continuing our mental conversation.

Nah. There was a pause. Um. Maybe? Hard to tell. It’s not like I can ask him… I felt a mental shrug.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the class. I had still not figured out how to approach this hostile boy.

Then, to my surprise, Chenille came bursting through the door. “Hey, Aiden!” she cheerfully greeted her sibling. The surly young man melted into an adoring big brother, as he gave his sister a big hug.

“Hey, Midget!” he greeted her with a smile.

Chenille turned to me. “Oh, Miss Swift, I made you another picture!” She held out a new drawing, this one a jungle scene. An amazing jungle scene, in which all of the plants were waving in an unseen breeze, and animals cavorted in the trees: monkeys, sloths, red-eyed tree frogs, emerald-green boas, colorful birds. The drawing was a wonderful riot of color and movement. It took my breath away.

“Do you like it?” Chenille asked with a bright smile.

“Like it? I love it!” I gasped. “It’s the most wonderful picture I’ve ever seen!” Holding the precious picture high, out of Aiden’s reach lest he snatch it away from me, I gave Chenille a one-armed hug. “What an incredible gift you have!” I added.

She gazed at me very seriously. “Can it be our little secret?” she asked softly. “Like the way you did on the blackboard?”

“Why do you want it to be a secret?” I asked her gently. “It’s so amazing! Don’t you want the world to know?”

“No, she doesn’t!” Aiden growled. “And don’t you tell anyone! They won’t believe you, anyway, they’ll just think you’re crazy!” He loomed over us, barely maintaining control. On the other side of the room, I could hear all of the papers on my desk being violently dumped to the floor, as if by an invisible hand.

Chenille’s smile faded from her face, leaving her sapphire eyes brimming with tears. “It has to be a secret!” she murmured. “Or I’ll get in trouble. And Aiden’ll get in trouble. And maybe you’ll get in trouble!” The downcast face of the child broke my heart.

“No,” I said softly. “It doesn’t have to be a secret.” I sat on her brother’s desk and pulled Chenille close, ignoring Aiden’s glowering glare. “I can take you to a special place, a special school, where you won’t have to keep your gift a secret. It’s a school where lots of kids with special gifts live and learn, all together. My school has teachers who can help you to develop your gift, to see how far you can grow with it. It’s a wonderful, safe place.”

The children stared at me, a mixture of doubt and hope in their eyes.

“What kind of school is that?” Chenille asked wonderingly.

“A very special school. It’s called New Day. Let me show you.”

I concentrated on creating an image in my mind of the school: the cheerful classrooms, the welcoming teachers and staff, the myriad students, all polishing their abilities: children flying, children creating sandcastles and clay figures with just their minds, children winking in and out of invisibility, children shape-shifting into dogs and cats and eagles and caterpillars. Looking deep into Chenille’s eyes, I gave her the images from my mind.

She stood, transfixed. Then she reached for her brother’s hand. “Aiden, look!” she urged him, sharing the images with him. “Isn’t it wonderful? A whole school full of kids like us!” She turned to face him, catching both his hands in hers, looking up at him with her face alight with hope and excitement. “Can we go? Please?” she pleaded.

Aiden looked from his sister to me. When he met my eyes, his face darkened. Chenille’s face fell in disappointment, sensing his unspoken No. He looked back at his sister and ruffled her hair gently.

“How can we trust her?” he asked Chenille. “How do we know that this - this so-called school - isn’t a trap? Some kind of hush-hush government experiment? Can we afford to take that chance?”

Just then, the door opened, making us all jump. Keenan stepped into the room.

“Mr. Edgers!” Aiden straightened, pulling Chenille behind him protectively. “We were just - “

“Listening to a wonderful, too-good-to-be-true proposal?” Keenan asked, with a gentle smile.

Aiden and Chenille exchanged guilty looks. “No, we - uh -”

“It’s OK,” Keenan reassured them. “Miss Swift and I had a talk earlier today. So I know what she just offered.” He paused, nodding respectfully to me, then turned back to the children. “I get it. It’s scary. And you don’t know who to believe in. I don’t blame you. Trust is hard. Especially for people like … us.”

“People like us?” Chenille asked. “What do you mean?”

“People like us,” he repeated. “People who are … different, somehow. People who can … do things that we can’t always explain. People who have to keep secrets, to keep safe.” He nodded at the children, then at me. “People like you two … and me … and Miss Swift here.”

He looked at me again, and a gentle smile transformed his face. “I trust her. I think you can, too.”

The children exchanged a look: Chenille hopeful and trusting, Aiden still wary and suspicious.

“I don’t know…” Aiden muttered doubtfully, glancing from Chenille to Keenan to me, then back to Chenille.

“Tell you what,” Keenan offered. “I’ll go. I’ll go with Miss Swift to her school, check it out. Not everyone can do that, I know, but I - well, I’m the kind of person who belongs in a place like that. I’ll check it out tomorrow, and report back to you. If it’s as good as I think it is, we’ll go and talk to your parents together. Deal?” He held his hand out to Aiden; after a moment’s consideration, they shook on it.

The dismissal bell rang. Chenille hugged me, then grabbed her brother’s hand, pulling him out into the river of departing students.

Keenan and I faced each other in the empty classroom, measuring, judging.

“Thank you for your help,” I said. “New Day is the right place for them.” I smiled at him. “And, maybe, for you. We can always use another special teacher.”

“We’ll see,” he said thoughtfully.