Chapter 7: Candy

The classroom is once again rearranged, desks connected as students work on their projects. Iris and I are a bit secluded in the back, which is nice because it gives me more room to focus instead of listening to the chatter of other pairings. We can have our own chatter, about Gods and Odysseus and how Hera deserved better. Yet, somehow, people paint her as the bad guy.

At the beginning of class, Miss Hendricks handed out the poster boards, those classic, tri-fold posters. Since they take up a significant amount of space, pairings and the token group of three have decided to keep theirs folded and closed until it’s needed.

We’re still planning and researching, gathering materials. All of the content that will construct the poster, so it’s no longer a blank canvas.

Iris flips through the pages of the school's copy of ‘The Odyssey’, taking notes if she spots something important worth putting on the poster. “Do you think we should center the majority of the poster around the actual journey part?”

I stop scrolling through old notes that I had written down when we first read ‘The Odyssey’ and peek my head past my laptop’s screen to see Iris. “The journey is the main point of the book, isn’t it?”

“Right.” She writes something down in her notebook.

“But, we shouldn’t exclude his return to Ithaca. That’s important, too. Maybe on the poster, it can have its own little section. What do you think?” I ask.

Her pencil dances along the paper some more, each letter curling into the next. “Yeah. I like that idea. Prioritize his near-death experiences over definite safety. Gotcha.”

I laugh. “You didn’t have to phrase it so harshly.”

“Best to be blunt than soften the truth. It’s not candy.” She pauses for a moment. “The only reason they give candy to kids is because they don’t know how to comprehend the hardships of the world yet, and they shouldn’t have to. They should be able to live their lives wrapped in fun and colors. Unfortunately, it’s not like that. Things in the dark and scary world impact them, too. You know?”

It doesn’t make sense then, that my parents told me of the horrid history of Mystics at a young age. The war that happened all those hundreds of years ago that almost wiped out the existence of Mystics shouldn’t be the story Mystic kids fall asleep to. I know that parents need their kids to be aware of the rule the Council created, but not like that.

If it weren’t for the rule, the war would be buried in history, only to be undusted once every eclipse due to curiosity. And this fear wouldn’t exist.

Fear of going outside and playing with other kids.

Fear of making new friends and inviting them over for playdates.

Fear of losing their freedom.

Banishment. Fighting raging to all-out wars. Those consequences leading to feeling like they have to hide, pretend to be someone they’re not. Then, ultimately, hating themselves, hating who they are because of fear.

I nod, and go back to scrolling through the old notes, highlighting points that can be used for the poster.

There are a few minutes of quiet between us, and the rest of the classroom has gone quiet, too, aside from the awkward whispers among partners. Then a student laughs, which prompts louder conversation to bounce from wall to wall.

“I like your beanie,” Iris eventually says, setting her pencil down. “Where did you get it?”

“My house.” I shrug. “It was my mom’s. She used to wear it all the time when she was my age. Apparently, it was her mom’s, too.”

Iris smiles and tilts her head to the side. “Seems like a family heirloom. It does look pretty antique.”

“I guess. But I have a bunch back at home to match different outfits. Maybe I could—” I stare down at the keyboard and shake my head. “Nevermind.”

“Nevermind?” she asks, closing the laptop slightly so she can see my face. “Is something wrong?”

“No. I’m fine. I just remembered something.” I breathe in the air of the classroom, the smell of whiteboard markers and old books, and exhale. “I, um… About yesterday…” I shut the laptop and move it away from me, to the side of my desk. “I’m really sorry for bailing on you like that. I panicked, and I didn’t know how to say ‘no’. I couldn’t say ‘no’.”

And now I have to lie. Later, I’ll slap myself in the face for it. Kick my own shin, or whatever.

“I didn’t have many friends growing up,” I continue, “and because my family moves around a lot, I’ve gotten used to not getting attached to people, befriending people. Who knows? Maybe the next month, I’ll end up never seeing them again.”

Iris reaches her hand over the desk to rest it on top of mine. “That must be hard for you. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, then clear my throat. “We should, um, get back to work.”

“Yeah. Of course.” Iris pulls her hand off mine, and I start to miss it, and the warmth that came with it. “I would still like to talk after class if that’s okay.” She glances over her shoulder.

I try to follow her gaze, but I can’t tell who or what she’s looking at. Could be the girl talking with her partner at the front of the room or the door, anticipating class to end. Whatever it is, the hushed tone of her voice heightens my curiosity.

“There’s something that I need your help with.”